Fever Dream

by a campbell

Smallville, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

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After seeing "Fever" again last week, and discussing its general low quality, we mentioned how we wished Lex had visited at the Kents while Clark was ill, as Chloe did. fajrdrako already has produced a nice dodecal somewhat inspired by this scene, Dreaming of a Lover. The following snippet is my bunny-inspired offering. Unbeta'd, and I didn't have much time to spend on it. Warning: Going for sap, here. (Last clause, in particular, can be taken or left, depending on reader’s sap tolerance level)

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For ZeeZee, and for my anonymous LJ benefactor of yesterday.

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After he left the Medical Center, thoughts of Clark dogged Lex throughout the afternoon. Helen had told him nothing. Being without information left him at a disadvantage, a state he never welcomed and always tried to avoid.

He had to admit: she'd stood her ground. Better than most. Forced him to back off, veer off into offering general, weak-kneed comments about her prospective research fellowship for no reason. "Johns Hopkins would be lucky to have you." Hell if he cared, and, by the way, get out of my life. He could think it, couldn’t say it. Pretentious bitch. Acting like the Kents were her property, as though they hadn’t been more than family to him for nearly two years, now. As though he had no right to know what was going on. His palms had itched to shake her, smack her. But, of course, he hadn't. He'd kept control. The Anger Management class had been good for something.

Jealousy? He knew it was more complicated than that.

Bad enough that Martha Kent was gravely ill, and he could do nothing, knew little. But, now, Clark, too?

The thought made him feel strangely weak, and alone.

Lex gnawed his lip in vexation. Back at his office, he tried to work, to concentrate, but without success. Tried to imagine life without Clark Kent. Visions and memories from the past two years haunted him: Clark teasing, Clark aiming his devastating smile in Lex's direction, then sobering, suddenly. Clark begging, sweating, in the grip of an orgasm so powerful he'd left bruises on Lex's shoulder.

Clark, from back when their friendship was warm, sunkissed, blessed by Kansas prairie winds and star-filled skies.

More pictures of Clark, from darker, more recent times. Glances jealous, hurt, from the Desiree days, and since Helen had had a place in Lex's life, bleak and resigned. The disagreements, the distance, quarrels and brittle coldness. They’d been like a pair of angry strangers to each other, lately.

Clark. Dying, maybe. Alone.

Lex's heart twisted at the thought. And then ached. The haunting image wouldn't leave him. Maybe if he could see for himself--

He frowned.

If anyone deserved to know what was going on, he did. And, he would find out.

"It's okay, Mr. Kent." He spoke to wary Jonathan through the screen door. "Let me sit with him awhile. You must have chores, things to do." He made sure to keep his voice calm, not too demanding, noticing as he spoke how tired Jonathan looked.

Clark's father hesitated, and opened his mouth to answer, but Lex cut him off, holding his gaze steadily with his own.

"Please, Mr. Kent. I’m his friend."

And Jonathan had swung the door open, leading him to the darkened parlor with what seemed a combination of reluctance and relief before going out to the barn.

Lex sat, next to the sofa on which Clark slept, so soundly, still, that he might be...

He shook the thought away, narrowing his eyes, noting with relief the slow rise and fall of Clark's chest, barely perceptible as the boy slept. And reached out to touch Clark’s cheek with one gentle finger and the slightest of smiles.

After a moment, he began to speak, softly, so that no one but Clark could possibly have heard. . "Clark, I know things haven't been good between us lately. You might not understand why I'm keeping Helen around. Just trust me. And, remember our 'Godfather' conversation."

His smile was faint as he fingered one damp curl on Clark’s brow.

Open your eyes, Clark. Look at me.

"I know things have been tense the past couple of months. It hasn't been easy. We've both had things on our minds. We know our friendship is important to both of us, but we haven’t said much about it. We’re guys, after all." Lex chuckled. "Maybe we should have talked more often." He gripped Clark's wrist, kneading it lightly.

"And Lucas? Just trying to make you jealous, Clark. I'm not proud of that."

He sighed. "I never meant to hurt you. Or, maybe I did, I don't know. You haven’t deserved any of it, and I’m sorry, Clark."

He waited for some response, but Clark didn't stir. Lex continued, low, urgent.

"Since I've known you, you've never been sick. Till now. Oh, God. Just wake up and talk to me, Clark. Come on."

His voice thickened, and broke off. Bowing his head, he clasped and unclasped his hands.

"Just don’t leave me, Clark. Please. Get better, and maybe we can start being honest with each other. At last."

Clark moved, nestling into the pillow, and Lex caught his breath, bending near, glimpsing a brief sliver of blue as Clark’s eyes opened. The boy's low murmur was barely audible.

"Lex."

"I'm here, Clark." He leaned closer, desperate to catch anything further Clark might say.

Clark's eyes slipped closed again; he sighed, and slept on. Lex buried his face in his hands.

[And wept].

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