Resignation

by a campbell

Clark/Lex, PG-13

Spoilers for S5

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The wan light of a winter dawn filtered through the institutional curtains, the small, cheap digital clock on the bedstand blinking a cool, green 7:22. Lex turned over on his side in the hospital bed, hissing at the pain. Even though he felt far better physically than by rights he should, everything still hurt. Past time, he thought, for those painkillers they’d dosed him with to be kicking in.

Now that the decision was made, he felt oddly peaceful. Resigned. And alone to face the grim path before him. Time to bid a belated farewell to the illusion that, in Smallville, a new and better life might be his. Time to relinquish the seductive dream vision, and the bitterness of its eventual disappointment, for good. He needed no one.

Maybe those drugs were working after all.

Maybe they were, because it seemed that someone was in the chair by his bed. And if it laughing wasn’t so painful right now, he’d have chuckled bitterly at his own foolishness. But within a moment, he was realizing that, drugs or not, someone actually was in the room. A visitor, not medical personnel. Without moving, without turning his head, he knew who it was, even before the halting voice began to speak.

“I turned on the news when I finished the chores, and--Lex, I came as soon as I heard. I had to get them to let me in. They weren’t going to—--" Lex shifted, turned again, not noticing the pain this time. Clark wore a denim jacket, jeans and work boots, and no, Lex was no stranger to the helpless, tender expression that settled on those handsome features. That expression had won much from him long ago, in another life: cars, money, countless fond favors. Devotion. Love. But it meant nothing now.

Today it didn’t occur to Lex to wonder what Clark was doing up in Metropolis in the wee hours of Christmas morning instead of opening presents from his parents or snuggling with his new sweetheart in the barn loft. At one time he would have. Not any more.

But he said it, anyway, voice flat in the quiet of the room, just to keep the silence at bay. "What are you doing here, Clark?"

"I came to see if you were okay. It was really serious this time, Lex. I’d ask you what you were doing alone in that seedy area, but I know you probably wouldn’t tell me the truth."

Lex didn’t dignify the remark with a response. The two of them had spent far too much time over the last couple of years trading accusations of dishonesty, not much different from two kids playing tug of war with a well-worn rope. It was time they both accepted the fact that honesty between them was a lost cause.

"No worries," he replied, letting his gaze roam the ceiling. "Lionel Luthor’s money can buy anything. Even perfect health for someone who doesn’t want it." And, much as he aimed to stay remote and distant, he gave in to the urge to glance over at Clark to gauge the effect of the comment.

Clark’s head was bowed, and it was a moment before he looked up. Lex had no energy to catch his breath at the beauty of his face, but his sore stomach executed a small flip, nonetheless, occasioning a small flicker of annoyance at his weakness. He should be long past such idiocy by now.

Clark opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. He shook his head, gaze deepening. He reached toward the bed but Lex leveled him a look that froze him in his tracks. He let his hand drop and shook his head again. "Don’t say that, Lex," he begged in a tone of quiet desperation.

"You can stop pretending to care. None of it matters."

"I’ll always care about you, Lex."

Lex gave a weak snort. "You have an odd way of showing it, overall."

"I mean it."

Lex looked away, fighting the urge to pull the thin hospital pillow over his ears.

"Would you mind looking at me while we talk?" And Lex thinned his lips and clenched his free hand into as tight a fist as he could. However distant they’d grown, Clark was still hard to resist when he sounded like a hurt, sulky child. All right, he conceded, turning back over to face Clark with a wince. Clark’s eyes darkened, and he reached out as though to stop him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you hurt worse.”

Lex sighed. "Don’t mention it. Just turn out the light as you leave."

He let his eyes drop closed. Heard the shuffle of one step, then two, then Clark’s voice, close to the side of the bed, felt the mattress dip.

Lex tensed, opened one eye. Saw Clark looking down at him, so close, shaking his head in dismay.

"Can’t you just be careful for once, Lex? You’re always pushing it. Always taking chances, getting in trouble. Making it impossible for me to defend you. Or believe in you, even though I want that more than just about anything.”

He took a quick breath. "Lex, I want to believe in you so much. Why can’t you work harder at being the good person I know you can be? The good person I know you really are."

Lex sighed and shook his head as sharply as he could manage. “Stop it, Clark. It’s too late.”

"No," Clark shook his head with a vehemence that caused the mattress to tremble. "It’s not too late, Lex. It can’t be. I don’t want to…" Clark took a deep breath and when he spoke again, there was a catch in his voice. "I don’t want us to fight any more."

At one time, Lex might have cared whether the future held harmony or an endless string of quarrels for Clark and him. But not now. The medicine finally seemed to be working, thank God, and he only wanted to sleep. And forget.

"Save it, Clark. Save your advice, your judgment, your concern. We both know they’re all lies. And get out of here and go back to Smallville. Back to your perfect home, your perfect girlfriend, your perfect family." Lex winced as he shifted again on the hard hospital mattress, back toward the window once again. "Your perfect life."

Lex had grown accustomed to having his orders obeyed. He expected Clark to rise at once to his feet and take his leave, but he sat still, without moving.

Lex waited.

"Lex, I wish it could have been different. If only it could have been different."

If wishes were horses, Lex reflected drowsily, bleakly, not bothering to spend much time wondering how Clark’s platitude-loving father could have missed laying that one on his gifted son.

Beggars might ride.

He refused to react to the hesitant touch that lingered briefly on his arm, resolved to listen to nothing else. After a few moments, he felt the mattress lift at last as Clark rose to his feet, followed by the slow drag of booted feet which kept going this time, and a soft click as the door closed.

Good riddance, Lex told himself firmly, his last thought before oblivion enveloped him.

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