Brothers And Heroes part 47
4/25/06 01:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyI’m stunned by my stupidity—or maybe I should say this is an example of how distracted I am…I swore that I posted this bit but I've looked back and forth and it seems like I didn’t. Damn. *rethinking this whole paxil thing* So, I’ll post this bit and with any luck the next bit that I’ve been working on and we’ll be up to speed again on B&H. Sloooooolwy coasting to the finish line! *G*
The Previous Parts are here, milling about in confusion—they thought this was the unemployment line…
Brothers And Heroes
Lex had been in pain for a long time after Bruce and Clark disappeared. He was so angry at first that he refused to answer letters, and had decided that he’d take no calls from them, but calls never came, and the letters were few and far between. Time passed and anger faded and pain dulled, and now, when he thought of them, it was with a distant hollow ache.
He left Princeton and attended Met U just as his father wished. It was a cold, lonely place without Bruce. He had no one but his dad turn to and as time went by, he came to believe it was enough.
He took the classes his dad wanted him to take. He socialized with his set. He dated the women his dad found acceptable. He lived a comfortable life in an apartment paid for by his dad and drove to whatever appointments his dad considered important in a LuthorCorp car. Every day was as structured and uneventful as the last, and every day ended with a phone call from his dad, a recap of sorts. Each conversation ended with some bit of wisdom. Every day.
*****
He yawned and stretched across the acres and acres of satin smooth sheets, back arching as he worked sleep stiff muscles. He woke the same way every morning, curled tight around himself with his fists clenched to his chest. It didn’t make for the most restful sleep, he thought ruefully and fanned out his fingers. He debated again about sleeping aids. His doctor had recommended them, but he hated the feeling of waking up in a muzzy fog worse than waking up stiff and achy.
His coffee and the post, and of course, his morning paper was waiting for him in the breakfast nook. Every morning began with the paper and coffee. Like clockwork—shower, dress, get breakfast. In some ways it was the best part of his routine, he thought, as he sipped and read, and checked the itinerary his dad sent.
Every day.
He sighed in exasperation, but he wasn’t all together annoyed. He’d come to find the daily list of things to do almost endearing, amusing…almost. He slid the sheet under the newspaper and picked up his mail. He tossed credit card offers and “You have won!” announcements to the side. Between the envelopes a postcard peeked, and his heart sped up. It was grimy and creased and had obviously passed through many hands but it was clearly legible.
Bruce. Bruce wanting a favor, wanting to send Clark back home. To him. His heart beat uncomfortably fast and he hated how dry his mouth was. He put the postcard aside and continued with his morning routine,
Just before he left the apartment some impulse made him grab the card and shove it into his coat pocket.
From one end of the campus to the other, his hand kept sneaking into his pocket and worrying the edge of the card. It distracted him during classes; he spent the entire time composing responses to it in his head. He muttered and growled and made the people around him nervous.
Between classes, he met with his dad for lunch. Surprisingly, lunch that day was at a restaurant that was one of Lex’s favorites rather than one Lionel liked. Lex took that as a positive sign, and mentioned casually that he’d finally heard from Bruce…Bruce Kent?
“Really?” Lionel looked interested. “Kent Farms is doing well. He has good men on his side. Kent Farms would be an excellent addition to LuthorCorp,” he said thought fully.
Lex separated the various lettuces in his salad, pushing them around the plate. “Well, he asked if his brother could come and stay with me for a while.”
Lionel cocked an eyebrow and watched Lex eat leaf by leaf of his salad.
“That’s interesting. To have him in your debt…that’s not a bad thing. Would you mind, Lex?”
His tone of voice was so odd that Lex looked up. There was nothing he could see in his father’s face but he felt as if the man was intruding on his personal space. “I wouldn’t mind, no. Why do you ask? Are you afraid of rumors? Haven’t I been circumspect?” He threw his napkin on the table and pushed the plate back, most of the salad still on his plate. Lunch with his father was most often a laughable waste of food, he thought. A familiar ache in his stomach made him grimace and reach for the glass of water.
“I’m very public in whom I date as you well know, since you choose the dates and the place and—and everything….” Lex trailed off, already exhausted. “Any way, you don’t have to worry. I’d just be doing a favor for a …friend.”
“As I said,” he replied with an amused shrug. “Really, Lex, you’re way too sensitive. Learn to control that, son.”
Lex reached into his pocket and felt the softened edges of the post card. “I know. You’re right, Dad.”
******
It was a cool night, so Lex had a fire built in the fireplace. He liked watching the flames dance, the way they cast shadows; the way the mind tried to find sense in the shapes. It was like watching clouds. He got a clear flash of memory, of lying on the rocks and watching the clouds, calling out the shapes they saw. Bruce and Clark. He grimaced. Right. The postcard.
He wrote a bitter angry letter, accusing Bruce of using him, of casting his brother off the moment he became the least bit difficult. He invited Bruce to kiss every square inch of his ass, and to drop dead in a public and humiliating way. He demanded to know why would he want to send him Clark, when he took him away in the first place, and besides he knew Bruce wanted to keep Clark away from him, he wasn’t stupid, he knew Bruce was jealous and went on and on in this vein at a furious pace, in fact, wrote until his wrist ached and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth.
Sat back and heaved a great sigh of relief. He re-read what he’d written, and nodded at especially good points. Well written, he thought.
Lex stood and folded the sheets carefully. With a deep sigh, he threw them into the fireplace, and watched the flames dance across the sheets, curling and blackening them and flinging the ash up the flue. He laughed at himself as he watched the letter die. There was nothing he could deny Bruce—especially not where Clark was involved. He might try to ignore it or deny it to himself but he loved Clark, and he knew deep in his soul that no matter what was happening, wherever he was…he pulled out the postcard and looked at the smeared photo on the front…Germany or England or any where on the planet, Clark loved him back. He sat again at his desk, smoothed the postcard as flat as he could and grabbed a note card. He didn’t need a lot of room to write what he wanted to say.
******
He was excited, anxious, full of anticipation. He laughed at himself—he was in absolute danger of becoming bubbly, if he wasn’t careful. It wouldn’t do to have Dad endlessly lecture him on control.
He decided that room next to his would make a better bedroom than a study so he hired a decorator to make it happen. He spent an inordinate amount of time choosing just the right color for the walls and the linens. He wanted it to be…not plain, but relaxed, simple, inviting. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Clark in the same kind of stark charcoal and slate palette he’d chosen for his room. He ignored his mind trying to drag his libido over to the vision of Clark spread eagled on charcoal bed linens, rumpling them with his fist, his legs…
They chose shades of blue, with a red accent. Lex felt certain Clark would like it. It seemed rustic, or so the decorator assured him. Rustic, homespun, whatever. To him, it said Kent. Comfortable, unpretentious—just what he wanted this room to be.
He ordered furniture and a laptop and tons of games—hopefully the kind of stuff a guy would think was cool, and waited for a response from Bruce. A week or two went by, and he arranged for leave from school and had a cabinet built to house the TV and dozens and dozens of DVDs for Clark’s room. Another week went by, and he drove his hapless personal shopper nearly insane, buying clothes for Clark, enough to fill the closet and the drawers. Sometimes he sat in the room, holding a shirt or a sweater and imagining that Clark had already worn it.
So much time went by, he began to think he’d imagined the postcard. He took it back out of the drawer he’d tossed it in, so creased now that it was almost illegible. He needed to carry it with him, just to assure himself that it was real. He slept in Clark’s room a lot; it helped to ease him during the wait.
Lionel asked him to take over running a small import-export company they’d just acquired. He planned to ship his chemical fertilizer through the company and wanted Lex to solve some problems in management. Lex read that as firing everyone in charge and taking the heat for it. He was almost grateful for the distraction.
One morning, he received another postcard from Bruce, no return address on this one….
Lex,
Thanks. It’s okay now.
B.
He held it in his lap, and ice filled him. Ice was preferable to rage, he thought. He needed to work---but later, later he planned to give in to the fury that lurked right behind his eyes. He started to rip the card in two, but instead, threw it into a ceramic bowl on the shelf behind him. After a moment, he threw the first postcard in the bowl with it, and went to bed.
tbc and this time, pretty darn soon!
The Previous Parts are here, milling about in confusion—they thought this was the unemployment line…
Brothers And Heroes
Lex had been in pain for a long time after Bruce and Clark disappeared. He was so angry at first that he refused to answer letters, and had decided that he’d take no calls from them, but calls never came, and the letters were few and far between. Time passed and anger faded and pain dulled, and now, when he thought of them, it was with a distant hollow ache.
He left Princeton and attended Met U just as his father wished. It was a cold, lonely place without Bruce. He had no one but his dad turn to and as time went by, he came to believe it was enough.
He took the classes his dad wanted him to take. He socialized with his set. He dated the women his dad found acceptable. He lived a comfortable life in an apartment paid for by his dad and drove to whatever appointments his dad considered important in a LuthorCorp car. Every day was as structured and uneventful as the last, and every day ended with a phone call from his dad, a recap of sorts. Each conversation ended with some bit of wisdom. Every day.
*****
He yawned and stretched across the acres and acres of satin smooth sheets, back arching as he worked sleep stiff muscles. He woke the same way every morning, curled tight around himself with his fists clenched to his chest. It didn’t make for the most restful sleep, he thought ruefully and fanned out his fingers. He debated again about sleeping aids. His doctor had recommended them, but he hated the feeling of waking up in a muzzy fog worse than waking up stiff and achy.
His coffee and the post, and of course, his morning paper was waiting for him in the breakfast nook. Every morning began with the paper and coffee. Like clockwork—shower, dress, get breakfast. In some ways it was the best part of his routine, he thought, as he sipped and read, and checked the itinerary his dad sent.
Every day.
He sighed in exasperation, but he wasn’t all together annoyed. He’d come to find the daily list of things to do almost endearing, amusing…almost. He slid the sheet under the newspaper and picked up his mail. He tossed credit card offers and “You have won!” announcements to the side. Between the envelopes a postcard peeked, and his heart sped up. It was grimy and creased and had obviously passed through many hands but it was clearly legible.
Bruce. Bruce wanting a favor, wanting to send Clark back home. To him. His heart beat uncomfortably fast and he hated how dry his mouth was. He put the postcard aside and continued with his morning routine,
Just before he left the apartment some impulse made him grab the card and shove it into his coat pocket.
From one end of the campus to the other, his hand kept sneaking into his pocket and worrying the edge of the card. It distracted him during classes; he spent the entire time composing responses to it in his head. He muttered and growled and made the people around him nervous.
Between classes, he met with his dad for lunch. Surprisingly, lunch that day was at a restaurant that was one of Lex’s favorites rather than one Lionel liked. Lex took that as a positive sign, and mentioned casually that he’d finally heard from Bruce…Bruce Kent?
“Really?” Lionel looked interested. “Kent Farms is doing well. He has good men on his side. Kent Farms would be an excellent addition to LuthorCorp,” he said thought fully.
Lex separated the various lettuces in his salad, pushing them around the plate. “Well, he asked if his brother could come and stay with me for a while.”
Lionel cocked an eyebrow and watched Lex eat leaf by leaf of his salad.
“That’s interesting. To have him in your debt…that’s not a bad thing. Would you mind, Lex?”
His tone of voice was so odd that Lex looked up. There was nothing he could see in his father’s face but he felt as if the man was intruding on his personal space. “I wouldn’t mind, no. Why do you ask? Are you afraid of rumors? Haven’t I been circumspect?” He threw his napkin on the table and pushed the plate back, most of the salad still on his plate. Lunch with his father was most often a laughable waste of food, he thought. A familiar ache in his stomach made him grimace and reach for the glass of water.
“I’m very public in whom I date as you well know, since you choose the dates and the place and—and everything….” Lex trailed off, already exhausted. “Any way, you don’t have to worry. I’d just be doing a favor for a …friend.”
“As I said,” he replied with an amused shrug. “Really, Lex, you’re way too sensitive. Learn to control that, son.”
Lex reached into his pocket and felt the softened edges of the post card. “I know. You’re right, Dad.”
******
It was a cool night, so Lex had a fire built in the fireplace. He liked watching the flames dance, the way they cast shadows; the way the mind tried to find sense in the shapes. It was like watching clouds. He got a clear flash of memory, of lying on the rocks and watching the clouds, calling out the shapes they saw. Bruce and Clark. He grimaced. Right. The postcard.
He wrote a bitter angry letter, accusing Bruce of using him, of casting his brother off the moment he became the least bit difficult. He invited Bruce to kiss every square inch of his ass, and to drop dead in a public and humiliating way. He demanded to know why would he want to send him Clark, when he took him away in the first place, and besides he knew Bruce wanted to keep Clark away from him, he wasn’t stupid, he knew Bruce was jealous and went on and on in this vein at a furious pace, in fact, wrote until his wrist ached and his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth.
Sat back and heaved a great sigh of relief. He re-read what he’d written, and nodded at especially good points. Well written, he thought.
Lex stood and folded the sheets carefully. With a deep sigh, he threw them into the fireplace, and watched the flames dance across the sheets, curling and blackening them and flinging the ash up the flue. He laughed at himself as he watched the letter die. There was nothing he could deny Bruce—especially not where Clark was involved. He might try to ignore it or deny it to himself but he loved Clark, and he knew deep in his soul that no matter what was happening, wherever he was…he pulled out the postcard and looked at the smeared photo on the front…Germany or England or any where on the planet, Clark loved him back. He sat again at his desk, smoothed the postcard as flat as he could and grabbed a note card. He didn’t need a lot of room to write what he wanted to say.
******
He was excited, anxious, full of anticipation. He laughed at himself—he was in absolute danger of becoming bubbly, if he wasn’t careful. It wouldn’t do to have Dad endlessly lecture him on control.
He decided that room next to his would make a better bedroom than a study so he hired a decorator to make it happen. He spent an inordinate amount of time choosing just the right color for the walls and the linens. He wanted it to be…not plain, but relaxed, simple, inviting. Somehow he couldn’t imagine Clark in the same kind of stark charcoal and slate palette he’d chosen for his room. He ignored his mind trying to drag his libido over to the vision of Clark spread eagled on charcoal bed linens, rumpling them with his fist, his legs…
They chose shades of blue, with a red accent. Lex felt certain Clark would like it. It seemed rustic, or so the decorator assured him. Rustic, homespun, whatever. To him, it said Kent. Comfortable, unpretentious—just what he wanted this room to be.
He ordered furniture and a laptop and tons of games—hopefully the kind of stuff a guy would think was cool, and waited for a response from Bruce. A week or two went by, and he arranged for leave from school and had a cabinet built to house the TV and dozens and dozens of DVDs for Clark’s room. Another week went by, and he drove his hapless personal shopper nearly insane, buying clothes for Clark, enough to fill the closet and the drawers. Sometimes he sat in the room, holding a shirt or a sweater and imagining that Clark had already worn it.
So much time went by, he began to think he’d imagined the postcard. He took it back out of the drawer he’d tossed it in, so creased now that it was almost illegible. He needed to carry it with him, just to assure himself that it was real. He slept in Clark’s room a lot; it helped to ease him during the wait.
Lionel asked him to take over running a small import-export company they’d just acquired. He planned to ship his chemical fertilizer through the company and wanted Lex to solve some problems in management. Lex read that as firing everyone in charge and taking the heat for it. He was almost grateful for the distraction.
One morning, he received another postcard from Bruce, no return address on this one….
Lex,
Thanks. It’s okay now.
B.
He held it in his lap, and ice filled him. Ice was preferable to rage, he thought. He needed to work---but later, later he planned to give in to the fury that lurked right behind his eyes. He started to rip the card in two, but instead, threw it into a ceramic bowl on the shelf behind him. After a moment, he threw the first postcard in the bowl with it, and went to bed.
tbc and this time, pretty darn soon!
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4/29/06 05:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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