SV fic post: Out Of A Foreign Land part 8

[roxy]

Never doubt that I love you....

Title:: Out Of A Foreign Land
Author:: Roxy
Pairings/Characters:: Lex/Clark
Rating:: varying to nc-17
Word Count::
Summary:: Captain Trips has destroyed his world, but gives Lex one more chance to alter fate.
Notes:: written as an answer to the sv_renaissance "Steven King Challenge" 2008



This is one of two amazing covers that danceswithgary made for the story. Mind you, some high-pitched whining may have been involved. *koff*

behind this cut is the second cover!



Word count: 3455
Rating: PG

Out Of A Foreign Land

He had bags packed---food, and what medical supplies he could find, hopefully enough to take him without stopping for more right into Nebraska—hoped he'd be able to take the truck most of the way. He loaded the truck's cab, shoved the gun in the glove compartment, put the ammo on floor and set the rifle in the rack. He looked over his cargo, ran through his mental checklist and finally satisfied, shut the door.

He leaned against the closed door, unsettled, unhappy…the idea of leaving like this got under his skin, gnawed at him. It hurt him to think of leaving Clark there all alone, unburied…unprotected….

He went back to the garden to say good-bye. In the sun, Clark looked almost healthy, alive. Another tiny spider weaved its way across Clark's body, tiny scurrying steps moving it quickly from his chest to his neck, higher. Lex cursed—it was on his mouth now, and he bent to sweep it away—it didn’t matter to Clark anymore, but it mattered to him. The scavengers would have to wait until he couldn’t see Clark to perform their ancient rites. He reached out to pinch the life from it, and felt…warmth. Air. On his knuckles. Like a breath...a twitch, and the spider ran, over Clark's lip and down his chin, away….

Lex grabbed Clark's chin and turned it—the second his fingers touched skin he cried out in shock. The cold, stiff, clay-like feeling of Clark's skin was gone, felt like it *was*skin. Cool, but not cold. Not. Not…with a trembling finger, he pushed Clark's eyelid up and the eye underneath was bright, clear—the pupil shrank in the bright light.

"Clark, oh, oh God…" He wasn't dreaming, it was true. Clark was alive.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
When in the morning light I wake,
Teach me the path of love to take.

He couldn’t leave, there was no way he could drive away and leave Clark to come back by himself. He couldn't leave him alone. He might not be able to help, but he could…be there.

Day and night, they were in that damn garden—Clark needed the sun, like a big fucking alien battery, he needed to re-power. It made a twisted kind of sense. He used to dream about Clark naked and glowing like a god in the rays of the sun, putting out heat and light like a fire--subconsciously he'd always known.

Clark's powers were in the sun….

That day the spider crawled across his mouth, that afternoon, he'd watched Clark's skin pink up under the sun and knew—he'd grabbed a pair of shears from the barn, and cut Clark's clothes away. He'd worked the heavy shears up one pants leg, and through the other, and pulled the excess material away. The shirt came off easy; he'd nearly ripped it to shreds dragging Clark out of the cellar anyway. Boots and socks came off next, and there he was, naked to the sky, with only a pale pair of wash-worn boxers to cover him. They were the sort of thing people gave you for Christmas thinking they were being funny. Penguins or puffins--some ugly, squat bird, marched across the faded navy background and that was just—God, so sad. Clark woke up one morning and put those shorts on—probably everything else was in the wash, knowing Clark--Lex made a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh--and he'd had no idea it was going to be his last morning…

Lex watched a faint pinkish flush start at Clark's waist and slowly flow upward. He watched the slow, slow movement in awe and hope--and after a few minutes smacked himself with the hand not holding the shears. Idiot, he muttered. And cut the ugly boxers off. Clark was completely naked to the sun. The flush quickened, the pinkish color deepened to rose.

"Hell, if you get mad about me ripping your clothes off, sue me." He tried not to look, he really did, tried to think of Metropolis, Flower Face, puke on toast…Clark was…beautiful. And he was getting hard just looking at him….

Lex dropped to his knees and put a trembling hand on Clark's belly. He could feel life filling him—he could feel the skin warming, softening, feel the slight movement of breath under his hand. It was unreal. After all the death, it was a miracle. He covered his face with his hands and rubbed hard. It was a fucking miracle—and why couldn't he have thought of this before he lost Martha? Clark was breathing evenly, naturally, now. He was still the color of a blush from his hips to his cheekbones, but it was fading into a golden hue—his natural skin tone. Clark was coming back fast now, his skin twitched here and there, a finger, a toe…a hand flipped, palm up to the sun. Lex had a hunch and dashed off—he came back with a bag stuffed with protein bars, water, and dropped them on the ground.

How much longer it took after that, Lex was never able to tell later. But when Clark woke up—he woke up with a vengeance.


Lex was drowsing in the hot afternoon sun. The sleeping bag was a pillow under his head; it slipped sideways when he jerked awake. He heard a low sound like a moan, and it kicked his brain into gear. "Clark," he mumbled, "Okay, he's waking, good." He kicked the sleeping bag back out of the way and stared at Clark's still form through narrowed eyes. "I heard, you, I know it. You're alive, damn it, so get the hell up." He walked over to Clark, about to crouch down and shake him a little when suddenly he was on his ass halfway across the little garden, stars dancing in front of his eyes. His mouth was full of blood, and he heard hoarse, pained grunts he thought at first might be himself—

Clark arched and jerked on the ground, his face gone bright red and his mouth worked like he was gagging. His arms flailed every few seconds; Lex realized that Clark had clipped him during one of those convulsions, that's why he hurt from head to toe... He was pretty damn grateful Clark hadn’t broken anything…

Clark jackknifed to a sitting position and threw up. It was so…awful Lex couldn't bring himself to approach for long minutes. Clark gagged, and gasped, and Lex could only see his aide, burning up from the inside out and throwing up black phlegm before finally dying. A shiver ran across Clark's body, the sound he made was full of such agony that Lex groaned hearing it. Clark's head came up, and he struggled to focus.

"Muuh…um," he mumbled, blearily looking around, confused at his surroundings. He blinked and suddenly a convulsion shook him again, his legs jerked and dug furrows in the soft ground. His eyes rolled back…his mouth opened and no sound came out….

"Clark, Clark," Lex yelled, keeping distance. Clark was dangerous—he was awake but not fully aware—plus there was the possibility that when Clark realized the person with him was his greatest enemy, he might take the chance to put an end forever to this enmity they'd built. *Or* if he misinterpreted Lex being there when his mother died…Lex swallowed hard, but yelled again, "CLARK!"

"Mom—Da--?" Clark tried to focus on the sound. "Whu…what are you. Doing here?" Clark dropped his head; the effort of speaking exhausted him.

Lex stepped closer, and looked down at Clark. "Trying to save you," he sighed. "Save me, save you. Whatever."

Clark licked his lips. "Where…Mom?"

"I'm truly sorry, Clark." Lex shrugged. "There was nothing I could do. I don't know—"

He was trying to suck air back into his lungs, trying to clear the ringing in his head. He felt like he'd been hit by a board and he realized it was he who'd hit the board—Clark had him a foot in the air and pressed against the barn doors. "Luthor! What did you do to her? What did you do, you bastard?"

Lex stared into red, gleaming eyes and thought, 'holy fuck, he thinks I caused all of this. He thinks *I* did this—' He pawed at Clark's hands and a little giggle slipped around in his mind. All this way, survived all this shit, just to be killed by one of the good guys…he rested his hands on Clark's arms, closed his eyes and waited to die.

When the ground thumped the back of his head, he opened his eyes. Clark was weaving back and forth like a tree about to fall. "Sssshit—Damn, that hurt," Lex rasped, and coughed. His throat burned, his knees shook, too weak to hold him upright. "It's the world over, you idiot—not just Smallville or Metropolis or Kansas, you immortal moron. I had nothing to *do* with the virus." He gave in to racking coughs, when he could draw breath again, he glared at Clark. "Seems I should have been watching the government instead of watching the skies.

Clark said nothing, his hands were clenched in sledgehammer sized fists and he glared down at Lex…suddenly his posture shifted, his hands opened and his face softened. He dropped to a sitting position next to Lex, dropped his head on his knees. Lex breathed a sigh of relief. Clark was back. Kal-El, Superman, whoever that scary being had been--he was gone. "I—I know you didn't do this. Habit, I guess."

"Yes," Lex said shakily and smirked. "Habit—you got used to beating on me, didn't you? I think you liked it, rather a lot…" he sneered and tried to put as much venom into the words as possible. God, old habits. Clark was right.

"No, I—you—you-—Lex, damn it. Shut up! I mean, tell me where my mother is--"

Lex crawled back to his feet, using the barn as support. "Clark, if you can restrain yourself from killing me long enough for me to tell you—"

Clark growled just a little and Lex's breath came faster. Jesus…"I'm so sorry--your mother passed away--I swear to God, I did my very best to make her comfortable, which was all I could do. I'd *never* hurt her. And when you're not hating me, you know it's true."

Clark looked away from him. "Not on purpose anyway. You could have hurt her a dozen different ways—before, with all the stupid crap you—" He jerked his head back. His eyes were cold and hard as emeralds. "You’re just lucky you didn’t."

Lex smiled and focused on a point distant from Clark's eyes. Something inside him broke, and finally, he let go the last bit of the stupid fantasy that he'd been holding on to ever since Jonathan…Jonathan said… "Yes, okay, fair enough. There are protein bars and water in the bag over there. You should eat some now—you're going to need it. Mar—your mother's grave is on the edge of the garden, near that lilac. And I'm glad you’re awake." He started walking towards the truck. Relief felt…sharp. Sharp edged, and what the fuck—you expected a hug? A tearful reconciliation? Thanks? You’re as much an idiot as you were when you left Metropolis. He pulled open the door and Clark was in front of him with an expression he hadn't seen on his face since he was a boy. Fear—panic. And a hellish exhaustion…his eyes blazed in a chalk white face, the hand on his arm trembled, Clark was barely holding himself upright.

"Wait, sorry—I—don't go. Yet. I…just a few days…"

Lex fought down a ridiculous surge of hope. He understood only too well what it was that motivated Clark's apparent change of heart. "Sure, Clark. You don’t even have to ask. But…there is something you need to know. About what's been happening while you were…unaware."

"Okay," Clark nodded, his hand still wrapped around Lex's arm, like he'd forgotten it was there. "But then you'll tell me why I'm naked in my mom's garden? And we'll find Mother Abigail? She--she really seems to like you."

Lex stared at him open-mouthed. "You do know her? And. You like her?" Clark nodded solemnly, and Lex exhaled. Yeah. Of course you like her, and of course *she* likes you. "You're The Good Guy, aren't you?"

Clark looked puzzled for a moment, and slowly, slowly, a smile filled with astonishment, relief and something it took Lex a bit to realize was happiness made Clark's face shine. He said, "Lex, Lex…so are you."

******

Clark showered while Lex reheated leftover soup, and made sandwiches. As an afterthought, he went out and got the rest of the power bars, and piled them on the table next to Clark's bowl. Clark had torn through half a dozen in the garden, and as many bottles of water. He'd zipped away and before Lex could yell for him to slow down and let his body recover, he was, with an armload of rocks. Smooth, round, and still slightly damp, like they'd been taken from some lake, some river, and he stacked them on his mother's grave. Lex had walked away then, and waited for the sound of gentle sobs to die away.

Now, he was on the upper floor, showering, he was alive, recovering and obviously out of danger--and the thought that he was nude and *wet* right above him was making Lex hard. He shook his head. He was really a sick man with skewed priorities. And he'd be much more ashamed of himself but--Clark was alive. He smiled. Alive. And that meant—God, that they had a chance—*everyone* left alive had a chance of survival.

He poured soup into Martha's old fashioned crockery bowls and stopped when a stray thought hit him. *This* is what Jonathan meant by taking care of his boy. This is what Mother Abigail meant. Of course Kal didn't need any burying; he just needed…someone to care for. To keep him on track. Lex dropped onto his chair. His thoughts raced as he tried to remember details of his dreams concerning Clark. Wait…Mother called him Kal. What did that mean?

"Umm…hi." Clark was standing on the stair, shining, clean, and smelling a little of peaches. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, a twin to the pair Lex had on, and an old Crows jersey. Lex tried not to stare. It was a little tight across the chest, but Clark hadn't been as big as he was now, the year he'd bought those jerseys and equipment for the football team…yes, and hadn't *that* been smooth?

Clark moved closer and the smell of something vaguely spicy along with the peach and a hint of green tea made Lex inhale, he smiled faintly and miraculously, Clark smiled back. "I smell like a girl, don't I? Mom's soap and shampoo." He stopped and when he spoke again, his voice held just the faintest hint of a tremor. "Hey. I'm going to check on how much fuel's available. I know there's enough hot water in the tank now for another shower…but we'll need more fuel to heat water soon."

"It's okay Clark. I'll take one later. Eat now." Clark's shy smile grew into a sharp toothed grin, and he was at the table and attacking the soup before Lex could finish his sentence. "Ah. You know…we can't stay here, right? You've been having the dreams like I have, you know we can't stop here."

Clark wiped his mouth and nodded, barely able to stop eating long enough to answer. "Yeah, I know. Lex—they were good dreams. When I knew I was getting sick, I was so worried about Mom, but Mother Abigail told me I didn’t have to worry, that someone brave and faithful was going to come and take care of her—and she meant you. At first I laughed—"

"Oh, *thanks* for that vote of confidence—"

"Lex! But I'm beginning to remember now, that I got to *see*. You were brave. So brave. And Mercy…she was a hero." Clark shook his head. "You did so many wrong things; I hate to count Hope and Mercy as two more…"

"Clark, please. I know exactly what I've done wrong. And God knows I truly understand the reason for that project's existence was wrong. But I can't feel bad that it produced Hope and Mercy."

"Because they loved you, Lex. If they hadn't...they could have been monsters." Clark fell silent and finished his sandwich, avoiding Lex's eyes.

"Well." Lex stood and took their empty bowls away. "They had to love me, didn't they? They were indoctrinated, trained to do so."

Clark grabbed Lex's hand before he could walk away. He shook his head. "No. They really did love you. And all along you thought it was their training? It's so sad you think no one you love, can love you back."

Lex leaned away from Clark's intense green eyes. "Clark, we need to get ready..."


Clark let go. "Get the maps from the truck, Lex. Is there coffee? I'll make some, you get the maps and I'll show you where we have to go."

Lex paused at the kitchen door. "I know where we're going—Nebraska."

"Umm." Clark wolfed down another power bar and looked thoughtfully at a can of pineapple chunks—he poked a finger through the top and peeled it off. He licked his fingers clean, muttered, "No, not there." He looked up at Lex with a smile. "Boulder. Boulder Free Zone, Colorado. That's where we need to go."

******

They were leaning against the posts on the porch. The night breeze was starting to be crisp, and Lex was shocked that the days of summer were winding down.

Clark gulped the coffee in his steaming cup, hotter than a human could easily drink. "A few more days of sun and I'll be back to normal. Then we won't have to worry about the truck, or food—I can fly us where we need to go."

Lex shook his head. "I believe you'll have to continue re-fueling on the road, my friend. I have the feeling that time is getting short. Snow will be falling soon in the mountains, and it might not be a problem for you, but it will for me, and we have no guarantee you'll be well enough to fly by then. No, we need to leave tomorrow—quick as possible, to get to Mother, and then to Boulder."

"Yeah, you're right."

Lex leaned back and stretched and caught Clark looking, his expression carefully blank. "How much else did you see?" Lex asked, and he could see Clark knew right away what he meant.

"Not that much. You were in trouble in Cloverdale, there was a man there. And you…saw Bruce."

Lex nodded. "Bruce." A cold wind blew over him, and gooseflesh broke out on his arms…he took out the cigarette pack he'd shoved in his back pocket, and started to shake one out. Clark's big hand wrapped over his.

"You don’t really need those, do you?" He was smiling at him, and there was just the barest edge of condescension, and—it made him laugh.

"Okay, I don't need them." He handed the pack to Clark, who smiled liked he'd done a particularly clever thing, and then, threw the pack over the barn, into the sky…"Those filters aren't bio-degradable, you know." Clark looked momentarily horrified and Lex snickered…

******


They were about to part, to go into their separate bedrooms—Lex staying in Clark's old room and Clark sleeping in the cleaned room that had been his parent's. Clark stopped Lex before he opened his door. "Those times you came to see Mother Abigail, I saw you."

Lex nodded. "Once I remembered seeing you. You looked like…you cared what happened to me."

"Lex—it was like being able to look right inside you. At first, you always looked more—dark than light, but the last time, oh, the last time—you were *shining*. So bright, like the sun. You were afraid, but you wouldn’t give up. You never give up." He smiled wide, and Lex felt himself lean—no, more a kind of falling forward, and Clark caught him. Held him. "Lex, we're the only two people in the world who know each other, now. I'm all you have."

How could those rather egotistical sounding words make him cry? The truth shouldn’t make you cry….


TBC
part 9

Comments

[danceswithgary]

Wonderful! I'm tearing up at Clark's reminding Lex that he's good. So many good pieces in this. *happy sigh*

[roxymissrose.livejournal.com]

Your comment makes me feel so good!