sv fic post: East of the Sun part 49
8/25/08 12:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: East of the Sun
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Clark
Rating:R
Word Count:2384
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: AU, so very AU
Fair warning, dear readers—the mistakes here are all my own. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
danceswithgary for her encouragement and of course, the lovely cover!
The phone rang steadily, and Alex and Jules looked up. Neither moved, it was Wade's job to answer the phone. He seemed reluctant…it took a few long seconds before he finally stood and walked to the telephone table. Alex folded his newspaper and caught Jules' eyes over his book. He raised an eyebrow at Jules who shrugged, and they both watched Wade pick up the phone. Beyond saying hello, he was silent. He listened, nodding his head even though it was pointless. He winced and glanced around the room, at the ceiling, out the window…he hung up and stared at the windows for some minutes, and then said, "Chauncey, take Julian to his room. Alex and I have to talk."
"I'll be right back--"
"No. Make sure everything's…secured."
*Chauncey*…Chauncey…"Clean him up Chauncey, that's a good boy…" Alex stepped off the edge into a black wave of fury Chauncey and pain and…and Bruce, and he knew, with a twisting stab of betrayal…Bruce. Every muscle in his body tightened, nausea and rage flowed through him. He stepped towards Wade, the rage he felt making everything seem brighter, clearer than ever. Very softly, with a smile, so quietly that the words were only between himself and Wade he said, "You lay one hand on my brother and I'll kill you—" and he knew it would be easy to do—enjoyable.
"I told you you didn’t have to worry about Julian." Wade spoke back as softly. "I meant it. He's not going to die. I promise you."
Alex stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie, and even knowing what the man was capable of, he found he believed him. He believed that Wade would do his best to keep Jules safe, just as he promised. Lex nodded. "Okay. Go with Wallma—Chauncey, Jules. It'll be okay. I'll tuck you in later."
"Lex!" Jules protested the 'tucking' in, but he smiled. "Okay. Pirates tonight?"
"Pirates, you bet." He smiled until Wallman shut the door and then turned to Wade. "What next?"
Wade lit a cigarette, and blew a thick cloud of smoke over Alex's head. He didn't speak and then he was in front of him, hand on Alex's shoulder and pressing down until his knees gave. He leaned over and kissed him, broke the thin skin of his lip. A drop of blood stood out red against the pale pink. "Alex."
Alex shuddered. "You're going to kill me now, aren’t you? Don't I get a last wish?" He tried to keep his tone light." Can't you take Jules home first, please?"
Wade wiped the drop away with his thumb, shook his head. "Sorry. I can't do that—"
@@@@@@
"It's cleaning day, boys."
There was an explosion--it felt like one. Pete tried to dash out of the kitchen, stumbling into flailing bodies, trying to shove them out of the way. The rear kitchen door cracked like a gunshot as the cooks and busboys ran through it, out to what was hopefully safety in the alley behind the club. Pete had to fight his way against them, into the club, into the screaming crowd running every which way.
pop-pop-pop-
Dishes smashed against the floor and someone started screaming, a high pitched shriek of agony. The table lights sputtered and died, the ceiling fans swirled smoke into the darkness.
pop-pop
Pete weaved in and out of the tables, looking for Simon, praying the screaming he heard came from someone else, someone he didn’t know—something hot and hard bit his ear, and he clapped his hand over it. He pulled the gun up, ready to shoot—a white face swam into view, yelling something he didn’t understand or care to, he just pulled the trigger and kept pulling until the face was gone. Gunpowder burnt his nose, and now his eyes were burning and running and he still couldn’t find his brother.
pop-pop-pop-pop
It was dark and hot, hard to see and he tripped over someone laying spread out on the floor who stared up at him with one glazed eye, the other blown into a big red hole. A tray and dishes scattered under what was left of his head. Pete dragged his eyes away from the sight and across the dance floor saw Royal's second in command with Simon backing him up, saw them jump over a turned over table, saw them blasting away. The men around Morgan Edge were dropping, firing as they fell. Edge was tilting, dropping too, falling to one knee with a look of astonishment on his face and all around him his men were falling, outgunned, outsmarted....
"Shouldn'ta gone after the money, boy." Royal's man pumped the short shotgun he held and took aim at Morgan. He was on his back, gasping, coughing blood and still looking astonished—such a thing couldn't be happening, they couldn't have been bested by people like *these*
"King Royal's got a message for you—'Cash *is* King.' You tryin' to cut him outta his cash…tsk-tsk-tsk. Stupid." He shot, Simon shot, every man still standing shot—the noise died away, until there was only the sound of men dying.
Pete stood at Simon's back, the gun he'd emptied lost somewhere in the club…blood and gunpowder and charring food a nauseating stench that was quickly being masked by the smell of gasoline. His hands went to his ears, trying to block the sound and something thick and hot was making one hand slip down his face.
Simon turned and did a double take—yelled at him. "What the blue fucking hell are you doing here—Pete!" He yanked Pete's hand away from his head, cursed loud and long at the blood running free. He swiped through the blood and prodded at his ear.
A bolt of lightning jabbed the side of his head. "Yowtch! Leave it be, damn it."
Simon laughed, "You got a real bee bite there, boy. You'll never lose that souvenir." They hung off each other, relief making both giddy, laughing until it hit Pete like a sledge hammer, what he'd done….
"God damn it, stop laughing. I think I killed someone tonight."
Simon sobered immediately. "Fuck, Pete—see that? That's why I didn’t want you out here. I wish you weren't a part of this, shit…come on. At least, everyone'll be safe now."
"Yeah. We going to Jersey with the rest of them, right?"
"Yeah. We going. I got tickets waiting for us. Royal wants all of us here out of the way and quick. You can get in touch with your boss after we get some miles between us and Metropolis."
The smell of gas grew stronger, and the club was emptying quick. They heard sirens in the background, and the place went up with a thick whump of gas catching and burning…in the alley the guys left standing split up, and Pete and Simon were in a car taking them to the train out of Metropolis…the word about Morgan Edge would be on the street in minutes and over the next few days there'd be some real bloodshed. Whoever was left standing was going to get the pie—and no slice of that was coming out of Royal's turf ….
@@@@@@
"—I just can't do that. Morgan can't have any loose ends…like you. He wants Jules. If…if I tell him about you, what you can do…it might save your life, but it won't be worth much." He slid the gun holstered under his arm out smooth as silk. Pushed it under Alex's chin, exactly where he'd driven his thumb a few days ago—the bruise was still there. He shook his head and a thick black curl dropped down to sweep over his red eyes. His lip twisted and he said, "I didn't know a person could *feel* like this. This…Jesus… feels *awful*. Like I'm losing myself. I don't think I can stand it anymore."
There was a sharp knock at the door and Chauncey walked in. "He's down for the night. So, how long before we're back in the city—what's going on?" He stared at Alex on his knees. "You're going to *do* it? I never thought you would--" Alex watched the play of conflicting emotions on Wallman's face and thought he had a good chance….
Wade took a grip on Alex's tie, and whatever he'd been feeling a moment ago seemed to disappear. He was himself again, cool and distant. "Well, Chauncey, yes I can. Got no choice. Mr. Edge told me I had to. And you knew this was coming the minute we picked that boy up, so get back in the corner, all right, and *shut the fuck up.*"
Chauncey had his gun out and trained on Wade, shaking his head. "Not going to let you. You put your gun up."
"You nuts? You got no choice here either, boy--not even as much as me." He wrapped Alex's tie tight around his fist, and raised his gun to point at Chauncey. "I'm not gonna shoot you, unless I have to. I need you, you're my man. I don't wanna do it, okay? You know I'm better at this than you are."
"Doubtful, Boss—besides, at this range, neither of us got a chance—" The phone rang, and rang, and rang.
"Get the phone, Chaunce. Swear to God, I won’t do anything, all right? Go get the phone." Alex thought, this was it, last chance—Wade yanked the tie and he choked, fell forward until his cheek was pressed to his thigh.
Chauncey backed up until his fingers hit the phone. He answered, eyes locked on Wade's. His look of surprise slowly changed into a look of fearful…relief, and he set the phone back on its hook. "Boss—Mr. Edge is dead. You ain't gotta do it now. It's all over, war's done for us. You can let them go."
Wade went white as a sheet and asked, "…what now? Explain this."
"I said, Mr. Edge is dead. You can let them go—" Alex narrowed his eyes; prayed Wallman was as good a shot as he claimed, and bit down hard on Wade's thigh. He waited for something, Wade to jump, yell, hit him—something. He tasted blood and wool and Wade grunted but never flinched. Wallman was drawing at the moment Alex moved--Wade shot him right between the eyes and the man dropped without a sound.
"Alex," he scolded sadly. "You made me kill Chauncey." Alex froze where he was; Wade looked down on him, dropped the tie and with a finger to the forehead gently pushed an unresisting Alex away. "He was the closest thing to a friend I had." The gun tracked back to him, resettled under his chin. The barrel was warm against his skin. "I understand though. I gotta do this but don’t worry, I'll come after," Wade said.
"What? But—no—you don’t have to. No one's telling you what to do now—hell you can live good off the money Lionel's going to pay to have Jules set free. Why—why do this at all now?"
"Like you said, no one's left to tell me what to do. What have I got?"
"Wife, kids…." Alex stammered, trying to think of something, someone to pull Wade back from the brink, but everyone the man had ever had some feeling for was dead or about to be.
Wade shrugged impatiently, jabbing Alex hard in the throat. "What's that stuff to me? I was only doing what Morgan wanted me to. Who am I supposed to be without him? How will I know what to do?"
He stared down at Alex, his dragon eyes filled with black fire. "No, this is--it’s better this way. You come with me. You belong with me…"
There was a crack—a tearing shriek of sound, and then a noise like explosives going off and Alex found himself on the floor, blinking away stars and trying to breathe against the sharp pain in his chest…he was on the opposite side of the library, smashed up against the doors. The wall across from him was now flaking chunks of plaster and lathe and wallpaper. The furniture he and Jules had been comfortably sitting on not long ago had been magically transformed into shattered wood and flying feathers. The place was swooping, whirling him around, something thick and warm was on his lip--he licked at blood. His first fuzzy thought was that Pete's brother's gang had decided to blow up Morgan's house. He peered through the clouds of plaster dust. He had to get to Jules, make sure he was safe…his knees refused to lock, his arms wouldn't move….
He could barely make out something moving through the breach, the billowing dust made it hard to identify but he had a wild hope of rescue, that it was--
"You! You brought this on yourself!" Clark was standing over Wade, his hand wrapped around the hand that held the gun and squeezing. Blood welled up between his fingers, such a shocking bright red….
"You tried to kill him—you must *want* to die--" Clark's eyes were blazing, they were red, the shifting red and gold of a bon-fire…the air around his eyes shimmered…
Wade was on his knees, staring up at Clark's face…he groaned, cursed, eyes narrowed against the pain. "Go ahead, kill me, you fucking farmer. Come *on* you stupid cow-fucking hayseed." With a terrible effort, he managed a grin. "Do what you want to him but he's mine. No matter how hard you fuck him he'll be thinking of me—" He choked as Clark shifted his grip from hand to neck, "--couldn't get enough of my cock, every time you kiss him you'll taste me in his mouth—"
Alex gasped when Clark slammed Wade against a wall and drew back his fist. Crumbled plaster dusted their hair white, even from where he was he could see the eager flare that lit Wade's eyes—Alex knew he was waiting for death. Clark was frightening—he'd never seen him in such a rage. He looked unstoppable, and Alex had a fleeting moment in which he wondered if Clark *could* stop with Wade….
part 50
TBC
Author: roxy
Pairings/Characters: Lex/Clark
Rating:R
Word Count:2384
Summary: Lex learns about trust and love from an unlikely source.
Notes/Warnings: AU, so very AU
Fair warning, dear readers—the mistakes here are all my own. Thanks to
danceswithgary for her encouragement and of course, the lovely cover!The phone rang steadily, and Alex and Jules looked up. Neither moved, it was Wade's job to answer the phone. He seemed reluctant…it took a few long seconds before he finally stood and walked to the telephone table. Alex folded his newspaper and caught Jules' eyes over his book. He raised an eyebrow at Jules who shrugged, and they both watched Wade pick up the phone. Beyond saying hello, he was silent. He listened, nodding his head even though it was pointless. He winced and glanced around the room, at the ceiling, out the window…he hung up and stared at the windows for some minutes, and then said, "Chauncey, take Julian to his room. Alex and I have to talk."
"I'll be right back--"
"No. Make sure everything's…secured."
*Chauncey*…Chauncey…"Clean him up Chauncey, that's a good boy…" Alex stepped off the edge into a black wave of fury Chauncey and pain and…and Bruce, and he knew, with a twisting stab of betrayal…Bruce. Every muscle in his body tightened, nausea and rage flowed through him. He stepped towards Wade, the rage he felt making everything seem brighter, clearer than ever. Very softly, with a smile, so quietly that the words were only between himself and Wade he said, "You lay one hand on my brother and I'll kill you—" and he knew it would be easy to do—enjoyable.
"I told you you didn’t have to worry about Julian." Wade spoke back as softly. "I meant it. He's not going to die. I promise you."
Alex stared at him, searching his face for any sign of a lie, and even knowing what the man was capable of, he found he believed him. He believed that Wade would do his best to keep Jules safe, just as he promised. Lex nodded. "Okay. Go with Wallma—Chauncey, Jules. It'll be okay. I'll tuck you in later."
"Lex!" Jules protested the 'tucking' in, but he smiled. "Okay. Pirates tonight?"
"Pirates, you bet." He smiled until Wallman shut the door and then turned to Wade. "What next?"
Wade lit a cigarette, and blew a thick cloud of smoke over Alex's head. He didn't speak and then he was in front of him, hand on Alex's shoulder and pressing down until his knees gave. He leaned over and kissed him, broke the thin skin of his lip. A drop of blood stood out red against the pale pink. "Alex."
Alex shuddered. "You're going to kill me now, aren’t you? Don't I get a last wish?" He tried to keep his tone light." Can't you take Jules home first, please?"
Wade wiped the drop away with his thumb, shook his head. "Sorry. I can't do that—"
@@@@@@
"It's cleaning day, boys."
There was an explosion--it felt like one. Pete tried to dash out of the kitchen, stumbling into flailing bodies, trying to shove them out of the way. The rear kitchen door cracked like a gunshot as the cooks and busboys ran through it, out to what was hopefully safety in the alley behind the club. Pete had to fight his way against them, into the club, into the screaming crowd running every which way.
pop-pop-pop-
Dishes smashed against the floor and someone started screaming, a high pitched shriek of agony. The table lights sputtered and died, the ceiling fans swirled smoke into the darkness.
pop-pop
Pete weaved in and out of the tables, looking for Simon, praying the screaming he heard came from someone else, someone he didn’t know—something hot and hard bit his ear, and he clapped his hand over it. He pulled the gun up, ready to shoot—a white face swam into view, yelling something he didn’t understand or care to, he just pulled the trigger and kept pulling until the face was gone. Gunpowder burnt his nose, and now his eyes were burning and running and he still couldn’t find his brother.
pop-pop-pop-pop
It was dark and hot, hard to see and he tripped over someone laying spread out on the floor who stared up at him with one glazed eye, the other blown into a big red hole. A tray and dishes scattered under what was left of his head. Pete dragged his eyes away from the sight and across the dance floor saw Royal's second in command with Simon backing him up, saw them jump over a turned over table, saw them blasting away. The men around Morgan Edge were dropping, firing as they fell. Edge was tilting, dropping too, falling to one knee with a look of astonishment on his face and all around him his men were falling, outgunned, outsmarted....
"Shouldn'ta gone after the money, boy." Royal's man pumped the short shotgun he held and took aim at Morgan. He was on his back, gasping, coughing blood and still looking astonished—such a thing couldn't be happening, they couldn't have been bested by people like *these*
"King Royal's got a message for you—'Cash *is* King.' You tryin' to cut him outta his cash…tsk-tsk-tsk. Stupid." He shot, Simon shot, every man still standing shot—the noise died away, until there was only the sound of men dying.
Pete stood at Simon's back, the gun he'd emptied lost somewhere in the club…blood and gunpowder and charring food a nauseating stench that was quickly being masked by the smell of gasoline. His hands went to his ears, trying to block the sound and something thick and hot was making one hand slip down his face.
Simon turned and did a double take—yelled at him. "What the blue fucking hell are you doing here—Pete!" He yanked Pete's hand away from his head, cursed loud and long at the blood running free. He swiped through the blood and prodded at his ear.
A bolt of lightning jabbed the side of his head. "Yowtch! Leave it be, damn it."
Simon laughed, "You got a real bee bite there, boy. You'll never lose that souvenir." They hung off each other, relief making both giddy, laughing until it hit Pete like a sledge hammer, what he'd done….
"God damn it, stop laughing. I think I killed someone tonight."
Simon sobered immediately. "Fuck, Pete—see that? That's why I didn’t want you out here. I wish you weren't a part of this, shit…come on. At least, everyone'll be safe now."
"Yeah. We going to Jersey with the rest of them, right?"
"Yeah. We going. I got tickets waiting for us. Royal wants all of us here out of the way and quick. You can get in touch with your boss after we get some miles between us and Metropolis."
The smell of gas grew stronger, and the club was emptying quick. They heard sirens in the background, and the place went up with a thick whump of gas catching and burning…in the alley the guys left standing split up, and Pete and Simon were in a car taking them to the train out of Metropolis…the word about Morgan Edge would be on the street in minutes and over the next few days there'd be some real bloodshed. Whoever was left standing was going to get the pie—and no slice of that was coming out of Royal's turf ….
@@@@@@
"—I just can't do that. Morgan can't have any loose ends…like you. He wants Jules. If…if I tell him about you, what you can do…it might save your life, but it won't be worth much." He slid the gun holstered under his arm out smooth as silk. Pushed it under Alex's chin, exactly where he'd driven his thumb a few days ago—the bruise was still there. He shook his head and a thick black curl dropped down to sweep over his red eyes. His lip twisted and he said, "I didn't know a person could *feel* like this. This…Jesus… feels *awful*. Like I'm losing myself. I don't think I can stand it anymore."
There was a sharp knock at the door and Chauncey walked in. "He's down for the night. So, how long before we're back in the city—what's going on?" He stared at Alex on his knees. "You're going to *do* it? I never thought you would--" Alex watched the play of conflicting emotions on Wallman's face and thought he had a good chance….
Wade took a grip on Alex's tie, and whatever he'd been feeling a moment ago seemed to disappear. He was himself again, cool and distant. "Well, Chauncey, yes I can. Got no choice. Mr. Edge told me I had to. And you knew this was coming the minute we picked that boy up, so get back in the corner, all right, and *shut the fuck up.*"
Chauncey had his gun out and trained on Wade, shaking his head. "Not going to let you. You put your gun up."
"You nuts? You got no choice here either, boy--not even as much as me." He wrapped Alex's tie tight around his fist, and raised his gun to point at Chauncey. "I'm not gonna shoot you, unless I have to. I need you, you're my man. I don't wanna do it, okay? You know I'm better at this than you are."
"Doubtful, Boss—besides, at this range, neither of us got a chance—" The phone rang, and rang, and rang.
"Get the phone, Chaunce. Swear to God, I won’t do anything, all right? Go get the phone." Alex thought, this was it, last chance—Wade yanked the tie and he choked, fell forward until his cheek was pressed to his thigh.
Chauncey backed up until his fingers hit the phone. He answered, eyes locked on Wade's. His look of surprise slowly changed into a look of fearful…relief, and he set the phone back on its hook. "Boss—Mr. Edge is dead. You ain't gotta do it now. It's all over, war's done for us. You can let them go."
Wade went white as a sheet and asked, "…what now? Explain this."
"I said, Mr. Edge is dead. You can let them go—" Alex narrowed his eyes; prayed Wallman was as good a shot as he claimed, and bit down hard on Wade's thigh. He waited for something, Wade to jump, yell, hit him—something. He tasted blood and wool and Wade grunted but never flinched. Wallman was drawing at the moment Alex moved--Wade shot him right between the eyes and the man dropped without a sound.
"Alex," he scolded sadly. "You made me kill Chauncey." Alex froze where he was; Wade looked down on him, dropped the tie and with a finger to the forehead gently pushed an unresisting Alex away. "He was the closest thing to a friend I had." The gun tracked back to him, resettled under his chin. The barrel was warm against his skin. "I understand though. I gotta do this but don’t worry, I'll come after," Wade said.
"What? But—no—you don’t have to. No one's telling you what to do now—hell you can live good off the money Lionel's going to pay to have Jules set free. Why—why do this at all now?"
"Like you said, no one's left to tell me what to do. What have I got?"
"Wife, kids…." Alex stammered, trying to think of something, someone to pull Wade back from the brink, but everyone the man had ever had some feeling for was dead or about to be.
Wade shrugged impatiently, jabbing Alex hard in the throat. "What's that stuff to me? I was only doing what Morgan wanted me to. Who am I supposed to be without him? How will I know what to do?"
He stared down at Alex, his dragon eyes filled with black fire. "No, this is--it’s better this way. You come with me. You belong with me…"
There was a crack—a tearing shriek of sound, and then a noise like explosives going off and Alex found himself on the floor, blinking away stars and trying to breathe against the sharp pain in his chest…he was on the opposite side of the library, smashed up against the doors. The wall across from him was now flaking chunks of plaster and lathe and wallpaper. The furniture he and Jules had been comfortably sitting on not long ago had been magically transformed into shattered wood and flying feathers. The place was swooping, whirling him around, something thick and warm was on his lip--he licked at blood. His first fuzzy thought was that Pete's brother's gang had decided to blow up Morgan's house. He peered through the clouds of plaster dust. He had to get to Jules, make sure he was safe…his knees refused to lock, his arms wouldn't move….
He could barely make out something moving through the breach, the billowing dust made it hard to identify but he had a wild hope of rescue, that it was--
"You! You brought this on yourself!" Clark was standing over Wade, his hand wrapped around the hand that held the gun and squeezing. Blood welled up between his fingers, such a shocking bright red….
"You tried to kill him—you must *want* to die--" Clark's eyes were blazing, they were red, the shifting red and gold of a bon-fire…the air around his eyes shimmered…
Wade was on his knees, staring up at Clark's face…he groaned, cursed, eyes narrowed against the pain. "Go ahead, kill me, you fucking farmer. Come *on* you stupid cow-fucking hayseed." With a terrible effort, he managed a grin. "Do what you want to him but he's mine. No matter how hard you fuck him he'll be thinking of me—" He choked as Clark shifted his grip from hand to neck, "--couldn't get enough of my cock, every time you kiss him you'll taste me in his mouth—"
Alex gasped when Clark slammed Wade against a wall and drew back his fist. Crumbled plaster dusted their hair white, even from where he was he could see the eager flare that lit Wade's eyes—Alex knew he was waiting for death. Clark was frightening—he'd never seen him in such a rage. He looked unstoppable, and Alex had a fleeting moment in which he wondered if Clark *could* stop with Wade….
part 50
TBC
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