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Falling
Clark Kent was sitting on the roof of the Daily Planet, one khaki-covered leg dangling over the edge as he stared at the cement covered sidewalk lining the entry way of the newspaper office, as clear as if he was sitting with his face to the ground, though he knew that it was at least three stories down. A door behind him creaked open but Clark didn't budge, instinctively knowing who it was.
"So," Chloe patted his back and squatted down next to him. "I heard Superman saved a town in Oklahoma from a nuclear meltdown. Nice going."
Clark shrugged, remaining silent. Not 'Clark, are you all right?' or 'You did great saving those people.' Just 'Superman saved a town. Nice going.' He wondered if Chloe even knew he was Clark as well as Superman anymore.
After a moment of uneasy silence, Chloe patted his back again and stood up. "Maybe you should go flying, Clark. That always clears your head." Clark shuddered inside as she turned and walked away.
//I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
I'm just out to find
the better part of me//
Flying hadn't cleared his head in years, ever since he had become Superman. It wasn't just him, the wind, and the weightlessness any longer. Screams always reached his enhanced hearing, cries for help jarring his peace. In his brighter moments, Clark believed that he flew so that he could hear everyone and help more. On his darkest, most truthful nights, however, he resented the people he saved. He hated how they took from him, how they kept grabbing at him until he felt like he had to scream or go insane. He had held that emotion in so much that he wondered vaguely if he *were* insane. No one could do what he did and still maintain a grip on their mind, could they?
But somehow, he managed to. There was Lana, Chloe, and Lois, after all. They thought that they grounded him--anchored him into himself. But if that were true, he wondered, why were so many of his actions questionable? Like when he was brainwashed into becoming the dictator of earth only to find out that the Joker had warped reality itself? Where had they been then?
Clark stood up and stretched, relishing in the feeling of his muscles popping before taking the stairs down into the building. There was an article that he needed to write. He wished that Lois wasn't always so excited to cover Superman's stories. That was probably why he had started writing novels--he had gotten sick and tired of writing about his other side.
He heard the light footsteps before they even got into the stairwell with him, but he knew the person coming for him, so he ignored the intrusion. The steps quickened slightly, and he hid a sigh, slowing down minutely just before a beautiful brunette appeared, throwing her arms around him and stealing a kiss from Clark that warmed him, thawing the indifferent cold inside him slightly.
"You did a wonderful thing today, Smallville." Lois murmured as she took another kiss. Clark buried his face in his wife's hair, breathing in her delicate scent. Although she always thought of herself as an independent woman of the future, Clark knew she was really one of the most vulnerable women he had ever known, and that he ever would know. He never questioned her mask, and she loved him for it.
Lois touched his cheek, her blue eyes sparkling with mischievousness. "What do you say, Clark?" she whispered huskily against his ear, her breath a damp caress against his skin. She wriggled seductively against him, pressing her curves to his hard muscles, laughing at the shiver that ran through his frame. "Why don't we go home, and you can save *me*?" Her choice of words froze the warmth she had given him, and he stilled, hands on her hips, silent and motionless.
Lois might love Clark because he allowed her to be strong--but Superman saved her from her vulnerability, gave her someone to lean on--and for that, she loved him more.
//I'm more that a bird
I'm more than a plane
More than some pretty face beside a train
And it's not easy
To be me//
Clark kissed Lois gently, smiling down at her. "Later, Lois. If you behave, I’ll think of something really special."
Lois laughed. "Promises, promises." She gave him a final kiss and wandered back into the newsroom. Clark sighed. He was more than his speed, and strength. Did anyone realize how hard it was just to keep from breaking everything?
Clark desperately wanted his Fortress of Solitude. Not the one of ice and sharpness that housed the last remnants of his planet, but the smell of hay and wood, the ordinary *farmness* of his barn. He had never been cold there. But it had been destroyed in one of his endless battles for the fate of the planet.
It never ended.
And now, it seemed no one remembered Clark--only Kal El. The alien from another planet who was blessed with gifts from Earth’s yellow sun. The savior. Clark ripped off his suit, touching the ‘S’ on his chest for a moment before darting out of the building and taking to the sky. A scream, and he was there, removing danger, saving some nameless innocent once again. An innocent who’s tears of fright turned into glassy awe for the man before them. Sometimes Clark wanted them to keep crying.
A congenial smile and a wave, and he was off again.
//Wish that I could fly
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
'Bout a home I'll never see//
He found himself in Antarctica, hovering just outside his icy palace. He drifted down to the snow and walked in, watching the busy droids taking care of what he privately termed as his museum, invisible to them as they completed their tasks. Kelex noticed him, and he waved the robot away.
How perfect could this place be, really? When he decided to have a hidden identity, this place was a gift from God.
It gave him the story of Superman, so that no one could have ever expected Superman and reporter Clark Kent of being the same. His hands drifted over the familiar machinery, his fingers hesitating over one thing or the other, but he didn’t have the energy to press the button. This was all that remained of his home planet. It wasn’t enough any more.
Clark was tired, and for once, the energy of the sun did nothing to revive him. Nothing was the same anymore.
He was lost.
Did he even have a home anymore?
//It may sound absurd,
But don't be naive
even heroes have the right to bleed//
Once again he found himself in the air, the wind whipping through his hair. There was another scream, but he couldn’t summon the energy to care. So he pretended to be deaf, and let that stranger scream. Of course, Lois and Chloe would wonder what happened to him, and he would have to make some excuse--maybe something about a battle in a pocket dimension.
The scream hushed abruptly, and Clark felt guilty, the emotions sinking down into his gut to torture him at some later date. He remembered a time when he raced for everyone, when he existed for the attention. He was, after all, a hero. But that was before the dreams.
They were always fragmented, the dreams, but the one thing he could remember was blood. His blood. He dreamed of fighting a monster of unbelievable evil (there were always so many of those) and dying, his blood pooling on the ground. His last thought before he had died was what a relief it was that his blood wasn’t green. It’s funny, though. Every time he bled, he was relieved to see it red.
It also relieved a burden. After all, heroes never died. They were immortal and lived forever. So he couldn’t have been a hero. He was just a good boy who was doing what he could with powers that no one else had.
The White House loomed before him and Clark paused, the shock of his destination blanking his mind completely. Out of all the places in all the world, this was the one place he didn’t want to be. He stood watch for a moment and saw Pete leaving the gate. They stared at each other for the longest time, and eventually Superman drifted down to meet the Vice-President.
“Mr. Ross.”
“Superman.” Mid-western civility at its finest. Of course, Pete didn’t know that Superman was Clark. Would this be any different if he did? Then, perhaps, Pete would stop calling Clark to tell him about the latest Superman sighting.
“May I ask you a question?” Clark wanted to wince. Pete’s eyes widened slightly at the obvious exhaustion in the voice.
“What?”
“Why did you become Vice President? You used to hate Luthor.” Oh, damn, there was too much information hidden within that sentence.
Pete frowned. “How did you--oh. You’ve been talking to Lana again, haven’t you?” Pete glared at Superman angrily. “I’ve told you repeatedly to stay away from her.”
“This has nothing to do with Mrs. Ross.” Clark’s ‘Superman’ voice was nearly facetless with exhaustion.
Pete seemed to recognize this and stared at the space between them, his face unusually solemn. “I did, a long time ago. But he changed--for better or for worse I don’t know, but he gave me the opportunity to do something to help Kansas…and, hell, the entire U.S. Things change after something like that.”
Clark wondered how close Pete and Lex actually were. He stared down at his friend for a minute and vanished behind the trees, waiting for the startled politician to gather his wits and leave.
Clark stood in the shadows long after Pete had left, and wondered how Lex’s blood would look in the moonlight.
//I may be disturbed,
But won't you concede
Even heroes have the right to dream
And it's not easy
To be me//
Of course, that was just a fantasy. He didn’t want to see anyone’s blood, least of all Lex’s. All the fighting must have warped his brain to see things in solutions of violence, rather than diplomacy. Human monsters had to be dealt with much more carefully than literal ones.
Clark opened a window and floated inside the room, careful not to touch anything. The room was entirely Lex. No matter who led the country after him, there would always be something--an aura, perhaps--that would never vanish.
“State your business before I call security.” Lex Luthor appeared out of the shadows, the light streaming through the windows glimmering on his pale skin.
He should have known he couldn’t out maneuver Lex. “I can’t.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Lex moved over to the bar, pouring himself a brandy. “I should say--what are you doing in my bedroom in the middle of the night?”
It was the middle of the night? Clark looked out the window and saw the moon. He had been drifting along for much too long. “I…was lost.”
Lex lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Superman, lost? Perish the thought.”
When Clark was a teenager, a child, really, he met Lex Luthor, the hardened, lonely billionaire who became his best friend. The one constant, the one person who treated him like he was important. That he was appreciated for himself. When had that changed? When had they become enemies?
“What do you see when you look at me?” Clark wondered.
Lex uttered a short bark of laughter. “I see a super-powered alien with a hero complex who has been attempting to foil my plans for years.” Lex’s gray eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he stared at the man who had become his arch enemy. “When I look at you,” he began, “I see an enemy who has just willingly given me the keys to his destruction. You know I have surveillance.” Clark nodded slightly, a lump growing in his throat, disappointment rising through him. Apparently, he had hoped Lex would remember. But it was clear that even to Lex, Clark was only one thing. Superman. An object to be hated.
“Is that all?” Clark whispered, unable to keep his gaze on Lex any longer. Lex remained silent. “I’ll go then.”
“Why did you come here?” The question stopped Clark, and he turned around to face the bald man.
“I am lost.” he answered truthfully. “I’m lost, and I can’t find me anymore.”
Lex took another sip of brandy. “Now, this is amusing. Superman has lost his way.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you so late at night, Mr. President.” Superman stated stiffly. Tears were pricking the back of his eyes, and weakness was the last thing that Luthor needed to see from him.
Lex blinked, and then looked down at the wineglass in his hand. “When you look like that, you remind me of a boy who was my best friend. A very long time ago.”
“Say his name,” Clark breathed, his voice rough and pleading, his hazel eyes large in his pale face.
Lex’s eyes hardened, and he straightened suddenly. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re trying to play, Superman, but trust me. Whatever plans you have, they aren’t going to work.”
“But I’m *not* Superman!” Clark ran his fingers through his hair. “Christ, Lex, can’t you see that for once?”
Lex calmly placed his wineglass on the wooden finish of the bar, taking a deep breath, shadowed with moonlight and darkness. “I never knew you could be a sadist, Clark.”
*Clark*. Lex remembered him. The one person he loved and hated most in the world understood. The loneliness that had crystallized inside him burst, overwhelming him, spreading into all the secret places of his mind and heart. His emptiness wanted to spill forth and devour, It’s insatiable hunger corroding Clark’s insides like acid.
He sank to his knees, his legs too weak to hold him up. “How did you know?”
A pause. “I’ve always known.” Lex’s once familiar smirk appeared on his lips. “A pair of glasses and a colorful costume do not hide things as well as you think.” A fluid shrug, and Lex looked over at Clark. “Only Martha and Jonathan Kent would be the type of parents to understand a child's heroics.”
There was a moment of silence, and Clark bowed his head as he removed his cape. “I never really wanted to be Superman, you know. I just needed to be able to help. I know Superman helps the world--”
Lex snorted. “Doesn’t help *my* world, I’ll tell you that.” He yawned elegantly and melted into a chair. There were so many years between them, so much hatred, and too many lies--it amazed Clark that they could still be this comfortable with each other.
“Can’t I just be Clark?” the younger man whispered plaintively.
Lex’s eyes darkened. “It’s too late to ask that question now. You made your choice a long time ago.”
“Isn’t there….anything…?”
“You can’t get the answer from me, Clark.” Lex gestured toward the window. “I think you ought to leave now.”
//Up, up and away, away from me
Well, it's all right
You can all sleep sound tonight
I'm not crazy, or anything//
“Nothing will be different,” Clark declared morosely. “When I fly or walk out, I’ll still be Superman.”
“Perhaps you should see a psychiatrist for this identity crisis of yours,” Lex murmured dryly.
“I *am* seeing a psychiatrist!” he cried out. “I’m not Superman, Lex. I’m Clark Kent.” Clark’s eyes widened further, and almost without realizing it, he tore at his skin, invulnerability warring with strength until small red scratches formed from the constant movement and force. Maybe if he tore out of his skin, he wouldn’t exist any more, he wouldn’t have all of these unanswerable questions.
“Clark. Clark!” There was a hand touching his hair, gentle and soft. It made him cry in earnest. Lex’s arms wrapped around him, and he clung to the intimacy of his enemy’s touch.
“I’ve missed you, Lex. God, I’ve missed you so much--” he sobbed, embracing Lex tightly. “I never wanted to be like this--I never wanted to be your enemy--I…I’ve screwed up so much and now we hate each other--” Arms tightened around him. In a single instant, the cherished security exploded and transformed into passion.
//I can't stand to fly
I'm not that naive
Men weren't meant to ride
With clouds between their knees
I'm only a man in a silly red sheet,
Digging' for kryptonite on this one-way street//
Lex was worse than Kryptonite, Clark thought as they tumbled onto the bed together. Just as deadly and painful, but addictive. He was a drug that you couldn’t live without once you had it. At least Kryptonite just killed you.
With each desperate embrace, each touch of flesh upon flesh, Clark was murdered and remade, a part of him dying even while he felt the most alive. They were awkward and hesitant, innocent in their exploration and tender in their discoveries. All of the years fell away from them and they were just children. As it should have been, so many years before.
Things should have been so different.
It was everything--heat and pleasure, enmity and understanding, the culmination of all the feelings that had heretofore been ignored or denied. It was the ripping away of every boundary between them and casting off into the unknown. It was coming home.
Then it was over, both panting, sweat cooling on their flesh as Clark curled up to Lex, and Lex absentmindedly played with a strand of his hair. “I flew for you,” Clark whispered, and realized it was true.
//Only a man in a funny red sheet
Looking' for special things inside of me, inside of me..//
Lex laughed. “I always thought the cape was a bit much. It was a big red sheet. You look like a flag.”
Clark blushed, listening to Lex’s heartbeat. “In Mom’s first version, it *was* a sheet.” he confessed.
“Martha.” Lex shook his head. “I should have guessed.”
“I’ve always been so cold, Lex. I’m warm now.“ They fell into a comfortable silence, and Clark sighed. “I loved you, then. And I don’t think I ever stopped.” he paused, thinking his words had been too much.
“I--never did.” Lex whispered. “And it’s always so much easier to hate…”
“The sun’s up. I need to go.” Clark whispered reluctantly, caressing Lex’s scalp as he rose and dressed in his costume. Clark glanced at the torn costume and shrugged. At least he could honestly say he had been in a fight--even if that fight had been with himself.
He looked back at Lex, who was wrapping himself in a dark blue robe. “This doesn’t change anything, does it?” Clark asked as he backed up and opened the window.
“No,” Lex agreed. He reached up to touch Clark’s cheek. “It changes everything.”
Clark’s hands cupped Lex’s jaw, his fingers wrapping gently around Lex’s neck so he could feel the pulse resting, beating just below the skin. He would never be cold again with Lex, he knew that instinctively.
The door opened suddenly, and Clark inwardly cursed. He was so wrapped up in Lex that he hadn’t realized anyone was coming.
“Sir!” the amazonian bodyguard called out in concern. She raised her gun to Clark’s chest. What was she expecting to do? Clark wondered. He was invulnerable. Bullets bounced off. Maybe she hadn’t been in orientation that day.
“No, Hope!” Clark heard Lex’s voice at the same moment the gun went off, and wondered why he sounded terrified.
The first bullet went straight through. The second one lodged inside him.
Clark blinked in surprise at the pain and pressed a hand to the bleeding wounds. Pain cascaded over him, his breath gone as blood gushed past his lips. He looked down in horror to see his blood glowing slightly, with a green tint. His hand looked nearly transformed, green and veiny, dying. He only had this reaction to Kryptonite.
And then it hit him. Clark laughed at the ingenuity. “Only you would.. think… of Kryptonite tipped bullets, Lex. Only you.” His vision was darkening. Being shot was much different than he expected it to be. It hurt. Clark reached for the window sill and missed it completely. Lex called his name.
//And it's not easy to be me..... //
He was falling. Somehow, he had forgotten how to fly.
The End.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sucky, I know. :) Ah, well.
hullo
I was tooling around the net looking for Smallville Slash and came across this. I never though of Superman as having an identity crisis... but it so works. And hey...you are on my LJreviewgroupthing list too. Shibby! Have you written more Smallville slash?
Re: hullo
Re: hullo
And yes... I understand about the Potter muses. Possesive bastards!
Re: hullo
Re: hullo
- fellow procrastinator