He hit the coast road at last, and stuck with it, dawdling through the sleepy Sunday afternoon of the little towns along the route.
As the sun went down, he drove into yet another. He didn't know where he was, and there didn't seem to be a sign. He'd never know it, but there had been one, but he'd missed it because another love sick driver had recently knocked it over. It said, "Welcome to Sunnydale."
Lex soon found out that it was a *very* small town. There were just two places selling drinks: The Bronze, a big, sweaty building filled with teenagers who all seemed to look or talk or move like Clark; or Willy's, a nasty, dirty cave where most of the patrons weren't human.
Later, Lex would remember being glad that the—Trekkies, or whatever show they were mimicking—didn't remind him of Clark, and appreciate the irony.
He elbowed his way to the bar, gathering some dirty looks—some of the "desire to punch" variety, some of… other kinds—and bought a drink. Glass in hand, he turned slightly to lean on the bar and survey the room, to find himself eye to eye with a stranger.
"Hi," the guy said, raising a glass of something red and sticky in mockery of toast. Lex noted the blue eyes and blond hair approvingly. He could let himself be picked up (he was pretty confident that's what the guy was doing. The way he was smiling, the flirting eyes…) and be sure that it wasn't just because he was missing Clark. Different body type entirely.
"Hi," Lex said, and drained his glass, enjoying the slight sting of alcohol.
"Trying to get drunk?"
"It seems like the best plan."
"Love troubles?" the guy asked, sliding closer to Lex.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only because I'm looking for it. In the same boat, you see."
"That right?"
"Yeah. I'm leaving town in the morning, going to set things straight with my dark princess."
"You know how?"
"Torture, I'm thinking." Ah, Lex thought, he's into S+M stuff, and probably some Goth as well. The black and red clothes, the tomato juice that makes remarkably convincing blood. And probably poly as well. Ideal.
"Step outside with me," the stranger went on, voice low and British accent getting stronger, mouth only inches from Lex's ear.
"I don't even know your name," Lex said, deliberately playing coy, while at the same time leaning back into the arm that had managed to slide around and into his back pocket.
"Spike. Pleased to meet you." Okay, so the dictionary entry for 'sexy voice' probably mentioned this guy.
"I'm Lex. Shall we go?"
Spike put down his glass and guided Lex out, arm still possessively round his waist. Lex was pleased and a little scared to note that they collected a fair number of envious glances from other patrons as they passed. More of them wanting the something else than wanting a fight, now.
In the dingy alley, Spike shoved Lex against the rough brick wall, and captured his mouth in a high-impact kiss. Lex noted the extra strength, forced himself not to think of Clark, and kissed back, hard and eager until he could taste blood in his mouth. When Spike pulled back, Lex looked at the blood running down his chin from a bitten lip, and realised that not all the blood in his mouth was his own.
Confused, Lex swallowed, and tried to say something. No time. Spike's hands were in his pants, jerking him off. Face buried in his neck—sharp teeth, pain and pleasure, moans from both of them… and then blackness.
Lex's death was the biggest new story Chloe had ever covered.
She came round to see Clark, saddened by the news but excited by the prospect of dedicating the whole front page, and a good chunk of the rest of the paper, to the one story. Clark hadn't heard—when she finally found him, still working in the fields despite the impending darkness.
"What? Nobody told you yet?"
"I've been doing farm chores all day," he said, a little dazed. "What… how?"
"Nobody's sure of the details. They found him in a back alley of some little town near LA, with puncture wounds in his neck—he bleed to death, the police say. Probably for his money, because there wasn't a wallet on him, and his watch had been taken."
"Oh, God, Chloe. I…" Clark took a deep breath, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. I should have been there. I could have helped him. I shouldn't have made him leave. I'm to blame for this.
"I'm sorry, Clark," Chloe said, a little belatedly. "I know he was your friend."
Clark nodded, taking deep breaths. "T… thanks for letting me know, Chloe. I… when's the funeral? Where?"
"Probably here in Smallville—nobody knows when, yet, because this is a murder case. Maybe a week or so. Lionel made them bring… bring the body back to the mansion."
"Okay." There were tears trying to form in his eyes, and he didn't want Chloe to see. "Look—later, okay?"
"Clark, are you…"
"I'm fine, Chloe. I just need some time to let this sink in."
Chloe looked at him, concern in her eyes, but she could see that he didn't want her there. And the work called her, the story of a lifetime waiting to be written. After one last searching look at him, she turned and walked away.
Once he was alone, Clark let himself relax, but the tears didn't fall. It was too much to take in, too much to be true.
When he'd told Lex to get out of his sight he'd assumed it would be a temporary thing; in a town as tiny as the aptly-named Smallville he wouldn't manage to go long without bumping into Lex. He'd steeled himself to see Lex again and still reject him. He'd been trying to prepare himself for the torment of knowing that what he wanted was only a few minutes walk or a phone call away—he'd never thought that he might get what he supposedly wanted.
It wasn't true. He did want to see Lex again, desperately.
He could understand why Lex had been spying, after all: why he'd wanted to read Dr. Bryce's notes on Martha, and why Lex had been trying to gain access to the sample of Clark's blood she'd taken. There were clues there he wouldn't mind having himself—and Lex probably had the scientific knowledge to make use of them.
That didn't stop it feeling like a betrayal of trust. Clark knew that he'd not exactly played fair with Lex, letting his friend open up to him about his family and business, about his feelings, without ever telling Lex the whole truth about himself.
He had done his best, though, within the parameters set by youth, upbringing, and safety. He'd tried to let Lex know that his affection was genuine and that the secrets he kept back were kept for a good reason.
It hadn't been enough; Lex had needed more, tried to get it, and Clark had sent him away. Sent him away to get killed. Murdered and robbed in a dark alley.
Lex was dead, murdered, and Clark knew that it was his fault.
For a moment, the tears came, silent tracks down cheeks that were smeared with the dust of the farm. Then Clark took a deep breath, came to a decision, and sped away in a blur of motion, fast enough to be invisible to normal eyes.
Luthors didn't do things by halves, Clark thought, as the heavy wooden door of Lex's bedroom swung shut behind him.
Lex—the body, Clark reminded himself—was laid out on the bed, in a formal suit. He looked… a lot like Lex had done in life, except stiller. He wasn't sure how Lionel had managed to get the police to let him go, but he was glad that he could see his lover one last time, and not in a morgue.
For a moment, Clark entertained the notion that this was a joke, that any moment now Lex would be sitting up, breathing again in ragged gasps as he had done on the bridge, the first time they met; laughing at Clark for being taken in, that slightly cynical grin that loved to take advantage of Clark's gullibility.
But it didn't happen—he listened, and there was only one heartbeat in the room, only one set of lungs breathing. Clark wasn't as gullible as he liked to let Lex think. His lover was dead, and that was… terrifying.
He took a deep, sobbing breath, blinked sudden salt water out of his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Lex had been murdered, he knew that. He needed to know what had happened. He needed to make sure that the person who did it was caught—punished, hurt, sent to prison or better still Death Row.
Not wanting to touch the body or disturb the formal clothes, Clark used his x-ray vision to examine Lex—no broken bones, no bruising… just a gaping tear at his neck, the shadow of something digging in deep and ripping, biting… draining.
Lex's body was pale, paler than usual, and the veins and arteries had collapsed, nothing in them.
His body had been drained of blood.
Which was weird, even for Smallville. And very puzzling. And, without warning, making Clark feel nauseous.
He couldn't leave fast enough, even at super speed. The door banged behind him, but he didn't hear it.
Lex did. Perhaps a mystical trigger, perhaps the slamming door; it didn't matter. He woke up, and found that he was dead.
The feeling was new, but strangely familiar. Waking up alive when he should be dead was very similar to waking up dead.
He'd just missed Clark. Lex swore for the first time in his unlife.
He sat on the bed for a moment, noting the dimmed lights, the dramatic candles, and the way that he could *smell* Clark—hay and blood, ink from his school books and a whiff of farmyard.
The he stood, aware of the power flowing in his body, and of a hunger deep within him. Lex felt his face shift into strange planes as he took another deep breath of the scent of Clark. His lover. His prey.
Lex followed in Clark's footsteps, slower but determined, sure he could trace him anywhere. Especially if the housekeeper would just—fangs in her neck, blood in his mouth, like fine wine curing the hangover he hasn't got—stop screaming and let him think.
The hunt took most of the night. Clark ran, letting the wind take the tears off his cheeks; and Lex tracked him, pushing himself to top speed, testing his new abilities the way he'd test a new car.
Finally, the tears dried on Clark's cheeks. He slowed, then stopped, standing on the top of some nameless hill way out in the fields.
Lex found him there perhaps an hour later, head thrown back to watch the stars twist slowly in the heavens. He looked beautiful in the starlight.
On silent feet, Lex crept until he could have reached out to touch Clark with a relaxed arm, and said, "Hi."
When Clark's feet reached the ground again—he'd jumped at least a foot straight towards the sky—he said, "Lex?"
Then he blinked, hard; and pinched himself, harder; and Lex was still there, smirking.
"That's right, Clark."
"But…" Clark said, as intelligently as he could. "But… how?" He thought he should still be angry, or upset, or rejecting this, or something. Instead, he only felt happy to have Lex back. Impossible things could be the easiest to accept.
Lex shrugged, an easy rolling motion that hadn't changed at all. That couldn't be right. "How can you run at the speed of sound, or however fast it is you go?"
"I'm an alien," Clark told him, sure this was a dream. "You?"
"Vampire," and there was the smirk again.
"Ah." It probably wouldn't make any more sense when he woke up.
"Are you planning to take over the world, then?"
"Not really." Clark didn't say, the ship says I will. He didn't say, it sounds like fun.
Lex said, "I am. Coming?"
"In which sense?" Clark asked, because this was a game he knew.
"Both." Lex looked like he was going to keep smirking until the end of the world, and Clark moved in for a kiss.
He was surprised when he felt Lex's mouth on his neck instead of somewhere more conventional, like his face; but apparently nowhere near as surprised as Lex was when magically sharpened teeth couldn't break the skin.
They both pulled back, confused.
"You can't hurt me, Lex. I'm an invincible alien."
Lex just nodded.
"Well, unless you've got a stock of green meteor rock handy. It helps, with the hurting me. But otherwise…" Clark trailed off, aware that he was babbling.
"Where shall we start?"
"With what?" Clark was still confused, so he wrapped his arms around Lex. That was nice and simple, even if his lover's body was cooler than he would expect.
"Taking over the world. We've a destiny to forge out together, you know."
"Oh. Okay."
Lex laughed, a quiet sound that had always carried menace, and kissed Clark.
It was simple. Clark knew that, and so he abandoned though in favour of feeling.
Lex knew it, and left planning until the morning, when they'd have hours in which he would hide from the sun, sleeping and plotting.
He also knew that it was going to be fun.
