the kansas sparkle in your smile
 

01. read it in a book somewhere

Lex's favorite part of the obscene castle amidst the cornfields of Smallville was the library. True to form, his father had decked out the building's interior with an odd combination of Victorian grandeur and modern sensibilities, so that there were two floors filled with elegant shelves that were, in turn, filled with elegant books; and the library was fully indexed on a computer hidden in a fold-out panel in one of the heavy oak tables in the center of the room. The library was shaped slightly like an oval, so that all the shelves seemed to fall towards each other. Lex liked it. It made him feel protected, as if the books stood between him and the rest of the world.

His own library was carefully stored away in a facility near Pasequah, Kansas. Some of the volumes he possessed had made it to the castle, but they were in his personal suite, not in the main library. The library, like the rest of the place, reeked of his father; but even so, the library remained still a refuge for Lex. When he was little, his mother would hand him books filled with pictures of old things. They would sit in the big leather chair and he would point at images on the page. She would explain them, sometimes making things up if she didn't know what it was. Their laughter rang in the drafty corridors, and Lionel would stand at the doorway, watching them with a small smile on his face. That was the only time Lex would see his father smile, his father who always had a lesson or an instruction for him, but never a kind hand. When his mother died, Lex learned to answer his questions for himself. There were different smiles on Lionel's face now, mocking or derisive.

The castle library was similar to the library in the mansion that they used to live in, and to the estate his father lived in now. Lex noticed the theme, but didn't comment on it. It was one of many cards he kept close to his chest, cards he could play if he needed to, for whatever reason. His father taught him to stay always two steps ahead of his enemy; his father was really teaching him who his enemy was. If he gained his cunning and his intellect from his father, he also gained the desire for worthy competition. Unfortunately for Luthors, that competition is in short supply.

Without a doubt, Lex had always been most comfortable in the library of the castle. He read the books that weren't his, and sat in the chairs that weren't his, and planned what his own library would look like someday, when there was a place worthy enough to hold his collection. His mother loved books; and though he knew otherwise, he thought he must be like his mother more.



02. watch and learn

Some days, the only thing that kept Lex sane was the view from his bedroom. After a day dealing with the general incompetence of the employed masses at Lexcorp, he came home to the full-length window, carefully concealed from the exterior, and laid back on his bed, watching the sun set over Metropolis. Or, if he was home too late for the sunset, he tried to pick out constellations in the faint sky.

There was a stack of books beside his bed, another on the floor; many he had read, some he hadn't. They served as reminders of all the knowledge he had yet to acquire. When Clark visited him, he ran interested fingers down the spines, commenting on the ones he had read or noting the ones of interest to him. Lex watched him from the corner of the room, the way he moved and turned in the evening light, and thought he might not really know much at all.

The nights when his thoughts outran his hand were difficult. The torrent of ideas and concepts littered the pages before him like leaves in a park, unordered and natural, simply there. He woke in the morning to Mercy's gentle prod, and the paper of his notebook stuck to his face. Sometimes he scanned the pages into a computer before burning the books; it wouldn't do to keep a record he couldn't control.

So many things crowded his head--the diameter of the sun, the myths of the naiads, the Russian term for merchant, the best watch to purchase and how to properly wind it--that, if he was ever bored (which he never was) there was plenty to keep him busy. He worked on papers that he published under pseudonyms, because while he would like the glory that came from seeing his name in print, he would rather the work be taken seriously. He liked to see the criticism, unabashed and brutally honest, because it was the only way he will get it.

He was certain that his desire to learn, to acquire knowledge, came from his mother, though he will concede that his intelligence and cleverness was likely of his father. If Lionel taught Lex nothing else, it was to always observe, and to know the next few steps of your opponent before they do.

Clark sometimes came to study at the penthouse. Lex had arranged a corner of the office to be set up for him, so they could work together without disturbing one another. There was a never-ending stream of work that Lex needed to do, but it was often more interesting to watch Clark unconsciously fidget, watch him bite at the caps of his pens and scrawl away in his big, loopy handwriting. Lex wished he could draw so that he might capture the image. It had been five years since he first met Clark, and still Lex was captivated by him. This was what he had learned: if something(one) held your interest for that long, it was foolish to let it go.



03. the cowardly pen scratches recalcitrant paper

Lex's art was in the math. He had blackboards set up around his office, so that he could work on an equation at a moment's notice--and because whiteboard simply didn't have the same effect, he thought. It served, too, as an intimidation technique for the half-scared underlings that came searching for his signature or approval. Lex wore the language of mathematics like a shield, brandished before him and warding the un-brave away.

Clark rarely visited his office, preferring instead to meet him at a nearby cafe or in the Kroger's, where he said with a crooked grin, "There you can be sure no one would recognize you." Mercy and Hope trailed behind, ever-aware at their jobs. Clark barely spared them a look now; Lex was impressed by how quickly he had become accustomed to them. A few years ago he would have spent all his time looking at them with what he thought was subtlety.

When Clark did come to his office, Lex's pretty secretary would follow him around, checking to see if he needed coffee, water, anything at all. Lex was amused that the glasses and bumbling walk didn't deter her at all; he looked at them and saw camouflage, though Clark insisted that his eyesight had grown poorer from years languishing away in a dark dorm room. Lex kindly didn't point out that most of Clark's studying had actually taken place at his penthouse.

As he waited for Lex to finish a phone call, and then another, he would walk up to the blackboards and try to follow the string of equations, though the furrow in his brow and the slight hunch of his shoulders told Lex that Clark didn't understand one bit of what he was looking at. Clark's finger would come up and rub away any extraneous marks, and Lex's eyes would flicker from the yellow pad before him to Clark's careful rubbings and back again.

They never talked about what the equations were for, not after Lex had made a vague reference to Good Will Hunting and Clark had looked at him incredulously for a moment before mumbling, "Fine, don't tell me." Lex had almost laughed, because what he had said was mostly true. He figured the problems because it made him happy; he worked them out because people without vision said it was impossible and he liked to prove them wrong.

Clark liked to go for drives in the countryside, to see the fields that all looked the same but for the fact that they were on the *other* side of Metropolis, which Clark hadn't visited often because there was rarely a need. Lex knew the backroads only from foolish experiences in drag racing from years past, but his memory served him well as they zipped through the endless Midwest.

In the summer, when work at the newspaper was slow and Lex was certain he would wring the neck of the next person that came into his office with a plain, tasteful, cream-colored folder, he would pick up Clark at the Daily Planet (where his appearance was almost considered normal now) and they would go for one of their drives. Clark would put the top down, and Lex would watch the road, not Clark's hair tangling in the wind.

They never discussed where they were going, and the destination wasn't the point anyway. They led different lives now, with different responsibilities; but neither of them had quite shaken off the desire to leave it all behind, at least for a little while.


04. heard it on the night wind

Clark had a weakness for thirty-cent wings on Tuesday nights at Buffalo Wild Wings. Lex knew this, and worked it to his advantage. In the eight years they had been living in Metropolis, they had gone to Buffalo Wild every other week ever since Clark came to see Lex, excited about the bucket of chicken wings he had consumed, "and for only six bucks, Lex, I got twenty!" It was too entertaining not to go, and by now it was a tradition.

Tonight, though, they had a prior engagement, and so to keep up with tradition and surprise Clark at the same time, he had picked up a bucket of wings to bring home before the social event that evening. He walked into the penthouse, Hope quietly shutting the door behind him, and followed the trail of clothing to the bedroom, where Clark had shucked off his underwear before getting into the shower.

Lex didn't bother to make himself known; if Clark didn't know he was there, he was a pretty crappy alien. Instead, he put the wings on the dresser and started divesting himself of his own clothing.

He was in the closet when he first heard Clark's moan of pleasure, and he couldn't stop a grin from appearing on his face.

"Lex," said Clark between bites, "you are the best person ever. Thank you."

Lex came out with two ties in his hand, each in deep shades of royal blue with only slight variations. "Thank you. Which tie?"

Clark gestured toward the darker of the two with a half-eaten chicken wing.

"Are they spicy enough?" Lex asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

Clark grinned. "There's nothing quite like twelve to get a guy going."

"You know, the rumor is that twelve has killed a man dead."

"Pfft, rumors," Clark scoffed, finishing off another one.

Lex finished tying his tie and sat down on the bed, watching Clark eat his chicken wings with continued gusto. "It never ceases to amaze me what you're capable of."

"What? The flying? Or the ability to handle spicy chicken wings ten times as strong as a normal chicken wing? These are gifts, I tell you."

"Well, that," Lex conceded. "But also that you've managed to stay here for so long and still be happy. You're a remarkable man, Clark."

Clark grinned wolfishly and set his bucket aside. "I think I've picked a smart one, Luthor," he said before leaning down to kiss Lex.


Postscript: The first one of these shorts is in the first season; the second is five years from the first season; the third is eight years from the first season, and the fourth is ten. There actually is a restaurant in Kansas City called Buffalo Wild Wings, where you can get thirty-cent wings every Tuesday night.
 

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