Chapter 1: Breakable

�one foot in front of the other, in front of the other, in front of the other�


Lex Luther ran, as hard as he could, fighting the thoughts, ignoring the physical pain, focusing on the one thing that both kept him at bay and kept him alive inside.


�kent�


He blinked against the salty perspiration tracking its way into his eyes again. He had long since stopped trying to wipe it away. He long since stopped paying attention to time and distance. He had no watch, and didn't care where he ended up.


�just keep going�


He had been running for more than an hour he was sure, as the sun had been in the far distance when he started. Now the moon and stars lit up the otherwise drab canvas that was the farms and fields at night in Smallville. Lex didn't remember the sun going down, couldn't recall the colors lining the sky in their unique formations. He didn't regret not observing the nightly waltz, feeling as though even the perfect coordination of a glorious sunset would have done his mind no peace.

His white tee-shirt [certainly the only one he owned] fluttered against his chest and stomach as a light breeze hit him, warm and muggy. It was drenched and translucent and as he ran from underneath some of the overhanging tree branches, his pale skin was illuminated by the moon's light, actually seeming lighter than his shirt.

As his feet pounded against the pavement, an unsolicited memory from earlier that afternoon continued fight its way just under the surface of Lex's cognizance. He wasn't going to let it come, not without a fight.


..."Trust me, when I make things disapear, they stay buried."...


Another memory. From last week. Talking to the reporter from The Inquisitor about his failed blackmail attempt. Talk about a mistake.

Lex tried to get hooked back into the hypnotic sound of his feet, his breathing, tried to focus on the feeling of his heart thumping, heathly but vastly mistreated.

It was no use. The memory threatened to break through the barriers he had so carefully put up in his mind, thereby forcing him to face what he would rather ignore. He had tried to cram it into the recess of his subconscious, but, unfortunately, the longer he ran, the more he realized just how full that recess already was. Filled to the brim with other worries, problems and things-to-not-think-about, he could no longer go on with his tragic efforts. You cannot drown a memory in a pool so shallow and so full.

It broke to the surface, startling him with it's clarity and color, not to mention the return of the ominous feeling he had suffered in the pit of his gut during the actual experience.


�"I'm afraid so, Luther. The lab says despite the lack of clear physical residue- you know blood, hair-"
"Yes." Lex's eyes, focusing on the trashed car, slit against the accusatory tone directed so bluntly at him. "I follow."
"Well, the- imprints- are evidence supporting your story. That you really did hit someone with your car. That you really did-"
Lex turned his darkened eyes to the greedy, humor filled ones before him. "I've got it."
Roger Nixon grinned at him, malicious in his obvious hatred for the young man. "So who'd you run over at 60 miles an hour?"�


Lex had flexed his fingers, stretching them, then curling them back into a tight, white-knuckled ball. Remembering the incident now, he caught himself repeating the same mannerism without even thinking about it.

Knocking the reporter to the ground had been very tempting. Taking out his confusion and frustration at the car and Clark's completely unharmed body on the downed man, beating him to a submissive little blob� It would have been very satisfying and would have taken his mind, at least temporarily, off the perplexing automobile accident. But never one to resort to physical tactics, Lex had gone for the man's metaphorical jugular instead.


�"Remember our little- deal." His mouth shook out the last word, brimming with inner rage and hatred for the blackmailing son of a bitch. "Your brother is in a very unfavorable position here." He paused to see the fear slam back into the man's posture and face, then continued with a sneer, making sure Nixon knew just who to hold responsible. "Thanks to you and your 'idea' of freedom of speech."
A slow and steady inhale had followed Lex's carefully chosen words. "I remember our deal."
"Good. Keep it that way. And if news of this-" he gestured with his open palm at the car beside him. "Gets out to anyone� Any. One. I will hold you and your brother personally responsible."...


Lex had then tossed the reporter, now his media-control device, out of his garage and mansion. He had told no one else about the car or his investigation into it. He knew Nixon could hunt out the story of the accident, probably would, but he couldn't seem to force himself to care about that right now. All he could see, think, hear, feel� Was the damn car. The dented and shattered car.

The dented and shattered car that should have left Clark Kent in the same condition. Only more- dead.


�he reached out a trembling hand to the windshield, "Clark," he whispered and fell to the floor trembling, breaking out in a sweat from a fear that hadn't yet reached his heart or mind; because he was holding it off, he wouldn't let it touch him�


After years of living with- or more accurately living without- Lionel as a father, he had learned how to suppress and eventually rid himself of pesky emotions and reactions. But in the garage� His chest had hurt, heaving with ragged breaths and he had felt as if something was coming to the surface.


�can I handle it?�


He had found himself standing in front of his closet door changing into sweatpants, running shoes and a tee-shirt. He had no memory of traversing the levels up to his room, but then he didn't care either. It hadn't mattered one iota. He was numb and he wanted to keep it that way.

He hadn't run in ages, and his actions didn't even register with his brain until he was already five minutes into the trek. Still finding himself mercifully numb, he didn't pursue the reasons for his choice of physical exertion. Usually he decided on a good drive when he needed to distance himself, the indicative clich� of escaping your troubles. Driving would not help now, though.


�nothing with cars, please�


When the problems were this bad� Well, they'd never been this bad. It was like everything was ganging up on him at once. His escaping had gotten ever more symbolic. He was now trying to outrun his worries. Outrun everything. And honestly- he was doing a very poor job.


�not heading anywhere in particular - just run�


He found himself straying from the center of Smallville, steering clear of the town and any well-traveled roads. Solitude was something he was used to, something he preferred. Or had preferred. Until Clark. The kid had saved his life, and Lex had returned what he saw as a slightly less important favor.


�stupid teenagers and their fucking-�


He cut himself off, forgetting the corn field and Clark tied to the post. It reminded him of an incident in his childhood, one he preferred not to think about.

Absently running his hand over his dampened, bald scalp, he tried to once again clear his mind. Looking around at the scenery, but not really seeing anything. Concentrating on the sound of his rapidly falling footsteps until it was the only sound occupying his attention. Keeping the pain in his hips and knees unceasingly in the front of his mind, knowing that he was going to pay dearly tomorrow for this little "jog" tonight.

His little ruse almost worked, but something� Something drew him back to Clark. He'd found that lately he wasn't in charge of his thoughts as much as he had been in the past. It didn't matter where he was or what he was participating in at that very moment, if a thought about Kent popped up, Lex was damned if he could control it. Simple little thoughts wherein they weren't doing anything, really. Talking, sitting, relaxing... Driving.

About what exactly drew him to the other boy? He was as clueless there as to what exactly happened during the crash. But he had his suspicions in both cases.

Lex had once thought it was partially Clark's innocence, the way he carried himself that made "wise-naivete" a truth instead of an oxymoron. However, since finding out that he had hit Clark with his sports car, he was unsure. He knew he had always seen such intelligence and awareness in those bright eyes, such philosophical clarity, but now he could tell that those eyes held secrets, dark ones.


�and yet, I still want so badly to be lost in them�


He swallowed hard, his throat sore and tight as he let his mind travel for the first time back to the accident.


---Clark's presence before me on the bridge is so horrifying, he can't be there; the thunk of his body against the hood is even worse; it scares me to my core- I'm so scared---


The young Luther could, even now, feel his stomach contracting. This wasn't normal. This wasn't just retrospection. It was reliving and he needed to get home. He needed to turn around and just-


�don't go back, don't stop, please; we're not through yet, not just yet�


He straightened his chin, and pushed his legs faster, ignoring the burning, the fire. He'd be damned if he was going to let mere memories control him.


---pressed against the steering wheel as the car falls forward; the impact jarring me as it crashes into the water---


His chest had been sore for a week after he'd been thrown so mercilessly onto the wheel.


�and yet, Clark- he's fine�


Lex could feel the first stitch of his run start in his side but he did not slow. He realized that his breathing was too shallow and rapid, and took in a few deeper, more relaxed breaths, knowing that the pain in his ribs would eventually dissipate.


---the water, the water everywhere---


He felt a shock as he realized he was beginning to get- cold.


�fear, that's fear�


He remembered the fear� The fear of being trapped within the sinking capsule of a car, unable to do a thing to stop the unobstructed water from pouring in on him. The fear as he lost that famous Luther composure and began a terrified banging and kicking. Began the struggle to hold his breath for just another second and another.


---oh, God, just hold the breath; damnit please, please---


He remembered the instant of fear and sorrow as he gave up, no longer able to fight it. He remembered the burning heat ripping through his throat and chest as he breathed in the water, as it filled his lungs and then-

Everything was gone. Nothing, darkness. Pain, then nothing. The next instant it seemed was the second time he saw Clark. There had been nothing in between the moment he had breathed in the water, and the moment Clark had pumped it out of him. It was probably a lifetime to Clark, but had been a mere blink for him, a single beat of a hummingbird's heart.


---open my eyes, I'm sore, so sore and horribly fucking tired. I- I see- someone. Is this my savior?---


Dripping and worried, he had been leaning over Lex, looking as if the world might come to an end.


---beautiful, handsome as the sun sends beams behind him and onto the ground around me; who is this---


He had known right away that he had somehow made it out alive, that this was not heaven because the Luthers knew their place in the world and the eternal order of things. Heaven was not it.


---and it would� Be all his fault---


Lex's heart leaped at the memory of Clark's expression, sorrow-filled and looking like he had failed, the face that showed fear and guilt. It hit Lex abruptly that if he had died that day- died so near Clark's arms but not actually within the warm, tight embrace- Clark would have blamed himself for not getting there soon enough, or not being efficient enough at CPR.

The look of relief that washed over the younger boy's face when Lex's eyes had met his� It had been so damn potent.

This memory was one that Lex had not ventured into until now. He hadn't dared for so many reasons. He knew as long as he didn't think about it, he could pretend that Kent had jumped out of the way, or maybe dived into the water below. But now he could hear the thunk, the sick crunch of metal and glass.

Lex felt himself trembling.


---CRUNCH---


Now that he remembered it, the sound of Clark's body slamming into the mixture of metal and glass was sure to haunt him. Unless he- maybe- He could talk to Clark about it. Just try.


�sad, worried, and guilty eyes looking down at him; blaming themselves already, hiding something�


Lex breathed in deeply, anger swelling up inside of him as his eyes stung, this time with a saline not borne of perspiration. Fuck talking. He needed to stop the emotions. He was a Luther, goddamn it. He could do this. Emotions weren't anything-


�the wrecked car in the light of his garage�


-that couldn't be forced-


�the panic as he kicked at the car door, the water surrounding him, finding its admittance in the cracks of the now broken window�


-deep, deep down until-


�he hadn't screamed, though; only cowards scream�


-it could eventually go away.


������


Silence. Mental silence. Maybe he'd done it.

Lex took a deep breath. It felt thick and tasted sour and he realized that his stomach was displeased at the way he was treating his body. He kept going, deciding to forget any objection, just to run until either he was as numb and careless as before Nixon showed up, or until he simply no longer could.

He once again concentrated on the tempo of his feet and the growing physical pain. His joints were sore and throbbing, virgin to this breed of strain, and as soon as he opened his mind to the aches and discomfort, they willingly screamed to their single man congregation. His deaf ear had been turned and it did wonders now that he was paying close attention to his body. Pain really did offer an incredibly winsome venture away from rational thought. It was almost aromatic in its intensity, at least if there was enough of it to go around.

More confident in his ability to either go farther or earn his detached state, he looked up and seeing his surroundings for the first time.

He stopped running. He didn't slow to a jog, then walk, then stop. He just stopped and stood there.

His body, set in motion for so long, felt weak. Moving and still at the same time. His heart was hammering angrily at his chest and he swayed. Lex was dangerously teetering on the spot, but whether from the sudden change in stamina or the realization of where he was� He couldn't begin to guess.

He was only a few hundred yards from Clark's barn.


�how the hell?�


He took a few questioning steps forward and found his legs to be heavy, rubbery and unstable. Shaking all over, he looked up to the loft, the second floor of the barn. There Clark stood, looking at him, watching him. Lex couldn't see an expression but could see the telescope next to him and wondered if he'd been using it.


�how long has he been watching me�


Lex was oddly comforted by the thought that Kent had been watching him through the telescopic lens. As his eyes traveled back up to meet Clark's, he felt a gush of warmth fill his stomach. His face and neck began to heat up and knew that these were not aftereffects of the run. He always felt this way around the tall, dark-haired kid.

For the second time that day he heard a name unwittingly spoken by himself. "Clark."

It wasn't even a whisper. It was a breath. And again, as with the first time he had let that name pass through his lips, he found himself falling to the ground, only this time, he seemed to be floating.


�funny, what his name seems to do to me�


He laughed for a moment, delirious, then slipped into the black, never feeling his body hit the ground.

To be continued...