Chapter 9: Somewhere in Between

Clark shifted in his bed, plagued by the barn's ample sunlight- even with the hayloft door closed- and tried to get into a comfortable and relatively dark and shady position. Something he couldn't identify-

…that's because there's nothing there…

-was digging into his shoulders-

…it's just your imagination; it's giving you another excuse as to why you're awake…

-and the cracks and gaps in the barn's wooden planks shot beams of the unbidden light all around, revealing billows of eddying dust, otherwise naked to even the most scrutinous eye.

…not that you'd face the real reasons…

And now the sounds of his father working loudly outside were becoming more imminent, more obtrusive and boisterous in their ever-increasing proximity.  He was growing more weary and therefore more iritable, more petulant to even the slightest noise, searching for anything, anything at all that he could squarely place the blame upon for his personal cacophony, and in the barn it wasn't a difficult task.  He craved the dark and reposed sanctity of his room but he didn't dare head over to the house. He still had no idea of what exactly his father had told his mother, and had no desire to find out anytime soon.

There was really nothing to what had happened last night as far as they were concerned, just him aiding a friend. He knew that's how his mother would see it, but... it didn't make last night any easier for him take.

…why does it have to be so hard?…

The fact that his mother was more understanding and sympathetic towards Lex, knowing he was not a carbon-copy of his father; it didn't help him sort through his feelings for the industrialist's scion. Lately, most of the predicaments that he was tossed into seemed to be beyond his parents grasp of cognition, but at least his abilities were something he could share with them. His friendship- his relationship with Lex... He didn't think that even his mother would be open-minded enough to swallow that.

His folks had always told him that no matter what, he could come to them with any dilemma and, despite all of his puerile objections, he had once felt the stable certainty of their words and actions, something solid within their eyes that he could hold onto forever. But now, with Lex... For once he found the circumstances, the issues, to be ones that he irrefutably could not discuss with his parents. They had no idea any such problems even existed and maybe it was better that way. It would no doubt be awkward enough at dinner-

…shouldn't have skipped lunch…

-with his father's blatant distaste for Lex and because Clark could never seem to hide his demeanor from Jonathan and Martha. They wouldn't know what the impasse was in regard to, but would conclude it was better not to pry, leaving the permisable conversation to forced and superficial small-talk levels.

He feared the moment when he realized that he'd rather be alone than in a place with people who loved him.  Feared the moment when it actually hit home-

…again…

-that there were people in his life who loved him-

…first the inability to help me discover my origins…

-but who could not help him-

…now I can't even ask advice about my relationship with Lex…

-no matter how much deeply they desired the opposite, the antipodal of the truth.

So why subject himself to that sooner than he had to? If he were to head to the house now, Martha might feel free to ask him questions that she otherwise wouldn't.  They would be simple questions like "what happened with Lex" and "did you find out why he was running?" or, the worst yet, "what happened that had you there for so long?" Simple questions? Yes. Simple answers? Hardly. Her mother-like questions would leave him suspiciously flushed and faltering for words. The answers to the questions were already more the cause of his insomnia than the constant distractions: sounds, lights, and whatever the hell-

…nothing…

-was digging into his back.

Shifting again on his cot, the mattress feeling more like bedrock than foam and coils, he speculated that, for now at least, he had no responses for the inquisition running through his tired and over-worked mind. He just wanted to go to sleep. Unfortunately the only place he could see that commencing in would be his soft and yielding bed, in his dark room, with the door closed and the blinds shut. But just being in the house...

…argh…

He had to keep Lex and everything that happened the previous night a secret.  It wasn't going to be easy and was destined to advance the already expanding distance between him and his folks, specifically Jonathan.

…like this morning, only worse…

Clark had finished all of his own chores and a few of his father's in the small amount of time before his father awoke and came out. When Jonathan Kent did make it out, Clark had seen a look in the man's eyes that he had never received before: he was hiding his something from his son.

…secrets all over the place…

His real emotions were poorly kept at bay, as Clark could see that the man was angry and disappointed. The anger didn't really seem to be directed at him-

…didn't seem to be, but that doesn't mean he wasn't…

-which was good, but the disappointment… He couldn't tell. Clark found that what hurt him the most was his father's covertness. He had never before seen those eyes so guarded, his expressions so controlled. He'd had no clue at how well the man could perform until now, hiding the meaning if not the actual feelings and he just wished that he could explain everything away. Tell his father all and just have the man hug him, saying that he'd love Clark no matter what, that nothing was going to impair their family, and that each problem wasn't that big and could be easily solved.  He wanted his father to drop the shields and tell Clark the truth. What was Jonathan so disappointed about? In his son and Lex, their friendship? What would he think about what happened last night?

Clark doubted Jonathan could ever understand what had propelled through him, shaken him raw as Lex leaned into him, his head resting on his shoulder. As he felt every breath going and coming, in and out against his chest, there was an almost overbearing sense of rational perfection, a peace not to mention privilege. It had intimidated Clark a little, and he knew that this intimacy was merely skimming the top of what was out there.  Last night had been transcendence though, in it's purest form and he ached with how he wanted it all to loiter and persist.

…how could I ever let dad see? how could I ever show him?…

Clark sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to, that Jonathan might never see more of Lex than he saw of Lionel.

Just what he needed now: another layer, another encumbrance, to go atop his already full freight.

…lex isn't an encumbrance…

Of course not, but the situation he was in with Lex was. He'd always been fairly careless with his heart, giving his trust and fondness to people he barely knew. In the weeks that he had gotten to know Lex he had found the boy to be more kind, generous and self-conscious than anyone had the right to see. Lex had little quirks, little impossibly endearing factors and Clark had found, without having to admit it to himself, that he came to love Lex early on, in the same manner he loved his parents or Chloe or Pete. Simple. Loyal. True.

But he'd also known how easily he could fall for the older boy.

The way Lex cared about him, the way he treated him... It was as if everything was something- or everyone was someone- that Lex could own or lease or just use... until he looked at Clark. Not that he would use everything at his disposal. Lex wasn't that type of person, despite what Clark's dad, despite what everyone's dad said.

No, he wouldn't use everything he could. He just looked at all the entities in his world with a kind of blase certainty; he knew what was available to him and it no longer-

…if it ever did…

-surprised him. Everyone was just an accommodation or an instrument ready to be used in Lex's contrivance; something to be seen and possibly utilized.

It all seemed different when Clark saw Lex's gaze wash over him. There was genuine affection and warmth there, a light, a glint, as if all was suddenly unique in the glabrous young man's world. Clark brought something new to the mix, and that novelty had yet to wear off.

…maybe it won't…

"Right." Clark wasn't stupid. He understood that Lex saw him as a blessing of sorts. Racing underwater to rip open the roof, he had saved Lex from death and instilled the twenty-three year old into his life. That would be enough to feel indebted to someone eternally. At least until "eternity" ran out and you saw that what the person had done was just a natural instinct, not necessarily something everyone would do, but something that enough people would have tried.

So Clark was new and fun and interesting. For awhile.

…no, there's more to it than that; there's something there, right?…

He wasn't just being insipid and imagining things far out of whack. Wasn't it there, in the older man's eyes? That glint: it didn't look like a spark but instead like a fire, all the rage and burning brightly.

…it's not just in his eyes; the kiss; the kiss that he wanted…

There was something deep within the older boy, something that felt the same way about Clark that Clark did about Lex.

…you can't deny it just because you don't want to complicate things; he's genuine when he's with you; you're not just a temporary innovation to him and you know it…

Clark sprung up and out of the bed to begin pacing in his pajamas, frustrated at himself and his lackluster thoughts. Did he have to go over everything seven-teen-million-times? Why couldn't he just say: "Yes, I'm from another planet somewhere far away in outer-space. I'm an alien and yes, I've got the hots for a man that wouldn't understand me- who would?- and whom my father can't stand. Oh, and by the way- speaking of my father- I think he's beginning to grow irritated with me, and I can't talk to him about why."

He suddenly wished he could go back to his days before Lex's driving almost got him killed, to the days before he'd been-

…hit…

-thrown off of the bridge and into the water. If only Lex hadn't been going- what was it, sixty-miles and hour?- so fast in Smallville. If only his damn phone hadn't rung. Then Clark could be the brooding, confused and horny seventeen-year old that constantly and innocuously watched Lana Lang sitting on her front porch and desperately wondered why he could run faster than the speed of sound, but couldn't write an English paper deserving a grade higher than a mid B.

Now he had things to contemplate, more serious things to worry about than foolish teenage crap, but even that seemed to work it's way in. Now he was falling for the man that had almost killed him, not that he'd ever admit to Lex that he actually did ram into him that day.

…lex…

If there was one thing, one single thing, that he could be happy about that all of this confusion had wrought, it was the fact that he had helped people. He had saved a few lives, and he would never wish that it hadn't started with Lex's.

…lex…

He plopped back onto his bed, stretching his arms over his head, and let out a deep rumble of frustration at his thoughts and his one-track mind. The damned thing kept leading back to one place.

…lex…

The quandary that had been keeping his mind occupied throughout the whole morning- at least after the sun had come up- and the afternoon was: Is Lex awake now and does he remember. He'd been very out of it, but even so... Were the events likely to be something that Lex could forget?

Did Clark really want him to forget? Despite his persistent thoughts to the contrary, he wasn't sure. Clark felt the rush of emotions that could answer that question, the rush of hormones, cascading around inside his exhausted body, of which he felt warm over. He pushed the memories of the previous events out of his mind before the images came.

Still, he wondered what it would be like to be human. To be human and to have met Lex under different circumstances, circumstances wherein the magic would still lie, the fire would still rage, and Lex... Lex would still kiss him like he did last night.

"Stop thinking about it, idiot," he whispered, realizing how very close to the edge he was, how very easy it would be for him to take that plunge for Lex, and how hard it would be to say no if Lex ever asked him to be- to be... something more than friends. Would he be able to say no? To resist the charm and affections of the young man? The -

…vulnerability…

-oblation of trust, something the Luthers gave out rarely, or, according to Clark's father, never.

The possibility of just how right they would be- together.

Clark wanted Lex to not remember anything so that they could still remain friends, still have their bond that brought them closer then most people, with both mental appreciation and physical gestures.

…what just a single touch can do…

He feared that if Lex remembered the pure and naked defenselessness he had been exposed to the other night he'd shy away from Clark; if he remembered the kisses, the embrace... Would he want more?

Clark was scared of the answer to that question, didn't ever want to hear it coming from the older man because if that happened he figured he'd just give up.  He'd fall to his knees before Lex and ask the older boy to hold him, to not try and understand him... to ask nothing more from Clark that what he could possibly give. He'd beg Lex to love him no matter, and that's what he was afraid of. This love that could be so right it could end up killing him. If he were to ever feel comfortable enough to tell Lex what he was...

Somehow he just felt more afraid to tell him than anyone. There was something in Lex that scared him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

…maybe it's the fact that he was willing to be his most vulnerable with you last night, but you're not willing to do the same…

Maybe so, but that didn't click. It could just be the intensity of connection, but he doubted that too.

He felt his mind starting to fog over and he closed his eyes, welcoming the rest. He couldn't do anything until he knew what Lex remembered, what Lex wanted to do. He wasn't going to think about how willing and weak-kneed he'd been after the kiss, wasn't going to worry about what would happen if Lex wanted more from him than what they already had.  He wasn't going to cogitate on what scared him about Lex. He was just going to go to sleep and hope that when he woke up, something, just one thing in his life, would be less complicated.

Maybe he'd sleep through dinnertime.
 
 
 
 
 

To be continued...