Clark
was working in the garden when Lex found him. Weeding, it looked like,
kneeling in his ragged cutoffs and a t-shirt and yanking the encroaching
plants out of the ground with so much force that small showers of dirt
followed each one, pattering back down to dust Clark's arms. The air in
between them shimmered with heat. Lex could tell that Clark knew he was
there by the way he stiffened, and didn't turn around. "It's
nice of you to help your mom on your vacation," Lex said, after
a while.
Clark's
back grew even more rigid. "Some of us," he said evenly, "take
our responsibilities seriously."
Lex
inclined his head, acknowledging the hit. "I didn't come here to
argue with you," he said.
"No,
Lex, I know why you came here," said Clark.
"You're
very sure of yourself. College has been good for you."
"I'm
glad you approve," Clark said. The puffs of dirt as he uprooted
dandelions grew higher, dusting his hair.
Lex
opened the gate and crossed the garden, kneeling in front of the sunflower
bed. "This is pretty overgrown," he remarked.
Clark's
eyes flicked sideways at him, and Lex thought he saw a tiny double-take
at the sight of his jeans and t-shirt. He let one corner of his mouth--
the side away from Clark-- curl in satisfaction.
"Mom's
had to spend most of her time in the main fields with dad," Clark
said, and Lex could hear guilt in the sub harmonics of his level tone.
"It's been a dry year."
"Has
it?" Lex studied the plants in front of him, wondering what the
hell was supposed to be there and what wasn't.
"Not
that you'd know," Clark said. Another weed met a violent end, and
Lex's right side was showered by a stinging spray of dirt.
"Well,
business meetings are generally held indoors." Lex reached through
the tangle of leaves, grasping at a likely-looking stem.
"Not
that one, Lex," Clark said. "The other ones. The ones that
don't look like that."
Lex
moved his hand to the next plant over. "I was just moving it out
of the way," he said, and pulled, stripping a handful of leaves
and the top half of the stem. It was a good thing he'd taken a pre-emptive
Benadryl before he left the house.
Clark
sighed. "You have to hold it at the bottom, here," he said,
moving Lex's hand into position. "And pull hard. If you don't get
the root, it'll just keep coming right back."
Lex
wrapped his fingers around the stem, feeling dirt. His manicurist was
going to kill him. No campaign was won without sacrifice, he reminded
himself, though usually he'd envisioned the sacrifices being a little
more Dateline and a little less Victory Garden. God, he had to stop
watching cable in the back of the limo.
"So,
graduating with honors, I hear," Lex said, giving the weed an experimental
tug. It didn't move, so he pulled harder, until it came out of the ground
with a rip of tearing roots. He blinked dirt out of his eyes; he hadn't
realized gardening was so violent.
"It's
nice to see that news still gets around in Smallville," said Clark.
"Even, apparently, to people who don't live here."
Lex
ignored him. "Not that I'm surprised. You always were an overachiever."
Clark
flung down a handful of weeds; they sank a quarter of an inch into the
ground. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he demanded,
turning to face Lex for the first time since his arrival.
Lex
kept his eyes on the ground, pulling weeds as he spoke. "What do
you think it means, Clark?" he said. "You're a poster child
for the Great American Heartland. You always do your best. Rescuing
people, homework, making rash decisions on the basis of incomplete information...
everything you do, Clark, you give it your all." The weeds shuddered
and tore beneath his hands.
"Maybe
my information wouldn't have been so incomplete if you had just talked
to me!" Clark was breathing hard, his eyes still fixed on the ground.
"And
that would have worked beautifully, wouldn't it, because you were in
such a receptive frame of mind at the time," Lex said.
"I
would have listened--"
"Would
you?" Lex rose, angrily. He needed to walk. "Because I seem
to remember that the first thing you said to me was 'Why did you do
it, Lex?'"
"The
evidence--"
"Was
inconclusive, so of course you came up with a conclusion of your
own." Lex started to pace. He couldn't go very far, up and down
a few feet in between the sunflowers and the lilies, but it felt good
to be moving; the air was stifling, heavy against his skin.
"I
admit I got carried away, Lex, but I said I was sorry,"
said Clark. Even now, his face was full of the bewildered indignation
of someone who wasn't used to his apology not earning him immediate
forgiveness.
"Yes,"
said Lex. "You did." He kept walking, to the end of the row,
turn on his heel and then back to where Clark still knelt.
"Lex."
Strong, dirt-streaked hand on his hip; Lex could have pulled away, but
he didn't. He looked down into Clark's upturned face, and then away,
quickly. The sunflowers were wilted. It had been a dry year.
"I
am sorry," Clark said.
Lex
reached down and threaded his fingers through the soft hair at Clark's
temples; it was hot to the touch. He brushed away a streak of dirt with
one thumb. "So am I," he said, and the hand on his hip tightened,
bruising. "So am I."
"I
can't take it back," Clark said. "I know that. I just... you
left so soon. I didn't think you would leave so soon."
The
skin on Clark's cheekbones was very soft. "Luthors aren't known
for prolonging the inevitable."
Clark
raised his hands, wrapped his fingers carefully around Lex's wrists.
"Was it?" His voice was very quiet.
"I
thought so at the time."
"And
yet, here you are."
Lex
let out a little huff of breath, almost a laugh. He didn't look at Clark's
eyes, but at his long, grubby fingers. "Here I am."
"I
should have talked to you first," Clark said.
"Yes,"
said Lex. "You should have."
"But
you should have listened to me when I tried to talk to you later."
"In
hindsight, I suppose that might have helped."
Clark
let go of Lex's wrists, and stood; Lex stepped backwards, letting his
hands fall to his sides.
"There's
still a couch in the barn," Clark said. "We could talk, maybe."
Lex
looked at the dusty pile of weeds at his feet. "What, and leave
our task undone?"
Clark
shrugged. "They'll wait."
Lex
grinned. "Looks like you did learn something in college."
Clark
started off towards the barn, and Lex followed. It hadn't changed much
over the years; there was still the same Salvation Army couch, though
it was now flanked by a battered mini-fridge. Clark pulled out two bottles
of water and tossed one to Lex.
They
sat side-by-side on the couch, looking out the window at the brassy
sky. It was a lot harder to talk when you went somewhere specifically
for that purpose; Lex suddenly missed the weeds. He'd gotten dirt all
over his arms, and they itched.
"So,"
Clark said.
Lex
raised an eyebrow, unwilling to help. He'd done his part by coming here
in the first place; it was up to Clark to decide what happened from
here.
Clark
pushed his hair out of his eyes, sending a small shower of dirt down
over his shoulders. "I'm still mad at you," he said. "And
I know that you're still mad at me. But I think... I mean...."
he trailed off. "Oh, fuck this," he said, and Lex's
mouth fell open, which put it in a good position to accept Clark's tongue.
Apparently,
Lex thought, swearing wasn't the only thing that Clark had learned in
college.
He
tasted dirt and lemonade as Clark kissed him. Clark's hands found their
way to his waist, to the back of his head, and they felt huge and hot
and slightly gritty. Clark still shivered, Lex discovered, when you
sucked on his tongue.
They
broke apart, after a time, their breathing quick and shallow. The first
time they had been together like this, they'd been in Lex's garage,
looking at his latest acquisition; the last time, they'd been in Metropolis,
laughing at each other as they slid around on the silk sheets Lex had
bought on a whim. Lex had thought he remembered everything about the
way Clark felt in his arms. He'd been wrong.
"This
won't fix anything," Lex said, his voice quiet.
"I
know," said Clark, and moved closer, dropping a tiny kiss on Lex's
mouth. "But can we maybe fix things later?"
Procrastination,
Lex reflected, wasn't always a bad idea. He let one hand slide
underneath Clark's t-shirt, where the small of his back was soft and
sweat-dampened. "I think we can," he said, and reached for
Clark's mouth again; as their lips met, he thought he heard the hiss
of hot rain.
~End~
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