Name: Resurrection

Author: Hope Roy

Prompt: Where was Clark this summer?

Notes: This was actually part of a longer story, but I ran out of time. Once I get around to it, I'll post the rest of it on my LJ when I finish.

---------------------------

Metropolis had an energy. There was always something, people moving about, noise enough to make the place feel alive. Nothing was ever stagnant, but was continually flowing through and, if a person wasn't careful, they could end up carried away by the powerful current. The city didn't care about people; it swept them up and away as if they were nothing more than logs in a raging river, no single person more important than the other, nondescript, anonymous.

Lex had learned that all too well.

When he'd been younger, he'd been happy to be carried away. To be one in a crowd--to no longer stand out--had been wonderful, liberating in a way he'd seldom experienced since then. In the real world, he was always Lex Luthor but, in the underground club scene, he'd been nobody, and that had been freeing. Wonderful, really.

That ability to blend into Metropolis' crowds was no longer a desirable trait--not when it wasn't Lex trying to remain invisible.

Finding Clark had become something of an obsession. It wasn't that Lex hadn't been obsessed before in one way or another, because he *had*, but three months on a deserted island had only enhanced that need to know *everything*. Finding Clark, since he'd gotten back, had become something that he couldn't let go, even when it seemed as if everyone else had.

Clark had left the farm of his own volition--that much Lex had discovered. It had taken some effort to get those details anonymously, but Lex hadn't wanted everyone to know that he was back--not yet. More specifically, he'd wanted to keep his father and Helen in the dark.

After he found Clark and brought him home, Lex would deal with them.

Lana had been the last one to see Clark. From the information that Lex had been able to gather, Clark had ridden off on a motorcycle, acting decidedly unlike himself. Wherever he'd gone, he'd dropped off the map. No one in Smallville knew where he was.

And so the question remained, where had Clark gone this summer?

Standing in the club district of Metropolis, Lex desperately hoped the tip he'd received was wrong. Clark in this area of town would be... bad. He wasn't cut out for a life like this and, if Lex's sources were right, the club life wasn't doing him any good. Still, it was hard to tell from an informant who could only say that he'd seen someone in a nightclub who matched Clark's description. It might not be Clark. Part of Lex hoped it wasn't because, if Clark was living here, Lex was very afraid of what he'd find.

The moment Lex stepped over the threshold and into the mass of writhing bodies, he knew that he was well past that stage in his life. There had been a time when drugs, alcohol, and sex had been his three biggest vices--the things that ruled his days. He'd been the epitome of the rich man's heir, someone the world believed to have grown up severely over-privileged and with a feeling of entitlement. Everyone had written him off as useless, just one more in a long line of celebrity failures who spiraled off into a life of drugs and booze.

He wasn't that person anymore. This scene wasn't his, and he desperately hoped that it hadn't become Clark's.

Making his way across the dance floor, Lex tried to avoid the hands that reached out. It seemed impossible and, when one girl reached out and groped him, sidling close and asking if he wanted to dance, he firmly removed her hands and continued onward, heading for the bar.

Sometimes, it paid to have the bartender on your payroll.

"Is he here?" Lex asked as he slipped up to the bar. The bartender, who'd been cleaning a glass, set it aside and turned to Lex.

"He matches the picture."

Immediately, Lex's heart beat a little faster. "Where?"

"You're not going to like this."

Straightening up, Lex leaned into the counter. The music was so loud that it was difficult to hear anything else. Still, despite all the sweaty, energized bodies dancing and moving around him, he was only after one thing. He needed to find Clark. No matter what kind of trouble the boy was in, Lex would bring him home. There was no other option. No matter what Clark had been into, he was still Lex's, and Lex wasn't going to except anything less than success in regards to finding Clark.

Truthfully, he had to wonder if it had been partially his fault that Clark had left in the first place. At the time, Lex had chosen not to look too closely at what his relationship with Helen was doing to Clark. Marrying her had seemed like the perfect answer—he'd still have Clark, he'd be able to have an heir, and the woman he was marrying expected nothing more from him than a husband in name only. It had seemed perfect.

Now, it seemed the farthest thing from it.

Thinning his lips, the bartender looked away. "He's working for Morgan Edge. If you ask me, I'd bet he's got something on the kid."

Morgan Edge, the biggest crime lord in Metropolis, the last person that Lex would want Clark involved with...and how the hell had Clark managed to screw up that royally? Clark didn't *do* things like that. Not while Lex had known him, anyway, and now was sure as hell a bad time for a farm boy to start making changes that drastic.

"What would Edge want with a kid?"

"Damned if I know," the man replied with a shrug. "But the kid's in here every night, shooting up on something."

*Damn* it. Drugs? Clark was into drugs? It made no sense.

"Do you know what it is?"

The man shrugged again. "Some new thing going around. If I had to guess, I'd say he's an addict who's getting his fix from Edge in exchange for something Edge wants done."

After everything Lex had endured in the past few months, coming back to this was… so much less than welcome. After having to be strong—to fight to survive—it would have been helpful to come back and find Clark in one piece, mentally as well as physically, despite everything that had transpired.

Apparently, that wasn't meant to be and, if there was one thing he could thank his father for, it was the ingrained and hard-taught ability to be strong in the face of something like this.

No one could ever accuse Lex Luthor of not being strong. Someone who was weak wouldn't have lived through a plane crash, much less made it back to civilization alive. And once there, they wouldn't have been able to discern their would-be murderer.

At first, Lex had been convinced of his father's guilt. It was the perfect plan--kill off Lex in a tragic plane accident. The new wife would be gone as well, cleaning things up nicely.

The only flaw, Lex had found, was that Helen was living quite comfortably in his mansion. According to the newspapers, she'd related a thrilling tale of how he'd given her the last parachute, heroically saving her life.

It was a good story. The problem was, that was *all* it was--a piece of fiction.

Lionel Luthor had not almost killed his son. Lex had narrowly missed being murdered by his *wife*.

Helen should have been his perfect match. He hadn't loved her—he'd never thought that he did. All he'd needed was a trophy wife, someone to give him a child and to be at his side during corporate parties and events. Clark—Clark was going to be the one in his bed.

Lex should have known better. Clark wasn't someone meant to be compartmentalized, shunted to one side so that Lex could safely have the best of both worlds. He deserved better than to be a dirty little secret, and Lex had to wonder if he'd deserved having everything blow up in his face for making him one.

Lex knew he should have detected Helen's game from day one. Lex had always prided himself on seeing through other people's ruses, and it wasn't as though hers had been particularly skillful--just convincing. The difference--that had been Lex's downfall. Good would have been seamless, a strategy that he wouldn’t have unraveled so easily in hindsight. It had been the way she'd gone along with what he wanted, appearing as his perfect match, that had convinced him. She'd claimed that she hadn't cared about what he was doing with Clark—about what he'd *continue* doing with Clark—and that acceptance was enough of a relief that he'd turned a blind eye to her flaws and motivations—to the beginnings of her plan.

A deadly plan that should have been effective—*was* actually quite good, but with one notable exception.

He wasn't dead.

He'd survived—was more than alive enough to come back for revenge. All the careful groundwork in the world meant nothing when she'd left him alive to come back and tear it all up.

The world still thought he was dead. Even his father had given up hope. It was the perfect opportunity—the ideal time to work behind the scenes, with no one suspecting. His father, the master strategist, couldn't predict the actions of a man who was supposed to be dead.

But first, he needed to find Clark.

"The kid's probably already here," the bartender told Lex, jerking his head toward the side of the room. "Find Edge and you'll probably run into the kid.

Lex nodded. He knew where Edge was. In some of his…wilder days, he'd had a few run-ins. Edge knew enough about him, well enough to know Lex's face, and even if he didn't, Clark undoubtedly would. Right now, he didn't quite trust Clark to have the best judgment—to not reveal anything if he saw Lex. It made Lex doubly glad for the wig and make-up he was wearing. Darker skin, brown hair, and brown eyes made him a completely different person. It was nice to see that some of his training from his…misspent youth had come in handy.

"Thanks," Lex responded after a few moments, dropping two hundred dollars on the counter. The man grinned, pocketing the money and turning away from Lex before heading over to another customer at the bar.

Lex let him leave. The man had been as helpful as he was going to be. Finding Clark was now his responsibility. Bring Clark *home* was his responsibility because, damn it, he at least owed him that after everything else he'd put him through with Helen.

Shoving back through the throng of dancers, Lex headed for a discreet doorway across the room. Edge and his associates were known to meet there, and there was a good chance they'd be inside and, by association, so would Clark.

Pushing the door open, Lex slipped inside, ascending the stairs to the second floor. He remembered doing this once back in his clubbing days, back when he'd wanted something covered up, mainly from his father. He could still see Morgan's face as he'd laughed and replied that they could… negotiate payment.

Shuddering, Lex redoubled his determination to find Clark.

The stairs exited out into a hallway and, at the end, Lex stopped in front of a door and knocked sharply. As he'd expected, it opened without any delay. No one came up here unless they had a purpose, and anyone stupid enough to think they could fuck with Edge would be allowed entrance anyway. Why not? They'd only end up staying harmless and silent. The threat of death or ruin tended to do that.

When Lex stepped through the door and caught sight of Edge and his associates, he was sure that Clark was in over his head.

That is, if there was anything normal left inside his head. Right then, the kid looked so unlike the Clark Kent that Lex had grown to know that it was completely unnerving. He wasn't the Clark—his Clark—who shared Lex's bed. He wasn't the person that--the entire time Lex had been stranded on that island--he'd wanted to get back to, that he'd found himself obsessing over, craving more than anything.

"I don't recall setting up an appointment with you," Edge noted coolly as Lex advanced into the room.

Edge's eyes were sharp and discerning, very like Lex's father's, and it wasn't difficult to see how this man had earned his reputation as a formidable crime lord. If Lionel had chosen this kind of life, he could have been in the very same position. His father's mind was something that Lex understood all too well.

Sometimes, he felt it was too like his own.

"You didn't," Lex replied calmly, careful to deepen his voice as much as was possible without it sounding overacted. Clark, who was slouching at the far end of the table, would no doubt notice if he didn't try. "But you do have something I'm interested in."

Edge raised an eyebrow. "I'm intrigued," he replied, a tiny smirk twisting his lips. Lex caught it for what it was—mocking sarcasm. "What have I got that you could possibly want?"

"I want to talk with him," Lex answered, nodding in Clark's direction. "Privately."

"He's not for hire, I'm afraid," Edge said, laughing darkly. It was sickening to see the almost proprietary look in his eyes when he glanced over at Clark.

Clark's scowl was almost as telling.

Lex bristled; Edge was a marked man.

"Nothing like that. I just believe he might have information on… an old friend of mine." Clark had truthfully been more than a friend, and Lex wasn't ready to believe that relationship was dead, no matter what he'd been doing. After all those months alone on the island, thinking on Clark—on how desperately he wanted to talk to him, to touch him, to see him—he wouldn't accept anything less.

One of the men at the table interrupted Edge. Lex noted that his stern face was marred with a large tattoo, his voice gritty and abrupt. "We need to head out."

Edge waved the disruption off and focused on Lex. His pale eyes glinted with interest as he asked, "Why would you think I'd allow that? Do you have something *I* want?"

"Five grand in cash, right now. Let me take him away for the night."

"I damn well don't think so."

This time, the objection didn't come from Edge—it came from Clark.

Standing up, Clark shoved back the chair that he'd been lounging in while he casually studied Lex. His pupils were wide, the irises rimmed with red, his grin feral and hot as he approached Lex. He looked so confident, and the swagger in his movement so far removed from the Clark Lex cared about, that it was almost absurd.

"I'm nobody's whore." His laughter was edged, cutting, as he flashed a sharp smile at Lex. "You'll have to look someplace else for 'entertainment.'"

"Ten thousand." interjected Edge, smiling and leaning back in his chair. "In cash, right now...and he's yours for the night."

Lex nodded, trying to ignore the look of shock and disgust on Clark's face when he realized that Edge was seriously considering it. "It's a deal."

Edge nodded. "Have him back by eight tomorrow." Glancing over at the man with the tattoo, he added, "Your business can wait until tomorrow."

The man with the tattoo looked annoyed, but Clark looked downright furious. "You damn well can't—"

"I can." His face stony, Edge corrected Clark, cutting him off. "Complain...and I'll add another two days before you get your next fix."

Clark's glare was nothing short of venomous. "I'm not a fucking whore."

Edge's facial expression didn't change. "For ten thousand dollars you are. For that amount of money in cash, you're whatever he wants you to be. Have a nice night, Kal, and make sure he brings you back in the morning."

Looking absolutely furious, Clark glared at Lex. The red flaring in his eyes was unnatural, and Lex knew he had to be on something.

Nodding towards Edge, Lex tossed the ten grand on the table and turned towards the door. "Pleasure doing business," he threw back over his shoulder, his voice curt as he waited, poised for betrayal.

The corner of Edge's mouth crooked upward as he reached out and picked up the stack of bills. "The pleasure's all mine."

Clark looked as if he thought it was anything but pleasure and, as Lex headed for the exit, he could hear muttered curses behind him. Some of the things Clark said—Lex would never have guessed that the naive young man knew what they were. It seemed as if Clark had learned a lot during the time that he'd been missing.

"Do you want to tell me what the hell you want?" Clark demanded as soon as they stepped out into the hallway and closed the door. "I don't give a damn if you're trying to find someone—I'm not some callboy, and I'm sure as hell not going to let you treat me like one."

"No," Lex agreed. "You may not be a callboy, but you *are* a junkie who needs a fix, aren't you? Is that what Edge has on you?"

Before Lex knew what was happening, he was slammed up against the wall, hard enough to dent the plaster, Clark's hands fisted in his shirt. His ears rang, and he knew he'd have bruises in the morning. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stay calm as he hung there suspended in the air, looking down at Clark.

"I don't owe you any explanations," Clark whispered, his face inches from Lex's. Those eyes were still as captivating as ever, even tinged with red, and Lex couldn't help his tiny indrawn breath. Clark was… almost too beautiful to be real, even like this.

"But you do owe me your time," Lex replied, managing to keep his voice even.

Clark laughed bitterly. "If you turn up in the river tomorrow morning, Edge isn't going to give a damn. He's got his money."

"You wouldn't do that." Clark wasn't a killer, no matter how high he was. Lex wasn't willing to believe otherwise, and if that belief cost him his life, well, then maybe it was fate coming to collect. He should have died on that island to begin with, anyway.

"You don't know anything about me," Clark spat, shaking Lex one last time before releasing him. "Don't pretend that you do."

"That's where you're wrong. I *do* know you," Lex corrected as they began to descend the stairs. "I know you better than almost anyone else."

Clark laughed with a bitter edge. "That's interesting, considering I don't think I've ever seen you before. You know, you're accusing *me* of being on something, but I think maybe you'd better lay off whatever *you're* smoking."

"I'm not smoking anything," Lex replied calmly, as they reached the bottom of the stairs together. Pulling open the door, he and Clark made their way out into the crowded room.

It was remarkable to see how the waves of people seemed to part before Clark. Clearly, he was well-recognized--had been there a while, certainly long enough to cultivate a certain aura of power. People not only knew who he was--it was obvious that they had learned not to cross him.

The cool night air wafted across Lex's face as he exited through the back door into an alley. The breeze felt good after the stuffiness of the club. The city's air reeked of urban life--so different from the bland seclusion that Lex had been living in for months. It was good to smell something other than the ocean.

Clark remained silent as he followed Lex out to his car. More than likely, he believed that no matter what Lex tried, he could defend himself against it. Ordinarily, he'd have been right--Lex wouldn't have been able to do anything to him. That was no longer the case. The odds had changed, secrets had become clearer--time spent alone on a desert island would do that. With nothing to do but think, Lex had turned things over in his head until he was sure he'd been going crazy. Everything had had happened to him in Smallville started to make too much sense for him to be sane, because nothing should fit together like that, but it *had*.

And, clearly, he'd been right.

Lex waited until Clark was in the car before he unleashed the meteorite from its lead prison. He wasn't taking any chances that Clark could call for help.

The change in Clark's face was instantaneous. One moment, there was anger and annoyance hanging there, and the next, he looked sick and shocked. "Get that away from me," he gasped, scrabbling at the door handle.

Lex had locked the door.

"I don't know what you've been into, Clark," Lex insisted as he picked up the glowing rock, holding it in Clark's line of vision. "But it's going to end. I want my Clark back."

"Who are you?" Clark choked out, trying to twist away. Pain warped his face with green agony, and Lex agonized over the terror he could see in Clark's eyes.

Despite his distress, Lex managed to reveal a part of the mystery. "Someone who never should have left you in the first place. I'm sorry, Clark."

Striking Clark with the rock—even if it was only to knock him out—made Lex feel sick. Watching him slump back into the seat, a tiny cut on his forehead, was something he had never wanted to see happen. He didn't want to hurt Clark but, as he set the rock on the floor in front of him, Lex knew that right then, getting him out of Edge's clutches was more important.

Once he'd settled Clark in the seat and buckled him in, Lex searched the boy's pockets for a wallet. Some ID, a club membership—anything that would give him some clue as to what Clark had been doing.

Clark's wallet did yield a few tell-tale items, a few of which were helpful, though unpleasant. Truthfully, after having been gone for only three months, a condom in his boyfriend's wallet wasn't what he'd wanted to find. Less jarring than that discovery, he found a scan card for an apartment. Thankfully, the name of the apartment building was also printed on it. Noting the address, Lex tucked everything back into Clark's pocket.

Clark didn't stir at all as the car moved out of the ally and onto the road. His face was still set in a grimace of pain, and Lex couldn't help but feel a little guilty about the fact that he was hurting Clark instead of preventing it.

The same question kept battering at his brain. What had Clark been doing all this time? The condom in his wallet gave Lex a hint, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe that Clark had been indulging in casual sex. That just wasn't like the boy he'd fallen in love with.

Just like drugs and clubbing wasn't Clark. Right.

Sighing, Lex stopped at a red light. As he waited for it to change, he found himself wondering about what had really happened with Martha Kent's miscarriage. He couldn't imagine that, not even in a million years, Clark had intentionally hurt her. That meant that the accident the day of the wedding was just that--an accident. Had Clark's guilt really been so bad that he'd come to Metropolis to live this kind of life?

The light changed and Lex returned his attention to the road. The streets of the city weren't busy, which was not surprising considering it was three o'clock in the morning and, within a few minutes, Lex pulled up in front of Clark's apartment. Its close proximity the club was worrying; Lex knew what it was like to be addicted to the kind of lifestyle Clark was currently leading. It sucked someone in until they couldn't escape—didn't *want* to leave and, clearly, Clark had been spending a lot of time in the clubs.

Parking the car and going around to Clark's side, Lex picked up the rock and tucked it into a pocket before lifting his friend out of the vehicle, only pausing momentarily when Clark moaned in his sleep. It distressed Lex to be causing Clark pain, but he couldn't afford to give Clark a chance to run again.

Lex manhandled Clark through the entry door of the apartments, where he paused a moment to think. The key card hadn't specified Clark's apartment number, leaving him at a loss. His best option, he realized, was to ask someone. The man heading for the elevator seemed as good a choice as any.

"Could you tell me which apartment he belongs in?" Lex asked, getting the other man's attention. He gestured with his head to the heap of warm boy that he was holding up. "He's drunk."

The man glanced at Clark and frowned. "Kal?" he asked. "He comes in late a lot, but I've never seen him this wasted."

"I'm guessing that you two have run into each other, then?" Lex asked. Kal—that was a strange name, and one that seemed an odd choice for Clark.

The man shrugged. "His place is next to mine, actually."

"Could you show me the way up?"

"Sure."

Lex fell into step behind the man as he moved over to an elevator. The man pressed the up button and then stepped inside when the doors opened. Lex followed, pulling Clark along with him.

"You're lucky," the man said once the doors had closed. Glancing at Lex out of the corner of his eye, he pushed the button for the fifth floor.

Lex raised an eyebrow, shifting Clark a little to get a better grip on him. Clark might not have been as heavy as he looked, but he still was no lightweight. Solid muscle massed quite a bit. "Why's that?" he questioned.

"He's a good lay," the man said bluntly.

Lex's breath caught in his chest, sharp and painful. Casual sex really was what Clark had been doing, he realized, feeling sick. His best friend had spent his summer in Metropolis, sleeping around. If he hadn't been convinced before, there was no doubt left in his mind—Clark wasn't himself. He simply couldn't be. Someone like Clark wouldn't run off and sleep with anyone who was willing if his best friend—his lover—was missing. It just wasn't Clark.

Deciding not to answer the man, Lex glanced out the sides of the glass elevator, looking out at the dark city. Metropolis lit up at night was a beautiful sight, if somewhat lonely. He wondered if Clark had ever gotten lonely living in the city by himself.

The elevator's doors slid open, revealing an outdoor landing. "That's his room right there," the man told Lex, gesturing towards a door with the number five on it.

"Thanks," Lex replied, receiving a nod from the other man before the man disappeared into the apartment next to Clark's. Of all the actions that he might have expected from Clark, promiscuity wasn't on the list.

Sighing, he reached into Clark's back pocket and was able to get his wallet out again. Taking the card for the second time that night, he slid it through the scanner on the door, gaining access to Clark's apartment.

The first thought that crossed Lex's mind when he entered the apartment was that there was no way Clark could have afforded the place unless he was taking in a large amount of cash. More than likely, that money was from his dealings with Morgan Edge.

Searching through the spacious apartment, Lex finally found the bedroom. Like the rest of the place, it was large and luxurious, with its windows looking out over the city. Hardwood floors accented the cool colors of the walls and furniture, and the bed was king-sized, with blue silk sheets. Sighing, Lex laid Clark down on it and arranged him so that he would be comfortable. Sitting down next to him, Lex combed his fingers through the long dark curls he'd missed so much.

He'd waited so long for this. All that time he'd been on the island, his thoughts had been on Clark. At first, it had been reflection on how much he'd missed the boy, but as time wore on, those thoughts had turned to ones of guilt. What he'd made Clark go through with Helen—he'd finally realized that he'd been wrong. Even before he'd known that Helen had tried to kill him, he'd intended to come home and end their brief marriage.

Lex had to wonder if the combination of Lex marrying someone else and the miscarriage of Martha's child had put Clark over the edge. He could imagine little else that would have forced Clark into a life like this. To think that he might have been part of the factors that had motivated Clark to run away—it make Lex sick. He was going to make things right. He *was*, no matter what it took.

Eventually, Clark would wake, and then they'd talk. Lex knew that was when he'd get his answers. He was sure that when Clark realized who he really was—sans makeup and a wig—he'd tell Lex everything. Lex would find out what was making him act the way he was, and he'd find out where he'd been all summer...and what kind of trouble he was in.

After that, Lex would fix everything, free Clark from Morgan Edge's influence, and take him home where he belonged.

After all, he'd returned from the dead.

Taking on a crime lord and a runaway boyfriend would be a snap.