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Contrary to what his lawyers must be thinking right now, Lex is not a fucking idiot. He knows how bad this looks—the young, beautiful wife of the heartless billionaire who tried to escape a damned marriage, only to be brutally murdered by her jilted husband before she could have her happy ending, because if he can't have her, then no one can.
And he really has to give Lana credit for that brilliant parting shot: What are you going to do, Lex, kill me?
But Lex is just fucking exhausted. He doesn't think he has the strength to fight yet another false accusation, on top of the mountain of allegations that have already been thrown at him in the last year alone, nevermind his entire fucking life. It's not like advocating for himself has ever worked out for him before. He might as well give the justice system a shot for once. He’s innocent, for what little that’s worth.
He tells this to one of his aforementioned lawyers, though not in those exact words. "I wasn't miraculously saved to run away from my demons, Keating, I was brought back to face them."
Keating looks at him like he's five seconds away from giving Belle Reve a call, but before he can say anything, a deep voice cuts in, "Be careful what you wish for."
That's—That’s Clark's voice.
Lex can only stare as Clark, easily the last person he expected to see here, now, rips his cell door open like it's made out of wet cardboard. "I looked for you at the mansion," he purrs, looking at Lex in a way that he's only seen in dreams before now. To Keating, he says, "Sorry, but we need a little privacy," and then, and then—
Lex doesn't scream, but only because by the time his brain has finished processing what happened, Keating’s dead body is sprawled on the floor, and Clark—
Clark is holding his heart and smirking at Lex in a way that makes him think of a lit match and gasoline. It’s that look—not the strength, not the murder—that tips Lex off, and a cold, never ending abyss opens in the pit of his stomach. "You're the phantom. You took Clark's body." That means Clark is—dead. Clark is dead. Clark is dead.
The thing wearing Clark's gorgeous face tosses Keating's heart to the ground with a chuckle. It's a smooth, rich timbre that Lex used to savor the same way a dragon hoarded gold, but the deafening mantra of Clark is dead, Clark is dead drowns it out, numbing him.
"Don't worry," the phantom replies, "I only took a few cells."
What?
"Clark's still alive," the phantom adds, “he’s still out there.” It strides up to Lex, still dizzy with relief, backing him into the corner of his cell, and lifts its— Clark’s —hand. Lex flinches but doesn't avert his gaze. If he's going to die here, then he's going to die with his eyes open.
But the phantom doesn't kill him. It only strokes Lex's jaw with its bloody hand, sending shivers through his body. "And you will help me kill him," the phantom continues. "I need meteor rocks—a lot of them."
It takes Lex every ounce of willpower he possesses to lean away from the phantom's touch. "I'd never help you kill Clark," he snarls.
The phantom cocks its head to the side, looking so much like Clark that, for a moment, Lex forgets how to breathe. "Lex, redemption doesn't suit you," it says, almost cooing. "Why protect a Clark Kent who hates you when you can help the one who wants to be your ally? It's what you've always wanted, isn't it, Lex?"
"You're not him," Lex snaps.
The phantom's laugh is a funeral dirge. "Ask me what it is we always joked about after I rescued you."
Lex narrows his eyes. "What?"
"Ask me what it is you and I—oh, sorry—what you and Clark always used to joke about, after he pulled you out of the river in 2001."
Lex doesn't want to obey this thing, this monster that looks and sounds like Clark, but, as always, his curiosity for all things Clark Kent wins out in the end. "I asked Jonathan Kent if there was any way I could repay you—him," he says, unbalanced by his own error. "What—What did he say?"
The phantom leans in until Lex can feel its breath on his skin. "Drive slower," it whispers against his lips before drawing back. Lex’s head spins. "I didn't just take Clark Kent's cells, I also have his memories." It taps its temple with a sunny smile. "How about I give you this one for free, hmm? Clark used to love you, you know." Lex's damn heart stutters and twists in his chest, and the phantom smirks like it can hear it. "Oh, he completely despises you now, of course, but I remember it."
"You're lying," Lex says without hesitation, but his throat is tight.
"Do you want to know a secret, Lex?" the phantom asks, almost singing.
Lex's name drips from its tongue like honey, and he knows it's wrong, knows whatever the phantom is about to say is nothing that the real Clark would ever choose to tell him. He knows this is only going to hurt, but that doesn't stop him from craving the holy grail being dangled in front of him. Clark Kent’s secrets have always been Lex’s greatest weakness. "What?" he spits out.
The phantom smiles at him. "I love you," it says in Clark's voice.
It’s lying, it has to be—
"So, I'll ask again," the phantom continues. "Why bother with a Clark Kent who hates you when you can have a Clark Kent who loves you?"
—but sometimes, Lex knows, the best lies aren't lies at all.
When the phantom touches down at the ruins of the entrance to the facility, it lets Lex down from his bridal carry to his feet, and—oh, hell, it slaps Lex's ass, squeezing tight for a beat too long before letting go.
"What the hell was that for?" Lex demands, jerking away. He knows that what he's doing—putting distance between them—is cowardly, but he also really doesn't want to let this creature with Clark's face and body touch him again.
(Except, he does, and that scares the shit out of him.)
On the phantom's face, Clark's lovely lips sharpen into a smirk that cuts right through Lex's heart. It's the same look Clark wore when he asked to borrow Lex's Ferrari once—when he asked Lex to run away with him to Metropolis. As impractical as that fantasy had been back then, it's still one that Lex found himself returning to many times in the years after, even when he had Lana at his side in bed. "Come on, Lex," the phantom purrs. "Don't tell me you never thought about it—you and me. You and Clark." It spits Clark's name out like it's acid. "I can be everything he could never be for you," it continues. "I think the very least I deserve is a little taste."
Lex is a good liar—has had to be, with a father like Lionel Luthor—but right now, looking into Clark's snake charming storm-green eyes, he can't summon a single denial. A Clark who wants him, a Clark who loves him—he'd give up every cent he has to his name in exchange for just a taste of that, and it's pure luck that none of his enemies have figured it out yet.
None of them, that is, other than the creature in front of him.
"The section of the dam where the meteor rock is stored shouldn't have been compromised," Lex says, forcing himself to look away from the phantom’s borrowed eyes to nod in the direction of the tunnel.
The phantom regards him for a moment, assessing, before chuckling. "After you, then."
It's a short trek to the storage area, but Lex can feel the phantom's gaze on him the whole way, like a pinned butterfly. When they arrive, he's all too happy to let the phantom overtake him as he points to the vault. "The meteor rocks are in there."
Once the phantom's back is turned, Lex spots a machine gun in the corner and, for a heartbeat, he considers.
But then he remembers—sometimes, he has dreams of the time Bob Rickman mind-whammied him into trying to kill Clark and Kyle Tippet, and in those dreams, he's laughing as he fires a mini machine gun at Clark. While he doesn't actually remember doing that, he does remember catching a glimpse of what looked like dozens of bullet holes in Clark's jacket afterwards.
The phantom pulls the vault door off, much like it did with Lex's cell door, and the eerie glow of the meteor rocks washes Clark's face in a sickly green glow. The phantom grins—it's nothing like any of Clark's warm sunflower smiles—before stepping in, breathing in the meteor rocks, and letting out an inhuman roar that seems to shake the earth and rattle Lex’s bones.
"Lex!" Clark, the real one, is suddenly at Lex's side, solid and there, and a part of Lex exhales in relief that the phantom hadn't been lying about Clark’s impossible survival after all. "What are you—" Clark begins to ask before cutting himself off when his gaze lands on the phantom, eyes widening with terrible understanding.
And you will help me kill him.
Lex grabs Clark's sleeve and, even though he knows it's futile, tries to tug him toward the exit. "Clark, you need to get out of here," he hisses.
"Leaving so soon?" The phantom chuckles, and the sound chills Lex to his core. It turns to face them, and something about the way it looks now has the animal part of Lex's brain screaming, Predator!
The meteor rocks are no longer glowing. In fact, they've lost their green hue, as if whatever gave them their color has been absorbed. The phantom steps out of the vault and sneers at Clark, acid-green eyes full of hatred. "You had the existence I could only dream of—every pleasure at your disposal, and you wasted it." It turns to Lex with a mocking, knife-sharp smile. "Isn't that right, Lex?"
Clark narrows his eyes into an icy glare that's become as familiar to Lex as Clark himself is. Was. "You're working together," he says. It's not a question.
Lex clenches his fists. "I didn't have a choice," he grits out instead of screaming. He already knows it’s hopeless. Nobody ever believes him; nobody ever will.
"Oh, but you did," says the phantom, licking its lips. "You see, Kal-El, I think I deserve your life more than you do, and Lex here agrees with me."
"Kind of hard not to when you quite literally had my lawyer's heart in your hand," Lex retorts.
The phantom leers. "Don't worry, baby." Clark jumps at the endearment, eyes darting between them in shock, and it would be hilarious, except nothing about this situation is anywhere fucking close to funny. "Once I've gotten rid of the inferior model, I'll let you have the first ride on the superior one, and I promise you won't regret it." The phantom turns to Clark and opens its arms. "Come on. "
Clark glances at Lex, and something like regret passes over his face for a picosecond before he faces the phantom fully. Lex holds his breath, trembling with something that isn’t fear. He knows, somehow, that this is the moment he's been waiting to witness for years.
Then, Clark moves.
The fight between Clark and the phantom seems to last for an eternity, but Lex's watch tells him it's only been a minute by the time it ends with the phantom standing over Clark with a boot to his neck.
The phantom laughs as Clark throws one of his arms out wildly towards the beam of sunlight streaming from the crack in the ceiling, just inches away from the two of them. "Oh, little Kryptonian, the yellow sun can't help you now," the phantom taunts, pressing harder down on Clark's neck, hard enough to break a human's neck.
The crack Lex had been expecting to hear never comes, but Clark lets out an agonized cry that leaves a scar in his heart. "Wait!" someone shouts, and Lex thinks, Oh, thank god, someone who can help.
Except, the phantom is looking at Lex now, and there are no approaching footsteps. Because Lex was the one who was shouting just now. The phantom cocks its head. "Yes?" it asks, its tone mocking.
Lex swallows and latches onto his first thought. "What—What did you call him just now?" he asks.
Clark stills, but Lex doesn't dare take his eyes off the phantom. He knows Clark well enough by now to know he'll only see fear and anger etched in the shadows and angles of his face.
"I called Clark a Kryptonian," the phantom replies, "because that's what he is—the last son of Krypton."
The explanation answers nearly as many questions as it raises, but Lex can't think about any of that right now. "And what's this about a yellow sun?"
Finally, the phantom begins to lift its foot by a fraction, and Lex catches Clark's hand inching closer towards the beam of light. "You know, Lex, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually more concerned about Clark Kent's well-being than you were about solving the mystery of his existence," it drawls in a tone too offhanded and casual to match the ugly, hateful expression on its face.
Clark's struggle pauses again for half a blink. "Aren't you the one who's been prattling on about knowing what I want?" Lex shoots back. "You shouldn't be so surprised, then." He circles the phantom until he's on the other side of the sunbeam, careful to keep his distance. He still doesn't have all the pieces of the puzzle, but he has enough to begin assembling a frame. Given what he already knows of Clark's aversion to the meteor rocks and the way the phantom absorbed their essence, if he's right…if he’s right… "Why do you want to kill Clark anyway? You're clearly stronger than him." Lex forces himself to smirk. "Or maybe you're scared of him."
The phantom snarls, eyes flashing, and the next thing Lex knows, he's kicking the air and struggling to breathe as the thing lifts him into the air, clutching his neck with one hand. "Oh, Lex," it croons. "I could've been so good for you, and now I'm going to have to kill you for pissing me off."
The phantom is standing in the sunbeam, and its face flickers like a broken mirror before Clark barrels into it, forcing it to drop Lex to the ground. The last thing Lex sees before passing out is Clark, his face completely healed of all wounds, delivering a punch that knocks the phantom up into the air with a supersonic crack.
Later, on a lonely night several months after Lana has come back from the dead with ten million more dollars and one less Luthor to her name, Lex is drinking in the conservatory when Clark pops into existence in front of him between one breath and the next. Lex jerks backward, but Clark catches him by the arm before he can fall. "Sorry," he mumbles, sheepish as he lets Lex go.
It shouldn't be fair for someone—some thing as powerful as Clark to have the audacity to be sheepish, but at the same time, it's a sight that never fails to make Lex's heart melt.
"What are you doing here?" Lex asks, although he has a pretty good guess. It's been months since he learned the truth (enough of the truth, anyway, to make some educated guesses), and if he were Clark, he would've been as taut as a bowstring the whole time, waiting for the government to send a swarm of men in black or even the army to collect him.
"You haven't told anyone about me," says Clark, and Lex congratulates himself on still being able to read Clark like a book of Latin poetry. "Why?"
Lex shrugs and takes another sip of his second favorite scotch. "I thought that would be obvious, given the various innuendos that…thing dropped." Clark's breath hitches, and Lex would be lying if he said a part of himself isn't currently taking some amount of satisfaction in putting Clark on his back foot. "Besides," Lex adds with a wry grin, "what would be the point in turning you in after I went through all that trouble to save your ass?"
"You led him to the kryp—the meteor rocks."
Lex makes a note of the slip, though, frankly, he has no idea what the hell he can do with this information. It's not like he can share them with the actual government, not when it would mean condemning Clark to hell. And if there's one thing their recent…experience with the phantom has taught Lex, it's that he'll always be weak for Clark, alien or not. Enemy or not. "Did you miss the part about how it ripped my lawyer’s heart right out of his chest, and most likely would have done the same to me if I didn't cooperate?" he snaps.
Clark recoils, dropping his head. Even now that he's all grown up, he still does a remarkably accurate impression of a scolded puppy. "I...you're right."
Lex sighs. As much fun as it is to bat at Clark like a cat with a ball of yarn, his heart's been flayed open in front of him too many times for this to be anything but an exercise in self-immolation. "Look, if you're worried that I'm going to tell anyone your secret, don't be. You've saved my life enough times that it's…the least I can do. Why don’t we call ourselves even and go back to hating each other?"
Clark lifts his head and meets Lex's gaze. "Chloe hacked into the security cameras of your holding cell," he says.
Lex blinks at the abrupt segue. "What?"
"She showed me what that—what the other me did before deleting the footage." Clark licks his lips, and Lex can't believe he was ever tempted by the phantom when Clark is infinitely more beautiful and just…better, even if it means he'll always be out of Lex's reach. "Lex, what he said to you—he was lying."
I love you.
Lex scoffs, eyes locking onto his glass of scotch. "Of course it was lying. You saw how it almost killed me. That's definitely true love, right there."
"No, not about that," says Clark, voice quiet but as forceful as a hurricane. "He said that I despise you. But I—I don't."
Lex's heart jumps into his throat against his will. "Oh," is all he can say, because he suspects that if he tries to say anything more coherent, he's going to scream and never stop, and that would just be inconsiderate to his staff at this time of night.
"He also said that I used to love you."
Lex’s glass falls from numb fingers and shatters on the ground. He’s forced to look at Clark again. "Clark," says Lex, his own voice coming out distant to his ears, "stop—just stop, and tell me what you actually mean, for once in your fucking life."
Clark squares his shoulders, inhales, and says, "I don't—I never stopped loving you."
He’s lying—he pities Lex, that’s all. Why else would he say that after everything he’s done? After everything they’ve done to each other?
Except—
Sometimes, Lex thinks as he peers into Clark’s star-bright eyes, the best lies are the truth.