Dawned Beautiful - SV fic - PG13

[tigriswolf]

Title: Dawned Beautiful
Fandom: "Smallville"
Disclaimer: Not my characters.  Just for fun.
Warnings: spoilers for season four; AU
Pairings: implied slash Jason/Lex, Lex/ Clark; implied Lex/Chloe, Lex/Lana; Pete/Lana; Clark/Lois;
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 980
Point of view: first

He never looked more beautiful than when he tortured me.

Perhaps it is the sadistic part of me that remembers that day fondly, but I’ve always been sick. I thrived on Father’s little games of intrigue and betrayal; I came most alive at the thought of a threat.

Clark was an enigma, a puzzle I wanted to solve, but—no matter what the romantics say—I never loved him. I could not—even with all his facets of deceits and half-truths, he was… well, boring is the kindest term. Dull, bland, easy to manipulate—one well-placed apology and he trusted me again.

And Lana, poor naïve Lana Lang. She was never more than a pawn, though a lovely one. She was an innocent little lamb, led to the altar, a sacrifice for my greatness.

Chloe and Pete, too, were lost along the way. Chloe had such promise—had she stood with me, she could have reached the summit, held the stars in her palm. Pete—never had a chance.

Only Clark and I remain, now, here, fifty years later. Everyone who saw his beginning—Jonathan, Martha, Dad, Lana, Chloe, Pete—they’re all dead. Lois lives still, but she wasn’t there. She doesn’t know, not really, never can.

But out of everyone I met in Smallville, everyone I knew because of Clark, only one ever truly intrigued me, called to me.

When Dad called him ‘the dutiful son’ I heard ‘beautiful.’ And he was—Jason Teague was the most gorgeous creature I have ever laid eyes on, and I have known beautiful people. I was weaned on socialites, on Hollywood heiresses—attractive men and women have flung themselves on me since my twelfth birthday.

I could tell from the beginning Jason was using Lana, Clark, even me and Dad. It had been so long since I’d had a true challenge, I let it go. I played along—and Jason was a master. His mother was even worse than my father, a true woman of ice who cared only for herself.

No matter what is said, I loved my father. And he loved me. Our relationship was twisted, true, often malicious, but we would stand together against any outside threat.

But Genevieve—the only person she ever cared for, would ever have cared for, was herself. Anyone else was a pawn. Even her only child, her beloved baby boy.

And he knew that, couldn’t help but know it, and he loved her anyway.

It killed him in the end, that helpless love. I saw his uncertainty, his final thoughts of independence and defiance, but breaking the habit of a lifetime is near impossible. Perhaps, with more time, more tutelage, he could have managed it, but those last days happened too quickly. Genevieve’s death, the meteor shower—I wouldn’t have killed him. I’d have offered my hand, led him away, sheltered him. Maybe he would have eventually killed me, but I doubt it.

One of his better qualities was his loyalty. Once he offered it, it took a great deal to lose it.

Some people say I was grooming Lana to stand by my side, others Chloe. A few even mention Clark.

For only a moment did I think of any of them in that regard, Chloe the longest. She would have lasted in my world of social betrayal, of smiling backstabbers, of stunning serpents in painted gardens. She’d have tainted, of course, lost that appealing drive—maybe it’d have been worth it. I doubt it.

Lana was a small-town queen. She’d have shattered in the big city.

And Clark? Never. Maybe Kal-El.

But Jason—he was my match, in every way. He had a great mind, a gorgeous body, and heart—such drive, such passion! He could have kept up with me.

History books have been written about those early years, about the friendship that existed between Lex Luthor and Superman, Clark Kent. They gloss over Pete and Chloe, idolize Jonathan and Martha, spend chapters on Lana and Lois. They demonize my father and speculate on why I fell, since I was on the right path. They fail to say anything about all the lies, all the acts, the walls Clark had I couldn’t breach.

If he had just told me—like Jason, I am a loyal person when given reason to be loyal. I would have helped him, sheltered him, been true.

After the meteors and those fucking stones, after Genevieve and Jason—my friendship with Clark, already frayed, completely came unraveled.

Now, whole texts have been written about that final year, about why it all fell apart. About what finally ‘broke’ in me, what was finally revealed.

What must be understood is that I am not a nice man. Never have been, truth be told. I am malicious, sadistic, use everyone I know as pawns. I have ordered the deaths of hundreds and killed seven myself. No—I am not kind.

Every time I see that scar, I think of Jason, of what a pair we would have made. I remember those days when it all seemed so innocent, of the children who were Chloe, Clark, Lana, even Pete. I remember the Kent’s, wonderful people doing the best they could.

Clark and Lois are married. From what I gather, it’s not a happy union. Honestly, Clark should have chosen Chloe. Pete and Lana got married, five years after graduation and died together in a car crash twenty months later. Jonathan and Martha were two of those deaths I ordered—Clark doesn’t know, or else I’d no longer be among the living. Dad—I didn’t kill him. I don’t know who did.

This isn’t the life Clark imagined, the morning of graduation. Before the meteors, the revelation. Before Jason died. Before everything.

That day dawned beautiful. But not as beautiful as Jason. Such promise—such potential. Such a waste.