Fic: Girls Just Wanna Be Boys Again, Thanks (Parts 1 and 2) (2/6)
Title: Girls Just Wanna Be Boys Again, Thanks (Parts 1 and 2)
Author: josephina_x
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark, Lex
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: major for Season 1, though it references some things up to Season 5 and beyond (Oliver, mainly); starts after Jitters (1x08) but goes AU before Rogue (1x09)
Word count: 23,700+ and 24,700+
Summary: Clark and Lex get genderswapped. Real life ensues.
Warnings: Only unofficially beta'd. Genderswap fic (a.k.a. female!Clark and female!Lex). Some weirdness and confusion involving sex and sexuality, as a matter of course. ...It belatedly occurs to me that I should also warn for PTSD and chemical torture.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.
Comments: Yes, please! :)
Author's Note: Written for the clexmas Spring Fling 2012 -- Changes, Prompt: Changes of gender.
For the full ongoing text (parts further than 2), updates will (eventually) be posted at AO3.
Previous post is here.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jon realized with some concern that Clark hadn't really been fully conscious as they'd gotten him into the wheelchair. He prayed that his son would be all right, once they got him home. He'd been exposed to meteor rock before, but never so much, and it had never taken so long for him to recover before.
He pushed Clark's chair over to the nursing station, trailing Martha, who was engrossed in conversation with the nursing staff and trying to take care of Clark's paperwork. Part of the thing that was apparently taking so long was establishing Clark's identity, and arguing over his gender status on the forms.
He glanced over his shoulder as another flash of red hair drew his eye, and caught sight of a younger redhead arguing animatedly with a couple of police officers. Jon watched as a third younger officer approached, holding two bags. The woman turned her head to glance at him, then caught sight of the bag, and gestured at it. The bag was tentatively proferred and the woman snatched it from him, looking unbelievably annoyed with the man, who in turn looked more than a little uncomfortable. Even the sheriff looked a little off-put by the woman.
Who...? Jon thought, frowning, because Ethan generally didn't take shit from anyone, as a rule.
He watched the woman rifle through the bag as she continued talking, and pocket a cellphone, money clip, keychain, and a few other assorted odds-and-ends. She drew a watch from the bag and absently handed the empty bag back to the sheriff's deputy, expecting him to being waiting there to take it... and he was and did.
That one's a bit privileged, Jon thought sourly. She's used to having people wait on her hand and foot, I bet. She might seem a fair enough form, under the misfitted clothing, but her attitude certainly left a lot to be desired. ...Though Jon supposed that it could be blamed on whatever was wrong with her, he realized as he watched her with a critical eye as she carefully put on the watch. Something was obviously making her ill; she didn't look well at all... Actually, she seemed a bit of an odd duck in general. Jonathan hadn't met a woman alive who didn't carry a purse, and the woman didn't seem to have had one in her belongings...
Then the woman pointed at the second bag and turned, gesturing down the hallway from which he and his family had just come. But when the woman's eyes flicked over and caught sight of him, she froze like a deer in headlights.
Jonathan met her stare with a puzzled frown, raising his eyebrows slightly. She looked nervous, glanced between Clark and Jonathan, then turned and said something hurried to the deputy, and gestured at Jon himself, before crossing her arms and turning away from them again. Jon watched her continue whatever discussion she'd been having earlier, with a little less animation in her gestures and significantly muted tones.
Jon cocked his head and got a sneaking suspicion.
When the deputy approached him and asked, "Er, you Clark Kent's father?" glancing down at his son-turned-daughter, Jon couldn't help but give the deputy a bit of a long look and sigh as he nodded. He took the bag from the young man and retrieved Clark's house keys and wallet for him.
"Wasn't another cellphone at the scene, sorry," the deputy said, but Jonathan just shook his head.
"Clark doesn't have one."
"Oh, right. Right!" the man said, looking relieved. He fumbled with the empty bag a bit, then turned and walked back to his superior officers... and Lex... as slowly as possible.
Jonathan sighed. He could hardly blame the man. ...And he should've known. That bright red, curly hair, all falling down in long flowing, probably horribly-tangled waves, plus that personality... Jon shook his head and wondered absently if the boy would go home and shave it all off directly; he seemed distracted and irritated by it, the way he kept swiping and batting at it intermittently.
And Lex kept stealing glances back at Clark. Guilt-ridden ones. And then twitching his gaze away whenever he realized Jonathan was noticing him doing it.
Jonathan didn't quite know how to feel about the whole thing, honestly. At first, it had sounded like Clark had just gotten caught up in whatever mess Luthor had tangled himself up in again, but looking at the woman-boy now, Jonathan realized that that wasn't quite the case. Clark had 'failed' to 'save' Lex, and it was clear that whatever had happened to them, had happened to the both of them.
Damn, Jonathan thought. I don't want to feel sorry for the boy.
Lex finally finished his conversation with the police and they moved away. Jonathan noted that they did not approach either himself or Clark. Lex lingered for a moment, and Jonathan walked over quickly, leaving Clark with Martha, his son in safe enough hands for the moment.
Lex turned back to them right as Jonathan came to a halt behind him, and the boy looked startled, his head tipping upwards and eyes widening. He recovered quickly, though.
"Mr. Kent!" he said in a slightly rough tone that was higher-pitched than normal. "I, ah..." Jon watched him swallow, then say, "I've spoken with the police. I answered all of their questions; they have as full a description of the events that occurred as they're likely to get from anyone. They shouldn't need to bother-- to speak with Clark about it."
Jonathan stared down at him. Up close, he looked like an absolute wreck, and -- yes -- he was definitely female now, if less different himself than Clark had become. And that sent a very ill thought through Jonathan's head.
"I, ah, I'm very sorry for what occurred. I had no idea--" Lex said, paling. It didn't escape Jon that the young woman looked like he expected Jonathan to strike him.
So, it seemed the Luthor boy wasn't nearly as in control over his reactions in this changed version of himself as he was as a young man. ...Unless the entire situation had shaken him a bit more than Jon could have guessed at. He supposed waking up a woman could unsettle any sort of man.
"Are you all right?" Jonathan finally asked, gruffly, crossing his arms.
Lex stared up at him blankly with wide eyes. He didn't seem to understand what Jonathan was asking, or trying to ask.
Jonathan sighed, and repeated patiently, "Lex, are you--"
"I'm fine," Lex said, slipping his hands into his pockets, then wincing slightly as one hand contacted something. "Apparently have asthma now, but I'm fine," he muttered.
"Like before?" Jonathan asked.
Lex's head shot up in shock and he rocked back a little on his heels. "Wh-- How did you--?!" Then his eyes narrowed and he searched Jonathan's face sharply. "Did Chloe say something?" he asked, almost suspiciously.
Jonathan frowned down at him. He couldn't think of why Luthor would get so defensive about something so trivial. "Chloe? About what?"
Lex stared at him for awhile, then shook his head slightly. He glanced down at the floor, looking a little confused and off-put. "Nothing. It seems the hair comes with asthma," he said, frowning at a strand of it that had slipped down in front of his vision, tugging at it lightly.
"Hmm. You reckon the reverse is true?" When Lex glanced up at him with a frown, Jonathan added, "You going to shave it all off? Doesn't look like you like it, much."
"It's annoying," Lex blurted out, then looked startled with himself at having admitted it out loud.
"Noticed that you thought that from across the hallway," Jonathan said with no little amusement. "You keep swiping at it," he explained at the young woman's glare.
"I do n--" Lex bit the inside of his cheek as he realized he was doing just that right then. He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets again, looking belligerent, and determined not to do it again. Then he looked about as happy as a wet cat as he shook his head, turning away a little too fast, and a huge cascade of his hair fell across his shoulder back into his vision again.
Jonathan had to stifle a laugh. He doubted he would find it well-received.
Lex must've picked up on it though, because Jonathan got himself yet another glare from the boy.
"Clark's going to be fine," Jonathan offered. "We're going to take him home to get some proper rest. I assume someone's coming from the mansion to pick you up so you can do the same?" he tried again.
"No, I'm going in to work," he said, sounding a little angry, not meeting Jonathan's gaze.
Jonathan stared down at the boy. "Lex, I doubt even Lionel would demand that you go in when you're this sick--" Jonathan started reasonably.
"I'm not sick, I'm a girl," he muttered. "Apparently that's not a disease, I hear tell," he added sarcastically.
"You may be 'a girl', but you are sick."
"I'm. Fine." Lex gritted out.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" he asked, because Lex really did look like hell. Jon was surprised that the boy was even up and walking around. He might not be as badly off as Clark, for whatever reason, but he still looked like death half-warmed-over.
"Why the hell do you care, anyway?" Lex spat out, glaring up at Jonathan, meeting his eyes in a clear, direct challenge. He looked like he was ready to throw a punch or two to punctuate it.
Jonathan uncrossed his arms and looked down on Lex balefully. "Well, Lex," he drawled, "It seems my son found fit to try and help you out of something pretty damn dangerous." He watched Lex flinch, but not back down. "The way I see it, I figure that if he's that worried about you, then maybe I ought to take an interest in you while he's not well enough to do it himself. It's the least I can do for him, considering he nearly got himself killed over it. Be a damn shame to see that effort wasted."
Lex looked like he'd been punched in the gut by the end of it. He dropped his gaze first, and after awhile, quietly said, "He is going to be ok, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?" Lex said, glancing up, his eyes looking a little wet. And he realized that the boy really was worried about his son, the way Lex's gaze was searching his, in a desperate hope that Jonathan wasn't just saying things that he didn't mean, or didn't know for sure.
He held Lex's eyes for long enough to let the boy know that he knew Clark would recover, then said slowly, "Well, Lex. If there's one thing I know about my son, it's that Clark's too damn stubborn to die leaving a history exam undone that he's actually studied for."
Lex blinked up at him, relief floodig his features, and then as Jon's words impacted he looked a little shocked... and then he glanced down and got a tiny smile. "Yeah. That world history exam today, right?"
"...You know about that?"
"I helped him study for it. He had a lot of questions about the War of Roses."
"I thought you were more interested in all that old Greek and Roman stuff?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow or two.
Lex glanced up, and Jonathan added sourly, "Clark may have mentioned it sometime." More than once.
At that, Lex grinned a little. "You've got something against European history?" he asked sweetly.
And that innocent tone with that expression on that body was more than a little discomfiting. And Jon knew a trick question when he heard one.
"Might be I just take exception about hearing about Trojan Horses every time Martha tries to trick Clark into eating peas."
And when the boy laughed, Jonathan thought he might have an inkling of what Clark might see in him, after all.
But Lex calmed pretty quickly, and looked uncomfortable again -- shoving his hands into his pockets again, and Jonathan was getting a sense of the gesture -- it was an indication of when Lex had something he badly wanted to know, but was trying to divert close attention from being taken too seriously on about. "Why are you being so..." he grimaced, "...nice?"
"You think I'm being nice?"
"Well, you're not... acting the way you usually do," Lex said, trying to be politic about it.
"Neither are you, Lex."
Lex gave him a look. "I've been acting horribly today," he put out there.
"I'd rather be dealing with a man himself, then some pretty false front he puts on as a show for others," Jonathan stated bluntly.
"...So you'd like it better if I acted horribly more often? Because I can do that," Lex said with a long, almost calculating look.
"Quit acting like some meek little kiss-ass that we both know you aren't and be honest, and we'll see," Jonathan said, feeling amused. "You can't hardly do worse than you have been," he pointed out.
"...And if I decided to curse up a storm at you sometime?" Lex prodded, obviously testing.
Jonathan crossed his arms again. "Then you'll be the one to have to deal with Martha if she overheard you." He nearly laughed at the look that crossed Lex's face then. Clearly his wife had a fan. "I used to have a few 'hands helping me out on the farm. I know what usually goes through young men's minds when the womenfolk aren't around."
Lex had the grace to wince, and in such a way that Jonathan knew that Lex knew exactly what he was talking about, and that had something in him sitting up and taking notice. Huh. And damn, but now Jonathan wanted to know how he knew how life on a farm usually went, because that wasn't the sort of thing a boy could learn second-hand. Interested in a Luthor. Hell, Clark is never gonna let me hear the end of this one, if he finds out. I'll be forever listening to "Lex did this" and "Lex did that" stories, god help me. ...So he'd better not let Clark find out then.
Lex glanced away, his eyes lighted on a clock, and he sucked in a hissed intake of breath. "I've got to go."
"And why are you in such an all-blasted hurry?" Jonathan frowned, following him a little ways.
"Work," came the one-word answer.
Jonathan caught up to him in a hurry, then clapped a hand down on his shoulder to keep him from running off.
Lex, startled, nearly threw him off, glancing back at him. He visibly calmed himself and tugged at Jonathan's hand. Jon let go.
"Look, my father is not nearly so... reasonable as you seem to be about... all this," he gestured down at himself. "So--"
"He told you to go in today?"
"Yes," Lex said impatiently, starting to move away, but keeping his eyes on Jonathan, probably to try and keep from getting captured by a restraining hand again.
"Did he get a good look at you?"
"Yes," Lex repeated, even less patiently.
Uncaring bastard, Jonathan thought. He couldn't believe it. Not even Lionel was that heartless. "Go home."
"Was planning on it. Need to get cleaned up first before going in," Lex muttered absently, and Jonathan just couldn't take it.
He reached forward and grabbed Lex's arm, and Lex jerked, startled. But before the boy could lash out, which he seemed to be gearing up to do, Jonathan had pulled the small pill bottle from his coat pocket and shoved it into Lex's hands.
"What--" Lex stopped looking like he was bracing for a fight, and instead looked confused all over again.
"Iodine pills. Doctors gave them to us for the radiation for Clark. Since you're in such an all-fire hurry, I figure we have more time to get another prescription than you do," Jonathan huffed. Because nobody seemed to be looking after the young man-now-woman, let alone himself. Clark would've done it, probably, if he'd been conscious just then.
Lex looked down at them sourly, and then held them out, trying to hand them back, almost offended at Jonathan's offer. "I can buy my own--"
"You think I can't afford it?" Jonathan said with a dangerous glare, and Lex backed down, looking startled again. Instead, he glanced down at the pill container uneasily, seemed o come to a decision, then slid it in a pocket before glancing back up at Jonathan and nodding sharply once. ...And then he glared at his hair again as it dropped over one eye completely. He spun on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could, swiping the hair back over his shoulder in an imperious gesture.
And by the time Jonathan was done being shocked with himself for his actions, Lex was too far away for Jonathan to chase down again.
Jonathan, in a bit of a foul mood now -- not that that was a new thing for him, when it came to Luthors; why couldn't he leave well enough alone? -- turned and walked back over to his own family. It looked as though Martha had nearly finished her heated 'discussion' with the nurses. Jonathan flagged down another nurse, and had another filled bottle of pills in his hands before Martha was ready to go.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jonathan wheeled Clark out into the bright sunlight and over to the truck.
He didn't notice at first, but when Clark started groaning and twitching, he stopped pushing him and looked down.
"Clark?" he asked concerned, coming around the side.
Martha knelt down and pressed a hand against Clark's forehead. He was sweating buckets now, far worse than he'd been in his room.
Clark's eyes fluttered open, and a look of horrible pain crossed his face. He doubled over, spasming, and pitched forward out of the wheelchair.
"Jonathan!" Martha gasped, as they both tried to slow his fall.
And then Clark began making horrible noises.
Jonathan shoved Martha away and pulled Clark up from the ground a bit, just enough before he--
...and he held Clark as he vomited up dark green and red and black. Far too much red and black -- too much blood mixed in with the green meteor rock.
"Oh, my baby, my poor baby," Martha stuttered lowly, stroking the side of Clark's head.
Finally, after an age, Clark was giving dry heaves, and he collapsed. Jonathan drew his son up against his side and just held him.
"I... I..." Clark croaked, a little more awake now -- because, hell, who could stay asleep through something like that? -- " 'M sorry, dad," he cried, sounding tense and miserable. " 'M sorry. Made a mess, I..."
"Don't you worry, son. You need to get that... that junk out of your system, you do it however you can. Your body knows best. You just don't worry," he repeated, stroking Clark's hair gently.
" 'M sorry..." his son said more quietly, subdued and sagging against him now that he knew he wasn't in trouble.
"Shh, Clark," Jonathan repeated, hugging him close, like he had when he'd been younger, littler.
Clark gave out a shuddering sigh and slowly relaxed in his arms. And at that Jonathan was more than a little startled. It was then he finally realized how much pain his son had been in, now that Jonathan was seeing the pinched look in him fading.
Martha quietly helped clean him up. Jonathan gave up using the wheelchair and just lifted Clark in his arms. He was much smaller now. Small again. Frgile, almost, thought lord knew that Jon and Martha knew the truth and lies of that, by now. He carried his son to the truck, and Martha opened it and helped get him inside.
Jonathan couldn't help but notice how much better Clark looked now, having gotten that mass of meteor rock out of his system. He was looking better and better with each passing minute, and his breathing was evening out, getting deeper and stronger.
Jonathan heaved a deep relieved sigh, sharing a look with his wife.
Then he got in the truck and drove them home.
~*~*~*~*~*~
No-one noticed the overworked, underpaid janitor ('custodial services understudy') who saw the skeletal-looking girl make a mess on the asphalt by the ambulance loading bay and, grumbling, mixed up and then tossed a few buckets of bleach-water solution on it to sanitize it and wash it away into the sewer drains.
A certain blonde-haired high-school reporter, however, tracked him down later and interviewed him on what he'd seen.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lex decided that whoever had invented the bra needed to be shot.
Clearly it had been a woman, because a man would make it easy to get into one, as well as out of it!
(And while Lex had a lot of experience in getting women out of bras by this point, it had taken a lot of practice. So, case-in-point, there.)
He'd put in the order to his tailor for new clothing that was tailored for a woman approximately his size, and not worried about trying to hide it. If his own staff threw him out of the plant, not recognizing him... well, so be it. His father could battle it out with them if he so desired, but in the meantime Lex would be perfectly happy getting himself some well-deserved rest in his own, fluffy, really comfortable, bed, that was practically calling him like a siren...
The man had delivered (he should, being paid what he was), but the contents themselves were a bit byzantine. He'd almost tossed out the panties, before deciding that burning them might be better, because, well, lace. Except then he'd tried his normal underwear -- both boxers and briefs -- and neither fit him fit properly under the pants he'd been sent, and when in a fit of pique -- adamant that the tailor must have been screwing with him and that nothing would work with the pants he'd been given -- he'd actually tried the damn things on, and he'd found to his everlasting horror that they'd actually been comfortable and that had just been fucking mortifying because now he had to back down on it and he was going to be wearing fucking lace underthings to work...
But... The. Damn. Bra. Good god. He could not for the life of him... Was this perhaps why it took women three hours to get ready to go anyplace? If so -- and Lex was seriously not discounting that as a possibility at the moment -- Lex resolved to quit the fertilizer business immediately and go into women's underwear-making. Females everywhere would laud his genius and probably elect him for some sort of award. He could completely remove any stain from the Luthor name by this one act, and probably proactively clear a few future besmirgings of the Luthor name as well.
After twenty minutes, he threw the offending item down onto the bathroom floor in disgust, wrapped a towel around his shoulders (because at least his socks and pants hadn't been much of a problem, even if the lower half of underwear had been a bit of a psychological one), and Lex decided to try one last, horribly desperate measure.
He walked (stomped) out of his suite, hailed down the good Mrs. Palmer, his matronly housekeeper, and asked (begged) her to please help him with just this one thing.
And, five minutes later, after following the instructions she orated to him through his closed bathroom door, he had The Damn Bra on, and felt like a complete idiot, because four of those minutes had involved walking back to his room.
He kindly but weakly thanked her, and finished adding the shirt -- blouse, though why it had a different name, he couldn't fathom -- over top of the Damn thing.
He still resolved to open an underwear-making business at first opportunity, though.
At least he wasn't expected to wear high heels. He got low-flats instead. Apparently women of his stature didn't have to put up with that crap if they didn't want to.
The shower had cleaned him up a bit, but Mr. Kent had been right in his earlier (what Lex had assumed was a smart-ass comment but, in actuality, completely fair) assessment. Looking in his mirror, in his well-lit bathroom, Lex saw a very ill-looking individual. He really should probably be staying home today, if he knew what was good for him.
His hair was totally unmanageable, though, and even worse, he didn't have the time or the proper tools to deal with it.
He turned to exit, even had laid a hand on the doorknob, when something in the reflected image caught his eye. He did a double-take, then slid a hand up to finger his collar -- oh god, not more frills! -- and bared his teeth at this final offense.
He raged in silence, pacing the floor like a caged animal, because he couldn't very well exit without the proper attire, as his housekeeper was waiting on the other side of the door. For all he knew, if he exited wearing only the towel about his shoulders, she might want to check the fit of the Damn Thing! And, god help him, he would never survive that sort of indignity. (Not to mention that he'd have the rest of the staff snickering behind his back about lace until the end of time -- servants, after all, gossiped. Always.)
He pressed his hands against his forehead and tried to think.
Then he glanced over at his shirt -- the shirt he'd been wearing before. It was a bit... stained with sweat and blood and... well, it wasn't all that bad, really... just a bit disheveled-looking...
And it had fit, still. Earlier. Sort of.
He undid the buttons at the sleeves and all down the front, slid out of the offensive blouse, and tossed it over a towel rack. He scooped up the previously-discarded shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves.
He shuddered slightly at the feel of it against his clean skin, but he endured it. After all, he'd been wearing it only an hour or so earlier.
It was only after getting it on and looking himself over in the mirror that he realized that he looked completely unpresentable in it. It was too dirty, and sent completely the wrong message about his state and status after the kidnapping and subsequent hospitalization.
Also, it being a fitted shirt, it also seemed to emphasize his breasts, being that they did not fit and were straining against the material in the region of his chest.
Looking down, he realized with no small horror that, in fact, the material was so tight that one could actually tell that the bra he was wearing was-- well, it didn't have lace like the other unmentionables he refused to name, but it was far too feminine-shaped and cut in its own right, and one could discern this, as it outlined every damn curve--
He pulled at the buttons with shaking fingers, and nearly ripped the shirt off and away from him. He glared down at it as he smushed it together into a ball, before turning and hurling it against the wall of the shower. It impacted, and then fell to the smooth porcelain base of the tub with a damp thump.
Lex braced both hands against the counter of the sink and stared down into the basin. He was shivering. He closed his eyes, slowly curled his fingers into fists, and leaned forward heavily, trying to ignore the feeling of being trapped.
He was still shivering.
He stepped back abruptly, turned, and grabbed a slightly damp towel he'd used earlier. He rubbed himself down, removing the slightly sticky feel of the residue from his shirt.
He wrapped the towel around his arms, shawl-like, as before.
He slowly curled his fingers into the soft cotton.
He jumped at a gentle knocking at the bathroom door. "Are you all right, sir?" he heard.
"I'm fine," Lex replied after clearing his throat quietly, swallowing hard.
Silence. One of the patiently-waiting variety. Damn.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then looked over again at the thrice-damned blouse, oh-so-subtly feminine. His eyes narrowed and he straightened.
If only he'd been able to find some scissors earlier. He could have dealt with this easily. Certainly, cutting the collar straight would have left him with a highly unprofessional look -- all the loose threads and missing stitching -- but he could have -- would have -- done it... if not for the unbelievable absence of every damn pair of scissors on the premises. He'd thought there ought to have been some in the library, or even his study. At least one pair in the entire damn mansion.
He would have cut a great deal more than that collar, if he had.
He glared at the collar some more, and wished for laser eyebeams like Warrior Angel for the umpteenth time. (Not wanting them for the express purpose of cutting down Luthorcorp board members or the usual group of feeble-minded, giggly, simpering, pandering, or all-around idiotic hangers-on that tended to bore him was, admittedly, a new and somewhat novel use of eye-laser empowerment that he had not imagined previously.)
...Playing devil's advocate on a lark, he reminded himself that hadn't noticed that there was something wrong with the collar before when he'd first been putting it on. Perhaps it wasn't as blatantly obvious as all that.
And he had managed the bra, hadn't he?
And the... underthings...
It was just a little bit frilly. (At least it wasn't lacey.)
Women wore this sort of thing all the time. (No -- worse, actually.)
He had shirts in his closet that were worse than this, when it came to frilly-ruffles and such. (Even if they were technically of a masculine cut.)
Hell. Who am I trying to fool?
He gritted his teeth and put the god-damned blouse back on.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
This blouse that had been given to him was, at least, both of a heavy enough material and cut loosely enough that one couldn't see every outline of The Damn Bra, of which the less was said the better. In fact, the front of the blouse seemed to fall outright smooth down his slightly-sloped chest -- and, well, the less that was protruding there, the better. He could also button it right up to the top of his neck. He hadn't been able to do so quite properly with his shirt, and it had left him feeling slightly... naked... in the throat region.
If not for the damn collar...
...which his hair almost hid it as it was...
Lex wavered.
When he exited the bathroom, and Mrs. Palmer didn't say a word about the collar -- instead offering to help him with his hair, with a teary-eyed look, Lex just knew then and there that 1) he was an idiot for fixating on the collar, when everyone would clearly be far too busy staring at his hair, instead, and 2) there wasn't anything salveageable about the mess at all. He was even more convinced when he declined her offer and informed her of his decision to hack it down to a manageable length at earliest opportunity, and she sounded so horribly sad and consoling about the whole thing.
He managed to mostly towel the Wavey Curls Of Doom dry, popped a few iodine pills (in retrospect, they were a good idea all around), grabbed a bag lunch, and got out of the mansion before noon. And, quite frankly, as far as Lex was concerned, that was the best his father was going to get out of him today.
To his amazement, no-one at the plant challenged him or his presence. Apparently word had gotten around somehow, and everyone at the plant seemed to recognize him on sight. (Probably from the Blazing Red Hair. Which kept getting in his way. He swore it could not possibly have been this bad when he'd been younger, even if he couldn't remember it to properly compare.)
Then again, it was Smallville. Maybe men turning into women was seen as more of a been-there-done-that, when up against fat-sucking vampires, heat-sucking football jocks, and shapeshifting teenage girls.
Lex nearly tripped over his own feet going up a flight of stairs at that last one.
He had to stop and sit down for a moment and remember how to breathe. Oh god, it is a been-there-done-that! Because Tina Greer could go through a complete body change, not just female to male, but female-herself to male-looking-like-Lex, and not just once! In a way, what she could do at will whenever she wanted was like a super-set of what had been forced upon him and Clark, that their bodies had been locked into.
And she was alive and in Belle Reeve, locked away and perfectly healthy. (Well, except for the psychosis, but that was largely incidental.)
Lex was going to need to find a way to get her to cooperate with the research Lionel had said he was going to be instigating. Somehow, maybe there was a link...
Thoughts and new possibilities whirling through his mind, Lex managed to make it to his office without further mishap, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to focus very well on his work that day. So, he decided on a tour of the plant to start, to review the current status of the improvements he'd been implementing to try and streamline the work flow, and hoped that Gabe could find him something a little less brain-intensive for the latter-half of the day after that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Gabe Sullivan hadn't thought that the film badge dosimeters, which the younger Mr. Luthor had insisted every employee start wearing, were anything but a waste of funds better spent elsewhere. He'd thought it patently ridiculous that Mr. Luthor had believed what that lunatic, who'd held his daughter and her school class hostage in the plant, had said: that Level 3 existed, and that they'd been playing with dangerous levels of radioactive meteor rock there. It was patently ridiculous -- as if the meteor rock was really radioactive! If it had been, the EPA would've declared the entire town a hazard and evacuated them to clean the community up, as well as the surrounding countryside. Even his daughter's newspaper articles never made that claim about the rocks.
But when Gabe's radiation badge reading started to change colors over the course of the day, working at Mr. Luthor's side, he began to worry.
When Mr. Luthor himself started sweating horribly and stagered into a restroom, and Gabe found himself taking care of him-- her in a nearby toilet stall, he mused that he'd never imagined that his job would ever entail holding a boss' hair during work hours. He'd never thought of the younger Mr. Luthor as frail, or a bit of a coal canary before, but if they'd been exposed to something, he didn't doubt that the younger Mr. Luthor would be affected more badly, and sooner, than he himself ever would be.
He first became worried when Mr. Luthor started throwing up something bright green, along with what looked like blood. He became more than a little alarmed when Mr. Luthor then tried to calm him down by saying that 'it wasn't as bad as it had been this morning', and that 'he felt much better now.'
Gabe left the young plant manager to tidy up a bit on his own and flagged down a co-worker. He exchanged radiation badges, and told the man to grab a few other folks and some active electronic dosimeters and retrace their path, just in case. If there was some radiation 'leak' coming from somewhere, then somebody had a lot of explaning to do, because they didn't deal in that sort of thing, here. He also resolved to keep a very close eye on Mr. Luthor for the rest of the day.
But his badge didn't seem to change for the rest of the day as he stuck by Mr. Luthor's side, who might profess that he was feeling much better, but really looked like he ought to be flat on his back at home. (Of course, no-one was going to stand up to the elder Mr. Luthor's orders, least of all his son, and sadly everyone knew better than to suggest such a thing.) When his workers reported back that they'd found nothing along their route, Gabe had to simply shrug it off.
When he got home that night and found out from his daughter that whatever had occurred that had turned Mr. Luthor female hadn't been the normal town weirdness, but something else entirely involving a radiation treatment, the hairs on the nape of his neck nearly stood on end.
Dear god, he thought, horrified.
Well, Gabe knew what to do about this, at least. He was increasing the security presence both at the gates and on the parking lot the very next day. He wasn't about to put himself back in a position that would have him worrying whether his boss would be abducted at an inopportune time, let alone turn up again radioactive the very next day.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jonathan found himself more and more relieved every time Clark needed to get up from bed and throw up in the bathroom again.
After the third time, which looked to be the last, Clark ended up wandering downstairs and collapsing on the couch, curled up in a patch of sunlight, breathing easily, no longer sweating, and almost smiling in what Jonathan reckoned was blessed relief.
At dinner, Clark was actually able to get up himself and feed himself. He didn't seem much more capable than shoveling food into his mouth, though, and not really much aware of where he was -- except home -- and how much or what he was eating -- three times what he usually did, and pretty much the entire house -- but he was up and walking around and eating, and his color had improved immensely.
Neither Jonathan or Martha begrudged him the food, though. At one point Jon even tried to pitch in, making pancakes while Martha was putting together peanut-butter sandwiches in-between chopping up another large bowl of salad, and when he finally stopped and sleepily curled up in his own bed, he looked a good sight less drawn and less skeletal than he had before.
"I think I'll go to the store first-thing in the morning and restock the kitchen, Martha."
His wife nodded to him. "I'll pull up the rest of the winter garden -- it's nearly done producing, anyway."
If they could keep Clark eating like this, he ought to be back to himself -- well, healthy, at least -- in no time.
Assuming we can keep him from feeling even more guilty about eating that much more than he usually does, and keep up his appetite.
Neither of them had really thought through much about what to do about gently breaking the news to him that he was a girl. They were too focused on getting him back to looking and feeling well, and still too used to thinking of him as a boy, despite evidence to the contrary.
At least, Jonathan was. Martha was keenly aware of it, but in a bit of denial, though Jonathan didn't quite realize it at the time...
~*~*~*~*~*~
Martha was frantic the next morning when Jonathan returned from his grocery trip.
She'd just checked in on their son a few minutes ago, seen him still asleep. She'd quietly left some clothing for him that might fit, and had gone outside to pull up some of the turnips.
When she'd gotten back inside, she'd puttered around in the kitchen for a bit, then gone upstairs to peek in on Clark again, but she found herself greeted by an empty bed.
Clark was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next post is here.
Author: josephina_x
Fandom: Smallville
Pairing: Clark, Lex
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: major for Season 1, though it references some things up to Season 5 and beyond (Oliver, mainly); starts after Jitters (1x08) but goes AU before Rogue (1x09)
Word count: 23,700+ and 24,700+
Summary: Clark and Lex get genderswapped. Real life ensues.
Warnings: Only unofficially beta'd. Genderswap fic (a.k.a. female!Clark and female!Lex). Some weirdness and confusion involving sex and sexuality, as a matter of course. ...It belatedly occurs to me that I should also warn for PTSD and chemical torture.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not-for-profit.
Comments: Yes, please! :)
Author's Note: Written for the clexmas Spring Fling 2012 -- Changes, Prompt: Changes of gender.
For the full ongoing text (parts further than 2), updates will (eventually) be posted at AO3.
Previous post is here.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jon realized with some concern that Clark hadn't really been fully conscious as they'd gotten him into the wheelchair. He prayed that his son would be all right, once they got him home. He'd been exposed to meteor rock before, but never so much, and it had never taken so long for him to recover before.
He pushed Clark's chair over to the nursing station, trailing Martha, who was engrossed in conversation with the nursing staff and trying to take care of Clark's paperwork. Part of the thing that was apparently taking so long was establishing Clark's identity, and arguing over his gender status on the forms.
He glanced over his shoulder as another flash of red hair drew his eye, and caught sight of a younger redhead arguing animatedly with a couple of police officers. Jon watched as a third younger officer approached, holding two bags. The woman turned her head to glance at him, then caught sight of the bag, and gestured at it. The bag was tentatively proferred and the woman snatched it from him, looking unbelievably annoyed with the man, who in turn looked more than a little uncomfortable. Even the sheriff looked a little off-put by the woman.
Who...? Jon thought, frowning, because Ethan generally didn't take shit from anyone, as a rule.
He watched the woman rifle through the bag as she continued talking, and pocket a cellphone, money clip, keychain, and a few other assorted odds-and-ends. She drew a watch from the bag and absently handed the empty bag back to the sheriff's deputy, expecting him to being waiting there to take it... and he was and did.
That one's a bit privileged, Jon thought sourly. She's used to having people wait on her hand and foot, I bet. She might seem a fair enough form, under the misfitted clothing, but her attitude certainly left a lot to be desired. ...Though Jon supposed that it could be blamed on whatever was wrong with her, he realized as he watched her with a critical eye as she carefully put on the watch. Something was obviously making her ill; she didn't look well at all... Actually, she seemed a bit of an odd duck in general. Jonathan hadn't met a woman alive who didn't carry a purse, and the woman didn't seem to have had one in her belongings...
Then the woman pointed at the second bag and turned, gesturing down the hallway from which he and his family had just come. But when the woman's eyes flicked over and caught sight of him, she froze like a deer in headlights.
Jonathan met her stare with a puzzled frown, raising his eyebrows slightly. She looked nervous, glanced between Clark and Jonathan, then turned and said something hurried to the deputy, and gestured at Jon himself, before crossing her arms and turning away from them again. Jon watched her continue whatever discussion she'd been having earlier, with a little less animation in her gestures and significantly muted tones.
Jon cocked his head and got a sneaking suspicion.
When the deputy approached him and asked, "Er, you Clark Kent's father?" glancing down at his son-turned-daughter, Jon couldn't help but give the deputy a bit of a long look and sigh as he nodded. He took the bag from the young man and retrieved Clark's house keys and wallet for him.
"Wasn't another cellphone at the scene, sorry," the deputy said, but Jonathan just shook his head.
"Clark doesn't have one."
"Oh, right. Right!" the man said, looking relieved. He fumbled with the empty bag a bit, then turned and walked back to his superior officers... and Lex... as slowly as possible.
Jonathan sighed. He could hardly blame the man. ...And he should've known. That bright red, curly hair, all falling down in long flowing, probably horribly-tangled waves, plus that personality... Jon shook his head and wondered absently if the boy would go home and shave it all off directly; he seemed distracted and irritated by it, the way he kept swiping and batting at it intermittently.
And Lex kept stealing glances back at Clark. Guilt-ridden ones. And then twitching his gaze away whenever he realized Jonathan was noticing him doing it.
Jonathan didn't quite know how to feel about the whole thing, honestly. At first, it had sounded like Clark had just gotten caught up in whatever mess Luthor had tangled himself up in again, but looking at the woman-boy now, Jonathan realized that that wasn't quite the case. Clark had 'failed' to 'save' Lex, and it was clear that whatever had happened to them, had happened to the both of them.
Damn, Jonathan thought. I don't want to feel sorry for the boy.
Lex finally finished his conversation with the police and they moved away. Jonathan noted that they did not approach either himself or Clark. Lex lingered for a moment, and Jonathan walked over quickly, leaving Clark with Martha, his son in safe enough hands for the moment.
Lex turned back to them right as Jonathan came to a halt behind him, and the boy looked startled, his head tipping upwards and eyes widening. He recovered quickly, though.
"Mr. Kent!" he said in a slightly rough tone that was higher-pitched than normal. "I, ah..." Jon watched him swallow, then say, "I've spoken with the police. I answered all of their questions; they have as full a description of the events that occurred as they're likely to get from anyone. They shouldn't need to bother-- to speak with Clark about it."
Jonathan stared down at him. Up close, he looked like an absolute wreck, and -- yes -- he was definitely female now, if less different himself than Clark had become. And that sent a very ill thought through Jonathan's head.
"I, ah, I'm very sorry for what occurred. I had no idea--" Lex said, paling. It didn't escape Jon that the young woman looked like he expected Jonathan to strike him.
So, it seemed the Luthor boy wasn't nearly as in control over his reactions in this changed version of himself as he was as a young man. ...Unless the entire situation had shaken him a bit more than Jon could have guessed at. He supposed waking up a woman could unsettle any sort of man.
"Are you all right?" Jonathan finally asked, gruffly, crossing his arms.
Lex stared up at him blankly with wide eyes. He didn't seem to understand what Jonathan was asking, or trying to ask.
Jonathan sighed, and repeated patiently, "Lex, are you--"
"I'm fine," Lex said, slipping his hands into his pockets, then wincing slightly as one hand contacted something. "Apparently have asthma now, but I'm fine," he muttered.
"Like before?" Jonathan asked.
Lex's head shot up in shock and he rocked back a little on his heels. "Wh-- How did you--?!" Then his eyes narrowed and he searched Jonathan's face sharply. "Did Chloe say something?" he asked, almost suspiciously.
Jonathan frowned down at him. He couldn't think of why Luthor would get so defensive about something so trivial. "Chloe? About what?"
Lex stared at him for awhile, then shook his head slightly. He glanced down at the floor, looking a little confused and off-put. "Nothing. It seems the hair comes with asthma," he said, frowning at a strand of it that had slipped down in front of his vision, tugging at it lightly.
"Hmm. You reckon the reverse is true?" When Lex glanced up at him with a frown, Jonathan added, "You going to shave it all off? Doesn't look like you like it, much."
"It's annoying," Lex blurted out, then looked startled with himself at having admitted it out loud.
"Noticed that you thought that from across the hallway," Jonathan said with no little amusement. "You keep swiping at it," he explained at the young woman's glare.
"I do n--" Lex bit the inside of his cheek as he realized he was doing just that right then. He dropped his hands and shoved them in his pockets again, looking belligerent, and determined not to do it again. Then he looked about as happy as a wet cat as he shook his head, turning away a little too fast, and a huge cascade of his hair fell across his shoulder back into his vision again.
Jonathan had to stifle a laugh. He doubted he would find it well-received.
Lex must've picked up on it though, because Jonathan got himself yet another glare from the boy.
"Clark's going to be fine," Jonathan offered. "We're going to take him home to get some proper rest. I assume someone's coming from the mansion to pick you up so you can do the same?" he tried again.
"No, I'm going in to work," he said, sounding a little angry, not meeting Jonathan's gaze.
Jonathan stared down at the boy. "Lex, I doubt even Lionel would demand that you go in when you're this sick--" Jonathan started reasonably.
"I'm not sick, I'm a girl," he muttered. "Apparently that's not a disease, I hear tell," he added sarcastically.
"You may be 'a girl', but you are sick."
"I'm. Fine." Lex gritted out.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" he asked, because Lex really did look like hell. Jon was surprised that the boy was even up and walking around. He might not be as badly off as Clark, for whatever reason, but he still looked like death half-warmed-over.
"Why the hell do you care, anyway?" Lex spat out, glaring up at Jonathan, meeting his eyes in a clear, direct challenge. He looked like he was ready to throw a punch or two to punctuate it.
Jonathan uncrossed his arms and looked down on Lex balefully. "Well, Lex," he drawled, "It seems my son found fit to try and help you out of something pretty damn dangerous." He watched Lex flinch, but not back down. "The way I see it, I figure that if he's that worried about you, then maybe I ought to take an interest in you while he's not well enough to do it himself. It's the least I can do for him, considering he nearly got himself killed over it. Be a damn shame to see that effort wasted."
Lex looked like he'd been punched in the gut by the end of it. He dropped his gaze first, and after awhile, quietly said, "He is going to be ok, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?" Lex said, glancing up, his eyes looking a little wet. And he realized that the boy really was worried about his son, the way Lex's gaze was searching his, in a desperate hope that Jonathan wasn't just saying things that he didn't mean, or didn't know for sure.
He held Lex's eyes for long enough to let the boy know that he knew Clark would recover, then said slowly, "Well, Lex. If there's one thing I know about my son, it's that Clark's too damn stubborn to die leaving a history exam undone that he's actually studied for."
Lex blinked up at him, relief floodig his features, and then as Jon's words impacted he looked a little shocked... and then he glanced down and got a tiny smile. "Yeah. That world history exam today, right?"
"...You know about that?"
"I helped him study for it. He had a lot of questions about the War of Roses."
"I thought you were more interested in all that old Greek and Roman stuff?" Jon asked, raising an eyebrow or two.
Lex glanced up, and Jonathan added sourly, "Clark may have mentioned it sometime." More than once.
At that, Lex grinned a little. "You've got something against European history?" he asked sweetly.
And that innocent tone with that expression on that body was more than a little discomfiting. And Jon knew a trick question when he heard one.
"Might be I just take exception about hearing about Trojan Horses every time Martha tries to trick Clark into eating peas."
And when the boy laughed, Jonathan thought he might have an inkling of what Clark might see in him, after all.
But Lex calmed pretty quickly, and looked uncomfortable again -- shoving his hands into his pockets again, and Jonathan was getting a sense of the gesture -- it was an indication of when Lex had something he badly wanted to know, but was trying to divert close attention from being taken too seriously on about. "Why are you being so..." he grimaced, "...nice?"
"You think I'm being nice?"
"Well, you're not... acting the way you usually do," Lex said, trying to be politic about it.
"Neither are you, Lex."
Lex gave him a look. "I've been acting horribly today," he put out there.
"I'd rather be dealing with a man himself, then some pretty false front he puts on as a show for others," Jonathan stated bluntly.
"...So you'd like it better if I acted horribly more often? Because I can do that," Lex said with a long, almost calculating look.
"Quit acting like some meek little kiss-ass that we both know you aren't and be honest, and we'll see," Jonathan said, feeling amused. "You can't hardly do worse than you have been," he pointed out.
"...And if I decided to curse up a storm at you sometime?" Lex prodded, obviously testing.
Jonathan crossed his arms again. "Then you'll be the one to have to deal with Martha if she overheard you." He nearly laughed at the look that crossed Lex's face then. Clearly his wife had a fan. "I used to have a few 'hands helping me out on the farm. I know what usually goes through young men's minds when the womenfolk aren't around."
Lex had the grace to wince, and in such a way that Jonathan knew that Lex knew exactly what he was talking about, and that had something in him sitting up and taking notice. Huh. And damn, but now Jonathan wanted to know how he knew how life on a farm usually went, because that wasn't the sort of thing a boy could learn second-hand. Interested in a Luthor. Hell, Clark is never gonna let me hear the end of this one, if he finds out. I'll be forever listening to "Lex did this" and "Lex did that" stories, god help me. ...So he'd better not let Clark find out then.
Lex glanced away, his eyes lighted on a clock, and he sucked in a hissed intake of breath. "I've got to go."
"And why are you in such an all-blasted hurry?" Jonathan frowned, following him a little ways.
"Work," came the one-word answer.
Jonathan caught up to him in a hurry, then clapped a hand down on his shoulder to keep him from running off.
Lex, startled, nearly threw him off, glancing back at him. He visibly calmed himself and tugged at Jonathan's hand. Jon let go.
"Look, my father is not nearly so... reasonable as you seem to be about... all this," he gestured down at himself. "So--"
"He told you to go in today?"
"Yes," Lex said impatiently, starting to move away, but keeping his eyes on Jonathan, probably to try and keep from getting captured by a restraining hand again.
"Did he get a good look at you?"
"Yes," Lex repeated, even less patiently.
Uncaring bastard, Jonathan thought. He couldn't believe it. Not even Lionel was that heartless. "Go home."
"Was planning on it. Need to get cleaned up first before going in," Lex muttered absently, and Jonathan just couldn't take it.
He reached forward and grabbed Lex's arm, and Lex jerked, startled. But before the boy could lash out, which he seemed to be gearing up to do, Jonathan had pulled the small pill bottle from his coat pocket and shoved it into Lex's hands.
"What--" Lex stopped looking like he was bracing for a fight, and instead looked confused all over again.
"Iodine pills. Doctors gave them to us for the radiation for Clark. Since you're in such an all-fire hurry, I figure we have more time to get another prescription than you do," Jonathan huffed. Because nobody seemed to be looking after the young man-now-woman, let alone himself. Clark would've done it, probably, if he'd been conscious just then.
Lex looked down at them sourly, and then held them out, trying to hand them back, almost offended at Jonathan's offer. "I can buy my own--"
"You think I can't afford it?" Jonathan said with a dangerous glare, and Lex backed down, looking startled again. Instead, he glanced down at the pill container uneasily, seemed o come to a decision, then slid it in a pocket before glancing back up at Jonathan and nodding sharply once. ...And then he glared at his hair again as it dropped over one eye completely. He spun on his heel and walked away as quickly as he could, swiping the hair back over his shoulder in an imperious gesture.
And by the time Jonathan was done being shocked with himself for his actions, Lex was too far away for Jonathan to chase down again.
Jonathan, in a bit of a foul mood now -- not that that was a new thing for him, when it came to Luthors; why couldn't he leave well enough alone? -- turned and walked back over to his own family. It looked as though Martha had nearly finished her heated 'discussion' with the nurses. Jonathan flagged down another nurse, and had another filled bottle of pills in his hands before Martha was ready to go.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jonathan wheeled Clark out into the bright sunlight and over to the truck.
He didn't notice at first, but when Clark started groaning and twitching, he stopped pushing him and looked down.
"Clark?" he asked concerned, coming around the side.
Martha knelt down and pressed a hand against Clark's forehead. He was sweating buckets now, far worse than he'd been in his room.
Clark's eyes fluttered open, and a look of horrible pain crossed his face. He doubled over, spasming, and pitched forward out of the wheelchair.
"Jonathan!" Martha gasped, as they both tried to slow his fall.
And then Clark began making horrible noises.
Jonathan shoved Martha away and pulled Clark up from the ground a bit, just enough before he--
...and he held Clark as he vomited up dark green and red and black. Far too much red and black -- too much blood mixed in with the green meteor rock.
"Oh, my baby, my poor baby," Martha stuttered lowly, stroking the side of Clark's head.
Finally, after an age, Clark was giving dry heaves, and he collapsed. Jonathan drew his son up against his side and just held him.
"I... I..." Clark croaked, a little more awake now -- because, hell, who could stay asleep through something like that? -- " 'M sorry, dad," he cried, sounding tense and miserable. " 'M sorry. Made a mess, I..."
"Don't you worry, son. You need to get that... that junk out of your system, you do it however you can. Your body knows best. You just don't worry," he repeated, stroking Clark's hair gently.
" 'M sorry..." his son said more quietly, subdued and sagging against him now that he knew he wasn't in trouble.
"Shh, Clark," Jonathan repeated, hugging him close, like he had when he'd been younger, littler.
Clark gave out a shuddering sigh and slowly relaxed in his arms. And at that Jonathan was more than a little startled. It was then he finally realized how much pain his son had been in, now that Jonathan was seeing the pinched look in him fading.
Martha quietly helped clean him up. Jonathan gave up using the wheelchair and just lifted Clark in his arms. He was much smaller now. Small again. Frgile, almost, thought lord knew that Jon and Martha knew the truth and lies of that, by now. He carried his son to the truck, and Martha opened it and helped get him inside.
Jonathan couldn't help but notice how much better Clark looked now, having gotten that mass of meteor rock out of his system. He was looking better and better with each passing minute, and his breathing was evening out, getting deeper and stronger.
Jonathan heaved a deep relieved sigh, sharing a look with his wife.
Then he got in the truck and drove them home.
~*~*~*~*~*~
No-one noticed the overworked, underpaid janitor ('custodial services understudy') who saw the skeletal-looking girl make a mess on the asphalt by the ambulance loading bay and, grumbling, mixed up and then tossed a few buckets of bleach-water solution on it to sanitize it and wash it away into the sewer drains.
A certain blonde-haired high-school reporter, however, tracked him down later and interviewed him on what he'd seen.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Lex decided that whoever had invented the bra needed to be shot.
Clearly it had been a woman, because a man would make it easy to get into one, as well as out of it!
(And while Lex had a lot of experience in getting women out of bras by this point, it had taken a lot of practice. So, case-in-point, there.)
He'd put in the order to his tailor for new clothing that was tailored for a woman approximately his size, and not worried about trying to hide it. If his own staff threw him out of the plant, not recognizing him... well, so be it. His father could battle it out with them if he so desired, but in the meantime Lex would be perfectly happy getting himself some well-deserved rest in his own, fluffy, really comfortable, bed, that was practically calling him like a siren...
The man had delivered (he should, being paid what he was), but the contents themselves were a bit byzantine. He'd almost tossed out the panties, before deciding that burning them might be better, because, well, lace. Except then he'd tried his normal underwear -- both boxers and briefs -- and neither fit him fit properly under the pants he'd been sent, and when in a fit of pique -- adamant that the tailor must have been screwing with him and that nothing would work with the pants he'd been given -- he'd actually tried the damn things on, and he'd found to his everlasting horror that they'd actually been comfortable and that had just been fucking mortifying because now he had to back down on it and he was going to be wearing fucking lace underthings to work...
But... The. Damn. Bra. Good god. He could not for the life of him... Was this perhaps why it took women three hours to get ready to go anyplace? If so -- and Lex was seriously not discounting that as a possibility at the moment -- Lex resolved to quit the fertilizer business immediately and go into women's underwear-making. Females everywhere would laud his genius and probably elect him for some sort of award. He could completely remove any stain from the Luthor name by this one act, and probably proactively clear a few future besmirgings of the Luthor name as well.
After twenty minutes, he threw the offending item down onto the bathroom floor in disgust, wrapped a towel around his shoulders (because at least his socks and pants hadn't been much of a problem, even if the lower half of underwear had been a bit of a psychological one), and Lex decided to try one last, horribly desperate measure.
He walked (stomped) out of his suite, hailed down the good Mrs. Palmer, his matronly housekeeper, and asked (begged) her to please help him with just this one thing.
And, five minutes later, after following the instructions she orated to him through his closed bathroom door, he had The Damn Bra on, and felt like a complete idiot, because four of those minutes had involved walking back to his room.
He kindly but weakly thanked her, and finished adding the shirt -- blouse, though why it had a different name, he couldn't fathom -- over top of the Damn thing.
He still resolved to open an underwear-making business at first opportunity, though.
At least he wasn't expected to wear high heels. He got low-flats instead. Apparently women of his stature didn't have to put up with that crap if they didn't want to.
The shower had cleaned him up a bit, but Mr. Kent had been right in his earlier (what Lex had assumed was a smart-ass comment but, in actuality, completely fair) assessment. Looking in his mirror, in his well-lit bathroom, Lex saw a very ill-looking individual. He really should probably be staying home today, if he knew what was good for him.
His hair was totally unmanageable, though, and even worse, he didn't have the time or the proper tools to deal with it.
He turned to exit, even had laid a hand on the doorknob, when something in the reflected image caught his eye. He did a double-take, then slid a hand up to finger his collar -- oh god, not more frills! -- and bared his teeth at this final offense.
He raged in silence, pacing the floor like a caged animal, because he couldn't very well exit without the proper attire, as his housekeeper was waiting on the other side of the door. For all he knew, if he exited wearing only the towel about his shoulders, she might want to check the fit of the Damn Thing! And, god help him, he would never survive that sort of indignity. (Not to mention that he'd have the rest of the staff snickering behind his back about lace until the end of time -- servants, after all, gossiped. Always.)
He pressed his hands against his forehead and tried to think.
Then he glanced over at his shirt -- the shirt he'd been wearing before. It was a bit... stained with sweat and blood and... well, it wasn't all that bad, really... just a bit disheveled-looking...
And it had fit, still. Earlier. Sort of.
He undid the buttons at the sleeves and all down the front, slid out of the offensive blouse, and tossed it over a towel rack. He scooped up the previously-discarded shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves.
He shuddered slightly at the feel of it against his clean skin, but he endured it. After all, he'd been wearing it only an hour or so earlier.
It was only after getting it on and looking himself over in the mirror that he realized that he looked completely unpresentable in it. It was too dirty, and sent completely the wrong message about his state and status after the kidnapping and subsequent hospitalization.
Also, it being a fitted shirt, it also seemed to emphasize his breasts, being that they did not fit and were straining against the material in the region of his chest.
Looking down, he realized with no small horror that, in fact, the material was so tight that one could actually tell that the bra he was wearing was-- well, it didn't have lace like the other unmentionables he refused to name, but it was far too feminine-shaped and cut in its own right, and one could discern this, as it outlined every damn curve--
He pulled at the buttons with shaking fingers, and nearly ripped the shirt off and away from him. He glared down at it as he smushed it together into a ball, before turning and hurling it against the wall of the shower. It impacted, and then fell to the smooth porcelain base of the tub with a damp thump.
Lex braced both hands against the counter of the sink and stared down into the basin. He was shivering. He closed his eyes, slowly curled his fingers into fists, and leaned forward heavily, trying to ignore the feeling of being trapped.
He was still shivering.
He stepped back abruptly, turned, and grabbed a slightly damp towel he'd used earlier. He rubbed himself down, removing the slightly sticky feel of the residue from his shirt.
He wrapped the towel around his arms, shawl-like, as before.
He slowly curled his fingers into the soft cotton.
He jumped at a gentle knocking at the bathroom door. "Are you all right, sir?" he heard.
"I'm fine," Lex replied after clearing his throat quietly, swallowing hard.
Silence. One of the patiently-waiting variety. Damn.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and then looked over again at the thrice-damned blouse, oh-so-subtly feminine. His eyes narrowed and he straightened.
If only he'd been able to find some scissors earlier. He could have dealt with this easily. Certainly, cutting the collar straight would have left him with a highly unprofessional look -- all the loose threads and missing stitching -- but he could have -- would have -- done it... if not for the unbelievable absence of every damn pair of scissors on the premises. He'd thought there ought to have been some in the library, or even his study. At least one pair in the entire damn mansion.
He would have cut a great deal more than that collar, if he had.
He glared at the collar some more, and wished for laser eyebeams like Warrior Angel for the umpteenth time. (Not wanting them for the express purpose of cutting down Luthorcorp board members or the usual group of feeble-minded, giggly, simpering, pandering, or all-around idiotic hangers-on that tended to bore him was, admittedly, a new and somewhat novel use of eye-laser empowerment that he had not imagined previously.)
...Playing devil's advocate on a lark, he reminded himself that hadn't noticed that there was something wrong with the collar before when he'd first been putting it on. Perhaps it wasn't as blatantly obvious as all that.
And he had managed the bra, hadn't he?
And the... underthings...
It was just a little bit frilly. (At least it wasn't lacey.)
Women wore this sort of thing all the time. (No -- worse, actually.)
He had shirts in his closet that were worse than this, when it came to frilly-ruffles and such. (Even if they were technically of a masculine cut.)
Hell. Who am I trying to fool?
He gritted his teeth and put the god-damned blouse back on.
He stared at himself in the mirror.
This blouse that had been given to him was, at least, both of a heavy enough material and cut loosely enough that one couldn't see every outline of The Damn Bra, of which the less was said the better. In fact, the front of the blouse seemed to fall outright smooth down his slightly-sloped chest -- and, well, the less that was protruding there, the better. He could also button it right up to the top of his neck. He hadn't been able to do so quite properly with his shirt, and it had left him feeling slightly... naked... in the throat region.
If not for the damn collar...
...which his hair almost hid it as it was...
Lex wavered.
When he exited the bathroom, and Mrs. Palmer didn't say a word about the collar -- instead offering to help him with his hair, with a teary-eyed look, Lex just knew then and there that 1) he was an idiot for fixating on the collar, when everyone would clearly be far too busy staring at his hair, instead, and 2) there wasn't anything salveageable about the mess at all. He was even more convinced when he declined her offer and informed her of his decision to hack it down to a manageable length at earliest opportunity, and she sounded so horribly sad and consoling about the whole thing.
He managed to mostly towel the Wavey Curls Of Doom dry, popped a few iodine pills (in retrospect, they were a good idea all around), grabbed a bag lunch, and got out of the mansion before noon. And, quite frankly, as far as Lex was concerned, that was the best his father was going to get out of him today.
To his amazement, no-one at the plant challenged him or his presence. Apparently word had gotten around somehow, and everyone at the plant seemed to recognize him on sight. (Probably from the Blazing Red Hair. Which kept getting in his way. He swore it could not possibly have been this bad when he'd been younger, even if he couldn't remember it to properly compare.)
Then again, it was Smallville. Maybe men turning into women was seen as more of a been-there-done-that, when up against fat-sucking vampires, heat-sucking football jocks, and shapeshifting teenage girls.
Lex nearly tripped over his own feet going up a flight of stairs at that last one.
He had to stop and sit down for a moment and remember how to breathe. Oh god, it is a been-there-done-that! Because Tina Greer could go through a complete body change, not just female to male, but female-herself to male-looking-like-Lex, and not just once! In a way, what she could do at will whenever she wanted was like a super-set of what had been forced upon him and Clark, that their bodies had been locked into.
And she was alive and in Belle Reeve, locked away and perfectly healthy. (Well, except for the psychosis, but that was largely incidental.)
Lex was going to need to find a way to get her to cooperate with the research Lionel had said he was going to be instigating. Somehow, maybe there was a link...
Thoughts and new possibilities whirling through his mind, Lex managed to make it to his office without further mishap, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to focus very well on his work that day. So, he decided on a tour of the plant to start, to review the current status of the improvements he'd been implementing to try and streamline the work flow, and hoped that Gabe could find him something a little less brain-intensive for the latter-half of the day after that.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Gabe Sullivan hadn't thought that the film badge dosimeters, which the younger Mr. Luthor had insisted every employee start wearing, were anything but a waste of funds better spent elsewhere. He'd thought it patently ridiculous that Mr. Luthor had believed what that lunatic, who'd held his daughter and her school class hostage in the plant, had said: that Level 3 existed, and that they'd been playing with dangerous levels of radioactive meteor rock there. It was patently ridiculous -- as if the meteor rock was really radioactive! If it had been, the EPA would've declared the entire town a hazard and evacuated them to clean the community up, as well as the surrounding countryside. Even his daughter's newspaper articles never made that claim about the rocks.
But when Gabe's radiation badge reading started to change colors over the course of the day, working at Mr. Luthor's side, he began to worry.
When Mr. Luthor himself started sweating horribly and stagered into a restroom, and Gabe found himself taking care of him-- her in a nearby toilet stall, he mused that he'd never imagined that his job would ever entail holding a boss' hair during work hours. He'd never thought of the younger Mr. Luthor as frail, or a bit of a coal canary before, but if they'd been exposed to something, he didn't doubt that the younger Mr. Luthor would be affected more badly, and sooner, than he himself ever would be.
He first became worried when Mr. Luthor started throwing up something bright green, along with what looked like blood. He became more than a little alarmed when Mr. Luthor then tried to calm him down by saying that 'it wasn't as bad as it had been this morning', and that 'he felt much better now.'
Gabe left the young plant manager to tidy up a bit on his own and flagged down a co-worker. He exchanged radiation badges, and told the man to grab a few other folks and some active electronic dosimeters and retrace their path, just in case. If there was some radiation 'leak' coming from somewhere, then somebody had a lot of explaning to do, because they didn't deal in that sort of thing, here. He also resolved to keep a very close eye on Mr. Luthor for the rest of the day.
But his badge didn't seem to change for the rest of the day as he stuck by Mr. Luthor's side, who might profess that he was feeling much better, but really looked like he ought to be flat on his back at home. (Of course, no-one was going to stand up to the elder Mr. Luthor's orders, least of all his son, and sadly everyone knew better than to suggest such a thing.) When his workers reported back that they'd found nothing along their route, Gabe had to simply shrug it off.
When he got home that night and found out from his daughter that whatever had occurred that had turned Mr. Luthor female hadn't been the normal town weirdness, but something else entirely involving a radiation treatment, the hairs on the nape of his neck nearly stood on end.
Dear god, he thought, horrified.
Well, Gabe knew what to do about this, at least. He was increasing the security presence both at the gates and on the parking lot the very next day. He wasn't about to put himself back in a position that would have him worrying whether his boss would be abducted at an inopportune time, let alone turn up again radioactive the very next day.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Jonathan found himself more and more relieved every time Clark needed to get up from bed and throw up in the bathroom again.
After the third time, which looked to be the last, Clark ended up wandering downstairs and collapsing on the couch, curled up in a patch of sunlight, breathing easily, no longer sweating, and almost smiling in what Jonathan reckoned was blessed relief.
At dinner, Clark was actually able to get up himself and feed himself. He didn't seem much more capable than shoveling food into his mouth, though, and not really much aware of where he was -- except home -- and how much or what he was eating -- three times what he usually did, and pretty much the entire house -- but he was up and walking around and eating, and his color had improved immensely.
Neither Jonathan or Martha begrudged him the food, though. At one point Jon even tried to pitch in, making pancakes while Martha was putting together peanut-butter sandwiches in-between chopping up another large bowl of salad, and when he finally stopped and sleepily curled up in his own bed, he looked a good sight less drawn and less skeletal than he had before.
"I think I'll go to the store first-thing in the morning and restock the kitchen, Martha."
His wife nodded to him. "I'll pull up the rest of the winter garden -- it's nearly done producing, anyway."
If they could keep Clark eating like this, he ought to be back to himself -- well, healthy, at least -- in no time.
Assuming we can keep him from feeling even more guilty about eating that much more than he usually does, and keep up his appetite.
Neither of them had really thought through much about what to do about gently breaking the news to him that he was a girl. They were too focused on getting him back to looking and feeling well, and still too used to thinking of him as a boy, despite evidence to the contrary.
At least, Jonathan was. Martha was keenly aware of it, but in a bit of denial, though Jonathan didn't quite realize it at the time...
~*~*~*~*~*~
Martha was frantic the next morning when Jonathan returned from his grocery trip.
She'd just checked in on their son a few minutes ago, seen him still asleep. She'd quietly left some clothing for him that might fit, and had gone outside to pull up some of the turnips.
When she'd gotten back inside, she'd puttered around in the kitchen for a bit, then gone upstairs to peek in on Clark again, but she found herself greeted by an empty bed.
Clark was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
Next post is here.