I'll Be Home For Christmas: A Clexmas Carol
Pairings: Clex
Genre: Angst, Post-Rift, Futurefic
Rating: PG
Word Count: 998
Summary: A Christmas homecoming - of sorts.
A/N: The last of my Clexmas Carols for this year. Sorry to go out on this note, but, well, you know me. This Christmas song always leaves me with an ache in my heart - and so does the Clex, so it seems fitting.
A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and the mingling scents of pine, stuffing and eggnog were practically visible. Everything took on a soft focus by the glow of candles; the clear crispness of the late December night was tempered by the frost-encrusted windows and the muslin curtains through which it gained access to the scene. It was everything Christmas evening at Kent Farm could - should - be.
Everyone was there. Martha, a blessed mother in her own right, was the perfect hostess and resplendent in her green silk and vibrant auburn hair. Chloe with her loud clothes and Lois with her loud mouth were, as always, the life of the party. Lana sipped daintily from her glass of white wine and made elegant conversation with Oliver, who lounged on one arm of the couch as if he and his carefully-disarrayed blond locks just … belonged there.
He did. They all were a part of that feeling, that aura of warm brightness that Christmas requires - and so they were each essential, and their presence here made it right. Years from now, Clark knew that he would be able to look back on this night and remember every detail: the color of Chloe’s eyeshadow, the overpowering scent of Oliver’s cologne, the way he himself felt somewhat outsize and awkward in his silly red reindeer sweater ... the way he could, no matter how far apart they grew, still hear the gentle beating of Lana’s heart like a mantra beneath all else.
For some reason Christmas always brought it into sharp relief, how close he felt to them and yet how simultaneously far. Though he was with them, bathed in the light of their love and company, he could never fully escape the sensation of being outside looking in on them - the alien observer, the elephant in the room. He wondered if it was just the cynical side of heroism that made him do this, made him take a few steps back from their merriness and just watch them, just adore them as if this bright, nostalgic moment might be their last.
He cradled his coffee mug in his overlarge hands, let its heat ground him in the scene and pull him back into the present. Despite who he was, he didn’t need to always be thinking of the future, in terms of fatalism and what it was his duty to prevent - did he? Couldn’t he spend one evening in the now - or even in the past? For Christmas was not just a day of light, but also one of memory; Jonathan’s framed photo, nestled amongst the greens atop the piano, was just one reminder.
There were moments from his past that he would give anything now to have back again, to tear away wrapping and bows and find regifted to him today. Even if the only reason was that it was Christmas … and even if it were just for today.
It was from these thoughts that Clark was startled. Chloe was the first to notice him still, as if responding to some supersonic cue for which he had been waiting; but a moment later all conversation ceased as Clark took the room in just a few strides. He crossed to the front windows and pulled back the curtains with a gentleness that belied his strength. His eyes bored into the darkness without, searching far beyond the limits of human sight - and finding there what they had sought, filled at last with tears.
Oh, how he had hoped ...
Lex sat alone in his office atop LuthorCorp Plaza, the floor-to-ceiling windows admitting a cold view of the even colder scene of snow beginning to fall on Metropolis. He swiveled idly in his chair, a faint and inconsistent motion that made the cognac in his glass undulate like something alive. How long he had been sitting here he could not say; but it was long enough that true night had fallen and he now found himself mostly in shadow.
This was wrong somehow. How were his office lights not on some kind of sensor? He was the richest, most powerful man on the planet. Surely he should not need to do something so plebeian as flip a light switch.
Then again, some things still did demand a human touch.
He twisted away from the window and set his drink down on the desk. Over his shoulder, a little moonlight seemed to sneak, as if its illumination on the object in Lex’s other hand were forbidden or voyeuristic.
Considering that Lex himself never spoke of it now, that air of illicitness seemed appropriate. The tenderness with which he traced the penstrokes, the care with which he smoothed each crease may have approached worship. He didn’t enjoy that comparison, but he could not deny it either.
Not that it mattered what he called it. He was alone. It was what it was.
Somewhere miles from here, Clark would be celebrating Christmas. He was probably surrounded by friends, suffused in the rosy glow of their affection, and wearing some ridiculous holiday-patterned sweater; it was impossible for Lex to picture him otherwise. Despite all the other ways in which he’d learned to conceive of Clark Kent, this love-lit ideal would always be the most basic; strip away enmity, obsession, all else, and this is what would remain.
“I understand why you said you’d feel out of place,” the well-worn Christmas card read, “but I want you to understand what it would mean to have you there. Please come to dinner, Lex. Please.”
Beneath these lines, Clark’s signature was so faded now that it was almost illegible.
Lex sat perfectly still for just one moment more, feeling the weight of the crumbling cardstock against his own frail human hand. Then with one swift motion, he shut the card away in a drawer; and with a second, he lifted the telephone receiver.
“This is Luthor,” he said. “Prepare to receive launch codes.”
Genre: Angst, Post-Rift, Futurefic
Rating: PG
Word Count: 998
Summary: A Christmas homecoming - of sorts.
A/N: The last of my Clexmas Carols for this year. Sorry to go out on this note, but, well, you know me. This Christmas song always leaves me with an ache in my heart - and so does the Clex, so it seems fitting.
A fire crackled merrily in the grate, and the mingling scents of pine, stuffing and eggnog were practically visible. Everything took on a soft focus by the glow of candles; the clear crispness of the late December night was tempered by the frost-encrusted windows and the muslin curtains through which it gained access to the scene. It was everything Christmas evening at Kent Farm could - should - be.
Everyone was there. Martha, a blessed mother in her own right, was the perfect hostess and resplendent in her green silk and vibrant auburn hair. Chloe with her loud clothes and Lois with her loud mouth were, as always, the life of the party. Lana sipped daintily from her glass of white wine and made elegant conversation with Oliver, who lounged on one arm of the couch as if he and his carefully-disarrayed blond locks just … belonged there.
He did. They all were a part of that feeling, that aura of warm brightness that Christmas requires - and so they were each essential, and their presence here made it right. Years from now, Clark knew that he would be able to look back on this night and remember every detail: the color of Chloe’s eyeshadow, the overpowering scent of Oliver’s cologne, the way he himself felt somewhat outsize and awkward in his silly red reindeer sweater ... the way he could, no matter how far apart they grew, still hear the gentle beating of Lana’s heart like a mantra beneath all else.
For some reason Christmas always brought it into sharp relief, how close he felt to them and yet how simultaneously far. Though he was with them, bathed in the light of their love and company, he could never fully escape the sensation of being outside looking in on them - the alien observer, the elephant in the room. He wondered if it was just the cynical side of heroism that made him do this, made him take a few steps back from their merriness and just watch them, just adore them as if this bright, nostalgic moment might be their last.
He cradled his coffee mug in his overlarge hands, let its heat ground him in the scene and pull him back into the present. Despite who he was, he didn’t need to always be thinking of the future, in terms of fatalism and what it was his duty to prevent - did he? Couldn’t he spend one evening in the now - or even in the past? For Christmas was not just a day of light, but also one of memory; Jonathan’s framed photo, nestled amongst the greens atop the piano, was just one reminder.
There were moments from his past that he would give anything now to have back again, to tear away wrapping and bows and find regifted to him today. Even if the only reason was that it was Christmas … and even if it were just for today.
It was from these thoughts that Clark was startled. Chloe was the first to notice him still, as if responding to some supersonic cue for which he had been waiting; but a moment later all conversation ceased as Clark took the room in just a few strides. He crossed to the front windows and pulled back the curtains with a gentleness that belied his strength. His eyes bored into the darkness without, searching far beyond the limits of human sight - and finding there what they had sought, filled at last with tears.
Oh, how he had hoped ...
Lex sat alone in his office atop LuthorCorp Plaza, the floor-to-ceiling windows admitting a cold view of the even colder scene of snow beginning to fall on Metropolis. He swiveled idly in his chair, a faint and inconsistent motion that made the cognac in his glass undulate like something alive. How long he had been sitting here he could not say; but it was long enough that true night had fallen and he now found himself mostly in shadow.
This was wrong somehow. How were his office lights not on some kind of sensor? He was the richest, most powerful man on the planet. Surely he should not need to do something so plebeian as flip a light switch.
Then again, some things still did demand a human touch.
He twisted away from the window and set his drink down on the desk. Over his shoulder, a little moonlight seemed to sneak, as if its illumination on the object in Lex’s other hand were forbidden or voyeuristic.
Considering that Lex himself never spoke of it now, that air of illicitness seemed appropriate. The tenderness with which he traced the penstrokes, the care with which he smoothed each crease may have approached worship. He didn’t enjoy that comparison, but he could not deny it either.
Not that it mattered what he called it. He was alone. It was what it was.
Somewhere miles from here, Clark would be celebrating Christmas. He was probably surrounded by friends, suffused in the rosy glow of their affection, and wearing some ridiculous holiday-patterned sweater; it was impossible for Lex to picture him otherwise. Despite all the other ways in which he’d learned to conceive of Clark Kent, this love-lit ideal would always be the most basic; strip away enmity, obsession, all else, and this is what would remain.
“I understand why you said you’d feel out of place,” the well-worn Christmas card read, “but I want you to understand what it would mean to have you there. Please come to dinner, Lex. Please.”
Beneath these lines, Clark’s signature was so faded now that it was almost illegible.
Lex sat perfectly still for just one moment more, feeling the weight of the crumbling cardstock against his own frail human hand. Then with one swift motion, he shut the card away in a drawer; and with a second, he lifted the telephone receiver.
“This is Luthor,” he said. “Prepare to receive launch codes.”