moultipass1
4th December 2003, 04:31
TITLE: Les gens que j’ai aimés.
SUMMARY: a plot? what plot? It's just Lex thinking... and it's quite depressing, sorry about that
A/N : the title is the french for “people I loved” (may as well take advantage of the fact I speak french fluently, given that it’s my first language!)
Also, I realize that Lana is kinda OOC, but... I needed someone smart for this fic other than Chloe and Lex, so I decided to lend her a brain for a short time.
RATING: PG13 for language
DISCLAIMER: wish I owned them, but I don’t
Chlex (of course), Lex POV (first attempt at it, don’t really know if that worked out)
°
How can such a simple thing bring out so many memories? I wonder what a psychologist would think about it... Lex Luthor thinking about his dead Mother because of an empty cup of coffee... I’d laugh at the absurdity of that thought... except that I can’t laugh anymore. I think I forgot the instructions for laughing somewhere between my Mother’s grave and Excelsior. She loved coffee. Another thing she had in common with the petite blonde sitting two tables away from me. I have to fight the urge to shake my head in order to clear my thoughts. I know how my mind works. It makes links. Links between people, things, feelings, smells, sounds... I once noticed how similar Chloe’s smile was to my mother’s smile and now, each time I think about one of them, the other one comes to my mind as well. So... stop, brain... no links. Focus. Mom.
God I loved her. I mean... I know every child loves his mother. Even if he doesn’t realize it. But what made this love so special was - and I can’t believe I’m even thinking it - my father. Yes, my father has done something nice for me, once upon a time: he made me love my Mom way more than I would probably have weren’t he a heartless bastard. I had too much love to give, and I gave it all to my mother. That’s what made it so hard when she got sick. I fought with all I could, tried to find anything that could save her, but I just couldn’t. I got over that guilty feeling that if I had worked harder maybe she’d still be alive a long time ago, but that doesn’t ease the pain. And please, don’t listen when people tell you how “with time it gets better”. It doesn’t. You just learn how to hide the suffering. Some people hide it like I do, by wearing a mask of indifference. It works. At least it does for me. If my family’s history wasn’t known by everybody in this state, one wouldn’t know, when looking at me, that I lost my mother at the age of 12. But that’s not the most efficient way to hide the pain. The most efficient way was found by Chloe Sullivan. See, when you wear that mask I was talking about, the one I’m now famous for wearing, people always wonder. They know you’re hiding something, and they want to know what it is. They try to imagine what happened to you that you want to get away from, that you don’t want them to know. Now, when you’re an open book, people don’t try to see beyond your appearance, because they know you, they know you’re not hiding anything from them. Or at least they think they know. And that’s what they need. Chloe is a master in that art: always wearing her emotions on her face so that everybody think they know what’s going on with her, while they actually only see the surface. It works even with her best friends. Lana, Pete, Clark... they don’t have a clue. They’re so sure they know everything there is to know about her that they don’t try to see past that appearance. I think even her dad doesn’t know her as well as he thinks he does. And now, you’re going to ask me how the hell I know, aren’t you? Simple: I watch. I watch and see. She’s hurting. From her mother’s departure, from Clark’s lack of romantic feelings toward her, from being the outsider, from being stuck in that school she hates with people she hates. From a lot of things even I can’t imagine. Damn, I did it again... links. How the Hell did I begin to think about Chloe? No more. My Mom. I loved her, and she’s dead.
For a little while, after her death, my nanny helped me... and then betrayed me. She left, just like Chloe’s mother did... and what did I just say - thought, whatever - about mental rambling leading to Chloe? So, Pamela. I can’t believe Dad managed to intimidate her. She was strong. The only thing she was afraid of was something happening to me or my Mom. When my mother died, my father threatened to disinherit me if she stayed. I still can remember what she told me the day she came back... “he wanted you to be his son, not hers”. I want so badly to be her son, not his. Who would want to be Satan’s child? I am, but I don’t want to be. What can make me stay away from the dark side, the one every single person has, the one which is stronger in me than in anybody else, thanks to my dad? My Mom could do it. Pamela could do it. People I love could do it. But people I love always disappear. Or betray me. In Pamela’s case, it was both, actually: for nine years I thought she had betrayed me, then she came back and I learned that wasn’t true... and she died. I loved her and she’s dead.
There’s someone else I’ve loved, deeply. I know, I told Clark I’ve only loved two women in my life... but it wasn’t a woman. It was a boy. A baby actually. Julian. My brother. Everything was so great when he was here... Even Dad wasn’t as evil as before. He saw him as a second chance, I guess... I should probably have been jealous, but I wasn’t. My dad’s affection is something I’ve always missed, but that doesn’t mean I needed it enough to despise a baby who didn’t deserve it. I have to say, I was quite wise as a child. When did it change, I don’t know. Probably along the time I learned the hard way people aren’t immortal. When Julian was part of the family, I saw myself as the big brother, the one who would teach him everything he’d need to know in order to face the world and its tragedies... what a fool I was! I didn’t know anything about those tragedies at that time. Now I do. I do know that life isn’t always a wonderful thing. But I also do know that it’s worth living anyway... at least I hope it is. I wish Julian could live it too. I loved him and he’s dead.
Are you begining to see a pattern here?
My eyes wander away from the cup I still hold in my hands when I hear a familiar sound from Clark and Chloe’s table: her laugh. God I love that laugh. I love the smile that comes right after the laugh. I love the spark that always shines in her eyes when she’s talking about something she’s passionnate about. I love the way her hair becomes a mess when she shakes her head, then goes back to its normal form. I love the colour of her eyes... even though I’m still trying to decide whether they’re blue or green. Most of the time green, sometimes blue... on stormy days. I love her body, or what little I’ve seen of it. I love her snarky attitude. I love sitting here and watching her. I love sitting here and speaking with her. I love that she’s not intimidated by me, my name, my money or my power. Hell, I even love her passion for journalism! Yeah, I think you’ve understood it by now: I love her.
I first tried to deny it. I’ve discovered way too young that loving is a dangerous emotion. It makes you loose control, which is unacceptable for a Luthor. But I don’t wana be a Luthor. I wanna be Lex. The Lex nobody knows. The Lex I’d like her to know.
But I won’t let her.
Strange, I know.
Remember what I was saying a few minutes earlier? About people I loved?
Yeah?
Well... I don’t want anything like that happening to her. I’ve lost too many people in my life to allow it to happen again. And yes, I do realize that this reasoning isn’t exactly logical. I mean... I know I can’t be the one causing their death. There’s no god, somewhere, playing with another one to “who can make Lex suffer the most” or “who are we gonna kill this time? Hey, let’s kill someone Lex cares about!” I know the fact I loved them isn’t what killed them. If that was, then I could tell her how I really feel: the simple fact that I feel it would be enough to put her in danger. I know all that. I’ve thought about it everyday since... well, I won’t say since I met her, because that’s not true: I first had to learn to know her before I fell in love with her. So, let’s say since the day she amazed me the most: that interview. I know.
But that doesn’t prevent me, or some part of me, from being afraid... who am I kidding? I’m not afraid, I’m scared to death. For her. This part of me doesn’t want to listen to me when I say those three losses don’t mean this will happen again.
The worst in this is I know I could be the perfect man for her. I know I could be everything she's always looked for. I know I could make her forget Clark and her infatuation with him. I know she could love me. I could make her love me.
Alright, that sounded a lot more manipulative than I intended it to. I know I’m known for always having an ulterior motive. I often have. Even when I met her I had an ulterior motive: I wanted to learn more about her meteor theory. And I have to say I was impressed by it. But that’s not the point. The point is I wanted to meet her so that she could give me what I wanted. And now... well, that doesn’t matter.
Or, more exactly, it does matter, but there are some things I’m not ready to admit to myself yet. Like the fact that I don’t only love her: I need her.
But as I said, not ready.
Lana’s coming in my direction. Ah, shit, she noticed I didn’t have coffee anymore. Wants to know if I want a refill. Didn't she notice that I want to be alone, too?
“No, thanks.”
She shots me a knowing glance. Knowing? Since when does Lana Lang do knowing? Sure, she can be smart. But knowing? That means being intuitive, that means knowing what people think, and I’m not someone who likes it when people know what I think. Not that it happens a lot.
“You should tell her.”
For a moment I’m taken aback, but that only lasts for less than a second.
“Tell what to whom?”
“Tell Chloe that you love her.”
For the first time since I can remember, I’m speechless. How the hell can she know about that? It’s not like it’s written all over my face, is it?
“Don’t worry, no one knows, except for me.”
Great, first she knows I’m in love with Chloe, she dares giving me advices, and then she reads my mind. And she managed to keep her voice low and calm while I’m all at once amazed, angry, and curious. It takes a long minute before I answer:
“And how do you know what you think you know?”
She shrugs.
“I just do. The way you look at her, mostly. The way Christian looks at Satine in “Moulin Rouge”.”
I haven’t seen this movie, but I’ve seen the trailers, and I can easily imagine what she’s talking about.
“Or maybe you’re just imagining things.”
“Yeah, right. And that’s why you have yet to deny it.”
When on earth did Lana start using sarcasm better than me? I blame it on my depressing memories. She goes on before I have a chance to reply:
“You know, I don’t care what excuses you’ve found in order to avoid talking to her, they’re just that: excuses. Age, her father’s boss, Clark’s friends? Excuses.”
For that I have an answer:
“I’m trying to protect her.”
Well... looks like it took her off guard. I hadn’t intended to admit it just like that, but at least that seems to have shut her up. Maybe she’s not understood the situation as well as she thought she had.
“Trying to protect who?”
Great, just the person we were talking about! How did she manage to get here without me seeing her? Guess I was distracted by my unsettling conversation with Lana. I smirk, knowing telling half of the truth is the best way to get out of that kind of situations.
“Lana’s sure I’m in love with someone.”
“And?”
“And nothing, because she’s wrong.”
Glad I learnt how to lie while looking directly into someone’s eyes. That’s pretty convincing.
“Is she?”
Lana chooses this moment to get out of the trance she’s been in since I told her I was trying to protect Chloe.
“I’m not.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel it.”
Chloe smiles. The smile I love so much, the one that makes me forget there are bad things in this world.
“I’ll have to agree with Lana, then. “Tous les raisonnements des hommes ne valent pas un sentiment d’une femme”, Lex. You should know that.”
I must say I’m impressed. Not many people can quote Voltaire, even less in his own language. Apparently, Lana isn’t one of them.
“What did she say?”
I translate for her.
““All men’s reasonings aren’t worth a woman’s feeling”.”
“Looks like I’ve been missing something by not going to those french literature lessons this summer after all.”
Chloe then glances at her watch and an apologetic look crosses her face.
“I have to go. Lex, if you ever decide to grant me an interview and tell me who this mysterious woman is, gimme a call. Lana, see you later.”
We both watch her as she leaves the Talon, then I turn my attention back to Lana.
“Am I that obvious?”
“No, you aren’t. You’re... let’s say luthorish. If you need an evidence... well... she hasn’t figured it out yet. Are you going to do something about it?”
“Remind me how this is your business...”
“She’s my friend. I want to see her happy, I know you can make her happy. What else is there to say?”
I nod.
“I could. But I won’t.”
“Why?”
“The price’s too high.”
She frowns, obviously not understanding what I mean.
“What are you talking about?”
“The people I loved.”
The End
SUMMARY: a plot? what plot? It's just Lex thinking... and it's quite depressing, sorry about that
A/N : the title is the french for “people I loved” (may as well take advantage of the fact I speak french fluently, given that it’s my first language!)
Also, I realize that Lana is kinda OOC, but... I needed someone smart for this fic other than Chloe and Lex, so I decided to lend her a brain for a short time.
RATING: PG13 for language
DISCLAIMER: wish I owned them, but I don’t
Chlex (of course), Lex POV (first attempt at it, don’t really know if that worked out)
°
How can such a simple thing bring out so many memories? I wonder what a psychologist would think about it... Lex Luthor thinking about his dead Mother because of an empty cup of coffee... I’d laugh at the absurdity of that thought... except that I can’t laugh anymore. I think I forgot the instructions for laughing somewhere between my Mother’s grave and Excelsior. She loved coffee. Another thing she had in common with the petite blonde sitting two tables away from me. I have to fight the urge to shake my head in order to clear my thoughts. I know how my mind works. It makes links. Links between people, things, feelings, smells, sounds... I once noticed how similar Chloe’s smile was to my mother’s smile and now, each time I think about one of them, the other one comes to my mind as well. So... stop, brain... no links. Focus. Mom.
God I loved her. I mean... I know every child loves his mother. Even if he doesn’t realize it. But what made this love so special was - and I can’t believe I’m even thinking it - my father. Yes, my father has done something nice for me, once upon a time: he made me love my Mom way more than I would probably have weren’t he a heartless bastard. I had too much love to give, and I gave it all to my mother. That’s what made it so hard when she got sick. I fought with all I could, tried to find anything that could save her, but I just couldn’t. I got over that guilty feeling that if I had worked harder maybe she’d still be alive a long time ago, but that doesn’t ease the pain. And please, don’t listen when people tell you how “with time it gets better”. It doesn’t. You just learn how to hide the suffering. Some people hide it like I do, by wearing a mask of indifference. It works. At least it does for me. If my family’s history wasn’t known by everybody in this state, one wouldn’t know, when looking at me, that I lost my mother at the age of 12. But that’s not the most efficient way to hide the pain. The most efficient way was found by Chloe Sullivan. See, when you wear that mask I was talking about, the one I’m now famous for wearing, people always wonder. They know you’re hiding something, and they want to know what it is. They try to imagine what happened to you that you want to get away from, that you don’t want them to know. Now, when you’re an open book, people don’t try to see beyond your appearance, because they know you, they know you’re not hiding anything from them. Or at least they think they know. And that’s what they need. Chloe is a master in that art: always wearing her emotions on her face so that everybody think they know what’s going on with her, while they actually only see the surface. It works even with her best friends. Lana, Pete, Clark... they don’t have a clue. They’re so sure they know everything there is to know about her that they don’t try to see past that appearance. I think even her dad doesn’t know her as well as he thinks he does. And now, you’re going to ask me how the hell I know, aren’t you? Simple: I watch. I watch and see. She’s hurting. From her mother’s departure, from Clark’s lack of romantic feelings toward her, from being the outsider, from being stuck in that school she hates with people she hates. From a lot of things even I can’t imagine. Damn, I did it again... links. How the Hell did I begin to think about Chloe? No more. My Mom. I loved her, and she’s dead.
For a little while, after her death, my nanny helped me... and then betrayed me. She left, just like Chloe’s mother did... and what did I just say - thought, whatever - about mental rambling leading to Chloe? So, Pamela. I can’t believe Dad managed to intimidate her. She was strong. The only thing she was afraid of was something happening to me or my Mom. When my mother died, my father threatened to disinherit me if she stayed. I still can remember what she told me the day she came back... “he wanted you to be his son, not hers”. I want so badly to be her son, not his. Who would want to be Satan’s child? I am, but I don’t want to be. What can make me stay away from the dark side, the one every single person has, the one which is stronger in me than in anybody else, thanks to my dad? My Mom could do it. Pamela could do it. People I love could do it. But people I love always disappear. Or betray me. In Pamela’s case, it was both, actually: for nine years I thought she had betrayed me, then she came back and I learned that wasn’t true... and she died. I loved her and she’s dead.
There’s someone else I’ve loved, deeply. I know, I told Clark I’ve only loved two women in my life... but it wasn’t a woman. It was a boy. A baby actually. Julian. My brother. Everything was so great when he was here... Even Dad wasn’t as evil as before. He saw him as a second chance, I guess... I should probably have been jealous, but I wasn’t. My dad’s affection is something I’ve always missed, but that doesn’t mean I needed it enough to despise a baby who didn’t deserve it. I have to say, I was quite wise as a child. When did it change, I don’t know. Probably along the time I learned the hard way people aren’t immortal. When Julian was part of the family, I saw myself as the big brother, the one who would teach him everything he’d need to know in order to face the world and its tragedies... what a fool I was! I didn’t know anything about those tragedies at that time. Now I do. I do know that life isn’t always a wonderful thing. But I also do know that it’s worth living anyway... at least I hope it is. I wish Julian could live it too. I loved him and he’s dead.
Are you begining to see a pattern here?
My eyes wander away from the cup I still hold in my hands when I hear a familiar sound from Clark and Chloe’s table: her laugh. God I love that laugh. I love the smile that comes right after the laugh. I love the spark that always shines in her eyes when she’s talking about something she’s passionnate about. I love the way her hair becomes a mess when she shakes her head, then goes back to its normal form. I love the colour of her eyes... even though I’m still trying to decide whether they’re blue or green. Most of the time green, sometimes blue... on stormy days. I love her body, or what little I’ve seen of it. I love her snarky attitude. I love sitting here and watching her. I love sitting here and speaking with her. I love that she’s not intimidated by me, my name, my money or my power. Hell, I even love her passion for journalism! Yeah, I think you’ve understood it by now: I love her.
I first tried to deny it. I’ve discovered way too young that loving is a dangerous emotion. It makes you loose control, which is unacceptable for a Luthor. But I don’t wana be a Luthor. I wanna be Lex. The Lex nobody knows. The Lex I’d like her to know.
But I won’t let her.
Strange, I know.
Remember what I was saying a few minutes earlier? About people I loved?
Yeah?
Well... I don’t want anything like that happening to her. I’ve lost too many people in my life to allow it to happen again. And yes, I do realize that this reasoning isn’t exactly logical. I mean... I know I can’t be the one causing their death. There’s no god, somewhere, playing with another one to “who can make Lex suffer the most” or “who are we gonna kill this time? Hey, let’s kill someone Lex cares about!” I know the fact I loved them isn’t what killed them. If that was, then I could tell her how I really feel: the simple fact that I feel it would be enough to put her in danger. I know all that. I’ve thought about it everyday since... well, I won’t say since I met her, because that’s not true: I first had to learn to know her before I fell in love with her. So, let’s say since the day she amazed me the most: that interview. I know.
But that doesn’t prevent me, or some part of me, from being afraid... who am I kidding? I’m not afraid, I’m scared to death. For her. This part of me doesn’t want to listen to me when I say those three losses don’t mean this will happen again.
The worst in this is I know I could be the perfect man for her. I know I could be everything she's always looked for. I know I could make her forget Clark and her infatuation with him. I know she could love me. I could make her love me.
Alright, that sounded a lot more manipulative than I intended it to. I know I’m known for always having an ulterior motive. I often have. Even when I met her I had an ulterior motive: I wanted to learn more about her meteor theory. And I have to say I was impressed by it. But that’s not the point. The point is I wanted to meet her so that she could give me what I wanted. And now... well, that doesn’t matter.
Or, more exactly, it does matter, but there are some things I’m not ready to admit to myself yet. Like the fact that I don’t only love her: I need her.
But as I said, not ready.
Lana’s coming in my direction. Ah, shit, she noticed I didn’t have coffee anymore. Wants to know if I want a refill. Didn't she notice that I want to be alone, too?
“No, thanks.”
She shots me a knowing glance. Knowing? Since when does Lana Lang do knowing? Sure, she can be smart. But knowing? That means being intuitive, that means knowing what people think, and I’m not someone who likes it when people know what I think. Not that it happens a lot.
“You should tell her.”
For a moment I’m taken aback, but that only lasts for less than a second.
“Tell what to whom?”
“Tell Chloe that you love her.”
For the first time since I can remember, I’m speechless. How the hell can she know about that? It’s not like it’s written all over my face, is it?
“Don’t worry, no one knows, except for me.”
Great, first she knows I’m in love with Chloe, she dares giving me advices, and then she reads my mind. And she managed to keep her voice low and calm while I’m all at once amazed, angry, and curious. It takes a long minute before I answer:
“And how do you know what you think you know?”
She shrugs.
“I just do. The way you look at her, mostly. The way Christian looks at Satine in “Moulin Rouge”.”
I haven’t seen this movie, but I’ve seen the trailers, and I can easily imagine what she’s talking about.
“Or maybe you’re just imagining things.”
“Yeah, right. And that’s why you have yet to deny it.”
When on earth did Lana start using sarcasm better than me? I blame it on my depressing memories. She goes on before I have a chance to reply:
“You know, I don’t care what excuses you’ve found in order to avoid talking to her, they’re just that: excuses. Age, her father’s boss, Clark’s friends? Excuses.”
For that I have an answer:
“I’m trying to protect her.”
Well... looks like it took her off guard. I hadn’t intended to admit it just like that, but at least that seems to have shut her up. Maybe she’s not understood the situation as well as she thought she had.
“Trying to protect who?”
Great, just the person we were talking about! How did she manage to get here without me seeing her? Guess I was distracted by my unsettling conversation with Lana. I smirk, knowing telling half of the truth is the best way to get out of that kind of situations.
“Lana’s sure I’m in love with someone.”
“And?”
“And nothing, because she’s wrong.”
Glad I learnt how to lie while looking directly into someone’s eyes. That’s pretty convincing.
“Is she?”
Lana chooses this moment to get out of the trance she’s been in since I told her I was trying to protect Chloe.
“I’m not.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel it.”
Chloe smiles. The smile I love so much, the one that makes me forget there are bad things in this world.
“I’ll have to agree with Lana, then. “Tous les raisonnements des hommes ne valent pas un sentiment d’une femme”, Lex. You should know that.”
I must say I’m impressed. Not many people can quote Voltaire, even less in his own language. Apparently, Lana isn’t one of them.
“What did she say?”
I translate for her.
““All men’s reasonings aren’t worth a woman’s feeling”.”
“Looks like I’ve been missing something by not going to those french literature lessons this summer after all.”
Chloe then glances at her watch and an apologetic look crosses her face.
“I have to go. Lex, if you ever decide to grant me an interview and tell me who this mysterious woman is, gimme a call. Lana, see you later.”
We both watch her as she leaves the Talon, then I turn my attention back to Lana.
“Am I that obvious?”
“No, you aren’t. You’re... let’s say luthorish. If you need an evidence... well... she hasn’t figured it out yet. Are you going to do something about it?”
“Remind me how this is your business...”
“She’s my friend. I want to see her happy, I know you can make her happy. What else is there to say?”
I nod.
“I could. But I won’t.”
“Why?”
“The price’s too high.”
She frowns, obviously not understanding what I mean.
“What are you talking about?”
“The people I loved.”
The End