Apocalypse
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything.
Summary: An AU version of Apocalypse - the one where Clark sees what the world would have been like without him. For the purpose of this story the whole meteor shower never happened - I don’t see how it would have without Clark - so no Clark, no Lana, no mutants. In spite of all of this, Lex ends up in Smallville and he isn’t impressed.
A/N 1: My plot bunny went mad and several things happened which I didn’t think were going to. It is going to get a little dark (so consider yourself warned) but nothing really bad happens.
A/N 2: This was originally written for Secret Santa Chlex 2014/2015 for Chleansmile.
Apocalypse, Part 1
Lex Luthor hated parties. He hated inane conversations. He hated Hick Towns. And he hated champagne. He was particularly aware of this final hatred as he took a sip of the pale, bubbly, girly liquid and strove to contain a snarl. What he wouldn’t give for a glass of well aged single malt at that moment. A cackle of laughter and a whiff of cheap but pungent perfume assaulted his senses. Make that a decanter.
Internally he vented his spleen against his father for most of their dysfunctional relationship and most especially for having banished him to the middle of nowhere. He poured down scorn on Smallville and every single member of its ridiculous population, particularly on the ones who were buzzing around him like bees. He firmly believed that one of their number - the idiot who hadn’t secured his truck properly that morning, resulting in Lex totalling his favourite Porsche - should be left to rot in jail and he consigned whoever had come up with the idea of this party to the devil.
At eight o’clock on the dot, the doors to the only castle in Smallville had opened and every plant worker, their family, and town officials had swarmed in. They had succeeded in doing the impossible. They had brought warmth and life to the old place, turning the cold, echoing ballroom haunted by the ghosts of his ancestors into a hot, sweaty, cramped mess. It wasn’t an improvement.
The only small mercy was the fact that his butler had come over to him a little while before, using the excuse of ‘a matter which needs sir’s most urgent attention’ to furnish him with a few minute’s respite from the head splitting chitter chatter of a load of simpletons. But it wouldn’t last. He had three more interminable hours of this. Lex was used to boring soirées, but at least there was normally (in Metropolis) a bevy of beauties to distract him and he knew that he would get lasting business contacts from it. This was just pointless.
“Sir?”
Lex’s head jerked up from where he had been absent-mindedly staring at the fireplace.
“I am terribly sorry, sir”, his butler apologised professionally.
“Not to worry, Benson”, Lex assured him, he liked the old fellow. “I just got lost in thought”.
“Yes, it is rather a great problem, is it not sir?” The elder gentleman continued. “But nothing I am sure that can’t be remedied if you were to speak to them directly. Over the phone. Now”.
Yes, Lex definitely liked him. In fact, he was getting a raise. “Quite right”, he said loudly enough for the wasps - he had had them demoted - swarming around him, anxious to catch every breath, to hear. “I had better handle it immediately. A quick word is all that will be needed, I’m sure. Make my apologies, will you?”
“Of course, sir”, these words were accompanied with a dutiful nod.
This established, the Luthor scion strode out of the room, the sea of people parting as he went, whispers rippling through them.
“Who was it that he was calling?”
“A president?”
“A King?”
“He was calling the King”.
“He and the King were going into business together”.
“He was blackmailing the Queen of England”.
“He had had an affair with Diana”.
Lex was so used to this that he didn’t even smile at the absurdity of it. He would probably be dealing with the consequences of the rumour - God knows what it would be by the end of the night - for months to come. He doubted that the number of canopies that they were shovelling in would make them any kinder to him.
He headed down the hallway towards his office, or more specifically, towards the liquor cabinet in his office hoping for a few minute’s peace and quiet when he saw it. A scrap of red fabric disappearing around a corner further down the hallway. None of his staff would wear anything of the sort, which left only one explanation. A spy from his father. Apparently this evening was not going to be as interminably boring as he had thought.
This wasn’t the first time that it had happened. The on-going war between him and his father included a whole host of weapons, many of them sexual. The kinky school teacher. The prostitute. The potential wife. To name but a few. They were all just par for the cause when battling for control of a multi-billion dollar empire.
He turned the corner and got a better view of his target. His footsteps increased in speed but remained as silent as before. The years of martial arts and self-defence training he had been subjected to his High School seemed to pay off every day in the business world.
Tiny lines formed between his eyebrows, as a frown crinkled his brow. Something was not right. He knew it even as he caught up to his prey. She was heading towards a room of little consequence and was not the normal type that he would be attracted to. His father had discovered his son’s preferences before Lex had even been aware of having them - and had exploited them ever since.
Tall, willowy brunettes. Exotic and beautiful with fierce dark eyes. Always older than himself and worldly. They normally came gift wrapped in silk and lace in his preferred shade of purple surrounded by an expensive air of perfume. That was not the case with this particular woman. She was barely above average height, maybe even less without heels. She was pale with very blonde hair which had been pulled back into a bun. Her face was hidden from them but figure was not. She was certainly more curvaceous than he normally preferred, but he could very happily make an exception. Her age remained a mystery as were her intentions, the only thing he could be certain of were her socio-economic standing and the fact that she was not working for his father; Her bright red dress was long, sexy and vintage but not the dress of someone planning on seducing a billionaire. Furthermore, the scent his mother had been known to prefer was notably lacking. This woman smelled of soap. She seemed clean, wholesome and mysterious. His appetite was wetted.
She crouched down and actually tried to see through the key hole. Then straightened again, not taking the time to smooth down her dress properly before pressing her ear against the thick wood. Her face still in opposite direction to him.
Lex reached out, his hand wrapping around the warm, soft flesh of her upper arm. She released a squeak as she whipped around, her eyes filled with anger which changed, in a flash, to horror. He knew the feeling as he was forced to confront a horrific fact himself. She was young. Definitely under aged. That had the same effect as a cold shower on his body.
He didn’t say a word and he didn’t let go of her arm. He merely turned and marched along towards his office, trusting that she would follow him rather than testing his strength. She did. He could feel her a couple steps behind him, struggling to keep up with his deliberately long strides in her high heels, wrath building within her. Just as he could feel her exasperation reaching boiling point he opened the door to his study and pulled her through it. The wood was heavy enough to close on its own and he knew that she wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to run, he continued into the room as if she were nothing.
The large, warm room was blessedly free from the pesky burden of excessive human company. It was silent and full of the comforting scent of old books and beeswax. It should have been his fortress of solitude but now he had to deal with this.
He walked over to his favourite winged back, leather chair and sat down. He stretched out and examined her minutely. She didn’t look scared as he had expected her to, she was just standing there looking around as if there was nothing pressing on her mind. He wanted to smirk at her moxy but tried to keep a stern face as he demanded, “Whose kid are you?”
“Kid?” She snorted and placed her hands on her hips.
He wasn’t sure if she did this to emphasis her breasts or if that was just a bonus - or would have been had she not been practically a child.
“You”, she informed him, “need to get your eyes tested. I haven’t been a kid for a long time now”.
He raised an eyebrow at her, hoping to make her blush. She remained stubbornly unembarrassed. “Who are you?” He repeated his question, and she remained mute on the subject. “Your parent won’t be fired for your bad behaviour”.
“My bad behaviour?” She repeated, performing her own version of eyebrow acrobatics.
“Based on your accent, I would have to conclude that you come from Metropolis”, he ruminated and upon receiving no reply, continued, “Gabe, my planet manager is from Metropolis”. He had gone through everyone’s file that morning, before he had decided that like hell was he doing as his father wished and firing someone. “And as I think that we all know he has a little girl”. Whilst that particular morsel of information had been in the file, it had also come out of the man in question no fewer than fifteen times in the first two hours of their tour around the planet. Gabe was a Proud Papa of the first order. He also had a collection of photos of his little blonde rug-rat on his desk. Thankfully Lex had made his escape before he got passed the second year of her (amazingly well documented) life.
“That would be me”, she held out her arms in a gesture which seemed to say ‘ta da’. “Chloe Anne Sullivan, at your service”.
“Then I’m not the only one who needs his eyes tested”, Lex muttered. Gabe had definitely refereed to her as his: “little girl”, “baby”, “Chloe Bear”, and once what had sounded suspiciously like “Fruit Loop Jammie Puff”, but Lex hoped that he had misheard. He had been trying to drown the older man out by that point.
Lex got up and ambled over to his liquor cabinet. He needed that drink now more than he had before. He poured himself an enormous measure of scotch and replaced the decanter.
“So, do you offer your guests a drink too? Or have our quaint small town ways and manners not rubbed off on your hardened Metropolis heart yet?” She inquired, following him over to the cabinet. She wasn’t a shy little wallflower or mouse, that was for sure.
“I wasn’t aware that you had aged seven years or so in the last five minutes”, he commented, with a wry look.
Chloe displayed her displeasure with an expressive roll of her eyes. “I’m not that young. I’m fourteen”.
“Wow, a whole fourteen. You’re going to be a big girl soon then”, he said in a deliberately patronising manner. Mostly to remind himself that she was a baby. A tiny little baby who needed to be protected and cosseted, not taken hard and fast against his bookcase.
“How old were you Mr Luthor when you had your first sip of alcohol?” She inquired, returning her hands to her hips. Apparently it was just her habitual stances when vexed.
“Please call me Lex”, he said with a pleasant smile. “And I was five years old, but I’m more responsible now”. Or at least he was trying to become so over the last twenty-four hours, ever since he had been placed in a position of responsibility. He felt that he should live up to it.
“Five, are you being serious?” She exclaimed.
“Yes”, he acknowledged, but wasn’t going any further down that line of conversation, “Would you like water or juice? I would offer you some fizzy pop but considering the time that probably wouldn’t be wise”.
“It’s”, she checked her watch, “8:30”.
“Staying out late I see”, he commented, “I can’t give you caffeine at this time of night, it will keep your up passed your bedtime”.
She rolled her eyes again. He found the typical teenaged expression less irksome on her features than he did in general.
“Please”, she sniffed, “you think that the piffling amount of caffeine in some pop is going to keep me up? I’ve been on three espressos a day since I was twelve!”
“Gabe allowed that?” He didn’t seem like the type.
“Well, he didn’t know about it until about a week ago and he has been going on about it pretty much insistently since then, but still”, she shrugged.
“Tough as Annie aren’t you”, he teased her with a smile. He had always had a soft spot for that little red headed orphan with a mangy mutt at her heels.
“So, do I get a drink or not?” She asked, bluntly.
“Of course”, he was always going to offer her something. He poured her some orange juice, loaded with vitamin C, essential for a growing girl.
“Thank-you”, she accepted the beverage and took a long draft, “ah, a fine year”.
He shook his head and with an amused smile. “Come on”, he placed his hand on her lower back and steered her back towards the settee and indicated that she should sit down. He took a sip of his scotch before placing his glass on a coaster. “So, are you going to tell me what you are doing?”
“Looking for the bathroom?” She asked hopefully.
“Come on, give me some credit”, he scoffed at the meagre attempt at subterfuge.
“Alright, alright”, she relented. “I was looking for a secret passageway to the dungeon containing the skeletons of your past business adversaries”.
Lex looked unimpressed.
“Alien autopsies?”
“That’s even worse than your first attempt”, he snorted.
“Fine”, she huffed, “the wreckage from a car accident which you miraculously survived years ago and have never been able to let go leading you to ruin your life in the quest for answers?”
Lex’s face remained impassive.
“Come on give me a break”, she complained at his lack of imagination and enthusiasm for her ideas. “Do you have any idea how boring Smallville is?”
“I’m beginning to get an idea”, he smiled sadly, “so you feel the need to snoop around other people’s houses? Or am I special?” He didn’t sound as angry as he had expected to, he didn’t feel it either.
“Oh no, if another multi-billionaire playboy with his own castle comes along then I will invade his privacy too”, she assured him. “But I don’t see it happening, do you?”
He looked around the study as if considering the matter, “No, probably not. So, was there a particular reason, or was it just a sudden overwhelming urge?” He had been subject for a few of those in his life, although they normally led him into doing something a whole lot worse than just exploring other people’s houses.
“I an investigative reporter. Can you blame me?”
“No”, he admitted, “but a judge probably would”. Noseyiness was not a defence, as far as he knew.
“But you aren’t going to turn me into the police, are you?” She stated confidently.
“No, I’m not”, he confirmed.
“I knew it”, she reclined back in her seat, “I’m a great judge of character”.
He smiled and relaxed himself. This beat going back to the party and really he wasn’t being irresponsible. He had found someone threatening the security of LuthorCorp and was merely performing his due diligence by talking to her. “A great judge of character and an aspiring journalist?”
“A journalist”, she corrected him.
“How remiss of me, I simply cannot apologise enough”, he smirked. “Have you found anything to report on here?”
“Nope. Nothing worthy of my skills. Since I have been in Smallville the highlights of my journalistic career have been: an exposé on the cafeteria food - no meat in the meat loaf -, a lost pig that wasn’t really lost, the rising price of corn, and the state of Miss Corn Festival’s breasts. I still don’t believe that they were real. How can someone gain three cup sizes in a week? Intergalactic radiation?”
“Those sounds riveting”, he taunted her with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Yep, the only reason to read them is my bitingly witty writing style”, she said modestly. “Well, that and my restaurant reviews”.
“Restaurant reviews?” He repeated, in astonishment. He didn't know about a lot about High School journalism but he didn’t think that restaurant reviews were a normal part of it.
“Well, I started discussing coffee - because I was enjoying a particularly good cup whilst typing up an article - and it became a weekly part of my column”, she explained.
“Good to know”, he reached for his drink once again and ignored her pointed look, “I would be interested to know what you can do around here”. He hoped that he would not be here for too much longer but for the time being he might as well find out what there was to do in Smallville.
“Nothing”, she answered with a sigh. “Seriously, absolutely nothing.My favourite book ever was Tales of the Weird and Unexplained but nothing weird or in need of explaining ever happens here. What I wouldn’t give for a nice alien invasion. Or a meteor shower. Or a best friend with a secret Oh, oh”, she was practically salivating, “or a football coach with fire shooting out of his hands. Or just any sort of good juicy conspiracy. But, nope, we have nothing”.
“Absolutely nothing? Social will do, it doesn’t just have to be journalism related”, he prodded. There must be something to do. Somewhere. However bad it was.
“Well there is the Corn Festival”, she offered.
“You’re kidding?” He knew that she had mentioned that before, but he hadn’t thought that she was being serious.
“Nope. You’ll love it”, he promised him.
“I will?” He sounded doubtful.
“Oh yes”, she wetted her lips before she continued, “we have: bobbing for apples, pony rides, a table setting competition, a pie making contest, not to mention the bachelor auction, all washed down with a beauty contest that makes Miss Universe look empowering”.
“It sounds”, he paused, “unforgettable”.
“Oh certainly”, she grinned, “I’ve had nightmares for months after it”.
He smiled again. He couldn’t help it. He was filled with a pleasant, comforting warmth which was only partially due to alcohol.
“So, What are the people like around here?” He wondered.
“You’ve been here what? Ten hours? Surely that is long enough for you to have come up with a few impressions of your own”, she prodded.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Obviously you can skip Dad and I”, she offered kindly, “we are just too awesome”.
“Obviously”, he allowed. “So far I have just seen a load of stereotypes. Nosey, bossy, know-it-all journalists accepted, of course”.
“Of course”, she didn’t appear to take offence, “we are pretty much surrounded by them here. Cheerleaders Football players. Farmers. Wall flowers. Idiots. A lot of idiots”.
“So, it is as bad as I thought”, he finished his drink just as Chloe lost all interest in him and bounced up. “Is that an original?” She demanded as she scurried over to his bookcase.
“What was it that you were saying about my manners?” He asked, his head craning around to follow her. Her eyes must have been as sharp as his if she could read the titles from that far away.
She rolls her eyes at him. “Well, is it?”
“Yes”, he didn’t add that everything that he had was an original as he got to his feet and went over to join her by the shelving unit. “I have a whole collection.”
“Wow, I knew that you were into history but this is incredible. The original manuscript of War and Peace”.
He took it off the shelf gently and held it out for her to look at. “You did? How?”
“Of course”, she answered, “I am an aspiring journalist”.
“Journalist”, he corrected her. Dropping the ‘aspiring’.
“Journalist”, she continued, “so clearly I researched you”.
“What did you find out?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest and studying her.
“Alexander Joseph Luthor. The former curly, red haired boy with chubby cheeks - who stated in an interview at ten that he wanted to be a mad scientist - has become a bald billionaire”, Chloe started. “You went to Metropolis University but you didn’t actually get around to graduating - your extracurricular activities were a little too impressive, although in one case did involve a love of chemistry”. She shot him a knowing look, “Now you have come to take over the Smallville planet which you have pledged not to close down”.
“A very Flattering portrayal”. She was certainly a lot nicer than most reporters he had met.
“Flattering enough for an interview?” She asked cheekily.
“Ummmm”, he made her wait as he replaced his book, “not quite, no”.
“You were just teasing me with that ummmmm, weren’t you?” Her hands found her way back to her hips again.
“Yes”, he admitted.
“You see, this”, she pointed at him, “is why Bruce Wayne beat you for most eligible bachelor last year”.
“Please”, he dismissed that insult, “he is Batman”.
“No one has proved that”, Chloe said with an air that added ‘only because she hadn’t gone to Gotham City yet’.
“No, because every reporter is eating out of his hand. I mean, it is so bloody obvious. The Bat Signal appears, looming over the city in its enormous, gaudy glory and suddenly he leaves on some bullsh”, he paused, remembering her age, “plop excuse. Then he ‘saves the day’ and comes back in with a distracted, brooding expression and says something which lets all of the women know who he really is and that he is a tortured soul who just needs saving and love and all of that cra”, another pause, “cribbage”.
“Cribbage? Really, Lex?”
“It’s was all that I could think of”, he shrugged.
“Oliver Queen beat you too”, Chloe reminded him, cheerfully.
“That was political”, he complained.
“Sure it was. Hey, give me an interview and I’ll make you look really good?” She offered.
“Why don’t you go and bug them for interviews?” He asked. He didn’t like Bruce, he had bullied him throughout High School. Setting Chloe on him could be hilarious, for Lex at least.
“I did”, she informed him.
His eyebrow arched in his trademark expression.
“By email”, she elaborated. “I didn’t get a response”.
“How rude”. Honestly, that was shocking. Although he would probably have done the same if he had not met her.
“That’s what I said. Well, I embellished a little bit, of course. Cribbage eating bull plop mongers”, she added, muttering under her breath.
“Of course”, that was only reasonable given the circumstances. He would ignore her non-too-subtle dig at his attempt to protect her young ears from being sullied by foul language. “If you did get an interview, what you would ask?” He wondered.
She stared at him enquiringly.
“If I were to give you political questions, for example, would you have the nerve to ask them?” He inquired, a plan brewing in his wicked mind.
“Oh, I would definitely ask those. Not like that reporter he was on TV with last week who just asked all of the easy ones while drooling over him. Pathetic reporting”, she groused.
“Ah yes, Melissa Clearwater”, he pronounced her name with a touch of nostalgia.
He had been interviewed by her several times. As a reporter she was beyond awful but in bed she had been brilliant. Sensational. Mind blowing. If he recalled they hadn’t actually got as far as the bed after the second interview.
“I’m not promising anything but I’ll see what I can do to get you in a room with him”, Lex made the offer.
“Mr Wayne?” Chloe asked breathlessly.
No”, he thought better of it. Bruce Wayne was into blondes and didn’t have Lex’s high moral code: absolutely no girl below 18 under any circumstances! “Oliver”. He was a pain in the ass but he wasn’t a pervert.
“I can work with that”. She gave him what he guessed must have been at least a one million watt smile. “Lex that is fantastic, that is brilliant. That ... Oh damn it”.
“What’s the matter?” Lex asked.
“I’ve just realised, we’ve been gone for a really long time. I should get going before Dad and Ethan come looking for me”, she explained, getting up with a sigh.
“Ethan? He would be your ... boyfriend?” Lex asked as he straightened up.
“Yeah, why do you look so surprised?” She asked as she smoothed her dress down, “Did you think that I was one of those girls who would choose a guy who is love with someone else, then get down on myself and throw away my life thinking that they are ugly or some crap like that just because some random guy didn’t look me?”
“No”, he defended himself with a shocked expression, “I didn’t think that”.
“Good. Come on. We’ll find my Dad and then he can introduce you to people and I will tell you interesting tit bits about them. Come on, you’ll enjoy yourself a lot more with the Sullivans as guides”, she promised him.
“Is that an order?”
“No, just a fact”, she smiled but then looked thoughtful. “Lex?”
“Chloe?”
“Can I ask you a question, off the record, I promise”, she asked, far more hesitantly than any of the other questions and statements she had hurled at him that night.
“Sure, I don’t promise to answer but you can ask”, he offered amicably. Partly because she had succeeded in cheering him up (a little) and proving that there was some intelligent life in this town, and partly out of sheer curiosity.
“What happened to your hair?” She came out with it.
“You didn’t research that?” He asked disbelievingly.
“Of course I did”, she sounded truly offended, as if she judged her own worth by her journalistic ability.
“And?”
“There are lots of theories. Hundreds in fact. But I’ve never seen one which sounds even vaguely plausible. You have always been far too healthy for it to have been cancer. You don’t have any of the other signs of alopecia. I’m not sure where you would have found enough radiation to result in hair loss. You obviously don’t shave it”. She struck off each impossible implausible option against her finger.
“No, I don’t”, he agreed. You know when you are young and afraid of things and your parents tell you to face your fears? Not to let them overcome you?” He began to tell her, not entirely sure why he was confiding this in her.
“Yes”, she replied slowly.
“Well, my father was a big believer in that. I used to be afraid of heights and Lionel told me that the only way to get over it was to climb to the top of the tallest building around - we were in Paris at the time - so we did that. Then he hoisted me up and dangled me over the side”.
“He did what?” She exploded.
If that got to her, she was going to hate what he was about to tell her. “Then he pretended to drop me. Just for a second”.
“He did what? That fucking bastard”. He had been right, ear splitting. Amusement was etched on his face as he continued, “I screamed”. He didn’t add that he had also wet himself. “But other than that I appeared to be fine”.
Chloe muttered something that really should not have been repeated in polite company.
“When he got me back to the hotel my mother was worried and tried to comfort me”, by which he meant that he had still been shaking and crying like a baby, “she stroked my hair and, as she did so, my hair began to fall out”.
“Really? I’ve never heard of that”, she said without malice but also without tact.
“Yes, really. It is actually quite common. The whole ‘face your fear head on’ theory can also cause your hair to go grey/white in less than a minute, lose your hair or give you a heart attack. So, basically it is pretty cribbage”.
“You are sticking with cribbage?”
“Until you are at least seventeen. Yes”, he informed her with a smile.
“Would you want to get me an interview with your dad? I could pester the hell out of him”, she offered.
“While I appreciate the offer, Gabe does technically work for Lionel so I wouldn’t deliberately antagonise him. Actually”, he considered what he knew about her, “it might be best if you just stayed out of his way completely”.
“So you don’t want me to kick him in the shins for your either?”
“No thank-you”, he reclined, as he walked her to the door and held it open for her. She smiled at him and he returned the expression. He ended up doing a lot of smiling during their sporadic meetings in Smallville although he never did get her that interview with Oliver Queen and when his father called him back to the Metropolis a month later - being impressed with his handling of the Smallville plant - he had thought that this was the last time that he would ever see Chloe Sullivan.
~*~
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