The Depths We Sink To (Chapter Thirty-Five)

(Banner by Purplemoon123)

My apologies for taking so long to get back to this one. I was working on finishing a fic that was nearer to being finished to unclog my poor, beleaguered fic brain. But the good news is that I am here now for the long haul, giving this fic the lion's share of my time in order to finish it ASAP. 

Still dealing with Quest. And I have been tempted as never before to go off canon here, but I just can't do it. I've been determined to get through season seven as presented and damned if I'm not going to see it through. But this was hard to write (you'll see why). 

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Chapter 35 

She opened her door to candles, wineglasses, and Jimmy. "Wow!" She'd told Jimmy she'd see him tonight. She just hadn't counted on it. Two flights in one day and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath... or maybe a cool one with summer coming. But she forced herself to look cheerful and energetic for Jimmy's sake. "I was only gone for 24 hours. Remind me to stay away for a week next time." She put her purse down, but kept the smile. He was trying, after all. 

"Well, I'm actually sort of celebrating myself. I just sold my first article." He picked up a bottle of champagne. 

"That's fantastic, Jimmy! How?" She kept her voice cheerful, but considering what he'd been going on about the last time they talked... 

"Look, I know that you said that the symbols in the Kawatche caves are old news, but I kept digging anyways. And it turns out that I'm not the only one interested," he said, all smiled as he popped the cork. 

She really hoped that some nice editor wanted a scholarly piece or... 

"Apparently, Lex is pretty taken with the symbols, too -- not surprisingly, since he's wearing one on his chest." 

She frowned at the idea of Lex carved up, then pushed it away. It was moments like these where she wanted to steer Jimmy in the right direction, let him know that having Lex Luthor interested in your work was never champagne quality news. But she screwed her smile tightly on. She wouldn't let him in. Jimmy was happy and normal. Wasn't that half the reason she... No. He was nice. He was nice and normal and what she wanted. And he'd stay that way. "So, tell me exactly what the article is about," she prodded, sitting down. 

"Well, it's all very Joseph Campbell," he said, sitting and handing her a glass, "hero's journey and all that. Cheers." 

"Cheers," she said brightly. 

"See, most of the stories on the cave walls are about good versus evil. They tell of Naman, the savior of the people, warring against Sageeth, the bringer of darkness." 

"Yeah, the story sounds familiar. I think Clark wrote a paper about it in high school." She almost laughed at that. Clark and his papers. But, really, she hadn't looked much closer at the cave symbols in the time since, having spent the last three years rather wrapped up in crisis after crisis. 

"Well, in the beginning, Naman and Sageeth each have their own distinct symbol." He pulled up a print-out of a symbol. 

"Well, then, why does this one look like a combination of the two?" 

"Well, I was wondering that myself, so I called the professor at Met U Who specializes in hieroglyphics. And according to him, the symbol of good versus evil is common in primitive cultures. It embodies the push, the pull of the two sides, the yin and yang." 

"The hero-anti hero conflict," she said dully, rather wishing she had paid more attention to the cave. But these were ancient symbols and she'd had enough to deal with with modern Kryptonian messages, some through Lionel. 

"Exactly. But here's what got Lex all jazzed," he said, holding it up, "this particular image portrays a resolution of that conflict." 

"Remind me how you resolve a conflict that has existed since the beginning of mankind." Was there something in this? She didn't necessarily believe in predestination, but she knew never to rule anything out. 

"Well, in the Kawatche legend, the hero's journey ends in a final battle." 

"So, according to your professor, who's supposed to win?" 

****************** 

She hadn't slept. She'd booted Jimmy out after just one glass, claiming she was exhausted, but she hadn't slept at all. She rather wished she had. 

And her mind was swimming with just everything. First and foremost on her mind was Clark. Nothing new, but it did have her creeping around the Kawatche caves, taking a few pictures of her own and wondering if there was something to ancient myths and final battles. The Kawatche had a few other things about Clark down, after all. 

Then there was Lex. Not him personally. She was trying to make all possible efforts not to think of Lex on a personal level. Lex was just the things he did and no more than that. If she thought of him as anything more than that, she might slip up. 

But wasn't this a slip up? At this moment, she was on his grounds, staring at his house, wondering what he was doing, wondering if she should... No. She wouldn't heal him. He'd done this to himself. And she'd moved on. 

So why hadn't she let Jimmy stay the night? Wasn't a nice and normal boyfriend supposed to be a comfort in times like these? It felt as if Lex was winning even when he wasn't trying to. She checked that bitter thought, still seeing his carved up chest no matter how she tried not to. 

She took a step toward the house, her hands itching. How many times had she or Clark dropped in on him? Maybe just one last time. She could sneak up on him, clock him over the head, and get to work. He'd wake up healed and never even know it was her. 

She found herself moving down the drive. It wasn't about him. It was... just anyone. Didn't Clark once tell her she cared more about others than anyone he knew? It was simply a case of involuntary empathy and, once she healed him, her mind would be clearer and... 

She stilled, seeing Lex. Not just Lex, but a number of men. He gestured, yelling things she couldn't hear and she thought of getting closer. 

Then he saw her. 

*********************** 

Everything hurt. It wasn't just the searing pain that constantly danced over his chest, but everything. His muscles were always clenched. He felt as if he was covered in sweat. 

But it was the cost of having a clear mind again. He'd flushed every single pill down his jet's toilet and, even though he knew Regan could get him anything he wanted in an hour, he wouldn't let himself ask. And he could probably get some relief drinking himself into a stupor, but he wouldn't do it. 

He took the antibiotics, though. Not that the fucking things worked. He felt hot and cold and wondered if he was suffering fevered hallucinations. He swore he saw Chloe Sullivan standing in his drive. 

Because she was. 

He squinted as he told his men to search the east lawn, moving toward her, still half-waiting for her to waver and vanish. But she was there. And looking as if she didn't want to be, the closer he got. She was right to feel that way. He thought of Project Intercept, of them dragging him, half-dead, invading his mind... 

"Sullivan," he sneered. "I don't know if you've heard, but I might be tightening security around here. So many unwanted intruders." 

She lifted her chin, but her eyes strayed to his chest. "I heard you were hurt. I only came to..." 

"I'm fine," he said, gripping her arm and steering her back to her car. "But thanks for pretending you care. You're really good at that." 

She ripped her arm from his grasp and he swayed on his feet, wondering if he needed stronger antibiotics. "You've got a hell of a lot of nerve, acting like the wounded party after what you've..." 

"And what have I done?" he found himself growling, pulling her back to face him. "What can you prove? I barely care what you think anymore, but know this..." He gripped her upper arms, only gripping them harder in anger when she flinched. Was she afraid of him? A sick part of him wanted her to be. "I know more than you think I do. I always do. I know that you and your little cabal wouldn't hesitate to leave me for dead if it meant getting what you want and keeping your little secrets. And believe me, Chloe..." 

"Let me go!" 

"Believe me," he continued, backing her toward her car. "I feel exactly the same way about you. About your little friends." One hand moved to the side of her head. "I wonder how you'd feel if I ripped out all your secrets, left you a bleeding shell..." 

"Lex, stop," she pleaded. 

He released her and she stumbled, bracing herself against her car door. "I think you..." He smiled, trying to calm his voice, trying to unclench his body around the pain. "I think all of you need to stay out of my way. All of this is going to be over soon," he said, shaking with pain and anger and the irrational need to touch her again. He wouldn't. Never again. "We'll just see who's left standing." 

He turned back, clutching his chest, but walking on. He didn't turn back to watch her drive away. He preferred to remember the fearful look on her face. That was good. He wanted her scared. She deserved to be. And he wanted her away. For good this time. 

************************** 

He was unhinged. He wasn't the man she knew. Then again, had she ever known him? Sex didn't mean honesty. She knew Lex could be pleasing when it suited him. Maybe all she'd been was an easy lay and the possibility of answers. Maybe the real Lex was this monster with mania in his eyes. 

But also pain. Wasn't there pain? 

She clenched her fists on her steering wheel and stared at Clark's barn. She had to stop this. She had to stop believing Lex was something she could fix. How many women wasted their lives with men like that? And Lex? He probably made them all look harmless. He killed his father. He killed Patricia Swann. He nearly killed Teague. Of course, she might not have as much issue with that considering what Teague had done to Clark just before his fight with Lex. But what about Clark, about her? 

What if, when this was over, Clark was standing in his way? Or her? She didn't care as much about that. The world might go on just fine without her, but Clark... 

She swiped at her eyes and decided she had to stop stalling and see Clark, tell him about what Jimmy, of all people, found and what Lex... No. She wouldn't be telling him about Lex. Or would she? 

Hell, the world might be ending soon, thanks to Lex. Maybe this was no time for secrets. She'd never been truly afraid of Lex. Nervous, maybe, but not afraid. She stared at the drawings on the seat next to her. Maybe she was right to be afraid. 

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Clark," she said, holding out the drawing on his barn, after finally composing herself. "But the writing is literally on the wall." 

Clark moved past her to the stairs, scoffing. "You're buying into this whole Naman-Sageeth mythology?" 

Chloe followed him. "After seeing you strapped down exactly like the human sacrifice in the cave drawings? In a word? Yes." 

"It wasn't a myth that tried to kill me, Chloe. It was a man." 

"And thanks to you saving him, that man is still out there," she said as they reached the landing. 

"When Teague was performing that ritual, I realized that on some twisted level, he actually thought he was doing the right thing." Clark turned in the loft. "He thought he was protecting everyone... from me." 

It was almost laughable, knowing Clark as she did. "Last time I checked, the world was doing just fine with you in it." 

"As long as there's something out there that can control me, I'm still a threat. And Teague reminded me how dangerous my abilities are. In the wrong hands, Chloe, they could destroy everything." 

"Which is a really good reason why you can't let Lex just walk away." 

"It's not about Lex, Chloe." He moved to the window with a withering look that tempted her to tell him just how about Lex everything was. "I x-rayed him. He didn't have him anything on him. He didn't even find what he was looking for." 

"Maybe not this time, Clark, but every battle has its victor. I know you don't want to take Lex out, but Lex will not hesitate to destroy you when he gets the chance." He'd said as much, yet she felt hesitant to expound on that, wondering if she'd have to tell him things she knew he'd never want to know. 

He turned to her. "What do you want me to do, Chloe? Kill him?" 

Not that. Never that. But she stared at the floor wondering if, should it come to that, if that was the only way... She looked up. 

Clark moved to her before she could answer. "If I do that, I'd just be turning into him myself." 

"Whether you like being on this pedestal or not, you were put in this position. And someday, you're going to have to play god." 

Clark stared at the floor. 

"I don't mean... Maybe if we can subdue him or make sure he can't keep searching for this device or..." 

"And then it could fall into someone else's hands," Clark said irritably. 

"I'm not saying this is easy, but Lex is the one traveling the globe looking for it. Sooner or later, we're going to have to deal with the possibility that Lex... That he's the enemy." It seemed strange to say it aloud. "He's not just some... curious billionaire anymore. He's not some misguided man looking for answers in all the wring ways," she went on, shaking her head, wondering how it got to this. "Somewhere along the way, Lex has become... what we're fighting against." 

************************* 

"It's been almost 24 hours." And the damned castle was overrun with jumpsuits. "Why haven't they found anything?" 

"It takes time to cover a structure this size inch by inch, Mr. Luthor," Regan said. He checked his frustration as, lately, Fucking Regan had been doing a fairly competent job. "I got every available body working on the job. And it's only been 20 hours." 

And it was shit like that that had Lex constantly on the verge of firing the smarmy bastard. "I don't want excuses. I want results." 

"Yes, sir. I understand. I'll bring in more men, increase the shifts." Regan started dialing. 

That was more like it. "You do that." Lex moved to the piano, feeling steadier than he had this morning. The pain was still there, but a duller ache now. He'd done nothing to dull it. Maybe it was the high of being so close to all the answers. He banged out the keys, feeling that strange elation again as he banged out the first few notes. "On the shores of St. Kilda, the birks sway in the wind from the left to the right again." He glanced to Regan. "You said the castle was in the west coast of St. Kilda?" 

Regan put down his phone. "Yes, sir." 

"Facing west?" There was something to that, he felt the rush, the one that came with putting together the pieces. 

"No. The castle itself faced south." 

"So if I'm facing south... to see the shore, I turn right." He moved to the window. "Above the heart of home shines the north star," he droned. "Of course. Get out," he said louder. "Everyone out now!" 

"Yes, sir. Clear the floor. Everybody out. Let's go." Regan moved out behind them for a change. 

Lex pulled the small piece from his pocket, staring at his fireplace mantle with new eyes. How many times had he stood here, leaning his hand on the stone and staring into the fire? The stonework just another detail, some decoration some long-dead craftsman had carved out. Now he stared at it, moved to it, held out the tiny shape, compared the markings. He rather wished he'd appreciated the craftmanship before this. But oh, well. 

He snatched up the poker and scraped at it, trying to get to whatever it was masking. Not enough. he picked up the heavier iron fireplace screen's stand and hacked at the stone, every movement agony, sweat pouring from every pore. He doubted he'd remember to tell the servants to stop lighting fires in the God damned spring because there were more important things. 

Like the fact that the stone was hollow. 

He dropped the stand and reached in, pulling out a tied bit of cloth around something only slightly bigger than a baseball. or maybe a Magic Eight ball. It held answers, after all. 

He unwrapped it, furrowing his brows as he stared at it. It was deep purple. Not a color he objected to, but he turned it over, looking for something more. He found it in a five-sided hole, just the shape of the little piece of nothing he'd found in the Cathedral sacristy. He only got it near the hole before it clicked into place like a magnet. 

Then it glowed. Of course it did. Something that held all the answers would have to shine. He barely blinked when it left his hand, hovering, then floating to the middle of the room. Of course. 

A globe. That was what it was. A holographic globe. And not of some distant planet. It was earth. He didn't even think to be disappointed because nothing that was hidden so carefully for centuries could disappoint. The fact that it was a hologram, hidden at a time when television hadn't even existed certainly helped his sense of wonder. 

He didn't let anyone in. Not even at night fall when the image became clearer and he knew where it was telling him to go. He told Regan to send the workers away and to stay out. 

He wanted to have this to himself. He'd struggled so long to get here and he'd made it. He'd found things his father hadn't even uncovered through years of searching. His throat nearly itched for a drink as that sadness took him over. He let it for a moment. But he didn't take the drink. He wondered what it would have been like, though, if Lionel had truly loved him. Not just his duty-bound protestations and lies. If Lionel had truly loved him, they would be staring at this wonder together, seeing their destinies intertwined and complete. Two generations of Luthors completing a life's work together.

He felt the pain return, the high leave him, just as there was a knock at his door. 

"Wait," he rasped, his voice unsteady as he grasped the object in the center of that glowing globe, removed the tiny piece and stuffed it back in his pocket. Everything went dim as he moved to his desk and shut the ball, for lack of a word worthy of it, in a drawer as he sat. "Come in." 

"Sir, I've sent the others away and the kitchen has prepared a light..." 

"I don't want anything," he said quickly. He didn't want to share a second of this for now. 

"Fair enough." Regan nodded. "But I thought you should know that the technicians cleaned up most of the video feed from Project Intercept. They've sent it to your inbox" 

"Good. Fine," he said, his hand reaching for that drawer. He hardly cared about that now. He waved Regan away and leaned back in his chair when he left, feeling that pain again, sharp yet through a mild haze. He thought of calling Regan back, thought he should be taking those antibiotics. He wasn't sure if he was hot or freezing. He shook it off and opened his laptop. Work first. Then he could bask in his triumph. He was rather curious about just how little his once-friends regarded him. It only made this feel right because... He was reluctant to even say it. But he had the feeling that they, that Clark, might be what he was fighting against. 

That anger dulled the pain as he watched fuzzy images of Clark, Lana, and Chloe milling around a room filled with monitors. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he knew what Intercept did by now. He knew that, even if his father had used some healing serum on him, it was only after he'd been used up. 

There was static, but he vaguely saw his father and Clark and some man, one of Lionel's he supposed, staring at his propped up, strapped down body as Clark... Clark was strapped next to him. Both palets reclined and static filled the screen again. He paused the video and squeezed his eyes shut. 

He'd felt something, after that night, some feeling of invasion. The memories came after that night, but so did the hallucinations. And to find out that Clark was the one... 

When he first found out what Project Intercept did, he'd thought it had been some technician. But Clark... Clark did this. Beneath the anger, it was almost comforting. Had he been in Clark's shoes, he'd have ripped through his mind with gusto. It was nearly nice, nearly sweet justification to know that Clark was not so noble as he pretended to be, that given the chance, Clark would do the same to him. 

Yes. More and more, Clark was inexorably tied to all the answers. 

He let it play again, clenching his fists as the pallets were moved upright, as the technicians started scurrying around, using defibrillators on his chest. It got this far, didn't it? He got this close to his death before his father even thought to... Chloe. 

He stared closer at the screen as Chloe moved in, as his father tried to hurry her out of the room. There was arguing and then... then the men stopped trying, then Lionel moved to him, then Chloe stepped close to him. He felt transfixed as she laid her hand on his chest and... It was glowing. A light that snaked from her hand, then all around him. 

Then Chloe crumpled to the floor. But she lived, he knew she lived. He'd seen her... 

Yet he watched the technicians, watched his father, watched them shake their heads. He zoomed in, saw her gray and lifeless. But... 

He leaned back, staring at the screen. "This is what you do," he breathed as the footage went black. "This is what you did." 

It all came together now. Everything that was off about that night... 

Lionel's rather pathetic healing serum story at the hospital, Chloe dressed up, doused with perfume when she came to him, the almost scary hunger she'd shown that night, as if she were the one who'd nearly died. 

She had. She had, too. He'd been so puzzled at the time, at her hunger and her resolve and that strange softness in her. His mind sifted through that night and the days following. All the strange things she said... 

"I don't want any ugliness. Not tonight" 

"You're alive." Her hand moved to his chest and she stared down at it, her eyes squinting slightly. "I'm alive." 

Then that personal day she'd taken, the day after his shooting. He'd been oddly touched at the time, that she'd actually been upset at his... death. But she had been. And more than upset if she'd done what he was thinking. 

She'd damn near taken his death. 

"Never you mind about me. I couldn't hurt anyone if I tried... 

I didn't even think it consciously, but it was there. This idea that, just by doing it, I'd save you in every way. I think I even convinced myself it had worked somehow..." 

He stood and paced his study. 

Then there was the night he came to her, after having his man torture Pete Ross. He ended up with a head injury and what might have been a dislocated shoulder. Injuries that were gone the next day, as if they never existed. He knew his own nature, his own sort of meteor infection. He healed, but never so quickly. Yet after being with her, being touched by her, there had been nothing. Not even a scar. 

He closed his eyes, remembering the warmth and the way he thought he must be delirious, imagining heat from her hands on his head, hands on his shoulder. And the way she cried, saying it hurt... 

"Lex, just... make it better," she said into his mouth. "Help me feel something else. Please..." 

He'd thought she was talking about some kind of symbolic hurt, with what he'd done to Pete. And he supposed that hurt her, too. Not that she knew about it then. It wasn't much later that she found out, that he hurt her in new ways. 

But she healed him. She took his pain. 

I fucking save you and then you pump me full of lies about going away... 

God! That's what she meant. She'd always talk about saving him, then clam up. How the hell hadn't he seen it? 

"Well, I held your life in my hands, too." She opened her eyes and, finally, met his. They were damp. "And I want to think I chose right. But you don't make it easy." 

He was blind. 

"I think about that night and how I didn't care if I died and I thought, if you lived, then maybe what I did would make it okay..." She closed her eyes again. "God, what am I..." 

So fucking blind. 

He shook himself and moved back to his desk, trying to get himself under control. This didn't mean anything. Nothing had changed. 

He tried to push all thoughts of her away and open the drawer, pull out the object that was everything to him now. It was all he had. Nothing had changed. 

Yet he slammed the drawer shut and stood. He could have more than that. He could have everything. 

He would. 

*************** 

She'd drive herself crazy this way, staring at image after image on her computer, just flicking through with a growing sense of panic. Yet she felt stuck. 

She'd left Clark brooding this morning, after a rather ominous conversation about ancient myths and battles to the death, with some idea of finding an answer. But she was not closer. She'd stared at the Kawatche symbols until they blurred in front of her eyes, compared them to what more modern Kryptonian symbols she had. And none of it gave her any clue what to do. 

Lana was still in a vegetative state. Lex was still circling the drain of absolute mania. Clark was still in danger of someone working him like a marionette. And she had been up for more than thirty-two hours. Not that her situation measured up, but it was driving her crazy. 

She jumped at a knock on the door, knowing it wasn't Lois as she wasn't due back yet. It was either Jimmy or Clark. And, she hated to say it, but she only had time for one of them. "I'm actually about to go to bed," she called, just in case it was Jimmy. "So this better..." 

All words dried up as she opened the door. Because it was Lex. After this morning, he was the absolute last person she wanted to see. Yet she ran her eyes over him. He looked disheveled and sweaty and his eyes were unfocused. It put her in mind of that night he showed up at her door, after what he did to Pete and... 

"No," she breathed, pulling him in and shutting the door. Was he injured? Clark... She'd left him brooding after that talk and... Had he got it in his head to hurt Lex? "I didn't mean it," she nearly sobbed, running her hands over his head, looking for where he'd been hurt. "I swear, I never wanted..." 

Lex pulled her hands away, pushed her against the door... and kissed her. 

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX