Summary: Lex contemplates his unhappy past and uncertain future when he is taken hostage in an act of revenge against the Luthors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the lovely characters featured in Smallville—unfortunately!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

A/N: This takes place somewhere in Season 1 (not very important to the story, just some minor details).

XI: Embers

The kidnappers' identities, when finally released, made all the front pages. Lex could only stare dully at the image of Jack Sherman looking back out at him from newsprint. No matter what, Lex was just glad that the authorities had found Sherman and his man Clayton as quickly as they did. Feeling like he had been granted the official freedom to resume life, Lex decided to go and check up on Lana, as he hadn't been to the Talon since returning to Smallville. He was pleased to see the substantial crowd upon entering, and after scanning the place for a moment he spotted Lana at the far end of the room.

"So how has my fledgling business partner been holding up?" he asked, coming up behind her.

Lana froze at the deep, impossibly languid voice. Turning to face him, she couldn't help reflecting on how Clark had described Lex's state upon arriving at the Kent Farm. It was disturbing to think what Lex must have endured that could have left him so radically transformed—from somebody so markedly confident to so utterly terrified. At the moment, however, Lex looked pretty much the same as he always had, save for a few signs of physical recovery.

"I think the more important question is how are you holding up, Lex," she replied.

"Pretty good, thanks."

"We were all really worried about you," she said softly.

Lex raised an eyebrow amusedly. "I have to admit, I was getting a little worried there myself," he said.

Not wanting to be melodramatic but finding herself a bit mystified at Lex's demeanor, Lana regarded him curiously. "Yeah, when Sherman called us on the phone that day... it was just unreal."

Lex suddenly appeared uncomfortable. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, Lana."

Staring at Lex's downturned face with its conspicuously healing bruises, Lana's features wrinkled in almost indignant embarrassment at the apology. "I'm sorry you had to spend two weeks with the guy," she replied. She shook her head then, giving a modest shrug. "I know I never would have made it through something like that."

"Oh, I don't know, Lana... I think it was Abigail Adams who said, 'Great necessities call out our great virtues.' When it comes down to it, you're a lot stronger than you think."

"You really believe that?"

Lex gave a slight shrug himself. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Lana smiled. "Yes. I suppose you are."

»»««

As the sun began to fade that afternoon, Lex sat moodily in his study. He had just gotten off the phone with Roger Nixon of the Metropolis Inquisitor and had somehow ended up on the losing side of their latest battle. For months now, it seemed that Lex controlled the upper hand in the relationship, but Nixon—who had an unflattering story that he was looking to publish—had just brought up the unwelcome fact that he could always go to the Kents and tell Clark about his ongoing investigation. So, reluctantly, Lex had to fold. When Clark came to visit him, he immediately sensed something was wrong.

"What is it, Lex?"

Debating silently for a moment, Lex told Clark of Nixon's scheme—omitting their little arrangement regarding Clark, naturally.

"And you're going to pay off a guy like that?" Clark asked. "What was he threatening to release?"

"Oh, just this ridiculous concoction of a story how I turned up at your farm an embarrassing shell of my former self, utterly weak and defenseless." Lex's ironic smile failed to reach his eyes, which flashed darkly at Clark. "Unfortunately for me, of course, it happens to be true in this case."

Clark looked at his friend apprehensively. "Lex, I want you to know that none of my family—"

Lex held up his hand. "Clark, don't be ridiculous. I know neither you nor your parents went to the press. Nixon just happened to get lucky this time; he made up the report entirely of his own devices. Like I said, it just turns out to be an amazingly and depressingly accurate conjecture on his part for once."

"I just can't believe that he would take advantage of you, after all that you went through," Clark said with such sincerity that Lex had to make an effort to hide the pity in his eyes.

"People use each other for money all the time, Clark. Do you remember in The Great Gatsby, how all of those people attended Gatsby's lavish parties and acted like they were his best friends, but then in the end not a single one of them attended his funeral?"

Incidentally, Lex had always thought that that was the saddest part of the book—not that Gatsby couldn't regain the love of some selfish ex-flame. He often feared the same would happen to him. The ironic thing, of course, was that Lex actually had it worse than Jay Gatsby: at least those people in the book pretended to like him while he was alive. I'll be able to boast an empty funeral and the undying hatred of Smallville! Lex thought, the notion so grim it was almost funny.

Clark, meanwhile, was still not willing to condone Nixon's behavior. "I don't know," he deliberated slowly. "It's as much a choice to let yourself be used as it is to do the actual using."

Lex glanced at him, genuinely intrigued. "This is true," he mused.

»»««

It was well after midnight by the time Lex allowed himself a moment of reflection in the mansion. The light from the flickering fireplace threw wild shadows about the darkened room as the wind raged outside, rattling the windows. Watching the last embers spark and crack, Lex found himself mesmerized by the blue flames undulating like satin over the charred log. He knew he should just go to bed; the weight of thinking about the last couple of weeks had been thoroughly exhausting. Draining his tumbler of scotch, Lex finally rose and went to the window, staring out into the night. There were paths of sleet on the windowpane, as if time had stopped and frozen the raindrops midstream.

His father was right. The entire experience with Sherman and Clayton had only proven that Lex could overcome—how had Lionel put it, exactly? Unimaginable adversity. Really, when it came down to it, who had come to his rescue? Grace. Whom Lex had practically convinced to save him. And who was Grace, even, but a kindred spirit... just another orphan with a madman for a father. So, in a lot of ways, Lex had saved himself. Nobody else had come for him this time.

Hypothetically, he could go after Sherman's family and make them all pay for what he had suffered. Of course, Lex would never want to harm Grace in any way, but just the thought that he could, oddly enough, made him feel better.

Lex looked at the shivering trees outside, their icy branches rising and falling in the darkness of the night.

In reality, Lex could reap vengeance on whomever he wanted. He had the will as well as the means, and if anyone ever crossed him again, he would not so much as hesitate.

And with that, Lex smiled.

THE END

When I am king, you will be first against the wall
With your opinion, which is of no consequence at all

~ radiohead, "paranoid android"

The only thing that one really knows about human nature is that it changes.

~ oscar wilde