Title: You Still Own Me

Author: danceswithgary (danceswithgary@yahoo.com)

Pairing: Clark/Lex

Rating:  PG-13

Warnings: None

Spoilers:  None

Word Count: 3960

Archive: Fine, just let me know

Summary: It wasn't until the fourth or fifth day that he realized there was no car, no cell phone, no PDA, no laptop.

The ocean tugged at his aching muscles as if reluctant to release him to the waiting shore. He coughed again, spitting out the water he'd managed to inhale when the last wave had sent his transportation one way...and his body the other. Only the tether around his ankle had prevented the loss of another board, something he appreciated because it meant that he wouldn't have to buy a third one, and endure the teasing from the young kids who ran the surf shop.

When he stopped at about waist-deep in the surf, he unclipped the fluorescent green board, and tucked under his arm. Raking his hair back out of his eyes, he felt it slap against his shoulders and idly wondered how long it had been since he'd last had it cut. That's when he realized that he had no idea what day of the week it was, in fact, he wasn't sure what month...or year.

Shrugging, he dismissed the concept of time as unimportant and continued to force his way through the water; tired legs protesting too many hours spent pitting himself against natural forces. A movement caught his attention, and he squinted up the beach towards the small cottage he was renting. Bringing his left hand up to shade his eyes, he glimpsed the gold ring he wore, its amber-colored stone flashing in the late afternoon sun, the sand and water never dimming its brilliance. The movement pulled the skin across his shoulders and he hissed at the tenderness that reminded him that he'd forgotten his sunscreen. He couldn't quite make out the features of the figure standing on the porch watching him, but he had no doubts as to whom it would be. He paused for a moment, tempted to take the surfboard back out and keep going, but then he remembered that he'd decided to stop running when he'd reached the ocean.

He wasn't going to start again.

Propping the board against the side of the outdoor shower, he rinsed the salt and sand off before grabbing his towel and drying off enough to enter the cottage. His audience watched silently. He hadn't forgotten what it was like to be under that intense regard. He knew the blue eyes wouldn't miss a single movement. Throwing the towel over one shoulder, wincing at the sting, he walked up the stairs and past his visitor directly into the house. He never said a word and let the screen door slam shut behind him, ignoring years of parental admonitions for the sake of petty rudeness.

. . .

Exiting the steam-filled bathroom, he dried his freshly shampooed hair roughly, scrubbing at with a ragged towel. Tossing the damp cloth on a pile of laundry in the corner of the only bedroom, he pulled on briefs and a pair of age-worn sweats before padding, yawning and barefoot, into the kitchen for something to eat. A turkey sandwich and an open bottle of beer were waiting on the counter. He grabbed the plate and bottle, and went out to the porch.

Snagging one of the lounge chairs with a foot, he dragged it to face the beach before plopping down on the edge, unwilling to rest his back against anything until some of the pain had subsided. He set the beer bottle on the porch next to his foot and began to wolf down the sandwich, his hunger after the long day on the ocean leaving him disinclined to care about manners. He continued to snub the other man, deliberately refusing even a glance over to where he sat picking at his own sandwich and peeling the label off his bottle.

After a few minutes, he heard the clink of bottle against plate and the slam of the screen door. Setting his own empty plate down, he tipped his head back to finish his beer, and almost missed hearing the door closing quietly and the footsteps that stopped next to him. The ice that touched his shoulder made him jerk and the empty bottle dropped to the porch with a thud.

"That's a bad burn."

He kept his shrug mild because he had to admit that the ice was relieving some of the heat and tenderness. He hadn't been sunburned since the first week he'd arrived.  Some very uncomfortable days and nights had taught him to either wear a wet suit or waterproof sunscreen when he went out, but for some reason he'd skipped it that morning and was paying for it. He let his head drop forward so his hair was out of the way and the tops of his shoulders could benefit from the chilling treatment.

"I found this in the medicine cabinet."

A white tube of anesthetic cream was presented for his inspection and he nodded his acceptance. His shoulders were gently patted dry before the cold dollop of cream hit his skin, making him jerk again at the unexpected sensation. The lightest of touches smoothed across, gliding on a cushion of cooling relief. Another dollop and another section of abused flesh soothed, the underlying tension due to the pain relaxing, leaving only the continued aggravation of the uninvited guest. The fingers were skimming, the connection light and fleeting. With his eyes closed, he could almost believe....

Standing abruptly without a warning, he brushed by the other, and thudded down the porch steps to stand at the bottom, his back to the cottage. A look down the beach and he was running, his strides clumsy until he hit the packed sand. He let his long legs eat up the distance to the point, racing the setting sun, his unshod feet grinding down until he knew that he'd be paying for the run with tender soles. He heard no sounds of pursuit, but then he hadn't expected to. There was nowhere for him to go...except back.

. . .

The porch light had been left on and it was being worshipped by the winged children of the night. He shooed them away from the screen door before slipping inside, unwilling to have them spend the night fluttering in the corners of the rooms, and then finding their sad chitin littering the floor under extinguished lamps. The rooms inside were dark and, as he waited for his eyes to adjust again, he could almost believe he was alone.

A rustling movement soon informed him otherwise, and he was able to make out the pale gleam of a face watching him from the corner of the sofa. He bypassed the living room without a word and fumbled his way to the kitchen in the dark. The light from the refrigerator blinded him temporarily, but the orange juice he was looking for was at the front, and he was able to pull it out quickly and douse the bright glow. He didn't bother with a glass. Uncapping the bottle, he drank directly from the wide mouth until it was gone. He carefully placed the empty bottle in the sink before padding to the bedroom and closing the door firmly behind him.

. . .

It wasn't until the fourth or fifth day that he realized there was no car, no cell phone, no PDA, no laptop.

They weren't being put aside or hidden until he wasn't in the cottage.

They didn't exist.

. . .

Bending down to pick up something at the edge of the water, the solitary figure appeared as if he were the last man on Earth, isolated, alone. He couldn't see what it was that the distant man held, a shell or a polished bit of gravel, but he'd obviously decided against keeping it as his arm rose and fell, returning his temporary treasure to the sun-dappled sea. It was his turn to watch from the shade of the porch, a cold beer in hand, and unanswered questions in mind. Abandoning his former life had been his goal, and he found it difficult to believe that it had become the other's. A few more days of silence and his visitor would be gone again, reattached to his electronic tethers, immersed in making decisions that affected thousands of lives and earned millions of dollars.

. . .

Returning to an empty cottage, noticing the small duffle bag of clothing missing from its usual spot next to the couch doubling as a bed...neither should have been a disappointment. He'd been expecting it for days, after all. The few books in the cottage had been read several times, there was no television, radio, or telephone available within a radius of several miles, and the small village about three miles down the road held little besides a gas station, mini-mart, bus stop, and laudromat. Boredom alone should have driven his guest away.

He should have known that it wouldn't be that simple.

He was sitting in the kitchen eating a bowl of soup when he heard a car pull up outside. A door slammed, and then the car drove off again. Steps crunched in the gravel and then up the porch steps. When the duffel bag and a larger laundry bag sailed through the open screen door and were followed a few minutes later by his visitor carrying several bags of groceries, it was apparent that he was in for a few more days of forced companionship. He wouldn't have been quite so surprised if he'd noticed that the pile of dirty laundry in his room had disappeared, too.

. . .

He'd finally had enough when he stepped inside and watched him dealing another of the interminable games of solitaire played with the deck of cards purchased during the last trip to the village.

"Why are you here, Lex?"

He almost laughed aloud at the startled look he received when his raspy, seldom-used voice interrupted the placement of the red jack on the black queen. The cards were carefully gathered and replaced in their box before he received an answer.

"It's where you are."

A bitter laugh burst free before he could contain it. "Try again. Why are you here?"

"I've made a lot of mistakes. I need another chance, Clark."

"I've made too many myself. I'm not the same person."

"Neither I am. Give me a chance to prove it. Please."

"Why?"

He took an involuntary step backward when Lex rose and walked toward him. When Lex noticed the movement, he halted and frowned. Reaching into a pocket, Lex retrieved something and then held it out. The plain gold band sitting in the palm of his hand matched the one Lex was wearing on his left hand, and Clark didn't need to pick it up to remember the two dates and two sets of initials engraved inside. Clark couldn't help glancing down at the signet ring he'd chosen to replace it.

"I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"There were a lot of promises made...and broken...by both of us, Lex. What's one more?"

"It was the most important one I ever made, and I'm willing to make it again...as many times as I have to until you believe me."

"Go back to your life, Lex."

"You're my life. I'm sorry that it took me so long to remember that."

Clark shook his head and left the cottage without another word.

. . .

Clark ignored the ring lying on the mantle above the empty fireplace, but he'd seen Lex sitting on the couch and staring in its direction that night.

There'd been just enough moonlight to make out a shimmer in his eyes.

. . .

The rain drummed on the roof incessantly. After Clark's twentieth empty-handed trip between the bedroom and kitchen, Lex looked up from his solitaire game and asked, "Gin Rummy or...Go Fish?"

. . .

"You look good out there."

"Gin. You wouldn't have said that the first week if you'd seen me staggering down the side of the road with a bloody towel clamped to the side of my head." After Clark laid his cards down, he swept his hair back to reveal a thin white scar on his temple, just below his hairline. "I was lucky the old guy who picked me up was on his way into the next town over, and was willing to drop me off at the county hospital."

"Thirteen stitches...and a concussion."

Clark's large hands swept the piles of cards together, and then he picked them up to shuffle. "That's how you found me." It was a statement, not a question.

Lex shrugged, and then nodded. "You did a good job. My people didn't pick up anything until the report came through on someone of your description paying cash and refusing to give his name for an emergency room visit. Even then, it took quite a while to find a rental agent who'd received a large amount of cash for a shack ninety miles north...and a tenant with no name."

Clark shrugged and began to deal. "No ID. Didn't want to start spinning another web of lies."

"I suppose I should be relieved it wasn't a cardboard box under a bridge."

"It certainly would have been a little rougher for you...at least, until you had the deluxe refrigerator condo delivered to sit next to my large-capacity washer studio." Glancing up from his cards, Clark had to work hard to suppress his grin at the blue eyes twinkling with laughter...and hope. "Your turn."

. . .

"Clark! Clark...can you hear me? Clark, please...please open your eyes."

Blinking against the sun, Clark peered up blearily at the pale face hovering above him. The lines of strain that marred its perfection disturbed him, and he reached up to smooth them away with a hand that refused to cooperate. "Lex...."

"Thank God! Lie there for a minute. Can you move your arms and legs? Good. Do you want to try to sit up...."

. . .

"You didn't take it off."

"I came very close to doing it when you weren't responding to the CPR."

"Why didn't you? I couldn't have stopped you." Clark shifted his head on the pillow and squinted up at Lex, regretting it when the simple movement reactivated the throbbing beneath the icepack.

"It has to be your decision, not mine...not unless you were dying. I couldn't let that happen, Clark, even if it meant I'd never see you again. At least, I'd know you were out there...somewhere. Alive...and never able to forgive me."

Clark closed his eyes and remembered Lex's frantic voice begging him to respond, pulling him back from the cold darkness that still waited. "I'm sorry I put you in that position."

"I know you didn't plan to go out there today and lose a fight with a wave. Accidents happen, right?"

The lingering fear in Lex's voice bled through his casual dismissal of Clark's apology. The fact that he was in his bed at the cottage, instead of a private hospital room, had surprised him when he'd woken up. The staggering, pain-filled return from the beach surfaced in flashes of memory: Lex holding him under the outside shower and stripping off the wetsuit, drying him off and lowering him carefully to the bed before dashing to the kitchen for ice cubes and aspirin.

"At least there's no blood this time, just a hell of a lump. Hey, you need to stay awake. Talk to me. I don't want to have to run three miles to call an ambulance, okay?"

Prying his eyelids open, Clark looked back up at Lex. "Sit down. You're too far away and it hurts my head."

"On the bed?"

"It's a double. There's room."

There was a chuckle before he felt the mattress dip under Lex's weight. "Barely...with you in it."

Waiting under Lex propped himself up against the headboard, Clark moved his head from his pillow to Lex's thigh, the smooth, cool linen of his pants feeling good against his cheek. "Bite me."

He felt Lex stiffen and then gradually relax, his ice-cooled hand coming to rest on the back of Clark's neck and rubbing gently. The whisper above his head made him smile. "I will, the minute you let me."

. . .

"I can't believe you left it down by the water, Lex."

"I was a little distracted by the man with the head injury at the time."

"That's the third one. I'm never going to live it down at the shop. I'll be mocked the rest of my life."

"Deadly mockery by teenage boys in a rundown surf shop. Definitely something to be avoided by all costs. Fine. I lost it, so I'll buy the new board...and tell them that you're giving me lessons."

"I am? Cool."

"I said tell...I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Come on. Walk faster or we'll miss the bus into town."

. . .

Clark held the glass of red wine up to watch the flames through it, admiring the ruby tint. "That was a great dinner, Lex. You haven't cooked like that in years."

"Thanks. You know, I'd forgotten how much I used to enjoy it." Lex took his seat at the opposite end of the couch and sipped from his own refilled glass. He stretched with a little groan at the end. "After today, I guess I have something else to add to my list of things I've done in my life."

"Did you like it?"

"After the fortieth time I fell off before I got more than a few feet into the wave? I wasn't sure, and then I finally stayed on and...." He twisted in his seat to grin at Clark, "...I think I understand why you like it so much. It was like...flying."

"So...."

"So, tomorrow we're going to take the bus into town and buy another board from the mockery boys. I'll just tell them I lost my new one, and then we'll share the shame while we're both out there riding together."

Finding it impossible to resist any longer, Clark stood up and reached out to take Lex's wineglass. He turned and took a step to place both of them on the mantle, his grin flashing when he turned back to see Lex's look of puzzlement. Returning to the couch, he held out his hand and waited. When Lex took it, Clark pulled him up and into his arms. The kiss held the flavors of their meal and the tannic bite of the wine, and through it, he could feel Lex trembling, holding back.

"Clark?"

"You promised to bite me."

. . .

"God, I've missed you so much."

"Me...too."

"Do you think we can make us work again?"

"I...don't know."

"I'm not going anywhere until you do. I love you."

. . .

The sun warmed their backs as they sauntered along the side of the road, the groceries they'd just purchased swinging in canvas bags at their sides. Their conversation was desultory, ranging across a variety of subjects, until Clark filled in a gap with an admission that surprised even himself.

"The thing is...I don't think I could do it anymore. Not by myself."

There was the slightest hesitation in Lex's step. "Whatever you decide, I'll be there. You never have to do anything alone, ever again."

Clark kicked a broken bottle into the ditch at the side. "What if I decide that it's here?"

"Then we stay." Lex shrugged with a smile. "You lived in a penthouse with me for years, even though you hated it. Turnabout is fair play...although I honestly can't say that I hate it here."

Clark pivoted and began walking backwards so that he could see Lex's face more easily. "But...your company, Lex."

"Should never have been more important than us. I've learned that the hard way, haven't I?"

"That's been your life, ever since we met. I'd never ask you to give it up. It wasn't all you, anyway. There were plenty of times when Superman...."

"I already have, Clark. Even if we went back, it'll never be the same. I finally handed it all over to the highly competent people that I hired years ago. For the first time in my life, I'm a free agent. I have an entire world to choose from...whatever I want to do and wherever I'd like to go."

"And yet you're here."

"With you, Clark. That's exactly where I want to be for the rest of my life."

. . .

Handing Clark the two coffee mugs to hold, Lex crawled onto the lounge chair and sat between Clark's legs, his back against Clark's chest. Settled, he reached for his mug. "Give it here."

Clark handed it over with an indulgent chuckle. "Comfortable?"

Lex wiggled a little more, and then nodded. "Perfectly. Now, be quiet and watch the sunset."

Clark resigned himself to his position as chair cushion, kissing the side of Lex's head before settling back in the chair. "Brat. Don't know why I bother keeping two chairs out here."

"Me, neither. Quiet, I'm listening."

"What are you listening for?"

"Nothing...which I'll never be able to hear if you don't stop talking."

"You do know you're weird, don't you?"

"Shhhh...."

. . .

"It's definitely getting cooler at night. I need to pick up a couple of sweatshirts the next time we go into town. I packed a little light."  Lex grinned up at Clark, who was watching from the couch as Lex finished arranging kindling on the logs in the fireplace. Rising from his squat, Lex was reaching for the matches on the mantle when he noticed that something had changed. Spinning around, he stared at Clark in a mixture of hope and disbelief. Clark held up his left hand, smiled, and then opened his arms in time to catch Lex as he stumbled forward and onto Clark's lap.

"Oof. You're lucky I'm not breakable anymore."

Lex held Clark's face firmly in his hands, needing to search his eyes for any lingering doubt. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but are you sure? It wasn't an 'either-or.' I married the man, not the superhero."

"I know, Lex. I'm sure."

. . .

An arcing, tumbling glimmer...a distant splash...then only the seabirds calling, the shushing of the waves, the setting sun.

. . .

"Clark, do you believe a man can fly?"

"Sure. In a plane."

"No, I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about soaring through the clouds with nothing but air beneath you."

"People can't fly, Lex."

"I did...after the accident...when my heart stopped. It was the most exhilarating two minutes of my life. I flew over Smallville, and for the first time, I didn't see a dead end...I saw a new beginning. Thanks to you, I have a second chance. We have a future, Clark...and I don't want anything to stand in the way of our friendship."

fin

***

You Still Own Me

(Philip Douglas/Noah Gordon/Johnny Reid)

I put a for sale sign on the front of my truck

Said call anytime 'cause I'm always up

Make an offer, one that I won't refuse

I bought a one-way ticket on a westbound plane

Four hours later, I was wearing shades in California

Just hanging loose

I didn't pack one memory

And even though I'm free

I can go where I wanna go

Do what I wanna do

Be who I wanna be

But baby, you still own me

Say what I wanna say

Hear what I wanna hear

Dream what I wanna dream

But baby, you still own me

I was up all night cause I couldn't sleep

Instead of staring at the ceiling, I hit the beach

Took a long walk, it didn't help me much

I sat down in the sand with a handful of shells

Kicked off my shoes while me myself and I watched the sun come up

Looking out across the sea

It's finally dawned on me

(Repeat Chorus)

Maybe I'm not in your arms

(You own me)

But you still own my heart

(Repeat Chorus)

You still own me, yeah

You still own me

***

Notes: Thanks to jakrar for a quick beta, all remaining mistakes are mine, of course.

Standard Disclaimer:  I do not own any of the characters herein. The characters of Lex Luthor and Clark Kent as well as any supporting characters are the property of their creators and DC Comics. Gough/Millar Inc and the WB Network TV own Smallville. Any deviations (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.

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