"They sent it into another dimension," Lex says. His hands keep pausing at his ribs, feeling the smooth, unbroken bone beneath his skin, lingering on his collar and throat. He still tastes blood, but it's from biting through his lip when he came back, awake suddenly in the chair. The AI said it had only been an hour.
A fucking *hour*.
"That--does not assist us." The AI's pause sets Lex's teeth on edge. "We cannot send the entity into another universe to destroy--"
"Why not?" Lex knows a losing argument when he hears it. It's not like he thought that it was likely the AI would be okay with that. Somewhere, calculations are going on, studying the math that makes up a world. Lex can't quite wrap his mind around it, but the implications fascinate him. "And for kicks, can you pick somewhere a little less fucking *insane* next time?"
"How the hell can you tell that thing is there and *not* catch on to the world is run by a sociopath?" His tongue freezes on the use of Clark's name. He still wonders where the AI came down when Clark drew his line, with Jor-El on the other side.
The computer is silent for a few long seconds. "Calculation of probabilities--"
"How?"
Another brief silence. Lex wonders if Clark had problems like this. "Your human mind cannot--"
"I'm not human." And if the AI thinks that kind of crap will fly, it's going to be a shitty night. "Don't even try that bullshit. How are you choosing?"
"The active continuation of the timeline." Lex thinks the AI might be trying. "There's a difference between a world without life and a world that still lives."
"And you can tell when this is because of it or something else--"
"No." The AI makes a low, humming sound. "But I can calculate the probability based on the information given. Fourteen point six three percent of dimensions, for instance, ended due to your direct influence."
And talk about being a bitch. Lex's eyes narrow, giving it a second to take it back, but it goes back to that low hum that he can feel shaking every nerve.
"You're kidding."
"I do not kid, Lex Luthor. Nuclear device, one point six three. Plasmic instability, two point six eight. Utilization of Kryptonite in its various incarnations, eight point three nine eight two. Genocide, nine point two one seven--"
"Genocide?" Lex's chest tightens, like his ribs are less unbroken than he thought. "I never--"
"The complete and systematic destruction of all life on the planet to the bacterial level," the AI parrots, like it's reading from the fucking dictionary. "Gaseous emissions, point seven two, viral infection, one point three eight nine two, war, six point--"
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Lex takes a deep breath. "You can tell what destroys a world?"
"In a manner, yes."
And does he want to hear how many other ways he's ended life as he knows it?
"The next attempt will be made in four hours," the AI says, like it's just made some kind of point. Maybe it has. "You should rest and consume--"
"Don't you fucking dare tell me what to do." If the AI was trying to make him go away, it succeeded. Turning, he walked out the door, aware only after it closed that he had no idea where the hell he was going to go.
Turning back around, he stared at the closed door for a moment, but the idea of going back in and giving the AI the satisfaction of asking for directions--and no, he didn't care he was anthropomorphizing what amounted to being a fucking *computer*....
"Shit." This isn't the same hall he used to see.
"There are private quarters on this corridor," the AI says helpfully, and Lex bites down against the urge to jump. Shit. That world had seriously screwed with him. "You may use--"
"Got it." The metal and stone corridor has the vague undertones of a hospital, or an institution. Multiple doors march in a straight line, and Lex wonders what on earth the Fortress has so many for. Clark, as far as Lex knew, never had visitors. Lois or his family, perhaps?
Lex chooses the closest door, watching in bemusement as it slides silently open. The Fortress, for some reason, reminds him of Star Trek. All it needs is little chimes to play.
The room is about what Lex would have expected, if he'd been expecting--well, bedrooms. Plain mattress on some kind of raised area against one wall. A terminal for interface with the AI. A door, presumably to a bathroom--dear God, there had better be a bathroom. Another to a closet. Lex is still relieved the AI grasped the human concept of plumbing. God only knew what Kryptonians used. Some strangely utilitarian clothes hang from the few hangers. And here he'd thought Kryptonians were all about the primary colors.
And he needs rest, no question.
"You can acquire sustenance--"
"Stop that!" Maybe he's more unnerved than he'd thought. Taking a deep breath, Lex sits on the bed, aware for the first time that his clothes are clammy. Sweat, from the smell. "I was under for an hour of real time?"
"Yes." The AI pauses. "You seemed--distressed."
"No shit." Staring at the wall, Lex tries to decide what to do. "Was he here? Often?"
The AI pauses, like there's a world of 'he's out there and can't be expected to know who on earth Lex means. "Kal-El?"
Lex nods, then wonders if the AI has visuals. He really doesn't want to know if it does. "Yeah. Did he come here often?"
"Yes." Another pause. "He said he found it quiet here."
Lex imagines he did. "Without the bustle of humanity, I suppose." Somehow, it's hard to see Clark here. Superman? No problem--the tights and over-righteous attitude, the alien, would have fit in here like a glove. But not the kid that wore flannel, not the man in the glasses. "Was he--" Was he what? At peace? Comfortable? Unhappy? There are a thousand questions that Lex wants to ask, but the only person that could ever answer them is dead. "Can you leave me alone for a while?" Though that's kind of funny, if he thinks about it. The Fortress is the AI's body, for all intents and purposes. And he's *in* it. There isn't anywhere to go from there.
"Of course." And maybe Clark had made requests like that, too, because even the subliminal buzz seems to recede. It could be his imagination, but Lex doubts it. Leaning back, Lex takes in the ungiving mattress, almost as hard as the floor, staring into the high ceiling. Clark came here for peace, for quiet, for help. He wonders, a little inanely, if it would amuse him to know Lex is doing the same thing, and for some of the same reasons.
After all, he hasn't asked the AI to update him on what's been happening on the planet. There are some things that, right now, he doesn't want to know.
*****
Sleep's impossible. Even given that he's been awake--or at least, his mind has been awake--for over twenty four hours, his body's only been up for five. Pacing the room gets boring fast. Eating takes some time, but Lex has always been a relatively fast eater when dinner doesn't involve business or espionage. The shower takes more, but not much; his skin pruning by the time he gets out, shivering in the AI's idea of a reasonable temperature for humans. The clean clothes feel wrong, flowing in strange angles over his body, like they were shaped for someone else, with odd fastenings.
Lex tries to imagine Clark in these rooms--so spartan, compared to his apartment with Lois. Clutter and boxes, piles and left over take-out; neither had been the kind to clean up after themselves. Too intense, between their work and each other to remember domestic chores like taking out the trash and cleaning up the living room once or twice a week. Completely unlike his boyhood room in Smallville, or the loft as well.
Peace, the AI had said. Almost zen-like.
He wonders if Clark came here after their fights.
Shaking the thought away, Lex drops on the terminal. The temptation to check out the state of the world eats at him, but he's not quite ready to face that yet. Not if it's come together, not if it's out there, destroying more cities, more property, more people. What remains of the Justice League is so outclassed it isn't even funny.
If Superman hadn't died--
Lex stops the thought. It's too easy to fall into the memory, the anger and helpless fear and frustration and, God, why did he *do* it? Lex can't quite wrap his mind around that moment of realization, and thinking on it doesn't help. Tapping a sequence into the keyboard, Lex watches the screen come up. He needs something to do.
"AI," Lex says, then remembers that he told it to stay out. Shit. Leaning away, Lex spins the chair, feeling silly, but it's something to *do*. Lena had hated that. Lena had--
Lex knocks those memories away too.
It's amazing how many things in his life he would prefer to forget.
*****
A long time ago, Lex had wanted more.
Power, wealth, the protection that those things bought--he hadn't always wanted it so much, so desperately, so badly that he'd do anything to have it, to keep it. The transition had been seamless, and even now, Lex can't look back and press his finger on the moment that he stopped believing, stopped being able to pretend, stopped trying.
Homicidal ex-wives and betraying girlfriends galore, but he hadn't stopped believing, not really. Somewhere, he knew, he'd find someone he could live with. Fall in love with. Make a life with. Someone that would be there, for the lonely child still trapped somewhere deep beneath Lex's skin. Someone to talk to, touch, trust, surround himself with, the only protection he'd ever need.
And then he'd stopped, and he's still not sure how that happened.
He never imagined that with Clark, even in the richness of his secret fantasy life. Loving someone was very different than having them, and Lex knew impossible when it stared him in the face with wide dark eyes and said they would always be friends. He knew lies, too, but he thinks that Clark wasn't lying then.
"I would have taken care of you, you know," Lex tells the room. This isn't Clark's room--the AI surely has some sense of decency and would have warned him off if it was--but he can imagine Clark here if he tries. Slim, lithe body, those guileless eyes, that cocksucker mouth. He can see Clark now, t-shirt and ancient jeans that cling to every curve of his ass, smiling at Lex from beneath his bangs. "Back--then. I would have protected you. I never would have--would have--" Used you. Even the thought feels like a lie, though. He remembers twenty one through twenty-four, and he wasn't the person he is now, but he's not sure he's ever been the person that could have made promises like that to Clark and kept them. "I would never have hurt you."
He remembers Clark and Lois--the easy camaraderie, the friendship and rivalry and passionate devotion to work, the way Clark lit up around her, like a supernova. Lois made Clark more of what he already was.
God knows what Lex would have made him, if he'd had him.
"I would have," he says, and he could believe it if he tried. The person he was then loved Clark to distraction, would have lit himself on fire if Clark asked.
"He never hated you."
Lex rounds on the source of the voice, trying to locate it. "I said leave me the fuck alone!" He's too utterly exhausted to be embarrassed; that or too fucking angry. "The stupid motherfucker left us to die so he could go out in a blaze of unselfish glory. Don't give me that shit--"
"You were the last one."
Lex's breath stops. "Last--"
"The last of his family. He couldn't save them." The AI sounds odd, like a student of a foreign language testing their skill. Not entirely sure that what they are saying is what they meant to say.
Lois, in the first attack, hunting down the story with all her soul. The Kent farm a blackened wasteland. Pete and Lana those terrible three days in Metropolis. Superman couldn't be everywhere at once, though he'd tried, God, had he tried. Lex remembers the blur of blue, the exhausted anchormen on the television every day, reciting Superman by rote, trying to save the world, hour after endless, nightmarish hour as the casualty reports came in.
"How the hell would you know?"
"Kal-El knew the necessity of expediency. He would have let you die. Clark--did not believe in expediency." The AI doesn't sound thrilled by that, either. "Are you ready to start pre-jump procedure?"
Nodding warily, Lex stands up, feeling lightheaded. Strange. "Let's get this show on the road."