Title: Still Breathing
Author: danceswithgary (danceswithgary@yahoo.com)
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Rating: R for sexual situations and language
Warnings: m/m sex
Spoilers: Vague references to Season One
Word Count: 17759
Archive: Fine, just let me know
Summary: The love of a lifetime can begin with a dream. Remix of 1997 movie 'Still Breathing'.

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. James F. Robinson and Zap Picture own 'Still Breathing.' Any deviations (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.

Author's Notes: This movie is another favorite of mine; I've always preferred romantic comedies. I don't pretend to be an expert in either Smallville or DC canon. I just picked the parts I like and took off from there into AU - in this case completely into AU land.

Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.


*****

Still Breathing



Prologue


The ship was in the back of the truck, covered with a tarp. No one else had been around when they picked it up, so it looked like they would be able to keep this...little boy safe for now. The blond-haired man patted his pocket where he'd put the metal piece the naked boy picked up from the dirt around the crater. Suddenly, his russet-haired wife cried out as he hit the brakes, clutching her blanket-wrapped bundle closer. A wild-haired man had stepped into the path of the truck, waving one arm while carrying what looked like a child in the other.


"Please, my son's been hurt. Can you take us to the hospital?"


A quick look passed between the couple and then the passenger door opened in invitation. As soon as the man and his son were inside, the truck continued. The injured child moaned and the woman was startled to see that most of his red hair was gone, only a few curls remaining. The dark-haired boy in her lap touched the other boy's cheek, rewarded with a small smile and a glance from distressed blue eyes before they fluttered shut.


***

Chapter 1


The scratchy sweet sound of Bessie Smith issued from the flared horn of an old phonograph in the garden. It was a green arbor, covered in ivy, enclosed by century-old trees. Numerous paths wound between the trees to hollows and mounds covered in ferns and wildflowers. Inside this peaceful space, a longhaired young man seated in a cane bottom chair was intently destroying an old magazine with a large pair of scissors.


Focused on the figures and faces of women, he cut away all irrelevant scraps until the ground around him was white with ersatz snow. He sat there with a glazed look in his green eyes, and ran his hand through his black curls, then rubbed the equally black stubble on his chin. Gathering up his treasures, he rose and carried them into the old house, dropping them on the dining room table to join the hundreds already there. Yawning, he ambled into the kitchen to make coffee.


After the phonograph wound down, the house was quiet. The tall, well-muscled man leaned against the kitchen counter reflecting on his life alone. He had become accustomed to the solitude since his parents returned to their hometown in Kansas. They had been too homesick to remain here in San Antonio when he left for school back East. After his graduation, he had decided to return to the only home he had ever known, bequeathed to him by his great-aunt Ruby.


Still, he missed his parents occasionally. They had given up so much to protect him from the only thing that could hurt him. Moving to a new city, even a new state had only been possible with the help of his mother's family. Still, they had always dreamed of returning to the town and family farm they had loved. It helped that he could easily visit them with a quick flight to the farm they had taken back over. Shaking his head at his foolish dismals, he finished his drink and set the mug down with a contented, "Much better."


Shuffling out of the kitchen, scratching a toned abdomen through his usual white A-shirt, he stopped and looked around before heading to the cluttered table. He rummaged through the pieces, finally selecting a mouth and two eyes. After applying glue to the backs, he moved to stand before a collage applied directly to the painted wall. It extended across the entire 12-foot length and several feet high with hundreds of photos from old and new magazines and newspapers. Considering carefully, he positioned the additions on the wall and muttered, "I know you're in there somewhere."


***

Chapter 2


//There are two things I tried to believe but couldn't, one was that there was a perfect someone waiting out there for everyone, the other was that true love gives you happiness. In real life, I spent so many years dodging men and women who were so much less than perfect, and when I did fall in love, happiness never came. So, I grew up. I put away those childish things and finally stopped holding my breath for that someone.//


The old blue truck backfired as it pulled into the parking lot and stopped. Locking the wheel with a Club, a slim young man exited the truck and walked towards the dark alley that ran alongside the lot. He was almost invisible in his black pants and matching knee-length coat, only his head and hands flashing into view as he strode from shadow to shadow. He moved confidently, familiar with the area. As he passed a dark stairwell, a pile of rags came alive and lunged. Slammed against the wall, the slender man gasped, but recovered swiftly, delivering several punches and driving back his attacker.


Still trying to catch his breath as he moved away from the would-be thief, he was dismayed to hear the sound of a gun cocked behind him. Turning, he watched the gun coming to bear on him, white face reflecting under the solitary street lamp.


...


Sitting in the dark garden dozing, the dark-haired man bolted upright yelling, "No!" as the pale frightened face he saw in his dream jerked him awake.


...


Sure that he was going to die, the slender man closed his eyes, only to open them when he heard the sound of a high-powered engine. A muscle car screeched around the corner and lunged through the alley, striking the thief as he moved towards his prey and then left without a single black mark on the pavement to indicate an attempt to brake.


Advancing to the prone body on the pavement, the young man extended a stylish black boot and nudged the figure. No response resulted in a quick search through the thief's pockets and retrieval of all of his ill-gotten cash. Pocketing the money and administering a retaliatory kick to the ribs, the former victim booted the gun into the nearby sewer and walked quickly to his original destination.


Entering the brightly lit bar was a shock after his recent brush with death. Yelling over the jukebox playing Morphine, the bartender asked, "What can I get you tonight?"


"Tequila, for everyone," he replied, slamming the recently acquired wad of bills down on the bar. He tossed back the shot and then made his way to the pay phone in the rear.


"911. Is this an emergency?"


"Yes, there's been an accident."


"Were there any injuries?


"There's a guy on the ground, I think he's still alive."


"What is the location?"


"Santa Monica and Formosa."


"Were you involved in the accident?"


"No."


"Did you witness anything?"


"Nothing."


"Your name please?"


He hung up the phone.


...


Looking up at the stars, another flash of vision and the man in the garden grinned, "I've got her."

***


Chapter 3


Galvanized by his dream, the rumpled dark-haired man gathered all of his clippings and sheets of paper along with rubber cement to start making composite collages of his dream face. Where a police artist would have used pencil, charcoal or chalk, he used eyes from one picture, a nose from another and the mouth from yet another. His head bobbed in time with the joyous operatic music he had placed on the phonograph for inspiration. Beating time with the rubber cement brush, he waved it through the air as if conducting an orchestra, until the fumes became too strong, even for him. He created a dozen 'sketches', each not quite what he was seeing in his mind, but close enough for him. He had the most difficulty with the hair, still not sure about the choice of red after placing and removing it multiple times.


...


After hanging up the phone, the slim man heard his name called, "Lex, over here!"

Scanning the room, he spotted his friend with a man and woman he hadn't seen before. Lex made his way to the table where he air-kissed his friend before sitting. "Victoria, what a surprise! Who are your friends?" he asked politely, despite the pounding headache he was developing.


"This is Tomas and Brigitte. Tomas is up from Argentina for a polo competition and Brigitte is his date."


Lex mouthed the necessary polite phrases, trying hard to play his part and to conceal his pain as Victoria chattered.


"...American men can be so boring and Latin men have a mystique, sensuality, a je ne sai quoi, how would you say it in Spanish?"


Tomas smiled, deliberately engaging Lex's attention first, "Latin Americans enjoy their life, of that there can be no doubt." He snapped a one hundred dollar bill then placed it on the table to cover the check.


Victoria had certainly come through on this one, mused Lex. She had a nose for men who played both sides of the field, but who wanted to be discreet. Lex was tired and hurting, but he knew he had to make an effort. Who knew when the next one would come along and he had bills to pay. Rubbing the back of his neck, Lex dropped his head and then glanced up at Tomas, with his blue bedroom eyes before saying, "Look everybody, I've got to get going."


The blonde hanging on Tomas' arm obviously detected a rival for his attentions and she gave a little squeal and said, "We have to get going too!"


"Yes, Brigitte and I are going dancing. Would the two of you like to come?" Again, Tomas directed the invitation to Lex with a suggestive smile. Lex gave a faint smile and shake of his head while leaving it clear that he was open to persuasion.


"Look, would you walk me to my truck? I had a bit of a problem on the way here and I don't really want go back through that dark alley by myself. I'll drop you back here?" Lex had stood while speaking and brushed his hand down the front of his fitted shirt, dipping under the waistband of his dark pants in a pretense of removing invisible wrinkles.


Tomas followed the movement avidly, "It would be my pleasure."


The blonde crinkled her nose and flashed an insincere smile, "We'll drive you." She rubbed up against Tomas, "I have to go potty first."


Pushing away from the table, Victoria started to follow her, "Wait, I'll go with you," winking at Lex and leaving him with Tomas.


Watching the two women leave, Lex told Tomas, "Don't bother" and started walking out.


Tomas stopped him, grasping his arm. "But you are ill." He continued in a lower voice, "You know, you are very attractive to me."


"Not tonight Tomas, bad timing."


"Another night?"


"What about Brigitte?"


"I think she wants me for my money."


Lex smiled gently and pulled away, only to lean back and whisper in Tomas' ear, "It's A. J. Luthor in the book, A for Alexander, but just Lex to you. Give me a call." Not waiting for a response, Lex turned and strolled out of the bar knowing Tomas was watching every step. He paused outside and glanced up at the neon sign above the door of the Formosa Cafe.


...


Back in his dimly lit apartment, nursing a scotch, Lex watched as his internal pageant of self-pity paraded by waving heartlessly. There was the dead infant brother, followed closely by his beloved dead mother. Bringing up the rear was his unmourned dead father in prison garb wearing a sign saying PATRICIDE/MATRICIDE. It was a short parade, his family never very populous on this earth.


His father's conviction consumed the family fortune and the remaining debts cut short his hope of completing his degree or remaining in Metropolis. In his despair, it seemed only the discovery of his half-brother, Lucas Dunleavy, left him with any options. A few years older, his morally bankrupt brother had established himself on the periphery of the LA art scene. He needed someone charming to play up to clients, and his newly orphaned younger brother fit the bill despite, or perhaps because of, his unique appearance. The years passed, somehow, and here he was wishing for sleep after yet another evening in hell.



***


Chapter 4



"Formosa." The dream whisper woke the dark-haired man. Rubbing his eyes, he wrinkled his nose and then turned his head to smile at the wall collage. Still sleep-dazed, he pushed himself up off the grand piano he was resting on, pulling the patchwork quilt with him. He stumbled to the bookcase and extracted an old book, 'Maps of the World'. "Hmmm, China Taiwan Formosa...Formosa." He blinked in surprise, "I'm in love with a Chinese girl."


...



Positioning the half-ton boulder just so, the increasingly rumpled young man then placed several other hundred-pound rocks atop it. Finally placing a few palm-sized pebbles in a pattern only he could discern, he stepped back and nodded in satisfaction. Retrieving one of his collage faces, he placed it in a cranny of the sculpture and sprinkled some nearby dry leaves over it in as if ritually summoning the owner of the face to his garden.



...


"I have something to tell you..." Lex woke from his dream of a sad little boy with red curls when the phone rang. "Yeah?"


"Buenos dias, Lex."


"Who is this...Could it be Tomas?" Lex's voice had a sexy rasp to it that he could blame on too many tumblers of scotch the previous night. "What can I do for you, Tomas?"


...


Seated in the sunroom, surrounded by a jungle of potted plants, an older woman played the tuba while the young man accompanied her on the trumpet. His exuberant notes paused as he realized the woman had stopped playing and was staring at him.


"What?"


"Something's changed. You sound different, Kal-El."


"Clark. You know I prefer that you call me Clark, Lara. How do I sound different?" Despite his objection to the name, he spoke kindly to the woman, if woman was the right term. 'She' was a holographic construct containing the memory patterns of his biological mother, mixed with some behavior patterns from his adoptive mother and even his great-aunt Ruby. Sometimes even he forgot she wasn't *real*, the simulation was so detailed and appearing solid. The only drawback was she could not leave the house or the immediate vicinity, the strength of the illusion fading the farther it got from the ship in the basement.


Lara had helped raise him, along with his adoptive parents, after they discovered the octagonal key would activate the ship, that same ship that had arrived in a hail of meteors all those years ago. Home-schooled for years as he learned to handle his strength and speed, Lara was often his only companion while his parents were out working on their organic herb farm. Now, with his parents gone, she was again his sole companion, when he activated her.

"It's your tone. What's her name?" Lara gave Clark a sweet smile and waited for his answer.


"I don't know."


"You pictured her. Finally!"


"And you know I don't believe all that stuff about Jor-El having a vision and going off to find you!"


"It wasn't just him. Your grandfather found your grandmother and told her about the mole on her back before he could have seen it. It's real, a gift of the Els."


"Maybe it was easier to believe back on Krypton. Why would it work with a human?"


"You just need a little more faith. Why don't we play the Verde now? Maybe that will help your memory."


The two picked up their instruments, one real, the other virtual, and proceeded to play in vibrant harmony.


...


"Now, you know I have rules, I insist I pay for my meal," Lex smiled across the table at Tomas. The light and airy atmosphere of the restaurant complemented Lex who almost shimmered in his sky-blue silk shirt. His skin that appeared so pale and ethereal at night took on the more substantial tones of ivory in the sunlight. He held his head proudly, indifferent to any stares from other diners, who were no doubt curious about his complete lack of hair.


"It makes me very happy to be generous to someone so...attractive."


"It makes you happy to have someone feel obligated later?"


"No, no this is not true. You are an independent man, yes?" Tomas protested.


"I've just had people take advantage of me in the past." Lex said quietly, lowering his head with a slight frown.


Tomas feeling the need to lighten the mood began again. "So, what does make you happy?"


"Well, my passion is...abstract art," Lex shyly confessed, rewarding Tomas with a brilliant smile.


Tomas was stunned for a moment but then eagerly replied, "Wonderful! A collector!"


"Oh, I wish. It just means a lot to me."


Tomas was leaning towards Lex over the small table. "You must be very sensitive."


Lex knew how to play up his perceived fragility and moving closer to Tomas he whispered, "I am."


...



Clark walked into the kitchen and hung a red silk banner with gold Chinese characters on the hook above the door.


"That's lovely dear, what does it say?" Lara had appeared by the sink.


"Welcome great love. But then again, it might say something about acupressure I'm not exactly sure. I picked it up after I stopped that robbery downtown."


Lara laughed. "Oh, Jor-El would have loved to see you today. He said he saw me in a vision and crossed half the planet to find me."


"So I have been told, about 5294 times now," was the grinning retort.


"Let me see those pictures you made of her."


Clark retrieved his collages and displayed them for Lara. "I filled in the hair for this one with pencil and this one shows she had a lot of fantastic thoughts so I put the trees exploding out of her head here to represent it. This one here is the closest approximation, especially if squinting your left eye and slanting the picture a little to the right."


"Why doesn't this one have any hair?"


"The hair just never seems quite right. Maybe I'll get more later on."


"Well, they have a lot of character, but they don't look Chinese."


...


"Tomas, I didn't realize you were so funny." Lex had opted for a cup of coffee for dessert while Tomas had ordered a sticky sweet pastry.


"Mmmm?" Tomas was busily stuffing his mouth and licking his fingers.


Lex struggled to keep his smile pleasant and come up with an innocuous comment, "You seem so...sophisticated."


"Really? Oh, yes!" Tomas finished chewing as he spoke and wiped his face off with the liberally spotted napkin he had tucked into his shirt collar. "Listen, I want you to come and watch me play."


"Polo," replied Lex flatly.


Tomas didn't notice that Lex's enthusiasm did not match his own. "Sure, polo. You must come with me when I play the polo this Sunday in Palm Springs!"


"Well, I'd love to see you ride, but right now I have truck problems to deal with. Do you believe what new brakes cost? It's all the driving we do in LA." Lex rose from his chair and prepared to take his leave, dropping several bills on the table to cover his portion of the check.


"I think I must take you to pick up your truck," was the gallant offer from Tomas, just as Lex expected.


"Thank you Tomas, you're such a gentleman." Lex rewarded Tomas with another dazzling smile, managing to look up into Tomas' face despite the fact that at 6 foot tall he was just an inch shorter than Tomas. "You know what? The shop is quite near to my favorite art gallery. I'll take you to see a wonderful painting."




Part 2