Drawn from Memory	 Drawn from Memory

 by zahra

  

 Lex's favorite dream involves his mother wearing a violet-colored linen
dress and taking him to Lords to see a cricket match against the
Australians. Except that Lex apparently represents the entire Australian
team because no one else is there. And he hates cricket. 

 His obligatory cricket whites practically glow under the noonday sun, and
he carries a bat with the Luthor Corp logo etched into it. When he walks
over to bat, his father is bowling, and Dominic is the wicketkeeper. Lex
smoothes his hand over the bat and the Luthor Corp image morphs and says
LexCorp instead. It's a bit strange that there's no one fielding, but it
is Lex's dream. So, if the stadium is empty except for his mother and
Clark sitting in the grass and sharing lemonade then there will be no
complaints from Lex. 

 He scores a century in his first at-bat but does no running. The sun
shines, but he never burns. At some point Dominic vanishes. When he tires
of the game, he throws the bat at Lionel who disintegrates into a pile of
cigarette ashes. It makes Lex smile. When he's done, he walks over to
where his mother and Clark are discussing Ford F-150's. She stands, and
kisses him on the cheek with the cheap Revlon Blackberry frost lipstick
that Dominic's sister used to wear. His mother tells him to trust Clark.
When he opens his mouth to ask her what she means, she disappears, but
when he turns back to Clark, he fades away as well. Always ends up alone,
and inevitably he wakes up with the word 'stay' on his lips. He's not
quite sure which one he's referring to. 

 He's had this dream three times since he came to Smallville. 

 The first time was after the car crash. The second was after the episode
with the non-existent Level Three. The third was two nights ago, after the
episode with Rickman, Kyle and the Mercedes that the insurance company
swears was the victim of arson. Either that, or a giant fireball from the
heavens. Not that Lex wouldn't necessarily buy the latter excuse,
especially in Smallville. But all the same, it seems...off. 

 The dream could be a sign, what kind of sign, though, is beyond him. It
could be a warning of the apocalypse, or it could just be a sign that he
needs to watch more ESPN and less MSNBC. If Lex actually believed in signs
he would probably pay more attention to what's happening in the dream.
Especially considering its repetitive nature. The cricket grounds. His
father's disintegration. His mother's words. Clark's presence in the
dream. But Lex would have to be a believer first and foremost, and Lex
isn't a believer; Lex is a scientist. 

 It's difficult. Beyond hard to just. Let. It. Go. To say it's nothing. No
such thing as 'nothing' in Lex's world because everything is something.
And if his mother says he should trust Clark, he should. Shouldn't he?
Shouldn't be investigating the car crash. Shouldn't be wondering what the
hell he's keeping from him. Why Lex knows Clark's lying to him, and just
lets him do it. But it's bordering on impossible to just trust. To have
faith. It goes against everything he's ever learned, been taught. His very
nature. Especially when there are plainly things Lex's not being told.
Explanations that are being withheld because of who he his. Too much like
his dealings with his father. 

 All of it making Lex a bit crazed and messing with his sleep patterns.
And, unfortunately, the second quarter projections just aren't having that
somnolent effect that they normally do, which is why he's sitting up in
his bed at three o'clock on a Tuesday morning. Bright light from the
chrome and glass light on his nightstand, and his eyes are everywhere but
on the numbers being generated by the Excel spreadsheets on the laptop. 

 Closes his eyes and sees blackness being perforated by light. A
kaleidoscope of colors. Green and blue. Red. Images shifting and moving
and being pushed around as he rubs his eyes. Too tired to sleep. Too tired
not to dream. To not think. 

 His favorite dream has very little basis in reality beyond the trip to
Lords with his mother. He did wear cricket whites, but he also turned into
a little Luthor lobster under the noonday sun. Beyond that no truth to
speak of. Dream of. But. It's only a dream, and his dreams have always
been odd. A miasma of disturbing images and thoughts. Things he has tried
to avoid recalling in the light of day. Mudslides and physical assaults,
buildings without roofs and people invading his space. Navy SEAL attacks
on high schools and parents being shot during visits to Disney World. Lex
has never even been to Disney World. How it appears so vividly in his
dreams speaks volumes about the power of today's mass marketing. 

 All dreams, not memories, and all things that he can brush off. Chalk up
to commercials during CNN and spending far too much time channel surfing
between CNBC and Crossfire. But the dreams are changing. Getting worse.
Becoming more life-like. Wordless cries and waking in the night in a cold
sweat. Wondering if he was actually dreaming of life of living in a dream.
Lex hit a wall last night and tonight he doesn't want to take the chance
of a repeat performance. Nothing that Lex can't face, except in his
dreams, and this is one thing that he can't bear going through again.
Would rather wade through a sea of cricket dreams than spend one more
night drowning in nightmares of murder and death. 

 The first time was bad enough. One time too many to dream of killing
Clark. Repeatedly. 

 Dreaming that he shot him over and over again and watched as his body
spun in a graceful arc. Watched as swaths of denim and flannel floated
away from Clark's body and his face contorted in the most beautiful
display of pain Lex has ever seen. Ever dreamed. The only thing that made
it worse was that he enjoyed it. That he felt free again. That for once he
didn't have to be whatever Clark thinks he is. Wants him to be. Could make
him into given time. 

 Lex killed Clark and he enjoyed it. For all of two seconds. And then the
misery hit. And the despair. The knowledge that he had destroyed the one
pure, good thing in his life. The one person whom he wanted to give the
entire world wrapped in a Tiffany's bag, and who would probably complain
that it was too fancy. He had killed the last unicorn and proved everyone
right, once and for all. No pity for those who live up to expectation. 

 So, when he woke screaming Clark's name, he had no choice but to do a
midnight run. Never even thought twice about barefoot driving in the Aston
Martin and wearing a wool coat over striped pajama bottoms. All worth it
to see that light on in the upper left-hand side of the Kent house. Proof
that Lex wasn't the only one having problems sleeping. Proof that Lex had
only been dreaming. 

 Only dreaming and not doing. 

 So, when he rubs his eyes, now, and sees little spots, it's expected
because he knows he's awake. Not asleep, and it's all just a figment of
his imagination, no matter how lifelike. No matter what he sees. He's
still able to differentiate between truth and fiction, right and wrong. 

 All the same, it makes him miss his mother even more than he normally
does. He thinks she would have understood what was wrong. Been able to
interpret whatever was bothering him and make it all okay. But she's not
there. She's dead, and at three-thirty, Tuesday morning, Lex is all alone
in his bedroom in the Castle of Banishment, and all he has are his
memories and his dreams. 

 -finis-  

 Dedication: To Lar for indulging my obsessions, and to Kassie for being a
big, nasty Orc. I feel this sudden need to start singing 'you are my
sunshine...' 

 Notes: I know nothing about cricket. I had to go to a 'Cricket for
Dummies' site - my apologies if I got it wrong. As I understand it though
it's kinda like a baseball-tennis hybrid. 

 Feedback: Always appreciated and adored. 

 Improv #5: violet, frost, pity, stand	 
 If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to zahra

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