A Second Look
Story: “A Second Look”
Author: svmadelyn@yahoo.com
Characters: Lex, Isabel, Clark, Michael
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: No.
Disclaimer: Characters, etc: Still. Not. Mine. Damn. It.
Notes: Smallville/Roswell crossover for the Teen Summer Dance Party Challenge. As CJ says, procrastination, thy name is Madelyn, and I sadly put off this story until the last moment when I finally had an idea that wasn’t an AU. Thanks to her for the look through. This is all unbeta’d and a lot of me wanting to get this story in on time and trying desperately to remember Roswell canon–and I just wish that the story had come along sooner, is basically all I’m going to say right now. Call it a slice of life, if you will. For those curious–my half of the convo where I first had this idea and what it would’ve been if AUs were permitted. *grins* As you’ll see, I kind of cheated and kept it in there, but that’s neither here nor there.
Me: I think it’s going to be funny.
Lex on a drunken whim decides to go to Roswell and hey, aliens.
oh, he’ll have to call Clark.
Clark! There’s this guy here who can *heal* with his *hands*
Clark: I–is he touching you?
Lex: Not. Yet. *eyeing Max who’s eyeing him back warily as Liz twists a towel in the corner*
Clark: Well, how do you *know* he can heal with his hands? People just can’t heal that way, Lex! Are you sure he didn’t touch you?
Except with snappier dialogue, I hope, and Clark coming in in a jealous rage, and saying he’s not really sure how he ended up in Roswell, and Michael saying in disgust, man, you better not be from our planet because stupid people like you are probably why we broke out in civil war in the first place. And then Clark’s just surrounded by all the pretty aliens and feeling not so very special anymore and getting pouty and jealous even more.
There’s a weird smell to this town, like copper and the barest traces of freshly-cut grass. It’s an otherwise unremarkable landscape that greets Lex the moment he lands on the one and only dilapidated runway in some fifty miles. The rental car is there, naturally, the silver Lamborghini he had told his secretary to have sent over.
He’s handed keys and he slips into the plush seats, satisfied to see the air conditioner is already on full blast and waiting for him. He carefully places his duffel on the passenger seat’s floor.The map is brand new on the passenger seat, and he unfolds it thoughtfully, fingers tracing the main roads that lead to the town. The small blurb in the corner catches his eye, with its bright proclamation, Population: 49,000.
Sweet Jesus, Lex thinks in disgust, even as he veers sharply out to the right. Even this town is bigger than Smallville.
–
Lex pulls off his sunglasses and pulls out a lens cloth to get the dust off as he approaches the Crash Down Café. It’s reminiscent of the Talon, and Lex keeps getting the oddest sense of déjà vu.
There’s a bright bubbly girl talking animatedly at the counter with a couple of customers. Her smile reminds him of Chloe and Lex can feel his mouth curving up at the thought. He takes a seat at a booth a few feet away.
“Hello! What can I get for you today?” The brunette asks, her voice clipped as she glances over her shoulder.
He peruses the menu with a practiced ease, murmuring for a cup of ‘abduct-tea’ with the same kind of authority he’d order the finest of wines. He glances at the desserts, and with a small smile filled with curiosity, orders a slice of the ‘men in blackberry’ pie as well. There’s a newspaper at the booth behind him, and he reaches over, and is perusing The Roswell Tribune when his waitress reappears. He pretends to start and he scratches her arm. He blushes in apology, says it’s been a long trip and she laughs it off.
He leaves, and withdraws the sample carefully, marking off Maria DeLuca in his palm pilot. He finds the bed and breakfast easily enough, and studies the map for a few minutes. He tosses it aside, having memorized the relevant places so he’s not going to need it any longer.
–
Lex spends his days at the Crash Down, his nights in the desert, thinking how really, it’s hilarious that it always seems to come back to a set of god-damn caves out in the middle of nowhere, and it’s not too long before he’s noticing that two young male teenagers and two waitresses wearing antennae are paying more than a bit of attention to Roswell’s newest guest. They drop in on him at random times, Michael turning up at his bed and breakfast once and talking glibly with him outside his room, while Max sneaks out the window. Michael talks with his hands, all wild gestures and youthful grins and it’s obvious he’s not used to making that particular shape with his mouth but Lex lets him distract anyway.
Then one night, he happens upon Max healing a girl, Maria looming over the two anxiously, and Lex slips silently out the back. Maria catches a glimpse of his head as he moves away, and they realize it’s maybe time to do something proactive.
–
It is decided that Isabel will be the one to approach, as all of Maria’s and Liz’s attempts at starting a conversation have been politely but categorically rebuffed. She’s been watching him, and she doesn’t believe he’s one to be impressed by anything but confident superiority, so she walks over with her hair and other…assets bouncing and a smile plastered firmly on her face, enjoying the bemusement of his expression as she plops down across from him and asks if there’s actually anything interesting in the paper for a change.
He grins, and says he hasn’t seen anything to date. “Isabel Evans.” She holds out her hand, eyes full of mirth.
“Alexander Luthor.” He responds, and he’s watching her like his name is supposed to make a difference. It doesn’t register with her though, so she just nods and calls for Liz to bring her a Hot Fudge Blast-Off Sundae.
She watches him watch her lick the spoon, and when she rises, he accompanies. Isabel pretends to lose her balance and falls against him. When she regains her balance, she pulls his timepiece out from his jacket.
–
Max doesn’t like the idea, but Michael and Maria do and they’ve been going with majority rules these days, so she locks her bedroom door and makes herself comfortable, lying prone on the blankets.
She exhales, closing her eyes to help her concentrate, and glosses her fingers over the watch. She feels her heart rate still and she continues the light breathing exercises. “Alexander Luthor” she murmurs to herself, focusing on the blue of his eyes in her mind as she starts the dreamwalk.
He was in an office, legs propped up on a desk, filtered sunlight cascading through stained glass in bright prisms. There was another man at the window, facing out. Isabel couldn’t see his face, but she could tell from the way Lex watched him that he was the most important thing to focus on in this room.
“Clark, I’m telling you, there’s this guy who can heal with his *hands*! I came here for you, I wanted to understand.”
Well, Isabel guessed that settled *that* question.
Clark pivoted sharply, but didn’t move from his area. “And what, did he touch you? Did he touch you?” Isabel slid closer, she wanted to study Lex’s face as he looked at this Clark guy.
“I wanted to see if there was a connection, Clark. I wanted to understand! Why can’t you just tell me, God, I already know! Just tell me!”
Then…Michael appeared, in the way dreams suddenly change and morph into something else entirely. Lex showed no sign of realizing Michael hadn’t been here at all before. “Michael!” Isabel hissed involuntarily. Michael sat perched on Lex’s desk, long legs dangling to the ground. Clark’s eyes seemed to spark as he asked, “So that’s how it is? I’m not the only game around, and you can just ignore me now? That’s not how it is.”
Isabel was shocked when Clark rushed forward and grabbed Lex, shoving him forcefully against the wall. “That’s not how it is,” Clark repeated. “You tell me about life, and love and destiny and fate, and you’re not his and you don’t even want to be!” Michael seemed to smirk, but it didn’t fit his face. He stood gracefully and grasped Clark by the arm, and Isabel gasped as he picked Clark up effortlessly and threw him out of the window, the stained glass shards falling in an almost slow motion pattern, hazily seen through the dream.
Michael’s smile twisted as he approached Lex again. “He’ll get back up, you know.” Lex said, but he was unbuckling his trousers. Michael was—Michael was taking off his shirt. “I know.” Michael says, but when he falls to his knees, it’s obvious he doesn’t give a fuck.
Isabel snaps out of the dream, thoroughly disconcerted. “Oh, wow.” She mutters.
–
“Alexander!” She calls out the next day. “I was hoping to run into you again.” The smile’s a little harder today, but she’s hoping he won’t notice. He’s distracted and simply nods, heading straight for Liz up at the counter.
“I was wondering if you’ve seen a watch around? I was at that booth yesterday, and I’ve spent the morning retracing my steps. No one seems to have seen it anywhere.” Liz manages to say no, she hasn’t, but she’ll keep an eye out, all without looking at Isabel even once, and Isabel thinks there might be hope for her yet. She sits down at Alexander’s booth, pretending to pour through the contents of her purse.
“Miss Evans.”
“Please, you make it sound like I’m old. Isabel.” She says, not looking up from her masterful reorganization of her wallet. He sits across from her and politely keeps up his one-syllable part of the conversation when she starts talking inanely about the weather. It’s apparent by the end of their conversation that Alexander isn’t going to stop looking for his watch though, and Isabel has Liz arrange to ‘find’ it when cleaning the café that night and return it to him the next morning.
It becomes a routine that Alexander Luthor and Isabel Evans run into one another every day in Roswell, and make half-joking remarks about one following the other. She lets him drive her to school once, telling herself that its just because she likes his car and they need more information and its not because he’s intelligent or interesting or doesn’t talk to her like she’s some kind of shriveled shell just because Alex isn’t here anymore. She repeats back everything they discuss to Max and Michael, and sometimes Maria and Liz, and they all look at each other worriedly, but no one’s come up with anything yet, so Isabel is allowed to spend more and more time running into Alexander accidentally-on-purpose. She tells everything, except how lately he’s been finding an excuse to touch her, and how she knows he’d let her stop him, but she likes knowing that she can still feel things and she wants to keep them all hers, for now.
–
Then one day, as quickly as Alexander came into their lives, he leaves.
“It’s been a pleasure, Isabel.” He stands, tall and straight, the sunshine outside bouncing off the tacky plaques and hitting him just right on his shoulders.
“You’re leaving?” She’s proud—her voice doesn’t shake, nothing in there to lend itself to him thinking she gives a damn one way or another.
He traces her arm lightly, fingers leaving the kind of marks she’s going to feel for days to come. He looks at her lips for a moment, like he might kiss her, in front of Liz, in front of Max, and she doesn’t care.
“What I was looking for, what I was trying to figure out. The answer isn’t here.” And the weird thing is that Isabel actually gets that he’s telling the truth, and he might not even care at all. It goes back to the boy in the dream—he matters. She reaches up suddenly, and presses her lips against his and she’s a little annoyed that they’re all staring at her, but she knows she’d regret it more if she didn’t do it at all.
“I—I don’t do this a lot.” Isabel stammers. “I mean, everyone expects me to, but I don’t.”
“But that doesn’t mean you don’t want to, now does it.” Alexander smiles, bends his head, kisses her palm. “I don’t think you know who you are, or what you want. I don’t think anyone’s ever given you a chance to find out.”
Isabel tries to withdraw her hand but he holds it tightly, his fingers twining in hers. With his other, he reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out a small lavender card.
“Isabel. This is a private number. I’ll be able to provide you with discreet assistance, should the need ever arise.” When she makes no move to take the card, his cheek twitches; a blink and she’d have missed it. He places the card face down on the table, pulls on his sunglasses and walks out from the diner.
Isabel stares at the table for a long time after he’s gone and she’s dimly grateful that at least they’re not staring anymore.