By Shakespeare's Girl
He sat, and he waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for. But it was coming. Someday. Maybe. If he believed enough, then it might...
But he didn't believe in anything, except his own strength, and his wits, and the very few people in his life that hadn't betrayed him yet. And even then, it was hard to believe that dinner was going to be on time, and that the brandy decanter actually was as full this morning as it had been the night before, after he retired.
So it was getting harder to convince himself whatever it was that he was waiting for would ever show up.
Sometimes, he wondered if he was being punished for the darker things he did by being made to wait longer. And sometimes he wondered if he wasn't as crazy as they all said he was.
He couldn't wait much longer. Before long he would have to go out and find for himself. It was a daunting task. He knew he would never find what he so badly needed. So he waited, a moment, a minute, an hour, a day, until the days ran into years.
And still, he waited.
If only he knew what he was waiting for, it would be so much easier. His patience would last longer if he knew what the prize was. He was very good at getting the prize. It ran in his blood. Get what you want and leave the rest in the dust seemed to be the family motto. His father thought that way, anyway.
Maybe if he waited longer, he would at least find out what he was waiting for. Maybe if he waited long enough, life would suddenly snap into place, and make sense again.
He glared out into the distance, daring whatever was coming to stay away. He would find it one day. Or it would find him. Just as long as it happened.
He was grinding his teeth together, he realized suddenly. His jaw was tense and stiff from the clenching of his muscles. He looked down and realized that his hands were gripping the railing in almost the same manner, white knuckles indicating a need to crush something.
He forced himself to let go. Whatever he was waiting for, it wasn't coming today. He felt his hands release the railing, and turned to go back inside. He turned on one polished heel of his shiny black shoes and realized something was wrong. He should have stayed where he was, because something was definetly not right. He blinked, trying to figure out why exactly he was suddenly unable to control his body, why his feet weren't moving, why his head spun and his heart raced, and his eyes fixed on one spot in the distance.
Wait. He froze, all his complaints rushing away, as he saw what he was staring at. There was a speck flying toward him. A single, tiny nearly invisible fleck.
"This is impossible." They were the first words he'd uttered all day.
The tiny blur got larger and larger, until suddenly a man in a polished looking business suit stood before him, stepping out of the sky as if it were the simplest thing in the world to fly around in suits, as if none of this was abnormal in the least. The man pulled off his glasses and smiled, and suddenly there was only this one man in the entire world, and the thing that he'd been waiting for had come.
"Clark Kent?" he asked, only daring to hope that the young man would hold all the answers.
"Lex," Clark acknowledged. "I heard you calling, and I knew that today was finally the day to come to you."
"Then this is what I've been waiting for?"
"Of course," Clark smiled again, that brilliant smile that lit up his green eyes and made him look fifteen again. "Come with me," he coaxed. "I'll show you everything..."
Lex reached out to touch Clark, but the image faded away.
With a gasp and a shout, Lex sat up in his enourmous four poster bed. He knew before his eyes opened what he would see.
Slowly, he reached over and turned on the bedside light, before opening his eyes. He looked to his left, and there was only the emptyness of the bed, and the harsh glare of light off the glass in the window panes.
Lex crawled out of bed and stalked over to the windows. One day, his savior would come for him. He would keep waiting.