Title: Remembering Home
Author: bonnysprite (kik)
Email: bonnysprite@yahoo.co.uk
Rating: unsure, PG-13
Challenge: Leaving to recover
Notes: Spoilers from S4 & S5. Thank you to danceswithgary for a wonderful beta. Any remaining mistakes are all my own. Also, gratitude and credit go to TWIZ TV, for it was their episode guides that aided in finishing this fic.
Summary: Sometimes, you’ve got to forget to remember. “How many times does someone have to forget before they can remember where they belong?” she “However many times it takes.”

*

It was quiet. Empty. Weighty with its grand dark voids, reminiscent of the dead of space and a long journey of old. He felt listless. There was nothing to ground him, no one to hold onto, to anchor him to keep him from drifting. Someone was supposed to be there. Or was there? But they’re gone, he couldn’t remember why. Was it his fault?

He felt old and young.

Neither here nor there.

Was this death?

His eyes itched. Slowly, cautiously, green eyes opened and met blinding light. This was familiar too.

An ache began deep in his chest, from a known spot; he remembered giving it its name – heart! His heart was hurting. This meant something; red hair, soft smells, sturdy hands and weather worn face topped with golden hair.

There was an answering tug in the back of his mind, with it came flashes of crystalline structures, a commanding voice, gentle touches and immense sorrow. It was significant too.

In between the two stood a barren waste land of something more. Both heart and mind were present, but not of their own accord, it was an inescapable attachment. Like breathing. Like the black of space. It just was. But what was ‘it’?

Soft lips, scarred. Broken, wet and hurting … he remembered smell and touch, but the image, memory was just … just beyond his reach.

He was torn, could not decide the path to follow, the choice taken from him when the ‘other’ called for him.

Segeth was dying. His mind raged and his heart cried. In this, they were one. Kal-El would allow Clark Kent to leave to save the ‘other’.

Clark blinked awake on the cave floors. He was naked and shivering. The chill unfamiliar, he huddled in on himself; would have stayed that way indefinitely if not for the prone figure slouched against the far wall, “Dad?”

Running over, he knelt beside Jonathan Kent to check his pulse. “Steady.” Sighing in relief, he cautiously lifted him up and sped to the farm as best he could.

The house was empty and dark. As he stepped through the front door, his vision blurred then focused but not on the room in which he stood but a moments ago. Cold and vacant, shadows reigned, chasing away the light of the few lit lamps. The path was not entirely clear, but faded at the edges, as though seeing through a distorted looking glass, but it still managed to feel familiar. His naked feet made no noise on the marble floors as they moved in a predetermined direction leading him to a brighter light that filtered out from a half-opened door. Pausing in what he now knew to be a hallway, he waited. The sense of urgency came without warning, heart racing he sped up, only a few short strides remained before reaching the light, he hoped the fog would lift, it was very important that he ….

“Clark?” He turned, “Mom?

Clark blinked, once, twice, let his gaze wander from his mother to the sudden source of light and then to his father. He was at the farm, in his house, standing in front of the sofa naked, his Dad still in his arms. Martha’s hand was still on the light switch.

They stared at each other, both uncertain and slightly frightened. Clark feared he was losing his mind.

He put his father down and tugged on the throw to wrap around his waist, would have super sped upstairs to get changed but his limbs felt not quite right. As though they did not want to be there, weren’t meant to be there.

“Clark, honey, what’s wrong, what’s happened?” Her hands cupped his cheek, bringing his face even with hers. He did not want to look into her eyes, something, something bad would happen if he did.

She would not listen. “Clark, look at me.” It was not a request. Green met blue. His blood was burning; he opened his mouth to scream, instead his breath closed in on him. Gasping, he looked at her with all the horror his body felt. His soul wanted to rip itself free. As he lost the last of his senses and gave into the pain, his body stilled.

Green eyes turned black then cleared to a sharp blue. “Tend to your mate. Clark Kent, is required elsewhere.”

Not even seconds between the sudden changes, he was gone before Martha could respond.

In minutes, Clark was hovering over Alexander Luthor. He could not recall the reasoning for his presence there, but he was grateful.

Lex was not breathing. His heart, though, continued to beat, erratically and with great difficulty, but it clung to life.

Willing his limbs to move Lex’s head, the better to perform CPR, he was not a little bit surprised when they obeyed. He’d felt like very little had been in his control in the last few hours.

One, two and three: breathe. One, two and three: breathe. One, two and three: breathe.

Clark continued and when he felt his breath failing him, Kal-El continued. “Segeth must live.”

The words uttered in a deeper, older voice preceded the tug and suddenly he was looking on from outside his corporeal form as one large tanned hand settled over Lex’s torso and the other on his forehead.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Clark could hear Lex’s wrist watch ticking away the seconds.

Nothing happened. He’d accepted his current situation with little fight but no more. He wasn’t going to watch as his body did nothing while Lex’s life hung in the balance.

Just as Clark reached out for his body, the hands, his hands, spanning Lex, began to glow. It spread. Firefly spots of light stretched from his heart down his outstretched limbs and pooled underneath his hands. The two orbs of light began to pulse, much like the steady rhythm of a heart beat. With each pulse, they grew, and then merged. Expanded, increasing in size steadily until it burst. Would have blinded anyone else, had they been present. Clark just looked on as the explosion of light filtered into Lex; the strongest concentrations being where his hands remained.

Lex stuttered out a breath. The familiar grogginess from most of his previous Smallville encounters absent, he was quick to settle on the body looming over him, curious at the strange blue staring back at him instead of the familiar green.

Kal-El spared a half smile before his eyes rolled and he collapsed. Clark was pulled back into his body, joining Kal-El in unconsciousness.

Lex reacted before his mind registered his actions, and had an arm full of farmboy for his efforts, naked farmboy.

*

Hours later, forest green eyes opened to unfamiliar surroundings. Something creaked in the back of his mind. Ignoring the pull, he tilted to the side and met with a pair of ice blue eyes. They were stunning. Filled with curiosity and wariness, they still managed to express concern.

“Clark” Lex didn’t need to say anything else. Just his name and it usually managed to convey all the questions he seemed to hold close. Questions he knew Clark could not answer honestly. It was a knee-jerk masochistic response, continuing to ask when Lex knew no satisfactory answers would be forthcoming; a habit he appeared unable to rid himself of with Clark and to a lesser extent, these days, with Lionel. Clark could understand the need to know, after all forewarned is forearmed, he was just not as compelled.

Luckily, before he could flounder for an answer that would put his foot in it, Enrique interrupted.

“Master Luthor, Mrs. Kent on line one for you and your father on line two.”

He’d not heard the door open, or the butler enter, but apparently neither had Lex, as they had both startled. But Lex’s gaze had not faltered, and at hearing his mother’s name, the gaze only sharpened. Apparently coming to a decision, he said, “Tell my father to hold, I’ll be down in a minute,” and almost daring him to say anything, continued, “And tell Mrs. Kent that her son is otherwise occupied.”

“Lex!” This was not what he was expecting.

The bald billionaire leaned over him, the smirk that had formed at Clark’s outburst but a distant memory. There was nothing of the man he once called friend staring down at him.

“You will wait here.” It was not a request.

Then he was gone.

Clark had no recall of how he came to be at the mansion, in what he only now realized to be Lex’s bed, but he was certain whatever the reason, he did not want to stick around for the Luthor version of the Spanish Inquisition. He needed to get home to figure out the chain of events that brought him there, naked, and without any memory of it.

He didn’t even pause to consider why Lex was confident enough to believe he would comply with the order, too busy searching for his clothes.

A quick x-ray scan revealed nothing of use to him. It wasn’t until he slipped out of bed, sheets held close to his body, not thinking about how many others may have been witnesses to his nakedness, that he spotted a familiar afghan.

Touching it, he felt a wave of … a memory? Pain, light, emptiness, a door behind which lay a fallen figure, shattered glass, the smell of alcohol and despair … a dark void slammed shut, putting a halt to any further progress, and brought Clark back to the present. He didn’t understand what it all meant but he would, once he got home. He just needed to get moving. Lex would be back too soon if he dawdled any longer.

Having found nothing else of his, Clark dropped Lex’s flat sheet, and quickly wrapped the afghan around his form, much like a toga, before heading for the door.

And discovered why Lex had issued his demand without any concern about it being followed. The door was locked. Clark’s usual means of opening it, a quick twist of his wrist or jamming his finger through the lock resulted in a chipped nail, deep enough to bleed.

His invulnerability and strength had left him. How had Lex known?

Up until that point, Clark had maintained a degree of calm. Lex had found him in enough Smallville-strange situations for Clark not to panic waking up in his room, naked, but now …

He made it back to the bed just before his legs gave out. Taking deep breaths, he tried to calm down.

Think, Clark, think. There has to be a way out.

Then he remembered, during his quick perusal of the room he’d seen the frame of a door behind Lex’s closet. Switching back to x-ray vision, letting out a sigh of relief when it worked, he followed the path behind the door. It led to a short passageway that dipped to meet narrowly winding stairs, several flights of stairs later, another door, the only door Clark had seen up until that point, which opened to reveal a pantry. Pushing his sight further, he discovered it was the cellar, not the pantry. The cellars were in the Luthor equivalent of the basement, the halls were long and circled the entire foundation, and from what he remembered, held several exits to different points of the Luthor property, aside from the one that lead to the kitchen. They would be his way out.

Scrambling off the bed, he followed the path his vision had shown, grateful that the doors could be opened with regular human strength. But the farther he went down, the more trouble his vision began to give. Flickering in and out, by the time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs and reached for the cellar door, his x-ray vision was all but gone. This whole affair was beginning to grate on his nerves. If he was going to be powerless, let it all be gone, this slow chipping away … he would curse Jor-El’s name if he wasn’t sure that Lex wouldn’t be beyond bugging even these hidden chambers.

Using his hands to guide him the reset of the way, he managed to eventually fumble into the underground halls which, gratefully, were lit.

Having an idea of the door he needed to find he made a mad dash towards it, only to discover that his speed had abandoned him as well. Pulling at his hair he silently screamed and was about to slam his foot into the wall in frustration when he remembered his vulnerable state.

Stomping his way down the hall to vent his anger, completely ignoring the damage it was doing to his bare feet, he eventually came upon the door he needed, one that opened to the back end of the Luthor property. Opening it, he cautiously took a peek outside and seeing no evidence of an ambush, stepped out and made a dash for the fields.

Two hours later, he was on Kent property.

Stumbling at the end of their fields, in sight of the barn and house, the remainder of Clark’s energy drained and his legs gave out. Falling, his head hit none too gently on the solid earth, and knocked the exhausted alien into unconsciousness. Clark’s last thought had been that he’d never been more grateful that Lionel Luthor was such a wind bag; he might not have made it so far otherwise.

*

“How is he doing?”

“He’s sleeping. His wounds aren’t healing and these two bumps on his head …”

“Two?”

“One to the side, which I assume he got from his fall outside and the other … who knows. And his feet, Jonathan, they’re raw from his trek. He’s not going to be able to walk on those for weeks without being in complete agony.”

“He’ll be alright, Martha. He’ll wake up, we’ll find out what happened to get him to this point, and then we’ll figure out a way to get him back to normal. After that, his injuries will be of no concern.”

“I hope so, Jonathan, I really hope so. I can’t bear to see him like this. It’s been two days.”

“Shhh, he’s made of stronger stuff than what makes him physically different. We’ll get through this like we get through everything: together. Now come on, you need some sleep.”

“I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“I’ll sit with him. You’ve been with him the last two days straight. Quite frankly, honey, you need to get showered and to bed. You’re looking more like the walking dead than he did.”

“Okay, okay. I’m going, but you call me the moment he wakes up, you hear me?!”

“I promise. Now shoo.”

He’d waited until the woman’s footsteps had faded before opening his eyes, hoping to catch the man unawares, to make his escape. Instead, all motions to flee came to a halt at the grim eyes staring down at him.

“Want to tell me what you were planning there?” The voice was gruff, and upon closer inspection, he could see the man was in his forties, but built strong and sturdy, in his weakened condition he wasn’t sure he’d be able to take him on. But he’d try, just not then.

Lying back down, his feet brushed the footboard, and he yelped in pain. Arms came to hold him down. “Settle down. Don’t move, you’ll only aggravate your injuries.”

He followed the wise instructions, and found after the pain had eased, that if he held completely still, he was doing pretty okay.

As okay as someone who had no idea where he was, why he was there, who his hosts/prisoners (the jury was still out on that) were, or for the fact of the matter, who he was, yeah, he was doing okay.

“That’s better. Now do you want to tell me what that was about?”

There was something familiar about this man. His voice was entirely too comforting, in spite of its gruffness. Gentle hands lifted him up, and brought a glass to his lips. It wasn’t until he began sipping that he realized how thirsty he was.

“Whoa, that’s enough. You’ll make yourself sick if you drink too much.” Well he supposed he could conclude that these people meant no ill towards him. After taking a tally of his injuries, he’d surmised that the woman was talking about him, with genuine concern. Surely, they couldn’t have been the cause of it then. They also spoke of him with a great deal of familiarity. Maybe these people knew him and he knew them?

“I apologize, I meant no harm. Not really, I wasn’t sure who you were.” His voice sounded wrong even to his ears, and he didn’t even remember how his voice was supposed to sound.

“Not sure who I was?” The man’s voice held the worry that had been missing up until then. Gone was the surety with which he had reassured the woman. “Clark, are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”

Clark. He rolled the name around his head. “Clark” It slipped past his lips. Hmm, not entirely strange, he could live with it. He didn’t question that it was his name. Now that he was fully awake, and had given his mind time to process the current situation, he was able to recognize the care with which he’d been treated. His wounds had all been tended to, freshly bandaged, and for someone who’d been in bed for two days, he felt fairly clean. There was no reason to second guess the name with which his caregivers addressed him. If they called him Clark, then Clark he must be.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember who I am.” He hoped to reassure the man but it only brought further worry to the face that looked upon him with so much concern.

“You don’t remember who you are, or who I am, and I suppose who …”

“I don’t remember much of anything, really. I can—“He quickly ran through random information in his head. Facts about the Earth, the theory of relativity, the law of gravity, theory of evolution, string theory, derivatives, Kant, Nietzsche, Marx, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Austin, “I remember things about the world. Science, literature, music … all the knowledge I’ve ever absorbed, I suppose. But I’m sorry to say, I have no memory of people from my life. Or, of the life I’ve lived up until now.”

The man looked about ready to collapse into the chair, he supposed, left vacant by the woman he’d heard upon waking.

“Oh, my poor, baby.” Both their heads swiveled to the door, his more slowly, having learned his lesson.

A beautiful woman stood looking at him with teary eyes, a hand covering her mouth as though to hold back a sob.

He wanted to comfort her, to ease her pain. It was a need in him. As she neared him on unsteady legs, her red hair fell under a stream of light filtering through the slightly parted curtains. It glowed. A memory broke loose.

“Clark, sweetie, please wait until the blades have stopped before licking the batter.” Red hair, he remembered soft red hair, smelling of strawberries.

“Mom?”

“Oh, my baby,” the woman fell to the side of the bed. Kneeling, leaning over him, wanting to hug him tight, but fearing injuring him further, her hands settled on his cheeks.

“Mom. You’re my mother and that would make you,” he turned towards the blonde man who stood, gripping the chair tightly, tears sliding down his cheeks. “Dad.”

“Yeah, son, I’m your Dad.”

“Oh.” Why didn’t he remember them, not really? What had happened to take him away from what looked to be the perfect family life?

“Why don’t I remember?” He hadn’t meant to ask, not wanting to hurt them more than he already had.

“Oh, sweetie, we wish we knew. Your Dad found you near the barn, near the fences leading to the cow pastures. You were wrapped in the afghan you’d covered yourself with the night before, and nothing else. Covered in scratches, your feet cut up and with the huge bumps on your head, we weren’t sure what to do, with the risk of a concussion looming.”

“Why didn’t you just take me to the hospital?”

They exchanged glances. Clark wasn’t sure he’d be getting an honest answer and was pleasantly surprised when he was proved wrong.

“It’s because of who you are. You see Clark, you were a gift, a beautiful, much loved wish granted to us by the heavens. Delivered to us under the cover of a meteor shower …”

*

Clark Kent alien overlord to be, or Kansas farmboy, he didn’t much care. As long as he got out of this alive.

Off all the days to reintroduce him to Smallville, it had to be the day the Talon, apparently the teen hot-spot, was being held up.

Martha Kent, Mom, held on to him tightly, as though to keep him from doing anything rash. What was she expecting? For him to leap in front of the bullets, did she think him mad?

They were all lucky the gunman forgot to aim. Either that or he wasn’t actually intending to hit anyone. Wrong again, he’d just been waiting for his target.

“Why, why did you have to go and do this Lana? Betray Whitney like this. Lex Luthor? You’re taking up with Lex Luthor? After all the Luthor’s have done to this town, to people like us?!”

Oh boy, this wasn’t looking good at all. Where were the police? This town did have a police station, right? He probably should have asked before he’d left the farm.

It seemed the petite, dark-haired girl had no sense. Her back talk was only angering the bulky man further, his gun was now right up in her face. Her eyes flicked to him and she glared. Glared? Why the heck would she be glaring at him?

“Do I know her?” He whispered to his mom, as quietly as he could, to avoid drawing the attention of the mad man, who he now knew to be Jiff. Who names their child after a peanut butter brand?

“Her name is Lana Lang. She used to live next door to us and you kind of dated her.”

Oh. Huh. He couldn’t see it. She seemed too much the manipulative damsel-in-distress type. He couldn’t imagine her holding his interest for any length of time. He must have been desperate.

“Could you tell me why she’s glaring at me?”

Sighing, “She’s probably expecting you to do something.” Ah, yes, they’d mentioned his former tendency to act the part of a hero. Trouble is, bullets don’t bounce off him now, but the gunman was looking ready to empty some loads.

Taking a deep breath for fortification, he pulled himself free of his mother’s death grip. “Clark! Clark, get down here!” She hissed quietly.

Looking down at her, he offered a bold smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this covered.”

Walking with what surmounted to a case of stupid bravery, he approached their captor. “Jiff, right?”

Brilliant opening there, Kent. It’s a wonder you haven’t been tapped for hostage negotiating.

The bulk swung around, gun in hand, pointing at his chest now. Not exactly what Clark was working towards, but he supposed he’d achieved his objective of freeing the girl Lang from Jiff’s clutches.

“Kent. Whitney told you to take care of her, is this taking care of her?” Okay, not only had he managed to garner Jiff’s attention, but his anger as well. So, not good.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m sure we can talk about this like civilized people. Put the gun down and I’ll treat you to a cup of coffee while you tell me what’s wrong.” There, he thought that was a reasonable request. Guess not.

Ow, that hurt! Gun pressed right up against his trachea, Clark was certain Jiff was going to manage to puncture a hole in his neck without firing a bullet. Luckily, he was spared the agony of such an act.

Lana Lang to the rescue, she’d smashed a coffee cup over the man’s head. Clark would have gone for something bigger, but it at least got Jiff to drop the gun.

Poor Lana though, she received a fist across the side of her face for her efforts. So not cool, hitting a girl, he tackled the lunatic in retribution.

His feet, even through cushioned work boots, were still sore, the sharp pressure of shattered glass beneath his shoes aggravated his previous injuries and had him twisting his foot in such a way that he managed to sprain his right ankle. Falling, he took Jiff with him.

Jiff got in a few lucky shots and even though he was wider and chunkier than Clark was, he had the advantage of speed, and greater mental wit. Soon enough, Jiff was prone on the floor, the gun he’d used to threaten every one turned on him.

“Mom, I’m all right. I just need to get my feet up on something.” He wasn’t exactly all right, but he’d keep telling her that to stop her from fussing, and worrying.

It had been a week since they’d told him of how he’d found them. At first he’d not believed the Kent’s entire retelling of his life. Though, really, there had been no reason to suspect such a far-out story. When you eliminate all other possibilities, the impossible is the only thing probable. Or something like that.

Plus, it was hard to refute a talking wall with lights and pictographs supporting his ancestry.

All of that meant nothing now, because he was no longer invulnerable or super powered all because of a father who was reaching from beyond the grave to teach him a lesson, and as a result, he was in a world of pain. He needed a hot bath for sore muscles and some pain meds. Really, really, strong pain meds.

Mother’s are the best. Mind-reading, nurturing geniuses. A nice hot bath later, he was in bed, ankle wrapped, ribs taped, bruises iced, and a mug of hot cider and some ginger snap cookies at his bed side.

“You are to rest, understood?”

“Promise. No underhanded studying will be done.” He gave her a flash of teeth, which always seemed to get her to smile.

Laughing, she patted his head, gave a quick peck and was out of the room. Leaving him to eat, sip and then doze in medicated bliss.

*

Hours later, having tended to all pertinent matters, and finished checking up on Clark, Martha settled down with a mug of tea herself when she heard a knock.

“Mrs. Kent, good afternoon,” Without waiting for a return greeting, Lex pushed the screen door open and entered, “I was hoping to catch Clark. I heard he was in town today. I was sorry I missed him.”

“I’m afraid you’ve heard wrong Lex, Clark’s been sick in bed all week, as I’ve been telling you every day you’ve visited.” It was a blatant lie. Clark had taken down a gunman, in the Talon, gotten injured for his efforts. The town was fawning over him like they’d never done before. All Lex had to do was ask the countless witnesses, or Lana.

But she had to keep Lex away. Clark, Kal-El, had left to save Lex from whatever calamity the young billionaire had managed to get himself into and this time he hadn’t returned whole. To that effect, she felt her rudeness could be excused.

“I need to start working on dinner. Was there something else I could help you with?” She asked, as she turned her back to him and began pulling out pots and pans.

Frustrated at the blatant lie she’d fed him and taking Mrs. Kent’s not-so-subtle ‘get lost’, Lex turned to leave when he spotted a familiar throw. It was in his hands before he’d even realized he’d taken the few short steps into the family room to retrieve it.

“Lex?” Martha, although never as distrusting of the young man as Jonathan was, had always felt a bit uncomfortable in his presence. She wasn’t entirely unaware of how he looked at Clark, and the obsessive attention with which he took in every nuance of her son had always been disconcerting.

Grinning a tad menacingly, Lex fed her alarm. “I don’t know if Clark told you that I was a sickly child before the meteor shower; weak and easily affected by the conditions of my environment. Allergies, scents in particular were the worst because they would often trigger my asthma. My mother countered this by having a line of specialized house hold and personal products made, just for me. My shampoos, to my soaps, house hold cleaners and detergent.”

He brought the afghan, still in his hands, to his face. It smelled of all things familiar. Clark, who’d used it last and the softener used on his sheets. The one Enrique had used to wash the throw before folding and leaving it at the end of his bed, while Clark had slept.

Staring her down, “I still use most of them. The detergent in particular is my favorite. Not only does it double as a fabric softener but it has the most unique of smells, fresh and clean, almost of the outdoors and something decadent. I’ve never quite been able to categorize it until I met Clark. It’s unique. There’s nothing else like it.” While she watched, he brought it back to his nose for another deep inhalation. “Clark wore this the day he came to me.”

“I’ve told you Cl-“

“You’ve told me lies and for a moment I almost believed them. Foolish of me, but it seems to go along with the repetitive attempts on my life.”

Unwilling to let go of the only evidence he had of Clark’s most recent save, he went on the offensive, finally. “Your son saved my life. I remember falling, gasping for breath and in terrible pain, then nothing. I’m certain I was close to death. I don’t know what Clark did and neither do my doctors. The poison they found in the drink I’d been sipping before my collapse is supposed to be fast acting and fatal. I shouldn’t be alive. It’s not the first time that’s been the case when Clark’s been involved.”

“Dad confessed the next day to the attempt on my life, along with the murders of my grandparents. Of course, today he woke up recanting that statement, having no recall of how he’d even arrived at his current accommodations. The Metropolis holding cells aren’t exactly up to Luthor standards.”

Martha, heart pounding attempted to sell the fabrication she and Jonathan had built.

“Lex, Clark couldn’t have saved you. Even if he had been well enough to make the trip up to the castle how could he have possibly done what you’re implying?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Kent. You tell me. How does Clark do any of things Clark does? By the way, how’s the bump on his head looking?”

Her heart stuttered. He wasn’t letting go, and Martha, never much better at lying then her son, did the only thing she could. “I really think that you need to leave now, Lex.”

Clearly having worn out his welcome, Lex gave her a sharp nod before exiting the room and heading out the front door.

The floorboards above creaked. He paused with his hand on the screen door, “My father’s up for murder charges. Now that he’s pleading not-guilty it’ll go to full trial, Ms. Sullivan and Clark are to be subpoenaed.” Tilting his head to the side, he smiled sharply and said, “One way or another I will see Clark. You won’t be able to hide him from me forever.”

Then he was gone. It wasn’t until she could no longer hear the car’s purr did feet clumsily clamber down the stairs.

“Mom? I thought I heard someone else, everything all right?”

Looking up, she wanted to weep at the sight of her boy. Bruised and battered, limping a bit, bed is exactly where he should be. The lie they’d used so often in the past to keep people away, while they regrouped, had become the truth. Clark was unwell.

“It’s all right, sweetie. Go back upstairs and rest, you need to keep weight off that leg and I’m sure your ribs will appreciate it too.”

A soft smile and a head bob were her only answers before he turned around and using the railing, limped his way back up the stairs and to bed.

“Martha, was that Luthor’s car I saw speeding out of here? “

She’d heard Jonathan stomping his feet outside before entering, but she’d not turned to greet him. Instead she stood staring at the stairs when she whispered, “We’ve got to send him away.”

It wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. “Martha?” Moving around her, he rested one hand on her shoulder while using the other to tilt her chin up. “Martha, what’s wrong?”

Glaring at him, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong??!!”

Pushing away, “Our super-powered, invulnerable son is no longer invulnerable, which we’ve dealt with a time or two before, but this, Jonathan,” near tears, “he doesn’t remember us. He doesn’t remember who he is. How can we protect him, how can we keep him safe, how can he keep himself safe if he doesn’t know what and who to protect himself from?”

“Martha, he’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. It’s just a matter of time.” He tried to reassure her.

“Jonathan! Lex Luthor has been on our door step three times a day, every day, for the last nine days. He’s left on his own, or when I’ve asked, but there will come a time when he won’t, when he’ll push past us to get to Clark. What do we do then?”

For the first time, Martha was genuinely frightened of Lex. He seemed unhinged, no longer cautious or hiding his interest in Clark. She was terrified for her son, who no longer knew enemy from friend.

Was Lex their enemy now?

“Like hell he’s getting to Clark. He can try but he’s not getting a foot past the front door from now on.”

Foolish man, has he learned nothing of the Luthors after all this time? “He’s going to subpoena Clark. Lionel is going to trial; Clark and Chloe are to be Lex’s star witnesses.”

Jonathan pulled her into a hug. She shuddered into his shoulder, “He’s going to see Clark in spite of all our efforts.”

“He won’t, not if we don’t allow for it.” He was so adamant, so sure. But she knew the futility of going against people like Lex more than Jonathan ever could. She was a city girl, after all.

“It’ll be a court order, Jonathan, he’ll be legally required to appear.”

The chest below her cheeks took a deep breath. “Is this why you want to send him away?”

“Jon, our son can get hurt now, in every way imaginable. He’s vulnerable physically, mentally, and emotionally. He’s so quick to trust. He says ‘Mom’ the way he did that very first time.” She loved and hated that in equal measures. Loved how he brought back memories of a time when all she had to do was lift him onto her lap, wipe away his tears, and offer him his favorite cookies to rid him of all his problems. Hated that it was a constant reminder of how that was no longer the case.

“You and I both know the only reason we ever stayed in Smallville, despite all the dangers it brought, meteor mutants and the meteor rocks alike, was for the farm.” She pulled back a bit to look at Jonathan while she setup her case.

“He doesn’t know how to do his chores anymore. He doesn’t remember how to work the machines or the routines involved. But I caught him doing graduate-level calculus and bio-chemistry in his room with ease. He’s our son, but he’s not, and we can’t protect him if he stays here.”

“Whether he’s strong or not, he still intervenes when someone’s in danger. You weren’t there, Jonathan, you didn’t watch as he tackled the gunman, and feel your heart stop because you knew that if the gun went off, your son could die. We were lucky that all he managed was a few bruises, cracked ribs and a sprained ankle. It could have been so much worse. Smallville will always have someone in need of rescuing; I won’t have Clark putting himself in danger like that again. It’s bad enough with Lex hounding us everywhere we turn, but …” choking back a sob.

“I want my son to be safe, and that’s not possible as long as he’s in this state. He needs time to recuperate in peace. He can’t have that here. I’m sending him to Josephine.” She waited for his answer.

“Is she back in Metropolis?” Obviously, Jonathan wasn’t willing to think too far out of the box, she was sorry to forcibly push him out.

“No, she’s not in Metropolis. You know that she isn’t. I’m sending Clark to England. She’ll be traveling this summer, Clark can join her. The idea is to give him enough time and space to recuperate that by the time Lex tracks him down, or knows to track him down, he’ll be recovered.”

“Martha, if his powers come back while he’s there …”

“We’ve spoken to him about them, and his origins. He knows to be cautious and careful. It was why we rehashed everything, instead of giving him the time to recover it all on his own. We can’t trust him with all of that, and then believe him incapable of handling his powers when they return. The information is just as dangerous, more so now in the absence of physical evidence of his alien nature.”

“Then why not let him stay here?”

“You know trouble has a way of finding him in Smallville.”

“Martha have you thought this through? Really thought this through? Can you send our son away for weeks, maybe months, and be okay with it?”

“Of course I’m not okay with this, but we have no other viable choice.” Stepping out of his arms and heading for the stairs. “A private jet will be arriving in Gotham to pick him up. I need you to drive him down to meet it. Lex might come by again. He’s used to not seeing you in the house or the barn, knowing you’re often out in the fields. So if he doesn’t see you he won’t suspect anything, not the case with me.”

“You’ve already planned this, without discussing it with me?”

She ignored the hurt in his voice, “I had to. If I’d left it up to discussion, you would have talked me out of it. This way, the choice has already been made. The jet should be arriving in four hours. Enough time to get you both to Gotham, if you head out now.”

“When did you start planning this?” He followed closely behind her as she made her way to their room. She pulled out the suitcases she’d packed for Clark while he’d been bathing.

“I’ve been thinking about it off and on for a long time now, with every danger he’s gone up against. His most recent tumble with Smallville’s madness clinched it. I was on the phone speaking to Jo while you were wrapping up Clark’s ribs.”

“What about the subpoena?”

“I’ll have Dad’s lawyers prepare something declaring Clark unfit. We’ll provide medical evidence that Clark is in no state to testify, his amnesia being one of the things mentioned. Lex won’t need to see it, he’ll just know of it …”

Conceding defeat, Jonathan pulled her into a hug. He’d always considered that they were strong as long as they stood together, but here they were preparing to send their son away.

“We’re sending him away so that we can make him strong again. This is for the best, Jon, trust me, please.”

“Always, woman” Squeezing a bit tighter, he let go, “I better get these in the truck. Why don’t you go and wake him up?”

“No need.” Clark stood at the door, fully dressed, backpack hanging from one hand.

“Clark, sweetheart, I, we…” Martha didn’t know what to say, how to explain why she was sending him away when everything was already strange and new to him.

“It’s okay I heard what you told Dad. I understand.” Oh, my precious, precious boy. She’d forgotten his greatest strengths were his heart, his spirit, and those things were still whole, even if Lex Luthor had taken everything else.

“I’m going to miss you.” Clark meant it, memories, or lack of them aside, his heart loved this woman with all the abandon of a child’s love, that he felt and remembered still.

Thin, delicate arms wrapped around him tightly, her size concealing the strength the small woman was capable of summoning. “It is going to be all right, Mom. You’ll see. Plus, I’m sure you and Dad could use some alone time together.”

“Never. We could never use some time away from you” Martha whispered shakily. Pulling away before she completely broke down, she gently nudged him down the stairs and out the front door. She was afraid the longer their goodbye stretched, the less likely she would be to let him go.

“Remember your manners. Don’t behave as if you were raised in a barn. If your powers return before you do, be careful and cautious in your use of them. Don’t allow yourself to become dependent on them, not knowing if they’re back to stay. Your Aunt Jo has been briefed on everything, so she’ll probably be more prepared than you. Nothing really ever fazes her. She’s my older sister, shorter than me, but with the same red hair and blue eyes. You’ll recognize her on the spot. Take care of each other, please.”

“I will, Mom. I promise.”

They were at the truck’s door. He’d just seated himself when she pulled him in for another quick hug and a soft kiss on the cheek. “I love you, always remember that.”

“I could never forget.” But he had.

Smiling sadly in reply, she closed the door shut, and waved her heart goodbye.

*

“Mr. Kent, we’ll be landing in ten minutes. If you could please put your seatbelt on, it would be very much appreciated.”

Clark’s attention was unwillingly diverted from the scenery below. When they’d taken off his re-remembered fear of heights had kicked in. Eyes shut he’d not opened them until they were up in the air and had leveled off. Much of the early part of his journey had been spent overcoming said fear, the remainder of it in awe of what he’d nearly missed out the window.

The earth was a stunning place. The knowledge of its entire natural and manmade wonders flashed through his mind’s eye, but what lay beneath him … he could have missed, because of an unwarranted fear. It helped set a precedence for how he planned to handle the days and months to come.

This world, and the one of his dead planet, was both new and foreign to him. He would learn as best he could from those willing to teach him, and allow his heart to guide him along his way. He hadn’t been wrong to trust the Kents, and he’d like to think a similar astuteness would carry him through the journey ahead.

Stepping off the plane and into the waiting car, he remembered his Dad’s parting words. They’d not said anything to each other on the drive to Gotham; as a result, they were even more valued.

“We love you. Remember that. Everything else will come back in time. If you run into any trouble, tell your Aunt Jo, she has a good head on her shoulders, as crazy as she may seem at times. If you need us, call, we may not be there as quick as either of us would like, but we will find our way to you.”

He wasn’t alone, no matter how much he felt like it. He just had to remind himself of that and everything else would be bearable.

*

‘Bearable’ had been left behind from the moment he’d entered the Rolls Royce and was greeted with open arms and warm kisses.

Two weeks later, sitting across from Aunty Jo, he was feeling guilty thinking himself quite content and happy. Mom and Dad were great, but Aunt Jo was a real trip.

She was … words could do her no justice. He watched as she reamed into a business associate on the phone for interrupting their late breakfast. Clark really shouldn’t be taking as much enjoyment as he was, but he wasn’t particularly fond of Sir. Hardwick after his daughter nearly mauled him at the fund raiser he’d attended with his Aunt just the night before.

“Sorry, darling, some people simply lack any sense. So where were we, ah, Paris? What do you think?”

Sighing, he popped the last of his croissant into his mouth, chewing slowly as he considered his options. He didn’t want to waste his time abroad. As much as he was enjoying his time with his aunt, and knowing she was gaining as much joy from their time together as he was, he did intend to return to Smallville at some point. So rather than simply coasting on his aunt’s generosity he wanted to make better use of his time, by either working or studying. Perhaps both, depending on where he decided to attend school.

From what he could recall, he was a year short from graduating. No point letting a little thing as total amnesia get in the way of that.

“I think it’s something I’d like, as long as the offer to earn my keep by working at the gallery still stands as well.”

“But of course, child. I appreciate a good work ethic in anyone. Plus, I couldn’t imagine Jonathan and Martha Kent’s child demanding anything less of me.”

He blushed. Clark was always blushing around his aunt. She was constantly bragging about him to whoever would listen. It was more than a little embarrassing, but she derived such pleasure from it he’d stopped asking her to stop.

Leaning over, he hugged the spitfire of a woman. His mother had described her to a tee. Only five feet, but with a head full of fiery red hair that flamed bright, sparkling eyes that dared you to underestimate her, and a voice that managed to be both soothing and authoritative. She made you feel strong by mere association.

It wasn’t surprising when his voice wobbled a bit as he whispered into her shoulder, “I’m going to miss you.”

“Oh hush. You won’t have the time or chance to. You’ll be so busy most of the time and when you have even a moment to spare, I’ll be there to whisk you off for a weekend elsewhere. Wonderful thing about Europe is that you’ve got an abundance of cultural hotspots just at your doorstep.”

“Well since you’ve already planned on whisking me away, I guess I should go and get packed. Classes start on Monday.”

“Already done, Nigel has your things waiting. The jet will be leaving in an hour.”

Raising an eyebrow at her he asked, “Are you trying to get rid of me, dear Aunt? This wouldn’t have anything to do with the dashing gentleman I saw come calling last Thursday, would it?”

Her cheeks bloomed with spots of red while she batted at him with her dainty hands. “You mischievous boy, “she reprimanded, while mumbling to herself, “mischievous and all too observant.”

“I heard that!” He hollered back from inside his room. Coming out, he held jacket and backpack in hand, the only things Nigel had left behind for him, and had to duck a decorative cushion that was lobbed his way.

Laughing, he strode over to her and bent down to offer a loud kiss on her cheek. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me. I won’t tell Mom about it before you do.”

“Who said there’s anything to tell?”

“You’re blushing, Aunty Jo.”

“Go on, you little rascal.” Her laughter followed him out the door and down the hall. Knowing she wasn’t one for goodbyes he hadn’t expected her to follow him out, especially considering she’d be in Paris in two weeks time.

“Aunt Jo?” The elevator dinged open, he asked the concierge to wait a moment.

She tugged at his shirt, an indication that she wanted him to bend down so their eyes were level. “Have a good time. I know your parents want you to spend this time away to try to remember, but I want you to spend it healing. You may not know what it is you need to heal from, but your soul and heart do. Give them the space and peace to. Don’t push too hard. And consider this a second a chance to enjoy life. You always looked too serious, like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Even if it was at one time, it’s not anymore, at least not now. So, have fun. Please.”

It was the most serious she’d been with him his entire time with her. She’d told him shortly after meeting that the world was miserable and serious enough without any help from her. If she was going to do any aiding, it was for the side of frivolity and joy. People may think her off her rocker, but she’d die, perhaps an insane, but most definitely a happy biddy.

Clark didn’t like the change from her norm. Hugging her close, he reassured her, beaming smile firmly in place. “I don’t plan to have anything but fun. I think the side of frivolity could use another agent.”

Through a snort of laughter, she said, “Consider yourself recruited. Go out and conquer, make this old bat proud.”

Stepping into the elevator, he shot back. “You could never be old, dear aunt, batty, true, but never old.”

Having nothing to toss at him, she offered him a beaming smile of her own, while waving him off. “I’ll see you in two weeks, child. Be good. Remember to practice safe sex. I’ve left a few flavored unmentionables in your backpack, just in case.”

“Aunty Jo!!” The elevator doors closed on her maniacal laughter, leaving him to the longest and most uncomfortable elevator ride of his life.

*

“Excuse moi.”

Clark picked up the books he’d dropped while mumbling, “Another klutz moment. I wonder if I was always this challenged.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case, considering it was me who bumped into you.” Clark flicked his eyes up to see a book in his line of sight, his book.

Grabbing it, he looked past to see a smiling visage and offered an apology. “Regardless, I’m sorry and thank you.”

Having managed to pick up everything he’d dropped, Clark turned to leave.

“Please, could I have your name?”

Pausing, Clark looked at the stranger warily. He’d been in Paris long enough to know that people found him attractive, that meant a great many men hit on him as much as women, and as far as pick up lines went, that one hadn’t been particularly original.

Apparently, the stranger thought so too, “I’m sorry, that probably sounded all wrong. Not that I don’t think your attractive, but I’m just pleased to meet another American. My name’s Jason Teague.”

At least he was honest, Clark could admire that, but, “I’m not into giving out my name to strangers. Sorry.” He said it as politely as he could while walking away.

Sadly, he was stuck with one persistent sucker. “Well, how about a better intro then. I’m a college graduate estranged from my parents, currently searching for inspiration in the city of love.”

Clark looked at the man strangely but chose to ignore him. It wasn’t as if he was doing or saying anything offensive. He’d get tired and move on when Clark failed to respond.

“I used to love football, was pretty good but got injured and well. People treat you differently when you can’t bring home the big wins and titles.”

Getting annoyed by the steady flow of personal information he did not want nor need to know, Clark asked, a bit sharply, “Do you honestly have nothing better to do, that you’re wasting both our times harassing me?”

“Not at the moment, and I was being honest when I said I’m really pleased to meet another English-speaking American, and that I think you’re very attractive.”

Blushing, he really wished he’d outgrow that, Clark offered a reluctant, “Thank you”, and was going to follow it with another ‘get lost, please’ when he heard his name being yelled across the street, for all of Paris to hear.

“Clark!”

Clark turned in time to avoid his classmate, as he came hurtling towards him. Maurice bent over trying to catch his breath. “I’ve been chasing you down since you left the class. You move like the wind.”

Knowing it to be an exaggeration, as his powers had yet to return, he asked, “Is everything all right?”

“Oui, oui. I only wished to return your notes. You will need them to study for our exams this weekend. Marie gave them to me to pass along to you yesterday, but I forgot. I am terribly sorry for my forgetfulness.”

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have looked at them last night anyways. Thank you for getting them to me now.”

“Well, I’ve got to go. Ronald is taking me out for dinner tonight, our six month anniversary. Thank you for helping him to plan it.” Maurice held up a hand to silence Clark’s words, “Ah, ah, ah. No point in denying it, mes amis, I know my beau, he is loving, but not terribly romantic. Thank you from the both of us.” He stretched, coming only to Clark’s shoulders, to place a peck on his cheek. “I will see you tomorrow. We will tell you how wonderfully your plans went.”

“Au revoir!”

And Maurice was off. Clark couldn’t help but feel a bit warmed. From the moment he’d met him, he’d reminded him of someone he knew to be close to him. All he got were flashes of blonde hair. At first, he’d thought it may have been his Dad, despite there being no comparison he could divine, but the more time he spent with Maurice, the more certain he was that it was someone else that was near and dear. Just now he was certain he saw an almost feminine figure juxtaposed over Maurice, blonde wispy hair, flying in all directions, the oddest combination of colors and designs for an outfit, and what he thought to be a flash from a camera lens. The image had left almost immediately, but even without a face to match everything else, it was more then he’d ever remembered before.

“So, Clark, is it? Does Clark have a last name?”

Blinking, “You’re still here. Why?” Lost in his thoughts, he’d forgotten about his unwelcome shadow.

“Well, I’ve got a proposition for you…”

*

Children ran across the street haphazardly, his camera caught every moment of the uninhibited joy, as they shared a laugh. Turning to the mother, who watched over them from a distance, he thanked her for allowing him to take the shots. “Merci.”

“Da rien.” She said with a smile.

Walking away, Clark was distracted by a bulletin with an enlarged copy of the cover of Forbes magazine on which was the picture of a bald man, “Lex Luthor” he read.

Flashes of a scarred lip, felt only once, a body not breathing, not living, filled with water the first time, filled with poison the last.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, startling him out of whatever dazed state he’d been in.

“Oh, sorry to interrupt. You’re American, right?” The voice registered through the fog and cleared away the remnants of pale skin.

“Yes” he answered, interest piqued.

“Great. Can I ask you a big favor?” Hopeful eyes plead with him.

Always a sucker for the needy, Clark relented, reluctantly. “Sure … as long as it doesn’t get me arrested.”

The man shook his head in the negative, as though to add weight to his words. “No, no, nothing at all of an illegal nature. I just need to pick your brain. I’m supposed to meet my, uh, my boyfriend here. Well, he’s not really my boyfriend, even though we spend every waking moment together. See, we met two months ago today on this exact street corner, and I bought him something to mark the occasion. I wanted to get your opinion.”

Even more curious now, Clark asked that he continue. “All right. Go ahead, ask away.”

The man unzipped his jacket to pull out a black biking helmet.

Grinning now, “I think that would probably be the last thing he would be expecting, any particular reason for your choice?”

“Well, I know it doesn’t really scream ‘romance’, but see, the first time we met, he wanted nothing to do with me. But I knew he was the one, so I followed him around, intending to wear him down. Unfortunately, he’s kind of stubborn and just when I thought ‘This is it. He’s going to clobber me’, you see he’s not only brilliantly smart, gorgeous beyond reason, but he’s built strong as well, this Vespa clips us. We’d walked onto the cobbled streets without realizing it. Well, I go tumbling down, taking him with me, and he falls awkwardly on an old football injury. Feeling guilty, he spent the next five hours at the hospital with me. I wasn’t above using the situation to my advantage, and weaseled a date out of the incident.”

Clark, trying to look disapproving reprimanded “That doesn’t sound like a very gentlemanly thing to do.”

“You’d understand if you met him.”

“So did he agree?”

“He did. It was a perfect night, wobbling aside, and things kind of clicked. Once he dropped his defenses a little and I stopped coming on so strong.”

“So things clicked?”

“Yeah, things clicked.”

Smiling openly now, he jested, “A case of love at first crash?”

“Yeah. Well, for me it was anyway, but I’m just an impulsive kind of guy.”

“Well, how does he feel?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about it. I think he, uh, I think he got hurt by somebody. He doesn’t really talk about his past or his home.”

Clark stared into hazel eyes, completely different from his own. “Why the helmet? It’s not exactly normal, commemorating your getting together by something that almost did you both harm.”

“While he was sitting by my bedside at the hospital he’d revealed that he’d been wanting to ride a Vespa from the moment one had zipped past him his first day in Paris, something about a forgotten rush, but after the close call he was rethinking the idea. It was the first bit of personal information he’d shared without any coercing on my part. I don’t regret the minor tumble, it got me a date with him, and so I don’t want it to be the cause of him giving up on something he’d wanted to do for so long.”

Reaching out, Clark rubbed at the helmet, brushing over the hands still holding it close, “So is it just the helmet and a ride, or do you have something else in mind?”

“It’s for a weekend trip to Nice, if he’s … if he’s interested.”

Clark was taken aback, he shouldn’t have been considering but, he leaned forward, let his lips brush slowly and softly against familiar lips, and pulling away with a soft smile on his face said, “I’d love to go to Nice with you, Jason. Just remind me to call Aunt Jo to give her a heads-up. If she finds me missing upon arrival, she’d more than likely have MI5 on the hunt for me.”

Jason, pleased with Clark agreeing, just wished him a “Happy Anniversary” before returning to some more kissing.

*

It was a beautiful church, large but not uncomfortably so. In no rush, having already warned Jason that he had a project to complete for his art history class and to stay away, Clark slowly walked down the hallway at the rear of the chapel.

He’d been dreaming of this church, something from here had called to him. A long forgotten memory, one he was certain was not his own, filled with guilt and remorse for a life sacrificed.

Turning a corner, he’d arrived. He stood before an altar, on the ground of which was the engraving of a female warrior, fashioned out of brass, wearing a regal dress, holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.

A flash of a woman being burned at the stake ripped through his mind. Kneeling, he gasped for breath, almost feeling the burn of the flames on his skin, but not quite. He felt the heat from a distance. It wasn’t he, who was burning.

Shaking his limbs loose, to rid him of whatever ghost had decided to haunt him this day, he turned his attentions to the engraving. Smallville and his life there would have to wait, accustomed now to the random cropping of memories and sometimes the backlash of pain he endured from the remembering, it was second nature to push the incident aside to get on with what he had come to do.

Rolling out his parchment, he pulled out a box of charcoal to start his frottage. The face that was revealed meant nothing to him, but when the shield was completed, he gasped. On the shield was a symbol consisting of two forms, coiled together from the hip down, heads rising to strike? No, they were joined but not in battle.

Mesmerized, Clark reached down to touch. As he neared, the symbol began to glow and when his fingers finally touched, the pure white light stretched to engulf him. His eyes did not waver from the symbol. The light howled around him, circling him, tossing his hair, pulling at his clothes, rising to the ceiling before it became blinding.

In the epicenter, Kal-El watched as pale fingers wrapped around a stone of power.

*

“Go away!”

Clark pulled the pillow over his head, which was in agony. He felt flushed and his lungs weren’t cooperating with the whole breathing thing. The last thing he wanted to deal with was uninvited guests.

The banging continued, persistent and loud. Frustrated, Clark sat up in bed, a little surprised to find himself naked, but, feeling as unhinged as he did, he didn’t spare too much time on that minor fact. Pulling the sheet up to wrap around his waist, he headed towards the door, ignoring the charcoal rubbing of the Countess Theroux that was prominently displayed on his easel, across the room.

Not bothering with the chain, he unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, about to give a brilliant display of rude American behavior.

“Jason?”

Jason confused by his confusion, asked, “I know punctuality isn’t really your thing, but you were supposed to meet me at 10, it’s now 12. You didn’t even call to say you’d be late. I was worried.”

Clark was unsure how to reassure Jason, when Clark wasn’t entirely sure of what had transpired since he’d been at the chapel, and really, he was getting more than sick and tired of his memory being messed with. Chalking it up to interference from Jor-El, he ignored the lapse for now.

“I’m sorry to have worried you. Could you wait downstairs for me, please? I’ll take a quick shower and be down in a few minutes.”

Not waiting for an answer, Clark closed the door and leaned against it for a few minutes. “Roll with the punches, Kent. All you can do is roll with the punches.”

Refusing to allow this to derail his progress, Clark dropped the bed sheet and headed for the shower.

Standing, he allowed the hot water to soothe away the aches his body remembered but his mind had forgotten. Stepping out just as the hot water began to cool, he slicked his hair back while he walked past the mirror, when something caught his eye.

Turning his back, for better viewing, he was floored at the black tattoo spanning it. Two heads were at either end of his shoulders, while their joined lower half met at the bottom of his spine.

A trickle of memory filtered through the shock. The church wasn’t the first time he’d seen this symbol, he’d seen them once before, when his parents had told him of the life he was born to instead of the one he’d fallen into, “The Kawatche caves, Namen and Segeth.”

*

Legs sore from his long run, Clark leaned up against the bridge he’d come upon. Running had become a cathartic habit he’d picked up while in Europe, he was at the most peace when his legs were pumping so hard that they threatened to fall off, and breathing was something he had to work at. He often pushed himself until his body could no longer handle the abuse, the pain unfamiliar, but the motions, somehow, were a bit like coming home.

When his parents had found him, a few days after his abrupt return from Paris, wiped out from a particularly hard run, they’d told him it was something he had done often and freely when he’d had his super-speed. He supposed even a total memory wipe could not strip him of some habits.

Tilting his head back he allowed the gentle evening breeze to cool his heated face. Having regained some of his strength, he used the bridge’s railing to do a few cool down stretches and let his mind wander.

“You’re going back because of this?” He felt Aunty Jo’s hand gently slide down his back, “Does it hurt at all?”

“Yes. No.”

“And you have no recollection of how you got it?”

“No.”

“But you have an idea of where it came from?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you going back, Clark?”

“I already told you, I n-“

“You’ve told me an answer that will appease your parents. But I see you, I see you. Why are you running away from him?”

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Mr. Teague called, frantic with worry.”

“This has nothing to do with him. I’m going back because I need answers.”

In front of him now, on tip-toes, reaching up to cup his cheeks, she stared into his eyes. “This is about him as much as it is about needing answers.”

“This has absolutely nothing to do with him.”

“Then why not have left him a note? It would have spared him a great deal of anguish, unless your intent was to leave him bitter.”

“Aunty Jo, I’m going to be late for my flight.”

“I own the jet. It will wait.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to be honest with yourself.”

“I’m an alien, a freak, who has no recollection of who he is. A normal life, a normal relationship isn’t for me. I guess I forgot that along with my memories. This,” Clark looked over his shoulder and into the floor length mirror to stare at his newly acquired tattoo, “was a reminder of that.”

“You are no more a freak than any teenage boy is. Who you are is Jonathan and Martha Kent’s son, William Clark’s grandson, and my nephew. You’re a strong, morally conscious, empathetic, intelligent young man. These traits are what define you. Not your biology.”

“Those are just kind words. I can’t build a life on them. How would I explain this to Jason? How could I possibly expect him to live a life with the policy ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?”

“You don’t.”

“Aunty Jo?”

“You don’t ask him to accept such a policy. You tell him the truth.”

“But Mom and Dad …”

“Had the best of intentions but they were wrong. To instill the fear of discovery in you to such a degree that you would consider isolating yourself, rather than reaching out to form attachments, was a failing on their part.”

“They did the best they could, considering my freakishness.”

“Being different doesn’t make you a freak, it makes you an individual. I know they did the best they could, but a great many of their decisions on how to raise you were based on their fears and not on good judgment.”

She held up a finger to his lips to silence his defense of his parents, “Don’t interrupt. You are meant to love and be loved. But loving someone involves trusting them, the two go hand in hand, you already know this. It’s why you’re running away from Jason. You can’t be honest with him so you’re unwilling to form any kind of a permanent bond. What I’m telling you is, follow your heart. If you are in love with him, tell him. Don’t run.”

“I don’t know if I am in love with him.”

“Then go. Go back to Smallville, find your answers and use the time to figure our where your heart lies. Just be sure of the consequences of your actions. In the search for certainties, are you willing to risk losing the love and happiness you’ve found here?”

He’d thought he’d been brave coming back to Smallville, in search of the reason for the symbol on his back and what it actually meant. He’d thought it was about heading towards something, mainly answers, but also a bit of freedom from being the lost victim.

But now he wondered if he hadn’t merely been fooling himself. Was he really running towards something or running away from someone?

He knew how Jason felt; the man had gone out of his way to make sure Clark knew, yet, still uncertain of the depth of his own feelings, he’d refrained from similar declarations.

Clark enjoyed his time with Jason, he felt comfortable and cared for and very little effort was needed to make things work. He was certain relationships weren’t meant to be so easy, but theirs was, is, or had been before Clark had mucked it up.

Frustrated, he banged his head against the railing, only to stop when his head protested the abuse. Sighing in defeat, he rested his elbows on the railing, his head in his hands, and leaned over to stare at the river below. It was soothing, the running water almost hypnotizing.

Cold lips against his own, breath of life shared, blue eyes staring at him in wonder while an arm held them close. Pale, pale skin, a canvas waiting for him to mark, claim, it was the beginning of their destiny this time round, friendship of legend.

Screeching tires pulled him from this round of remembering, just in time to avoid the Porsche that came hurtling towards him. Clark watched frozen as the car crashed through the railing and over the bridge, would have stood their indefinitely if not for the strange familiarity of the surprised, slightly concerned, blue eyes that stared at him from behind the wheel. Taking a deep breath, he’d leapt into the river before his mind had a chance to register his actions.

The water was shockingly cold, but did little to slow him down. Kicking his tired legs fiercely, he’d reached the vehicle in seconds and saw that the driver had been knocked unconscious.

Fearing for the man’s life, Clark began tugging at the door with all his might. It didn’t budge, not even a bit. Knowing time was of the essence and running out of air fast, he swam around to the passenger side of the windshield and started kicking where a crack had formed, nothing happened. Struggling with the last of his air, he gave into the desperate rage that was consuming him and did a full body slam into the window, and was surprised when it shattered beneath him.

Not wasting any time pondering how that had happened, Clark swam in, and after a short struggle with the seatbelt was able to maneuver the driver out, being careful to avoid the broken edges of the windshield.

With a few hard kicks he breached the surface of the water and took huge gulps of the much needed air. Gasping, his limbs cramping, Clark managed to make the few strokes needed to drag him and the dead weight in his arms to shore.

Collapsing on the river banks he almost gave into his exhaustion, would have if not for the complete stillness of the man beside him. Pulling himself up and over the bald stranger, he turned him over and without pausing began CPR. The motions came to him with ease, his hands clasped over a strong chest, pushing down over and over, but it wasn’t until he’d bent to seal his lips over the strangers, and felt a scar, did the familiarity of the situation hit him. He knew these lips.

Startling clear blue eyes, staring out of a pale face, “I could have sworn I hit you.”

“If you had, I’d … I’d be dead.”

The intensity of the memory was too much to handle in his battered state, on the edge of losing consciousness his heart full of regret, he offered a silent apology to the still lifeless body beneath him before giving into oblivion.

*

It had been a week since Clark had returned.

Jonathan had stepped out of the house, ready to start on his chores hours before the sun was to rise, and found Clark sitting on the porch, stargazing.

He’d stood there staring, afraid to move, thinking he’d cracked under the pressure from missing and worrying about Clark that he’d imagined him into being.

A notion he was dissuaded of as strong arms wrapped around him in greeting. “It’s good to see you, Dad.”

Reassured by the solidity of the hug, he returned it with equal force, “You too, son, you too.”

As happy as he and Martha were about Clark’s coming home, both were weary at the absence of an explanation for the sudden and unannounced arrival.

They’d decided to let Clark tell them in his own time, and if that wasn’t quick enough for Martha, she’d ring Jo.

Jonathan would have left it at that if not for Clark’s recently remembered love of running. Clark had always enjoyed running, as much a part of him as his dark hair and bright green eyes, it didn’t surprise either of them when he’d returned from England and picked up the habit again.

Unfortunately, history had taught them that Clark’s runs rarely remained just runs, they often morphed into rescues. Something they weren’t willing to risk a now mortal son to.

Clark had in the past, and since his return from Europe, kept his runs to before sunrise or after sunset. When he’d slept in that morning they’d assumed that Clark would leave it for the evening, however, he’d left the house in the middle of the day and not returned, even hours later, apprehensive, Jonathan had gone to search for him.

With good reason it seemed.

He was scrambling out of the truck, down the incline and towards the river, the moment he’d caught sight of the splintered railing on the familiar bridge, instinctively knowing, that Clark was somehow involved.

He was in no way gladdened to be proven right. Heart in his throat, he approached Clark just as Lex, who was kneeling beside him, pulled a bloodied hand away.

Growling, “Get away from him!” he pushed the bald billionaire aside, and tried to take stock of Clark’s injuries. First of which was trying to determine the source of all the blood.

Carefully, Jonathan tugged off the torn and sopping wet long sleeved t-shirt Clark was wearing, nearly covered him back up at the mess his son was.

Eyes watering, hands shaking, he gently brushed his fingers down Clark’s left side. Glass splinters were imbedded in some wounds, the largest piece was near his hip bone, he was just a bloody, bruised mess.

“I think he’s dislocated his shoulder too.” The voice was cold, calculated and did not manage to hide the curiosity that always hid beneath the surface.

Ignoring Lex, he confirmed the dislocation, and added to the rest of Clark’s injuries, it just made getting Clark to the truck with minimal pain a near impossibility. He couldn’t do it on his own. Martha, he needed Martha, but he wasn’t willing to leave Clark behind with Lex to go back to the farm to get her.

“We need to get him medical care, and fast. He could be susceptible to infections along with injury now.”

Lex Fucking Luthor, at the center of all their problems, all of this could be laid at his feet, ‘This is all your fault.”

He didn’t need to know the details of what had happened, he knew this was Luthor’s fault. It was always their fault. He should have stopped Clark from speaking to Lex after their first encounter, he should have taken the truck back himself, gotten a restraining order slapped on the bald billionaire the second he tried to befriend his son.

Jonathan was close to hysteria.

Lucky for him, Lex was able to function past his own. “Be that as it may, Mr. Kent, it doesn’t negate the fact that Clark needs help. Now. We can go back to the farm and I can have a doctor come there, considering your aversion of hospitals.”

“Your money can’t fix this. You can’t fix this. I don’t want you anywhere near my son!”

Jonathan attacked, fists meeting with unrelenting flesh, releasing years of pent up anger and frustration at his inability to protect Clark from Lex.

Tired from the ordeal, Lex had not anticipated the assault, and after Jonathan’s initial blows was able to return in kind. He’d wanted to lay into Jonathan Kent since the moment they’d met and he’d judged him undeserving. True or not, it had angered him that this man stood between his and Clark’s friendship, had the power to tear their friendship apart, and was certain was integral to his and Clark’s eventual falling out.

Lex might have continued until all that was left of Jonathan was a mass of bruised flesh and broken bones, if not for the sudden jerking of Clark’s unconscious body, a few short feet away.

Landing one last hard hit to the stomach, Lex pushed off of Jonathan and onto unsteady legs. Abandoning all previous needs to impress this man, to earn his respect, he sneered, “Your son could be dying and instead of taking the hand that is offering help, you would choose to waste time fighting a battle you will lose.”

Not waiting for the farmer’s repetitive dig about his depravity, Lex limped his way to Clark’s body.

Dropping beside Clark, he did a quick assessment of his own. Hand on Clark’s head he could feel the fever that had settled in. Deciding not to waste anymore time, he placed a knee under Clark, to help lever him off the ground and with Clark’s back resting close to his, he slipped an arm across the broad chest and holding tightly pulled at Clark’s left shoulder. The body jerked only once, right before the near silent pop of his shoulder bone falling back into place.

Heavily breathing, he picked up Clark’s discarded shirt and began ripping at it, using huge pieces to cover the largest wounds, and the arms of the shirt for a temporary tourniquet, awkwardly pulling off his own to aid in the endeavor. Satisfied with his efforts, he pulled-pushed Clark into a sitting position and considered his options on getting him up the incline and into the truck.

Clark looked a bit thinner and felt lighter, but he was still taller than Lex, who wasn’t at his best, so it would be a struggle, regardless. Not impossible, but he was worried about further aggravating Clark’s injuries, not knowing if there were internal ones that accompanied the obviously unpleasant external ones.

“If you grab his left side and I grab his right, I think we’ll be able to manage.”

Jonathan’s quiet and rational voice caught him off guard, he was sure the man could go on ranting for days on end about the Luthor evil, unmindful to the world falling apart around him. Accepting the rare moment of sanity, Lex nodded his head in assent and wrapped his arm around Clark’s waist, following Jonathan’s lead. “One, two, three, heave.”

Steadying Clark, he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for him to have simply attempted a fireman’s carry, or have had Jonathan hold his legs while he’d held Clark’s shoulders, there was too much jostling going on for him to be completely comfortable with their current attempt.

It wasn’t until he went to slide Clark in to the cab of the truck did he realize the reason for Jonathan’s preferred method. The elder Kent’s right hand was swollen to twice its normal size, and something looked broken. He felt no regret for being the cause. Lex had not been the instigator.

Knowing the futility of trying to convince Jonathan Kent that he was in no state to drive, Lex settled beside Clark, pulled him close and held him tight, hoping to limit the affects of unpaved country roads.

The ride had not done them any good, by the time they’d arrived Lex could barely keep himself up let alone Clark, and Jonathan looked to be no better.

“Jonathan! Clark!” Martha’s yell preceded the screen door banging open. Lex watched through half closed eyes as she ran down the stairs and towards Jonathan’s side of the car, followed shortly after by a blonde haired man, who he ignored, his attentions focused on Martha Kent and what she may have to say to him.

He didn’t have to wait long. “What have you done to them?”

It cut. He’d always believed that he’d had at least one Kent parent on his side, if he’d known how mistaken he’d been he might have given Clark a bit more leeway.

“I assure you, Mrs. Kent, this is not my doing.” Well that hadn’t been entirely truthful. Clark had jumped in to save him, instead of being run over this time, and gotten injured for his efforts, but Jonathan’s injuries were a result of his own idiocy and thus Lex was not liable. Apparently she didn’t see it that way.

“Please, leave. You aren’t welcome here anymore.”

Looking past him she continued, “Jason, please help Clark in, I’ll bring Jonathan.”

“No problem, Mrs. Kent.”

It was only then, as a he felt himself being dragged out and unceremoniously dumped on the ground did he take heed of the blonde man he’d earlier ignored. The face was familiar, but he could not place a name, easier to put a hit on someone when you had specifics. His body protested the abuse, and it was Luthor will alone that had him on his feet without showing any signs of his battered condition.

Reigning in his anger, he tried to address Mrs. Kent, when Clark moaned. He wouldn’t admit to anyone the shock of relief that spread through his being at the pain filled moan. He’d been worried when Clark had shown no signs of waking, this was reassuring.

“Clark, Clark, please, wake up.” Jason gently cupped Clark’s cheek and bent close to Clark’s ear.

Lex could not hear what was said, but it was good enough to garner a soft smile from the injured boy who had now opened his eyes. Clouded over with pain, they were still smiling.

“Jason, you idiot, what are you doing here?” Clark’s voice was horse, nothing close to his usual melodic timber, but the warmth he felt towards this Jason was clear. Lex frowned. When was the last time Clark had addressed him with such familiarity and affection?

“You didn’t think it would be that easy to get rid of me, did you?”

Unwilling to watch the intimacy of their exchange Lex took a few steps back, and caught sight of Martha’s eyes. ‘Please, leave’ she mouthed, apparently unwilling to interrupt the touching moment before them to get rid of him.

He was at an impasse.

Lex had waited months to see Clark. He knew the boy had saved his life that night months ago, when he’d lain on the floor in excruciating pain having been poisoned by his own father. Even if he’d managed to survive with the aid of his enhanced healing, the recovery process would have been as close to unpleasant as it could have gotten. Clark hadn’t just saved his life, he’d saved his dignity. He didn’t know then, or now, how Clark had done it, the surveillance cameras had short circuited and been able to reveal nothing, but he was intensely grateful. He was still obsessively curious about the mystery that was Clark Kent, but this time around he’d been willing to wait for the answers instead of doggedly going after them. That’s all he’d wanted to say. But the Kents had made it impossible to reach Clark at every turn. Day after day, for nearly a week he was given the same answer. “Clark’s too sick for visitors, Lex. Please come by another day.” He’d only lost patience, and shown his hand when he’d heard of the hold up at the Talon. The police reports had pictures of the scene and those injured by the gunman’s hand, Lana with her bruised cheek and Clark, whose face and ribs were a collage of dark colors.

His father had always said he was too emotional, had he not so boldly declared his intent to see Clark one way or another, Martha may not have sent him away, probably that very night. Of course he hadn’t known until Lionel’s court date, when Clark had failed to show and the judge had declared the reason to be a legally satisfactory one. He wasn’t told the specifics, and judging by Chloe’s shocked face, she’d been left in the dark as well.

He’d checked the departing flights for every airline from the date of his last visit to the Kent farm up until the court date; nothing under Clark Kent, not from out of Metropolis or Gotham. He’d expanded his search to include as far east as New York and as far west as San Francisco, and slowly made his way down. Still there had been nothing. So he’d gone on to consider aliases, but this meant going to all the major airports, and with his attentions divided between the trial, LexCorp and LuthorCorp, it had been slow going. Unwilling to give up, he’d put his most trusted and discreet investigators on the job of hunting Clark’s departing flight down. It was one of these men who’d informed him of a young man, following Clark’s description, getting onto a Greyhound bus headed to the outskirts of Smallville, seven days ago.

Lex hadn’t wanted to alert the Kent’s of his knowledge of Clark’s return, lest they barricade him from Clark again. So he’d watched and bided his time for the perfect opportunity to approach his absent friend. He’d waited this long, what were a few more days. A few more days had become today. He’d come across Clark entirely by accident, was intending to slow down and pull over to the side when he could have sworn he saw something silver, much like a blade, stretch out from the surrounding cornfields and cut his tires, causing him to swerve, lose control and crash through the bridge railings. This time, he’d managed not to take Clark with him.

When he’d coughed out water and found Clark unconscious by his side, he hadn’t known what to think, the rapidly growing spot of blood had sent him into a near panic. Clark was hurt, Clark wasn’t supposed to get hurt! And Luthor’s aren’t supposed to lose control! Fuck this shit! He’d pulled his hand away from Clark, covered in blood, ready to do whatever was necessary to get Clark to help, when Jonathan Kent had shoved him aside.

He’d taken it all in stride, forgiven when normally he would have continued his assault without relenting, because Clark was there. Clark was within reach, he could touch him, feel him, smell him … Clark was there and he had not realized how much he’d missed the sight of his tall friend until then.

How could he just leave?

But watching Jason Teague, finally remembering the name associated with the face, with Clark, Lex admitted his need for Clark Kent.

It would be difficult to earn his way back into Clark’s life and to have Clark once again become a part of his, keeping him there would be a challenge in and of it self, but both would be made impossible if he failed to appease the Kent patriarchs. Sacrifices needed to be made; he lowered his head in supplication, indicating to Martha his willingness to follow her wishes, this time.

Turning he pulled out his undamaged cell phone, requested to be picked up at the end of the Kent farm, and left Clark for what he intended to be the last time. Though not without taking one last glance, to reassure him that Clark was okay. He only managed to catch a second of Clark’s face before Jason with his arm around Clark’s waist, guided him towards the farm, giving Lex a perfect view of Clark’s unclothed back.

During his earlier concern for Clark’s health, he’d not noticed the large tattoo spanning from his shoulders to underneath the waistline of Clark’s jeans. The setting sun, shone on the tattoo, almost giving it the appearance of dancing light, and making it all the more clearer for Lex to see, far away as he was.

The limo pulled up behind him, “Mr. Luthor, Sir.”

Sparing one last hungry gaze, Lex settled into the limo seat and waited for the driver to retake his.

“Will it be to the castle, Mr. Luthor?”

“No.” Lowering the window Lex looked towards the farm, visualizing Clark inside he whispered. “Destiny.”

“Sir?”

“To the caves. Take me to the Kawatche caves.”

*

Pale arms held him back, keeping him from interfering, whispering in his ear that there was nothing that could be done. Not to risk his own life in a futile attempt at saving hers.

“You have never liked her.”

“I had no reason to.”

“Why did you hate her so?”

“She had what was dear to me.”

“She never had me, you knew this.”

“But the world did not.”

“It would be us they would be burning if they knew what you wish for them to know.”

“You can not be harmed, and I would burn this world to the ground before I would allow anyone to try.”

“Alexander, I-“

“Shh, know this, my love. Neither time nor space will keep me from you. I will be reborn in every life time if only to find you.”

“We can not be.”

“There will be a time when you will love me without fear of repercussions.”

Isobel’s maniacal laughter rose to the skies and washed over the mob that had crucified her sisters and her, and bringing a chill to his heart that Alexander’s declaration had warmed.

“She did not deserve this,” he mumbled as he turned to hide from the burning flesh, unable to bear the pain of someone who had been his to protect.

“She was not yours to protect. Her appointed task was to be your guard. The chosen warrior, gifted with the powers of the elements to protect their chosen child. Instead she coveted the power and you.” The arms that held him loosened so a hand could lift his chin, to place a possessive kiss. “You are mine. This was the result of her greed; you will cease to bear the burden of it.”

“What’s this, another traitor amongst us?”

The sharp angled face came out of the shadows to stand in front of the burning women, with the flames as her backdrop, Gertrude looked more fearsome than usual.

“You should be careful whom you call traitor, milady.”

He was frozen with fear, unable to move away from Alexander or still his love’s words. Words that would only further prosecute them.

The order when it came was silent. He felt arms pull Alexander away, who did not struggle against them, only protested when they went to lay a hand on him.

Gertrude, in front of them now, whispered so only they could hear. “Do desist. No harm will come to your lover, my son seems to have,” she paused to run a hand down his cheek, “an unhealthy attachment to him. He will live for as long as that persists.”

He would not allow it, he could not allow it. Alexander had spoken the truth, he was his and his alone. No one else would touch him. Alexander would not die thinking different.

His heart had set his limbs free, and within moments, using his unique speed had retrieved the ancient book and flipping to the page Isobel marked, he laid his hand upon her splatter of blood. Weakened from the magic that had run through his three guards, he threw his now mortal body into Isobel’s burning pyre and felt his flesh burn.

Alexander’s roar of anguish echoed through the heavens and down to the underworld, he was certain it would follow him into every life time.

Clark sprung up in bed, chest heaving he reached out and found the book by his bedside. The nightmares had not left him in peace since he’d found it on e-bay.

Getting out of bed he gave it one last glance before pulling on some sweats and his sneakers. It was time for a run.

Clark didn’t know what had possessed him to make the purchase, but he had, using the last of his money from his trip. He’d found the symbol on his back in the book, along with a description of its meaning. Problem was it was in an ancient form of Latin. Luckily he was a quick learner, at his current rate he’d be able to decipher the book’s words in a month, two months time at the most.

What had perturbed him was its connection to Lana Lang. He was not blind or stupid. Lana was the very image of the Countess, and when the book had been delivered to the Talon instead of the farm, as he’d clearly indicated, he’d been a bit concerned. Did the book wish to return to its owner?

He’d never been one to put much stock on dreams, but releasing upon the world the vengeance of a psychotic witch was not on his list of things to do.

Shaking his head to rid himself of all his sleeping and waking nightmares, he concentrated on the rhythm of his feet.

The stars were pleasantly bright and he used them to guide his way. Sooner than he would have liked he was able to see the outline of the bridge. Slowing down he jogged in place, stopped all together shortly after and strode over to the railing he’d stood by months ago. This was where it had begun, the catalyst behind him returning to alien-normal.

His shoulder had healed up in two nights, the cracked ribs and wounds mended in another two, the bruising had cleared up completely three nights later, and within a fortnight there had been no sign of Clark having ever been injured.

It had been a challenge keeping his shirt on and his injuries, or lack there of, hidden from a concerned and horny Jason.

Jason Teague his knight in shining armor, or glorified stalker? Be kind, Clark.

Sighing he leaned on the bridge, after looking both ways to insure the roads were free of weaving cars, and let his mind wander, as he’d been doing so often of late.

He was happy to see Jason, but Clark had not had any time to consider their relationship before he’d shown up, on the farm and at school. Coach Teague was quite popular around campus. Not only was their relationship uncomfortable now, but it was unethical too. He had no idea why he’d agreed to Jason’s harebrained idea to have him join the football team, so that they could spend more time together, when he had no interest in the sport let alone playing quarterback.

But Jason had given up his family and the lifestyle being a Teague afforded him to come and be with Clark, so the least he could do was give them a chance. Something the yo-yoing of his powers wasn’t helping him do. The healing had returned permanently, but the strength, speed and x-ray vision were a bit of a hit and miss, making it difficult to keep his secret from Jason.

Despite the headaches they caused, he was grateful for them, he might not have been able to help Chloe otherwise.

Chloe Sullivan, he was finally able to put a face, name, and spirited soul behind the person Maurice had reminded him of. She was everything he’s imagined her to be and more. Along with her job as his best friend, personal sleuth, hacker and partner in crime. She was also his confidant. She knew him, maybe not the details, but she knew of him without him having said a word and had kept his secret safe, had kept him safe. They meshed perfectly; sharing a mutual love of coffee, journalism and intellectual pursuits and a strong aversion to jocks, fools, and Lana Lang. She even reassured him there was no reason to feel guilty about being disgruntled over the position Jason had put him in. Their only sticking point was Lex Luthor.

Lex Luthor, son of Lionel Luthor, town pariah and defiler of the innocent, and one time best friend, turned betrayer. So Chloe and his parents would have him believe. Even now, his heart sped up at the memory of blue eyes and the touch of Lex’s lips. He’d been wrong. It wasn’t the bridge that had been the catalyst but the stunning billionaire. God, he felt so guilty. He had a good man in his life and instead of concentrating on their relationship he’d spent the last few months mooning over a man he’d met only twice, shortly after his return when he’s rescued him and then a week later at Chloe’s gravesite. Logic told him to forget the man and move on but his heart … his heart had no place having an opinion on the virtual stranger.

“Shh, know this, my love. Nor time nor space will keep me from you. I will be reborn in every life time if only to find you.”

“No, no, it couldn’t be.” He whispered as he shook his head. Against his will the kiss from his dream floated across his closed lids, and his tongue came out to lick the memory of scarred lips.

“Oh my god,” eyes shot open as his hand flew to touch his wet lips. Shaking, he straightened and backed away from the bridge, silently vowing never to return this way again. Not alone at the very least, and never to loiter as he’d done both times his world had been turned upside down.

Turning to leave, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Lex Luthor leaned up against a Porsche quite similar to the ones he’d driven over the bridge, both times, according to Chloe’s telling.

“We really need to stop meeting like this.” Lex said in greeting.

Heart fluttering, he returned jokingly, tilting his head in the direction of the parked car, “At least a midnight rescue won’t be in order.”

Chuckling, wool covered legs uncrossed, pushed away from the car and took the few steps needed to close the space between them.

Clark could feel his hands get clammy. He needed to leave. If this man was the one from his dreams, and he could identify him by his lips alone, then the one who’d thrown himself into the pyre rather than risk having another have of his flesh must have been Clark. Something he was unwilling to even remotely consider now, maybe ever.

“You really should stay away from here, Clark. It seems to only bring you disaster.” Lex said as he took his turn leaning up against the railing.

“It brought me you.” The words were out of his mouth before he had the sense to stop them.

Lex’s gaze had been wandering along the river bank, perhaps retracing his most recent brush with death, but his head snapped up immediately at Clark’s unintended words. Steel blue met with wide forest green eyes. They assessed him, peeled away layers of doubt and confusion, past resistance, denial and to the heart of what haunted Clark.

A familiar presence knocked on the alien side of his conscience, it wanted to reach out, touch, grab, push, pull, rub, kiss, lick, squeeze, pump … it wanted to do things that he’d never been tempted to do with Jason. To do to Jason, to have done to him, but it was all he wanted right then. His hands itched with the need, his skin crawled with the burning desire.

He broke the gaze and started to walk away.

“Clark”

Increased his pace to a fast jog at Lex’s persistence.

“Clark!”

Started running when Lex’s yells continued. “Clark at least let me drive you home!”

Ignoring the bald billionaire and fearing he’d attempt to tail him, he detoured into the corn stocks. Soon the only noises were the sound of his feet hitting the ground, in cadence with the pounding of his heart, and the whipping of the corn he was racing through.

*

In the weeks that followed Clark had come to a decision about school and Jason. It was time that he held true to the promise he’d made himself, he wasn’t going to let unwarranted fear limit him anymore.

Smallville High, he’d discovered soon after returning, no longer fit his needs. He wasn’t sure it ever had, but Clark was no longer willing to make an effort to mould himself to other people’s expectations, including those of his parents. Aunt Jo was right, decisions made based on fear were not sound ones, and those were the only ones his parents had made. He’d allowed himself to fall back into Clark Kent’s old routine just to appease them. After the accident they’d been even more cautious, taking their paranoia to a notch the CIA would have been hard pressed to follow. The tattoo on his back hadn’t helped. They lived in constant fear that either Lex Luthor or Jor-El would come to take him away. It was no way to live. It was time for a change. He’d already taken the necessary measures to get him out of Smallville High, which only left Jason to deal with.

While remaining in highschool had been about his fear of worrying and possibly disappointing his parents, he’d been unable to come to a decision about Jason because of his fear of hurting him. Jason, next to his Aunt Jo, was the first person who’d made him feel comfortable about whom he was memory loss and all. Clark may not have made as much progress, developed the fortitude to come back to Smallville and attempt a return to the normal grind of things, if Jason hadn’t built up his ego. He owed him. But the more he delayed the worse off Jason would be. He just wasn’t making it easy for Clark.

His first attempt to tell Jason that they should split ways was derailed when a Smallville cheerleader attacked him, dumping a guy while he was hospitalized was not a classy thing to do. His second attempt had followed much like the first, there had been an explosion at the Luthor plant that had, had near deadly consequences. Jason along with his parents, Lana and a quarter of Smallville’s residents had ended up in the hospital, racing towards cardiac-arrests, and would have died if not for Lex.

Lex Luthor … he was everywhere. He hadn’t approached Clark since their late night meeting on the bridge and Clark’s subsequent fleeing, but that didn’t keep the bald billionaire from popping up everywhere Clark went. The first few times it happened Clark had been unnerved. He wasn’t prepared to be bombarded by the need Lex’s proximity had brought on that night, in the stark light of day, with people around to view his flushed state. But the only time they were inches of each other was when they passed on the streets, or at the Talon, Lex did not linger, did not attempt to start up a conversation. Clark may have worried that he’d permanently offended Lex if not for the genuine smiles he was offered every time their eyes met, which they did often. And though Lex hadn’t spoken to him, Clark’s life was filled with his efforts. If they’re paths happened to cross at the Talon while Lex was still there instead of on his way out, Clark would receive his coffee, just the way he liked it, without having to order and his money would be declined. After the first few times, Clark conceded defeat instead of trying to argue with the barista, soon after that, whether Lex was there or not, his coffee was ready upon his arrival at the Talon. Shortly after that the papers started arriving. First from Paris, then from London, New York, Metropolis and Gotham were soon to follow. Clark had been receiving them every morning for the last two weeks. It had been only by accident that he’d come across the package, and not his parents, the first time it happened, otherwise Lex may have had an arse full of buckshot’s for his trouble. It was sweet, and however unwittingly, dream or no, Clark was quietly and unassumingly being wooed.

But he digressed. As he always did at the mere whisper of Lex. Sighing, he went back to contemplating his situation with Jason.

Jason’s second hospital visit had nixed the idea of Clark breaking things off, and then Guinevere Teague had appeared, putting a halt to any further attempts on his part.

Clark had managed to avoid her up until the night before at the Talon. He knew who she was, her face silhouetted by flames, would haunt Clark for a long time to come. His skin still remembered her cold touch. The chill from her presence had stuck to him, for hours afterwards, even on the edge of sleep, a cautionary voice echoed, repeatedly. “She seeks the three stones of power. Stop her, stop her, before she defiles them with tainted blood!”

“The three stones of power”

“Meant to bring the holder insurmountable power.”

Clark hadn’t meant to whisper that out loud, but it was the voice and the answer that brought his head up.

“You’re talking to me now?”

Lex sat on the stool beside him. “I thought I’d give you a bit of time and space.”

Clark quirked an eyebrow, and offered a soft smile, “That was very generous of you.”

“I’m a generous kind of guy.” They shared a comfortable look when Lana interrupted them.

“Clark, glad to see you. I have something of yours, I don’t know how it ended up here again but if you could wait while I go up and grab it?”

Breaking his eye contact with Lex, he offered Lana a head nod.

“I hear you’ve finally met Mrs. Teague.”

“Yeah, I kept missing her. Strangely enough, her attentions seem to be focused on Lana.”

“Really, interesting, know why?”

From Lex’s tone, Clark had a hunch that even if he didn’t Lex did. “I’m the wrong person to ask. The only thing I’m discovering is that with each passing day I seem to know less.”

“Maybe this will help.”

Lex slid a folder to him. Clark opened it up to reveal an acceptance letter to the Paris School of Arts, it was addressed to Ms. Lana Lang. Accompanying it were members on the school’s board, Mrs. Teague’s name was amongst them.

“What are you implying here?”

“Lana was set to leave for Paris not too long after you did, but then you disappeared and Chloe was presumed dead. I guess she decided to stay home and cling to the things she did have left, the Talon and Smallville.”

Clark indicated for Lex to go on, knowing there was more to be revealed.

“Jason’s arrival in Paris was to coincide with Lana’s. He followed according to plan, but Lana didn’t. Instead he bumped into you. I think he got the better end of the deal, but to Mrs. Teague, who has been obsessed with Countess Isobel and the three elemental stones…” Lex tapered off.

Clark looked over his shoulder, though they had dropped their volume to barely above a whisper, these weren’t things meant to be spoken of out in the open. His anxiety eased when he saw that aside from the two of them, there were only two other patrons and they were at the other end of the coffee house.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You know why. How much do you really know Jason Teague?”

Good question and one he wasn’t going to be able to answer then, as Jason had just walked in through the doors.

Jason walked up to them and grabbing Clark’s arm, asked, “Could I speak to you for a minute.”

He spared Lex a quick look, “Sure. Here?”

“No, I was hoping we could head back to the farm.”

“Okay, let me just tell Lana-“

“I’m here, sorry, a few people called regarding Chloe’s party. Remember you’re to provide the distraction.”

He could have kissed Lana, on the cheek, he had forgotten about their preparations. “I won’t forget.” Not again.

“Here,” she shoved the Countess’s spell book into his hands, Jason’s sudden jerking made him lose his hold and it dropped open on the counter. Clark, Lana and Lex reached out.

Clark wasn’t sure if anyone else saw it, but he watched as a mist of pink floated towards Lana but at his and Lex’s hands brushing, it turned mauve blue and floated up his hands instead.

Blinking he looked across at Lex and felt a shift inside him.

Jason went to pull him away, he resisted. When he began to tug harder, Clark grabbed the book, pulled his arm free and told him, “I forgot I had previous plans. You’ll have to take a rain check.”

Clark turned to leave but not before rubbing past Lex, and whispering before Jason or Lana had a chance to notice, “I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t wait to see the anticipatory once over that Lex threw his way.

*

“Clark?”

“Chloe,” her name slid off his tongue like decadent chocolate. She nearly melted where she stood; it was pretty much a done deal when she caught sight of his leather clad legs coming down the stairs.

She held onto the counter, to steady her legs, when he brushed past her and she got a look at his back. His neck high, sleeveless top, was backless, accenting perfectly, a familiar marking.

He paused to look over his shoulder, “Aren’t you coming?”

Nearly there. Get your head out of the gutter, girl. Gulping, all she could offer was a bob of the head.

Her reward was a wickedly innocent grin.

Apparently she’d waited too long, because by the time she’d made it outside, Clark was no where to be seen.

*

Beautiful music filled the mansion, as pale hands rapidly danced over the ivory keys of the grand piano situated in Lex’s study, and only halted at the unexpected applause.

Clark’s voice, still laced with seduction, floated over to him from the doorway. “You play beautifully.”

“Thanks, but I’m afraid I’m a little rusty.” He said without turning around.

“Well, I hate to interrupt. But I wanted to ask you for a favor.”

Finally turning, his words almost stilled at the vision before him. Clark was clad in leather trousers, leather loafers and a comfortable looking cotton shirt that shifted to expose the skin underneath. He stood angled, just so, that Lex was able to catch Clark’s bare back, showcasing his tattoo of Namen and Segeth. “Have I ever been able to refuse Clark Kent?” The question, low pitched, revealed Lex’s desire.

Smiling, he got up from the piano and walked towards the center of the room. Watched as Clark followed, took in every nuance of the young man’s form. His perusal did not reveal any red meteorite, making this Clark even more unpredictable. .

“What do you need?” Lex would give it to him if he could.

“Oh, a good bottle of wine for Chloe’s birthday.”

Simple enough, but he couldn’t give in without any protest, it would come back to burn him otherwise, when Clark recalled this moment when sober. “Well, the last time I checked, she wasn’t turning 21 yet.”

“I know, but I thought it’d be nice to raise a glass with her and Lana to celebrate. I promise I won’t tell anyone where I got it from.” Whispering in his ear, “It’ll be our little secret.”

Lex licked his lips. “Well, I think I might have a light Riesling that won’t do too much damage.” He needed to put some distance between them before he did something he would later regret.

Clark smiled, as Lex headed to the wine cellar.

“Actually, I was looking more for a vintage Merlot from the south of France. Something from a vineyard in the Languedoc or possibly the Deldonia. That should do in a pinch.”

From the next room, “Well, your tastes have certainly matured from a summer in Paris. Just give me a second.”

“How did you know I was in Paris, Lex?”

Pausing, only for a second, he answered truthfully, “Did you really believe that I’d just accept your return? I asked around, discovered you weren’t on any flight list, but there was a private jet that had landed shortly before my investigator spotted you. It was easy after that, tracing where you’d been.”

Impressed, Clark queried as he looked around the room, “Why the interest, Lex?” He noticed an old manuscript page that Lex had displayed in a glass box on a pedestal. He walked towards it slowly. Lex returned to the study with a bottle of wine.

“I’ve always been interested. You know that.” Lex held out his hands, “1902 from the Sallier vineyards in Languedoc. It should make quite the birthday present.”

“What is this?” Clark sounded angry, almost hurt.

“You were one of the first people I shared it with. It’s just a little something I picked up in St. Petersburg. It’s an illuminated manuscript depicting the ancient –“

“You’re lying.”

“What?”

“You know of its true nature, but the map was not meant for you.”

“Clark, how did you know there’s a map hidden under the page?”

“Because …”

He looked at Lex for a moment, as Lex looked back at him, confused and a little uneasy. Clark then turned back to the manuscript page and with a squint of his eyes, shot laser beams at it. The manuscript, and box, evaporated under his gaze.

Lex walked towards it, stunned, “Clark, what did you do?”

“You said you’d find me in any life time. Instead you’ve spent this one putting my life in danger.”

“Clark?” As pleased as he was at the disclosure of a new power, Lex was concerned for a Clark who would be so carelessly open.

“Do you not love me anymore, Alexander?” The voice was slightly different, more effeminate. Lex stared, questioningly, the eyes staring back at him were not Clark’s. They were blue and alien, aged.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am,” Clark took the bottle of wine from him, set it aside, and wrapped an arm around his waist while a hand cupped the back of his head.

“You said we’d have eternity. A time when I would be able to love you without fear of repercussions, the time has come. I’ve come to claim the life you promised.”

Then Clark’s lips were on his, kissing him as if they’d spent lifetimes doing it. He wanted more. He wanted everything this Clark offered.

He’d spent most of the last two years regretting turning down Clark’s offer to run away to Metropolis together. He wasn’t going to foolishly repeat his previous conscience-induced error. Clark was his to take. And take he would.

Of course the world had it in for him. The moment he gave in, Clark pulled away.

“She’s found the book, again.”

The blue of Clark’s eyes, lightened, until they became a glowing white, he lifted off the floor and floated over to the study windows. Pausing only a moment, to reassure him, “The Countess has woken. I must stop her. But I have faith that we will be together again, I believed you then, when you said you would be reborn to find me. I believe it still.”

*

Lana ambled her way up the stairs, having been told by Mrs. Kent that he was there.

She found him crouched over, picking things up, couldn’t help but admire the view. She’d never regretted anything more than giving him up, and allowing him to give up on them. Her heart still skipped a beat whenever he entered a room and his smiles … his smiles left her wanting more.

She’d once told him that Whitney had made her feel safe, it was nothing in comparison to how Clark made her feel. But she knew her chance had come and gone, she felt the part of an idiot considering how many chances she’d had. If she’d been Chloe, they would have probably been planning their future together now, instead, she was left with nothing but a friendship that was holding on by a thread.

“Looks like you’ve managed to clean things up pretty quickly.”

He straightened to greet her, “Lana, hey, what brings you by?”

“Thought I’d come see how you were doing.”

He offered a chuckle, “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

Joining in his laughter, she walked over to the coach and sat down, realizing, only then, that she hadn’t been in Clark’s fortress since before the summer and his memory loss.

“Something on your mind?” Old Clark or New Clark, he could still read her.

“I know you don’t really remember us, but you know what we had or tired to have.”

“Lana-“

“No, please, wait, let me finish.” Looking down at her clasped hands she thought clearly about what she was going to say. Perhaps for the first time, actually taking the time to consider how her words would impact the young man before her.

“I was in love with you. I just wasn’t very good at it. We both made mistakes, but I think mine were worse. You kept secrets, and though I knew it had nothing to do with me, that you wouldn’t keep something from me that would put me in danger, I kept pushing. It drove us apart. I can see that you and Jason aren’t exactly on the same page.”

She looked into Clark’s eyes, who’d sat down across from her during her speech, and attempted to convey her sincerity. “He isn’t who he seems Clark. He and his mother are dangerous. Their secrets kill.”

His big hands incased hers, they thrummed with the strength that had always protected her. “Lana, what happened? What do you know? Did Mrs. Teague threaten you? Did Jason?”

“It wasn’t me, I know you and Jason thought it was, after I caught you two kissing, but it wasn’t me who revealed your relationship.”

“I believe you.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“Lana, what did Jason say?” Clark’s voice was firm but comforting. She didn’t know how he managed that. She wished she’d spent more time with him since his return, instead of having wasted so much time trying to get over the bitterness of a Clark who didn’t remember her.

“They’re after the book and whatever secrets it held. I told them I don’t have it, Jason said if you didn’t then I must, since it always found its way back to me. I don’t understand what’s going on, Clark. All I know is that they’re dangerous and that you don’t mess with people like them. I know you don’t love him, so why don’t you walk away.”

“How --” Clark paused. Someone else was there. He held a finger to his lips, requesting silence, then more quietly then she’d ever imagined him being able to move, he made his way to the railings, and looked down.

At his sigh, she assumed that if someone had been there, they weren’t anymore. Getting up she strode over to him, “I’m going to visit Nell. I’d stay if I thought I could do you any good, but I know there’s nothing I can do, and even if I could, I’m not the one you want help from. He’s probably waiting for you to come to him. He’s been by the Talon three times already, asking if you’d come by.”

Standing up on her tip-toes, she gave Clark a lingering peck on the cheek. “Goodbye, Clark. Be happy.”

“Lana,” she paused at her name, with baited breath, “how many times does someone have to forget before they can remember where they belong?” The question was rushed out, filled with the anxiousness of newly felt love, and snuffed out the last remnants of any hope she’d held for one last chance.

Saddened, she answered honestly. “However many times it takes.”

Her heart ached with each step she took away from him, but for the first time, she felt completely at ease with her decision. This time it hadn’t been all about her. She’d done what was right for the both of them. Lex Luthor owed her.

*

Clark walked through the castle doors, unhindered. He’d thought security was extremely lax until a maid waved at him in hello, and realized that he had been allowed to enter Lex’s home, instead of it being a matter of his slyness.

He paused with his hands on the closed study doors. Why had he come? To accuse Lex of getting Jason fired, now that he was certain Lana wasn’t the culprit? Declare an undying love he wasn’t certain of? Badger him about his knowledge of the three stones? Clark leaned forward, to rest his forehead against the doors, and took a breather. Stretched his hearing to see if Lex was busy and if he shouldn’t come by later.

He received a cacophony of noise for his efforts. Dropping to his knees in pain, Clark held his head in his hands, as his hearing stretched beyond the mansion. He heard thousands of voices, millions, then screeches, roars, horns, water rushing … he heard the noises of the world, of life. It was only through desperation was he able to reign his hearing in, by stages. Nature, inanimate objects, then the countless voices beyond Smallville were the first to go. Then he focused, on his parents, on Chloe, Lex and Jason. And one by one let each of them go, until it was only Jason and Lex’s voices that he could still hear.

“Hello, mother? Oh, it’s done. Lex took care of the body just like we wanted. Mm-hmm. I love you too.”

Clark’s vision, automatically, zeroed in on Jason’s voice, and saw him sitting in a car, on the outskirts of the Luthor property, holding what looked to be an oddly shaped stone. “The black stone of power,” his mind supplied for him.

“Clark?”

Lex stood over him, the study doors open, looking concerned. Lex crouched down in front of him, “Clark?”

“You got Jason fired.” And really, that hadn’t been at all what he’d meant to say.

“Clark, what, are you all right?”

He wasn’t. He’d just heard his boyfriend admit to, what sounded like working with his mother to hide a body, worse, they’d manipulated Lex into doing it.

“Was the body on your grounds? Is that why you did it? How long has Jason been working for you?” Clark had known since Jason’s second visit to the hospital that he and Lex had something going on, the fact that he was in a position to influence Lex into hiding a body only cemented the idea that they were working together. Or pretending to work together, considering Lex didn’t trust, like, or respect Jason and Jason … Jason was a murderer, or an accessory to murder, at the very least.

“Whoa, whoa, where’s all this coming from, what-“Lex’s eyes had shuttered, all he saw were cold, steel blue, Lex was about to lie.

“Please don’t lie to me. Not like this. Not now. I don’t know if the Clark you knew before deserved it, but I don’t.”

Lex rose to his feet and held out a hand, Clark took it without hesitation.

“I did it for you. You were young, he held a position of power, if you wanted to break things off, he would have been able to make things difficult.”

“I’m leaving Smallville High, I’ve taken my GED and applied to MetU. I’ve been accepted for the coming fall semester.”

Lex hadn’t been expecting that, his face bloomed into genuine joy, “That’s wonderful, Clark. I always knew there was more for you than this town.”

“Yes, there is. So you see, things would have sorted themselves out, if you’d just thought to talk to me, before you played the hand of God, none of this would have been necessary.”

Lex sobered at the bite of his words, “I’m sorry, I was only trying to protect you.”

Clark softened; they’d remained standing in the middle of the room, so he took the initiative and guided them to the sofa, pushed Lex down before taking a seat beside him, holding Lex’s hand the entire time.

“Surprisingly enough, I believe you. But for future reference, the next time you feel the need to protect me, don’t.”

Lex sighed and leaned back, “I can’t make that promise.”

“I know.” Clark leaned up against Lex. “Want to tell me about the body now?”

“I didn’t kill her.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“How?” It was moments like these that he wondered about the abuse he must have heaped on Lex. Lex should never sound this insecure.

“I heard Jason, just now, he was talking to his mother about the body and how they’d managed to manipulate you into hiding it for them.” Clark paused only for a second, before disclosing the rest. “He has one of the stones of power.”

Lex silently filled in the rest. “Her name was Bridget Crosby, she worked with Doctor Swann, a man you knew well. I think he was studying the sector of space you’d come from.”

“Lex?”

“I’ve known for awhile, Clark.”

Clasping their hands tighter, Clark asked that Lex continue his retelling.

“I don’t know how, but she came into possession of one of the stones, I guess they found out and killed her for it. That’s why Genevieve Teague is interested in Lana. She believes Lana to be the Countess reborn and will be the key to finding the remaining stones. When Lana failed to show up in Paris, they used you instead to insinuate Jason into Smallville and Lana’s life.”

Clark had figured that out the moment he’d seen Jason so casually speaking of hiding a dead body while holding something that belonged to him.

“I know.”

Lex didn’t look at him. “What now?”

“I don’t know. We can’t exactly go to the police and I don’t know where the other two stones are …” he trailed off as Lex pulled away, and off the coach, watched as he paced in front of him, before coming to an abrupt stop.

Straightening, Lex squared his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’ve got something to show you.” When Clark went to follow he held out a hand and demanded, “Stay here. It should be far enough away that you won’t be completely debilitated.”

What was Lex talking about? The bald billionaire strode over to his bookshelves, pulled something that opened it up to reveal a hidden safe. Lex’s fingers flew over the visible key pad, and the door swung open, to reveal a room of artifacts. Littered amongst them were glowing rocks of green. His stomach clenched, his blood bubbled, it was Kryptonite.

Lex hurried, got whatever he needed, slammed the door shut, and was at Clark’s side in seconds. “Are you all right? I’m sorry, I didn’t think the concentration was that high.”

“It’s, it’s all right. Want to tell me why you’ve stockpiled on green Kryptonite, considering it only adversely affects me.”

Lex dropped his head on to Clark’s knees. “Can you accept for now, that it was a result of madness, driven by a broken heart and an obsessive personality?”

Clark looked at what Lex had gone into get. It was two of the three stones of power. If this were any other man, Clark would be in a fit of panic, he knew Lex had an understanding of the power he held. Had the mind and will to pursue it. So why was he so calm, almost relieved?

Because his soul loved Alexander, as surely as Clark Kent would accept his love for Lex Luthor. Lana Lang was the Countess reborn, and he and Lex were Alexander and Kaelin, Segeth and Namen, lovers who had crossed time and space to be together.

He was unnerved by the serene surety with which he’d just accepted having lived countless lives with the man at his feet, and essentially committed himself to him in this one as well.

Lex had grown rigid, taking Clark’s silence as rejection. Clark was quick to expel him of that notion. “I can accept that.”

He soothed his hand over the bald head, circling the bump before resting it at the nape of Lex’s neck. He could accept.

“How did you come by the stones?”

“I searched for them. My father started it and I finished it.”

“I saw you, when you held the first one. You were on a plane, I think.” Clark was remembering the blinding light that had encompassed him at the church.

“Dad thought they would save him.”

“He doesn’t need them anymore, he has already been saved.” He’d only met Lionel once since losing his memory, and had felt nothing but goodness from him. Whatever darkness had hindered the man’s body, mind and soul, was no longer present. Lex did not question his statement.

“What are we going to do now?” He had an idea of what needed to be done, but Clark wanted to hear what Lex had, had planned.

“We need to get the third stone.”

They did but not now.

“We do, but not now. There are a few things yet to figure out. I, I need to speak to my parents. Will you wait for me, before you do anything?”

Lex moved to sit beside him again. “I can’t give you any guarantees. If I think by delaying I would be putting you at risk …”

“I trust you to make the right choices, Lex.” Clark bent to press a whisper soft kiss on Lex’s lips, then, with a liberal use of his super speed, left the mansion.

*

Lex stood on the upper level of his study, talking on the phone heatedly. “LuthorCorp is the legal conservator of the cave. We can do any excavation work we want down there.”

He’d told Clark he’d wait, and he meant it, but the Teague’s were making a bid for the caves, and he wasn’t sure he could hold them off for much longer. So he intended to tear its secrets out before he let them have it.

He watched, curiously, as Jason strode in.

“I’ll call you back.” Hanging up, he addressed Jason, “I thought we’d concluded our business.”

Jason pulled out a handgun and pointed it at Lex, fired it, a small dart shot out, hitting him in the neck. He gasped, pulled the dart out to look at it, then Jason. Who looked at him coldly before replying, “Almost.”

Sending Clark a mental apology, Lex fell down and lost consciousness.

*

Hours of torture had resulted in Lionel handing over Pandora’s Box, who knew the old man cared so much.

“I gave it to Lana Lang.”

Lex tried not to hide his surprise at that bit of news. Why ever would he give it to Lana?

“You’re expecting me to believe you would entrust a cheerleader with such an important artifact?” Guinevere sneered.

“You know she’s Thoreaux reborn, do not underestimate her.” Lionel persisted. Lex knew it couldn’t be that simple. Even had his father turned over a new leaf, under no conditions would he trust something of such value to Lana Lang.

“My ancestors burned traitors at the stake, Lionel. For your son’s sake, you better be telling the truth.” She turned to leave when Jason stopped her.

“I’ll go mother.”

Always the helpful son, Lex should have done away with Jason when he’d had the chance. He’d let possibly hurting Clark get in the way of his survival instincts.

“Jason, let me.”

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt her.”

“Jason, Clark has no idea how much you’ve been protecting him. How much you’ve been protecting Lana. And what has your efforts won you? Lana attempting to rekindle a dead romance,” cupping his hands in between hers, she offered a comforting pat before pulling the keys free of his hand. “I think it’s time Ms. Lang learns a lesson about coveting others possessions.”

Lex met his father’s eyes, couldn’t help the slight smile as his father rolled his eyes at the mother-son moment they were witnessing.

“Clark’s not a possession, Mom.” Jason protested, and it might have been the only intelligent thing the man had ever said. Regardless, Clark wasn’t Jason’s to protect, he was Lex’s. He discretely tugged at his binds, ignoring the rest of Guinevere’s parting. “I know dear” along with the pats on Jason’s cheek and warning glare, directed at Lionel, before she departed.

Lionel was quick to act.

“Jason, this isn’t you. You don’t want to be doing this. It’s a terrible position your mother’s put you in, this business with Clark. He was only supposed to be a means of getting to Lana wasn’t he?”

“And you’re a fool if you think he’s more than a pawn in my mother’s game.”

“Be that as it may, it doesn’t detract from the fact that you’ve fallen in love with the boy,” Lionel looked across at Lex, “It seems to be a common inflection around these parts.”

Jason stormed out; it was either that or shoot Lionel, and Mother had a purpose for him yet. She’d be cross if Lionel wasn’t given the chance to fulfill it.

A part of him worried. He knew that Clark could take care of himself but Lana, if Clark ever found out that his Mother went after Lana with Jason’s cooperation he’d—

“Lionel was right.” He had truly and irrevocably, fallen in love with Clark.

Back inside the lodge, Lex, with Lionel’s aid, had managed to tip his chair over and in reach of a hot poker. With a bit of internal fortitude, he was able to grimace through the pain as he rid himself of his ties. Quickly freeing Lionel’s bound limbs, they both made a run for it. Made more pressing by an armed Jason chasing after them.

After a bit of a scuffle, down hilly slopes, and a chase later, Lex had cornered Jason onto a cliff edge, with no way to go but down. Jason had managed to drop his gun and Lex stood bearing down on him with a fair sized tree branch.

Teetering between the drop and Lex, Jason appealed to Lex’s compassion.

“We’re alike Lex, caught between both our parents.”

“I knew I should have protected Clark and Lana from you.”

“Come on Lex, drop the act. This has nothing to do with Lana and you know it.”

“Your mother and you appear to be on the different pages then, because I was certain it was Lana she was going after.”

“Lana may be the Countess reincarnated, she may have one of the elements but it is Clark who is at the center of it all, isn’t it, Lex?”

“This has nothing to do with, Clark.”

“This has everything to do with Clark. Let’s be honest here, it isn’t Lana you’ve been trying to protect. You could care less about her. It’s your ‘best friend’, Clark, you’ve been protecting.”

“Leave Clark out of this.”

“Gladly, but you dragged him in to it, so lets discuss him. Because we both know this is all about Clark. The sign burned into the barn, the cave markings, even the Countess and the elements. It all comes back to Clark, doesn’t it?”

“Then why isn’t your Mother going after him, instead of Lana?”

Jason looked away, but Lex caught the flash of guilt, as fleeting as it was.

“You haven’t told her anything about Clark, have you?” His arm dropped from its defensive position, “My father was right, you are in love with him.”

“It’s more than that, Clark is-“

The bullet had gone clear through; Jason had little chance to be shocked before he was hurtling over the precipice. Lex knew even before he turned around whom to place the blame on.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“He was about to kill you, I was simply trying to save your life.”

“I had him cornered; he was no threat to me.”

“Lex, you saved my life, I was returning the favor.”

Lex glared at his father, “You have an element, and I want it. That is why you’re alive. And you ‘saved my life’, because you didn’t want me to hear what he had to say. But if anything happens to Clark as a result of my not knowing, you’ll be begging for an end like that.”

Lex stormed away, anxious to get to a phone, to warn both Clark and Lana, and to put an APB out for Guinevere Teague.

*

“Clark?” Lex ran up the loft stairs, ignoring his body’s protests, and was as close to thanking god as he’d ever been.

Clark, blinked back from sleep sodden eyes. He’d been curled up, buried under a throw that Lex knew well, but sat up at the wreck Lex was.

“Lex, what happened? You look a mess. Are you all right?” Getting off the couch, Clark let the throw fall to the ground, and the relief of seeing him whole and unharmed sapped Lex of the last of his adrenalin. He tipped forward.

“Whoa.” Clark rushed forward and got his arms around him, just as Lex’ legs completely gave out.

“Lex, please tell me, what’s happened.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Are you? You look okay, but are you?” He ran shaking hands over a much loved face, through thick curls, and down a flannel covered chest.

“I’m fine. But you’re obviously not.” Clark held still his wandering hands, close to his heart. The steady beat of it, lulled Lex into a half-doze.

He felt plump lips on his forehead, as he was carried over to the sofa and settled with his head in a lap and his legs stretched out. Surrounded by Clark, reassured by the beat of his heart to the left of his ear, the sturdiness of his thighs beneath his head, and the big, warm hands caressing his face, Lex gave into the exhaustion of his tormented body. Clark, thankfully, let him sleep.

*

Lionel’s entrance had been much less dramatic.

“I see you were his first and last stop.”

Clark only spared a glance, his attention, against the churning of his stomach, was caught by the varying degrees of burns that covered Lex’s chest and wrists.

“What happened?” He asked quietly, but with the steel very few knew Clark capable of.

Lionel did not hesitate. “Jason and Guinevere kidnapped us in an attempt to torture the location of an element out of me.”

“You set her on Lana. Why?” Lana had called him from Metropolis, warning him that one of the Talon waitresses’ had spotted Mrs. Teague storming out of her apartment above the Talon. When the girl had gone to investigate, she’d found the room in disarray. Nothing had been left whole or undamaged. With the waitresses’ help, Clark was able to get Sheriff Adams involved. Genevieve Teague was currently the lovely guest of Smallville PD.

“Genevieve could not come after you.”

Clark met Lionel’s eyes and felt no threat, only a stirring of something long past, a memory of a protector. “You’re Jor-El’s emissary.”

This made things a whole lot clearer. He had wondered why he’d felt no threat from, or antagonism towards, the man who’d attempted to kill Lex on more than one occasion. Lionel Luthor may have loved his son but he had not loved him well

“Is Lionel Luthor still alive?”

“He lives, still, I am him. I’ve just been …” Lionel searched around for the correct words and settled on the most appropriate, “saved. Your father healed my failing body so that I could live to protect you. With both your memories and powers gone, you were left at a severe disadvantage.”

“Then why did he do it at all? Why did he not undo it?” Clark felt the anger at the injustice he’d been dealt. He’d taken things in stride, not allowing the force of his grief or frustration to bow him, but to know now that it could have been fixed so easily.

“The answer is there,” Lionel pointed at Lex, “and can be found with this.” He held out his other hand, in the palm of which sat the last stone of power.

“Why?”

“It belongs to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” Lionel walked forward, bent down to leave the stone at Clark’s feet, and brushed Lex’s face, calm and almost angelic in slumber, on his way back up.

“Take care of him, please. I never managed to.”

Lionel backed up, “My allegiance is yours, Kal-El, Last Son of Krytpon. Should you ever find yourself in trouble, do not hesitate to call upon me.”

“Thank you.” Clark held Lex closer, so that it was understood exactly what his gratitude was for.

Lionel offered him a smile in pleased comprehension, then left.

“Stranger, and stranger.”

“What is?” A huge yawn followed the sleepy question. Lex opened clear blue eyes to stare into the most perfect green.

Both smiled. Neither had ever seen the others eyes so free of misery or deception.

“Your father brought us a gift.” Clark reached down for the stone, placed it on top of Lex’s chest and waited to see his reaction.

Lex, unwilling to rise from his comfortable position plucked the rock up and stared. “He just gave it to you? No strings?” Lex left disbelief behind, and was instead wondering if he’d perhaps injured his head during his capture and escape from the Teagues and was hallucinating as a result.

The Teagues! Lex jumped off the couch, tripped over the throw that Clark had failed to pick up from earlier, and nearly took a painful tumble, would have if not for Clark’s quick reflexes.

“Are you into pain? Is there a reason you’re so reckless with your physical well being?”

Lex glared at Clark, this was not a time for levity. Clark’s life could be in danger. “I’ve got to speak to Sheriff Adams, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Jason and his mother tried to ---“

“Shh, I know. Your dad filled me in.”

Oh. “You’re taking things rather well.”

“I think it’s because the danger has passed.” Clark had felt out of sorts because of his amnesia and his secrets, but the subconscious niggling of imminent doom that had followed him all the way to Paris and back, was no more.

His head was free of whispers. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of any more flash backs, or nightmarish dreams that imposed on his waking state.

He may not remember everything yet, but his heart remembered the important things. It had always remembered the important things. Lex’s lips had been part of those very first memories. Clark flushed at his remembered need, which seemed to have quieted as well, stranger and stranger indeed.

The stones were all gathered now, the danger the Countess and Guinevere Teague posed eliminated, he had a new ally in Lionel Luthor, and the most important development of all. He’d found his way back to Lex. Despite Chloe’s and his parents’ warnings of Lex, he’d had the sense to follow his heart and believe in the man before him, and he’d not been let down. Lex had not failed Clark.

So it was an easy decision to make, when he decided to share the last of his past that he knew of. “I think I’ve got something to show you. But first, where are the stones?”

“In the safe,” Lex answered, curious.

“Can I enter it unharmed, or are the Kryptonite rocks still there?”

“They’re all gone. You’re hand print and your birth date will suffice to gain you access.” He smiled at the slight pinking of Lex’s cheeks at that revelation.

Using his super-speed, he was there and back before Lex’s blush had gone.

“I guess this means no more lies.” It was not a question, merely a restating of something they’d silently agreed upon at some point in the last few weeks.

“No. No more lies, not ever again.” Pulling Lex flush against his body, he whispered, “Hold on.”

*

Lex followed, sedately, as Clark lead him further into the caves and behind a wall, into a hidden chamber, where a stone table stood at its center.

In the middle of which was a groove, Clark let go of him to trace it. “I spoke to my parents about us last night. I didn’t realize how closely my father associated the Luthor name with evil. He doesn’t believe a man can change.”

Clark looked up at him, “But I believe if anyone can change, you can. You just needed a reason to. I know I’m a part of that reason.”

“You’re my entire reason. I just needed you to not give up on me.” He said.

“Jason asked me the same thing, but I did. I gave up on him even before I knew he’d played me.”

Lex wanted to reassure him, but he couldn’t regret Clark’s decision in regards to Jason, so he remained silent.

“This will change things.”

“How?”

“It will heal the gaps in my memory, and any remaining weaknesses my body holds.”

Lex knew what Clark was hinting at. This was a Clark who’d taken the time to listen to him instead of tossing accusations around, who’d stood up to his parents like the Clark he’d first met had. This Clark loved him. Was he willing to give that up so that he could regain memories that may tear them apart?

He remembered his time in Belle Reve, the seven weeks that were stripped from him. It nearly drove him mad. Clark had no recall of the majority of his life except for the snippets he’d been graced with. Could he leave Clark with so little and still say he loved him?

Lex took the stones from Clark and placed them in the groove. They lit up, one yellow, one red, and the last blue.

A haze of white light filled the room, “Well done, my son. You have united the elements and forged the stone of power. You are ready for your training now.”

Without warning, Clark and Lex stood in the middle of dizzying white, surrounded by snow capped mountains, and not a soul in sight.

Lex was freezing. “Where the fuck are we?” His teeth were beginning to chatter.

Clark reached out for the crystal that was hovering before them, reeled his arm back, and then let it go.

Lex could not see nor hear it landing, but not long after he felt the ground shift beneath him. He moved closer to Clark, was warmed when his arms wrapped around him.

“We’re in Antarctica, to answer your where, as for the why, that you’re bound to get to, I don’t know why. But I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

Before their eyes a crystalline fortress rose from the untouched scenery. Hesitantly they made their way forward, what other option was there.

Lex became an observer the moment they entered the fortress, Clark moved in a predestined direction, until he stood before a console, of a sort, of glowing crystals.

One crystal floated out of the heap and into Clark’s hands. Lex wanted to yell out to proceed with caution, but Clark’s fingers had touched before his cold vocals produced anything beyond a croak.

“Kal-El, you have come far. One journey has ended. A new journey is about to begin.” The voice bounced off the crystalline walls and came at them from all angles.

“I was under the impression Krypton was destroyed” Clark did not bother to project his voice. He perhaps sensed that the entity was everywhere and would pick up his words, even if whispered.

“It was, but here in your Fortress of Solitude, the geography of your planet has been replicated for your training.”

Lex watched as Clark’s cheeks flushed in representation of his ire, “That’s all this was about. You allowed all this to happen. Risked my life and those near me, as a precursor to some sort of training?!”

“You are the last heir, of a great house. You have tremendous strength, unmatchable power, and a mind that is keener than any who have come before you. You are not only our salvation Kal-El, but you are the best of us. And we sent you here, to this planet, to give you a chance at life and greatness.”

The delivery was more pleasant, but he’d been raised by Lionel Luthor, he knew parental manipulation when it was spitting in his face.

“I do not understand.”

The vulnerability in Clark’s voice unsettled him, it was an open invitation to abuse him, Jor-El didn’t seem the type to miss such an opportunity. He tried to reach Clark again, “Clark.” It was barely a whisper, whisked away by the Antarctic winds and Jor-El’s booming voice.

“You will.”

Then a blue light encased Clark, Lex managed a few feet in Clark’s direction, but collapsed short of reaching him.

The cold was becoming unbearable, he was weakened to such a degree that a gust of strong wind brought him to his knees. His mutant healing, that had fought admirably well until then, finally gave into the cold. He was freezing to death.

“Clark!” He plead as he collapsed onto the ice, “Clark, can you hear me? Clark!”

Lex’s voice finally penetrated Jor-El’s visions, and caused the blue light around Clark to dissipate, letting Clark see Lex’s state.

“Lex!”

Clark was by his side instantly. Cradling him close he whispered, “Hold on Lex, hold on.”

“Kal-El, you must continue your education. You cannot stop.”

“I give you my word that I will return, after I get him to help.”

For a long time, all he heard were the howling winds, batting against the crystalline walls.

“You are permitted to leave, for I know the importance this human holds. I expect you to honor your word and return to me as promised. Do not fail me, Kal-El, or the consequences will be grave.”

“I will return in a fortnight, this I swear.”

Lex had just enough energy to ask, “Take me for a ride, Clark?”

Looking down sadly at Lex, he said in a near silent whisper, “Yeah” before he sped off.

*

Lex had woken up alone in a private room in Metropolis General. He’d discovered that only a half a day had gone by since his trip south. When the nurse had come in, he’d asked about Clark, thinking the boy had stepped out for only a moment, how wrong he’d been.

Clark had apparently reverted to his usual stork impression, save and drop-off. The front desk had no recollection of how he’d arrived, just that he was put on a gurney in a prominent location, and then an intern was alerted of his presence.

After signing himself out on his own cognizance, Lex drove back to Smallville attempting to come up with plausible reasons for Clark’s absence. Hated himself for the weakness. But he still remembered Clark’s lips, the smell of leather and a naked back, left bear for his exploration. And he’d remembered Clark’s words, “I believed you then, when you said you would be reborn to find me. I believe it still.”

Was he being tested? Damn Jor-El! Damn his conscience! And bloody damn, Clark, for reeling him in again!

Thirteen days later, he sat in his study, staring at his empty vault, bottle in hand, drunk out of his mind.

He’d waited for two days for Clark to come to him, and to make sure the town new of his return, he’d made a pit stop at the Talon, upon his return from Metropolis.

So, Clark had, had no excuse. Except for the obvious that Lex had ignored from the moment he’d woken up to an empty hospital room. Jor-El had returned Clark’s memories, and that meant a Clark who’d reverted back to Kent accepted normal. Considering the concentrated effort Clark had put into avoiding him, the few days he’d actually gone into town hoping to cross paths, what else was he to believe.

Lex had never been lovelorn. He’d lived his life avoiding attachments, no matter if it was the only thing he’d ever truly wanted; a family, someone to love and be loved by. Then Clark Kent had to come into his life, and make him rethink what he was willing to sacrifice. As if he wasn’t screwed up enough already.

“I believed you then, when you said you would be reborn to find me. I believe it still.”

“SHUT UP!!!” He threw the tumbler of vodka across the room, just barely missing the fireplace.

Clark, the other Clark’s words, would not leave him in peace. They followed him into his dreams. Bringing him nightmares of burning fires, and a love stolen, a life interrupted, because of the greed for power of one woman.

Guinevere Teague had been found dead in her cell, after that first night of dreaming of burning flesh.

When he’d woken two nights later, remembering her bony hand running down Clark’s cheek, and her words, “No harm will come to your lover, my son seems to have, an unhealthy attachment to him. He will live for as long as that persists”, he’d gone hunting for Jason’s corpse. When he’d found none, he’d put a sizable bounty on Jason’s head. Lex had shelled out five hundred thousand just that morning for the successful hunt, his best investment in recent memory.

Still, Clark had not returned to him. He didn’t much care.

Liar. You promised, that our love would be eternal.

Thirteen days since he’d returned from Metropolis, five days since he’d stopped waiting for Clark to come to him, and throughout it all, day or night, awake or sleep, he’d been haunted by that voice. This was his punishment for having loved Clark, to be driven mad by his broken voice.

The fact that tonight was the thirteenth night was significant somehow, but his brain was too muddled with alcohol and pain killers to bother deciphering a puzzle he was certain that only existed in his mind. He would have dwindled away the rest of the night in much the same, had it not been for his unexpected visitor.

“I don’t know what you did, but you’re going to fix this.” Her voice seemed more grating than usual, and the click-clack of her heels on his floors too much for his inebriated head to handle, but he wasn’t going to say anything. It wouldn’t do his rep any good if it got out that Lex Luthor could no longer handle his liquor.

“Lana Lang. I thought you’d made a run for it? Oh, but you’ve probably heard that Clark’s returned to his version of normal. Come back for another go?”

He reached out for the tumbler, and only remembered his earlier fit of pique, when his hand slapped hard against the glass table where his drink had been.

“Oh shit. I need another drink, did you want one? Oh, I forgot, you aren’t quite old enough for that, are you?” Clearly implying he thought her too young for a great many other things as well.

“I’m old enough for Clark, and to know my own mind and heart. Are you?” Oh so the town princess had a bit of bite.

“I think we both know, Lana, that I was born old enough to handle everything and any thing.”

“Except love. You have no idea how to handle genuine, pure, raw love.”

He barked out a laugh, “And what, you think Clark can offer me this? He’s your bitch Lana, I don’t intend to have used goods.”

The slap when it came was unexpected and loud. Her grip on his shirt was fierce and unforgiving, and just as surprising. “You don’t deserve him. But he loves you. And sometimes, that’s all that matters. It isn’t about deserving someone but having the god given sense to hold on when you’ve got something good. YOU.FIX.THIS.NOW!” She shoved him away and stormed out. Heels clacking away, adding exclamation marks to the demand she’d left behind.

*

He’d been foolish and cowardly. And now he was going to lose the only person that had mattered in a very long time due to his own hubris.

Lex had spent the time he’d known Chloe half-damning and half-vaulting her, today had been a toast to the latter. If not for her loose lips, he wouldn’t have remembered. Maybe this had been a test, set by Jor-El for him, if so, he’d failed it miserably.

He’d been at the Talon when he’d happened across Chloe’s conversation with Lana, who’d decided to stay a few extra days before heading back to Metropolis.

“Have you spoken to Clark lately, like since you returned? More specifically, have you spoken to him within the last two days?” The bubbly blonde’s voice and demeanor were anything but bubbly. Even her hair was downtrodden. But it wasn’t those things that had caught his attention, all he’d needed was to hear Clarks’ name to bring him to a standstill. He’d eavesdropped shamelessly.

“I saw him this morning.”

“Did he say anything that made you think he was leaving, maybe for good?” Chloe was clearly anxious, and now so was he. Leaving? Clark? Where to?

Lana bit her lip, and took her time to answer. “I don’t think it’s for good. But he is leaving. He said as much when I asked him. I” looking down at her untouched muffin, “I don’t think there’s anything we can do or say to stop him.” Laughing bitterly, “I don’t even think there’s anything Lex can do at this point.”

“You spoke to Lex, then?” He’d been surprised at the hope in Chloe’s voice, that even she’d believed him to be capable of swaying Clark’s mind was impressive.

“I did. For all the good it did.”

“Then we’ve got to keep on trying to convince Clark ourselves.”

Reaching out, Lana had laid her hand on Chloe’s. “Chlo, I don’t think that’s what Clark needs now. I think he needs us to be supportive.”

Lex had heard the finality in Lana’s words. He’d left the Talon without anyone being the wiser.

He’d driven straight to the Kent farm, and had been parked in front of the farm for hours, undisturbed. Martha and Jonathan Kent had stepped out when he’d first arrived, even gone as far as to offer him a silent nod of, acceptance? And then headed back in, leaving him to his vigil. It wasn’t until mid-day, that his memory decided to kick in.

“You are permitted to leave, for I know the importance this human holds. I expect you to honor your word and return to me as promised. Do not fail me, Kal-El, or the consequences will be grave.”

“I will return in a fortnight, this I swear.”

He’d not allowed himself to remember the fortress, lest he be unable to hold on to his anger in the face of all Clark had shared with him. But now the words taunted him with the simplicity behind Clark’s absence. He’d had the answer all along.

He kicked his car door open and slammed it shut. Uncaring how he may have looked, he ran towards the barn and took the fortress steps two at a time.

Clark stood there, facing him, looking at him oddly and vacantly. He knew this move too. Act like you don’t care.

“Why are you here, Lex?”

“You know why.”

“No. I don’t. I thought I made myself clear, when you showed me your room of Clark paraphernalia. We’re no longer friends, if we ever were, that is.”

It wasn’t going to work. He’d touched Clark, kissed those lips, he’d tasted truth.

“We’re more than friends.”

Clark went rigid. He looked over his shoulder while he spoke to him next. Lex watched, fascinated as the green from his eyes leaked away, leaving behind a slightly familiar blue.

“I suggest you leave, Lex. I think my Mom, said it best, you’re not welcome here-“

“No.”

“What?!” Clark’s cold exterior cracked, at the startled question.

“No. I won’t let leave. No I won’t stay away. No I won’t let you run away from me again.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I found you. In this life time, where we have a chance to love freely, like I promised. Don’t run, don’t leave me again.” Lex didn’t know where that had come from, but he knew the words held a long lived grief.

Clark dropped onto the couch and buried his face in his knees. Lex cautiously approached, and boldly buried his hand in Clark’s hair.

The curls were soft and strong, exactly like Clark.

“Please give me some time,’ was Clark’s muffled request.

“I’ve given you time.”

Clark pulled away, angrily he asked, “When?! When have you given me time?! When you ‘collected’ me? When you sent Nixon after me? When you tested me, our friendship, at every turn? Doubted everything I did, even though all I’d tried to do was be there for you!”

The words were true, but they sparked alive the anger that had lain dormant in the presence of amnesic-Clark, who had approached him only with calm understanding.

“What about you?! You lied to me. Every single time, you opened your mouth, it was all lies! What did you expect from me?! My best friend, my only friend, who I was ready to kill for, had killed for, couldn’t give me the decency of being honest!”

“You didn’t give me a reason to!!”

“I gave you plenty of reasons and opportunities, but you disregarded them and me, in favor of pandering to your parents and chasing after Lana! How much did you value our friendship if all it took were a few choice words from people you really cared about to tear us apart?! How much did you care for me if you were willing to leave me in Belle Reve?! How much of a friend were you that you sought out Lionel’s help in keeping those seven stolen weeks from me! Didn’t think I remembered that did you?”

Lex was yelling. He never yelled. It was more than he’d intended to reveal but … he was furious. Furious and hurt, at the futility of his good deeds, no matter what he did he would always be painted as the bad guy. He was betrayed by the only person he’d ever trusted, despite knowing Clark lied he’d had faith in him, faith that he’d always be there, and Clark had let him down. He’d betrayed him to Lionel! He’d let his mind be raped in Belle Reve, and then stopped Lex’s efforts at Summerholt. Then Clark had, had the audacity to point fingers at him?

He watched and waited for Clark’s next volley. Expected to be ripped apart further. Maybe Clark would bring up Julian or his mother, perhaps Amanda, it was how they worked. When one drew blood, the other would cut deeper. How was this love? Had he been mistaken? Looking at Clark, eyes closed, fists clenched, chest heaving, he wondered.

“Leave.” That was all? No, you are the son of Satan and everything you’ve ever touched has turned to dust?

“Leave, Lex, and never return. Whatever you thought we had or could have had does not exist.”

Clark turned to look outside at the setting sun and whispered. “Not anymore.”

Lex left. Rejected, again, he was in his car and on his way home before rationality kicked in. Pulling to the side of the road, he sat, trying to calm his shaking hands and his livid mind. What was he doing? Where was he going?

Tilting his head back he took deep breaths, when that failed to work he got out of the car and started furiously kicking his tires.

“Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!!!” He wasn’t sure who he was cursing, Clark, himself, Lionel, his mother, the Kents or the world in general. Perhaps the fates, who had dealt him this impossible hand?

Looking up at the skies he screamed, “What do you want from me?” and then bowing his head to the ground he asked more quietly, “What do you want from us?”

“You are permitted to leave, for I know the importance this human holds. I expect you to honor your word and return to me as promised. Do not fail me, Kal-El, or the consequences will be grave.”

“The importance this human holds,” Lex repeated out loud. In the absence of his memory, of Jonathan and Martha Kent’s teachings of distrust, and only his heart and mind to guide him, Clark had trusted him. Clark had come to him for help and he’d been painfully honest. Was that enough? Would it be enough to help them move forward?

“The importance this human holds.” Clark’s memories had been returned to him, before those words had been uttered, but he’d not disputed Jor-El’s statement. “What is the importance I hold, Clark?” Lex asked, wondering if the question would reach Clark’s ears. He was going to find out.

Knowing time was of the essence, he didn’t bother returning to the farm, and instead he headed straight to the caves.

*

Clark stood his hand hovering over the groove, the tablet that had once been the key to his ship in his hand. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, uttered something in Kryptonian and then let go. The tablet hovered, and then burst forth with light. The cave walls began to shake. The ground beneath him trembled.

He stepped away from the altar and out into the open caverns, walked steadily towards the picture of Namen and Segeth. His back had been burning in pain since he’d sent Lex away. Almost choked on a sobbing laugh, “You didn’t send him away, he just came to his senses.”

Floating off the ground, he reached out a hand to lay flat against the picture of Segeth. “I am sorry. You will never know how sorry I am, I wish I could make it up to you.” Leaning forward he laid a kiss on the form of his one great love. “Maybe in our next life time, we’ll get it right.”

“How about getting it right in this one?”

Clark stumbled and landed unsteadily on his feet, his concentration broken.

Lex stood a few short feet away, looking unaffected by his floating. Not knowing what to ask, he settled on his name, “Lex?”

“I remember. Not everything but enough, from this life and the lives before. You let them take me to Belle Reve, but you came back to save me. You collaborated with Lionel, but you’ve fought against him a great many times more, on my behalf. You’ve always been so young and I always forget that. I’m still angry, but not nearly as much as I was, and not nearly enough to let you go.”

It was nothing close to what Clark had imagined Lex would eventually settle on. Instead he’d believed that in his absence, after Lex had eradicated all ties to Smallville, returned to Metropolis and slept his way through most of its high society, he would have accepted his role as its new prince and built a life apart from the one he’d tried to in Smallville; bereft of the good intentions and moral battles Lex often struggled with. Clark had believed he’d return to a Lex that wasn’t his, one only ever seen in his darkest nightmares. Not this.

He didn’t know what to do with this Lex. It didn’t matter, he had a promise to keep.

Shaking his head, “It’s not up to you. You have no choice in this matter.”

Lex, with his inhuman speed, was in front of him, holding his arms and shaking him before he had the chance to escape. “I have a choice. You have a choice. It’s just a matter of making it. I’m not going to let you screw this up for us.”

Clark wanted to be angry at Lex for his foolhardy boldness, but the part of him that had shattered at all the accusations, rightly deserved, thrown at him earlier, healed, if only a bit, in the face of Lex’s determination.

For the first time, Clark, post-amnesic Clark wrapped his arms around Lex and uttered some much needed truth.

“I love you. That’s my one truth. But I made a promise that I must keep. This, we, can’t be, not now.”

“How do I know you’ll return unchanged?”

“You don’t.”

“Then why should I let you go?”

“Because it’s what needs to be done. Regained memories and promise aside, Lex, I’m not whole. There are parts of me battling inside, things that make no sense, that training with Jor-El will help bring understanding and, hopefully, peace to. You can’t possibly want me, or deal with me as I am now, broken and disjointed, especially considering all the trouble I’ve already caused you when I was relatively put together?”

Lex offered a small, unsteady laugh. “Bring it on, Kent.” Foreheads touching, “I’ve always wanted you. From the moment I saw you, there’s been no one else. It didn’t matter where I was, or with whom, it was always you. So alien, human, or something in between, it doesn’t much matter to me, as long as your mine. This is my one truth.”

Pulling away, before all will to do so left him, Clark brushed a lingering kiss against lips that had haunted him all his lives. “Then wait. Just awhile longer.”

“Cla-“

“Do you believe in destiny, Lex?”

“We’ve had this conversation before. I believe a man makes his own destiny.”

“Either way, I believe in it. I finally believe in it. And,” Clark whispered into his ear, before floating away, “I think you’re part of it, part of my destiny. Because you’re right, this is our time. ”

Light engulfed the two of them, they were no longer in the caves but above them. “You once told me that you flew over Smallville and didn’t see a dead end but new beginnings.”

Lex saw Smallville below him, heard and felt Clark around him, though he was certain they weren’t touching. They neared the mansion and his feet were soon on solid ground again. He felt Clark’s presence diminishing, looked at the horizon and saw the sun had nearly set, there time was up.

His loved ones always left him, his heart darkened with sorrow but stilled at the gentle touch across his cheek. Clark was there again. Surrounded by light, he looked like the angel he’d believed him to be, the first time he’d opened his eyes on the river banks and stared into beautiful green. “I will return. So wait. So that we can have our new beginning, and make it a good one.”

Then he was gone. Looking up into the sky, Lex stood and watched as the last of the day’s light faded and the stars came out to shine. One by one they lit the night sky up. He wondered where Clark’s home had been, and how long the ghost of it would keep them apart. Assessing the countless possibilities, he accepted Clark’s terms, for now.

And so, Lex waited.

Years later Clark would say that the he started remembering home, when he started remembering him. It was a fanciful thought, but Lex had come to believe in fanciful things, such as destiny and fate and crossing time and space to find a precious love, to find his love.

*