Series: Vix Te Agnovi V
Codes: Clark, Lex, Martha Kent, Clark/Lex, AU
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Rogue, Shimmer, Leech, Kinetic, Zero
Summary: Truth hurts. So does guilt.
Author Notes: Follows "Blow Your Mind", "After This", "Kids at Play", and "Deconstruction". To Spike for the commentary on the exposition and the suggestions.
Archiving: SSA, and anyone else, go for it.

For Remembrance

by jenn

Maybe this was how it did happen. How it was supposed to happen. Luthors didn't have friends, and boys with futures in superherodom couldn't afford friends like that anyway. And glamorous rich guys slumming in small towns didn't fuck farmboys and mean anything by it.

And was that his father talking? Probably, probably, except for the last part, because Dad didn't know and Lex might be surprised, there *was* a way to get farther down on Dad's shit list and all that it would take would be three words from Clark.

Lex fucked me. I fucked Lex.

Either would do.

Even now, it wasn't a temptation to tell.

And being right, Clark supposed a little tiredly, was something his father was enjoying immensely in his slightly but not really guilty way. Bad thing to say, to believe, but he knew it, knew it with every sideways glance in the house and at the empty field where once cows had grazed and the Smallville newspaper that Lex got to headline again. I was right, Clark, and Dad didn't have to *say* it to look it, and Clark had been brushing those looks off for far too long. There was no defense against this one, because it was true, it was justified, and it was--well, there was evidence. Everywhere you looked, in fact. Phelan was grinning in the back of his mind....

Fuck off, Phelan. You weren't any better. You covered it up.

There was nothing this moment that he'd expected to feel, though. Justified, a little sad triumph for cutting out Lex when he had, a little sad, but--but that wasn't there at all. There wasn't *anything* there and that was the problem, the thing that was keeping him staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom, counting the cracks in the plaster so many times that he could draw it all from memory, every flaked piece of paint and every single broken line.

Rolling over, Clark pulled the pillow against his chest. He wasn't going to sleep tonight.

Lex was--too many things, and putting them together was like one of those freaky jigsaw puzzles Chloe was always doing somewhere in her house, the ones where some of the pieces fit in the wrong places and screwed you up, or only fit when you flipped them over on their backs or only fit upside down on the night of the full moon after the ritual slaughtering of a pure white sheep or some crap like that, and God, those had given him headaches when he'd been stupid enough to give in and help her out.

Tracking backward, like a paint by number life, trying to strip away every color he knew and didn't know about Lex, what Lex had let him see and what Lex had hidden as instinctively as he breathed. Walk through the pieces that he had, and maybe this time they'd fit, because right now--

--God, make a decision, Clark.

Either Lex did it or he didn't.

Circle around, come back to the beginning, when he first learned the youngest Luthor was coming out to take over the plant. Heard it from Chloe, maybe, and remembered the speculation on the street, the way people's voices changed when they talked about the Luthors. When crime wasn't something to be proven but simply assumed, evidence unnecessary.

Come back up and remember the truck, like life was worth a monetary value, like a confirmation of everything his father had ever said. In the coffee shop, and Lex leaning over spreadsheets with that line cut into his forehead that meant he was stressed, the way he stared at the papers with narrowed eyes and that little ironic smile. The lay-offs that never happened and that smile, bright and blinding, a little smug and a lot just relieved, that said being a Luthor was going to come in secondary to being Lex. That Lex would make his own legend and fuck anyone who thought otherwise.

Still spinnable, though, if you looked at it just the right way. Though Gabe probably wouldn't think so, since his neck had been on the cutting block, but Gabe was a Luthor employee. His opinion wasn't exactly objective, now was it?

Go further.

The plant, Earl, kevlar hitting the floor with a sound Clark would hear until the day he died, when Lex's irony was at full force and his smile bitter and he used his name like a bargaining chip. With that casual acknowledgement that being Luthor was something that he couldn't escape, not now, not ever.

And if Clark listened, he could hear his father explain it all away. And it was easy, if you went with the assumptions, said okay, don't start from zero, don't start from the day Lex arrived, add Lionel Luthor into the equation. Lex was part of LuthorCorp, blood and body and name. It was good publicity to keep from firing long-time employees, Lex wasn't stupid, he knew how to spin, learned it at his father's knee.

Except--

Except that, the one thing that even Dad couldn't spin, that no one could, that no one even tried. No one walked into a death sentence like a cocktail party, they just didn't. Earl hated the Luthors in ways that went beyond anything close to what Dad felt; bone deep, the kind that burned hot and lasted forever. And Lex--gun in his face and just standing there, offering up his life like it was something cheap.

Like it didn't matter.

People didn't do that. Not the Luthors that his dad preached against like it was a doctrine from the Bible, that the residents of Smallville muttered about under their breath though never to Lex's face. Lionel Luthor never would have gone into the plant while it filled with methane gas. Never would have knowing the doors would seal behind him and there'd be no way out. Never, ever do it on the strength of a lie, and Lex was a lot of things, but not stupid. He'd thought it was the delusion of a crazy man, not a truth Lionel had concealed.

People--didn't do that.

Luthors didn't do that.

Lex did.

Spin *that*, Clark. Smallville. Dad. Just try.

It was easier, Clark supposed, picking at the feathers poking through his pillowcase, to forget. To ignore. Close your eyes and pretend and keep everything black and white and vivid-sharp, no nasty edges of grey to screw around with the mindset and the opinions, and it was so easy.

So damned easy.

The night was too clear, shading the room in soft greys, rich shadow--bright moon cutting through the window and pooling on the floor in silver white, and Clark studied its glare for a few long moments before kicking the blankets back to pad across to the window.

He caught himself looking for the cows and jerked the curtains closed, plunging his room into smoky darkness. Latent images of the desk and bed were burned into his eyes as he made his way to the bed--no, to his closet, finding his jeans by touch on the floor. T-shirt from a drawer and an old shirt from the hangar. His Nikes from under the bed that looked like they'd been through a major war and not simply a few months of Clark Kent-specific stress. The soles were worn almost smooth--friction and the speed of sound over asphalt and solid dirt on too many nights just like this.

Or--not quite like this. But close.

Outside, the wind cut through his shirt a little, chilled edges that raised all the hairs on his arms, and Clark studied the dark night, wondering--flickering his gaze and saw Lana's house, all dark. Lex's castle, bright with lights. The new staff that Lex was still having problems with. Then he took a breath, shut his eyes, and began to run.

And no, this was more symbolism that didn't escape him. His life was the biggest metaphor in creation sometimes.

Life passed in slow motion, nothing quite real, blur of dark colors and darker shapes and nothing but him and the ground beneath, the skies high above. When being alien wasn't so bad, when Clark could--could love this, what he did. And forget how he hated what he was that separated him from everyone else.

And skidding to a dusty stop, almost stumbling. Dirt flying up around his shoes, the faint smell of burning rubber, and Lex. Of course.

It should be a surprise to see him--or maybe not, and if he was honest with himself, there'd been hope somewhere in him, that just *maybe*--knowing Lex, knowing how he dealt, but. Still.

Lex, sitting on the rail of the bridge he'd nearly died on, challenging the entire concept of wind versus perfect balance with careless ease, though Clark supposed that if there was anyone that elementary physics was just going to have to compromise with, it would be Lex. All in black and white like the night itself, shouldn't be so visible except the silver of the moon on that vivid skin and the feeling of him, brilliant and so alive, that Clark could find him even in perfect dark.

For just a second--flickering time, speeding up or slowing down almost at random--Clark wanted to turn away. Just leave, because he wasn't ready yet. Didn't know when he would be, but this wasn't the moment. He *knew* that, felt it, but--

--he took the steps between them and the crunch of gravel was startlingly loud, too loud for the soundless night.

"Lex?"

No sudden stiffening from the shock that Lex didn't feel, nothing except the gloved hands on the edge of the rail, tightening briefly, almost like acknowledgement. Head bent, watching the water far below as if he was looking for the traces of that long-ago car accident to be visible still. Clark could have told him that everything was gone. Evidence erased, and it was true, time really did heal all wounds, or at very least, covered them well enough to forget.

At least for now. At least for a little while.

"Clark." Slow drawl, mocking, but Lex didn't turn around. The slim body leaned forward a little, staring down, watching the water far below. And Clark wondered just how much Lex remembered of that day--Clark could tell him a lot of things about that water. How cold it was; how it tasted, murky-muddy on the back of his tongue; the oily-sheen of it slicking his skin; the weight of it in his boots. Rapid, blurred sensory information, fast and hard and very, very real. "Enjoying the night?"

Clark sucked in a breath. He shouldn't have stopped, shouldn't have said anything. Taking a breath, he pushed a foot behind him, but Lex hadn't turned around, and Clark--he couldn't leave. Not like this.

"I--my dad says the fields will be okay. Um. Clean-up is--I mean, it's going okay. In a few weeks--" Clark trickled off, searching for words, for anything. And he'd thought they were awkward *before*--

"That's good," Lex answered indifferently. Hands sliding slowly from the rail, elbows bent onto his knees, and Clark frowned.

"You--I thought you'd like to know your chemicals didn't permanently damage anything. You know, you--acted like you were worried. Of course, we won't know for sure for awhile and--and God knows what the hell we can do with the land if it's permanently contaminated--" And this was the crap he was tossing out. He didn't come out here to fight with Lex. He'd swear that in any court, but--

"It won't be." Lex shook his head, still staring down, and Clark wondered what he was looking at. Even with the moon, the shadows under the bridge were too dense to see much of anything. "I took a sample back to my lab--it's only poisonous in its undiluted form, but if the clean-up is thorough, you'll be fine in about a year. Probably extremely fertile as well, if my calculations are anything to go by."

"Oh. Well. That makes up for all the cows that died." And Lex was beginning to piss him off. Like it didn't matter. What had happened to them. Because of him.

"Clark," and now Lex just sounded tired. "Clark, think about it. Why the hell would I risk dumping dangerous chemicals on open land in broad daylight for anyone to find? Jesus, you have any idea how many inspectors have been combing the plant, how many inspections I'll have for the next God-knows-how-many-years, the lawsuits that your so friendly neighbors are already leveling against LuthorCorp? You'd think the only thing I have to do with my life is plot against Smallville--idiots. I didn't do it."

"It happened because of you." Clark set his feet, and a sick little bit of satisfaction surfaced when he saw Lex flinch. Ripple of the black coat and the head tilted down. It was--wrong, to like seeing that, to know he scored a shot.

"Yes. There's that." Lex lifted his head, and Clark followed the line of his gaze, but there was nothing to see. Just dark, endless fields, silent except for the sounds of the animals late at night, the rustle of grass. "It's very dangerous, you know."

"Dangerous?"

"To know me."

Clark took a breath--something in the quiet voice stopped the other accusations, the unspoken ones. That the Kents had been targeted because Clark was Lex's friend--but he got the feeling Lex knew that. Clark had seen it on his face when he was leaning against the fence that afternoon, staring at the field. And twisting the knife was suddenly--not what he wanted to do, not at all.

It wasn't who he was. It couldn't be. He wasn't that kind of person.

"I thought I had more time," Lex said slowly, and the sound made Clark jump a little. "That's always my problem, though. Time. There's so much to do and I never have enough time to do it all."

"Lex?" Clark couldn't help taking another slow step toward him--something in his voice, maybe. The way his shoulders seemed to be--almost slumped. The scent of brandy. Lex had been drinking.

"I never even knew. He knew, though. Probably just waiting for a good time to deploy that weapon, the next time I pissed him off enough." Lex's voice lowered. "Dad likes to twist the knife, you know. Just to make sure I understand."

Clark flushed, shivering a little. Another step closer, couldn't help it, and the silver moonlight reflected off Lex's face, eyes. Circles like bruises, unfocused. Lines drawn into the skin, tracks of wet that made Clark's throat close over.

He hadn't wanted this, no matter what. Not to see this, not to know this, and not to stand here like he was gloating. Like his father might. Like Lex's father might.

"I don't--" Swallowed, trying to breathe.

"It was the first time," Lex said in a soft voice, distant. Eyes turned inward, seeing things Clark couldn't. "And--it was all the cliches, every one of them. And it didn't matter--not LuthorCorp, not my father, not even the way I was fucking up my life by inches. She--she made it not matter."

Clark's stomach clenched hard, dinner becoming something solid and heavy and thick. "Amanda."

Lex didn't answer--Clark couldn't even be sure Lex heard him. He was listening for a voice Clark couldn't hear, seeing a woman Clark had never met. Another city, another time, another person.

"Mandy." Wistful. "She was--unique. In my experience, and it was considerable, even when I was sixteen. Just--bright. Like no one I'd ever met. Like no one I'd ever thought I wanted to meet."

Clark slowly sat down on the edge of the rail, legs suddenly unsteady, and Lex's head tilted up, looking briefly at the sky. Searching, maybe, or simply--remembering? Something flickering in Lex, something that shut Clark out as thoroughly as if he wasn't here at all.

"How'd you meet her?" Clark said, throat tight, and Lex's eyes fell. So far away, inches in space, God knew how far in mind. Amanda. Mandy.

"The way that shows up on TV, Clark, every cliche. She was my tutor." Little grin, almost free of pain. "She came from a good family. Debutante, private school, destined to be someone's very well-educated wife, the kind that abound in Metropolis." The smile faded slowly, and Lex's gaze fixed on some spot in the distance that Clark couldn't quite see. "Her parents died in a plane crash--and her brother went to prison soon after, I think. She taught at MetU, was earning her doctorate. Dad hired her thinking I'd respond better to a pretty girl than the idiots he'd been getting." Lex shrugged, mouth tight. "He was right."

Clark looked down into the water. Dark, thick, muddy, a lost shoe idly weaving by, and Lex had been in love. It was in his voice, whether he knew it or not. "You loved her."

"Who the hell knows anything when they're sixteen?" From the corner of his eye, Clark caught Lex's gaze flicker up briefly, catching him only for a second before darting away. "I thought it was. High school crush mentality--I sent her flowers and followed her around and tried to buy her things. Found out she really liked Metallica, and I got her backstage to meet them." Lex laughed a little, soft and it must have been a good memory. No bitterness at all. "She was--bright. She was there when my mother died, and she was there when--other things happened." Lex took a breath. "I wanted to do everything for her. I wanted her to have everything she'd lost when her parents died. I thought--. I always try too hard, though."

"Give her a truck?" Couldn't help it, and it wasn't even malice. At least, God, he hoped not.

Lex grinned, bright and fast and very, very real. "No. I paid off her student loans. She--well, *that* little exercise didn't go over too well at all. And I--I didn't know then, how to be subtle. So I invited her to the Luthor Christmas party to make it up to her--all her friends would be there from college, I thought she'd like to see them. Maybe to show her--show her what I could do for her, if she'd let me. And she met Jude."

Clark watched Lex's hands clench, but the blue eyes were still far away. Remembered pain, the kind Clark had felt move under his skin too many times to name. Too many nights like this one.

Or--not quite like this. But close.

"He was--he was everything I wasn't." Clark sucked in a breath at the edge in Lex's voice. "Old enough, sophisticated enough, no--uncomfortable surname. Good family, lots of money, no--unusual reactions to meteorites. No--questionable reputation. And he--I don't think he ever really looked at her. It was like she was a trophy to him, perfect, pretty girl, raised to know how to be the wife of a very rich man." Lex snorted softly, shaking his head. "The perfect everything, and he didn't even know she was the youngest to ever take a doctorate at MetU, didn't know she was MENSA qualified before her eighth birthday, didn't know she liked irises better than roses and loved heavy metal more than was probably healthy." Lex tilted on the rail, hands fixing again over the edges of it, and Clark could see the leather straining as his fingers tightened convulsively. "Didn't even know her secret vices were apple martinis and B-grade horror movies and that she hated Swiss cheese."

They weren't alone on the bridge anymore, Clark thought. If he closed his eyes, he could almost--almost--see her. Feel her through Lex, and there it was, the twist again. Sharp and short, leaving an echo of an ache behind. Lex didn't look at him. It was almost as if he wasn't there at all.

The silence stretched slow and easy between them, and Clark breathed out.

"I just waited." Lex's voice was almost a shock. "I thought she'd see what he was, but--it didn't matter to her. She loved Jude unconditionally, overlooked his fuck-ups when she could, and I--I couldn't stand it." One gloved hand was fisted against the rail, and Clark looked away from the blue eyes quickly, not wanting to feel the cut again. "She'd have become just another one of those socialite wives, and no one would ever see anything else. And then she *wouldn't* be anything else. And everything that made her different--that would be gone. He'd take it from her by inches, and she'd *let* him."

Lex looked at him then, bright blue eyes and something else. Almost challenging, but not quite. The world seemed to compress around them, becoming nothing but the dark and the soft sound of water far below and Lex, who was telling him--telling Clark what he didn't want to know, what he couldn't stop himself from hearing.

"So. I decided to fix it. And I knew her well enough to know how to do it, how to make sure she saw everything she needed to, what she couldn't ignore, and I took her to that club and I let her see what Jude was. Everything he was."

Clark shivered.

"And it went exactly like I thought it would--and then it didn't." Hard now, and wistful at the same time. "After--after it was over, Dad got her a job at another college and she never--she kept her promise, she never said a word, never made contact with me again. And I thought--it wouldn't be forever. Dad couldn't--he couldn't keep those restrictions forever, he wouldn't live forever, and I could--I could find her. Soon. And I'd be old enough, and I'd be strong enough, and I'd give her anything she wanted." Lex looked away, staring back down at the water. "And--how ironic, that the only thing she wanted was Jude, and I couldn't give her that. I took that away from her, because I loved her."

In the bright, cold light of Kansas day, it was easy to be suspicious, to believe the worst of Lex. Standing in the field where their cows had died. Seeing the box with that hand in it. Lex, in a thousand different moments where the worst was so easy to believe, so easy because he was Luthor and the name was--

--the name was the deciding factor. Whitney strung him up in a field and participated in a plot to extort Lex, but Clark had given him the benefit of the doubt. Wanted to protect him. Protect Lana through him.

Clark hadn't given that to Lex. Or anything close.

"Lex." The blue eyes met his, and they were wet, too. Clark swallowed, looking for the right words. "I--I believe you. I'm sorry."

For a second, even the wind stopped--breath, life, Lex just looking at him, and then something cracked. Maybe the threads of control slipping finally, and Lex was--here. Here in Smallville, not in Metropolis, and so was that dead girl, and Clark could almost feel her. Touch on the back of his neck like cold air, telling him quietly and without hesitation that it had never been Victoria at all. That all his sick worry and wasted energy was for nothing, that Lex had been bound a long time ago. Still was, in ways more permanent than any living person ever could.

Dreams, even broken ones, were more binding than flesh in the end. Clark knew all about that. Impossible to try and spin this any way other than that truth. Even his dad would understand.

"Do you think it matters who pulled the trigger?" So soft, almost inaudible. "Mandy's dead. Smallville doesn't matter, I don't give a fuck if the entire town starts on a massive anti-Luthor protest and--it doesn't matter. I ruined her. Even when I didn't want to, when I wanted to save her. She killed the only man she ever loved and--she's dead." Something tightened in Lex's voice, in his body. "And I wasn't there for her. Because that was the price my father put on his help."

"You could have gone to prison for her," Clark whispered. Almost impossible to imagine, not having met Lex. Unacceptable.

Lex pushed up--sudden, blinding movement, like something liquid in the air, balancing with careless ease, cocktail party casual, like nature itself had figured out that Lex wasn't like anyone else and never would be.

"I know. And it would have been worth it."

Easy, to figure it out now. So easy

It made sense. All of it, the pieces falling into place effortlessly, and Chloe would be impressed that he'd done it on his own, no sacrifice during the full moon required. Why Lex had been so careful with Amy. The Lana campaign. Everything, Lex watching him, what he'd been trying to tell Clark all this time, that he made those mistakes, had been there and done that, trying to make sure Clark didn't.

The necklace in the box, the tickets, the gifts and encouragement and advice and even the theatre--all of it for her, for this memory. So Clark would never be on a bridge one night alone and wishing--

"Lex--" And what would he say? There was nothing--anything he could say, anything at all, would be meaningless to this. Lex was grieving, and it was cheap, so *damned* cheap, to sit here and give--what? Absolution? I'm sorry for not believing you? I'm sorry that I can't trust you? I'm sorry everyone treats you like you're nothing more than an extension of your father, and God, I'm sorry that this is the way it is and will always be? And running below it all, the thing he didn't want to admit, even think, that twist of knowledge, of knowing. It'd never been Victoria. Ever. Clark's throat felt raw and bruised, like he'd been breathing shattered glass. "Maybe you should--go home. Get some rest."

"Maybe you should leave." Lex was eerily calm, and Clark didn't like how he was watching the water, the way he stood there, swaying lightly with the wind. Like he could do it forever or like he didn't plan to do it much longer at all.

Clark forced himself to sit still, but couldn't stop the flinch as Lex's words sank in On some level, he supposed he even deserved it.

"Lex, stop. Just--just get down."

Lex looked down at him--Lex, who did casual sarcasm like it was required by law. Lex, who grinned a little mockingly and shook his head. "I don't need a babysitter, Clark. I'm not going to jump. Can't anyway--I suppose you'd somehow find a way to catch me if I fell. You have that habit." Unblinking stare, reminding him what he knew, what they both knew. "Dream about any labs recently? Mine, perhaps?"

It was deliberate, meant to hurt, and he'd never known Lex to be malicious, not like this. And even knowing that, the little prickles rose up on Clark's skin, instinctive fear that sent him back from the rail and Lex--Lex laughed. Slow and angry and this was--too much.

"Up on one of the lab tables," Lex murmured, eyes fixed on Clark's. No warmth there at all. "Stretch you out on top--still want to see it, Clark?"

"Fuck you, Lex."

"You did that already." Light, effortless jump, finding the ground with both feet as if he'd never left it. "Run along. I don't want to be picked up for corrupting a minor. I'd hate to have to buy off more policeman, and Phelan was very expensive."

"Stop it." Clark forced himself to stand his ground, but his hands clenched into involuntary fists. "This--this isn't you. I--God, Lex, why do you make this so hard?"

"I thought I was making it easy." Lex shook his head, pushing his hands into his pockets, and the smile was sharp enough to cut.

"Lex--"

"If your father hasn't forbidden you to see me, then he's even stupider than I thought he was." Lex turned away and Clark, frozen, couldn't think of a way to stop him. Looked around, belatedly wondering where Lex's car was, but nothing was visible, even with his vision. And there was Lex, quietly walking down the road, and it was--it had to be symbolic or something, that Lex always walked away first. Alone.

The words were out before he could think to stop them. "Lex, stop. Please."

For a second, he didn't think Lex would--but the slim body came to a pause, and something like triumph bubbled through Clark. This wasn't--this wasn't his night, any of it. He shouldn't, he didn't, he wouldn't--

Slow, careful turn, and Lex was looking back at him, expressionless, unmoving, and very alone. Like it was something meant to be, and it--couldn't be.

"Where--where's she buried?" When Lex didn't answer, Clark pushed on. "You know--I know you do. You've had plenty of time to find out--and you're sort of good at that. Where?"

"Indiana," Lex said softly, and it was--something. Clark breathed out, staring at the rough asphalt and edges of winter grass for a few long seconds.

Make a decision, Clark.

"I--" Clark took a step, and this was stupid, this was wrong in every sense of the word, but it was--necessary, maybe? Clark couldn't even be sure why, but he jogged the steps between them, glancing down at his watch. Plenty of time "Let's--I'll take you to see her."

"What?" It was cool, in a fucked-up, the-universe-is-laughing-its-ass-off-again sort of way, to be able to surprise Lex still. Backing off a step, and Clark reached out, reflexively grabbing his arm. Not hiding his strength--no reason to anymore--and Lex looked down, eyes narrowing. Clark didn't have the right to do that--touch him, knew that, he'd given that up and willingly--but then Lex looked back up at him and breathed out sharply. "How?"

"I can get us there in under thirty minutes." Dangerous, confirmation of everything, but right now--right now, it didn't matter. "Lex--" Stopped, and he was thinking of all the nights he'd stared out his telescope at Lana's house. What he would have done if it had been Lana one night in a club, and God, what *wouldn't* he do to protect her?

The answer was painfully simple and he took the last step between them, and Lex was watching him. Long moments, where there was nothing but wind and quiet, Lex's soft breathing and the traces of tears that Clark wanted so badly to brush away.

"Let me--let me do this, Lex," he whispered, and Lex drew in a breath that shook. Pulling up his control, knitting the shreds together before his eyes, not complete, but the effort showed in the way his hands clenched, the tension of his body. Then Lex looked up and there was a slow, almost painfully brief nod.

"All right."

Actually, closer to forty-five minutes, because Clark had to stop twice to get directions. It didn't surprise him at all how easily Lex found her, pushing through the heavy metal bars Clark bent, pacing through the short, velvety-green grass and moving like a magnet toward north.

The journey was strange--he'd never brought anyone with him, unfamiliar weight and at the same time, achingly familiar, ghosts of memories in Lex's bed, in Lex's kitchen, warm and heavy and, just for those brief moments, his. And it was--God, it was hard to let go, let Lex's feet touch the earth again. Knowing that when they returned, he might never touch Lex again.

Passing around stones like broken teeth, Lex didn't seem to be completely aware of anything. Focus, Lex down to the soles of his feet, where nothing else existed but what he wanted, what he was looking for.

It was a short debate, whether to follow or not. A part of him knew this wasn't for him at all, that this was Lex's, Lex's and the girl he thought he'd failed. And it was--wrong, very wrong, to intrude on that. Lex was private even when he was at his most open--he wouldn't welcome company right now, even Clark's.

No, especially Clark's.

But--the little debate raged, and Clark went with his instincts, carefully picking his way over the ground. Just close enough to keep Lex in view--he'd never seen Lex like he had been in the last few days. Never even *thought* he was capable of losing that much of his calm, the calm Clark had come to almost expect, the ability to keep cool under any pressure.

Except for that garage, and now, here, and whatever Lex had of defenses had been worn down too fast and there hadn't been time, not even a breather--Victoria and his dad, Clark, that extortion attempt, then--this.

It was just--keep Lex in sight. Just watch. Not intrude, but. Be here. Just in case.

Lex came to a stop beside one of the newer stones and Clark backed off, leaning back against the cold granite beside him. Her stone was almost new-looking, pale glazed rose like the beginning of sunrise, the dirt long settled, covered in the beginnings of scraggly grass that would cover it in just a few years.

Amanda. Time covering the wounds.

It gave him time to think, half an eye on the man beside the grave, but his mind going here and there, wandering through uncertain terrain, trying to make the pieces fit. It wasn't easy--Dad was up there, putting in his two cents, Phelan laughing somewhere in the back, Lana's serious eyes and even more serious question...

...his mother....

And that was true. God, that was truer than even his mother could know.

The Luthors cast a long shadow in Smallville, in Metropolis, always had, his Mom was right. As long as Clark could remember, and he'd been trying, doing the separation, telling himself that he only saw Lex, not Lionel or LuthorCorp, and sometimes, he could even fool himself into believing that he'd succeeded.

But it wasn't true. Normal people were allowed to fuck up and still be considered okay. God knew, no one was totally innocent, not really--there was Jodi and Amy and poor Earle and there was Whitney and even Kyle.

There was his own not-quite-spotless record, the things Lex didn't know, his parents didn't know quite enough about--Greg, Coach Arnold, Sean, Harry, the guy he'd watched die while saving Whitney, no way around that one, it'd been a *choice*, he could have saved them both, and he didn't.

And God, think about that. Think how Dad had assumed that it was deliberate, the spill of those chemicals in that field, because Lex was a Luthor--and Lex had assumed that even heroin and a dead body in the barn didn't make Jonathan Kent a murderer.

And all it had taken for Clark to disbelieve Lex was the innuendo of a blackmailing cop.

Jesus. Had he been fooling himself this long?

"Mom." Clark tried to be surprised, but everything but numb acceptance had been burned out for hours. Autopilot was keeping his feet moving, the memory of Lex as he'd left him alone at the castle, and it--it had to say something, a lot of something, that it had taken everything in him, everything he had left, to walk away.

She looked up from the wicker chair they'd purchased last summer, watching him with wide, calm eyes--that calm that he thought had probably attracted his father as much as anything else, someone to ground him when he was all quick emotion/reaction. Like Clark himself, come to think of it, and maybe they'd just solved the nature/nurture debate, all done in the Kent human/alien household.

Clark slowly climbed the steps, glancing back at the faint grey edges that signaled the beginning of dawn.

"Your father's still asleep," she said mildly, and Clark watched her push out a chair, an order to sit enforced with another long look from mild eyes. Slowly, Clark took the seat, gingerly feeling his way through what-- "Where were you?"

Clark let out a breath. "Indiana."

Most parents, Clark reflected, might be a little startled when their only child did interstate trips in the middle of the night, but--well, most parents weren't the Kents, either. She nodded calmly, and Clark closed his hands over the arms of the chair, the wicker rough on palms that remembered the smooth feel of Lex's coat.

"Why?"

Clark bit his lip. "I--had to see something." Pause, and his mother's head tilted a little--traces of alarm moving below the surface, and she must have been up for hours, because her voice was sharper than he'd ever heard it.

"See what?"

How much to tell--it was easy, this decision.

"Where--she was buried. The reason we have dead cows and Lex isn't sleeping. I had--to know. To be sure." Shameful thing, that was true.

"Who?"

Clark lifted his head, and Lana's house was there, easy to spot even at this angle. Lana, through the top right window, curled up in her comforter with no idea--

"I--I'd do it for her," Clark said slowly, fixing his gaze back on the wood of the porch. "For Lana. If--if I had those choices, if that was--I'd do it." Clark shut his eyes for a second, slowly pulling everything together. "I always--I was always wondering, why Lex was pushing me at Lana so hard, you know? I mean--gratitude and all that, and he likes me, yeah, but--it was so important to him. And--she's why."

"Clark--"

"He was--a little older than me." God, only a year. It was a rush, getting the words out, the pieces all there for him to see, to put together. Image of Lex at sixteen--less polished, more raw, and desperately in love with a girl who loved someone else. God. "I mean--and I saw it, Mom. It's--I know how that feels, and I would have done it, too. I'd--he--" Clark stopped, breathing out harshly. "He *knows*, and he's the only one that ever--could get it, I think. You know, been there ,done that, but all he has is her grave and everything that shouldn't have happened, and he--" Clark stopped, catching his breath. "I still have hope, and he--lost that. Even the hope."

Something so final in those words, and Clark pushed his fingers deeper into the wicker. The silence was strangely comfortable as it stretched between them, and when he looked up, his mother's eyes were understanding.

"What was her name?" And so gentle.

"Mandy. Amanda."

Her hand reached out, touched his face, and she traced the skin under his eyes, catching the moisture he hadn't even known--God. So, so embarrassing.

"I--remember." Wistful, like Lex on the bridge. "That first time, that first love--it's intense stuff. It's--it's never what you expect, and--it's hard to let go."

"I don't think Lex ever did." Or could, or ever would, and the twist was back, maybe never left, harder and almost familiar now.

"No. Luthor men never let go." He looked up, but his mother was staring off into the distance, and she wasn't here at all--somewhere else, maybe Metropolis too, with another man, in another time. It was a startling revelation to have, just now--that she'd been someone else once. A person who lived and fell in love and-- "They just wait. It's--proverbial, in Metropolis, in Smallville, too."

"Lex is more than his name."

And she looked surprised at that. Blue eyes wide and Clark reflected on what he knew of his mother, all the things she was and wasn't, but--this was something else.

"Yes, he is. You think I don't know that? I grew up in Metropolis, Clark--they own the city. Have for as long as I can remember. I--know a great deal. And Lionel Luthor never would have risked death to save anyone, even his own son."

Clark pushed into the chair, feeling the stain of heat rush across his face. "It's easy to forget that," Clark said softly. "What Lex did. I--I forgot it, too." So easily. A few dead cows and some innuendo, and that was all it had took.

"It's easier to ignore what we don't want to see. Everyone needs an object--the Luthors were blamed for years for the economic depression in Smallville. It's not entirely their fault--the entire country was going through the same thing but, well, logic sometimes isn't applied. They've done--"

"Lionel's done," Clark said sharply, and his mother stopped, giving him a long look.

"Lionel and his father, yes. And in a very real way, Lex is always going to pay for their mistakes, their actions, just like he'll pay for his own. And that same name will get him almost anything he wants as well--he can do things that the rest of us can never do, can't even dream of doing. It's balance, in a sick way. It's not fair and it's not--what people should be. But no one is going to forgive Lionel Luthor for being so rich, for being so powerful, even if he was the most perfect man in creation, and he's far from it. And they're not going to forgive Lex for being his son."

"I don't care," Clark said, crossing his arms. Forcing out the words that he would have taken for granted saying only a week or two ago. Now--were they true? Not *as* true maybe. But still true.

"Don't you?" Even more gentle. "Think about everything else--your friend Pete's family has had a lot of problems due to Luthor--due to Lionel Luthor--"

"And Chloe's dad was saved by Lex, and Gabe works at the plant without any moral problems. Pete still hangs with Chloe. And I don't see Dad forbidding me to see Chloe because of her dad either."

"No, he doesn't." A soft sigh, and there was something else in her face now. "Lionel sent Lex here for a reason, Clark."

Clark jerked his gaze up, but his mother was looking far away. Long, elegant fingers twisting lightly in the edge of her sweater, and she looked--almost sad.

"Why?"

"Why would you send someone to a place they're so universally hated?" she asked, still soft. "Why to the place he almost died? Not many people around here know that Lex was injured in the meteorite fall. Not many would care if they did. Lionel's testing him, Clark. This is where Lex is going to decide who to become, what he wants to be. Here, where Luthor money doesn't mean anything and the very name gets doors shut in his face. Where he's going to learn what Lionel can't teach him directly. In a strange way, I suppose he thinks he's doing Lex a favor--" Her voice trailed off, and Clark shivered a little as her eyes grew unfocused, staring into the traces of dawn with an expression he couldn't read at all.

"Mom?"

She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her chest.

"As a parent--as a parent, I can understand, in a way. A little pain now to save bigger pain later. A few years of a thorough object lesson, that Lex isn't anything more than an extension of the name, that there aren't any other options. Don't care quite so much. Business is more important than people, and if the people are your enemies, then--it's easier not to see them. Not to care what happens to them. Eventually--eventually, it's a you against the world mentality, and Lionel wants Lex to learn that."

It was--

--true. Rewind, there were the pieces, and God, Victoria, that picture...*God*.

"Is that--" Clark stopped, swallowing. "He--Mom, Lex isn't--I mean, he wouldn't--"

"I think Lionel wants Lex learn this. Your father and I--we're not afraid of what will happen to you because we think Lex will hurt you. We're afraid of what will happen because Lex does like you. Because Lex is your friend and you're important to him. Because Lionel wants this lesson to sink through, and it's harder to do that when the people here have a face that Lex can see. And that he cares about. That he doesn't want to hurt."

The blue eyes were sad, looking into his. So sad, and angry on some level Clark couldn't completely understand--maybe resigned, too, or--

--or God. No. *No*.

"I don't--Mom." Clark's throat closed over. "Are you--are you and Dad going to ask me to do that? Cut Lex out? For good?" And would he let them? If that was the choice, that he had to make right now--what would he say?

It was a frighteningly long silence. The sun was pale pink, the color of Mandy's tombstone, rising slow and steady, and there was nothing but the sound of their breathing in the quiet.

"Do you have a reason we shouldn't?" she asked softly, and her gaze fixed on the field--*that* field, and Clark swallowed, hard. What Lex's enemies did to them, just to hurt Lex. Nothing compared to what Lionel Luthor could do, might do, if his mom was right, if--

--God, make a decision, Clark. And this time, all the way.

"No," Clark said slowly, testing every word. And it was easy. "No reason--if you want me to learn the same lessons Lex is learning. How to not care."

The hand that touched his face was a surprise.

"Then I think you have your answer. Go get washed up for breakfast before your father gets up." And smoothly, she was on her feet, moving past him to the door, and Clark watched her for a moment. "I'll keep this between us. You have deliveries this week, Clark. Lex forgot to place an order--probably an oversight with his new staff. You might want to check in and make sure."

The door opened and closed, and Clark pushed himself up a little numbly, but took just a moment to watch the sun rise. No longer pink. Long orange fingers stretching across the grey-blue sky, hints of purple, and the yellow-orange glare that was the edge of light.

It was beautiful.

the end