Part Five

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The next morning, Clark watched as Lex methodically gathered wood and piled it in front of the Kent's broken fence, intent on repairing it. Since fixing that particular type of fencework was more tedious than difficult, Clark had no problem agreeing when Lex suggested he be the one to do it.

Besides, as Lex reminded him, who liked fencing better than he did?

No argument from Clark's father either: he even presented Lex with a brand-new paintbrush for his whitewashing ease along with a reminder that anything that didn't pass inspection would have to be torn down and redone until it was right.

Message received it seemed and Clark smiled at the stern look of concentration that lined Lex's face when he examined the unbroken parts of the fence to see how they were put together, trying to figure out the best way of replicating them. Clark fought the urge to go over and explain the construction (it wasn't the first time the Kent's fence had met with disaster) instead choosing to let Lex figure it out for himself.

Puzzles were soothing for the mind and the task would hopefully keep Lex distracted away from any and all moving objects, at least until the late planting was finished.

And wonder of wonders, Jonathan had finally agreed to let Clark help with the "big work" in the lower fields and he'd felt a boyish sense of pride riding alongside his father in a farmer's son ritual of adulthood, handling the big guns of the operation, even if only for a few acres.

Things were going smoothly until the blades kicked up a large rock, tossing it against the cab with a loud thunk. Jonathan cursed softly under his breath as Clark hopped off beside him, hoping he hadn't messed up yet again.

"Don't worry, son," said Jonathan, peering through the mechanics looking for the rock. "Happens all the time. You just have to make sure you stop and get that sucker out of here before you start up again."

"Do you see it?" Clark squinted along the grease-covered gears.

"Yep," said Jonathan, stretching his arm in-between the razor sharp blades. "I think I got it." He pulled out an innocuous looking crimson colored stone, about as big as a fist. "Hmmph." Examined it closely. "Ever seen one of these before?"

Clark took the rock from his father. "No, never. Maybe it's copper?"

"Nah." Jonathan shook his head. "No copper veins around here."

"Maybe it's ... oh!" Clark cried out and pulled his hand away from the blade it was resting atop and blanched at the sight of blood squirting from his palm. "Dad ..." he gasped, real fear in his voice.

It was the first cut Clark Kent had ever received. He'd never seen his own blood ... ever. No object had ever been sharp enough to break through his seemingly impermeable skin so he'd never been that careful about what he touched or how hard he gripped it.

"Clark!" Jonathan yelled, whipping off his flannel and wrapping it around Clark's hand. "Oh my God," he stammered as blood quickly soaked through the shirt. Terror in his voice as well and Clark tried hard not to panic. "Come on, son. Back to the house. Don't worry ... it'll stop. Your mother and I will fix this."

Clark dropped the rock from his other hand back into the dirt and let Jonathan tug him back toward the main house. His wounded hand began to itch wildly and he pulled away, unable to resist tearing off the makeshift bandaging and see what new horror was happening.

"Dad ..." he said, his eyes growing huge as the cut slowly, but surely, began to close right before his eyes. "Do you see it? Look!"

He and his father watched as the blood ceased to flow and the skin repaired itself leaving behind nothing but a thin red line. A long moment of silence followed and they both slowly turned away from Clark's hand to stare at the glowing red rock which lay in the dirt a few feet away.

"Son," Jonathan said quietly, stooping to retrieve the bloody flannel. "Go back to the house. Take this shirt with you and tell your mother to burn it. Right now. Don't do anything else until I get back."

"But Dad ..." All protests died on Clark's lips as his father turned to him, ashen-faced.

"Do as I tell you to, Clark."

A command, and Clark quickly nodded. "Yes, Dad."

He sadly trudged back through the freshly planted fields and made his way back to the main house where he passed by the broken fence, and Lex. Luthor waved to him with a bright smile and he dejectedly waved back, tucking the stained flannel tightly beneath his other arm, hiding it from view.

When was this going to end, he thought, trying not to cry. When I'm dead, maybe?

The thought of dying had never really crossed Clark's mind, not until that day. If you could bleed, then you could die and the first thoughts of his own mortality passed through Clark, crawling up his spine like a poisonous spider. If he died, what would happen to his family ... what would happen to him? Would he go to the same heaven the people of this planet were supposed to end up? Or would he end up in some sort of otherworldly place, the heaven of his home world, surrounded by those who had given him up to fate at birth?

For the first time in his short life, Clark Kent felt utterly alone and he stopped in the middle of the path that lead to his mother's kitchen door. He could almost feel Lex's eyes on him and heard the scuffle of boots against gravel as Lex jogged over, calling his name.

"Hey, what's up?" Lex peeked over his shoulder. "You look a little shell-shocked."

Clark struggled against bursting into tears, against burying his face against Lex's shoulder and just sobbing. There was no good reason for such a thing, at least not as far as Lex was concerned and Clark wasn't in the mood to figure out a sensible enough lie.

"Nothing," he whispered hoarsely. "I ... I just got a little cut in the fields, that's all."

"You did? Let me look at it." Concern filled Lex's voice and Clark held out his hand numbly, knowing there was little or nothing there to see. "Oh, it's just a scratch," exclaimed Lex cheerfully, rubbing Clark's shoulder. "Slap some peroxide on it and you'll be fine."

"Yeah. That's what I'm gonna do. Excuse me," said Clark, taking the stairs up the porch two at a time letting the door slam behind him. His mother stood in front of the sink with soapy hands, the askance in her eyes turning to horror when she saw the bloody shirt clutched in Clark's shaking fist.

He ran crying into her arms and stayed there, knowing that behind him Lex Luthor was watching through the screen door.

Watching ... and wondering.

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Crickets began their nighttime chirping and Clark leaned back against the straw pile, staring up into a darkening sky. Heard the crunch of footsteps making their way through the yard and finally saw Lex looming over him, blanket and cider jug in hand.

"I've been sent out on St. Bernard duty to bring you aid and comfort." Lex flapped the blanket open. "Over or under?"

"Under. This stuff itches." Clark got up and brushed sharp bits of chaff away from his neck as Lex spread the blanket out. "Mom sent you out?"

"Yes, but I suggested it. You seemed so quiet at dinner." Lex sat cross-legged, patting the ground beside him. "Sit, and partake of apple juice that's gone over to the dark side of The Force."

Sound of cider jug being uncorked, and Clark couldn't help but grin. "You're nuts, you know that?"

"Am I? Glad to hear it from such an unbiased source." Lex took a long drink of cider and leaned back. "So. You want to tell me what happened out there today? You don't have to, but it might make you feel better to talk about it."

Clark stiffened. "No. It's ... it's nothing that I could explain properly anyway. I'd just as soon forget it, really."

"Your mom and dad seemed spooked too," continued Lex. "I was surprised at that. They seem so ... so ... unflappable."

Jaw hurting from being clenched so tightly, and Clark shook his head. "It's nothing. Just an ancient family thing, that's all." He sighed, suddenly wishing he could spill everything and knew that that was impossible. He could never tell his secrets. Not even to Lex ... never to anyone, for as long as he lived, for however long that might be.

"Does it have to do with your adoption?" Lex asked quietly, looking not at Clark, but at the stars above.

So close, and Clark closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "Something like that."

"After all these years it would hardly seem there's anything to worry about." Lex glanced at him. "Is there?"

Clark shrugged helplessly. "There are always things to worry about when you don't know who your birth parents are or where they are or what they are."

A slip there and a tiny surge of panic shot through him. If he said too much ...

"You know, what they do for a living," he clarified quickly. "Or if they're even alive."

"Clark," Lex propped himself up on his elbow and gazed meaningfully at him. "I can find out these things for you. Sealed records aren't a problem, not for a Luthor anyway. If you give me the adoption agency's name, I can ..."

"There isn't an adoption agency," said Clark sullenly, not caring anymore. The endless secrets were killing him, inch by inch and what did it matter anyway if he was going to die, probably any day now. Bleeding to death, maybe, or falling down suddenly while working on the roof or something else new and interesting popping up out of nowhere was going to kill him where he stood, so what good were the lies?

How were secrets going to save him?

Lex blinked at him, confused. "No agency?" He hesitated. "Did your parents, um, buy you, Clark? Not that I would ever breathe a word about it, I swear." A puff of surprise. "It's just that I didn't think they had that kind of money."

"They didn't buy me." Clark's eyes burned and he suddenly hated himself more than he remembered loathing anything ... ever. "They found me."

"Found you?" Honest confusion, until realization dawned. "Are you saying ..."

"Yeah. They found me in the fields. Over where I was planting today." Truth finally, and some of the burden Clark Kent had held inside his entire life lifted, just a little. "And while I was working, I found ... I found something that reminded me of how ... how I came to be there. That's all."

"Jesus, Clark," Lex breathed. "Your birth parents left you in a field?" Indignation filled his eyes. "That's outrageous. That's despicable, leaving an infant outside to die. My God ..."

"I wasn't exactly an infant, I was around three or four, I think." Clark sighed. "They had their reasons I'm sure." His throat tightened. "It's just ... it's just that there's so much I don't know and so much I'm never going to know."

He looked at Lex with desperation, hurting more than he ever knew he could hurt. "And sometimes I'm afraid, Lex, really and truly afraid."

Tearfully, and he turned to Lex who regarded him profoundly, as if his soul had been touched.

"Come're," said Lex softly, and with a swoop and tug, Clark found himself wrapped within two strong arms. Arms that were so very different from his father's or his mother's, a touch with new shades of meaning that Clark could hardly begin to comprehend. "Shhh. It's going to be all right, Clark."

Whispers against his forehead and Clark curled into the embrace, wondering at the pounding of his heart. "I will do anything and everything to help you, always. Try to remember that, okay? If nothing else, you have someone who's willing to go the distance for you, forever."

"Forever?" Clark's lips quirked into a weak smile. "Won't you get tired of me?"

"Who could get ever tired of you?" said Lex. "Every day I learn something new from you."

A gentle press of lips atop his head and Clark's pulse raced. "Oh."

Slim fingers carded through his hair and Clark leaned into the soothing touch, no longer feeling afraid or sad or even the slightest bit upset. He felt nothing but warmth radiating from wherever Lex touched, something tingling and wondrous that spread straight down to his toes, making them curl inside his shoes.

Touches that made him happy. Gave him hope. Made him want to take chances.

Clark Kent wasn't big into risk taking, but then again, you only lived once, didn't you? Life was all about risk and maybe, just maybe, Lex would take a risk with him. Or so Clark could ask. "Lex," he said, taking a deep breath. "Could ... I ... um ... well ... I'd like to ... I mean ... "

So much for risk-taking. He'd have to learn how to talk first.

Lex sighed against his cheek, then pulled away. "Clark," he said, and Kent grimaced at the sadness in Lex's voice that could have only meant one thing: rejection. "If you're asking what I think you're about to ask ..."

"Forget it." Clark scrambled out of Lex's arms. "Please, just forget it."

"You didn't hear me out, Clark."

"I don't need to hear it and I'm sorry," Clark babbled, leaping up and wishing the ground would swallow him whole. "I didn't ask anything anyway, okay? If you could forget it, please and ..."

"You're fifteen, Clark," Lex ground out furiously, as if he hated the sound of the words. "And I'm not and that's all there is to it."

"I'm not fifteen. I'm not sure how old I am but I'm not fifteen," replied Clark thickly, feeling as if he were choking to death. Oh, how many mistakes was he going to make in this life? "Mom and Dad held me back for two years from school because I didn't know how to talk or do anything when they found me." Hyperventilating, and he fought to slow down his heart. "But that doesn't matter. I ... I just got carried away. I'm sorry and it'll never, ever happen again."

Lex slowly rose and stood in front of him, so close Clark could feel the warmth of his breath against his flushing skin. "All right then, seventeen. And I'd still be a bastard to take advantage of a seventeen year old who ... who ..."

"Who hasn't lived the fabulous life of a Luthor?" Clark snapped bitterly.

"Who I owe everything to," finished Lex quietly. "My life. My happiness. My sanity." He reached out and touched Clark's hand. "You deserve much better than me. I'd bring you nothing but grief."

Clark blinked. "But ... wait ..."

"I should leave here, I think," Lex said shakily. "I'll go inside and pack."

"No!" Clark yelled, grabbing Lex's arm, holding him in place. "No. You're not going anywhere." Swallowed hard and lowered his voice. "Please, don't go. Let's just forget this happened, okay? I just got a little overwhelmed and you were being so nice and ..."He tried to laugh and it came out as an anemic croak. "I'm a horny teenager. What can I say?"

At this, Lex's mouth turned up in a tiny smile. "Ah yes. I vaguely remember those days."

"Right. And so ... you don't have to leave, right? You'll stay?" Clark asked, pleading. "I promise, I'll be good. Better than good, I swear it."

Lex sighed sadly. "You're not being bad, Clark. I'm the one who isn't thinking straight."

Clark couldn't help himself. "I sure wasn't," he laughed and suddenly everything was all right between them again -- more or less. "We'll forget it."

"Yeah," said Lex firmly. "We'll forget it." He sat back down on the blanket and picked up the cider jug in salute. "To straight thinking."

"To straight thinking," Clark agreed and sat beside him, waiting for the trembling, and the heat, to finally pass away...

Just like everything else.

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It was nearly midnight when Clark entered the Smallville cemetery, wandering between the tombstones, his hands stuffed deeply into his pockets. He didn't know why he went there when things went wrong; maybe it was some deep seated need to connect with a past he knew didn't belong to him in any way, shape or form.

These were the dead of this world. He was a life from another, and never the twain shall meet.

Or at least they never should have.

"We really have to stop meeting like this."

Soft voice, and Clark whirled around to see Lana Lang, pale and pretty in the moonlight. "Oh. Hey, Lana," he said, noticing she wasn't wearing her necklace, the one that held a mysterious weakening power over him, a power he used to attribute to Lana herself but was starting to think otherwise.

After Lex came into his life, Lana the person was looking a bit bland to say the least. However, Lana the girl was beautiful and sweet, and Clark smiled at her, enjoying the smile he received in return.

Now here was a rejection he could handle, he'd had enough practice at it anyway.

"What lonely sorting out do you have to do tonight?" she asked, strolling beside him and plucking at a wilted rose that lay dying in her hand. "Or are you just enjoying the surreal view?"

"I have enough surrealism at home," he said dryly. "Besides, there's nothing more real than death," he sighed. "So this is where we all end up, huh?" He kicked at a bit of broken tombstone. "Seems like a waste."

"Depends on what you did before you end up here." She knelt and tucked the rose between two melded headstones, both dated somewhere from the eighteen-hundreds.

Clark looked at her curiously "Did you know them? They seem a little before your time."

"No," she said. "Sometimes when visiting Mom and Dad I do a random visit here and there to some strangers." She grinned shyly. "It's weird, I know, but maybe someday a few hundred years from now someone will visit me and wonder, 'Hey, Lana Lang. What was your life like?"

"I'm sure everyone will know," said Clark with conviction. "I'll bet you'll be world famous long before then."

Lana laughed aloud, such a strange sound for a cemetery. "I'm glad someone has such faith in my future." Huge brown eyes examined Clark thoughtfully. "I'm glad you're here actually. I wanted to talk to you but wasn't sure of a good time or place for it. Not that this is such a great place but ..."

"It'll do." Clark regarded the stone angel at the cemetery's entrance before turning back to Lana. "Tell me what's on your mind."

To his complete surprise, Lana blushed deeply, looking as awkward as he must have around her for all those years. "It's about Whitney. Well, me and Whitney. See, we've both come to the conclusion that we want very different things from life and that there's really no point in continuing the way we were. You know, dating exclusively. So ..." She took a deep breath. "I thought the first person I'd ask out on a date would be you. If you'd like to go out on one that is."

At first Clark was confused, until he realized exactly what Lana was saying and the irony nearly knocked him over. A month, maybe even a few weeks before, he'd have been in heaven at her request, dancing through the cemetery, howling at the moon, flying through the air.

But now, he felt little more than an overwhelming sense of flattery coupled with a sharp pang of bitterness that he'd never hear those words from Lex's lips, ever. That much Lex had made clear and Clark wanted to kick himself and his rotten timing all over again.

Lex rejects you, Lana asks you out. The world had definitely gone mad.

"Clark? Did you hear what I said?" Hopeful little voice and Clark couldn't help but be moved by Lana's courage. Takes a lot of guts to ask someone out, he thought, and what the hell ... why make everyone miserable in one night?

Life was far too short not to live it as cheerfully as possible. "Sure," he replied, wondering at her brilliant smile. "I'd love to go out."

"Great," she replied happily. "Pick you up tomorrow, let's say eight?"

"Eight it is," Clark agreed and watched as she practically skipped away, feeling surprisingly empty. He wanted to be elated, he wanted to be waiting for tomorrow night minute by minute but all he could think about ... all he could see ...

Were a pair of grey eyes, flecked with silver and thrilling his heart with their light.

Even if he knew what he truly wanted to see in those eyes was never going to be.

Sighing deeply, Clark tapped the angel's wings twice before leaving the cemetery and making his way back home, to where another sleepless night, another agony of wanting what he could never have, awaited him.

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end Part Five

Click here for: Part Six

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