Furious Angels
            by Nymph Du Pave
 

            CHAPTER SEVEN:  Parental Notification

            Lex kicked Shawn.  Hard.  Harder than he'd ever kicked or hit anyone in his life.  And Lex had been in a lot of fights in his twenty-one years.

            There was a moan.

            Lex kicked the body more than once.

            There were audible cracks, not nearly loud enough for the avenging Luthor's sudden bloodthurst.

            He straddled Shawn and began to lay blow after blow.  Face, head, neck, chest.

            The kid went limp.  Not dead or even unconscious.  Just limp.  Giving up.

            But that didn't stop Lex.

            Clark was dead.  Nothing mattered but killing the little blond bitch beneath him.

            There was pressure on his shoulder, pressure he vaguely recognized as a hand.

            Pressure.

            From a hand.

            Jonathon.  The bastard.

            Lex spun around, leaping off of Shawn and, sure enough, there stood the farmer looking surprised and a little guarded.

            "Lex, I-"

            That was as far as he got before Lex's fist broke his concentration.  It was a lousy shot as infuriated and anger-blind as Lex was.  It merely grazed Jonathon's mouth, but the intent was clear.

            At least to him.

            Jonathon backed up and held his hands palm up in the air.  "Whoa, Lex.  It's me."

            "I know who it is, you stupid son of a bitch!"  He had tried to shout, but his throat was once again constricting and it came out a heated whisper.  He felt like crying again but didn't want to lose it in front of the senior Kent.

            The man looked shocked.  "What?!"

            "It's because of you that Clark's gone!"

            "Now, Lex, I don't know-"

            "He's dead, Mr. Kent!  Dead!"

            Jonathon paled and stumbled backwards.  "No.  You're wrong, Lex.  He can't-"

            "He can't what?" Lex yelled.  "Be hurt?  Be killed?  Because you thought that, because you didn't worry an ounce-"  The tears were streaming down his cheeks now, his breath ragged and uncontrollable.  "Because you took advantage of his safety, he's dead."

            "Oh, God."

            Lex turned around to deliver another kick to the football player.  "And this fucker killed him.  Froze him and left him by Fordman's car."

            "Clark."

            Lex kicked the body again, not satisfied with the lack of noise Kelvin was making.  The eyes were open and blinking, but there were no more winces, no more moans.

            Maybe he's in shock.

            "My little boy."

            Lex heard the anguish in the man's voice.  It mirrored what he felt in his own heart and soul: how would he make sense of a world, of a life void of Clark's influence.  He realized just then what he said to the man that had lost his one and only son.   A man that, Lex knew, understood how amazing Clark was, what kind of incredible man the boy would have turned out to be.

            He turned to find Jonathon sitting, stunned, at the bottom of the steep hill, head in his hands.

            Lex had just blamed a father for the death of his beloved son.  And the father had believed him.

            "Oh, God…" he whispered and fell to his knees in front of Jonathon.  "I'm sorry."  He reached out expecting to be pushed away, expecting to be glared at or decked, or throttled.  He wanted to be throttled for his cruel and unthinking words.

            He wasn't expecting Jonathon to pull him into an embrace and start sobbing severely.

            "What have I done?"

            Lex felt worse than he ever had in his life.  What had Jonathon done?  Nothing.  What had he done?  Easy.  He had labeled a good dad as the muderer of his adopted child.

            "Nothing.  You didn’t do any-"

            "I killed my baby."

            Tears were seeping into his cashmere sweater.  "Mr. Kent, you-"

            "It's my fault.  I wanted to protect him, but he's special."

            Lex swallowed.  "I know."

            "He's so special.  So gifted and thoughtful.  I told him he should use his gifts if he thought that it was right.  If he could help somebody.  I told him to be careful, but-"

            Lex knew he shouldn't be hearing this, knew that a more emotionally sober Jonathon wouldn't be sharing even what little he was right now.

            "Oh, Jesus.  I thought he couldn't be hurt.  I thought no one could hurt my baby."

            "Shhh…"  Lex did the only thing he thought could help: he started rocking the elder Kent.  He felt awkward and unsure, foolish and inexperienced, but it had always worked with him.

           I was a child, though.

            Anything at this point was worth a try.

            "You didn't do anything," he started, interrupting the self-deprecating murmurs.  He didn't want to hear Clark's secrets.  Not now.  It seemed wrong.  Blasphemous.  "You raised a son that put others first."  His eyes began to well up and he realized just how shot the rest of his life was.  It was hopeless.  Utterly bleak.  "He was an amazing person, Jonathon, and the world has you and Martha to thank for that.  He gave everyone a chance.  Even me."

            His voice cracked on the last part, reducing itself to a whisper, and he felt Jonathon pull him closer.

            Until another very strong hand pulled him back.

            Another very strong, very cold hand.
 
 
 
 

            TBC Tomorrow