The sun had long gone down and the summer air hung, moist and heavy.  The daylight that had once been warm a cozy was gone, leaving the darkness to penetrate the room and Lex's mind.  There was something moving around up there, something waiting to stir, and Lex wasn't sure he wanted it to wake.

The sound of Clark shuffling a little on the couch caught his attention.

They'd been sitting in Clark's Fortress for a long while now.  Since three.  Doing nothing really.

Lex had been more introverted since he'd shot Nixon.  He rarely went into town anymore, understanding that everyone there would know.  Most of them thought him a hero.  He wasn't sure what he thought.

Clark had been visiting him more and more recently.  The boy wasn't talking to Lana and there was a rift growing between him and Chloe.  Pete too.  Part of that was because he'd taken Chloe up on her 'let's just be friends' bit -- even though Clark had realized that Chloe had only wanted him to express a 'No, No! Let's stay together' sentiment -- and part if it was that he'd made Lex his number one priority, sometimes even over farmwork.  Jonathon never complained, apparently.  Clark said he just politely reminded him to do his chores when he got back.

Lex watched another falling star.  The privileges that came with saving the life of someone that despised you were often diverse, an assorted mix of casual graces you never received before then.  And he knew that Clark had talked his father into giving Lex yet another chance.  Lex found it intriguing in a cold, calculated way.  He wondered how many times it would take Farmer John to finally believe or just give up.

A Luthor is a Luthor is a Luthor after all.

He'd explained to Clark about saving his father and the impending blindness only days ago.  He'd never intended to.  Clark happened to drop by at the wrong moment; Lex, drunk and throwing his glass, shards slicing little wounds into his bare feet.  Cursing the couch pillows as if they'd single-handedly damned the fate of Earth.  It didn't take a genius to figure out that something was wrong and the staff knew to stay away or pack their things.  When Lex was drunk he had no mercy, and that mercy never came back when the drink had been flushed from his system - not for anyone who had interrupted.

Clark.

Clark had walked in and Lex had turned.  Said something mean about Clark coming to save him from evil, meteor-influenced sifter shards.  Then he had passed out.

Little less than twenty minutes later he'd awaken to find Sam Loomis, his butler and unofficial caretaker for so many years, bandaging his wounds while little Hillary O'Brian, his chauffeur's sixteen year old niece, painstakingly cleaned up the glass that was burrowing in his plush, four thousand dollar carpet.  Two of the four people he could trust in his life.

And, of course, the number one person that he could trust.  Clark had been by his bed and, once everyone had left, the farmboy had quietly, dutifully asked what was wrong.  Before Lex could tell him to leave, Clark's hand, so soft and big, came up to gently rub Lex's scalp.

A single tear had escaped before the onslaught of his horrid little story came through.  Everything.  Including his father's words at the last moment, before he had to leave the hospital room.  The heartbreaking sound of his name coming from a father desperate to both lay the blame and -- in some sickly demented, twisted way -- connect with a lost son.

A slight breeze sifted through the top of the barn and seemed to become choked in the thick humidity.  It died and Lex shifted uncomfortable and suddenly impatient, restless.  It was like a caffeine jolt or a burst of adrenaline.  The energy, though, was mixed with a sort of sadness.  A low level depression and world weariness.  He felt like a traveler on a long, long journey that had just realized his voyage had no end.  The only stop was when his feet decided to cease walking, when his body would put up with it no more.

He had no destination.

This sadness and surge…  It made Lex feel empty, with a pressing need to cram in something that would take away the sickening vacuous feeling.

Light.  Love.  Clark.

Being emotionally indented was no excuse to use to make moving on Clark okay.  He knew that there was no way that he could allow himself such freedom; touching the still waters of such perfection was too great a risk, lest he disturb the surface and what lay beneath and ruin what he saw to be a whole and generously devout friendship.

Because there was no way to fulfill his strangely active and sorely abused heart, he sat there for minutes, not sure what to do.  Just as a panic attack was about to hit, next to him Clark turned the page of his book -- a loner from Lex -- and his mouth fell open.

The wispy sound of the thick paper swishing through the air was pronounced, as senses are sometimes heightened during anxiety attacks and energy rushes.  Lex saw that his best friend was into the story of Edmund Dantes, danger and intrigue, love gained and lost, murder, death, and revenge.  The boy was not at all paying attention to the world around him and, for this heinous crime, Lex could not forgive him.

He got up and stood in front of Clark, watching the boy reading, already halfway through the large hardcover, and decided that he suddenly wanted his book back.

Snatching it from Clark's lap, he watched as the virtuous face turned up, lines curved in confusion, chaste beauty all the more salient.  It was a striking moment for his heart and Lex knew that, one day, when he was but a catacomb for his old memories, he would remember Clark the most.

With an evil grin that he did not feel plastered to his face, he said not a word.  He waited for the glint in Clark's eyes, the accusation of foolery to fill the air, and then he just started running.  Down the creaky but solid wooden steps, landing in a tiny dust-and-dirt puff and scurrying across to the doors.  Then he was out in the night, running towards and then past his car.  He knew Clark could run fast, knew that his best friend might just be able to beat the best performance car he owned, but tonight it wasn't about that.

It wasn't about that.  For once.

It wasn't really about anything except maybe trying to defeat the hollow feeling, keep it from permeating his skin and completely taking over and all the while bringing his best friend along.

So he ran, allowing the knowledge that Clark was letting him, was following the arrow, slip away into the night.  He ran and ran hard.  He could, as it was one of his many weekly exercises.

He sped up, running past the main road in front of Clark's house and onto a little dirt road in the middle of the corn until finally he was sprinting and even he couldn't take the torture to his lungs and legs.

He had slowed down a little, his legs warmed and not yet aching or cramping.  A little ways in he slowed to a jog, then just abruptly stopped, falling to the dusty road beneath him, dirt instantly caking his dress slacks and his expensive purple tee.

"Lex!"  That was all he really heard.  The boy went on about getting dirty and how such a sudden stop wasn't good for him, physically.  Lex wasn't really listening, had in fact, dropped his book a far ways back.  Not that either of them had noticed.  It had become more than a chase for some stupid book and they both knew it.  It had been Clark's duty as a friend to follow, to ignore the book splayed in the middle of his driveway, to ignore the fact that Lex had been quiet and distant recently, to just follow and be there when the world stopped Lex from going any further.

Now was his turn and he was sure his world traveling was over.  Here in the dirt, in the corn, in the country with the stars, the freaks and the femme-fatal green rocks, there was his destination.  And he had only one chance to grab for it, to jump off the train before he was lost again.

He just wasn't completely sure when to jump or even what for.  The timing had to be just right, and he still wasn't sure what part Clark had to play in all this, or even why he had to be here.

Maybe it was because the boy had awakened him to his second life, his second chance and his one and only purpose.

"I just had to run.  Sometimes it's all that's left of me."

He hadn't meant to say it.  Not any of it.  It was revealing too much of a void he never wanted to acknowledge.  It was granting admittance to Clark that Clark had yet to grant him, and he was never one to make the first emotional move.  His father had groomed that out patiently, like a cow-lick that would just not give up.

And here it was again.

Really, the words just came out and he panicked.  He was worried that Clark wouldn't get it, would, for once, not be able to grasp Lex's intrinsically self-complicated manner.  But the look on Clark's face made the truth worth the breach.

There was more than empathy or understanding or a sad kind of longing to help.  There was a shared knowledge.  And it was a reason, one of the millions, that he loved this fluffy-haired, goofy, sexy farmboy.

Clark approached him with a hand out but Lex denied it.  He didn't want to stand, didn't want to brush off the dirt and become Lex Luthor again, even if he was just Clark's friend, instead of Lionel Luthor's son.  They were just versions of someone he wasn't entirely sure even existed, though he knew Clark well enough he could foresee the boy's reaction to such a statement, such Lex utter that thought allowed.

He wouldn't though.  He did not crave nor require exoneration from his name; acquittal from the masses was in his future, his not-to-near future, but it was there.  Someday they would her Luthor and think 'Lex' not 'Lionel'.  They would have to be reminded of the fame Lionel was possessed, whether purchased by money or fear.  Lex would one day occupy the sole 'Luthor' spot in the American people's eyes, and that would be in and of itself, an absolution from his name.

In the meantime, he was with Clark, and he never had to ask forgiveness for his father's sins from the boy.  His own stupid mistakes, yes, but never his father's.

There were crickets and frogs, mating in a pond nearby.  He could hear the songs, the splashes and, out of nowhere, he noticed that the night was not as hot nor humid as it had been earlier.  Not here, hidden inside the field.

Lex liked lying there, his breathing harsh, his world askew.  There was a freedom in getting dirty, in allowing himself to not maintain his breathing, or worry about what he might look to a passerby.  There was a world beneath the corn and it was somewhere that, at least for a while, he could be someone and something else.
Clark was still watching him.  Lex wondered how long the boy would stand there with no more explanation.  He didn't care to find out.

He took a deep breath, unsure where to start.  "I just need this anonymity, Clark," he said.  "I can't be me right now, okay?"

For a minute there was just the crickets, the frogs and the water.  The sky above Clark seemed as black as the boy's hair, and the stars twinkled in the background.  Lex thought that, if he had to, this was a very nice way to spend eternity: an incredibly beautiful human being watching him in a moment that was both buzzing with anticipation and silent with the knowledge of life.

Clark dropped to the ground beside him and propped himself on one elbow.  He had just stared at Lex, deeply, frowning, pondering, his large index finger drawing a continuous circle in the ground.

"Empty," he whispered and Lex felt a jolt in his stomach.

"What?"

"You feel empty… and alone.  Like nothing you've done matters.  You're not where or even who you're supposed to be."

The tears had burned his eyes then.  They wouldn't fall; this wasn't that kind of moment and the tears weren't those kind of tears.  But they were there and it meant something.  It meant he wasn't alone, no matter what the emptiness was telling him.

Clark fell back and looked at the sky.  After a second, his own eyes started to shine.  "I know that feeling.  Sometimes I feel like…  Like I am that feeling.  You know?  Like I'm so alone and still in this world that if I just stopped breathing, I wouldn't die.  I could go on."

"No matter how many bad things might happen in your life," Lex picked up.  "Nothing kills you.  Nothing permanently maims your senses.  You just keep going on, day to day."

"I wonder if I'm so alone I'll never die."

"And nobody would be there to miss you when you do."

He heard Clark nodding in the dirt, felt bad that such pretty hair was no doubt caked in the grime.

"I sit up in the loft and wonder if there's another reason for me to be alive, because the one that I can see is too lonely.  I don't know that I'll be able to do it."

"Yeah."  Lex rolled over slowly and braced himself on his arms.  Clark's eyes were shut; he was unaware of Lex's closeness.  Lex leaned over him, lips inches away from those pre-swollen ones that haunted his every desperate moment, and breathed slowly.

His angel should never feel lonely.  Such a perfect Clark.

Empty and…  Was this Lex's destination?

There was now a lump in Lex's throat.  He couldn't be that lucky.  Clark couldn't be his purpose, his destination.  That would make things too easy, too lovely, too...  too fun.  And life for a Luthor was not allowed to be fun.

A tear fell from his cheek to Clark's.  So it was that kind of moment.

Clark's eyes fluttered open and surprise lit them from the inside.  There was no jerking away, no awkward words…  Just stillness from a willing prey, cheeks beginning a familiar flush, breath speeding up in a way that not even sprinting could have caused.

He was wanting and willing.

What intoxication, Lex thought.

"If you're empty," Lex started.  "And I'm empty, then nothing between us could ever work out.  Two empty vessels meeting in the middle of a barren sea have nothing to give one another, right?"

Clark just stared up at him.

"Damn," he whispered, pushed himself forward with the toes of his shoes and kissed Clark.  Lightly.  He couldn't have pretended not to hear the tiny moan of longing that came from Clark, nor could he have ignored the fingers now clutching his bare, dirty arms.  He softly sucked on the lower lip.  The texture was beyond soft, beyond flawless and more than everything he dreamed it would be.

Lex pulled back with his eyes shut.  "Two empty vessels," he murmured.  Only...

"What happens when you're you again?"

His eyes opened, questioning.

Clark looked away, towards the moon, and sighed.  He rubbed his face with one hand.  "What happens when you stand up and I stand up and we go back to being Lex and Clark instead of two empty people lying on a dirt road in the middle of a cornfield?"

A more desperate whisper Lex had never heard, uttered on a single breath, and he realized that Clark might have found himself daydreaming about rolling around in the hay with a more masculine partner.  The dream was a familiar one to Lex.  Just how much was Clark willing to risk for a love as complicated as theirs promised to be.

"Because I don't want to be empty anymore, Lex.  I think that, if I have the chance here, I could be very much not empty.  I think that I could say things and do things that…  I just don't want to be empty anymore and there's only one person that I know that can fix it.  But only if he's willing to be himself.  Because I don't want anyone else."

Lex thought about it for a minute.  He'd been wanting that kiss for the longest time.  And now that he'd had it, there was no way he was going to live the rest of his life with just reminiscence in his memory catacomb.  "I don't feel so empty anymore, Clark," he'd said.  "Do you?"

Clark looked at him, a sudden comprehension of Lex's acquiescence to the situation dawning in his gorgeous sea blue-green eyes.  "No."

Lex smiled amazed at Clark's complete look of happiness.  It was there because Lex wanted him.

"I guess we’re not as empty as I thought."

"Not now."

Lex moaned at the feel of Clark's hand rubbing up and down the back of his arm.  Oh, yes.  This was what he wanted.  "One thing."

Clark nodded.  "Anything."

The crackling in his best friend's voice was hard to ignore and Lex swallowed.  Please say yes, he thought.  Please.  "Are you going to be honest with me?"

"Yes."

"About everything?"

The frogs and the crickets.  The water.  It was all silent.  Lex was sure that, for the moment, the stars had ceased to twinkle.

The Clark stood and Lex was sure this was his answer.  The lovely boy that had almost become his partner for life was about to leave him, open and vulnerable, on a dirty road in the middle of some backroad, Kansis cornfield.  Then he would be truly empty.

Clark stood for a moment, facing away.  "I don't know how much you'll still want me, but if we were meant to end up together...  I guess..."

He turned around, bent down and picked up Lex as if he were some cardbord box, dirty and vacant of a cargo.  "Clark-"

"Hold on, okay?"

He did.  There was a few seconds of blurry, motion-sickness inducing streaks of scenery and, before he could shut his eyes, he was in the barn.

"What the hell!?"

Clark put him down, holding onto his waist.  "I know this is going to be hard to believe-"

"So you're what landed."

Clark was silent behind him.

"And that's what Nixon had on you."  He said all this not bothering to move much as his sense of balance was completely thrown off.  "You know, Clark, had you just told me you were a god-damned alien, I could have taken care of Rodger myself."

Clark spun him around, throwing Lex's balance off even more.  "I couldn't tell you because my parents made me swear not to tell anyone!"

"And you couldn't trust me."

Clark frowned as Lex lurched away from him.  "I do.  Foolish of me, but I always have.  When I'm angry, Lex, I say things I don't mean.  Even when I was suspicious of you I took your word that you were telling me the truth.  With everything that has happened in our lives, I have trusted you completely when you told me you cared about me.  I love you, Lex.  I have no choice in trusting you.  It's just what my heart tells me to do."

He turned around.  He had a lot to explain.  A lot.  Including Nixon, Phalen and Dr. Hamilton.  And he knew that he and Clark could make it through.

But right now he just needed to be held.

He walked forward and into Clark's arms just as a breeze broke through the barn door.  It blew dirt from both of them off and into the barn, while Clark's hair tickled the top of his head.  He breathed in and his chest pounded.  Clark loved him.  Clark said he loved him.  Words and all.

The arms around him tightened and he knew that, through thick and thin, as long as Clark was around, as long as the pretty boy was his, there would never be another empty moment in his life.  He wouldn't let go.  This was his, his, and for once in his life he was happy with what he owned.

Because it owned him too.  And you can't be empty when someone cares enough to possess and occupy your soul.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

FIN