(Eight years after D-Day) 

It was fucking cold. 

Lex’s first thought echoed in the empty spaces of his mind.  His second, that something was seriously wrong, followed shortly. 

Beneath his shoulders was the expected slick hardness.  He had last been on the flagstones of the Smallville castle entrance.  This was familiar. 

But he was naked.   

And there was an oddly light yet infinitely warm sheet over him. 

“Shhh… just relax.” 

“C’rk?” he croaked out in a voice long unused. 

It was once common practice for time to be marked by the passage of events.  Four years into the reign of a king.  Seven years after the birth of Christ.  Two thousand years into the common era. 

Clark’s time was marked from the day Lionel Luthor closed the LuthorCorp Fertilizer Plant Number Three in Smallville, Kansas.  Or, as he more sarcastically named it in his thoughts, ‘D-Day.’ 

(Two hours into D-Day) 

Clark had run up to the castle.  Lex would be far too busy to realize he didn’t have the truck.  The security post at the gate had been unmanned.  The iron gate itself had stood open. 

“Lex?” 

Clark called out the name, even as he opened the heavy wooden front door.  It hadn’t been locked, or even latched.  This wasn’t a good sign.   

Had the household staff quit in protest? 

Any concerns as to the state of Lex’ staffing was wiped from Clark’s mind as he spied the spreading pool of tacky crimson. 

“Lex!” 

His second call was panicked.  He really hadn’t expected his friend to answer, but sought the response all the same.  Lex was lying in the entrance hall.  The slate flagstones held a quivering pool of his blood as it cooled.  Here and there were the white dots of teeth. 

The visible skin was bruised and broken.  While there was some sign that Lex had fought back, the clear boot print on the back of his head told a story. 

(Eight hours into D-Day) 

Clark paced.  

It was all he could do.  Lex was still in surgery.  The ambulance had been slow.  Clark knew it would have been faster to bring his friend to the emergency room by running.   However, he hadn’t dared risk further injuries. 

Lex’s heart had stopped in the few minutes it had taken them to travel from the castle to the medical center.   

“Breaking news in Smallville, Kansas.” 

His head turned, caught by the Metropolis anchorperson broadcasting from the television in the corner. 

“Terror has once again struck the heartland.  Since the surprise announcement this morning that managerial incompetence caused the LuthorCorp Fertilizer Plant to be closed, a mob mentality has overtaken Smallville, Kansas.  Bob Morrow is in Smallville with the details.” 

Clark sat down on the fragile plastic chair, not hearing it creak as the feed switched.  A reporter, a safe distance from a blazing fire outside a familiar yellow farmhouse. 

“Thank you, Susan.  As you can see behind me, the outrage in Smallville has spread beyond the attack of Lex Luthor.  No information has been forthcoming on his health, but reports have stated he is still in surgery.” 

The man turned, pointing to the inferno.  “The latest target of the violence is Kent Organic Farms, owned by Jonathon and Martha Kent.  Their teenaged son is known to be friendly with the Luthor family.  Smallville’s fire department has not yet confirmed if any of the Kent family were inside the vehicle when it erupted in flame.” 

Clark’s throat rebelled, his stomach twisting with the urge to vomit.  “Mom?  Dad?” he asked weakly of the empty room. 

(Twelve hours into D-Day) 

Clark had been moved from the general emergency waiting room into a private Intensive Care Unit family room.  He was there for three people, only two of whom were technically family. 

Lex was in a coma.  He heart had stopped twice more in surgery.  The doctors didn’t know if he’d wake up in hours, days, or ever. 

Martha Kent, his mother, was sleeping a heavily drugged sleep.  Clark hadn’t been able to do anything but listen in stunned silence as the doctor related the extent of the burns she’d received. 

Jonathon Kent, his father, was dead. 

Clark curled himself as small as possible on the couch.  Finally, as he rocked in a senseless ball, the tears started to come. 

But there wasn’t anyone able to comfort him.  The people who would have tried were consumed with their own problems, insensate, or gone. 

(One day after D-Day) 

Clark had risked the trip to the cafeteria.  He hadn’t felt hungry, not since he’d found Lex unconscious in a pool of his own blood. 

But the doctor had refused him any more visiting minutes until he’d eaten.  The argument that he’d do no one any good if he collapsed was ineffective.  Then again, the doctor didn’t know he was an alien. 

“Clark Kent?” 

“No comment,” was his automatic response.  He was numb, by now, to the desperate vultures of the media.  Lex’ comments on the entire profession had come into a much clearer perspective. 

“I’m not a reporter, son.” 

Clark turned.  His red-rimmed eyes focused on the suited man.  He was, somehow, familiar.  “Then who are you and why should I care?” 

He was, unfortunately, far beyond the ability to be polite.  Any lessons about manners had disappeared beneath panic and grief. 

“I’m your Grandfather Clark, Clark.” 

The man had smiled slightly at the repetition.  Clark had, after all, been named after his mother’s maiden name. 

“Oh,” Clark retorted, some of his defensiveness fading.  “You heard about Mom, then?” 

Taken by the arm, Clark was escorted by his grandfather back to the private family room he’d been using.  It occurred to him that this man hadn’t been in this hospital before, that he shouldn't know where the room was…  But the staff had probably told him where to find Clark. 

“I was informed about the situation on my drive over.” 

He sat Clark down, looking serious.  Clark returned the look, confused.  Who came to check on their daughter in the hospital dressed in a three-piece suit and carrying their briefcase? 

“I’m sorry to say, however, that she wasn’t the original cause of my trip.” 

“Then what was?” Clark asked in confusion. 

His grandfather took a sealed envelope from his briefcase as he sat beside Clark.  “Before I give this to you, and you must read it immediately, there is something you need to understand.” 

A pause, the silence creeping into their paired vigil. 

“Six months ago, a young man came to see me.  Normally, my firm doesn’t deal with family matters.  But, we are accustomed to Metropolis business.  So when Lex Luthor asked me to oversee certain eventualities in the event of his demise, we were happy to have him as a client.” 

“Lex isn’t dead!”    Clark barked out the protest, rising from the seat with a jerky movement.  He began to pace, scrubbing his hands across his face and through his hair.  “He’s not dead,” he reasserted. 

“I know that, Clark,” was the calm response.  It was enough to make him stop, to make him listen to the rest of the statement. 

“In addition to a will and the maintenance of his inheritance trust, the younger Mr. Luthor wanted to make certain arrangements to cover the possibility of his incapacity.  He seemed, rightly it now appears, not trust his father.” 

Clark stared, still silent. 

“You need to open this and read it, now.” 

Clark reached out, silently accepting the envelope.  It was a sheaf of papers, all in legalese.  He read though, not grasping the meanings.  “I don’t understand.” 

His grandfather nodded.  “Clark, those papers… For all intents and purposes, you are in charge of what happens to Lex Luthor and all his varied concerns.” 

Brow twisting in confusion, Clark asked, “But wouldn’t I have to know?  To sign something?” 

“You did, Clark.  Isn’t that your signature on page ten?” 

Clark flipped through the pages, recognizing his own scrawl.  It had been witnessed, notarized even, by Lex’ sometimes creepy butler.   “I still don’t understand.” 

“It’s okay, Clark.  I’m here, and with Martha incapacitated herself, I’m the person designated to assist you.” 

(Two days after D-Day) 

Clark’s constant presence in the hospital had come to be accepted.  The staff made the arrangements for him to shower, eat, and sleep, without ever leaving the building.  They guarded him from the still roving reporters, only allowing his grandfather in when he arrived. 

For that matter, he saw little of his grandfather.  The man seemed to be constantly on the phone, seeking a document, or cajoling someone into cooperation. 

The reports that a tornado had touched down didn’t stir him from his vigil.  All he knew was that the patients didn’t have to be moved… that the tornado wasn’t heading for the medical center. 

He didn’t know until the reporters grew in numbers, until his grandfather sat him down yet again with a serious mien, that something vast had happened. 

“Lionel Luthor is dead.” 

“Good,” Clark snarled with the first emotion he’d felt that wasn’t grief related. 

Shaking his head, Clark’s grandfather expounded.  “Clark, Lex is his father’s heir.  I’ve already obtained a copy of the will.  He inherited everything from his father.” 

Clark seemed confused.  The thought didn’t connect with him in importance and he shrugged. 

“Clark, dammit!”  For the first time, his grandfather lost his patience and was the one to pace.  “My daughter is going to live… but right now, it’s my grandson who needs me more.  Clark, Lex Luthor just inherited the entire LuthorCorp empire.” 

Clark nodded. 

“Clark…”  A pause, a heavy sigh, then words, “Lex entrusted you with his concerns… On your behalf, I’ll start to untangle the extent of his new holdings.” 

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Clark mumbled, still not fully understanding his new reality. 

(One Year after D-Day) 

Clark occasionally wished for the numb ignorance he’d been able to wallow in immediately after everything had started to change. 

“Clark?” 

He responded immediately to the call, speeding through the halls to her side.  “Yes, Mom.” 

“Oh, you are home.” 

Kneeling next to her wheelchair, Clark smoothed back the white-streaked hair before kissing her on the temple.  He was surprised he hadn’t turned grey himself with the stress of the past year. 

“Class was taken and survived, the daily tutorial tolerated, and I return triumphant.” 

Martha smiled slightly, the most she ever managed since their days in Smallville had ended.  She caught and held her son’s hand.  It was the most she would ever be able to do to anchor him to her side.  And yet… she knew he’d never abandon her.  After all, she was his mother, and look what he’d done for a friend. 

“Anyone interesting at school?” 

Clark rolled his eyes, curling to sit tailor-style next to her chair.  He didn’t even attempt to remove his hand from her grasp.  Touch was a little-used and too-needed comfort. 

“Mom, it isn’t high school anymore.  I’m sixteen, but all of the kids in my classes are adults.” 

“And none of them are carrying twenty-one hour course loads, I bet.” 

Clark smiled.  “They wouldn’t let me if I didn’t have the LuthorCorp funding at my back.” 

Martha’s eyes filled with unshed tears.  “I’m so sorry, Clark… I just wanted you to have a good life.” 

“I am,” he reassured her, rising to hug as best he could her slight form.  “It’s not normal, but it's good.” 

She nodded, the tears leaking through her grasp.  Clark quickly became uncomfortable, easing back. 

“I need to go see Lex.” 

She nodded again, even as he moved away. 

Clark crossed through the hallways, not noticing the views of Metropolis outside the penthouse windows.  Never even in his dreams had he imagined the turn his life had taken. 

“Still the same, Mr. Kent.” 

The nurse answered his thrice daily inquiry even before Clark had spoken it.  He nodded, politely smiling at her dedicated efficiency, before going into the room.  The only thing they had changed in Lex’ Metropolis home was the bed in his bedroom.  Where once a sprawling hedonistic haven had dominated the suite, it was now occupied by clinical equipment. 

“Hey, Lex,” he started in a whisper.  Slowly, the events of his day came out.  The disgust with the ease of his GED fueled conversion to college, the frustration with classmates who sought him only for his position, the anxiety over his mother, and then the customary final ending of the one-sided conversations. 

Clark lifted the pale, thin-skinned left hand.  Gently, he held it in his own larger paws before leaning over and touching his forehead to the back.   

“I’m keeping it safe for you.  Someday, I know you’re going to wake up.” 

(Three years after D-Day) 

Clark was the youngest MBA graduate in the history of Metropolis University.  It was whispered, and sometimes accusingly stated, that he’d purchased his degree.  Those who knew him didn’t doubt.  They’d witnessed the sleepless nights, the unreasonable class loads, and the dedication to protect his best friend’s holdings. 

His loyalty to the still comatose Lex Luthor had never wavered. 

“I have to go.” 

“But, Clark,” his mother protested, before silencing her protest as he pulled on his suit jacket.  Tucked into the handkerchief pocket was the pale lilac square, stained with Lex’ blood from the day Clark had found him. 

“Oh,” she finally spoke.  “The parole hearing is today.” 

“I have to be there,” Clark told himself in the mirror before facing his mother.  

He crouched at her side, clenching his jaw as she reached out to touch the long-dried stains that marred the silk.   

“Clark… I’ve never asked, but…” 

“Mom?” he prompted as her voice faded. 

She looked into his eyes, steeling herself.  “What you’ve done over the years… It’s been far more than friendship.  You would have told me if Lex had ever touched you?”  

Martha had meant it to be a statement, but it had erupted a question.  Clark, socially isolated by his unusual circumstances, blushed.   

“Geez, Mom!” 

“Clark?” she pleaded. 

He closed his eyes, sighing.  “Nothing ever happened.  He never touched me.” 

“But, he wanted to?” 

Clark screwed his face up, trying to suppress his own reaction.  “Yes.  Sometimes I thought so.  And, someday, when he wakes up… if he still wants to… then we’ll see.” 

“Clark…” 

He stood, cutting off the conversation.  “I have to be at the courthouse.” 

It was easier to face one of the men that had put Lex into a coma than discuss his frustrated romantic hopes with his mother. 

The parole board was, of course, pleased to have the custodian of the Luthor holdings present.  It was never in doubt that he represented Lex’ interests.  The man in question, a neighbor who Clark had known all his life, never looked at him as he tried to express the reason he should be released. 

Clark, provided the opportunity for his statement, gave it without stutter or fault. 

“Three years ago, my life changed drastically.  My best friend trusted my family and I to protect him if he couldn’t protect himself.  Smallville took my father from me.  It crippled my mother.  This man, asking today for his release, put Alexander Joseph Luthor, my best friend, into a coma from which he has yet to awaken.” 

He took a deep breath, suppressing his fury and his desire to immolate the offender on the spot.  This was a place for human justice.   

“I have heard him say he’s sorry that he was caught.  He’s sorry that he lost part of his life to prison.  What I haven’t heard is his apology for the waking life that Lex has lost, for the part of my childhood that ended so early…” 

(Five years after D-Day) 

Clark looked up as his mother rolled into his office.  Shortly after his majority had been reached, the burden of LuthorCorp changed from his grandfather’s law firm to his own hands.  It had been a struggle, a learning experience, but Clark had met each challenge. 

“I’ve finished with the castle boxes.” 

He couldn’t bear to face again the place he still pictured covered in blood and teeth.  The castle accoutrement had been boxed up, shipped to Metropolis, slowly sorted and dispatched.  The location itself was a destroyed pit these days.  Those portions of the structure that had been retained were no longer under LuthorCorp control, having been deconstructed and shipped away. 

“Okay,” Clark acknowledged before turning back to his computer. 

Martha laid a small metal octagon on Clark’s desk.  “This was found in the boxes from Lex’ office.  It matches the ship.” 

He looked from the shape to his mother, and back again.  “Then I suppose I should find out what happens when they’re reunited.” 

(Eight years after D-Day) 

Clark held Lex back in his struggle to sit up.  “It’s okay, Lex.  I’ve got you.  Just hold still.” 

“Subject vitals register human norm, Kal-El.” 

“oo’s ‘at?”  Lex’ voice still wasn’t cooperating, too long unused as it had been. 

“That would be a long explanation, Lex.”  Clark hedged answering as he watched the lashes flutter and finally saw the blue eyes after far too long an absence.  “Hi there.” 

Lex blinked at the light glaring off multiple white surfaces.  His parched throat easily accepted the liquid that Clark offered from a sports bottle.  It didn’t taste like water, but he really didn’t think his friend was going to poison him. 

Sufficiently lubricated, Lex finally asked, “Where am I?” 

Clark smiled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.  “Antarctica,” he answered enigmatically. 

(Ten years after D-Day) 

They stood with arms entwined, overlooking the tattered and empty remains of what had once been a thriving, if small, town.  The dark head bent to kiss the top of the bald one, barely bending as they were nearly the same height.   

“This is something they would have expected from me… not you.” 

Clark still watched the form next to him; his attention not spared an iota for what he considered the inconsequent past.  “They deserved it.” 

Lex sighed.  He wasn’t the same man he’d been.  He wasn’t even the same man he’d expected to become.   

Naman and Seget.  They were to form the balance between good and evil.  Some said that one was good and one evil. 

In practice, it was much more that they were more dangerous apart than together. 

“I don’t ever want to come back here,” Lex finally said with a sigh. 

“Then we won’t,” Clark replied simply. 

“I want to go back to Metropolis and fuck like minks.” 

Clark smiled, the motion obvious against the smooth skin of his partner’s skull.  “Not unless you’re accepting my proposal.” 

“It’s not legal.” 

“It would have been on Krypton.” 

“Okay, then.  Dinner with your mother, then we fuck like minks in Antarctica.” 

Clark laughed, the sound rusty after so many years without.  Only now that they were both adapted to the present and accepting of this altered world, did it occur more frequently. 

“A brilliant plan,” he agreed.  

Turning, they ignored the barren and empty landscape as they went back to their vehicle.  It would have been faster to run, or even fly.  But they’d both wanted to watch the ghost town that used to be called Smallville as it passed by.

Finis