Superstar

Stay awake, don't rest your head
Don't lie down upon your bed
While the moon drifts in the sky
Stay awake, don't close your eyes. ~ Tori Amos

::::::::::

The plan was coming to fruition.

Years of planning spread across every corner of their bedroom, drawings, sketches, lists, maps, diagrams and Snickers wrappers on every surface, tacked to the walls in a mishmash of logic and sense, interpretable only to Lex.

Clark had ignored the accumulation of material in their bedroom at first, too lost in his inner world of guilt and sadness, but eventually he had to acknowledge the detritus of Lex's mind.

Lex was a man obsessed. The five year plan grew to ten then to twenty and eventually to span a normal human's lifespan and--the part that hurt Clark most--even beyond. Lex was aging and Clark was not. The small wrinkles that gathered at the corner of Lex's eyes were deeper, and the blue smudges that were always present if Lex hadn't slept well were darker and it took more rest to make them go away. Not that Lex was old. He was still a young man, not even thirty five, but the evidence of time was slowly etching itself into his skin. To Clark those lines proved that one day he would be alone.

Sometimes Lex would crawl out of bed at night, inspired by something from his unfathomable dreams, and would flip on the lights to write it down or draw it out, sketch his brilliance and then pin it up on the wall under the appropriate section. He'd grin like a maniac and then climb back under the covers. Clark usually pretended to be asleep. Often Lex would gently trace his face and Clark's heart would fill to bursting. Sometimes he'd blow his cover when a tear would slip down his cheek.

"I'll never let them hurt you, Clark."

So Clark let Lex build the prison piece by piece, quite certain that Lex had no idea that was what he was constructing. Clark could admit to himself that he was afraid of the punishment, but he was desperately aware that he needed it, too. Vengeance had been his, but at what price? Guilt required a penance and he allowed Lex to plan it for him.

The creature they were creating divided him, condemned him and stripped him of himself. He would no longer be Clark Kent, the young man with a savior complex. He would be Clark Kent, reporter and this other thing, the one they called The Angel of Metropolis. For the plan to succeed the two must never meet; there could be no common ground. His body would be forced to house two separate entities. In order for Clark Kent to live, he enslaved himself to The Angel.

Clark would deal with the repercussions of being gay, of being Lex Luthor's lover, of sick and aging parents, of a new career and a new partner. The Angel would deal with the debt he owed society for bringing death and destruction unwittingly as a child, but also for the more recent, ever-present blackness that smeared his heart; the hatred and blind rage which caused a man's death--crushed between Clark's hands. Or had that been Clark at all? Perhaps there was a third inside of him--the alien. Clark shook his head. No. It had been him that night.

It was with a head full of such thoughts that Clark examined the latest additions to the walls of their bedroom. Lex had added notes that read, "Carbon based?" and "Ask A.I. about environmental projections for 2090."

Clark shook his head. 2090. Insane.

He heard the sound of six familiar feet on the sidewalk hundreds of feet below. Certain rhythms and noises had imprinted themselves on Clark's conscious as worthy of note, even when he was filtering almost all noise out of his awareness. Lex's heartbeat and pulse, the sound of his footsteps and his voice were all things that he listened for at all times, entirely without his conscious awareness.

Clark sat down on the bed and waited, following the soft thump-thump of Lex's heart up the elevator shaft, down the hall, into the penthouse.

Hope and Mercy entered the bedroom first, weapons drawn. Mercy pushed her long blonde hair behind her ear and glared at him.

"You didn't note on the log that you had returned." Her voice was melodic and rich, though tinged with irritation. "You didn't turn off the systems and you've tripped every intruder alert."

"I forgot."

Mercy's eyes narrowed but she refrained from further comment.

"All's clear, Boss!" Hope called out.

Clark usually found it amusing when Mercy and Hope referred to Lex as 'Boss', but today he just felt grim.

Lex entered the room with his usual swagger, smirk planted firmly on his face. "You're the one who insisted on the extra security, Clark. Do you just enjoy putting Mercy and Hope through their paces?"

"It can't hurt. I like to see if they're still on their toes."

Lex loosened his tie. "Don't you know about the little boy who cried 'wolf'?"

Mercy continued to glare at Clark. He smiled his sunniest smile and she just blinked. He really didn't like Mercy. Sure, he'd hired her because she was the best in the field and gorgeous enough that Lex probably wouldn't mind having her around constantly, but the obsession she'd developed for Lex was more than a little unnerving.

"Leave us," Lex said softly, almost under his breath.

The ever-vigilant pair left the room like well-trained dogs. Clark called out after them, "Leave for the night! I'm staying in!"

He flicked to x-ray and laughed when he saw Mercy flip him off from the hallway.

"She's in love with you, Lex."

Lex shrugged. "Lots of women are. I'm charming."

"Cocky, too."

Lex walked into the closet to undress, returned in his boxers. "She can be in love with me all she wants, Clark. I'm not interested." Lex walked over, pushed Clark down onto the bed and crawled on top of him. "Smell me and get it over with."

"Yeah, 'cause you hate it so much."

"I do."

Clark smiled against Lex's neck and took deep breaths. It hadn't been too long ago that he'd finally mustered the courage to ask the A.I. about his intense need to smell Lex. He'd been afraid that it would tell him something he didn't want to hear. And it had.

Kryptonian society was a free-spirited one in many ways, very rigid in others. Sexually, Kryptonians tended toward bisexuality, reproduction having long ago moved into the realm of test-tubes and incubators. Fidelity wasn't valued as a social construct and marriages were often littered with affairs over many years. Still, Kryptonian children needed a stable family--home and family were at the very center of their society--over time, hastened-evolution at the hands of scientists had offset the danger open marriages posed to a stable home with a way to ensure life long commitments for the sake of the family. Kryptonian biology was altered so that every individual became addicted to the scent of their mate. A painful and lengthy withdrawal would begin to take place if mates parted for any length of time.

The A.I. revealed that Clark's parents, Jor-El and Lara-El, had tried unsuccessfully to rid Clark of that gene before sending him to Earth. The experiments had failed and they had run out of time. Clark had been too terrified to ask more, but Lex, ever inquisitive, had ferreted out the details. Upon Lex's eventual demise, Clark would suffer extreme withdrawal symptoms. It could take five to eight years for him to fully recover.

Lex shifted on Clark and looked into his eyes, as though he could read Clark's thoughts he said, "I have no intention of dying, Clark."

"Okay." Even Lex couldn't stop time.

Lex changed the subject. "What do you want to do tonight?"

Clark paused. He actually knew exactly what he wanted to do. He knew that it would comfort him to have Lex close to him in that way, but he was always a little afraid to ask.

"I want to be inside of you." He spoke softly and punctuated it with a gentle caress and kiss to Lex's neck. Lex was quiet and Clark began to regret his words. "Or--"

"Let me have a few drinks."

Clark nodded and kissed Lex's neck again. "Dinner, drinks and some nice time alone together."

"Sounds good."

Clark twisted to sniff at the bend of Lex's elbows and up to his armpits. Lex sighed melodramatically and raised his arms to rest on the pillows above, placing his good hand on top of his artificial one.

Clark let go of the detritus of the room and lost himself in Lex's scent.

:::::::::

Lex knew that he was drunk, but it made it easy, made it better, made it sweet.

The leather chair abandoned for the floor, the floor abandoned for the bed. There were textures on his skin, running over his body in swathes; slick skin, soft sheets, scrape of stubble, rough patches of hair. Clark...all Clark.

It was Clark's heavy body on his, confining him, holding him, covering him, protecting him...and who knew that he needed this? Clark...only Clark.

"Lex..." Clark asked something Lex couldn't seem to hear because Lex was drifting under him, clasping him, carried by him. Clark's voice was strained, gasping in his ear and he could feel Clark's hard cock trapped between them, rubbing against his own. His mouth ran down Clark's neck, kissing, sucking, biting and then a whimper left his throat, soft, and oh so needy. That was his voice, but it was okay. Clark told him it was okay...he could hear the words somewhere.

Cool air hit him as Clark rose up and Lex shook his head. "Don't leave," a request that, even drunk, he knew he would never admit to voicing.

"Never," came the answer as Clark lifted his legs, spreading him, a finger nudging below. Lex gasped and struggled. The finger withdrew. "It's okay, Lex...it's okay." More soothing, more stroking and the finger touched again. Lex didn't struggle now, it was Clark...it was okay.

Blunt, strong and knowing fingers that moved expertly. Memories skimmed through his brain but didn't stay to imprint, just remembrances of Clark and when this was new between them. Fleeting sweetness and gone again.

Breath against his neck, licking, wet, warm, sensations covered him, surrounded him. Clark moved now with more strength and then the fingers were gone. The push of his cock in and Lex groaned at the burn. It hurt and he struggled against the sudden urge to fight because Clark was whispering, "Shh, shh, relax."

Lex opened his eyes and Clark...right there. He nodded. "Okay."

Clark's eyes fell shut, muttering something soft, and the second push in wasn't as bad. The burn still reached his eyes and he had to shut them tight for a moment. Blue and green dots swirled behind his lids before opening to find hazel shifted into green.

Clark moved gently and Lex ached in his very veins. Clark's hand reached between them and warmth enclosed his cock. Strokes pulled firmly and he was opening and deeper and higher and...words, lots of words came from his mouth...it was okay.

Because it was Clark...always, Clark.

:::::::::

The rain pounded down from the sky; the road was slick and Clark's sharp intake of breath as they hydroplaned on a curve reminded Lex to slow down.

"We've got all day," Clark murmured, gripping the armrest.

"Yeah, if your little partner, Lois, doesn't call with a breaking story and no murders, rapes, robberies--"

"Lex."

Lex took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was nervous. He shouldn't be so nervous. If he wasn't careful, he'd ruin the whole thing, and he'd been planning this for years now. He couldn't let it go sour.

"Buddha once said that the greatest prayer is patience," Clark said softly, carefully avoiding his eyes.

"Ah, explains why I lack so much in that particular virtue. You know I was never good with prayer." Lex wondered when Clark had been studying Buddha. "And, Buddha, Clark? Not your usual style."

"No. Your usual style." Clark's hand reached out and covered his on the gear shift. "A certain someone said those very words to me while I paced outside of my mother's hospital room circa 2003."

It was okay. He hadn't blown it. Lex relaxed again and his foot fell heavy on the accelerator. The car sped through the gusting winds; the rain-slick roads didn't dare touch him with Clark's hand on his.

He hadn't expected it to be raining. This hadn't been part of the plan. But he'd acknowledged long before the loss of his hand that he couldn't control everything. Yet.

The umbrella was big enough to cover them both, but still they huddled together, looking over the bridge at the water rushing dark and muddy with the storm. Lex carefully laid the umbrella aside, hoping it wouldn't blow away, letting the weather pour down on them.

"You'll catch a cold--" Clark began.

"Old wives tale. I don't get sick and I like the rain." Lex trembled with anxiety and anticipation.

Clark frowned and reached out to him, but Lex sidestepped the grasp, turning instead to the railing of the bridge.

"Lex? Why are we here?"

Lex swallowed and his heart rate picked up. "You were standing right there."

Clark smiled and nodded. "Yes. And you hit me."

"You should have died."

"You could have died."

"And here we are."

"Yes."

Lex took a deep breath, steadying himself and then reached into the pocket of his long trench coat, rain water running over his scalp, down his shirt collar, soaking him. He ran his fingers over the smooth shapes he found there and finally grasped one in his hand. He pulled it out and handed it to Clark.

Clark looked down at the palm-sized rock with a heart scorched into it and smiled fondly. "I made this for you."

"Yes."

His smile faded. "Why are you giving it back to me?"

"Just hold it for a minute."

Clark looked nervous now and his thumb ran over the heart burnt into the surface of the stone like a native with a talisman. Lex took it from him again and ran his own fingers over the surface.

Lex spoke softly, "You gave this to me. You made it for me."

Clark's brows furrowed. "Yes, Lex, I know. What's going on?"

"I don't tell you often but I love you."

"I know that you do." Clark's voice sounded gruff.

"Today, this represents my love. For you." Lex handed the rock back to Clark. Clark blinked at him and down at the rock, his fingers clenching it as though afraid Lex might take it back.

"Lex--"

"And with it is my pledge--" Lex reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small gold ring. "--it may not be legal, but if you accept--"

Clark looked from the rock to the ring to Lex's face, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "Wh-What?"

"Don't make me spell it out, Clark."

"Spell it out, Lex."

Lex sighed and took Clark's left hand; he held the ring at the tip of Clark's third finger and looked into his eyes. "Forever?"

Clark nodded and Lex pushed the ring onto his finger; he didn't let go. Clark stared at their joined hands for a moment and then wrapped Lex in his warm arms, sheltered from the rain that pounded on the asphalt around them.

The heavy weight of two more rocks tugged at Lex's trench coat, pulling it askew at his shoulders, and rain seeped into his collar. Lex pushed away from Clark's chest and reached into his pocket again, retrieving a second palm-sized rock with a heart scorched into the center. He handed it to Clark who took it with a slow smile of understanding.

"Lex?"

Lex just stood silently, water sliding down his face and neck in rivulets. His throat was tight, and he didn't think that now was a good time for talking; besides it was Clark's turn.

"I love you. I will always protect you." Clark handed the rock back to Lex. "It represents the love I've had for you since I was a kid, and will have for you until I die."

Lex swallowed hard and fingered the blackened heart--a strange valentine, but right for them. Raindrops blotted the surface.

"So, is there a ring?"

"Oh," Lex nodded, making sure that the rock was held securely by his artificial hand before reaching into his pocket and handing the second ring to Clark. Another simple gold band.

Clark held the small circle in his fingers for a long time, turning it slowly. He finally looked into Lex's eyes and asked, "Forever?"

"Yes."

Lex was suddenly absurdly happy that he still had his left hand, the proper hand for a wedding band. Clark slid the band onto his finger, the metal cool and new. Clark pulled him close, water drops in his lashes, and dripping from the ends of his hair. "Do I get to kiss the bride?"

Lex snorted. "No, I do."

Clark laughed and bent for the kiss, but Lex stopped him. "But not yet. One last thing. Many cultures believe that one should offer gifts to a patron god at a joining ceremony to gain their favor and help throughout the--marriage." Lex stumbled a little over the word. "So, first a gift to the river god to cement the deal."

Clark looked at him curiously, then with a smile like sun through clouds when Lex brought out the third stone. Lex turned to face the river and Clark stood by his side. The water frothed below, stirred relentlessly by the rain.

"For destiny," Lex said.

"Forever," Clark murmured.

And he cast the stone over the side. They watched it plummet, spinning in the air; watched it splash into the water they'd both tasted.

Clark threw his arm around Lex and pulled him forward. Lex, unwilling to be manhandled, grabbed Clark's jacket and jerked him down for a kiss.

Rain, saliva and promises.

:::::::::

Lionel's funeral was a mixed event. It was a blessing because the threat he posed to Clark and Lex had blinked out in an anti-climactic instant. Lionel, alone in his bathroom, had a stroke, slamming his head against the toilet on the way down.

It was too easy, and there were nights when Lex didn't believe his father was really dead, spending hours pondering the possibility that he'd faked his death. But Clark and the A.I. had assured him that the sample of hair Lex had cut from the corpse was indeed Lionel's.

"It's just too easy, Clark. There was never a battle. Never a final showdown."

Clark held him and said, "That's the way it happens in real life, Lex. People die when you least expect it."

Lex agreed. Even though he'd known his mother was sick all those years ago, her actual death had still taken him by surprise. How could it not? One moment there was life--and the next there wasn't. There was no preparation for that.

In that vein, Lionel's death was a curse because all hope was irrevocably lost. As impossible as he logically knew it to be, Lex was like any son, and he'd hoped for reconciliation. He'd never admitted it, even to himself, but when the option was so suddenly denied to him, he felt the pain of it deep inside; the death of that last hope.

"It's okay to grieve, Lex."

"I know."

"Let it go."

Lex sipped his drink. "I can't."

:::::::::::

Clark stared at the blue and red nightmare.

Hope and Mercy stood by Lex's side, their eyebrows raised in delicate arcs, outlining their amused eyes.

"You want me to wear this." Clark stated dully.

Lex nodded. "Yes, it's the masterpiece, the centerpiece of the entire plan. Right there. Just that. It's brilliant."

"Yes, it certainly is," Clark replied, blinking at the garish colors. He wondered if somewhere along the way Lex had gotten lost in the plan, if maybe he wasn't losing some of his marbles in the twisted labyrinth of creating The Angel. "It's hideous."

"Yes! Exactly." Lex was nearly vibrating with his excitement. "Don't you see, Clark? We're creating him from scratch. We're even going to give him a new name. This costume is a crucial piece."

"A crucial piece of making me look like a pajama-clad idiot?"

"Yes!"

Clark shook his head. "I'm not doing it." He was already giving up everything else, destroying any hope of an integrated personality or life. He really didn't see why he needed to be humiliated on top of that. Was there no mercy?

Lex sighed and motioned for Mercy and Hope to fall back. He touched Clark's arm. "Remember, Clark, no overlap. Nothing of you inside of him. The Angel--no, Superman must be made entirely of things that aren't you."

"Superman?"

"The name that you'll be operating under. See, the name has multiple layers of meaning--"

Well, that wasn't a surprise. Lex never did anything that didn't have layers of meaning. Clark suspected it was so that he could then spend hours lecturing to Clark about them, or if he was alone, muttering the stories under his breath for his own enjoyment.

"--it plays on Nietzsche's idea of the ubermensch--"

"Yes, Lex, I know." Clark wasn't in the mood for a lecture.

Lex frowned, but refrained expressing his disappointment at being thwarted. "And it plays on the word's common use in slang. 'Super' means better than good. But it implies goodness. And good is safe. It is important that you are seen as safe to others. Understand?"

"It sounds a little egotistical to me."

"Clark, I've examined this from every angle and this is the best name. I've used the A.I. to run it past the equivalent of five hundred focus groups and every time it spits out that this is the appropriate name."

Clark felt himself sinking, detaching, going numb.

"But, look, there's more," Lex continued. He picked up the blue and red atrocity, snapped it so that the entire suit came unfolded at once, and pointed out the S across the chest. "Again, multiple meanings--Alexander's breastplate, your Kryptonian family crest, your family and the place that you were raised--and, of course, it stands for the 'super' in Superman."

"Alexander's breastplate." Clark was Lex's breastplate, his armor, his sworn protector. And Alexander, Lex, extended beyond just the body, but out into the world. The breastplate of the world. The breastplate of Lex. "I like that part."

Lex smiled, obviously assuming he'd won this battle, and Clark, checking his own heart and finding it too tired to fight, had to admit that Lex had.

:::::::::

Lex stood on the balcony as moral support. The time had come to launch the plan, for Superman to live and Clark to retreat behind a veneer of righteous anger and moral imperatives. Lex and the A.I. had done every imaginable calculation; now he had to trust destiny. He'd never been good with trust.

He took a deep swallow of bourbon before placing his glass on the ledge and moving to Clark's side, running a hand over the cool, blue material, specially created by the A.I. to withstand Clark's top speeds.

The blue eyes that turned to him made him shudder and he pulled his hand away from the stranger's arm. He swallowed. There was no overlap.

"Are you ready?" Lex asked. He looked into the familiar features and his heart raced. Every instinct in him rebelled against the change and he almost called it off, almost threw the plan away. But his irrational fear and dislike of this man before him, a man who was decidedly not Clark, was not reason enough. Baby. Bathwater.

Looking into the icy blue eyes that studied him, Lex almost believed that this man--no, creature--no, Superman was actually color-blind, restricted to the black and white moral code that Lex had created for him, borrowing from Lex's own philosophies, those of Jonathan Kent, and every instinct in Clark's alien body. According to the A.I., Clark--no, the alien--was meant to rule, made to rule and, in this form, in this very black-and-white reality, he could. And he would. Lex just had to let him go. Give the word and let him fly.

Bird out of nest.

"Go."

The alien looked amused. "I'll go when I'm ready, Lex."

Lex blinked. Superman pulled him close and kissed him. Lex returned the kiss, but felt no joy in it. This other was taking Clark from him. He shivered as the kiss ended and Superman said, "Funny. Like this, I don't love you so much."

Lex gagged and stepped back from the cool, appraising eyes.

Superman continued, "But I do care for you. More than any other person out there." He gestured toward the city. "And I know that the other part of me loves you more than life, and, because of that, I'll always protect you."

It was only a blink, but Lex stood alone, trembling in the cool night wind.

:::::::::

Lex twisted the ring on his finger, paced the penthouse floors and waited.

It was a mistake. God only knew what he'd unleashed, or who would be coming home to him. He was Frankenstein and Superman was his monster. And, just like Frankenstein, he despised his creation.

Their creation. It had been a group project after all--Jor-El's memories, the A.I., Lex, Clark, and even the Kents. But the A.I. hadn't warned him about this, hadn't told him that he would so vehemently hate Superman at first sight.

Oddly, Lex thought he knew now the depth of hatred Clark had felt toward Lex's attackers. He understood the utter rage that accompanied the loss of someone you love. And he did want to kill Superman, take him apart limb by limb, crush his skull and ruin all the years of planning. Destroy the only chance at a real future for Clark and take away Clark's absolution.

If it was Superman who walked through that door--

Lex shook his head. He forced himself to shower, to prepare for bed. It was exceedingly late. He knew he wouldn't sleep, but he climbed beneath the covers anyway. The walls of their room mocked him. The forever plan. That's what he'd called it in his mind. It was the forever plan for Clark because Lex would be gone. Faced with the glacial calm that was Superman, Lex couldn't deny that he was only human, that he would one day die and that Clark would soldier on alone.

But would it be Clark? Or would it be this thing they'd made?

He ran his thumb over his eyebrow nervously and considered calling in Hope and Mercy for company. They would be a good distraction from the fear, the despair that was taking him hostage. They could sit on the bed and play chess, maybe discuss the applications of population theory to LexCorp's expansion plans. He reached for the buzzer, but thought better of it when he imagined Clark's reaction to someone else's scent on the sheets.

He propped himself up on pillows and stared.

The walls of the room, covered with notes, scribbles and drawings--

Taunting him--

Taking Clark from him--

He launched from the bed, clawing mindlessly at the walls, tearing down the work of years, not noticing when the tacks stabbed his fingers or his palm. The artificial hand was a nuisance and Lex clicked the joints in and pulled it off, hurling it across the room. He used the stub where he could. Blood dripped down his wrist from the cuts on his hand and he hissed as he felt the sharp end of a tack rip into the stump of his arm.

He'd pulled down nearly a third of one long, long wall, stepping on the pins as he went, when strong hands grabbed his arms and held him in place. He fought hard, but it was useless; collapsing, he was gathered close--cotton, warm, soft, jeans rough, hard--the scratch of beard across his scalp.

"Shhh, Lex. Shhh."

Thank God. Clark had come home to him.

:::::::::

Clark watched Lex sleep. How many nights over the years had he kept this vigil? So many. Too many.

The bandaged hand and stump were crossed over Lex's chest, locked in defensive posture even in his sleep. His damaged feet, also wrapped, stuck out of the covers and Clark considered just how pissed off at himself Lex was going to be in the morning when he couldn't put on his artificial hand, or wear any shoes.

Superman hadn't lied. He didn't love Lex. But for Clark, he'd kept his promise, staying tuned to Lex from across the city. It had been Lex's hisses of pain that had turned Superman back toward the penthouse. By the time he touched down on the balcony and whirled into his jeans and t-shirt, he was Clark again.

He'd wanted to scream when he saw what Lex was doing. But he didn't. He comforted, he bandaged and he held--even if it was against Lex's will, Clark would give him comfort.

They hadn't talked about it. There hadn't been a need. Clark knew. He understood.

He hated Superman, too.

:::::::::

And the plan was no longer the plan.

It was their life.

Clark morphed into Superman at night, made the newspapers by morning, wrote the full story by noon.

The persona took over whenever there was a threat. He found himself making excuses at the worst times, a shout for help ringing in his ears. Superman to the rescue. God, how he hated that.

The burden was everything he'd dreaded and exactly what he needed. The world was black and white when he was Superman, but it seemed so grey to Clark Kent. The blood on his hands was endlessly washed clean by his work and he knew that he would be making up for his crime for eternity. Or until he went insane and found a way to kill himself.

It wouldn't be that hard.

But that would be later when everyone he loved was gone. Who knew? Perhaps he would outlive the human race, be left to walk the planet alone.

Penance never done.

:::::::::

Clark would think that he couldn't love Lex any more than he did. And then he'd find out that he was wrong.

"Lex, come make my coffee for me."

"No."

Clark padded into the living room ready to employ the puppy-dog eyes. Lex sat on the floor organizing his books, carefully opening them one by one, taking out little pieces of folded paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of evidence." Lex said, carefully adding one of the pieces of paper to a stack. "These need to go somewhere safe."

Clark crouched down beside him and snatched a piece of paper from Lex's hand.

*Lex,

This is a stealth note. It says a lot more than these words.

Mission accomplished.

Clark*

"You're taking them out of the books? All of my notes?"

Lex nodded. "New plan for all the things that I don't want around for just anyone to see after my demise--storing them with the A.I."

Clark's throat tightened. "Is this your way of telling me--"

"No." Lex looked up calmly, his blue eyes reasonable. "Accidents happen, Clark, and you can't be everywhere at once."

Clark grabbed Lex hard. "No. You'll always come first."

Lex smiled. "If the time comes, you'll make the right choice. And I'll forgive you when I don't come first."

Clark buried his face in Lex's neck and prayed that he'd never again have to choose between what was right and Lex.

:::::::::

Jonathan Kent had passed on years before; taken by a heart-attack that Clark was helpless to stop. And now Martha had joined him, finally ready to let her son go.

Martha's last words to Lex had been, "Promise me that you won't let him punish himself forever. Find a way to give him peace."

And Lex had promised.

His hand had rested on Clark's head in hopless comfort as Clark had cried on his mother's silent breast--all life gone from her body. And in that moment he'd known that he could keep that promise.

It would not be Clark who lived for eternity, but the alien inside of him. And watching the man he loved fall apart at yet another loss, Lex was glad for what they'd done, for what they'd created: the monster , the thing that could live without love.

He understood then that they'd created Clark's own death, Clark's release, and realized with relief that Clark would be able to escape the pain of ongoing loss whenever he wanted, by simply turning himself over to Superman.

Lex held Clark close, fingers tracing his brows, his lips. He'd never known that love would take him so far; he'd never imagined that he'd be capable of that depth of devotion.

"I'm sorry about your mom." Empty words.

"Me, too."

Clark's hair smelled like honey. Lex breathed it in.

:::::::::

Superman was the definition of celebrity. He was more high profile than the top movie stars. The world depended on him for its safety and Superman never failed to come through.

Lex read the newspapers every morning with some amount of dread. He felt he owed it to Clark to know what he'd been through the night before.

Cereal and dry toast sat untouched as Lex read the gruesome report of the prior night's hotel fire. Clark padded barefoot into the kitchen, yawning and went straight for the coffee.

"Lex, will--"

"Bring it over here."

Lex stirred in the cream and sugar, watching Clark carefully. "I read about the fire. About the children you couldn't save. Are you okay?"

Clark looked at him with serious and somehow old eyes. "I'm fine. You forget; that wasn't me, Lex."

Lex blinked, felt his blood run cold.

:::::::::

Despite it all there was sweetness, too.

A picnic on the farm in summer to remember the days when they were young and the most they had to fear was someone finding out about their relationship. Lex smiled, remembering Clark at seventeen, young and innocent in so many ways.

A trip to Disney World to do it right. Lex still refused to wear the Mickey Mouse ears. Clark still pouted.

A night on the balcony, just the two of them and the stars.

"Lex?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"I wouldn't do anything differently if it meant I couldn't be with you."

Clark, always so sincere, and looking at him with such love that it made Lex's throat close. He took a deep breath and he said it, because after all these years, Clark deserved to hear it more often than he did.

"I love you, Clark."

Clark smiled, leaned close and whispered, "I know."

::::::::

Epilogue:

"Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive," Lois said in her first article.

"Superman is my friend. I honor and respect him," she said in her last.

::::::::::

Lex only flew with him one time.

He was sick and thin, looking frail in a way that struck terror in Clark's heart. Lex smiled up at him and said, "Clark--take me up with you. I'm ready to see the world from the sky again."

Clark closed his eyes as he relived the moment a young man said that when his heart stopped, he'd flown over the cornfields of Smallville, and saw the world from a different perspective--saw not a dead end but a new beginning.

::::::::::

The stars were so cold.

Superman stared at the deep dark of space and felt the cold seeping into him. He felt so distant. The savior of mankind now empty of the emotions that had made him human.

He fingered the artifact in his palm. A heart scorched into stone. Raised his arm, let it fly. The stone spun into space, hurtling on to eternity.

He was the alien now.

He was the alien forever.

THE END