The Memoirs

The night was quiet, and for Smallville, that was a small blessing. The wind was singing quietly, the moon was full, and the first hints of spring were beginning to show underneath the cold. The snow was beginning to thaw, and the weather man had said that evening that this was probably the last winter storm of the year. And it seemed like he had something going, because the air wasn’t as bitterly cold as it blew softly over Dominic’s face.

His second night in a row without sleep, and he didn’t feel it. His feet were up on the coffee table, the couch thick and cozy under him, and he was three-fourths of the way chain smoked through the pack of cigarettes he'd had in his pocket.

A bottle of whiskey sat before him beside his feet, in the movie room, where he was watching old videos of himself and his family from Cobh. His brother had been very much into video taping, and Dominic knew that if times hadn’t gotten so hard he would have gone to Hollywood and really made a name for himself. But Graham’s life, like so many countless children, had been predetermined. He never seemed to complain though, and went about it in the way he went about everything else...hard working and concise. And Dominic adored and looked up to him for it. At the moment, however, he was smiling crookedly at the screen, where Riley and Shayla, 10 and 2, were posing for them in dress up clothes in the old forest outside of their home they'd spent their childhood in. Lindy looked on in disapproval as Megan held the camera, and he watched, amused and strangely bitter sweet, as Graham hefted Morgan up into his arms fireman style and leapt into the ocean outside the forest, where a small four foot incline made way to the water.

Dominic remembered countless summers scubaing with an old, long straw Graham had fashioned and looking at the rocks twenty feet under the surface.

He tipped his head and took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke sliding out silently as he shifted. They were good times. Dominic wished, all the time, that he'd never left home, but they could never relive those days. All the chicks had flown from the coop long ago. Those days were over, but Dominic had hoped the better were coming. Hoped, and prayed.

Lionel's sleeping was fitful at it's best, as he tried to both sleep, and stay aware of the boy beside him and sleep heavily enough to disregard his dreams. He was vaguely aware that Dominic was awake, not in bed at any rate, heard odd noises from all around and not realizing some of the soft cries came from his own throat.

He didn't toss and turn, for fear of disturbing Clark, but had he been alone in the bed, he would have. He dragged himself to higher planes of wakefulness to avoid the dreams, but they always dragged him back down again. Again and again, he was dragged back. To Julian's nursery, to Lillian's funeral, to the shower in Clark and Lex's bathroom and the deep pools of blood.

To a terrible dark place of his own imagining, haunted by specters and ghosts of old memories and dreams that he denied having.

Lionel's fist clenched tightly in the pillows as he fought sleep.

Clark was so very deeply asleep. Every exhaustion he'd ever felt had manifested itself into this one need for rest, but even so, he was a watchful young man. And when he felt, over and over, Lionel’s heart shudder in fear, he tried to ignore it. Tried to be selfish. He was so tired and he wanted rest.

But as it was his nature, Clark finally let his eyes open just a little and turned, to set a palm on Lionel’s chest. The heart beat like frantic birds wings, and everything in Clark, every peace and rest and gentleness he was capable of he let soak into his friend. This man, who had helped him so much.

Lionel's heartbeat stuttered once as Clark's hand rested on his chest, and he made another soft, quiet noise in his throat. His heartbeat slowed then, down from the frantic rush of fear that had caused it to pound before, and his breathing slowed with it.

Calming and peace flowed into him, and Lionel's troubled soul drank it up greedily. His arms tightened around Clark's shoulder, tucking the boy's head in more firmly against him, much as Lionel had tucked Lex in between himself and Lillian when Lex was only a five year old boy, scared of the monsters in his closet and under his bed.

Clark let himself closer and the pain in his back flared before decreasing as he lifted his palm from the older man’s chest. Lex. His Lex. Please, baby, come back to me.

Dominic eventually got up, to change the movie from the box he'd brought from Metropolis and get something to eat. His gate was a bit staggered, his eyes blurry, but he made it to the kitchen and back up in no time. A chocolate cake and the gallon of milk.

Which he'd polish off before the night was through.

He sat back down on the cushions again, set the thing in his lap, and ate, smoking in between slices as he watched the enormous screen.

In some back corner of his mind, Lex heard the quiet plea from his lover. He even acknowledged it with a brush of his own thoughts, filled with as much love as he could muster. But he didn't move from his seat in front of the microscope, a brandy bottle at one elbow and a paper under his other hand as he tried to work.

But it was just a brush, and Clark didn’t have any more tears in him to cry. He'd failed, just like always. And there was nothing he could do. He closed his eyes, because he felt a wash of tears fill his eyes regardless, and tried to sleep dreamlessly.

Lex's throat tightened as he felt the dejection spreading outward from his lover and he couldn't stand feeling it, knowing he was the cause of it.

He upended the bottle down his throat, drinking as much as he could before having to gasp for breath.

Despite the gentling touches of Clark's hand to his chest, Lionel woke far before he usually did. If he had had further nightmares, he didn't remember them, and as he sat up in bed, he cradled his head in anticipation of a stabbing headache that didn't materialize. He looked around, finding the bed still empty, and sighed. "Dominic?" he asked, still with his head in his hands, hoping for a response he could zero in on.

Six pieces of cake down. Six to go. Dominic stopped to smoke a cigarette and drink a glass of whiskey, though, and scratched his cheek with the hand holding the cig as he shifted and lay back on the couch again. His eyes were slit, just a little sleepy, as the reel ended. He didn’t quite have the energy to get up to change the movie, and he just stared at the blue screen silently.

Dominic?" Lionel repeated his husband's name, just a little louder this time, and he didn't relish the idea of opening his eyes. The world would not have gotten any less horrific, and for once in his life... Lionel truly did not want to deal with it. "Dominic, are you here?"

Dominic looked up. He'd heard his lover from the room across the hall, and climbed to his feet, walking unsteadily to the door war and out, so that he could open his bedroom. A slit of faint light fell in, and Dominic could see his lover, shaggy haired and eyes closed. "I’m here, b'loved. Just in the other room. Go back to sleep, okay?"

"That is, unfortunately, a lost cause." Lionel reluctantly rose to his feet, putting his feet into the slippers waiting for him by the bedside, and then took his robe as he walked across the room. "Did you sleep?"

A shake of his head, slightly, and rubbed his palm over his face as he turned and waited for his love in the hallway. "How is Clark?"

"Sleeping, finally." Lionel ran his fingers through his hair, and then gave up. "I think he'll sleep through until morning... Christ. I don't even know what time it is. Early?"

"About four." Dominic nodded, leading him to the movie room. He saw his lover’s struggle with the tangled mess on his head, and couldn’t help smiling just a little. "I never have that problem."

"Be glad. This is the occasions that make me wish I'd shorn it all off. However, my good sense quickly regains prominence." He followed quietly. "What have we been watching?"

"Home videos." Dominic entered first, and quickly put the cigarette that had been waiting for him out, and pushed the rest of them and his lighter under the cushions without a word, before he plopped down. "I like your hair short, too. You’ve had it short, and it becomes you just as long hair does."

Lionel shook his head. "I like it better long. It's more... imposing." He sat on the couch beside his lover, too exhausted to even notice the smoke that lingered in the room. "I am sure there are some of Lex around, but they've been well hidden if there are."

"Hmmm. Hold on, just a tic... lets see if I’ve got another one." Dominic rose again and up the long steps to the camera, changing the reel to one of... yes. "This one...is from nineteen seventy four. I was...seven, Graham twelve. Riley was but a baby, and Shayla nothing but the apple of my mama's eye. This one has my da' in it... he's what got Graham into using his film." Dominic walked back down the steps and sat beside his lover, curling his legs up and pulling Lionel down onto his shoulder to snuggle.

Lionel rested his head on Dominic's shoulder, sliding an arm around his waist. "You mean I won't be subjected to seeing your brother's carcass while getting to see you, as you were, as an innocent child?"

"Indeed." Dominic smiled, now, and lay his head on Lionel’s.

"There'i be, now." The voice behind the camera spoke...deep and resonant, as he trained the camera on the on the people below him. Sitting in front of an older looking white cottage, on an enormous blanket, sat the Senatori's. Rosalyn was much thinner and stunningly beautiful, and she gave the camera a little mock glare as she tossed her curls behind her and struck a pose. Graham was sitting beside her, in his swim trunks, with a head of tousled hair. "There we are, smile for d'camera, my ookie bookie son."

Dominic snorted, loudly. "Me da' was a teaser. I's where I inherited it from."

Behind Rosalyn and Graham ran an extremely slender boy and girl. Blond as the sun, Megan screamed as a teenie tiny Morgan dropped a handful of sand down her bikini shorts and snickered.

The camera went down, then, and an enormous man stepped out into it. Huge, robust, with hair like midnight. He had a thick beard and laughing blue eyes, and in each mountainous arm he lifted Morgan and Megan under each arm, much to their delight.

Dominic grinned, and pulled his leg up so his knee touched his chest. No matter his feelings of any given time, this memory would make him happy. Feeling his fathers arms around him, the strong smell of old spice and sea air had always made him feel so... happy.

To this day, Dominic still wore old spice. "Tha's him. That’s my Da'. Graham looks like him, doesn’t he?"

"Very much so," Lionel agreed. "And you were a skinny child." He looked at his lover now. "Not that that has changed." Then he gave a light smile. "You look so overjoyed to be manhandled."

"He was a good man. Had a temper about him, but my mama knew how to make him grovel. She’s that type of woman, you know." He gave a low snicker at his lover and nuzzled him very softly. "I enjoy being manhandled, aye, and that hasn’t changed a lick."

He set his head on Lionel’s and watched, silently now. He was so tired, and so furious with everything, and he was trying to keep himself calm. He was. He was trying with the best of his ability. "You would have liked him."

Lionel closed his eyes as Dominic nuzzled him. "No, that hasn't changed either. You're very much the boy you used to be, I think, but then, sometimes you seem such an old soul, you're far older than I am."

"Not really." Dominic said softly. "I wish I would have known you when I was a lad. We would have had so much fun. I had an old playhouse in the middle of the forest...Graham built it for me and Megan. it was our secret hideout... we'd go there and share our secrets, and our dreams, even when we were big." He tipped his head. "I’m selfish, Lionel."

"Whyever would you say you're selfish?" Lionel tightened his grip on Dominic's waist.

"Some things I wish for are horrible, horrible to say. I just wish... I wish I could have gotten to you before all this tragedy happened in your life. Prevented it from happening."

"That's not selfish, Dominic." He pressed a soft kiss to his lover's temple. "I wish you had, too. But if you're right, these things were meant to happen, to bring us together."

"Maybe." He suddenly let go of his lover and reached forward. His body was always filled with nervous energy, but even more so now as he threw back a shot of the whiskey... hissed, and let his head drop as his elbows rested on his knees.

"Dominic... tell me." Lionel reached for the remote, and stilled the video on a particularly endearing close-up of a laughing Morgan and Megan still tucked under their father's arms.

"I love you. But sometimes, I wish Id never met you. For your own sanity, and for mine. Wish you'd never moved here to Smallville, wished your wife was still alive and you had your family. You deserve that, not a life with a gay man who loves too much and lets himself be blind to everything else. You deserve to have your sons and your wife and Sunday dinners and college, shopping, trips with her. Not this fragmented life you lead. Maybe if Id never gotten close you would have kept Lex in Europe, and he would never have met Clark. Maybe the path we took to this place has been the wrong one, Lionel."

Lionel blinked at that, and turned on the couch so that he faced his lover. "I... there are times I do wish that my wife were alive. But I can't, not seriously, because that means I wouldn't have you in my life. And I can't imagine it being any other way." Lionel took a deep breath as he listened to the rest of it. "I can't believe that this was the wrong path, Dominic. Lex would have come home from Europe anyway, and he would have been working either here or Metropolis anyway. He and Clark would have met at some point. But most of all... I refuse to believe that any path that leads me to you is wrong."

"You can’t mean that. Of course you wish your wife was still alive, Lionel. You deserve to have that life with her. She brought you children, joy, the love of a good woman, a future. What have I brought you? A skittery gay man who can’t be near puppies without pissing himself. Look at it, Lionel. Look at it, the facts are there." He shook his head and rose, tossing back another shot of whiskey and hissing as he went to the window. "And I see Clark and Lex making the same mistake."

"No." Lionel pushed himself up off the couch. "You and I are not a mistake. Yes, I do miss Lillian. But she is gone Dominic, much as I miss her, but what you bring me is the same thing she did--love. I know that you love me--at least, I believe you do--and I do know that I love you." He almost reached out but then folded his arms over his chest instead. "Clark and Lex are not making a mistake; you've seen how they are together."

"Lionel, you were meant for class, for prestige, for children who don’t have to be made in... in..." He suddenly turned and threw the glass, as hard as he could, and the thick bottom shattered like a gun shot as he snarled. "How could God DO this? How could GOD TAKE THAT CHILD AWAY? How could this PAIN be here? How could all this pain be happening to LEX AND CLARK, CHILDREN, who didn’t even know, how could He do this?! How could such pain be brought to two innocent souls?" He was so angry it was coming out of every pore of his body, as he stalked the room in rage. "What kind of God would take away an infant, would make two parents hold their child as he died? What kind of God would fucking break a family this way? What kind of God would DO THIS?"

Lionel was about to refute his lover's claim, and then his jaw snapped shut with a click as the true target of Dominic's rage came out. "The same God that would take two wounded souls, who love one another, and put them together because He knows they need each other to be whole." He took a deep breath. "No, this is not fair. This is not right. But my son and his lover are both stronger men than I was. They will not abandon each other, Dominic."

He snarled at his lover and turned to glare, arms tightening and locking, fists locked. "They did not DESERVE this. They dunna deserve to have this pain! They did not DESERVE to be young pare's wh'didn' even know they had a CHILD!" Dominic barely kept himself from screaming, barely, fury thudding in his head as he glared at his husband. "Don’t you defend Him. Don’t. I won’t tolerate it. He tore two CHILDREN apart. He created that...that carnage. I know Clark’s not human but he IS, and God protects all His children. Where was the protection today? Where was the protection, the love today? Why did he let an infant, an infant who’s barely bigger then my hands, die? Why? WHY dammit?!"

"I don't have an answer for you," Lionel said softly. "Nor do I have a faith to offer you; I disavowed mine long ago and I have nothing to offer you now except the surety and the faith I have in the son I raised and the boy I've gotten to know that they will overcome this. And that is all I have to offer you right now."

His throat was tightening, his eyes were swamping, and heat filled Dominic’s eyes and heart as he stared at his lover. He felt himself choking on the sobs and tried to stay still, stay firm, even as his chin trembled. "There has to be something we could have done. Something, Lionel."

Lionel held out his arms. "There wasn't. None of us could have given the child what it needed to survive. None of us could have saved his life."

Dominic stepped the distance that separated him and his lover and let out a heavy sob into his shoulder, pressing him close as his knees went to water under his weight and he sagged and fell, shaking as he pressed close.

Lionel didn't say anything else, just held Dominic close to him, arms wrapping around his chest. He went down as Dominic fell, and he didn't lose his grip on his lover. "Let it out," is all Lionel could say. "Let it out."

He pressed in, and resembled the little boy on the screen very much, sobbing into Lionel’s neck as he cried. It was so horrible, so deeply impossible to comprehend. His life had been made up of tragedies, but this… this overcame everything. This was the worst thing he'd ever seen in his heart, and he knew he'd feel the grainy feeling of Clark’s blood for the rest of his life. "Its not fair. Its not fair."

"No, beloved. It's not fair."

Dominic said nothing, just crying into his lovers arms as the gleaming, young faces not harmed by life shone out from the television, with the wise old gaze above them merry and joyful.

~ * ~ * ~

After Dominic's breakdown this morning, Lionel had held his lover as he cried and raged against a God Lionel had long since stopped believing in. They'd stayed awake for several more hours, watching the videos of Dominic's childhood, small smiles and soft chuckles the only homage they could pay to the innocent childish antics as the still-new grief weighed heavily on their hearts.

Finally, in the near-funereal silence of the monstrous house, Lionel heard the first faint sounds in the kitchen of someone stirring; a radio was turned on softly, dishes clanked softly, but that was all he could hear. He kissed Dominic's cheek softly, left him in front of the home videos still playing, and dressed methodically. Comfortable in black, it seemed appropriate for the situation and he went next to Lex and Clark's new room, picking out a dusty lavender sweater and a pair of black slacks, underwear, socks, and shoes, all clothes he knew that his son favored. He tucked them into a black carry-on bag found at the bottom of the wardrobe, and he slung the strap over his shoulder. He took a deep breath as he wound through the rest of the house, pausing in the kitchen and silently accepting the thermos of instant coffee that was thrust into his hands by the uncharacteristically quiet Ms. Bird. The lab wasn't far, and Lionel was met at the foot of the stairs with the steel door, welded back into place.

He was more than a little startled, but refused to show it. "Lex!" he called out sharply, wincing as his voice echoed in the cavernous steps. "Open the door this instant. Ms. Bird sent coffee, and I brought you clean clothes."

The response was almost immediate, and it broke Lionel's heart to know that Lex was awake and likely hadn't slept that night. "Leave it on the steps and I'll get it later."

"You'll open this door and get it now, or I'll have the door broken down. It's not healthy, son."

"I don't care."

"Lex." Bruce said quietly. He was perched in the stool Dominic had positioned himself in just the night before, and glanced up. They'd been silent for hours on end, and Lionel’s sharp call had startled the both of him. "Let him in."

He'd bathed in the ice cold shower, and had put on scrubs he'd found in Lex's endless supply closet. He was dressed now in blue scrubs and a long white coat, black shoes scuffed and marred. He set the slide he'd been looking at down and pushed some of his dark hair off his forehead.

"What?" Lex asked tonelessly. If he'd not had the additional stamina of Clark's abilities aiding him, Lex knew his eyes would have grown to the microscope eyepiece by now.

"Open it for him."

"Why?" He was reduced to monosyllables unless he was being forced to speak more, and for a moment, he realized why Bruce found so much comfort in near-muteness.

"Because." There was heaviness in the word, and Bruce knew that Lex knew exactly what he meant, as he looked into the slide again, shifting on his seat as he put down some notes.

"Lex!" Lionel called out, a little more loudly so he could be heard through the door. "Your coffee will be getting cold if you don't open the door!"

Bruce glanced up, expectancy on his face.

Lex shook his head. "Doesn't matter," he said softly. "I can re-heat it," he said, raising his voice to yell back at his father.

"Lex, open the door for your father. Now." Commanding in the soft tone of the voice, and Bruce looked up at him.

"Lex... open the door. Please. I want... to see you." Lionel's voice was soft, not sure of what he was saying. "I know. You know I do. Please... open the door."

Bruce looked back down at his work, because what he expected done was always done. Always. And he turned the intensity of his microscope a level higher, and took down the notes from what he saw.

Lex slid down off the stool, rubbed at his eyes like a sleepy child, and then without a word ripped the door back off the hinges and opening it for his father to enter.

"Thank you, son." Lionel entered the lab, looking around at the bright, sterile whiteness of it. The door to his son's resting place was still closed off, and he was glad to see it. "Lex..." He held out the thermos and the bag of clothes.

A jump, but the young man at the desk didn’t say a word as he looked up at Lionel. "Lex, would you leave the door open? I need to go up to get some things in a while, and see Dick." He wanted, desperately, to see his lover.

"I'll leave it open." Lex took the coffee and the bag from his father, and set them on the side. He then sat back down at his table, and leaned back over his microscope.

Bruce closed his eyes, and sighed, very softly. "Lionel." Bruce rose and offered his stool to the older man, pulling another over for himself as he seated himself in front of his microscope once more.

Lionel nodded a tired thanks. "Has he been like this... all night?"

A single nod. "He broke down for a while... and he came in here, after Mr. Senatori and Ms. Sullivan left." Bruce was exhausted, and he rubbed his cheek softly.

"I didn't exactly break down," Lex protested tonelessly. "I just... cried." He didn't pull his gaze up from the microscope.

Lionel shook his head, and put his hand on Lex's shoulder. "Son, did you sleep last night?"

"No," was Lex's short reply.

Bruce shook his head softly in agreement. "He's been in here." The microscope was going blurry and Bruce heaved a quiet sigh.

Lionel tried again. "Lex... you need to sleep. You can't keep going on like this. If... if not for your sake, then think about Clark. You know that what you do affects him, and he doesn't need to worry about you right now."

Bruce glanced up, gazed at the young man with a quiet shake of his head. "He won't listen, Lionel. I’ve tried everything." And he had. Talking, yelling, threatening, shaking, screaming. Lex was ignoring him, completely.

"Clark knows that I will survive because that's what I do."

Lionel shot a helpless glance at Bruce. "Lex... Clark came to my bedroom last night, because he woke up alone and you had deserted him. He thinks that you hate him now, because of this. Please... don't do this to yourself, don't do this to him."

"I don't hate Clark," Lex said quietly, not pulling his eyes from his work. "He'll feel that."

"Clark can’t feel anything, Lex." Bruce turned to gaze at his older friend, and lowered his voice. "He's in shock. He isn’t really aware of anything right now. He doesn’t remember much about me stitching Clark up."

"He's not feeling it now, Lex," Lionel said slightly forcefully. "And now is the time that matters most." He swallowed hard at what he was about to say. "Do you want to lose Clark like I lost your mother?"

A hard swallow was Lex's only reply. "Get out."

Bruce usually stayed out of familial affairs, but right now he simply looked up and gazed at is young friend. He was in shock, pure and simple, and there was nothing he could do.

He felt... powerless. "Lex, listen to your father."

"He heard me, Bruce," Lionel said softly, not doing as he was told. He never did before, why start now?

Bruce nodded and fell silent, gazing down at his work. The tension could have been cut with a knife, and all he wanted was his lover, something to drink, and his bed.

But he was a big old mush ball right at the center. And he stayed, and waited.

Lionel stayed quiet too, half expecting to be slapped or thrown across the room for his words.

Lex just repeated his earlier command. "Get. Out. Of my lab. Now."

"Lex--" He stopped, suddenly, gazing over Lex's slender shoulder, and his eyes widened just a little bit, face completely dead. Clark stood in the hollow of the door, a blanket around his shoulders and covering his body, but he was otherwise naked. He stepped into the lab, eyes trained on the door, and Bruce rose to his feet.

He had a mission. The sun had broken through the clouds and had told him, as he'd lay in the rays of the lovely warmth, tat it was time.

He stood there now, unseeing of anyone but the door that led to his child’s room. He stepped across the lab, silent, bare feet whisper quiet, and opened the door, disappearing inside.

"Clark!" Lex slid off the stool, following his lover. "Clark, what are you doing up, you should still be in bed!"

He turned, and with a single glance, with a single thought, told his lover to shut up.

The room was cool... cool enough to house a dead body, and still the effects of after death. But Clark knew in his heart that his son would not be effected by that....he was partially inhuman. The blanket fell around his feet, the ragged, horrible gash still crisscrossed with the stitches that hadn’t fallen out during the bath, and he crossed the room.

He stood before the table and closed his eyes, raising his hands up in offering to the heavens before he began to whisper. "Glek'tyu ty'ty'muh, Mar-El. t' rew awerna`." (Rest in peace, Mar-El. For you are safe.) He whispered it, over and over, the words taking on a soft, melodic tone as he murmured it. He hefted himself atop the table in the next instant and sat cross-legged in front of the bundle of white in front of him, and closed his eyes, head bowed over him.

Lex recoiled at being told to shut up, and would have been upset and offended had he not known that Clark had something he needed to do. Not knowing what to do with himself, Lex stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, eyes closed as he listened to the melodic whisper of his lover's voice.

Lionel nearly followed his son in expressing his concern for Clark when the glare that Clark shot his son shut him up as well. He reached out to stop Lex from following and intruding, but Lex shook him off.

"Something’s happening." Bruce said, very, very softly. He hovered beside Lionel, helpless in his motions, and he whispered, "I feel so useless."

Clark continued to chant, quietly. It was an automatic thing he had to do… he wasn’t aware of what he was doing, because some part of him had told the other part to shut the fuck up and let it work. He was being moved by every alien instinct he knew, multiplied by a thousand, and could do nothing but watch as his hands and his words were said to the tiny bundle. His son. And how, how his soul screamed. "Mar-El." He whispered, bringing the blanket down. The child was cold, gray in death, but Kal-El saw nothing but his son. He leaned forward and kissed him gently on the forehead, as he slowly untangled him from the blankets. When his tiny body was bare, Kal-El lifted him into his palms, where he just barely fit, and set the heel of each palm on his forehead, bowing forward as he spoke. "Tp'riklan, qa' grenda." (travel the roads safely.) "Yunthdref ber' reen." (you have been released). "Puntha gresya, t...." His voice hitched, once. "Tolkinta. Oakenep-El, y' Kal-El." (Child of Oakenep-El and Kal-El) "Trewt'a'." (Unforgottten.)

"Join the club, Bruce," Lionel answered back, just as softly. "We can only do so much and despite our hurt, the rest of it has to be done by Lex and Clark themselves, and they're simply not ready to do it yet."

Kal-El gently set the child down once more, and with a very small, intricate dagger he'd found in his mates war room, slit his palm just deep enough. The blood welled from the cut, and Kal-El dipped his thumb into it, and drew a small design on Mar-El's forehead. The sign of their family, their heritage. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." He whispered, the words sounding foreign on his tongue as he once again covered his son. The blanket went over him in a specific crisscross, and right before he tucked the top of it over his babies face, twin tears of blood fell down his face. He looked back at his lover and motioned him forward, before he closed his son in to his eternal bed. "Come and see him, Oakenep-El."

Lex moved silently as he could into the room, and he went straight to his lover. He wrapped his arms around Clark, pulling Clark's head to his shoulder and putting one hand on his son's small body. "I want--I want him to be like us, Kal-El. We--we have names, of both our homes. I want our son to as well." His voice was choked and gruff as he spoke, and by the time he was done, his face was wet with tears.

"He will. Any name you chose will be strong. He was a strong soul." Kal-El murmured, and lay his hand over Lex's so they were joined. The touch was a comfort he hadn’t had and he needed it, as he pressed close to his lover. "I need.." He let go of his lover and took Lex's palm, gazing up at him with mute eyes. "I need." The dagger was poised, and Kal-El waited until his mate said yes.

"Yes," Lex said, nodding. "Yes."

Kal-El dipped the knife in, deep but not enough to harm, and pressed the thumb still covered with his own blood into it. He made the same design on the outside of the blanket, as he looked at his sons face one final time, and covered him with the blanket as he finished. "You are a child of God. Rest now. You were loved, you were ours, and until the day we die, Mar-El, you will not be forgotten." He tucked the blanket into the crisscross, and slowly got down from the table. He hurt so much, in every way, but he would be strong. "The hill, Oakenep-El. The hill, where the sun comes up everyday, and there are lilacs. The trees."

Lex nodded. "Yes. That's the perfect place; always here, always with the light he brought us." His arms tightened around his lover's shoulders.

"You must carry him." he answered, quietly. "You were his father. You must carry him." Clark crouched and lifted the blanket, bringing it around his shoulders again, to cover his naked state. "We need nothing. Carry him, my love. Name him."

Lex picked his wrapped son up, and cradled him gently. "Richard," Lex said quietly. "The name of a king."

"Richard. Richard Mar-El. It's a name of royalty." Clark whispered. "Take off your clothes, Lex." He was in so much pain, so much, but they had to finish this. They couldn’t leave him there in a cold room any more. He wanted his son, his child, but no one was going to give him back. And to finish it, they needed this.

Lex did as Clark told him, not even thinking at the strange request. Clark was naked, and so he would be. He cradled his baby carefully as he undressed, never putting the child down and finally, he stood just as naked as Clark, shivering slightly in the cold and looking up at his lover, the same misery and pain shining in both their eyes.

He wanted to cry. Desperately. And found he couldn’t. He just nodded at Lex and turned, walking out of the room with him. Silence, nothing, Clark didn’t see the people in the room. He just led Lex to the door and up the steps. Everything was so strange and distorted, the cold hard on his bones, and he felt the weight of his child in Lex's arms. "No one can know where he is." He whispered, softly. "He is ours. No one must ever know."

Lex followed. "No one ever will. I promise you that." He stroked the baby's soft blanket, and then his lover's shoulder. "Only you and I will know where he lay resting."

"Don’t cry anymore for him, Lex. Our child is in peace. I have assured it. No one will ever disturb him. He will find us someday." Fragmented sentences, fragmented mind frame, and Clark only led the way down the hall and to the massive front door. He pulled it, and the sun was shining, the snow melting, and Clark looked back at his lover and his son once before going down the steps. And the instant that his feet touched cold, wet grass the blanket fell from his shoulders, and he gazed at his lover.

Lex reached out to catch the blanket with one hand, and he met Clark's gaze with his own. "I won't cry for him again, Clark. I'll cry for us, for missing him."

"Okay." Clark nodded gently before he gave a gentle shake of his head. "We are not to be covered." The warm sun’s rays on his skin was delicious, and his heart was cold and dead as he reached out and took his lovers hand. Their cold fingers clasped, tightly, and Clark nodded. "Lead the way."

Lex dropped the blanket on the front steps, and he stepped out onto the grass beside Clark. He brought their twined fingers to his lips and kissed them softly, and then without a word, he started walking. His bare feet plowed through snow without noticing, clearing the way for his lover's tender human feet.

Lionel watched in open-mouthed surprise as the two naked young men walked past he and Bruce like neither of them existed. When he saw their destination was the front door, Lionel sprinted up the steps as fast as he could. "What in the hell do they think they're doing?" he demanded of the open air. "Clark! You're both going to get sick!"

Clark followed silently, and Lionel’s called words went over his head. Didn’t hear, didn’t think, just walked silently out into the grass. The cold was fierce but he barely felt it, simply gazing at the bundle in Lex's arms. And because this was the time, he spoke. "He would have been a great kid. Between the both of us, he would have been... a really great kid."

Lex nodded, his grip tightening on his lover's hand. "He would have been. With you and me, you as a father to show him what to do and me to show him what not to do... he would have been the best kid in the world. And he would have been..." his voice choked. "He would have been the most wonderful, smart little boy in the world."

"He would have had your hair." Clark squeezed his fingers, and offered a little laugh. "He would have had your hair, and your eyebrows, and your spunk. He would have had my height... prolly would have towered over us before he was fifteen." He wanted this to be a good memory, because in his heart his baby son was a good memory.

"That poor child, having my hair." Lex tried to smile as he remembered his own dislike of it. "He would dye it before he was ten."

"Probably. Had a billion freckles, like you try to hide on your nose, and he would have been smart as hell. Probably have some of my abilities, you know? He'd have been a ladies man, cause with us two, we wouldn’t raise him any other way."

"He'd be just as gorgeous as you are, and he'd be fighting them off with a stick." He leaned his head against Clark's for a minute, rubbing his bald head against Clark's hair. "He'd have been loved."

"Yes. Above everything, he'd have been loved." Clark rubbed right back and forced himself to be strong as they walked up the long hill. "He deserved a chance to live. He deserved it, because he was yours and mine. But... but I understand why he was taken away. I heard... Dominic, screaming and raging against God. But God didn’t do this...it was just the way it happened. But he got to see us. He was linked with me, and I could feel his little soul overjoyed at seeing you and me."

"I envy you that link," Lex said quietly. "I wish that just for a moment, I'd have been able to feel him too." He tightened his grip on his baby and his lover. "But if he felt our joy at knowing him... then that's all I can ask for."

"It was when he was born… when he was coming out of me." Clark murmured. "It started then, I felt it. But Lex... when he saw you, I wish you could have felt him." His heart put the emotion, which he couldn’t put into words, into his lovers heart instead. "See? that. That, that’s what he felt." He couldn’t do anymore, not yet, and he locked that place in his heart tightly shut. Not yet, it was too soon. "There. Up there. The hill, with the flowers."

Lex's eyes widened at the emotion slipped into his mind. There was just... unquantifiable joy, unconditional love, so many other things that he couldn't put into words and he locked it safely away, never to be shared again. Instead he wrapped his arms around his lover and held him tightly, closely. "He'll love the flowers."

"I think so too." Clark said quietly. It was so hard to walk this walk, right now, and his fingers viced around his lover’s impenetrable skin. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. Not now. "He… he would have loved it, loved the sun. It feels so good to be warm... Can’t ever get warm enough, but now, he'll always be warm. Always." His alien strength only went so far, and the very emotional, human side of him was breaking down. He was trying, but he had to hold his lovers hand with both palms as they walked. Deriving strength from him, anything. Anything. He couldn’t cry now, because he wouldn’t have any more tears wept over his son’s body.

Lex just pulled his lover closer, holding him tightly. Might have been too tight, but Clark wasn't complaining. He didn't have much strength left, but what he had, he shared with his beloved. "I love you, Clark. We will get through this."

"There. Lex, look. There. That’s the place." Clark pointed under an enormous apple tree, who's leaves were just beginning to grow again. In another months time the snow would be gone, and this field would be... no. Now. "Lex... sit, here." Clark whispered. They found the spot, the spot, and Clark sank to his knees in the snow. "I want to show you something."

Lex nodded. "Yes." He pulled Clark to him, nestling against his lover's body and sharing warmth. He knelt beside his lover, cradling his son.

Clark took the baby gently and lay his son on the spot where he would be buried, before taking Lex's hands. With each palm covering the back of Lex's hands, Clark lowered them to the ground, and gazed at his lover as something... blossomed in his mind. He shared it with his lover, and through the link, the empty field suddenly began to change. The tree leaved with life, sunny and brown. The ice and snow on the ground melted and like they were watching the season change on fast forward, flowers began t emerge. Thousands of them grew, flowered, until he and his lover were sitting in a field of them. The sun shone on them, warm and toasty, and Clark turned his face from where it was pressed to Lex's, to look at him. A million soft lilacs had sprung up, beautiful, and Clark smiled at him as his eyes teared. "Here is where he will be buried."

Lex nodded. "Yes. Yes, here." The vision that Clark had just painted in their minds was beautiful, and that is where he wanted his beautiful son to be. Not in cold, lifeless stone and wooden coffins but buried in warm soil, full of life and light and radiance. "Right here."

"Concentrate." Clark murmured softly. "Bring the ground up in our hands. It won't take much. Just a little, so he'll never be in the cold."

Lex nodded. He closed his eyes and concentrated, slamming his fist into the earth, up to his elbow, and the frozen ground cut like ice cream as he hollowed out a small resting place for his son. Lex's nails dug into the turf and pulled up, jerking out the entire chunk in one pull.

"There. There, my love." Clark whispered. He felt dizzy, numb, like they couldn’t be doing this. But they were, and it was for the best, but all Clark wanted to do was scream and hold his child and forget about anyone else. He wanted to find a corner of the world to die, let himself die, because this pain was unbelievable. He lifted his baby one last time and hugged him, gently, kissing the side of his head quietly. "My baby. You're from my body, you were inside me. I'll always feel you, I'll always love you. You're my baby, even though you're gone. You'll always be my baby."

Lex wrapped his arms around his lover, cradling the baby between them, and he kissed Clark's temple softly. "You will always be my son; I will always carry you with me." He stroked the white wrapped form. "You loved me, you showed me that I could love more than I ever dreamed I could, and you showed me that there is nothing in this world more important to me than my family. I will never forget you, and I won't forget the things you've taught me." He kissed Clark's temple again. "And I will never, never stop loving your father."

Clark leaned against Lex, gently, so they were a unit one last time. "You are named Richard Mar-El Kent Luthor. Go now, and be in peace." Clark gently reached forward despite his body screaming and lay his son in the warm, rich earth, gently tucking the blanket just so around his son’s little body. Clark was shaking, his chin shaking as he did it. His baby. His baby had never had toys, had never had a bottle or a pacifier or a pillow. His son had nothing but this blanket he was wrapped in, and the tears stayed in his eyes even as he cried. His baby had nothing but what he was being buried in, and Clark cried for it. Cried because his son had had nothing.

Lex's arms just wrapped tighter around Clark. He knew what his lover was thinking, why he was crying. He could have given the baby everything, if he'd just had the chance. Carefully, very, very carefully, Lex turned his eyes onto the hole his son was being placed in, and his eyes emitted small bursts of heat that warmed the soil, thawed it, because Lex couldn't bear the thought of his son lying in cold earth.

He'd come back out every day and thaw it, if that is what it took.

He couldn’t stop. He just fixed his son the way he had to be, set his little head so he could see the sun every day, and burst into tears. He raged in silence, sobbing whatever was inside of him out as he fixed his son. He wanted to scream, to tell Lex no, that they couldn’t do this, and he wasn’t going to touch his baby anymore, even as he fixed his little arms and legs.

When Lex was satisfied with the warmth of the earth holding his son, he crawled around behind Clark, wrapping his arms around Clark's waist, pressing his chest to Clark's back and holding him tightly. Tears wet his lover's skin as Lex clung to him, and then Lex reached around and caught Clark's wrists in his hands and pulled them against Clark's body. "We have to stop, we have to let him go now or we never will. We have to, we have to."

"I can’t." Clark sobbed. His breath was hitching violently, the tears coursing down his face, cries and whimpers coming from him. He couldn’t let his baby go, not this baby that had come from his body, from the love he and Lex shared. He could see his baby laying in the earth and he couldn’t, couldn’t let his son go, not when he'd never had anything, not when he hadn’t given his son toys, or fed him, or played with him. Not when he hadn’t gotten to see his little boy’s first smile, or hear him gurgle. He'd never heard his baby make a noise, and Clark sobbed as he looked at his little son. Buried with all his earthly possessions and Clark was trying so hard, so very hard, as he bowed his head and cried.

"We have to." Lex held Clark tightly against him, face buried in the back of his lover's neck. "We have to let him go, Clark. You said yourself, he's gone. We have to let him go, or we'll never live again. And I can't. I can't lose you like I lost my mother and my father. I can't, Clark. Please. We have to let him go, no matter how much it hurts."

"I love...I love you, Mar-El." Was all he could say between the sobs, and all he wanted to do was turn and cry into his lovers arms, but he couldn’t. He had to bury his son, had to make sure he would always be okay. Clark fixed his little body one last time, touched him one last time, and leaned back into his lover. "He had nothing, a... and he had everything. He was our baby." The our burst of sobs had stopped for a moment, now when it was important, even as his heart bled. He brought the hands that had touched his son to his heart and gazed at him. "We have to cover him. Have to make sure its alright, that he won't be hurt when we do. We have to make sure he'll always be okay."

Lex wrapped his arms tightly around Clark, pinning those beautiful hands to Clark's chest. "He'll be all right, Clark. He'll be protected here. The trees, the grass, the flowers. They'll protect him, help hide him and keep him safe." He didn't look at his baby in the grave, not yet. He kept his face buried in Clark's neck as he held onto his lover.

It had to be now, it had to be now, but Clark let himself press into his lover and soak up the strength. He felt so numb, so lost, so shut down. He'd never, in his life, been sadder then he was in this moment. The weight of loss weighed heavily on his heart, and for the first time, in his grief, it was acknowledged. "That’s why its here. The earth is my home, it has raised me on my parents farm. It will protect our son." He whispered, leaning against him. The tears trickled down his face as he gazed at his baby, memorizing his little form. "He was an angel. An angel."

"Yes. He was our angel, Clark. And we will never forget him." Lex was nearly at the end of his rope. He was fighting so hard not to break down because he knew that if he did, he'd never be the same again. "The earth will protect him, and we will always see him here."

"Here, where the sun is warm." And Clark felt it, Clark felt his lover. "We will never forget him." He reached forward, and with the practiced hand of a young man who'd had to bury his fair share of animals, began to bury his son. The dirt was soft were Lex had warmed it and Clark gently pressed it around the tiny little body, making sure not to leave any spot undone. His son would be here, safe, in the womb of the earth where it was warm and full of life. When it was done, he pressed the dirt on the small body, and wept the tears of a parent who should never have to see their child go. He did his legs first, his belly, but he couldn’t, he had to stop as he turned and pressed his face into Lex's chest, sobbing as hard as he'd ever felt. He couldn’t bury his son’s face, he couldn’t, and he grasped his lover as his heart cracked open and bled.

"I will do it," Lex said softly, cradling his sobbing lover against him. But he didn't move for long, long moments, instead gripping Clark tightly against him, rocking gently. His own tears flowed openly as he tried to comfort Clark, held him as they cried together. Then, one hand moved from Clark's shoulders and reached down, patting the layer of dirt in over his child's face. "I will always love you, Richard Mar-El," Lex said in a broken voice. As soon as his baby's body was completely covered, Lex sobbed harshly into Clark's shoulder, even as he comforted his lover.

And it was what Bruce saw, as he looked out the door with Lionel at his side. The two young men, doing a task neither of them should ever have had to do. And he wept. He stood in the doorway, as both boys hugged one another with the souls of old men, and wept.

And when he could not show more, he turned and walked back into the house.

 

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