One Day Out Of Life

Notes: Happy birthday latxcvi! Thanks ever so much to nifra_idril for the very helpful beta. *hugs*

Clark lies on his back under a large tree in the back yard, watching summer stagger away slowly. The sunlight plays hide and seek with the still green leaves over his head, and Clark makes a game of chasing it with his eyes. Quietude sparkles like diamonds on black velvet -- rare and longed for, but seldom had -- so Clark forces his mind to blankness so he can relish it properly.

His pinpricks of memory taunt him; thoughts about his family, his friends, where he goes from here. Clark scatters them with an abrupt brush of his hand. The slate is clean, just for this moment, and he can breathe.

Ten years from now, he'll wonder how he ever managed to find these moments of peace that will elude his adult life so effortlessly. He'll ascribe it to many incorrect sources -- teenage self-absorption and ignorance-is-bliss syndrome, among others -- never realizing the true reason he can't find that tranquility anymore.

Clark will look back on this day, and other days like it, with a melancholy ache and irrational jealousy.

The skin on Clark's ankle tickles, and he lifts his head to glance down his own body. An ant progresses along the slope of his bare foot until it reaches the ground. The insect carts a prize on its back -- a large piece of crust from the ham sandwich Clark had finished eating several minutes ago.

Facts from last year's bio class pop up in Clark's brain, reminding him that ants have the ability to carry several times their own bodyweight. A feeling of kinship to the tiny creature rushes through Clark as he watches it plod across the grass, fascination lighting his eyes. This miniature titan makes Clark's own ability to lift the tractor engine over his head seem less freakish.

Tracking ahead of the insect's path, Clark's eyes find the small hill of dirt surrounding a hole in the ground that is the objective of the ant's laborious journey. As he focuses, more information comes back to him. The worker ants submit to the will of their queen, seeking her favor above all else in the world. Clark wonders if the workers ever get tired of obeying.

Fifteen years from now, Clark will be wearing spandex and flying from one disaster to another across the globe. He won't recall his thoughts about the worker ants on this day. He'll be too busy responding to the desperate pleas of the world, answering to his own version of the queen.

When his mother calls him into the house, Clark rises to his feet reluctantly. By the time he walks in the door, he's closeted all remnants of his brooding. More obedient and eager to please than ever, and he wonders a little desperately if it will ever make a difference. He thinks that with enough time, things will go back to the way they were before. His mom's eyes will stop looking so haunted, and he'll stop catching his dad watching him with a combination of weariness and concern. Clark won't always feel like a stranger to his own life; he has to believe that much.

Mom holds out a basket of banana nut muffins and reminds him to take them along with his delivery to Lex's. Ever since Lex got back, Clark's mom has been trying to fatten him up with various baked goods that she sends along with the organic vegetables. Clark wonders if this is her way of trying to get things back to normal, like maybe she thinks if the hollows under Lex's eyes and cheeks disappear that it can erase the summer for all of them.

Clark hopes that it works, for all of their sakes. Few of the changes even resemble something positive. He reflexively scratches at the raised scar underneath his shirt, not realizing he's doing it until he catches his mom watching the motions of his hand across his chest. He stops his hand, and she drops her eyes, turning to grab a clean dish towel from the laundry basket and covering the muffins with it. Neither of them says a word as Clark gives her an overly bright smile and takes the basket from her hands.

Twenty years from now, Clark will stand in front of a dual grave plot and put flowers against the headstone of the freshly interred one. He'll remember naively wishing away the events of that summer rather than dealing with the consequences, as he should have. He'll curse the avoidance that had seemed like a lifeline, and he'll wish he'd only realized sooner that dreaming about going back would prevent him from moving forward.

Clark drops off the vegetable delivery in the kitchen, taking the muffin basket with him, and traverses the halls to Lex's study. He passes a man, walking out as Clark walks in, and realizes without being told that this is one of the investigators that Lex has commissioned to search for his wife. Clark enters the room with a small smile on his face. "Mom sent muffins this time."

Lex glances up and favors Clark with a look of shared understanding. "Then we shouldn't disappoint her." He gestures for Clark to sit and rings the kitchen for a delivery of coffee and plates.

When the tray is delivered, they both move to the sofa, and Clark pours the coffee while Lex breaks a piece off a muffin top and chews it slowly. Clark hands him a cup before asking, "Any news on Helen?"

Lex chases down the bite of food with a sip of his coffee. "Some leads. Nothing definitive yet." Lex's tone of voice resonates flatly, the words almost perfunctory, but there's a fevered gleam in his eyes that Clark recognizes. He's seen it in the mirror, recently.

And he probably shouldn't ask, but that's never stopped Clark before, where Lex is concerned. "What are you planning to do? When you find her, I mean."

Dangerous tension skates across Lex's eyes, tightens his jaw. Clark's not sure he's going to answer, at first, but then Lex takes another sip of coffee. "It depends on a lot of factors, Clark. I'll do whatever is necessary."

*Necessary*. Clark turns the remark over in his mind, wondering what Lex means by that, but the tone of his voice explains what the word doesn't. The threat hangs in the air between them, and it's far from an idle one. Lex turns his eyes away, the slight shake of his head indicating more than words would that he regrets revealing even that much to Clark. Clark feels a reply hovering on the tip of his tongue -- about two wrongs not making a right, about Lex being better than this. Clark doesn't speak them; they taste too much like his father's voice.

He considers not saying anything at all, but that doesn't feel right either. He doesn't know how Lex will interpret Clark's lack of response, and he doesn't want the silence speaking for him. "Lex..." He waits until Lex is looking at him to continue. "Just promise me you'll be careful."

Lex blinks, and suddenly the purple shadows underneath his eyes seem a little less deep, less painful to look at. Clark can only hope that Lex feels it, too. A hand closes over Clark's, squeezing briefly, and Lex smiles. It's small, but it's the first unguarded one Clark has seen since they both returned home, and Clark finds himself returning it without reservation. "I promise."

Twenty-five years from now, Superman will be well into his second decade of all-out war with Lex Luthor. Countless times over those years, they both will have come upon chances to end the conflict with one decisive action; neither of them will follow through on those opportunities.

After each of those occasions, Clark will sit in his apartment and force himself to remember that he'd decided to see the world in black and white. He'd had a choice, and he'd made it, believing that it would make Superman's job easier. It will be a decision he questions only on nights after he's faced Lex and they've both walked away.

Superman's life will be easier with morality clearly defined in binary terms, but Clark will always remember being the boy who could still see things in shades of gray, and he'll miss it.

Because that boy got to see Lex smile.

-- End --

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