Archive of Our Own (BETA rev. 2850)

Work Text:

April 30, 2006

Dear New Tenant,

Welcome to the nicest apartment I've ever moved out of. If you could forward any mail that the post office misses to the address below, I would really appreciate it. I can even promise homemade cherry pie if playing unpaid mailman seems like a lot of trouble. Just include a complaint form with the wayward items and, some bright morning on my way to class, I'll drop off one of the best pies you've ever tasted.

Best Wishes,

Clark J. Kent

637-C West Thirtieth Street

Metropolis, KS 66101

P.S. Make sure the landlord notes the scratches on the bedroom door as existing damage on your lease. I already lost my security deposit because I was out and my dog hates thunderstorms and needed to be under the bed and the door was closed. No need for you to be charged for Shelby's phobias, since I've already paid. And, in case you are wondering, the Warrior Angel poster on the closet door came with the apartment. It always felt like it belonged there, so I left it for the next tenant. I thought it was nice having my very own superhero watching over me in the dark. I hope he takes good care of you, too.

With a regretful sigh, Clark slipped his note into the open mailbox assigned to his former apartment and closed the metal box, making sure that the blue notepaper was visible in the small window. After finger-combing dark, sweaty curls back out of his face, he picked up the last box of odds and ends from the tiled floor, tucked it neatly under his arm, and then shoved his way out of the brownstone's lobby and into the cooler spring air. As he glanced around one last time, his eyes fell on the golden retriever sniffing around the bright daffodils in the small garden plot, and his full lips twitched into a smile despite his gloomy mood.

The box went into the bed of the dusty blue pickup truck, along with several bookcases, a full-size mattress and box spring, an ironwork headboard, and a wooden rocking chair. Shelby trotted over at Clark's whistle and hopped up into the cab, whiffling as he patiently plopped down on the floor with his head propped on the seat. His four-legged passenger settled, Clark diligently checked that everything was lashed down securely with several lengths of rope before slotting his long legs under the steering wheel. The aged truck started up with a rattling cough, but quickly settled down to its reliable grumble as Clark pulled away from the curb and headed for his next destination, the daffodils nodding a sunny farewell in the rearview mirror.

~ *~

A flash of pale blue caught the bald man's eye as he walked past the bank of old-fashioned mailboxes in the old brownstone's lobby. Pausing for a moment, he verified that there was a paper tucked inside the box assigned to him and that it didn't look like typical junk mail. Weighing the heavy box in his arms, he debated whether to retrieve the mysterious blue missive immediately or wait until his hands were empty. Giving in to his curiosity, he set the box down on the tiled floor and pulled his key ring out of his pocket to open the mailbox. A quick glance at the blue note as he retrieved it confirmed his initial suspicion, and the neat handwriting made him smile at his mistaken belief that the archaic art of letter writing had completely disappeared in the digital age. Tucking the note into a pocket, he hefted his box of miscellaneous possessions and trudged up the flight of stairs to his newly leased second-floor apartment.

May 1, 2004

Dear Old Tenant aka Clark J. Kent,

Are you absolutely certain that you dropped your note into the right mailbox? I know there are only six apartments in the building and mine was the only empty one, but there are no detectable scratches on the bedroom door. In fact, the item in question doesn't look as if it's been replaced in the last twenty years, if I go by the dust on the hinges. No Warrior Angel poster, either, which was a distinct disappointment since he's my favorite. Should I hunt down the landlord and demand its immediate return? Mayhap he's holding it for ransom in lieu of a larger security deposit to cover fixing future invisible damage.

If it turns out that you did indeed select the wrong mailbox, I must confess I would feel a soupcon of disappointment. The promised pie would most definitely prove adequate incentive for diligent forwarding of any and all wayward bills and correspondence.

Optimistically awaiting cherry pie despite the current lack of material to forward (for now),

Alexander (Lex) J. Luthor

P.S. Do you always write your letters by hand as well as date your correspondence two years into the future? Both seem odd quirks in this day and age, although Sand and Flaubert might disagree with the sentiment.

~ * ~

"Thanks for letting me borrow the truck, Dad." Clark handed over the keys to the pickup with a slight frown marring his handsome face. "Too bad I couldn't have just super-speeded everything over to the new place, instead of wasting a whole day moving."

Clapping his son on the shoulder, Jonathan Kent shook his head and chuckled. "I'm afraid that some things still have to be done the safe, old-fashioned way. At least you can run back to Metropolis after dinner tonight and save some time."

Clark shrugged, thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and sighed as he led the way to the yellow farmhouse. His voice held a trace of sadness as he agreed, "Yeah, since Shelby's staying here...." He whistled, and a swirl of golden fur bounced around the corner to answer. "I really appreciate you and Mom keeping him for me until I can get into another place that takes pets."

Jonathan looked up from petting his latest adoptee and smiled, the kindness in his faded blue eyes assuring Clark that he understood. "No problem, son. One owner gave him up already. He doesn't deserve to end up in the pound because someone else decided they couldn't keep him." Straightening up, he started up the porch steps, Shelby following close behind him. "C'mon, your mom made fried chicken and biscuits, your favorite."

~* ~

May 4, 2006

Dear Mr. Alexander (Lex) Luthor,

After living in my former apartment for nigh a year, I believe it's safe to say that I know which mailbox was mine (or ours, if you include my ex-girlfriend, who moved out two months ago). While I agree that the possibility of the landlord replacing the dog-scratched door overnight is pretty darn small, that oddity plus the absence of the poster suggests foul play. Perhaps you should consider retaining a private investigator, without delay, to avoid the dangers that could result from the loss of your very own superhero to guard you from night terrors and time distortions which could lead to a strange conclusion that you are living two years in the past.

Pie can be arranged. I'll just need to bribe my mother with a promise to weed her garden this weekend. Until then, I'm busy with finals.

Cordially yours,

Clark J. Kent

P.S. I consider corresponding by hand, using pen and ink, good practice for the future, when I'll be required to take copious notes at important press conferences. I'm curious, though. What was your excuse for writing back to me instead of typing a reply or attaching a post-it note to any and all junk mail addressed to 'Recipient' or 'Current Resident'? Are you proposing we take on the roles of George Sand and Gustave Flaubert? If so, I call dibs on George.

~*~

May 7, 2004

Dear George,

Please consider that the last time I will address you by that alias, because I have never yearned for the appellation of Gustave, although I applaud your initiative in taking up correspondence with someone you have never met before. I confess I've never had a penpal and I'm quite intrigued.

In the spirit of penpalmenship (I'm quite glad it's impossible to spellcheck handwritten letters, since that word would definitely be flagged -- and quite possibly flogged), I'll share a little of myself. I am not residing two years in the past, despite your contention that the year is 2006 when it is plainly merely 2004. Be that as it may, I'm a 24-year-old, single, white male not looking for love at this time. Having abandoned the family business for the perils of academia, I've recently returned to my hometown after spending the last six years in the hallowed halls of Princeton obtaining my BS and MS in both organic and analytical chemistry. You may now bow down to my greatness. Or not.

I'm assuming from your letter that you're a student of journalism, quite possibly at the same illustrious institution where I'll be attempting to teach next semester. If that is indeed the case, is your internship at one of the Metropolitan newspapers? Please do write back and let me know, because enquiring minds want to know. I know, that was appalling, but I couldn't resist.

Regrettably, I must close so that I can ensure this will go out in today's mail, but I look forward to your reply. (And perhaps pie?)

Most sincerely yours,

Lex (not Gustave) Luthor

P.S. For the future, I propose abandoning the quaint, but dismally slow, method of corresponding via pen, ink, and post office for the more immediate gratification of email. I'm ajl_89@qmail.com.

Lex dropped the envelope in the mailbox with a grin as he walked out into the sunshine. He nodded politely to his next-door neighbor, who was just getting out of her car with several packages, and continued down the sidewalk to where he'd parked his well-used Volkswagen Beetle. In less than a minute, he was on his way to the university and an interview with the irascible head of the Chemistry Department...an onerous duty he still considered ten times more pleasant than any meeting with his father.

~*~

Date: 12 May 2006 19:39:08

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Future correspondence -- how far in the future?

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Dear Lex (most regrettably not Gustave),

I do hope this makes it past your spam filter. If I don't receive a response within 48 hours, I will resort to the tried-and-true pen and paper once more.

Please note the timestamp on the header, which my friend Chloe has assured me should not be 'spoofable' (what an appalling word -- let alone concept). With that assurance in place, I shall wait with bated breath for your return email to compare header information and ultimately determine what year we are actually living in.

On the very remote chance that you are indeed corresponding with me from the past, I cast my mind (and Google) back through the mists of time to recall a unique event. You should unearth your warmest hat and gloves from the depths of your closet, for you will be encountering a rare meteorological event Friday, May 14, 2004 -- a snowstorm in May.

On the presumption that no snowstorm will be encountered, because it's actually 2006, pie is forthcoming. Exert caution stepping out of your door on Monday, May 15, 2006; pie is generally better enjoyed by mouth, not foot.

All the best,

Clark (but I really do prefer George)

P.S. Just in case life really is that strange -- throw a few extra snowballs for me?

~*~

Date: 13 May 2004 09:22:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Until the end of time, of course

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

Dearest delusional Clark,

Despite your friend's contention, I'm not yet convinced that header dates are sacrosanct and thereby trustworthy. Nevertheless, my spam filter has been appropriately adjusted. Your future emails are safe from inadvertent digital shredding.

Snow? I've checked all the forecasts I can find, and no snow has been spotted on the horizon. I fear for your certainty, if not your sanity.

I shall be anxiously awaiting a pie delivery on Monday, May 17, 2004. Please knock, as I'd like to thank my pastry boy in person.

Most sincerely and skeptically yours,

Lex

P.S. You've fallen down on your official penpal reciprocal exchange of personal information. Details, man, details!

~*~

"C'mon, Clark...it'll be fun. You can't sit around here moping about Lana for the rest of your life."

Clark looked up from his laptop and frowned at the petite blonde tornado who shared an apartment with him and her cousin Lois. "Chloe, I told you I need to finish this article by tomorrow. I've been at the paper less than a month, and I'm lucky that Mr. White's giving me a chance. I don't want to blow it. Okay?"

Rolling her eyes in disgust, Chloe flung out her arms and insisted, "It's about a minor accident at the sewage treatment facility, Clark. Not exactly earth-shattering news."

"I don't plan on being stuck scanning and filing down in the Planet's morgue for my entire internship. I have to take what I can get, Chloe." Clark abandoned the argument and resumed tapping at the small keys with broad fingers that were surprisingly deft despite their size.

"Get what?" Walking into the living room carrying her purse and car keys, Lois flipped her long, honey-blonde hair over her shoulders and expanded on her question. "What's he getting now? Fleas from that mutt of his?"

Chloe huffed and stomped toward the apartment's exit. "Nothing, Lois. Absolutely nothing."

Lois looked from one of her roommates to the other, and then shrugged. "Okay. Later, Smallville." She followed Chloe out, and the door slammed behind both girls a few seconds later.

After waiting a few minutes to make sure they weren't coming back, Clark minimized his document and brought up a different program to finish an email he'd started earlier.

Date: 28 June 2006 19:17:08

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: No summer vacation for me

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Yes, I know I'm a classic country music song: lost my girl, lost my dog, lost my house. Well, at least the dog's not really lost -- just transplanted to the farm until I can find another apartment that allows pets. No, I can't take any time off this summer because I need the money and my dad needs my help on the weekends. I know I could make more on the construction job that one of my dad's friends offered me, but the internship will look good on my resume.

Besides, there's no one that I'd want to run away to the country with -- so I'd just be alone on my vacation. I think vacationing with Chloe or Lois would drive me insane in less than two days. They already do that whenever they look over my shoulder at your emails and ask whether we split the thesaurus in half before we ate it with fava beans. (Can you guess Lois' favorite movie? Yuck.) I haven't attempted to explain how we 'met' each other. I live in fear of men bearing straitjackets.

Chloe's been pushing me, but I haven't gone out with anyone since Lana left. Surprisingly enough, I've found that I don't really miss it. It's not worth the trouble, to be honest. I'll stick to taking long walks when I get too lonely or can't sleep. I have to admit that sometimes I think it's too bad that we can't go get a couple of beers together to help fill the void of my social life. This mysterious 'two years apart' deal really makes that somewhat impossible, doesn't it?

If I ever did get the chance for time off, I know where I'd go. There's a pretty little lake just outside of Smallville called Crater Lake, and I fixed up an old rundown cabin by the water. It was just sitting there, abandoned. I think maybe the owner died, but I don't know for sure. Anyway, it's very rustic, but I like it. It's quiet and peaceful -- and away from everyone else. The city can be so loud that sometimes it hurts. When I lived in Smallville, no one ever really understood why I bothered with it, since the farm is only a twenty-minute drive away, but sometimes my parents were and still are just too much to deal with. You know what I mean?

Hey, I have to finish that article I told you about, so later.

--

Date: 28 June 2004 23:30:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Everyone needs time off

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

I certainly do understand the pressure of parental expectations. You have my sympathies. However, with your current stress level, it sounds like you should reconsider and stay some Saturday night at your cabin, if nothing else. You need to recharge your batteries. (Please excuse the cliche, but it's true.)

You may inform your roommates that I will never fall victim to the appalling trend of using 'u' for 'you,' nor will I ever ROTFLMAO. Using a thesaurus, or writing as if you have used one in the past, is nothing to be ashamed of, particularly for a journalist. Please feel free to continue to do so and make my life as a teacher of college-level illiterates easier to bear.

Oh, my God, I sound like my father. Shoot me now, please.

If I were there, I'd drag you out for those beers, but you're right about the abysmally impossible timing. If you hadn't predicted (recalled?) quite accurately that it was going to SNOW that day in May, and then the results of the Preakness, I wouldn't have believed in anomalous folds in time myself.

We have a true scientific mystery on our hands, don't we? All I know is I'm never going to take a chance on adversely affecting the future by asking about the stock market or significant historical events, as tempting as it may be. Even so, as a purported scientist, I'm irked by the entire situation, but -- to be honest -- I'm afraid to poke at it too hard because I'm afraid the connection might disappear. It was risky enough when we tested the cell phones, although it would have been nice if it had worked and I could have heard your voice.

I'm also not happy that I'll never get that pie.

Changing subjects here. I've been pretty busy myself, putting together my lesson plans for the fall and working on the latest snag in my doctoral thesis at the same time. I'm lucky Met U has been generous with the lab assignments. I feared I'd be working late every night after everyone else was tucked safe in his or her bed, with or without the requisite superhero poster, but it hasn't been the case. On the other hand, not earning a reputation as a mad scientist could be a detriment when it comes time to scare my students into acting like good little minions.

Let me know how the article goes over. I think I'm going to call it a night before I become completely incoherent from exhaustion.

Oh, one last thing. You never revealed the name of your hometown before this. Remind me to tell you sometime about my own history with Smallville. You might find it interesting.

~*~

Date: 2 July 2006 10:05:33

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: I'm off to the cabin!

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

I'm heading for Smallville in a few minutes, but I wanted to let you know that Mr. White really liked my article and appreciated my working yesterday on short notice, so he called this morning to tell me to take Monday off. Since Tuesday is the Fourth, I have a three-day weekend! I won't be back online until sometime Wednesday night, because I'm going to pick up Shelby and stay at the cabin, and then go straight to work from the farm after I drop him back off that morning.

It's definitely back-to-nature time for me. I can't wait to watch the fireworks they set off every year at the county fairgrounds. If it's a clear night, you can easily see them over the top of the trees at the lake. The best part is we'll be far enough away that the noise won't bother poor Shelby.

I also wanted to tell you that this will be the first Fourth of July I've spent at the cabin since I graduated in 2003. Lana never wanted to go out there with me. She preferred staying in town for the parade and the big picnic. What that means is if you want to get away from the city for the holiday, the cabin is there and available. I'm attaching the directions and a map. I really hope you get a chance to drive out there and stay. It really is beautiful, with the trees and the lake and the quiet. I always kept it stocked pretty well with canned goods and the basics. If you don't have a sleeping bag, there are blankets in the cedar trunk. Bring an ice chest for anything you want to keep cold, and be prepared to use a camp stove and kerosene lantern. Think Boy Scout camp.

I have to run.

Take your own advice and go out to the cabin, and let me know what you think.

~*~

Lex leaned back in his chair as he re-read Clark's latest email. He opened the attachment and studied the map and directions, but it was a mere formality. He'd already made up his mind.

~*~

The mirror in the bathroom held the reflection of a contented man who had spent the last two days relaxing in the sun on the banks of a peaceful lake and walking through quiet woods. Lex wrinkled his slightly reddened nose and decided that it wouldn't peel, thankful that he'd remembered to pack sunscreen...even if he'd forgotten his swim trunks. He grinned as he recalled jumping into the cool water (wearing silk boxers that would never be the same) and wished that he'd cancelled all his appointments for the remainder of the week so that he could have stayed at the cabin longer.

Wandering out of his bedroom, he paused at his laptop and quickly checked for an email from Clark. He didn't really expect one, since Clark had warned him that he was going straight to work and had no access there, but Lex had hoped for one, nonetheless. He frowned as he confirmed the absence of any messages, and then he sat down to compose an email of his own, eager to share his holiday weekend with his remote friend.

Date: 5 July 2004 11:30:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: You're right -- it's beautiful out there

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

I can't thank you enough for this past weekend. You were right -- it's gorgeous out there, and it was just what I needed. The weather was perfect, too. Not a cloud in the sky, and the water and the trees kept it cool enough that I didn't regret leaving my air-conditioning behind. I scared a few fish with my odd swimming attire -- but they merely laughed at the fishing rod. It was a good thing I'd brought provisions, because living off the land would have left me even thinner. I did argue with some raspberry bushes (and won!), and managed not to burn the cabin down around my ears as I mastered the intricacies of a kerosene lantern.

Did I mention that I was never a Boy Scout?

I dismissed my fumbling attempts after the sun went down on the Fourth. The fireworks were incredible! I don't think I've ever seen a show quite like it before. I hated seeing it end.

Hopefully you and Shelby had an equally splendid weekend, and you returned refreshed and ready to make your mark in the highly competitive world of journalism. I know I'm ready to take another run at my thesis.

--

Date: 5 July 2006 19:05:33

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: I'm back!

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Everything worked out great this weekend. I had a late lunch with my folks, and then Shelby and I headed out. Perfect weather, and I didn't scare away the fish -- they were delicious. I spent a lot of time in the water, and so did Shelby. The shower at the farm was very welcome this morning as eau de wet canine can be a little much after a couple of days.

It sounds as though you had as much fun as Shelby and I did. That's good to hear. Knowing you were there makes me feel better about spending time with Lana instead of enjoying the lake that summer. Feel free to go back anytime -- I never made it out there that year until late in the fall, when I made sure the cabin was secured for the winter.

I can't believe you left those Adirondack chairs there, but I'm glad you did. I usually just sit on the porch steps to watch the fireworks, but this year I felt as if I were in the lap of luxury. The cushions I found in the cedar trunk were incredibly comfortable. Thanks.

The fireworks were spectacular this year, too. Sometimes I wish I could be up there in the sky with all the explosions, feel the concussion and taste the gunpowder, see everything break apart into beauty without the filter of air and distance. As you can tell, fireworks actually cause me to wax poetic -- at least for a sentence or two.

Poetic or not, I did get a reminder this weekend that the country's not always safe, despite everything that's been written about the simple life. I drove by a bad accident on the way to the cabin. It looked as if a car went off the bridge -- right through the railing. They were loading a body bag into the ambulance when I drove past, and Bill Haines was towing the car -- a Porsche, I think -- out of the water. It was a real mess. Whoever it was probably never had a chance. When I mentioned it to my father this morning, he declared it was probably some maniac from the city who was talking on his cell phone and driving too fast. I hope you don't share that bad habit -- not that I'm implying you're a maniac.

Leaving that subject behind, I believe that you promised me some history about you and Smallville? I'm quite intrigued. At the very least, let me know what you thought about my hometown as you passed through.

--

Date: 5 July 2004 22:30:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Smallville -- my story

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

I do try to be careful about using my cell phone in the car. I'll be sure to be more diligent so that you don't have to worry.

Smallville seems to be a nice little town, from what I saw as I drove through. I must admit that I was a little taken aback by seeing the 1989 meteor shower so prominently advertised on the 'Welcome to Smallville' sign. I suppose it wouldn't have bothered me as much if I hadn't lost all my hair when those flaming rocks smote the earth.

How subtle was that? I know -- not very, but it's never been easy to bring up the subject unless someone is crass enough to ask why I'm completely bald at twenty-four. My father has certainly never handled it well. I think he's always felt a little guilty for bringing me with him when he flew out there to inspect a property he was interested in. Unfortunately, not guilty enough to abandon his plans for a new fertilizer plant or to understand why I would refuse to take over as the manager of the plant after I graduated with my bachelor's degree. However, that long-standing battle is a story for another day.

Still, my past history with Smallville didn't prevent me from enjoying my time at the lake, so I'll thank you again for the opportunity to visit.

Lex debated for a moment and then hit 'Send.' Clark's mention of chairs was interesting, especially since he hadn't purchased or left behind any chairs the past weekend. The implication was that he could affect the future with his actions here and now, and he was going to have to think very carefully about what that meant for both him and Clark.

Very carefully.

~*~

Date: 7 July 2006 18:17:33

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Sorry for the delay

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Something came up last night, and it was pretty late when I finally got in, so I crawled into bed instead of getting online.

For some reason, I never connected your last name with the plant. I think I'll keep that tidbit to myself -- my father goes ballistic whenever he hears the name 'Lionel Luthor.' He's never explained why -- just rants about not being able to trust a Luthor. There have been some complaints in town about the working conditions there, too.

That's just him and unsubstantiated rumors, though. As far as I'm concerned, you're my friend, Lex. That's good enough for me.

I'm really sorry to hear about what happened to you in the meteor shower. So many people ended up hurt because of it, and I've never understood that sign myself. Lana's parents were killed that day, and some of my friends ended up getting hurt or sick because of the meteorites. I have no idea what else to say.

I feel completely stupid about all this. Sorry.

--

Date: 7 July 2004 19:01:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Not stupid

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

Stop feeling stupid. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have said anything about it, so now I'm sorry. I don't have anything to do with the plant, so can we just get past this and go back to discussing fireworks, bad movies, and the all-too-dismal fact that I'll never have one of your mother's pies delivered?

--

Date: 7 July 2006 22:22:33

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Okay

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Have you finished Harry Potter yet? Do you want to know the ending? Yes, I am evil -- I've been taking lessons from Lois, who has no respect for privacy and who loves to ruin surprises.

Sometimes, I really miss having my own apartment.

~*~

Lex spent a few more weekends at the lake. Clark received more assignments from Perry White. The summer passed by quickly and gave way to the fall, and they both walked the pathways of Met U between classes...two years apart.

Their emails continued, each one providing a little more insight into lives that were separated temporally, but not emotionally.

... adopted shortly after the meteor shower. Do you have any brothers or sisters?

...so my father decided to bring Lucas into the business to replace me. The poor kid had it rough growing up without a father. I had it rough growing up with one. I actually like Lucas, which surprised...

Chloe and Pete were my best friends in Smallville. Chloe's the one that forced me to work on the school newspaper...

...haven't dated in years -- too busy with school. Not too many people get past my looks to see who I really am, so it's not a...

...I think it all started going downhill after a birthday party we went to on campus. I did something stupid, and Lana...

~*~

Date: 14 Dec 2004 21:07:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Bad news

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

Lucas called me today. My father's in the hospital. He's dying.

I don't know what to do.

Frowning in dismay, Clark read the bleak message again. With a few clicks, he had a Google window open. He quickly typed in 'Lionel Luthor' and launched the search. As he perused the first few results of the thousands of hits returned, he began to feel increasingly uncomfortable about investigating Lex's life...his friend's life...even though it was technically Lex's father that Clark was researching. Shaking his head in self-disgust, he closed the window and attempted to forget the date he'd just read, resolving not to give in to that particular impulse again.

Date: 14 Dec 2006 21:32:03

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: I'm sorry

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Go see him, Lex.

I'll be here to listen whenever you need to talk.

~*~

Lex stood looking out over the city, watching the fireworks that heralded the start of another year, remembering. Despite his excellent vantage point and the crystal-clear night, he considered both the venue and the display inferior to the porch of a rundown cabin and a hazy summer sky. Sighing, he turned away from the window and made his way to the glass-and-chrome bar to refill his champagne glass with the dregs of the well-chilled magnum.

"Do you want me to open another one?" The only other occupant of the perfectly appointed room, a dark-haired younger man, broke into Lex's reverie with a warm chuckle that was only slightly slurred. "We wouldn't want the best of dear old Dad's cellar to feel unappreciated, would we?"

Raising his half-filled glass in a sardonic salute, Lex shook his head. "No, I think I've had enough. I'm thinking about heading home, Lucas. I've gotten out of the habit of partying all night and waking up not quite sure of what or whom I'd been doing."

Getting up from the smoke-colored leather sofa with a sigh, his half-brother disagreed, his frown making it clear what he thought of Lex's excuse. "Stay. It's just you and me. There's plenty of room, and you shouldn't be driving tonight, anyway."

"I...."

"Stay. Besides, I have something to show you in the morning...something that should have the old bastard turning cartwheels in his grave."

Lex tossed back the last of his wine and placed the long-stemmed flute on the bar. Narrowing his eyes, he studied Lucas' gleeful face for a moment before asking, "What did you do?"

Shaking his head with a grin, Lucas refused to answer the question, teasing, "You'll find out in the morning if you stay. Come on...the last of the Luthors have to stick together. I still am one, even if I did refuse to change my name from Dunleavy." Walking over to Lex, Lucas threw his arm over his brother's shoulders and promised, "I guarantee you'll like it...and his bony old ghost will be pissed off that another one of his secrets won't be."

Letting Lucas tug him down the hallway, Lex resigned himself to spending the night at the penthouse. He couldn't resist the prospect of learning what Lucas had in store for him, especially if it had something to do with the recently -- but not dearly -- departed Lionel Luthor.

~*~

Date: 03 Jan 2005 11:07:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Yes, really. A Porsche.

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

He bought it and then kept the damn thing in the underground garage, covered up. Never drove it, never said a word to me about it -- not that a Porsche would have changed my mind about working for him. Lucas handed me the keys and congratulated me on my graduation. He said he was sorry he hadn't been around back then, but that he was glad he could finally deliver my very-belated present.

Of course, I'm keeping it. Like Lucas said, the old bastard would hate the very idea that I have any of what he withheld from me while he was alive. The not-so-funny thing is -- I would have traded it all for a father who cared. You have no idea how lucky you are, Clark. Kings came to be seen at my father's funeral. When your father dies, his friends will stand at his graveside and mourn.

I'm sorry. I'm not handling this very well, am I? I suppose the applicable psychobabble would be that my father banning me from his hospital room meant I was never able to reach closure.

I'd say 'damn him,' but I suspect he's already in the upper echelons of Hell where he belongs.

I need classes to start so I can bury myself in my work.

--

Date: 3 Jan 2007 13:30:47

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: All I can do is listen

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

I wish there were some way I could be there. I'm glad you have Lucas and you're not completely alone.

Just know that I'm thinking of you and that I would do anything to make you feel better.

~*~

Date: 26 Jan 2005 18:13:27

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: A heart-stopping moment

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

I swear that I needed x-ray vision this morning -- I couldn't find my watch. I finally found it in the bottom of my clothes hamper, caught on the sweater I'd worn the other day. The watchband must have snagged on the sleeve somehow after I'd thought I'd put it on my dresser. I'm not sure what I'd do if I really lost it -- probably hire a private detective to retrace my every step and search every pawn shop in the city.

Sounds excessive, but the face is an 1806 Napoleon franc, and my mother had it made for me when I was twelve. She was pregnant and it was too much for her heart -- she and the baby both died. I realized later that she knew what was going to happen, because she told me a story about how Napoleon's mother couldn't make it to his coronation. Later, when he commissioned a painting, Napoleon told the artist to paint her in as if she were right there in the center of the crowd. Even though she couldn't be there physically, she was there in spirit, in his heart.

I guess I should be more careful.

--

Date: 26 Jan 2007 19:16:40

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Awesome story

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Must be a great watch.

I guess I don't have any particular heirlooms, but my dad always talks about the farm being my legacy. I've never felt right about it, though -- I guess because of the adoption. I don't know what I'd end up doing with it, anyway. It's not as if I ever planned to be a farmer, and he's always understood that I wasn't going to stay in Smallville all my life. I hope I don't need to worry about it for years.

So, legacies. Chloe mentioned something the other day about the Smallville plant (her dad's the manager there) and I started wondering about LuthorCorp. Are you still planning to help Lucas with the company like you were thinking about a few weeks ago? What does that mean for your doctorate and your teaching?

~*~

Clark stood over the prone body of the gunman and grimaced in disgust. It was the second mugging he'd interrupted that night, and he'd actually had to knock the man out instead of simply taking away his weapon. Keeping his face turned away from the couple he'd saved, he dismissed their thanks and gruffly advised them to leave. As soon as they were out of sight, he picked up the unconscious man and blurred into high speed, dropping him off at the nearest police station a few seconds later with his carefully unloaded gun. Clark knew that the police would be unable to book the man, but he hoped that the would-be thief would take a hint and find another profession.

For the briefest moment, he considered leaving a note for the police, and then snickered at the thought of the man's panicked attempts to erase 'MUGGER' from his forehead...if Clark used the indelible marker he just happened to be carrying. His amusement faded quickly. It was just one more night in Metropolis, and Clark was getting tired of seeing the same thing happening again and again...with no end in sight. He knew that something had to change, but he hadn't been able to figure out what...or how.

~*~

Date: 9 April 2007 16:01:40

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: You're unbelievable!

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

How did you do it? I mention that I miss the daffodils Lana and I planted at the apartment and, two days later, I see them all over the student commons! Full-grown!

--

Date: 9 April 2005 18:13:27

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: It worked!

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

It was the chairs last summer that gave me the idea. You mentioned them BEFORE I'd left them at the cabin, although I made sure to bring them with me the next time I visited the lake. It was a pretty safe assumption that my actions in the present could affect the future -- the future you're living in -- but that was the first time I'd known about the result of an action I'd not yet taken. I decided to make a small, innocuous change to test a theory. After all, they were just flowers -- what could they hurt?

It worked, and we're both happy.

--

Date: 9 April 2007 23:14:23

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Please be careful

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

We talked about this before. You said you weren't going to take chances with changing the future. I know they were just flowers, but the more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I get. I'm going to start feeling guilty every time I tell you about something that's going on now, just in case you decide to change it. Obviously, I can't stop you, but please be careful. Okay?

~*~

Date: 17 April 2005 17:27:02

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Not too sure about this

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

Considering how much getting flowers scared you, I'm not sure how you're going to handle this. I brought home a dog from one of my father's obsolete testing facilities today. Lucas and I were touring it and, after we decided it needed to be shut down completely, the question came up about what to do with the few animals that were still on the premises. When I saw him, I knew.

He's a golden retriever and, according to the records, his name is Shelby.

Quite a coincidence, isn't it? I think that maybe you need to tell me how you ended up with your Shelby. Don't you?

--

Date: 17 April 2007 18:23:14

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: Somehow, I should have known

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

I'm not going to give you the details, but you're right. Your Shelby is my Shelby. I guess I didn't want to examine the fact that Lana signed the papers for the sublet of the apartment, and that Shelby came with it.

Maybe I didn't want to look too closely at the person we sublet the apartment from back then -- the person who left Shelby behind.

I didn't understand, then. I'm not sure I want to now.

--

Date: 17 April 2005 19:15:02

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Please don't hate me

To: cjkent@yahoo.com

Clark, I'm so sorry. I never considered how awful it would look from your perspective. I was too amazed at how we seem destined to be connected across time. Please believe me when I say that I would NEVER abandon a pet. I understand what you're saying about not telling me the details of the sublet and how you ended up with Shelby, but I feel certain that if he'd been abused or neglected, you would never have let yourself get involved with me. Even unconsciously, you had to know that I'm not like that and that there was a good reason that he ended up with you.

Okay?

--

Date: 17 April 2007 20:03:19

From: cjkent@yahoo.com

Subject: We're OK

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

You're right, Lex. Shelby was fine when Lana got to the apartment. It's odd now that I think about it, but she never mentioned anything to me about Shelby's owner -- or about how she found the sublet. Shelby has certainly never acted as if he's been abused, and that's probably why I never pursued it. I guess I was too happy to finally have a dog.

I think that's as much as we can safely discuss about this. I'm really afraid we're going to somehow change things without meaning to and I'll wake up tomorrow and I'll have never had Shelby -- or even worse.

We're okay, but all this on top of graduation in a few weeks is making me feel a little restless. I know I should be studying for finals, but I think I need to go out for a walk. I'll catch you tomorrow.

~*~

"Okay. You owe me one, big brother."

Looking up from the papers he was grading, Lex flashed Lucas a puzzled grin. "What now?"

Shaking his head, Lucas dropped a thin hard-covered book on the coffee table and flopped down on the leather sofa next to Lex. He scrubbed his fingers through his dark hair and sighed, "Gabe Sullivan now probably thinks I like cruising high schools. What is it with this particular yearbook, anyway?"

"His daughter graduated with a friend of mine. I was curious." Lex reached out to pick up the book in question and flipped through the pages until he reached the 'K's. He ran his finger across the rows of names and photographs until he found the set he was looking for. It was a typically grainy reproduction, but it was clear enough to tell that Clark had been incredibly handsome, the possessor of high cheekbones, dark, wavy hair, and wide eyes of an indeterminate color. A few candids scattered throughout the book showed a tall boy with a pleasing grin, surrounded by friends. However, after looking a little more closely, Lex noticed that...despite the overall impression of happiness...there seemed to be something about Clark's eyes that hinted at a different story.

Lex had decided that indulging his curiosity about what his friend looked like couldn't do any harm. It wasn't as if being able to put a face to a name could alter the future, but he couldn't help wondering if Clark would ever share what had caused those shadows...and if they were still there.

Leaning over Lex's shoulder, Lucas pointed to a picture of a pretty cheerleader with long, dark hair. "She's something. Maybe Gabe's got the right idea." He bent his head to look a little closer, trying to read the caption under the photograph. "I can't quite see...what's her name?"

For some reason, Lex found himself gripping the book a little tighter. "It says she's...Lana Lang."

~*~

The heat and the noise of the party drove Lex outside to the small garden in the rear of the fraternity house. He glanced at his watch and, after estimating that he could politely leave his TA's twenty-first birthday party in another thirty minutes, settled on the low stone wall with his plastic cup of beer in hand. For lack of better entertainment, he studied the rose bush next to him, testing the velvet softness of a crimson petal with a careful finger, the approaching nightfall lending depth to its bright color.

"My mom has a rose bush like that. I think it's called 'Maggie.'"

Startled, Lex jerked and spilled nearly half of his remaining beer, dampening one knee of his stylishly faded jeans. With an exclamation of dismayed apology, his unexpected observer emerged from the shadows of the rear porch. Dismissing the hand that attempted to blot up the spreading stain, Lex stood abruptly, narrowly avoiding a similar spill from the other man's tipping cup. "Stop! It's all right. They're old."

"I really am sorry. I didn't realize...." The taller man's apology trailed off into silence as he looked down into Lex's face. His full lips quirked into a rueful smile, and he backed up a step to allow Lex a little more space. "I guess this is a classic way to meet someone new, isn't it?" A dark eyebrow cocked up until it disappeared beneath a dark wave of slightly tousled hair, and the smile transformed into an irresistible grin. "I'm Clark."

Lex automatically offered a hand before the name registered, and he found himself floundering as he recognized the face. "I'm...L...Alex. Pleased to meet you, Clark." He reluctantly pulled his hand back after they shook, finding the dry warmth of Clark's palm oddly appealing. Gesturing toward the wall, he silently offered to share his retreat.

Nodding, Clark waited until Lex sat, and then settled next to him with a smile. "Pretty crowded in there." Taking a sip from his cup, Clark shrugged and admitted, "I don't usually come to these things. I couldn't come up with a good excuse." He turned to eye Lex with a dawning look of chagrin. "Oh...is she one of your...friends?"

Lex laughed and shook his head. "No, not really. You might say we're comrades in arms...you and I." He touched his nearly empty cup to Clark's with a wry grin. "I couldn't get out of it, either."

Clark sighed in relief. "Oh, good. The last thing I needed was to screw up again today."

"Oh?" Lex settled a look of interest on his face, unwilling to give up any chance to learn more about his future friend.

Clark took another sip and shrugged. "Long story. Dorms certainly help you understand what life in a fishbowl is like. According to my father, it's supposed to be a good experience...something I should be embracing with gusto. My...other people tend to disagree." His dark head turned, and Lex found himself lost in the depths of twilight-widened eyes.

Licking lips that suddenly felt as dry as the Sahara, Lex struggled to form a coherent reply...and failed. The best he could manage was a feeble, "Parents can be like that."

He didn't seem to be the only one who was being rapidly reduced to single-syllable conversation. Clark's face drew nearer, and warm, hops-scented breath wafted across Lex's parted lips as Clark whispered, "Yeah." Lex watched his pupils widen just before the tip of his tongue swept over his plush lower lip. Clark's next word slipped out with a moan Lex couldn't deny. "Please."

Lex smiled his agreement and his eyes slid shut as he leaned forward. The first touch felt as if two unmatched puzzle pieces finally slotted into place, as if he were coming home after a lifelong search. Softly, tentatively, they tasted each other, tongues brushing past and then dipping inside to chase an elusive flavor. Only their lips connected them during their quiet, gentle exploration.

Then they heard a gasp and a startled cry. "Clark?"

~*~

Date: 13 June 2007 18:23:49

From: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Subject: Existential angst sucks

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

So what you're trying to tell me is that everyone graduates, starts working at the job of their dreams, and then spends every night wondering what the hell they were thinking when they decided that was what they wanted out of life? To be honest, I can't remember the last time I had a good night's sleep.

I thought I felt bad when Lana left, but at least it felt like there was a reason for everything that happened between us. We moved into the apartment together because she thought we needed to be closer but, in the end, she couldn't handle the fact that I'm bisexual, even though it was months after she caught me kissing a guy at a party. At the time, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to her. It never happened again, but it didn't matter. She said she couldn't trust me -- it was another one of my secrets and she was tired of them.

I know I share an apartment, but I'm still tired of being so alone.

Oh, in case you didn't notice, my email address has changed. The other account kept sticking your emails in the spam folder, so I'm using my account at work so I don't have to keep checking through hundreds of offers to improve my bank account or sex life to find something remotely interesting to read.

--

Date: 13 June 2005 18:34:02

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Yes, life can indeed suck

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Even college professors take detours, sometimes. I just requested a year's sabbatical so I can finish my doctorate and help Lucas with LuthorCorp. He's really struggling, and I can't just let the business go under -- all those jobs lost, the people, it would be a nightmare. My plans have to take a back seat, at least for a while.

I have your new address programmed into my Blackberry. It notifies me immediately when one of your emails comes in so I can read it right away. It's convenient not having to wait until I can get to my laptop and, since I can type and send emails back, there's instant reassurance for all your angst-driven meltdowns. I don't know why I waited so long to get one. Oh, wait. Yes, I do know. He's currently on permanent hiatus down south -- way down south.

I've been debating with myself about something for a while. We should meet -- in person, in 2007, where it should be safe from any time-altering catastrophes. I'll even let you choose the place I need to show up at in two years.

Think about it.

~*~

Date: 16 June 2007 03:21:49

From: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Subject: He was you

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

Yes, I've been thinking about your suggestion. That's why I'm sitting here in the Planet at 3:00 a.m., instead of sleeping in my bed. I've been doing a lot of walking in the past few days -- walking and thinking.

While I was walking and thinking and remembering and sometimes regretting, I suddenly realized that the smoking hot bald guy named Alex that I met at a party two years ago was you.

We kissed.

I broke up with Lana because we kissed.

I want to yell and scream and ask you why you didn't say something, but then I remember that I'm the one who keeps telling you to be careful and not to change things in the past. Trying to convince me back then that you would be my best friend two years in the future would definitely fall on the side of stupidly dangerous acts of unreason.

There's so much that you still don't know about me -- and it's becoming clear that the converse is true.

Still, that kiss is not one of the things I regret.

I'm not ready to decide yet. You'll have two years to change your mind after we set a time and a place. I won't.

Please give me some more time. I'll tell you when I'm ready.

~*~

Date: 06 July 2005 09:14:02

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: I've made a decision

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

I did a lot of thinking at the cabin over the holiday, in between watching fireworks and not catching fish. I'm taking Lucas' offer and moving into the penthouse with him. It makes sense, considering how much time I'm spending there when I'm not in the office. I'm listing the apartment as a sublet and, when Lana Lang applies, I'll make taking Shelby a condition. Don't worry. I would never let anyone else have him -- he'd just have to get used to taking the elevator when he needs to visit a tree.

--

After carefully affixing the final piece of clear sealing tape, Lex tamped it down and then took a step back to inspect his work. A large sheet of glossy paper covered most of the closet door, its vivid colors bright against the dark-stained wood, and Lex was sure that someone would have to be very determined to remove the limited-edition portrait of his favorite superhero.

If everything went according to plan, if nothing important had changed, then approximately eight months from now, Clark Kent would be writing a note to someone he didn't know about a poster and a dog. That deceptively plain sheet of blue notepaper would be the first exchange of many in an extraordinary correspondence spanning time and space.

Perfect.

~*~

Date: 9 August 2005 09:14:02

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Please?

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Dearest George,

Perched high above the Metropolis skyline, I gaze out over the bleak landscape and ponder my indeterminate fate.

Two months have passed with many a casual missive exchanged betwixt us, yet I still await your positive response to my heartfelt request that we meet.

HOPE is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all...

Have I left you sufficiently impressed with my erudition, George? Do you still resist my blandishments?

Still singing,

Gustave

--

Date: 9 August 2007 23:21:49

From: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Subject: Yes

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

I've attached a map to the Kawatche Caves, which are located a few miles from the cabin. Meet me there tomorrow at noon. I have something to show you and a story to tell -- something I've never shared with anyone else.

After that, it's all up to you.

~*~

"Are you sure about this, son? From what you just told your mother and me, you've only met him once, and that was two years ago. Are you really going to tell someone you met online that you're not human and explain all about your...gifts?"

Clark scrubbed a broad hand across his face and grimaced in frustration. "This isn't an impulse, Dad, Mom. I've been thinking about this a long time. He's a good guy, and I trust him, but more than that...I...it just feels right...like we...fit. I can't quite explain it, but a lot of it is his letters. He writes about something and the world suddenly makes...sense."

Martha Kent reached across the table and patted Clark's other hand, calming his nervous tapping against the wooden tabletop. "Of course we're a little worried. You've never...not even Lana." She sighed and smiled, her eyes gentle and understanding. "Those must be some very special letters, Clark."

Clark flipped his hand over and grasped his mother's fingers, squeezing gently. "They are, Mom. They are."

Nodding decisively, Martha rose from the table and walked over to the stove. She grabbed an oven mitt and opened the oven door, then reached in to remove an aluminum tin. She tested the contents with a finger and smiled as she announced, "You have time for some breakfast before you head over to the caves. Why don't you pour us all some coffee to go with these muffins, Jonathan?"

~*~

The apartment was dark and quiet when Clark let himself in, his roommates safely tucked away in their beds where all good little reporters belonged at two o'clock in the morning. Bypassing the kitchen in favor of his own bedroom, Clark tiptoed down the hall and managed to avoid waking Lois and Chloe. A few minutes later, he was in his bed and staring up at the ceiling, wishing that he could fast-forward to a time when his heart wouldn't ache so badly.

Sleep eluded him, the same familiar scenes flashing by in his mind's eye as cruel reminders that he wasn't like the rest of the world. It had been foolish for him to think that he could share his life with someone else. Cassandra's and Jordan's visions had predicted a long life, endless days filled by duty, his responsibility to help others.

Their prophecies had never said anything about love.

Realizing that sleep wasn't on the agenda, despite the late hour, Clark abandoned his lonely bed for his desk. It took only a few minutes to log into the Daily Planet's server and access his email account.

Date: 11 August 2007 03:04:02

From: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Subject: Goodbye

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

I waited all day for you, but I guess it was never meant to be. I really do understand why and I don't blame you. So much can happen in two years, and it's easy to change your mind about what you want when you have to wait that long.

I've had an opportunity for specialized training -- an opportunity that I've been putting off for a while. I've decided to take it. It's in a remote area, so no one will be able to reach me for at least four months, possibly longer. I don't know what I'll be doing when I return -- or if I'll return -- so I'll consider this my last chance to say thank you and goodbye.

I've enjoyed our correspondence, and I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.

Take care.

~*~

Date: 11 August 2005 07:22:17

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: What the hell?

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

There must be a good reason why I didn't make it there. You can't just give up like this! Let's try again. Name a date, maybe even a different place.

Give me another chance. Please.

~*~

Date: 20 August 2005 22:07:17

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Please answer me

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

How long are you going to keep ignoring me?

Just write back, please. I promise not to ask you to meet me anymore.

I miss you.

~*~

Date: 17 September 2005 17:25:08

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Lillian Luthor Cardiac Wing groundbreaking ceremony

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

The only bright spot during a very boring set of speeches was watching the mayor stumble over Lucas' name. Again. One would think the man would be an astute enough politician to understand that it's Lucas Dunleavy and not Luthor. He's only been reminded a dozen times. At least Lucas didn't mind. He just laughed and insisted grave-spinning is good exercise.

~*~

Date: 03 October 2005 08:02:12

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: Visited the lake

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

Business is going well, and I celebrated our latest merger by driving out to the cabin last weekend and admiring the fall colors. I left something there that I really want you to have, and I hope you'll take the time to stop by and pick it up. I tucked it away in the corner of the cedar trunk where the mice won't get to it.

~*~

Date: 27 October 2005 11:28:12

From: ajl_89@qmail.com

Subject: I still miss you

To: clark.kent@dailyplanet.com

I keep hoping that you'll finally respond to one of the twenty emails a day I send to you because I see or hear something and I want to share it with my best friend.

I still have your email address programmed in to alert me the moment you decide to forgive me and write back.

~*~

Date: 9 November 2007 19:04:02

From: System.Administrator@dailyplanet.com

Subject: Undeliverable

To: ajl_89@qmail.com

This is an automated notification that recipient's mailbox has exceeded storage limits.

Lucas' bright voice interrupted Lex's pensive thoughts. "Lex? What's wrong? You look like you just heard that someone died."

Forcing a smile onto his face, Lex shook his head and reassured his brother, "No, just an unexpected setback." With a click, the disturbing notification was routed to a folder containing all of Clark's past emails, and Lex placed his laptop in sleep mode before standing up and walking around the desk. "Here to pick me up for lunch?"

Lucas grinned and threw his arm over Lex's shoulders. "I think we need to make an appearance at that new bistro a few blocks over. There's a blonde waitress there that I...."

~*~

"All work and no play makes Lex a very dull boy." Lucas frowned across the table at his brother before picking up his wine glass to take a sip of the rich ruby-tinted wine. "You haven't been out on a date since.... Hell, I honestly can't remember you ever going out on a date...at least, not since you moved in with me. You didn't even bring anyone to the New Year's Eve gala at the museum." Leveling an accusing finger, Lucas continued to prod Lex for an answer. "It's Valentine's Day and you're here with me. Have you taken a vow of celibacy or something?"

Lex set his wine glass down before he rose from the table and walked over to the window to look out over the city. He thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged, watching Lucas' reflection in the night-dark glass. "I just haven't felt like...trying. Somehow, I missed my chance with someone pretty special after...." Dropping his head, Lex searched for a way to explain the impossible. "We were supposed to finally get together, and he was going to tell me something important...and I...." The glass felt cool against Lex's heated forehead as he leaned against it. "I don't know what happened and I don't know how to fix it."

There was silence for a few moments before Lucas responded to Lex's confession. "He?"

"Mmmm-hmm. Is that a problem?" Lex closed his eyes as he waited, still leaning against the window, aware that he was going to look stupid with a red mark pressed into the middle of his forehead...but unable to care. A warm hand on his shoulder startled him for a moment, and then he relaxed under Lucas' gentle grasp. He appreciated the silent support, and he raised his hand to close over Lucas', whispering, "Thanks."

With a final squeeze, Lucas pulled his hand away and returned to the table, tossing a pointed gibe back over his shoulder. "Not that I want to encourage stalker-like tendencies, but that doesn't sound like the Lex Luthor I know, giving up after one setback. Find out what happened. Fix it."

Straightening up and turning away from the window, Lex shook his head, protesting, "My hands really are kind of tied when it comes to..." His blue eyes faded to a distant gray as he fell silent, thinking. An absent-minded murmur provided a hint. "...but maybe...."

"What?"

"There were caves where I was supposed to meet him."

"That's...different."

"Yes, it is. Maybe I should drive out there and see if there's some clue as to what it was that he wanted to tell me."

"Caves? In February?"

"Of course! Thanks, Lucas. You just reminded me that 'Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all.' I'd almost forgotten."

"Lex?"

"Emily Dickinson. He'd understand. I need to print out that map again and clear my calendar for tomorrow...." Lex's voice faded as he disappeared down the hallway in the direction of his office.

Lucas raised his glass in a silent toast and finished the last of his wine with a smile.

~*~

Lex thrust his chilled hands farther into his coat pockets as he strode up the snowy path to the cabin. His breath hung in white puffs about his bare head, and he regretted leaving his hat behind in the car parked at the entrance to the long, unplowed drive. Thankful that Clark never locked up the cabin, Lex pushed his way inside and looked around the barren interior. He hadn't been to the cabin since the summer, and it was obvious that Clark hadn't, since the collection of Flaubert and Sand's letters were lying undisturbed in the trunk. Rejecting an impulse to light the stove and brew a cup of tea, Lex wandered aimlessly from window to table to bed before settling in one of the Adirondack chairs to brood.

The Kawatche caves had yielded little solid information about what Clark was going to reveal. Instead, more questions had sprung to mind, especially around the legend of the god-like Naman and his mysterious brother-foe, Segeeth. The young woman who had accompanied Lex through the caves had shared the fact that Clark had accidentally uncovered the wall paintings and that he'd spent a great deal of time studying them. Unfortunately, she couldn't supply much more than those bare facts.

Resting his head against the tall back of the wooden chair, Lex closed his eyes and sighed. He'd been left with few options beyond attempting to contact Clark in 2006. While not impossible, that choice held the inherent danger of changing Clark's future in 2008...and possibly not for the better. Lex would have to be patient and hope that when Clark returned from his training, he would read his mailbox, filled to capacity with Lex's emails, and reply.

Filled with fresh resolve, Lex rose and started for the door, checking his watch in order to estimate when he'd be back in Metropolis. As he studied the face of his watch, a thought struck him. With a smile, he removed the treasured timepiece from his wrist and weighed it carefully in his hand.

~*~

"Shelby! No! The water's still too cold to go swimming." Clark sighed and shook his head as the golden retriever ignored him and splashed through the shallows of the lake, chasing imaginary fish. Abandoning the futile effort, Clark opened the door to the cabin and walked inside, prepared to face whatever damage nine months' absence had wrought. He smiled as his inspection revealed only dust and cobwebs on the surface, and then he adjusted his vision to inspect a little deeper.

An unexpected gleam inside the cedar trunk caught his attention, and he lost no time in opening the wooden storage box. His curiosity was piqued at the sight of a scribbled note and an old book lying atop the neatly folded woolen blankets. When he picked up the slightly crumpled paper to read, another item was revealed beneath it...and Clark knew immediately who had left it behind. Even the dim light in the cabin failed to disguise the metallic sheen of the watch as Clark lifted it from its resting place, the unique face holding time frozen, unwound to a stop.

Weighing the surprising gift in his palm, Clark read the note he still held in his other hand. The words were simple...and devastating.

We could be the stuff of legends. Please don't give up.

Clark carefully folded the note and placed it in his pocket, and then he reluctantly slipped the watch onto his wrist. As much as he regretted Lex's impulsive action, Clark couldn't reject the offering of the watch Lex had received from his mother. While Clark had been able to resist responding to the hundreds of emails, the maternal legacy was too precious to leave behind.

~*~

"I'm actually glad you're leaving to go back to teaching at the university, Lex. As much as I'll miss you in the office, I know you're not happy in the business world." Lucas joined his older brother, who stood looking out the window with an all-too-common pensive look on his face. "I am wondering, though. Have you finally given up on your 'feathered hope' and decided to settle for something within reach?"

Lex glanced at Lucas and smiled, a hint of sadness detectable around his eyes. "No, it's still singing, although a little more quietly these days." Huffing at his own fancy, Lex shook his head. "I should finish transferring those files off my laptop before I leave today. I don't want to cause any delays with the holiday coming up. I'll catch you later." He walked over to his desk and sat down, already focused on his task and dismissing Lucas from his attention.

Opening folders to inspect and shift a number of spreadsheets and documents kept Lex occupied for several hours. Down to a final few, he accidentally clicked on a folder labeled 'George' and found himself confronted with a list of saved emails. Unable to resist, he began to open and read them at random, sometimes chuckling, occasionally frowning. Hours passed by unnoticed until the opening paragraph of one email in particular riveted his attention.

I'm heading for Smallville in a few minutes, but I wanted to let you know that Mr. White really liked my article and appreciated my working yesterday on short notice, so he called this morning to tell me to take Monday off. Since Tuesday is the Fourth, I have a three-day weekend! I won't be back online until sometime Wednesday night, because I'm going to pick up Shelby and stay at the cabin, and then go straight to work from the farm after I drop him back off that morning.

The date of the email, July 2, 2006, hit Lex hard. Tomorrow, Clark would be driving out to the cabin, looking forward to a long weekend filled with Shelby and fireworks. In a split second, Lex made a decision.

He wasn't going to simply wait and hope any longer.

~*~

Resenting Lois' insistence that he accompany her to the vice-mayor's funeral, Clark stood at the rear of the small crowd of mourners and attempted to compose his face into the proper lines of respect. The mid-morning air held the weight of summer humidity, and Clark couldn't help hoping the minister would finish before the heat grew unbearable. His wish was soon fulfilled, and he was released from his reluctant duty by a sarcastic Lois, who had declared none of the attendees worth the effort of an interview.

Clark doffed his suit coat in relief, tugging his tie free and opening his collar to take advantage of the slight breeze. After deciding to allow the crush of cars to thin out before attempting to leave, he headed for the cool shade of a grove of trees that beckoned to him, just a few hundred yards away. As he strolled along the crushed gravel path, he glanced at the headstones and statuary surrounding him. Names and dates barely impinged on his consciousness until he came to an abrupt halt in front of an elaborate family plot. The deeply carved name on an enormous plinth drew him closer and he frowned at the lack of sentiment associated with it. The winged angel holding a cherub was a more pleasant sight, and Clark touched the watch on his wrist as he read the tribute to a mother who had been sorely missed by her son.

The final and much less ornate marker in the plot nearly brought Clark to his knees. His breath caught in his throat as the name and date burned into his heart and seared his soul.