The Memoirs

Lionel had seen Clark and Lex leave. He had not hailed them; he had, in fact, moved as quickly as he could so that he could avoid speaking to them right now, because he did not feel as though he could deal with anyone.

Rosalyn had been thrown out of the hospital wing earlier, and none of her children had allowed her back in, as far as Lionel knew. Lindy had been crying when he left the hospital, screaming at him for not having found the document fast enough, for not having the resources to stop Rosalyn from what she was doing.

In the end, it had been Dogwood Ross who'd pulled Lindy off Lionel and let him leave. He'd left the room, with Lindy sobbing behind him, and Megan sitting by his bedside, silent and weeping. She'd not spoken to her mother since.

He made sure to lock the bedroom door behind him as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and refused to look at his reflection in the mirrors. He knew how he looked; drawn, gaunt, tired. He would be looking worse in the days to come and he dismissed it entirely.

He crossed to the safe hidden in the wall beside their bed, his and Dominic's, and he opened it with a few clicks and spins of the dial. Instead of money and videotapes, there was set of silver video discs.

He took the stack out, thumbing through them and choosing one at random. The date meant nothing to him, and he took it to the television, crouching enough to open the cabinet beneath that held the other accoutrements.

The DVD player opened with a single touch, and Lionel put the disc in the player, looking for the remote and starting the video as he sat on the edge of the bed, eyes on the television.

The screen flickered to life, black for a moment… quiet. The time stamp said twelve fifteen along one corner, in the morning. The room was quiet, dark, with only a solitary figure in the room. Dominic was sitting stretched across the bed, laptop open, tissues abound all over the bed, and he was sniffling and coughing. Dayquil sat on the side table, he looked tired and sick, but the flush of life was still sweet in his cheeks as he shifted with the laptop and blew his nose. He cleared his throat and peered at the laptop, thinking a moment... then quickly typing on it.

He let out a soft, quiet sob, his hands flying to his face, and cried all the harder for a moment before he climbed to his feet and left the screen.

When he came back he was accompanied, by a much taller, strong figure, who was hugging him close.

"You fugging basdard."

"But I'm your bastard,"

"You were here all dis dime?"

"About half of it. I was on the way home while I was talking to you."

"Imb sorry we fod. I dunna like fiding wid you. Itd makes me sad. Dunna cry, baby. I'm sorry I was mean and horrib'e."

On the screen Dominic talked to his lover for several more minutes. They kissed, softly, despite Dominic's obvious cold, and hugged each other hard. After about ten minutes they once again left the screen, together, and to the left the sound of the shower starting suddenly echoed through the room. Masculine voices, speaking, talking in low gentle tones...finishing each others sentences, laughing at untold jokes they knew were coming.

Ms. Bird, the old bitty, peaked in from the door, and waddled into the room with dustpan, antiseptic, and a bag. Quickly and quietly she changed all the sheets, blankets, and pillow cases, threw out all the tissue and replaced the empty glasses with fresh juice, and as the shower sounded, had a chance to straighten the room, unplug the laptop, and plump the pillows. She smiled to herself, glanced to the door, and waddled off once more.

Less than two minutes later Dominic stepped out of the room, his slender, small body flushed, some of the cold loosened from his chest, and the towel fell from his still damp body halfway to the bed. He threw open the windows, breathed in deep...turned, and looked at the room curiously, before sliding onto the sheets and shivering, hard cock sitting up at attention.

Lionel was watching this, transfixed, remembering his half of the argument well, but it hardly mattered.

He was watching Dominic, whole, alive, healthy on the screen, voice strong and sure as he spoke, lithe and graceful as ever. The room had not changed much, truth be told, but it was so much darker, colder, more stark and less welcoming without his husband there.

He slid to the floor without really realizing it, feet flat and knees drawn up, forehead resting on his knees as he cried.

The tape ended, as it always did at one fifteen, midway through Lionel's coming into the room, and started up again once at exactly eight fifteen that evening. The sun had obviously gone down, and Dominic was laying in the bed as the shadowed room drew cozy warmth instead of night shadowed coldness. The way the bed was positioned was that it was facing Dominic's side of the bed, slightly crooked and at an angle, but there nonetheless. Dominic was curled up in bed, obviously trying to take a nap, and his voice wasn't as raspy, nor his nose as plugged, as it had been that morning.

Lionel was laying beside him, arm draped over his waist, and they weren't talking. Just laying there, without words, enjoying a good rest and one another's company. Lionel's eyes were closed, but by the soft, gentle stroking on Dominic's belly and chest it was obvious he was awake. Dominic's eyes were open, quiet, gazing at their other hands, interlocked snuggly, by his face. He was sleepy eyed but content, and his shorter legs were wound around Lionel's, so Lionel's knee was between Dominic's thighs, cupping him close.

"I love you."

"I love you, Jiminy."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

Lionel wasn't watching the television any longer; his head was on his knees, and if even if they hadn't been, he doubted that he could have stood watching it as Dominic asked him for forever. At the time, it had seemed the most easy promise in the world to make.

Now, though? Forever seemed like a huge, gaping hole in his chest, his heart, even his soul, if he still had one, that was never, ever going to be filled again. He found the remote blindly, without realizing it, and his thumb pressed the rewind button, repeating the last few frames over and over again.

"I love you, Jiminy."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

 

"I love you, Jiminy."

"Forever?"

"Forever."

- = -= -

"You... you got what I need... ba-dum-ba-bum, and you say he's just a friend... and you say he's just a friend..."

Steve didn't feel quite so bad, singing along with the song on the radio. After all, the guy who was singing it couldn't sing it either, so he felt like he was in good company. It'd been a very, very bad idea to listen to KROW's top fifty Worst Songs Of All Time, because now he had "Tainted Love" stuck in his head for no apparent reason, though "Just A Friend" was coming up in the ranks.

He'd had to go out and get a special damn driver's license for this job, but driving the Fordman's delivery truck was better than flipping burgers at McDonald's, that's for damn sure. Especially when he had furniture for Whitney in the back, he was going to get a lunch break out of the deal, and he was getting paid to drive.

All in all? Not a bad deal in any way. He tried to whistle the music as he drove, watching the street signs whip by, and he turned into the 2nd phase of Pleasant Meadows, trundling down past driveways and cul-de-sacs until he came to the fancy townhouse-type condos that were sitting at the bottom of the development.

For his graduation, Steven had gotten a new car from his parents. For Whitney's graduation? He'd gotten a house. Nowhere was that fair, but he couldn't bring himself to quite feel envious about it, because nobody deserved it more than Fordman, especially with a kid on the way, and when he pulled into the driveway, he honked once as he got out of the cab, and checked the clipboard in the seat beside him for the number of the ground-floor townhouse before wandering up the little flower-lined sidewalk to knock on the door. "Fordman's Delivery!" he called out.

Chloe was very, very pregnant.

For one thing, she was as huge as a house. She felt like she was carrying triplets, not just one, and because of it, had been keeping as active as possible. If she sat down, really did, she wasn't getting back up until the baby was born. As it was she was already in her third trimester and had about ten weeks to go. It couldn't get here fast enough.

She had been sitting on a stool, just beginning to open a box of curtains she'd put in the hall closet for the time being, when the door bell rang. With a light oomph she climbed to her feet and opened the front door. "Hey, Steven!"

"Hello, Chloe." He held out his clipboard. "Sign here, and you'll be the proud owner of new furniture from Fordman's Department Store." He took a deep breath, then bellowed. "FORDMAN! ROSS!! ON THE DOUBLE!!!"

There was a crash in the kitchen, and then a loud swearing. "You work for me, Olsen!" Whitney bellowed. "You're not my boss, so blow! I'll be there in two seconds!" The swearing then continued.

Chloe just... rolled her eyes, and opened the door. "Come in, hun. Might as well have some lemonade while you're here."

She closed the heavy door of their house behind him, and with one hand on her belly, led him to the kitchen. The house was simple but elegant, with thick light blue carpets and tile where there would be linoleum. Off to one side of the front door a staircase led up to the bedrooms, but the main hall was open and airy, leading both to the living room and the kitchen. It was set with all the newest appliances, a shiny new fridge, and light wooden cabinets. Chloe grinned at him and poured him a glass of lemonade before motioning her hand for him to follow up the steps.

She grasped the banister tightly so she wouldn't fall and made it to the top without incident, despite the fact she couldn't see her feet. Down the large hall there was three doors, one to a bedroom half done, one to a smaller room, and one to a lovely bathroom. "Two bedrooms, for now." She smiled at Steven and opened the door beside the master bedroom, and motioned inside.

The nursery was a mess. Pete and Whitney were up to their asses in boxes, instructions, and power tools, trying to put a crib together and not having any success whatsoever.

"Don't ask."

"I... didn't intend to," Steve said with a great smirk. "So, uh, Fordman... crib fear?" Couldn't help snickering and he made sure he was hiding behind Chloe as he sipped from the lemonade glass. "Dude, really, furniture's here. Couch, TV, bed, mattress, the whole nine. Get your ass down there and help me unload 'em. You too, Ross."

Whitney had a power drill in his hand, and he looked as though he'd have much rather drilled through Steven's head at that moment. "Blow me."

"Isn't that her job?" Steve asked, crooking his thumb over his shoulder and pointing at Chloe.

Chloe glared at him. "No crude jokes around the pregnant woman."

"Sometimes, I wish it were mine." Pete gave a mock lusty sigh and grinned at Steve. "Hey, man. Yeah, just give us a sec. So far we've got the... high chair put together, and the swing," He pointed over his shoulder at the two Winnie The Pooh things, done in soft tan and orange with all the characters prancing over the soft materiel. "But the cribs giving us hell."

"No crude jokes? You've taken away half my repertoire," Steve said, looking hurt. "Whitney. Dude. Get your ass downstairs. Unload this shit. Come and break the crib later."

Whitney just glared. "I am not going to break the crib!" he growled. "I got the other two things put together, I can fucking well put the crib together too!!"

Chloe bit her lip, eyes wide, and just... didn't mention she'd been the one to put them together, with Shay, that morning. Just didn't even bother saying it, just rolling her eyes, and motioning to the master bedroom. "Shay? Hey, babe, the stuff's here!"

"Kay!" Shay called out. "Almost done with the bouncy walker thing!" She'd had way too much experience putting these things together for the thousand and eight kids in her family, and she was snapping and screwing the pieces together with the ease of someone who knew what the heck they were doing.

Steve just blinked. "Damn, she sounds chipper," he said softly. "You'd think she... well, hey, diff'rent strokes, huh?"

"She's losing her mind." Chloe answered softly, before plastering on a smile for her friend and walking into the bedroom. "Knew you were a natural at this, honey. I've got the box of curtains downstairs, I found the nursery curtains. They just need a good ironing now. But hey, Steven got the furniture, want to help me go watch and point our grunt workers where they should go?"

Shay grinned. "Ooh. Yeah. I'm good at pointing and bossing. And? I'll help you iron the curtains after they're gone, and I'll shanghai Pete to help me hang 'em up after we get 'em ironed. Also, I did some lookin' last night, and Behr paints has a whole line of Winnie the Pooh and Disney wall paints, if you want to coordinate. I downloaded some samples and shit, and I figured I'd show them to you tonight sometime, and then if you wanted to re-do the nursery for the baby, I'll make Graham give you and Whit some tips." She was almost breathless, she was talking so fast.

"Sounds good baby, but for now, I think I'm just going to put portraits and some border up." Chloe smiled gently at her friend and offered her hand. "Come on, lets get some food, too. What do you think?"

"Long as I get in on the grub, savvy." Pete said from the doorway, Steven at his side. "We're gonna get the things out girls, stay out of the way, alright? Don't want you to get hurt."

Shayla sniffed at her boyfriend. "Did you hear that, Chloe? They're insinuating that we can't be in the same vicinity of them doing their manly work without us dainty delicate femme-types getting hurt." She sniffed again, but smiled. "Let's go feed our faces and leave them out entirely."

Steven shrugged gently, having been filled in--briefly--by Pete. "Hey, I didn't say anything of the sort, don't you leave me out of the feeding!"

"SHH!" Chloe stage whispered at her friend, motioning her hand with her to come along. "Don't say it too loud, or they'll put us to work." Then she grinned at Steven. "We'll make you a sandwich to take with you."

Pete watched the girls go with a very deep, very quiet sigh. He knew his girlfriend was playing the biggest joke of all--she was kidding her own self. But Pete hated to hurt her when she was down, so he didn't say anything. He'd kept a sharp eye on her all morning and afternoon, and when Shay's sister had called the house, a weeping mess, he knew it was worse than Shay was letting on.

But he didn't say a word, didn't even mention he knew, just keeping up airs. Chloe and Whitney knew, as he'd told them, so they were acting like nothing was wrong until Shayla made the next move.

Shay just gave a little giggle. "Okay, roger. Food and pretense." Which was oddly apt in her case, as her current pretense was mostly, pretending that her mother wasn't murdering her brother. "And yeah, we like you, Steven. We'll make you a nice big ham and cheese sandwich with mustard and mayo." She sniffed at her boyfriend. "They'll be stuck with peanut butter and jelly if they're not nice."

Steve snickered. "Hey, hey, you say that like it's a bad thing. Not a thing wrong with a good PB&J, especially if you have a big glass of cold milk to go with it." He nodded. "But ham and cheese is good too!"

"There's leftover pizza in the fridge!" Whitney yelled out as he extricated himself out of the crib.

"Peanut butter, jelly, and bananas." Pete purred from the hallway, as he trooped down the stairs behind Chloe, helping her with a hand on her shoulder so she wouldn't pitch forward, and made it downstairs without problem.

"As long as you don't include the word 'fried' in there, I'm good." Chloe chimed in from down below. No. No, her pregnancy craving, which she had elbowed Whitney awake many a night to go buy for her, were Milano cookies. She'd eaten hundreds of them in the last three months, and didn't think she could see an ending in sight.

"At least you're not like Riley, who does mayo and bananas together," she said with a wrinkled nose, following her boyfriend. "Peanut butter, jelly, and bananas I can handle making for you."

Whitney came clumping down the stairs behind her, bringing up the rear. "C'mon, let's just stick with PB&J, and not mention icky yucky bananas in the equation, kay?"

"Go haul everything in, baby." Chloe pointed out the open door, thankful they'd put the truck in the garage, and opened the screen wide so they could bring everything in. "Scratch my new walls and you die, gentlemen, and that's all I've got to say."

Steve snapped ramrod straight, and threw a straight-armed salute. "Sieg Heil, mein Fuhrer!" With a grin tossed over his shoulder to Chloe, he goose-stepped through the kitchen and into the garage.

Whitney shoved him with a foot to the ass, and kissed Chloe gently. "We won't scratch anything, okay? We'll bring the couch in first, slide it up against the wall, and you girls can sit there and watch us flex and sweat."

"What I've always wanted." She deadpanned, but smirked and kissed Whitney's cheek back before tugging Shay into the kitchen with her.

"What did you guys buy, Whit?" Pete asked, walking around the newly mowed yard and to the truck, which Steve was already opening. He looked up at the covered things and sighed. "Pack mules get paid better than I do." He said, loudly, as he climbed up into the back of the truck.

"We got that big, sturdy Freeman couch, got the big screen TV--splurged, cause I got it discounted--and?" He pointed towards the biggest item. "And a new king-size bed."

"King sized? the fuck do you--" Pete stopped, took in Whitney's very tall frame, and nodded. "Never mind. Man, you still got the rolling mover in the garage? Bring it on over, if ya do."

"Yep, tired'a my feet hangin' off the bottom of a damn bed. Finally got me one that fits." He plodded across the garage, and got not only the rolling platform, but the dolly hand trucks too. "Okay. We're takin' in the couch first, so strap that big boy up and let's get goin'. Steve, take that plywood there to the side, and lay it up over the steps and we got us a ramp."

Steve nodded approvingly. "Dude, Whit. Milliseconds of genius man."

Whitney flipped his friend off. "I have my moments."

"Few and far between." Pete added sweetly, as he carefully hefted one side of the box the TV was incased in, enough to get it closer to the edge of the truck, and jumped down from the back. He grasped a small cord hanging from the end of the floor board and pulled, bringing the built in ramp the truck had embedded in the casing down, securing it to the ground with a twist of a lever, and grinned at the two of them. "You're supposed to be rednecks. Shame on you."

"Hey, my neck is not red, thank you," Steve answered, flipping Pete off as he wrestled the plywood down over the steps to create the makeshift ramp.

"Yeah, I'm just the king of jerry-rigging shit because I'm a lazy fucker." Whitney wrestled the hand trucks up the ramp, and glared at Pete. "Get your bum ass up here and stop fingering on my TV. You can watch it later, after we get the couch and the bed in and set up."

"Gotta get it down before we get the rest of the shit out dude. Its in the way, and we could break it." Pete pointed out, rubbing the back of his hand over his forehead and glaring up at the sweltering sun.

"Then move it to the back of the truck, because I'm not havin' my girlfriend sit her ass down on the floor or on that flimsy excuse of a couch that's in there now. Get your ass movin'." He glared over the edge of the sofa as he started opening the straps on the hand trucks so he could move it, and then he flashed a look at the door. "Yo, Pete... what's up with Shay? You didn't get to tell me much earlier, but from what I keep hearing around from Mr. Sullivan, it's serious?"

"Dude, Whitney." Pete looked at the door of the house, seeing the girls in the kitchen and more than definitely out of hearing range, but he lowered his voice anyway. "Shay's mom found a DNR that's like, twenty years old, and they're takin' Dominic off the respiration machines and shit either today or tomorrow, from what I could find out."

Whitney dropped the end of the truck on his foot and cursed at the top of his lungs at that, hopping on the undamaged foot and glaring. "Do WHAT? And she's here? And laughing? And making peanut butter sandwiches like nothing is wrong? The FUCK is her problem?"

"That's just it, Whitney. Shut the fuck up, won't you?" Pete glared at him, totally serious. "She's losing her mind and doesn't know how to show it anymore. I'm trying to help, but I'm playing it by ear. She's going to break down and hell is gonna break loose."

"Hoo, boy. Don't envy you a bit." But then he got serious. "You know though, if me'n Chloe can do anything, you just gotta tell us. We'll do it. We'll help."

"I know. But ain't much I can do to help her… her brother's dying, man." at that, Pete's expression fell. "Clark and Lex are going to be a wreck. They're gonna be worse off than Shay... you guys concentrate on them, alright? I'll deal with Shay."

Whitney just nodded. "Yeah. Man, I don't even wanna think what this is gonna do to Clark." He looked around, seeing Steven in the house with Chloe, carrying up a box of something into the kitchen, and he nodded to himself before he said anything else. "They're on their way to Ireland now to get Dominic's grandmother, and she should be here like, early tomorrow morning. That's when they're going to do it, once she's had a chance to say goodbye and everything, and Clark's just about to lose his mind. I can feel it in my head, kind of, like everything's caving in on top of him, and every time I try and reach out to feel anything else, I get shoved back, like he's telling me to stay away. And that's not gonna happen much longer, dammit."

"You've got Chloe to worry about, Whit. I don't blame him. Lex looked like shit when I saw him yesterday, dude. Didn't have a chance to talk to him, but he's losing both his dad and his step dad. You know Luthor's gonna clam up like day old cheddar and that's gonna be it for them." Pete rubbed his face. "Man, I hate this shit."

Whitney nodded. "That's why I won't let Chloe go see Lex. Let, hell, but you know. I've asked her not to, because if she gets a look at how bad he is... she's gonna go off the deep end and I don't want nothin' happenin' to her." He clenched his hands tightly around the rubber handles of the dolly. "Can't believe that his own mother's doin' this to him, and to the rest of his family too."

"She's a fucking cunt." Pete answered, carefully. "I spent Easter with them, remember? In the period of three hours she managed to make twenty seven racial slurs. Also, please remember my whole family, and Dr. Braxton, were there. My mama wanted to beat her fat blond head in by the time dinner was over."

"Shoulda let her," Whitney said darkly. "Woulda saved a shitload of trouble now. What's your mama think about this anyway? Anything she and the Luthors can do to stop it?"

"Talked to her this morning, and she was running fast as she could. Seems there isn't though--the things set in fucking stone. She's tryin', though, but... the outlook isn't looking good." Pete sighed as he pulled the end of the couch onto the dolly, pushing with his shoulder until the plastic covered thing was secure.

"Fuck. Fuck her up the ass," he grunted, balancing the dolly and counterweighting the top of it with his shoulder, balancing it while Pete strapped it in place. "Wish he'd just wake the fuck up and put all this to rest."

"Thing is, Whit, they don't think he's gonna wake up at all. So who are we to say he doesn't want to die? you know?" Pete pushed and made sure the damn thing was strapped tight. "Which makes it all the worse, cause he may want to. You never know."

"Yeah, and they didn't think Chloe was gonna keep the baby after the accident with Lex and all, and I'd like you to look at my healthy, pregnant girlfriend as exhibit A for the they don't know what the fuck they're talking about defense."

"I know. Believe me, I'm on your side." Pete said softly, and helped Whitney wheel the thing down. He saw Shay and Chloe peering out the open door and plastered a smile on his face for the both of them as they walked through the garage.

Steve dropped his soft drink can onto the counter. "Okay, that's my cue. They're coming in, and scuse me ladies, I have to earn my keep." He darted over to the garage door, and propped the screen door open. "Fordman, I hope you measured that fucking thing to make sure it'll fit here."

"I did, it'll fit, just grab the top and help me guide it in!" Whitney yelled. "Pete, gonna need your help to keep it balanced back here, and Shay, get behind Steve, and lead him into the living room. Chloe, honey, stay out of the way."

Pete felt a strange prickling at the back of his neck, and he looked up, glancing around...and stared as Chloe glared daggers at the back of Whitney's head. "Holy hell. Glare backwash." A shiver and he angled the couch as the guys were instructing. "Careful with your toes, Shay!"

"Yeah, he's got boat feet, kinda hard to miss 'em!" she yelled over the three guys and the couch. She had her hand on Steve's shoulder, pulling and directing him. "Okay, little step up here, yeah, you got it."

"I'm glad I didn't get in on that glare!" Steve bellowed, following the little girl's directions.

Whitney heaved his end of the couch over the little hump from the step to the door, and put the wheels of the dolly down on the floor. "Fuck, I forgot to lay the runner. Fuck fuck. On well, if it streaks the linoleum, I'll get Graham to replace it later."

Shay jumped and waved a little hand in the air. "I can do it, I helped him lay the bathroom in Canada, I'll help you replace it!"

"Whitney, you streak if and I'll kill you." Chloe snarled. "Roll it lightly, just be careful dammit."

Pete grinned at Chloe's all but feral snarl at Whitney and helped them roll it into the living room. He was glad it was all an open space, it made for easier moving after all. He helped set the dolly down, with an oomph from both him and Whitney, and the three of them got the couch down and stretched out.

Shayla twirled around and plopped down on the couch, even though it was still covered in plastic and sitting in the middle of the room. "Holy shit, this is a comfortable couch."

Whitney oofed loudly when she bounced. "Yes, it is, which is why we bought it. Now get off it."

Steve snorted. "C'mon, she's a hundred pounds soakin' wet. Use those muscles and move the couch against the wall."

Pete smiled when Shayla jumped on the couch and the three of them moved the couch easily, across the long carpet Chloe and Whitney had bought. "Loveseats still in the truck, but hey, this looks nice. Really, really nice." Pete admired the deep tan of the comfy looking couch, and grinned at Chloe's happy face as he walked back to the door.

Shay patted the couch beside her. "C'mon, Chloe. We'll take the plastic off while they move the love seat in, then we can kick back on it while they're grunting and sweating and being manly type men."

"Manly." Snort. "But, Shay? If I sit, I can't get back up again for a few hours. I'm so tired honey. Let me keep busy, and then I'll stretch out after they're done."

"Sit," she said, glaring. "You sit. I'll bring the bouncy thing down here and finish putting it together, and then I'll make lunch while you rest."

"Noooo. Seriously." Chloe shook her head. "If I sit, I'll be sitting until tonight. And I've got too much to do, seriously. Lets go back up and finish putting the clothes in the baby's dresser, what do you think?"

She pondered. "Okay!" She bounced back up off the sofa, and popped up the single step to stand back beside her best friend. "We can do that."

Pete had listened quietly, and when Shayla and Chloe went up the steps, he exchanged a look with Whitney that was dark and unreadable, while at the same time deeply uncomfortable and sad. He turned, shaking his head softly, and went back out to the truck.

- = - = -

Clark understood now why jet lag was such a bad thing.

 

So far, in the course of a day he'd been in three different time zones, and his body was beginning to feel it. He and Lex had left Ireland in the middle of the night, and were coming onto the east coast at five in the evening. Clark wanted, desperately, to sleep, but didn't even think about it.

Gideon, Granny Finn and Father Finn were sitting in the chairs opposite him and Lex, and together, they hadn't said a word since they left the homeland. Gran was shaky and pale, and had wept for most of the trip, but Clark hadn't said anything to her after the first time, when she told him to hush like a good boy. So he just stared out of the plane window and tried not to think, not to remember, not to imagine why he and Lex were bringing Gran and Father Finn and Gideon back to the states.

Lex was beyond exhausted. He was keeping himself awake through sheer force of will, because there was nothing else to do. There was too much to be done, too many people relying on him to fuck up now, and he sighed, laying his head in Clark's lap, staring at the thick pile carpeting on the floor.

Gideon hadn't rested until he'd bullied his way onto the airplane. Morgan was his best friend, they'd been three of a kind, he and Morgan and Graham, almost brothers and closer than the cousins they were, and he wasn't about to be left out of this. Gran had let him know right away, and he'd shown up half an hour after she'd called him. When the Luthor plane landed, he'd bellowed at the pilot and the co-pilot until Lex--who looked like he was the one about to pass--told the pilot to shut up, change the flight plan, and let him on board. His wheelchair was sitting to the side, and he was seated in one of the big comfortable chairs, safely seat-belted in for the mere fact he'd forgotten to take it off when he'd been told he could.

He remedied that now, and wasn't looking forward to another six hours cooped up on the bloody plane before they landed. Didn't have anything to say, nothing that wouldn't have upset everybody in the cabin, so he just sat there, miserably silent, arms folded over his chest as he occasionally patted Crystabel on the shoulder.

Clark gently stroked Lex's bald head lying in his lap. None of the three people had said a word when Lex had curled up close to him, laying his head down on his legs, and they didn't say anything now as Clark stroked his hear gently. He was so tired, so deep in pain, and torn in seventy different directions. Gideon was silent, Father Finn hadn't stopped praying since he'd gotten on board, and Gran had gone through a box of tissues.

And she began to cry again. She couldn't help it... her favorite person on the earth was dying and there wasn't a bleeding thing she could do. She never thought she'd hate one of her own flesh and blood but in that moment, Gran wished pestilence on Rosalyn's very head. She'd done what she thought was right, and though Gran trusted her judgment, it didn't mean she had to like it.

Lex looked across the small compartment at Crystabel, sighing softly as swallowed back his own urge to cry, and cleared his throat. "Crystabel..." He paused, trying to think of something else to say. It's going to be all right? It most certainly was not. It's going to work out? Again, no. Don't cry? Lex certainly intended to later. "Dominic wouldn't want you to be crying," he finally settled on.

"If that's not a bloody lie. He'd be offended, and rightly so, if I were sitting here passively," Gran croaked, and blew her nose on another tissue.

"He didn't want any of us to cry, remember?" Lex pointed out. "He made my father promise, ages ago, that he'd have a party, a real wake, instead of a funeral where everyone cried. And be buried in a Hawaiian shirt."

"A celi." Gran answered, and sobbed all the harder, a short bark of it, and clapped her hands to her face as she wailed into her tissue.

"That's what he called it," Lex nodded. "Couldn't remember the word for it." He slipped out of Clark's lap, and knelt in the floor in front of Crystabel, putting his arms around her waist and hugging.

She held the young man as close to her bosom as she could, gently holding him as she cried, and Father Finn's murmuring prayers hitched with the thickness in his throat beside her. She gently hugged Lex, kissing his head, and sniffled softly, misery hard in her heart.

"We tried everything to stop it," Lex confessed into her shoulder. "We did, Dad and I, we did everything possible, legal and illegal."

"I know, my heart, you don't have to tell me. You're a good boy, I know what's inside of you, beloved. I know. Don't cry anymore, don't, and I won't either." She sniffled hard as if to show what she meant, wiping her tears with her fingertips. "We're going to walk into this like the people we are, Finn and Luthor, full of course, aye?"

"I haven't cried yet. I haven't had the time; Dad's needed me and so has Clark. But I'm going to, because I can't hold it in much longer." Lex hugged her all the more tightly. "We're all proud people; we'll show them how it's done."

"Yes, we will. And we won't talk of celis and hula shirts until later, alright?" She gently lifted his chin up, to look into his eyes. "You are a brave boy, my Alexander. You will make us all proud." Gran leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I try." He left his head in her lap for a minute, and then looked up again. "Thank you, for the rings. That you gave Clark. They fit both of us, they're perfect." He held out his hand, which still had the gold ring on it. "He said that you gave them to him, when we were here for Easter, and... I wanted to thank you. I hadn't gotten a chance to before."

She smiled a little down at him, as much as she could in her present state of mind, and gently nodded as she looked at his hand. "They were meant to come to you. And when you and Clark, like my little teacup and his husband, come together, then they will mean more than simple rings, and be wedding vows."

Lex just nodded. "I know. They're perfect; they already mean a lot to me because when we were here before... Clark and I were fighting, it was terrible, and when we left... we'd worked it out. These rings... sealed a new beginning for us, and for that... I'll always be grateful to you, Crystabel."

"I am so glad, because I know that trip… will always mean something to you." And she meant more than what Lex was saying, she did, with every fiber of her heart. The last time the four of them had been together, Lionel and Dominic, Clark and Lex. "You are always my grandson, Lex, no matter what happens. You understand this, right?"

He nodded. "I understand that; you'll always be part of my family too." He nodded, to show that he understood everything else she was saying too. "I understand."

"Hush, now," Father Finn said quietly from beside them. "Do not be speaking of such things. We do not know yet what will happen, and our Lord works in mysterious ways. He may survive, but you must have faith, even when there is no faith to be had."

Granny nodded, and clasped the hand Father Finn had wrapped around his rosary. They held hands, tightly, speaking a thousand things with only one gentle look. "I believe, my husband."

Lex wanted to answer that he believed too, but he couldn't. The words stuck in his throat, wouldn't come out, and instead, he gave Crystabel another hug, then went back over to the low couch that Clark was sitting on, laying back down beside him and dropping his head back in Clark's lap, where he belonged.

The tight, thin thread he'd been controlling himself with was close to snapping, and being close to Clark made it easier to grab onto, for another little while at least.

Clark hadn't even opened his eyes, but as the dip of Lex's weight on the seat beside him shifted until Lex was laying down, Clark let himself be quiet and silent, resuming his stroking. He understood, gently, and he gave Whitney another shove out of his mind as Clark concentrated on Lex, strengthening their bond and giving his lover all the relief he could.

Lex clutched Clark's hand tightly in his for a long moment, wishing the plane ride was over, wishing he could give into the exhaustion he was fighting with every breath, wishing that when he woke up everything would be a horrible, horrible nightmare that he didn't have to deal with anymore. He just wished they were alone, with no one else depending on him anymore, so he could grieve.

Once he had himself under control again, he relaxed the death grip on Clark's hand, keeping his eyes closed and ignoring the tears that trickled out the corner of his eye.

Gideon held out his hand and took Crystabel's other hand, and squeezed it even as Father Finn kept praying. "Willna gie up on'im, Gran," he said softly. "Marghan's tae stubborn a man to gie up on."

Sleep, lover. I have you. Nothing will hurt you so long as I'm here...rest your weary body, and I will protect your mind. I see the crumbling walls of your control, and I will be here when they fall, to tide you through the storm. Go to sleep, and dream good dreams. I will protect you. Clark murmured in his mind, directly to his lovers heart, something he hadn't done in a long time, since before Mar was born. He stroked Lex's ear, his head, his shoulder, and clasped his fingers with Lex's tightly, a protective gesture.

I will when we get home, Lex answered back softly. I am so tired, Kal-El. I am so tired I do not know what to do with myself. His fingers tangled tightly with Clark's, his eyes still closed as he rested his head in Clark's lap. Dad asked me to bring Crystabel and the others to him. Once I've done that, I can sleep. At least, for a little while. I need you, aushna'. I don't know what to do.

I know. But I'll be here, to do whatever it is you need me to do. You don't have to think when you're with me... just let go. I promise I'll keep you safe, angel. Clark grasped his lovers hand, more firmly, in his own. You can sleep for as long as you need to. Nothing's going to happen until tomorrow, and when we get home it'll be four thirty or so. You can sleep for the rest of the day, I promise.

Lex just nodded, and curled up tighter against Clark's side, head still in his lover's lap. I'm so tired, he said again, breathing softly. I love you, Clark Kal-El. He stroked his fingertips over the back of Clark's hand as they intertwined so tightly. I promise I will be stronger soon, and I will help you then, as you have helped me now.

You've helped me so much in the past, aushna'. Let me return the favor in kind, alright? Let me take care of you. Its hard for me to hide what I feel, but not for you--only I know how you suffer. Let me take care of things, let me help. Sleep, now. Sleep. When you wake up, we'll be home.

Lex just nodded. I can't help being overprotective--but I know when to accept help. He tugged on their linked thread gently, and gave a little smile. Wake me up when we get home; if anything falls while I sleep, let it fall; I will fix it all when I wake.

Sweet dreams, my beautiful sa'lumkana. Clark murmured in his mind, and squeezed Lex's hand again as he leaned down to kiss his lovers temple.

"Its almost like they can hear one another's thoughts." Gran whispered to her husband, looking at the two boys lovingly in front of her.

Lex heard Gran's whisper through Clark's thoughts, and spared a little smile for it as he brought Clark's hand up to his cheek, using it as a soft pillow between Clark's thigh and his cheek. He felt tense muscles trying to relax, trying to get warm, and he rolled his shoulders as he shifted, just a little, soaking in more of Clark's body heat as he fell asleep.

 

-fin-

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