Smoke, a smallville fanfic

A/N: Takes place during Nemesis (of Season 6). We all thought Lex was going to leave Clark down there. Kinda figured Clark would wiggle free on his own, but maybe I'm the only one.

Anyhow, this is my take of that day. I know that the usual flow that writing should have is kind of absent in this piece, and I apologize. It will probably get edited at some point, but I wanted to know what people think.

Smoke

"Don't leave me here."

Lex watched as Clark pushed at the rocks on top of him, his one good arm bulging as the muscle tensed. This man, Lex marveled, had always been an enigma to him. Clark Kent was somehow magical, always just a little too lucky; now, with Clark's blood on his hands and rocks falling all around him but never quite hitting him, Lex wondered if maybe the luck had shifted.

His wedding band on his finger; the gate strangely open; the love of his wife's life lying under three feet of rubble; luck had definitely changed hands.

He looked at his watch, still miraculously working despite the pummeling it had taken, and decided that there wasn't enough time.

Clark had come down into the tunnels to find Lex. Lex had pulled a piece of shrapnel from an arm that he would have bet could never be penetrated. The tunnels were rigged to explode and the ceiling was falling down around them. His former best friend, trapped; Lex couldn't believe that under these circumstances, he wouldn't do anything to save Clark.

But Lana loved him. He didn't know why Lana had married Lex instead, but she would leave him. She would leave him for Clark.

He turned around.

"Lex," Clark screamed. He sounded scared.

Lex remembered hitting Clark with his Porsche. Lex remembered the secret room, filled with bullets that had hit Clark and evidence that the top of his car had been ripped off. Clark had always shown up at just the right time, without fail.

That he had shown up to save Lex never seemed to matter. It mattered that Clark lied to him, without the finesse and skill that Lex had, and thought that he would buy it.

Lex ran. Clark had been shot with bullets; explosives shouldn't be too damaging. Clark had been hit by his car; rocks and rubble would bounce off him.

As he ran, doubts began to formulate. He put his hands on the rung of the ladder, leading to outside, and saw Clark's blood caked under his finger nails.

Clark could bleed.

He started climbing and wondered if Lana would be devastated. He slipped, nearly fell, and wondered if he'd cry too. If he'd remember back when he used to love Clark like a brother, before Clark had rejected him and left him alone with the darkness.

He thought of Martha Kent, who had always been so nice to him. Martha Kent had sat at the table at his engagement dinner; she saw the good in him nearly as clear as Clark used to. She had just lost her husband. She would have no one, now.

He could hear Clark calling for him.

Reaching the top of the ladder, Lex glanced at his watch. Less than a minute to go; it was too late to turn back. His hands, coated with Clark's blood, shook as he raised them above his head to push against the grate.

Lana loved Clark. She had told him as much, seconds before accepting his proposal. She would find some way to hate Lex for letting this happen.

The grate moved so slowly, barely inching out of the way, then there was a gap, just large enough for him to fit, he pushed himself through, his shoulders scraping against the cement, his fingers clawing for a hold, his feet scrambling for something to push against and it really was too late to turn back. It was too late to save Clark.

He rolled onto the grass.

The sound of the explosion burst into his head, crashing into his ears and he realized.

Clark was dead.

Smoke curled from the manhole. Lex stared at his hands, covered in Clark's blood. His eyes wide and he realized that, God, Clark was dead.

Cars were driving up to him now, and people were jumping out. Ambulances, cop cars, Lana; they all rushed him, checking his blood pressure, asking him questions, poking at wounds and no one else even knew that Clark was dead.

Lex wondered if he could say it out loud; he wondered if he was even capable of crying any more.

Chloe said it first, though he knew they were all thinking it.

"Where's Clark?"

Her voice quivered. Chloe could say it, because she didn't need to pretend to care about Lex. But Lana's eyes looked up at him, tear rimmed and terrified.

Lex's voice caught. He had suspected that the words would be too thick to say. He couldn't stop looking at his hands. He couldn't stop the world from spinning.

For a second, he was back then, that day when Clark had saved his life for the first time. He remembered the darkness, and then Clark's voice, so earnest and honest and naïve, saying, "Come on! Don't die on me!"

He felt his knees hit the ground.

"Lex," Chloe said. She was kneeling next to him, her hands on his shoulders, shaking; paramedics tried to pull her off, Lana was gripping his hand, but she shook it too; they all needed to know.

"Where's Clark," Lana said. It wasn't a question. It was Lana's voice, deep, poison filled, demanding an answer. The Lana that sometimes scared him; the Lana that meant they were destined to be together.

"He…" Words seemed inadequate.

"He didn't come out, did he?" Chloe asked. The simple statement, the truth that Lex couldn't say; Chloe was the only one brave enough to say it. She was the only one who knew enough to think it might be true.

"He'll be okay," Lana said. "He's… Clark."

Chloe shook him again, and Lex's head throbbed. "He didn't come out, did he?" she demanded again. "Say it, God damn it, tell me it's true." She was yelling. The sound of the explosion crying out Clark's death had been nothing compared to this.

Lex looked up at Chloe. Her best friend was dead.

"He's dead," Lex said. Lies, to paint over his guilt, began to form. Not too far from the truth, he told himself. "One of the explosions knocked the ceiling loose. Rocks fell on top of him. I tried to help him out, but the rocks were too big. We were running out of time… Clark, he… he told me to leave."

Lana breathed in sharply. "No," she said.

"He told me," Lex said, putting his hand gently on Lana's cheek, "to take care of you."

She met his eyes and flinched, as though she could see the truth dancing just behind them.

He'd left Clark to die. He hadn't even tried to save him. God, the truth nearly burst from him then, with Lana's eyes fixed on him. Chloe had stumbled backwards, was kneeling just far enough away to be separate; she was crying, sobbing, hopeless.

Lex knew that Chloe had loved him. Lana had loved him too. Before, when Clark had been younger, Lex had loved him. He'd wanted nothing more than to absorb his pureness, his optimism.

"You left him."

Lex closed his eyes and could hear the echo of Clark's voice.

"He didn't want both of us to die down there."

It was true. Clark hadn't wanted either of them to die. He'd risked his life for a man that he hated, a man who would turn on him the first chance he got. A man unworthy of living, Lex thought.

Lex couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. Despite the rank despair broiling in his chest, he didn't cry now.

He let himself be led away by the paramedics.

He let go of Lana's hand. He didn't want to see her grieve.

Lana pushed herself off the ground and walked to Chloe. Without speaking, she offered her hand.

It was then that her strength failed. She fell next to Chloe.

Chloe looked at her and drew a shuddering breath.

"You'll tell me everything," Lana said. She wanted, so badly, to cry. She remembered the first time Clark had died; she hadn't been able to breathe, she'd felt like she was being crushed.

Now, though, a floating, unreal feeling started from the base of her neck. The world pulsed around her, each person's heart beating loudly and in synchrony.

"You'll tell me how this is possible," she said. Chloe regarded her silently.

Chloe reached forward and took Lana's hand. She moved it from Lana's lap and placed it on the grass next to them.

"Does it matter?" she asked. "Are you seriously still looking for answers?"

She pushed down on Lana's hand, leaning all her weight into it, her arm quivering and her eyes dark with tears.

"God, Lana. He's dead. He died, and somewhere below us, under our hands, he's just lying there… alone and," she gasped, attempting to stifled a sob, "you're still just asking questions?"

Smoke curled from the manhole. Lana stared at their hands.

It wasn't real.

She closed her eyes and imagined she could see through the ground. She imagined rock and concrete and Clark, eyes staring blankly. He'd never look at her with those worried green eyes again. He'd never kneel by her side and answer rhetorical questions with comforting ease. He'd never kidnap her and kiss her and ask her to marry him or show up to catch her when she falls from a skylight.

This time, when she tried to breathe in, she could feel that clamp around her neck. She wheezed and fell forward, onto Chloe shoulder and wrapped her free arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

Chloe understood the pain of having lost someone who could never die.

Right now, it didn't matter how. If Chloe, who knew everything, felt as hopeless and lost as she did, then it was over and Clark really was gone.

"Chloe," she whispered, her hand still pressed to the grass, hoping to feel Clark's heartbeat, "he's gone?"

Chloe drew away. The soot from the smoke has settled onto them, leaving clumpy tear trails down their faces and a lumpy round green spot on the grass where their hands had been.

"It's Clark," Lana said. "Remember when he was shot? He came back, then."

She shook her head. "It was different."

"It's Clark," Lana said again.

Chloe stood. Lana pushed herself to her feet. Chloe's lower lip was stretched into a tense frown.

She shook her head.

"Not any more."

Smoke curled from the manhole. It smelled of fire and death.