With age, comes maturity. Lex believes that. He likes to think that he's not as obssessive, not as selfish anymore. But right now, global warming is testing his resolve. CNN's live ground coverage cuts off, turning back to the studio where some environmental expert denounces global warming theory in favor of some cyclical thing the earth experiences every few centuries or so.
Global warming or Planetwide PMS. It all means the same thing.
It's been more than two weeks since Clark left him at the dinner table with pomodoro kisses and a promise to return. Something that in other times would be benediction. The kiss was as though Clark wanted to draw as much energy from Lex as he could; find strength, convince himself. It was a full moon night when he watched Clark leave in a blur of blue and red.
Martha Kent appeared in the foyer of his penthouse early the next morning and hasn't left since. It's as though she knows what he needs, and maybe she does.
He can hear her in the kitchen beyond, talking harvest with his housekeeper. Between the both of them, the penthouse is all apple pie fragrance and farmhouse kitchen. Two weeks tasting like home, as close to home as he can be without Clark.
The scene shifts again from bright studio lights to murky brown and empty skies. Lex can almost taste death and devastation, stale and suffocating in his lungs. The same ground reporter as before, looking haggard, damp and bone tired. In a voice both thin and reedy, she announces that they are going to interview Superman.
High Definition TV makes blue and red both vivid and jarring. In a different time, Lex would've quizzed Clark about the self-cleaning properties of his suit. But today he only notes how sorrowful Clark looks, like yesterday, like the day before, like everyday since Superman arrived on the scene.
Pale too, like he can never be warm again. Cold like bodies found and returned so families can properly mourn their beloved. People believe that aliens don't have the ability to cry, that's what makes them so effective in the face of danger and despair. But Clark is there, under the strangely shimmering green of his eyes. And Lex grieves with Clark, hopes he knows.
Superman thanks everyone who shares most of his burdens here-relief workers, agency coordinators, the local populace, the world. Thank you Lex.
Clark's voice can be heard underneath Superman's, calls to him. He can hear Martha walking into the den. Clark's voice calls to her, too.
"...glad to see more and more families are being reunited..." I'll see you soon.
Lex thinks of hopes unsaid, wet and heavy like equator sunshine during monsoon season.
They're moving onto the next stage, Superman says, post-disaster recovery, reconstruction, rehabilitation. Find homes again for everyone, forge anchors for lost souls. I'm coming home, soon.
Humans are tough, resilient, brighter, stronger than Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Superman believes in the future.
Lex closes his eyes as the scene shifts to a pre-prepared montage with sentimental music, all the minor keys of deliberate emotional blackmail.
A hand on his shoulder and he leans back to the only mother he knows in his adult life. Martha believes that Lex can put Clark back together again.
They believe, have faith enough for him who was born faithless. Soon.