The white satin looked dull purple in the dim, saturated sunlight filtering through the curtained windows. The large sage-green bow on the front appeared a deep egg-plant hue, a color Lana might have found pretty if it wasn't being distorted so much through her tears. Her finger trailed the miniscule, hand-sewn detailing that only the best French designers could have possibly created. . .

"Lex can't protect you like I could, Lana!"

Lana furrowed her eyebrows; it was as if his anguish was ripping her own heart at the seams, splitting it into two completely separate parts. "You can't protect me from a broken heart, Clark, no matter how hard you try."

Clark's face fell. Lana could tell she wasn't fighting fair, that, if he could, Clark would love her more than conceivably possible, that he would do so unconditionally, and that she would do the same. But things had changed; she carried a child, a child which felt like a burden, but that she would love no matter what the cost.

Clark wasn't a part of her life anymore; he couldn't be. Sever all ties. Quick and clean.

But he was making it so hard.

His hands flew to his temples, as if he was trying to hold his head together, as if it were moments away from exploding from pain and frustration and regret. She felt the sudden urge to comfort him, to fling her arms around him and mutter soothing words into his ear, promise him that she truly did love him, and that she'd always be his sanctuary.

"Lana, I can't believe this. You, of all people. . ." He removed his hands, looking up slowly at her. "You've seen what he can do. You know what he's capable of."

Lana felt the final rip within her heart as the words flowed from his mouth. "You know that I love you, Lana. You know."

She closed her eyes against his pain, the pain she shared with him. "I do. And I'm sorry."

She avoided looking at him, knowing it would only fuel this horrible fire that burned within her to apologize for absolutely everything – But the truth was that, somethings were unforgivable. A truthless relationship, one in which he lied to her on a daily basis, one in which he couldn't trust her, wasn't something she felt she could endure again. She turned and left him alone, alone in that dim, lonely loft. When she reached her car, she turned the ignition and closed her eyes again, the flood of darkness and loneliness washing over her.

This was worse than her heart separating. This was her soul splitting, her will becoming two. There was a hole, one she felt that a husband and even a child couldn't fill. She wrapped her arms around her chest tightly, as if she were trying to hold herself together. . .

Her eyes flew open to discover that she was no longer admiring the splendid designs of her wedding gown with her fingertips; her arms were wrapped, as they had been that day, around her chest tightly. A huge, gaping hole threatened to destroy her, but she felt that maybe, just maybe, she could ward it off by clinging tightly to herself. It seemed that it was all she had.

- - -

It had been days, maybe a week or so since Lana's fallout with Clark – she couldn't pinpoint an exact time, mainly because the memory was too awful, too painful. Every time she felt particularly lonely (which happened all to often anymore in this huge prison of a mansion), she pictured Clark, his hands clutching his temples in unbearable torment.

She wasn't sure how much time she spent trying to hold herself together anymore, either.

The wedding was in two days. It felt like it wasn't nearly long enough; Lana didn't feel prepared. She knew it should feel like an eternity; that it would if the man she was marrying was Clark. But the groom was Lex, and time continued to fly.

She hadn't seen nor heard anything about Clark since the argument. It seemed to make the absence even more pronounced; she wished with all her being that things weren't so rocky between them, that they could remain civil and friendly.

And if she didn't lie to herself, didn't try to cover up the truth so much, she'd realize that, if she had her way, things would be so much more different. Clark would be the one murmuring to her belly at night, singing lullabies to their son or daughter. She'd curl up every night with his arms around her, perfectly content and at ease.

It was Clark she loved, not Lex. And yet she kept lying to herself. The void seemed to grow even more, if it were even possible. It almost hurt to breathe. And when she tried to fall asleep, images of Clark seemed to swirl around her in a dizzying way, as if her own subconscious were urging her to make the realization and leave Lex.

It was one of these cold nights again. Lana could barely sleep. She tossed and turned; Lex had attempted to calm her thrashing, but had not succeeded. When she expressed a (somewhat fabricated) fear that her restlessness would keep him awake as well and suggested he sleep in one of the guest bedrooms, at least until she felt better, he agreed. Regretfully, he had left her alone in the master bedroom, alone with her thoughts and dreams. . . and nightmares like the one she was currently trapped in.

She was walking down a large, endless aisle; layers upon layers of satin and tulle dragging behind her, weighing her down. The more she tried to reach the altar which was currently out of sight, the more she felt bogged down by her gigantic dress. She could hear Clark encouraging her; she struggled to take five more steps and suddenly a small, simplistic altar appeared before her. Clark was wearing a handsome black tux, waiting for her to take her place beside him. Her frown and frustration changed into a smile; she began to take faster steps, her dress suddenly lightening up, the heavy layers of tulle gone, replaced with a simple satin gown.

Her steps were quicker now; she was five feet away from the alter when Clark's face turned horribly; his eyes full of fear and staring at something behind her, his lips formed the words, "Lana, run!"

She furrowed her eyebrows, confused, and continued to strive for the altar and for Clark. Only when she felt an icy cold hand grab her at her elbows did she slow.

"Lana, you can't escape me," a cruel, harsh voice whispered in her ear. The hands around her elbows were in a tight grip, sure to cause two matching purple bruises.

"No," Lana gasped, trying to tug herself free. Clark stood motionless before her and her attacker, his face frozen in fear.

"Then Clark Kent will die."

The whisper was almost a shout now, and still positioned right at her ear. Wincing and still tugging ruthlessly, she felt her heart drop in panic. "NO!" she cried. "No, anything. . . Not Clark, anything. . ."

"Then," the voice said, again a whisper, cold and abrasive, "your love. Your love for Clark Kent will save him. . . if you leave him."

Lana's stomach dropped: an ultimatum. Could she? Could she really break Clark's heart to save him from death? It felt simple enough. . . and yet. . .

"I see you've made your choice," the voice said, not waiting for a reply, as if it saw her thoughts. "So it begins."

A thick, gloved hand flew before her, glowing faintly green, and Clark fell in a heap at the foot of the altar. Now only being restrained with one hand, Lana managed to pull herself free. Her face streaked with tears, she knelt beside Clark; his body was motionless, breathless. The voice was behind her again.

"Face your consequences, Lana."

The cold hands gripped her shoulders and spun her roughly, so that the face she was staring into was Lex's.

With a jolt, she was sitting upright in the bed; the sheets were tangled around her legs, her temple cold with sweat. The luminescent clock on the bedside table read 3:47. His voice rang in her ears as if he had been shouting at her; the image of his leering face was seared on the inside of her eyelids. Stupid, she chided herself. Lex would never do that. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself again.

With a slight shiver, she realized the west window was open; the purple curtain was fluttering in the breeze, and the chilly wind was sweeping through the bedroom, causing tiny goose pimples to rise on her arms and crawl across her back; her flimsy silk tank top did little to protect against the chill. Unraveling herself from the mess of bed sheets, she swung her legs over the side of the huge bed and crossed the hardwood floor to close the window.

The latch locked into place with a quiet click, and the sound of the breeze pushing through the window was gone. . . replaced with a quiet, somewhat eerie creaking sound. Her forehead creased in confusion, she turned to survey the room in the purple moonlight; there, in the far corner by the large closet, was an old rickety rocking chair. The chair was swaying back and forth, as if the wind had set if in motion. Slightly annoyed, Lana crossed the room to still the chair; her bare feet padded across the cold hardwood silently, leaving ample space for the creak to fill the room and reverberate slightly.

She reached it and paused; positioned on the seat of the mahogany chair was a simple white box, wrapped and tied with a deep burgundy bow. Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and she bit her lip. If she remembered right, this box hadn't been there when she and Lex had gone to bed. . .

Lifting it gingerly with her shaky hands, she examined it. It seemed completely ordinary; she heard no slight ticking which might foretell the presence of an explosive of some kind. . . although, that might be preferable to withstanding a marriage to Lex and cutting off all ties with Clark. . .

She carried it back to the bed, still eyeing it suspiciously. But curiosity was picking at her mind, and she couldn't keep from opening it much longer. Carefully pulling on the bow, it came loose, allowing the top to slip off easily. Within was a mass of black tissue paper, on top of which lay a single, budding white rose. The stem had been cut short to fit inside the box diagonally, and the petals were not yet fully open. Lifting it to her nose, she gently inhaled the fresh, fragrant scent. Still confused, she put the rose down and pulled at the tissue, allowing it to fall away and reveal a handsome leather book, small and brilliantly bound with a silver clasp and lock. When she picked it up, a silver key lay beneath.

Her eyebrows were still furrowed as she studied the little diary. As she slid the key into the lock, it made a satisfying little click and fell open. Pulling it off and pulling open the cover, she realized it had been written in already. She flipped to the first page, where a familiar, neat scrawl crossed the page:

Lana,

I know things have been difficult for you, that things are different now. But I couldn't keep myself from remembering that time in the cemetery, six years ago. You thought you were weird because you had been talking to your parents. But I could never think you were weird. I remembered promising to be your secret-holder, your "Fort Knox." I'll always be your Fort Knox, Lana. If you need me, I'm there.

As is this diary. Use it to lock up all your thoughts, everything that belongs to you, and you alone.

I hope that some day you'll trust me again with your secrets, that someday I'll trust you with mine. I'll wait for that day, hoping that when it comes, we can do it right. If I can't be your Fort Knox, Lana, then allow this diary to be. It'll never judge you, never betray you. Let it be your safe hold.

I love you, Lana.

Clark

Lana traced the small indentations Clark's pen had made as it moved across the heavy parchment. She couldn't stop a small smile from gracing her face, albeit a sad one. Her eyes searched for a pen; she found one laying loose on the bedside table. Scrawling beneath his name, she wrote:

I love you, too, Clark. More than I fear you'll know.

As she closed the leather cover and slid the lock back in place, she closed her eyes. The void seemed to lessen slightly, but that didn't keep it from hurting. She felt a hot tear escape past her closed lid and cling to her eyelashes.

"I love you, too," she whispered, her voice disappearing into the dark night.