The Fatherhood of Life.
Title: The Fatherhood Of Life
Author: Terri
Summary: The thoughts of a dying father.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Anything relating to Smallville: Superman the Early Years does not belong to me. I am merely borrowing the characters for a non-profit story. Please do not sue.
Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at a Lionel fanfiction, so I hope that the story resembles Lionel's psyche somewhat. Feedback and constructive criticism is always appreciated. Also, as a side note, I am not entirely sure if the word paralysingly actually exists, so sorry if it doesn't.
Terminal. The word stares back at me from the paper, taunting me. Even now, with the knowledge that there is no cure for the disease, my brain is running amuck with possibilities. Ways in which I can stop the inevitable from happening. I have the money, I have the resources, and I even trick myself into believing that I have the power. The reality is that I don't. I am not God, no matter how often I play him in life.
And, as every notion flickers before me, it gets grabbed away just as quickly. Pulled back into the hopeless darkness it came from.
I've never believed in fate or destiny. I control my life; I make my own choices and no higher and magical deity influences my decisions. It seems, however, that I am doomed to die at the hands of a terminal liver illness. It is an admission that will never be repeated out loud. It's a defeated speech and they are something that I am not accustomed to giving.
Failure has never been an option for me, not in life and not in death. My name is legendary and will forever continue to be so. Yet, there is a voice – one that I choose largely to ignore – whispering constantly in my mind. Telling me just how much of a failure I am. Not in business or money, but in life. In Fatherhood.
Being a father is not something that I ever imagined would happen to me. Lillian was enough. To be loved by her and to love her was more than I ever could have hoped for. She was too good for me, and despite her protestations she will be so eternally. When she announced that she was pregnant there was such joy in her eyes, a wide smile caressed her lips and I could not help but share in her enthusiasm. Regardless of my reservations.
When Alexander Joseph Luthor was born it was definitely a day that changed me. My first sight of him will stay etched upon my memory. He was so small and fragile. And I remember thinking that he would never make it through life if he remained like that. In hindsight, I should have been basking in the pure bliss of his arrival. But my mind would not allow me the luxury.
The first few years were good. I tried to be a father, aimed to get everything right and be there for him. But then things started to change. A business associate of mine used Lex and Lillian as emotional blackmail. Forcing me into something that I had refused to cooperate with previously. It was from that day forth that I became a lot more cold and calculated than I was.
I stopped being a father to Lex and instead treated him as a future Heir; preparing him for the role he would play at the head of Luthor Corp. Lillian and I became distant, yet my love for her remained strong. I never once stopped loving my Lilly, not even in death. Lex, on the other hand, had to earn my love, my respect. It was the only way to distance myself from my weaknesses.
It's the one part of my life I am not proud of. A father is not someone who raises their children to be ruthless, cold hearted and coldly calculating. A father should raise his children to love and treasure life. He should impart the wisdom of the world through loving bedtime stories and father-son bonding trips. In theory I know how to be a father, but in practice fatherhood was difficult, nigh impossible for me.
Lex used to call me Daddy; he even used to call me Dad. When he turned 6 I asked him to call me father. He's never deterred from that name, unless saying it in spite or when arguing. I think it's my biggest regret. It's such an impersonal title, one placed upon a person out of respect – fearful respect in this case – not out of love.
If I could change it I would.
But there is no time to right my wrongs. I have not been granted enough life to undo what has been done. Instead, I must forever regret, even in death, what I have done.
I am proud of my son though. Proud of the man that he is starting to become. He is not me; he fights me tooth and nail, refusing to participate in my black-hearted schemes. Pride glimmers in my eyes at the thought of my wife's son. For he is that more than he is mine. I see more and more of Lillian's kind nature in him everyday, and I am fearful that I will lose him like I lost her all those years ago.
Lex, I know, is capable of love and friendship; I see it in his eyes when he looks at the people he knows in Smallville. Unquestioningly Lex is devoted to Clark's friendship, despite his investigation into the strange circumstances under which they met. Lex has pushed them aside, and he is starting to trust Clark implicitly. Lana Lang also has Lex's trust, but she has more than that. She has captured his heart, and I believe – with some cautious hesitation – that he has stolen hers too. I pray that I will live long enough to see this love acted upon; nevertheless in my heart I know that I will not. And somehow the thought destroys me.
Not being able to see my son truly love, and be truly loved in return will be something that I will forever be sorrowful about. His wedding – wherein real vows will be expressed – will be one that I will never witness in body. It is a thought that saddens me more than I believed it would. And the realisation that, after all these years of trying so hard not to love my son, that I actually do, startles me. I am amazed to learn that my disused heart is able to love him. I had almost convinced myself that the only person I had ever loved, and will ever love, was Lillian.
Maybe, then, if I love my son, I am not such a failed father. I admit that I did not fulfil the role in Lex's eyes, but I love my son. I will miss him when I die. I would be sad – god forbid – if he passes away before me. In fact, the thought that I might (and that is a big might) outlive my child is paralysingly terrifying. And suddenly I am thoroughly disgusted with myself for having past involvement in the plotting of his demise.
My punishment for being such a bad father? I will be cursed to live my after-life, if one does have one, in hell. I will never be able to lay eyes upon the angelic sight of my wife. I am destined to die painfully – as I deserve to. It is a revelation that I am not so happy to acknowledge, but I know that I am getting my just desserts.
For, no matter how much I love my son, my son does not love me. And that is the sign of a failed father.