Throughout the years, Lex watched Clark become more free with sharing himself. Somewhere between their third and fourth breakups they had done away with promises of "from now on, only you". Somewhere along the line, the fairytale ending of faint hopes and wishes gave way to the realities of sowing wild oats. Though Lex would readily admit that he would always be the more promiscuous of the two, Clark couldn't be faulted for trying.
Especially since Clark found out he could never get a female pregnant. That particular reality took down Clark's last vestiges of restraint, finally giving Lex ample proof that Clark really had no type. Clark never said it out loud, but Lex knew that Clark was worried about Jor-El's desire being coaxed into fruition through his offsprings-especially after the death of his human parents, the only people Clark could trust to raise any Kryptonian. Jor-El hadn't been pleased that Kal-El, his perfect son, turned out to be a blank-shooter, and there was nothing the AI matrix could do to alleviate this issue. One rare morning, it managed to worm its way into Lex's systems and grilled Lex about it, convinced that Lex had something to do with it. Only his luck that both Clark's fathers hated his guts beyond all rational reason.
Being unable to have his own children sparked something inside Clark. Kon-el was the closest he could get to having a son of his own flesh and blood, so he played the role of stern uncle, loving godfather, even step-father to children of his various friends and acquaintances, from Earth and other planets. Those were the roles he cherished most, even more so than being the superhero, the friend, or the enemy, protector of the world or destroyer of Lex's assets.
Clark even raised several of Lex's progenies, either alone or together with Lex. Never with other people, and for that Lex was infinitely grateful. Through those children, he learned about Clark what he couldn't by himself. Knew in not so many words that raising Lex's own was the best and worst gift he had ever given to Clark. This knowledge did wonders to his already inflated ego.
Most of those children had died, despite his attempt to prolong their lives, despite his attempt to spare Clark that kind of grief.
These days they don't need excuses to celebrate. Somewhere along the line, they've also learned how to prioritize and delegate. Lex can't really remember how it all started, but is quite sure it was somewhere between their tenth and eleventh get-together-agains. Now, they only need to show up in front of the other with an unspoken intent behind a smile, a toss of keys, or a coy glance towards clear night skies. And if the world isn't ending, everything else gets dropped and the universe adjusts accordingly.
Today, the sky is cobalt blue and the trees outside of Clark's apartment are uniformly vermilion red. Wryly, he notes how those colors, together with the building's cadmium yellow paint, send spasms of nostalgia through his head. He hastens his pace inside, and feels tension flees as he steps between the elevator's burnished silver doors, watches his reflection distorts on shiny surface. A short ride up, and the door slides open to a smiling face.
A large hand reaches through the space between them and Lex relinquishes his burden-two cups of coffee and an assortment of pastries. He follows Clark through the short hallway to an olive green door, admires Clark's ass wrapped in tan slacks.
Clark's apartment is large, ten rooms for when his many "children" come to stay. It is rarely empty, but today it is like a huge cavernous thing made of timber and summer solstice. They end up in the kitchen, half-submerged in assorted food. Somewhere along the line, Clark has learned to cook like Martha Kent, inherits her empty-nest cooking tick as well. The last of his 'kids' has left for college a few weeks ago, and Clark is trying to fill the void with food.
"You shouldn't have," Clark admonishes quietly as he finds a small empty spot to place Lex's meager food offering.
"I can see that now," Lex replies, helping himself to a bowl of pot roast from the stove, watches as Clark puts two of Lex's croissants-a plain butter one and a chocolate-filled one-onto a big plate, then drowning them in steak gravy. Lex tries not to wince. Clark grins unapologetically.
They eat in relative silence, high breakfast stools turned toward big bay windows overlooking a nearby river whose water is tinted an odd shade of viridian green that makes Lex wonder about possible algae infestation. An hour passes quickly, the both of them making quite a dent in the array of food, Clark more so than Lex. The last drops of coffee shared between light kisses, and they wrap up the remaining foodstuff under hungry beady eyes of manganese-colored pigeons outside Clark's windows.
The homeless shelter is located exactly in the middle of the way between Clark's apartment and Lex's suburban laboratory. The shelter takes the food and in return gives some knitted stuff made by the residents. Warm and tastefully made, Lex promises to use them publicly at least once during winter.
"So, what are we doing?" Clark asks, as he winds one jaune-hued scarf around his neck.
"I want to show you something at the lab," Lex downshifts his car as they pass a big baling truck.
"You don't have to," Clark says quietly. He rarely checks on Lex's experiments now, learns that anticipation is half the fun. But mostly because Clark is learning to trust Lex. Tells him so.
"I know," Lex says equally quiet, eyes on the road as he accelerates smoothly once more. "I know," he tries the feel around the word again. It feels like triumph, but mostly it feels like comfort. "But I still want to show you."
Clark makes a noise that sounds like "okay", nods a fraction as they go over a small molehill that wasn't there a few days ago.
Out of all his labs, and there are many, Lex likes this one the best. It is neither the biggest nor the most well-stocked. It doesn't make as much money as Lex hoped it would, but throughout the years Lex has learned that not all things need to be monetarily valuable.
Clear lead glass doors hiss their welcome as they walk through, footfalls echoing throughout pleasantly-lit corridors. Quiet otherwise. Lex has given paid leaves to everyone, even though most of his scientists would actually pay to be let to continue their work.
They take the tiny guest elevator down to the sub-basements to a place that holds Lex's latest hope and dream. There are many more doors and security checkpoints here, but each of them yields to Lex without prompting now, because Lex hates to submit himself to retinal scans, voice checks, swipecard locks or button-pressing. The building recognizes him. Lex spares a glance at Clark, and notes how Clark can't hide his amusement that Lex's building recognizes him too.
There's just one more set of doors, plain wood, like home, but still fire-retardant and explosion-proof.
"I thought you gave everyone a day off," Clark remarks, slowing down.
"I did," Lex replies, walking towards the door as surely as he always has.
"There's someone in that room," Clark speaks, voice low, like a conspiring soul. Lex halts, places his bare palm flat against the door's smooth surface. He twists around a fraction, and watches Clark's face.
"Not an employee," Lex replies, gladly noting that there's no fear clouding Clark's voice or eyes. Just curiosity, because Lex no longer experiments on humans or animals. One second. Lex pushes the double doors open.
Clark knows he has to say something, to staunch the extraordinary amount of nervous energy pouring out of Lex standing behind him. But the wide green eyes in front of him holds him captive, soft dark hair with russet hues swirling around that pale head mesmerizes him.
A baby. Curled, suspended in invisible air inside a miniature, clear glass womb-like replica of the healing matrix of his own AI. A million and one thoughts race in his mind, none of them catching on his tongue. So he flounders, like a noiseless fish. Until a voice greets him.
Lex's anxious heartbeats pulsing through the air that separates them. The sight in front of him. Hearing his birth mother's voice outside the familiar setting of his Fortress. It's enough to send him knees first to the ground.
Of course there's going to be a nice, comfortable couch in Lex's lab, and with a clear line of sight to the baby. A cool bottle is pressed onto his palm and Clark drinks from it automatically. He thinks he hears Lex's agitated voice, and the AI's flat-toned queries after his well-being. He ignores them both as he watches the baby sleep.
"Wh..." Clark aborts his first stab at a question with a cough and another drink of water. The empty bottle is taken away from his hand, a new one in its stead. Another gulp before he attempts to ask again.
Lex gives him an uneasy smile, and Clark can see Lex trying to form words, trying to give voice to his thoughts. Finally Lex settles on a wide arc of his slender hand, and a word. "Ours."
Clark follows the line of Lex's outstretched arm and settles his eyes once more on the baby. Theirs. According to Lex.
"Ours?"
"Yours and mine, and no one else's." Lex regains his composure quicker than anyone else, now that he's fairly sure that Clark isn't going to hit him or anything like that. "You're the first one he sees. Can't..." and here he falters a little, clears his throat and begins again. "Can't risk him imprinting on someone else that..." a deep breath, "...isn't you." Soft. Hesitating. As though Clark would reject him out of hand.
"Not even on you?" Clark asks after a heartbeat or two. His eyes never leaving the small figure of a miracle of science and sheer force of will.
"I've had many of my own, Clark," Lex chides, his hand now hovering over Clark's, not quite touching yet. "I think I can be magnanimous this one time." Clark can see how Lex surprises even himself with that pronouncement. Suddenly, there's no more distance between them, Lex trusting that Clark's not as dense as he pretends to be, and Clark realizing the gift for what it is. It is an easy enough decision to shelf other questions for later. Questions like how his AI is actually helping Lex and has been feeding Clark lies of omission. Questions about the baby, about there being "next times", and about the seahorses swimming in a water tank nearby.
Dimly he feels Lex's little kisses on his brows, fingers on the hem of his shirt. Lex's fingers cool against his skin. He spares a glance at the baby, still asleep. His and Lex's. Clark thinks about all the rooms in his apartment, empty and waiting.
Clark decides that there will be plenty of time to freak out later. There will be time to renew his fear of Jor-El manipulating his children. They will find time to go through every paperwork of the child, and yell about many of its details, past and future. There will be time for many things.
These days they don't have any reason to be celebrating. But maybe today is the beginning of their forever.