Authors note: This is my first ever fan fiction, or any fiction for that matter, so I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback, whether it be positive or negative. In fact, I encourage you to point out what I've done incorrectly or unsatisfactionally so that I might tweak my writing style in an attempt to improve. This fiction takes place two months after the Season Four finale. If I get enough reviews, I will take that as a sign to continue, so please R+R.

Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville. Um yeah...that about covers it.

"Clark, I'm not sure what's going to happen to me," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper, "so I want you to have this." He took the parcel, something wrapped in a fancy handkerchief actually, from Lana's outstretched hands and turned it over slowly in his own. He didn't notice that her eyes had never left his, or that her gaze was now filled with meek apprehension, as though she feared his reaction to her gift. As he gently moved the fabric to reveal the object, she watched his eyes widen and his jaw drop slightly. He continued to stare as his hands when he spoke.

"Where did you get this?" He sounded as though he were in great pain, his normally confident tone now weak and trembling. The artifact remained in his hands; a silver stone with the Kryptonian symbol for 'Earth' carved deeply into its surface, the same symbol that had been painfully burned into his chest two summers before by his biological father, Jor-El.

"In China." Only then did he look up at her, their eyes meeting and locking, as they had done hundreds of times before. "Whatever it is, whatever it means, I somehow know it's meant for you." Had it not been for his above average gearing, he would not have heard the last part of her sentence, so softly did she speak. Fearfully, he broke eye contact and examined the stone more closely, only just now noticing the red stain that completely covered the bottom half, starting at the pointed tip.

"What...Lana, is that blood?" She turned her back toward him, walking across the room in a daze. He failed to notice the emotional anguish written across her beautiful features.

After a moment, she spoke. "Do you remember all the times I wanted an explanation for things, but you said you couldn't give me one? That I just had to trust you?" Her voice broke and he knew without seeing her face that she was fighting back tears. "Well, this time I need you to trust me."

That was when he knew that she was in real trouble, that the fear she had expressed earlier wasn't just because of the meteor shower heading toward Smallville, and he was filled with a sense of urgency that he didn't fully understand. He needed to make her leave. Soon.

He went to her with long, graceful strides and grabbed her shoulders, turning her back to face him. "Lana, my parents are leaving in a few minutes. Go with them."

"I can't"

"You have to." She shook her head sadly, her doe-eyes wide and afraid. Even in a situation such as this, he was unable to ignore the way the light reflected off her raven locks, or the way he could see straight into her soul in a way she didn't allow anyone else. Unspoken affection radiated off him in waves.

"Clark, I just need you to know that, whatever happens to me, I will never forget you." Her bottom lip quivered as her armor broke and the tears came. He fought the urge to hold her as the weight of her words hit him.

"You're talking like we're never going to see each other again." The statement hung in the air between them like a sickness, the truth of it stabbing them both in the heart.

"I love you." She moved into him then, tilting her head upward and meeting his lips in a stingingly sweet kiss that mocked them both. Her lips were ambrosia sweet, and her found that he remembered it well. At that moment, neither understood why they had endured the angst for so long without question, but it didn't really matter. Only the moment did.

She pulled away suddenly. "I love you too," he said breathlessly. Her tired smile was the only visible sign of her jubilation.

"Goodbye Clark."

My eyes snap open suddenly as my mind is finally released from sleep. I can't even remember a morning that I woke up before the dream reached its conclusion, even though my every prayer before I go to sleep is that I won't have to relive our last moments again. Lana. Her name is my first coherent thought this morning, as it has been every morning since the day she walked quickly out of my loft and never came back. It has been two months, and I still can't seem to accept the fact that she is gone. Maybe it is because there is a small, naïve part of me that truly believes she is still out there somewhere, waiting for me to rescue her, that she wasn't killed in the meteor shower that fell mere hours after she said her good-byes.

An exasperated sigh escapes my lips as I try to muster the strength to get out of bed. It gets more difficult each day, so instead of rising, I allow myself to lie there and stare at the ceiling, trying desperately not to think of her and violently hating myself when I do. Her body was never found, only the wrecked helicopter in which Lex had sent her to Metropolis. The pilot had been found fifty feet away from the crash site with his skin still smoldering from the explosion caused when a meteor hit the vessel and ignited the fuel tank. His legs had been completely incinerated.

Just like Lana, I thought sadly, wincing with a pain that cannot be adequately described to a person that has not lost a loved one. It is as if a piece of your soul is missing, and with every breath, the emptiness consumes another part of you, leaving you a shell. I guess that is what I am now; a shell waiting for my heart to return to me, although I know she never will.

There is a gentle rapping at my door, and after a moment my mother speaks. "Clark, honey. Breakfast is ready." Her voice is tender and concerned. She obviously knows how hard this had been for me, and she has gone to incredible lengths to keep me from drowning in a sea of hopeless depression. It is a task that grows increasingly difficult as the days go by, and I love her dearly for the effort. That is why it hurts what is left of my heart when I answer in a way I know will cause her pain.

"I'm not really hungry, Mom. Thanks though." The silence between us is deafening, and for a moment I think she has left. Relief has only begun to wash over me when I hear the doorknob turn. She pushes the door slowly, peaking around it as if waiting for me to get angry. Of course, I don't. I haven't felt anger, or any emotion other than despair, in far too long, and she knows it.

I move over as she walks toward me and plops herself on my bed. Her eyes are on me, but I choose to ignore them. "Clark," she begins softly, but with determination, "I really wish you would come eat something." Silence. "You're starting to worry me. I know these past couple of months have been hard on you...I mean...you can't stop living your life because of her." She avoids saying Lana's name, as do most people in my presence. It is a considerate gesture that I greatly appreciate, but I still refuse to speak. Just go, please.

"Clark." She tries again, but I'm not paying attention anymore. A small crack on the wall above my poster of Betty Boop has momentarily caught my attention, and it seems much more important that whatever it is that my mother is saying to me. She continues to speak for a few moments and then falters, following my gaze to the far wall of my bedroom. As she stares at the cartoon woman that stares blankly back at us, I feel compelled to explain.

"She gave it to me for my birthday last year as a joke." Mom's eyes are burning holes through me now. "One night we were talking, and I mentioned that when I was younger, Betty Boop used to make me think of her." My voice is hollow sounding, even to my own ears, but suddenly this story is important to me. I am determined to finish telling it. "She thought it was hysterical. I've never seen her...Lana...I've never seen Lana laugh so hard. So, on my birthday, she hands me the poster and says, 'Just promise you will think of me when you look at it'," The corners of my mouth are turning upward now. "When she saw my face as I unrolled it, she laughed until she cried. Did you know she has never been in my room?"

"No, I didn't know that."

I nod. "It's true. We've been friends forever, but she never stepped foot through that door. She never knew that I actually hung it up so that, when I wake up, it'll be the first thing I see. She never knew. I never showed her." The faint traces of a smile that had been on my face a moment before are gone now, and I can't stop the tears from welling in my eyes. "I wish I had a chance to tell her, Mom."

She looks even more dejected than I feel. "I know." We both fall silent. Memories are flying through my head like sparks, and I try desperately to hold on to every one of them. Like the time she skinned her knee in third grade and passed out when she saw the blood. Or the time we fell asleep together on the couch while we were studying for our history final, and I was afraid to move for fear of disturbing her slumber. She had looked like an angel that night.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

I give her my eyes at last. "I think breakfast would really hit the spot right now." Her smile brightens the entire room.