A Smallville Christmas Carol
Not the most original title, but...
Disclaimer: I do not own Smallville.
Note: This takes place during the second season.
Lionel Luthor hated Christmas. That didn't really come as a surprise to any who knew him, but he hadn't always. In the past, it had been the one time of year where he could actually take a break from the ruthless corporate world and remind himself that at the end of the day he had a family who didn't always need him to be perfect.
He snorted. Family. He hadn't had a family since Alexander had murdered little Julian in a jealous rage. He had covered it up, of course, how could he not? Lillian had never recovered from the loss of the son she had only begun to connect to and had died only months later, leaving Lex his only heir. Well, his only legitimate heir. There was always Lucas, the son of that deranged nurse, but no legal heir of his would be a bastard. There was also the option of remarrying but he hadn't seen the point since he still had Lex. After all, one Lillian had been quite enough and he wanted free reign to craft the perfect successor.
Of course, Lex – whose fault it all was in the first place – hadn't taken kindly to that and had spent eight entire years in an adolescent rebellion that had taken up far too much of his time and money to clean up. Fortunately, Lionel's last-ditch effort to keep his son out of the way by sending him to Smallville had yielded…interesting results. Far from running the failing plant into the ground, Lex had actually managed to make it thrive. And then foiled his attempt to close the plant down to force him back to Metropolis. Still, at least there was no cocaine involved this time. And that annoying reporter that had been prying into their affairs had mysteriously disappeared, which was even better.
Still, his son was becoming too ambitious for his own good and it looked like he was trying to take Lionel's place long before he was ready to let go. And now there was the situation with the Kawatche Caves. Lex claimed his only interest was that of a preserver and benefactor, but Lionel knew better. Lex had clearly been to the caves and seen something that had motivated this sudden interest. Something that, unless he missed his guess, had something to do with the mysterious Clark Kent.
Clark Kent. Now that was an explosive situation. He was the best friend of his son and the son of Martha and Jonathon. Jonathon wouldn't hesitate to spread the word if he even suspected Lionel of doing something to endanger him and God knows that would destroy any chance he might have had with Martha. Of course, Jonathon's current existence was already doing that quite nicely, but Jonathon was a farmer and constantly surrounded by the danger represented by his son and the meteor fragments. In all probability, he would not make it to old age. While he would like to speed the process up, he couldn't take the risk of being found out. While he knew he'd be able to buy his way out of prison, he would never be able to buy himself back into Martha's good graces.
So instead he focused on the problem of the Caves, which was why he was in Smallville standing in front of his son's plant manager, Gabe Sullivan, on Christmas Eve.
"I need information and I need it now," Lionel said coldly.
"I-I'm not quite sure what you're asking, Mr. Luthor," Sullivan stuttered.
"Don't play coy; you know EXACTLY what I'm after," Lionel retorted. Why did pawns always have to be so difficult? Couldn't they just accept that they were inconsequential and just do what he asked so he did not have to waste his valuable time on them and didn't feel obligated to destroy their lives when he was through with them?
Sullivan didn't say anything.
Lionel sighed. He hated to spell things out in case an office was bugged but luckily he had had the foresight to have Sullivan's office swept for bugs before he set foot in there. And found three. Lex really was becoming quite paranoid, wasn't he? It made him quite proud, really.
"I want you to forward me all the details regarding the Kawatche Caves. Every success, every failure, every discovery, injury, death, ect. Whatever you know, I want to know."
"And if I refuse?" Sullivan asked, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
Lionel smiled. "No one refuses me, Sullivan. Not if they care about their career, their children, their children's careers…Not to mention, of course, that I still own the bank."
"Are you threatening me?" Sullivan demanded.
"Are you surprised?" Lionel answered the query with one of his own. "I expect the first report to be on my desk no later than eight o'clock Thursday."
"Th-that's two days from now," Sullivan protested.
"So it is."
"But tomorrow's Christmas!" the hapless plant manager pointed out.
"I fail to see how that should inhibit you from putting together a report," Lionel told him.
"I've taken Christmas off every year since Chloe was born."
"So you would have had fifteen or so Christmas's off and are more than due to work one," the billionaire responded.
"But I've stressed to your son how important it was that I take Christmas off every year when he wanted me to come in last Christmas. If I suddenly change my mind about working, he'll know that something's going on."
Lionel rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed again. "Very well. But make sure it's on my desk by seven on Friday."
"I will," Sullivan vowed as Lionel left the room.
- -
"Another surprise inspection?" Lex asked from behind him. "Wouldn't that be somewhat more effective if you weren't blind?"
Lionel hadn't actually been blind for weeks, but there was really no need to tell Lex this. The minute Lex knew, he'd be much more careful about his private documents and that would make it harder for Lionel to keep tabs on him.
"I just came by to wish you a Merry Christmas, son," he lied smoothly.
Lex snorted. "Oh please. You haven't celebrated Christmas since I was twelve."
"Celebrating Christmas is a waste of time and money. Merely wishing someone a Merry Christmas is simply a cursory greeting and tends to make the hearer in a more charitable and thus more manageable mood as they are reminded of the holidays," Lionel informed him.
"Good to know. Since you're not actually going to celebrate Christmas for the tenth year in a row I'm going to be at the Kents'. I would say that you'd be welcome to join us, but I can't promise that Mr. Kent won't try to shoot you on sight. With your blindness and the odds of Mrs. Kent not being in the room…I wouldn't risk it."
"Your concern it touching," Lionel replied dryly. "But go, enjoy yourself, you'll see that I'm right soon enough. Christmas is just one big waste of time."
- -
That night, Lionel sat alone in his study – well, Lex's study, really, but it was his house – sipping scotch and pondering how to spend the next day. Everyone was always so reluctant to do business on December 25th and so he was always at a loss as to what to do until the annual Luthor Christmas party began at eight. And this year even Lex had found something to do so he couldn't even spend his Christmas spoiling Lex's. That was very vexing. Perhaps he could give Victoria a call? Now there was a thought…
Lionel's musings were interrupted by the flickering of the lights. He glanced at the window; the sky was dark but clear. Maybe something was wrong with the generator. He really should get someone to investigate.
"Lionel," a voice to his left said quietly.
Lionel jumped. He hadn't heard that voice in years, but he'd recognize it anywhere. "Robert Queen." He turned to face the voice and saw that it was indeed his old friend, looking much the same as he had the last time Lionel had seen him, albeit transparent. "I haven't seen you since-"
"You sabotaged my plane?" Robert supplied.
"I was going to say since 1989, but I suppose that works, too," Lionel said casually. He eyed the glass in his hand. "I didn't realize Lex had taken to drugging the scotch." Although whether it was for himself as a throwback to his wilder days or just to annoy his father, Lionel couldn't tell.
"Your scotch isn't drugged," Robert told him patiently.
Lionel snorted. "Brilliant. My drugged-scotch-induced hallucination insists that there is nothing wrong with my scotch."
Robert looked flustered, "Or, well, at least I'm not aware that your scotch has been drugged."
"You might have a point there," Lionel said thoughtfully.
Robert brightened.
"He could have dosed my food," Lionel concluded.
Queen's face fell again. "Why can't you just accept that I'm a ghost?"
"Because I don't believe in ghosts," Lionel answered promptly.
"Why not?" the ex-CEO demanded. "You believe in everything else that goes on in this God-forsaken town."
"True," Lionel conceded. "But that can all be explained by the meteors." He paused. "Or Clark Kent. I'm not quite sure which yet."
"Can't you just think that my being here is a result of the meteors and move on so I can talk to you about why I'm here?" Robert pleaded.
"Of course, that explains everything!" Lionel exclaimed. "You're a hallucination brought on by the meteor fragments Lex drugged my scotch with!"
Robert just stared at him. "You're…really paranoid about your son, aren't you?"
Lionel shrugged. "Well, maybe if it hadn't taken fifteen minutes for him to decide to save me after that tornado struck, I wouldn't have to be."
"I'm sure that didn't help matters any, but you've always been paranoid, Lionel," Robert offered. "That's why you had Laura and I killed."
"Ah yes, Laura. How is she, anyway?" Lionel inquired.
"Dead," Robert said flatly.
"So sorry about that whole affair. It was strictly business, you understand."
Robert stared at him. "No you're not. I bet you completely forgot about me until I showed up here."
"Which is why my first thought was 'my son drugged the scotch' and not 'product of a guilt-ridden mind," Lionel explained patiently. "Now, while catching up has been just delightful, you said you were here for a reason?"
"Right," Robert cleared his throat. "You are doomed, Lionel."
"Doomed?" Lionel repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Doomed," Queen confirmed.
"That's good to know. Awfully kind of you to give me the heads up. Now, if you don't mind, I've got to go find a different bottle of scotch…" Lionel muttered, heading for the door.
"I'm not done yet," Robert called after him.
"Oh? You propose to give me details?" Lionel asked, sticking his head back in the room.
"Yes," Robert said, exasperated. "I didn't come here for my health you know; I came for yours."
"Is someone going to poison me? Someone like Le-"
"Your son is not going to try and kill you!" Robert shouted. He paused. "Well, not for a few more years, at least."
"That does nothing to ease my paranoia, you know," Lionel informed him.
"Oh, you'll be fine. Now listen, I've already used up most of my time quibbling with you, so I'll just say this: apparently the higher-ups don't like what Fate has planned for you and so are planning an intervention. A kind of Christmas Carol experience, if you will. Of course, I'm thoroughly convinced that you're a lost cause, but apparently the higher-ups want to throw that Kent kid a bone and have decided that they're going to give you a chance to redeem yourself because of it."
"There are meteor gods?" Lionel deadpanned. And again, Clark Kent was involved. Everywhere he looked Martha's son was there, even in his hallucinations, it seemed! Seriously, he was beginning to suspect that he was obsessed with the kid. Kind of like Lex was, but with much less sexual tension.
Robert threw up his hands. "I can see that I am wasting my time here. There will be three ghosts who come after me, one at one, two, and three. I hope that you'll at least take them seriously, for all of our sakes."
And with that, he vanished, leaving Lionel alone with his thoughts and his probably-drugged scotch.
- -
"Lionel…" a quiet voice called out, awakening the sleeping Luthor at once.
"Who's there?" Lionel asked, pulling his handgun out from underneath his pillow.
"Lionel…" the voice called again.
Cautiously, Lionel crept out of his room and down the hallway. The voice seemed to be coming from Lex's study. When he reached it, he stopped dead at the sight. There was a solid figure there, pouring itself a glass of scotch. He used the word 'it' because it was impossible to tell if it were a man or woman, or even if they were young or old. He groaned. Clearly this was a transvestite who'd gotten Botox.
He forced himself to smile, fingering his weapon. He was a little disturbed, but reasoned that being a little creeped out wasn't worth the cover-up that would need to happen if he just outright shot the intruder. "One of Lex's friends, I presume?"
The figure just shook its head slowly. "I am here for you, Lionel. I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."
Lionel frowned. 'Ghost of Christmas Past.' That was an interesting hooker name. For, of course, what else could it possibly be dressed like that in his – Lex's – study in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve? He'd have to remember to fire his secretary in the morning. Honestly, what was she thinking when she booked THIS for him?
"You don't believe I'm real," the Ghost said, clearly misinterpreting Lionel's silence.
"Honestly, that thought hadn't even occurred to me. Although that would be a lot more palatable…" Lionel trailed off, realizing that perhaps he wouldn't have to fire his secretary after all. He hoped he wouldn't; she was very discrete and that was hard to come by these days.
"I have much to show you," the Ghost said, moving closer.
"That's…quite alright," Lionel insisted, backing up. He had absolutely no desire to see any part of the Ghost it wished to show him. Lex probably did send him, just to piss him off. It would be so typical of him.
"There is a journey we must go on." It. Was. Still. Moving. Closer! "Touch my robe and we can go. We only have an hour." It gestured towards the window.
Lionel's eyes widened. "Wait…you don't actually expect me to walk out of a window with you, do you? Because I'm not sure what you've heard, but I am NOT suicidal."
"That is why you must touch my robe. So you can fly," the Ghost explained calmly.
"Oh, if that's all…" Lionel muttered. "Look, I don't care how high you are, you cannot fly. Therefore, I am not leaving this study."
The Ghost looked ruefully at him. "But your redemption-"
"Would go a lot better if I didn't fall and break my neck," Lionel finished. "God knows that if that happened, Alexander would have control of LuthorCorp approximately two minutes after my fall."
The Ghost sighed. "I see I'm going to have to do this the hard way."
"The hard way? What do you mean the…Ah!" Lionel couldn't help but cry out as the Ghost took a hold of his arm and they began to drift out the window. Hm, maybe he shouldn't have discounted the possibility of this being a continuation of his meteor-induced hallucination from earlier after all. Yes, his secretary's job was definitely safe. In fact, he might just give her a bonus for never arranging someone like this for him.
Abruptly, they landed. Lionel quickly looked around. He appeared to be in the Suicide Slums. That was bad enough. The fact that this was a Suicide Slum pre-LuthorCorp renovation was even worse. And was he just imagining things or was the tenant building his parents lived in still standing? God, he hadn't dreamed of this place since…well, ever.
"This is your fifth Christmas," the Ghost informed him.
"Is it?" Lionel asked disinterestedly. "Does that mean that my parents are still around?"
The Ghost nodded. "Follow me," it said before walking straight through the wall of one of the buildings.
Lionel eyed the spot the ghost had disappeared through warily. Just because he could fly when The Ghost was touching him – not like that – in this dream didn't mean he'd be able to walk through walls without it. He put a hand on the wall experimentally. It went straight through. He shrugged. Well, alright then.
Heading through the wall and up the stairs, he quickly found his apartment. Where he'd lived for every hellish year some called his childhood and teenage years.
He looked around. He saw his mother, sitting in a corner, desperately clutching a bottle of gin. He saw himself, merely a child, walk up to her, his eyes full of trepidation. He was clutching a book.
"Will you read to me, Mommy?" he asked quietly.
Eliza Luthor just stared at him blankly. It was as she couldn't see him, like she was looking right through him.
"Mommy, please. It's Christmas," the young Lionel pleaded.
Her eyes flickered slightly. "Go…go ask your father," she managed to get out before her eyes clouded over again.
Little Lionel looked fearfully at the next room where he knew his father resided. His father was more likely to be sober, but also heavily inclined towards violence. He took several halting steps away from his mother and then abruptly spun around to face her. "Please, Mommy, please!" he begged, tugging at her arm.
Eliza didn't respond, just sat there, impassive and immobile. Looking dejected, the young Luthor headed back to his father's room.
"Father?" he called, his voice even softer than usual.
"Eh, go away, kid, I'm busy," came the growled response.
Lionel closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't move. "I…I wanted to know if you could…if you could…"
The figure of his father flew at him, backhanding him across the room. "I SAID not now, Lionel."
Lionel nodded, fearfully, and fled the room. Once he reached his room, he slammed the door behind him and started sobbing. His mother hadn't reacted in the slightest.
"Every year was just the same in this place," the Ghost said softly.
"Yes, but I soon learned better than to expect anything from them," the adult Lionel said, his eyes hard. "And whatever kind of 'lesson' you think you're teaching me, show me another scene of this place and I swear, I won't learn a thing."
The Ghost hesitated slightly; it had clearly planned on pushing its point home by displaying on montage of the years as they went by. Finally, it nodded. "Come with me."
This time, Lionel didn't hesitate before grabbing onto the Ghost's arm. He had seen more than enough to remind him why he'd never regretted arranging the deaths of his parents.
The room blurred around him and just as he was starting to get dizzy, the scene solidified. He was now in Morgan's apartment. He glared at the Ghost. He wasn't in his apartment, but he was right down the street and the Ghost had blatantly violated the spirit, if not the letter, of their deal.
"Are you sure about this Lionel?" Morgan Edge asked nervously. He was never nervous. "I mean, I know your folks are pretty crummy, but…murder? Really?"
"I'm positive, Morgan," Lionel's younger self's voice was laced with impatience. "I increased their life insurance policy last year and if we split the money we'll actually be able to go somewhere. If we don't, we'll be stuck in the Suicide Slums forever and we'll eventually turn into our parents."
"There's nothing wrong with my parents," Morgan said defensively.
Lionel sighed. "Yes, yes, they're great people. On the other hand, are they happy? No. They work long hours every day and are never home. Do you want that kind of life for yourself? Do THEY want that kind of life for you?"
"Well, no, but I-" Morgan began.
"It's not like you haven't destroyed buildings before; I don't see what the problem is," the soon-to-be-orphaned Luthor cut him off.
"I know I've dabbled in arson and building demolitions – and there have been casualties – but I've never actually set out to kill anyone," Edge said desperately.
"Your first murder couldn't be to two more deserving people," Lionel said persuasively. "Trust me. Everything will be fine."
Morgan bit his lip and looked hard at his childhood friend. "Alright."
"Because of you, Morgan Edge started his foray into the criminal underworld and soon abandoned any and all reservations about taking lives," the Ghost said accusingly.
Lionel inspected a nail. "I don't regret it. My parents never did anything so valuable in their lives than die and if it weren't for my actions, Morgan and I would still be there. We've risen above our circumstances and I don't have anything to apologize for. I made my choices and Morgan made his. While you clearly…disapprove of his rise as a crime lord, he could have turned away from that and started a business like I did or…go and settle down somewhere comfortably middle class or something."
"You murdered your parents and you don't care?" the Ghost asked, shocked.
"No."
The Ghost stared at him uncomprehendingly. Finally, it just shook its head and held out its arm. "Come."
Lionel growled as he did as he was told. He did not need to be judged by this bizarre transvestite whore. Additionally, these particular moments in his life were not some of his finer.
Then, he was standing in a great hall decorated grandly in true Yule fashion. His eyes quickly scanned the crowd, looking for the hosts and thus his explanation. Edward Teague. This was one of his and Genevieve's earliest Christmas parties if not their earliest. He, of course, had not started hosting an elaborate gala for the holidays until after he married Lillian.
Speaking of, she was probably here somewhere. Not wanting to ask about his late wife directly and thus expose weakness, he turned to the Ghost and casually asked, "So, where am I?"
The Ghost pointed to the right and Lionel followed its hand to see himself about to bump into Lillian. Literally. He was bidding a potential ally adieu and she was talking animatedly to a friend of hers not five feet away. He turned to leave at the exact moment she did and they collided.
"Pardon," he said, smiling at her.
"Oh, I should have been watching where I was going," she returned, also smiling.
"Lionel!" Genevieve called out. "I see you've met my cousin Lillian. I've been meaning to introduce you."
"Lionel, is it? It's nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand for him to shake.
He took it and kissed it instead. "The pleasure's all mine."
Lionel wanted to stay and watch his younger self and his future – late, whichever – wife getting acquainted, but he felt a tug at his elbow.
"Come," the Ghost said. "We have two more memories to view and not much time."
Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from his first meeting with Lillian and grabbed ahold of the Ghost's sleeve.
Once again, the room started spinning the moment his hand made contact with the Ghost and he immediately closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was standing in a fancy Italian restaurant.
"I haven't been here in years," Lionel mused aloud. "Where is my past self?"
Wordlessly, the Ghost gestured to the private room in the back.
Lionel chuckled. He should have known. As he headed back there, he saw himself seated across the table from Lillian. Neither of them looked particularly happy.
"What do you want me to say?" the younger Lionel asked, frustrated. "Business is business and will always take up large chunks of my time. I thought you understood that."
"I do, Lionel," Lillian was quick to reassure him. "Believe me, I do."
"Then what's with this sudden desire to rush the wedding? If you're afraid that I'll lose interest in you, I can assure you that won't be the case."
"It's not that either," she continued. "But I'm just saying that sooner is better than later as far as our wedding is concerned."
"I just don't have time right now to plan out a lavish affair," Lionel told her.
"I can plan it, I can hire people to plan it, we can just forego a lavish wedding altogether for all I care, we just need to get married within the next few weeks," Lillian told him desperately.
Lionel narrowed his eyes at her. "If this is an ultimatum-"
Lillian cut him off. "I'm pregnant."
"Then I can assure you, I…What?" Lionel asked blankly.
"I'm pregnant," Lillian repeated a little giddily. "And I know we didn't intend to have children this quickly, but it is what it is and so we have to get married soon before little Alexander gets here."
"Alexander?" Lionel said thoughtfully. "It's a boy, then?"
Lillian nodded. "Do you not like the name? Because it's just a suggestion, though I've always wanted to have a son with that name."
"Alexander," Lionel said again, trying it out. "Like Alexander the Great. I like it."
Lillian smiled. "I'm glad."
"We can be married within two months," Lionel promised.
Her smile widened and she leaned across the table to kiss him.
Another tug at the widowed Lionel's arm.
"Must we leave so soon?" he demanded. "We were so happy back then. Having a baby was the best thing that ever happened to us. Sure we had problems after that, but things would have gotten better once Lillian started bonding with Julian. Everything would have been perfect if only Lex hadn't…" he trailed off, unable to vocalize his son's horrifying fratricide.
"There is one more memory you must see," the Ghost said quietly, urgently.
Halfheartedly, Lionel reached out once more for the Ghost's sleeve.
The next room he was in was a room he knew well. He was in the hall of the house Julian had died in. He had sold it within a week of the incident and being back there made him uneasy.
He didn't see himself immediately, but he did see Lex. It was clearly after the meteor shower and he was smiling – a rarity once he lost his hair and even rarer once he lost his brother and mother – and carrying a tray up the stairs. Julian began to cry and he turned his head toward the sound. He continued to walk slowly so as not to spill anything on the tray when the sound of Julian's wailing got louder.
Clearly, Lionel wasn't there or else he would already be at his son's side and Lord knows Lillian was never up to soothing her youngest child. Where were the servants, though? Was this after he had ordered Lillian to bond with her son?
A look of panic crossed Lex's face and he threw the tray down on a table in the hall and ran up to Julian's room. Lionel followed him and saw Lillian standing over the crib. Apparently she had started to bond with him after all. Anger he'd long since repressed began to eat at him again. Why had Lex decided murdering his little brother had been a good idea? Why? The stress of the situation and Julian's loss had pushed Lillian to an early grave and then there was no chance of them having another child. He'd turned to Rachel Dunleavy, but she was unbalanced and her son was a sociopath so he wasn't about to announce Lucas's existence to the world.
"Mom?" Lex asked hesitantly. He looked afraid. What was he afraid of? He was the one who had actually killed the baby. Lex waited a moment, but Lillian didn't reply. "Mom?" he repeated, more urgently this time.
Lillian turned around, holding a pillow. The pillow fell to the floor at approximately the same time Lionel's legs gave out under him. What…a pillow…what…she couldn't…but she had a pillow…
Lex stared at the pillow then looked back up at his mother. He walked slowly into the room. "What'd you do?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. He had already figured it out.
"Shh," the love of Lionel's life put her finger to her mouth and stumbled toward his firstborn son. "Don't wake the baby. He's sleeping," she said, slightly hysterical. As she got closer, Lionel could see the dazed smile on her face and the tears on her cheeks.
"No…" Lionel gasped. "No…Lillian…Lillian could never…But Lex! I saw Lex…No…"
Lillian took Lex's hands, but Lex brushed past her to go stare down into the crib. "No…" he whispered. "No…" He turned to face his mother, fear evident in his eyes. "What about dad?" his voice was trembling again.
Lillian stood still for a moment, lost, then she began to shush Lex again and moved towards him. "Dad has nothing to worry about, sweetheart," she assured him, rubbing his head and kissing his forehead. "Julian's happy now," she insisted, a sob in her voice.
Lex could only shake his head as Lillian walked away from him and staggered out into the hall. He watched her go then turned back to the corpse of his little brother. "No…" he whispered desperately.
Watching the son he'd spent the last ten years resenting crying over the dead little brother he'd never been able to get over was too much for Lionel. He turned away from his sons and glared accusingly at the ghost. "What is this?" he demanded angrily. "Why would Lex have taken the blame if it was Lillian who…who…" He couldn't finish.
"What did you do when you discovered Lex standing over the body?" the Ghost asked, patiently.
"I…I covered it up, what else could I do?" Lionel was confused.
"Because it was your son and you knew that with the difficult pregnancy and this tragedy you would not be able to convince your wife to have another child if anything happened to Lex," prompted the Ghost.
"Well, yes, of course, but I don't see what-"
The Ghost interrupted him. "What would you have done if it were your wife?"
"What?"
"If you knew your wife had killed your precious baby boy, would you have saved her the way you thought you were saving your son?"
"I…I would have…I would have…No," Lionel answered finally.
"Lex knew this. That's why he did what he did."
"Then why didn't he tell me after…" Lionel swallowed. "After Lillian had died? There was no need to protect her any longer and it could have spared us so much pain. So much bitterness and hatred."
"He couldn't. Your son loved his mother. That's why he repressed the memory of his beloved and idealized mother killing an innocent child. She thought she was saving him from you, you know. She hated how you were raising Alexander and she was suffering from postpartum depression. What happened was horrible, but it is not so very surprising."
Tears were forming in Lionel's eyes but he would not allow anyone to see him cry.
"Take me home."
The Ghost nodded.
Lionel took ahold of the Ghost's sleeve for the final time and in whirlwind of swirling colors, he was home.
In Lex's study. Lex.
The Ghost was gone.
Lionel didn't even know what to think anymore about what just happened.
Stumbling over the sofa, he began to sob.
Note: I've only actually seen the first six episodes, so I apologize for anything I get wrong. I mean, I did research, of course, but that's really not the same thing…
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