A/N: Man, this one is coming quickly--the muse is hitting me upside the head so often that for the first time, I'm feeling some identification with Lex!
I think this is the next-to-last chapter, but given that I'm typically just guessing about things like that, it might not be.
***
While Clark had slept, Lex had gathered what he'd need, sitting with his laptop in a corner of the room so that he could watch over Clark. When he thought it over, he was faintly worried by Clark's child-like responses, and wanted to be reassured that they were just the result of exhaustion and relief, not the lasting signs of trauma, either brain damage or emotional aftermath. After all, Clark had spent three years in the equivalent of prison and torture, and might well have become helpless. But then, there were still signs of that sturdiness from his earlier life that had been visible even through the moments of vulnerability or doubt. He had to hope that was true.
He also hoped fervently that the Kents would let him help Clark return to his life. Tutors to make up for the lost years, rather than put him through high school, three years older than his classmates and out of three years of the latest movies and music, confused by all the casual references of conversation. Metaphorically alienated as well as literally. Then college--if that was what Clark wanted. Once he knew where Clark would want to go, getting him admitted would be no problem that a generous check and letter to the administration couldn't solve. Also, a cover story for his disappearance. He lightly drummed his fingers on the keyboard as he thought of the various possibilities.
There was movement from the bed and he looked over to see Clark clearly bewildered, not quite understanding at first where he was or why, and then the signs of recognition pass over his face.
"How are you feeling?"
"Much better." He believed it, from Clark's eyes and voice, much closer to the Clark he'd known before.
"Something to eat?"
"Yes, please." And there was a hint of the old smile.
"In here or-"
"No, I want to get up." Clark took his arm just as a precaution as he got up, and followed Lex into the kitchen.
"Wow. Is this a real kitchen or one of those 'kitchen of the future' things?"
"Real kitchen. Real food." Clark leaned over him as he opened the refrigerator. "What looks good?"
"What're those?" Clark was pointing to a bowl of Ranier cherries.
"Ranier cherries."
"Cherries are supposed to be red."
Fortunately, Clark was joking rather than genuinely confused. "Expand your horizons." He handed the bowl to Clark and seeing Clark's struggle to eat politely, turned back to the refrigerator.
"Soup?"
He got a muffled response and then a sheepish, "What kind?"
"Aspargus and corn with crab meat."
"That's not a normal soup."
Lex pulled the container out, poured the soup into a bowl, heated it, and firmly handed it to Clark. Clark didn't even wait for a spoon, but raised the bowl to his mouth and gulped, then lowered it, blushing. "Sorry, I...it just..."
"More?"
When Clark had finished another bowl, more slowly than the first, he looked sleepy again. But rather than give in to the temptation to send him to bed, to keep up the pretense that they had a future together, he said, making his voice light, "If you want, we can take some food with us, and you can sleep and eat in the car."
"Car? Where?"
"I just talked to your parents while you were asleep. They're waiting for you back home."
I think this is the next-to-last chapter, but given that I'm typically just guessing about things like that, it might not be.
***
While Clark had slept, Lex had gathered what he'd need, sitting with his laptop in a corner of the room so that he could watch over Clark. When he thought it over, he was faintly worried by Clark's child-like responses, and wanted to be reassured that they were just the result of exhaustion and relief, not the lasting signs of trauma, either brain damage or emotional aftermath. After all, Clark had spent three years in the equivalent of prison and torture, and might well have become helpless. But then, there were still signs of that sturdiness from his earlier life that had been visible even through the moments of vulnerability or doubt. He had to hope that was true.
He also hoped fervently that the Kents would let him help Clark return to his life. Tutors to make up for the lost years, rather than put him through high school, three years older than his classmates and out of three years of the latest movies and music, confused by all the casual references of conversation. Metaphorically alienated as well as literally. Then college--if that was what Clark wanted. Once he knew where Clark would want to go, getting him admitted would be no problem that a generous check and letter to the administration couldn't solve. Also, a cover story for his disappearance. He lightly drummed his fingers on the keyboard as he thought of the various possibilities.
There was movement from the bed and he looked over to see Clark clearly bewildered, not quite understanding at first where he was or why, and then the signs of recognition pass over his face.
"How are you feeling?"
"Much better." He believed it, from Clark's eyes and voice, much closer to the Clark he'd known before.
"Something to eat?"
"Yes, please." And there was a hint of the old smile.
"In here or-"
"No, I want to get up." Clark took his arm just as a precaution as he got up, and followed Lex into the kitchen.
"Wow. Is this a real kitchen or one of those 'kitchen of the future' things?"
"Real kitchen. Real food." Clark leaned over him as he opened the refrigerator. "What looks good?"
"What're those?" Clark was pointing to a bowl of Ranier cherries.
"Ranier cherries."
"Cherries are supposed to be red."
Fortunately, Clark was joking rather than genuinely confused. "Expand your horizons." He handed the bowl to Clark and seeing Clark's struggle to eat politely, turned back to the refrigerator.
"Soup?"
He got a muffled response and then a sheepish, "What kind?"
"Aspargus and corn with crab meat."
"That's not a normal soup."
Lex pulled the container out, poured the soup into a bowl, heated it, and firmly handed it to Clark. Clark didn't even wait for a spoon, but raised the bowl to his mouth and gulped, then lowered it, blushing. "Sorry, I...it just..."
"More?"
When Clark had finished another bowl, more slowly than the first, he looked sleepy again. But rather than give in to the temptation to send him to bed, to keep up the pretense that they had a future together, he said, making his voice light, "If you want, we can take some food with us, and you can sleep and eat in the car."
"Car? Where?"
"I just talked to your parents while you were asleep. They're waiting for you back home."