Sometimes, when the pond began to unfreeze in the spring, it would be with a huge crack down the middle, as jagged as a lightning bolt. Other times, warmth lapped at the ice from the sides, slowly wearing it away, each day's changes barely perceptible but the process unmistakable.
During the bad winters, the cold returned harshly enough to refreeze everything. That meant frenzied hours of piling straw and mulch around the seedlings that had been coaxed into emerging too early, trying to protect them.
Jonathan's mind was at ease with these events as part of nature. Even when he cursed under his breath at the midwest winters and their unpredictable nature, he never took it personally.
He wasn't at ease when spring thaws and refreezing seemed to become metaphors. He wanted, like a kid, to poke Martha in the ribs to wake her up, so he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts. As that passed through his mind, he remembered--and God, it felt good to think of Clark's childhood again without bitterness--the many times when he and Martha had woken up to find Clark sitting, cross-legged, in the doorway, knowing that he had to be good and not wake them up, but just *willing* them to be awake. And then the huge grin crossing his still-chubby face when they were awake, and clambering on the bed for cuddling and playing.
He realized that he had his past again. That he didn't have to keep searching his mind in the wearying battle to discover what had gone wrong. What he had done wrong. What he had done or not done, said or not said. And the frightening time when a bottle held, if not answers, respite from the questions. It hadn't been long, but long enough to leave its marks on both him and Martha.
But now their boy was back.
Except Lex Luthor felt the same thing. That Clark was back.
It's easy to do the right thing once. Especially if it's something big.
It's so much harder to do the right thing again and again and again. He knew how few souls--including his--thrive on self-denial. But that would be what he'd have to live with. Clark wasn't leaving Lex and Lex wasn't leaving Clark.
Not for a long time.
He wished he were happy about it. Happy for them. Even he had to admit that somehow it looked so--balanced in that room, where the two of them were sleeping. Like that Chinese symbol that so many of the high-schoolers wore on t-shirts that one year. Ying yang, that was it. The black of Lex's duster curling into the white of the blanket. The black of Clark's hair and the white of the reflected light off Lex's scalp.
But balance can be broken. Nature can break the balance of the seasons by refreezing during thaw. A balance of sleeping bodies can be broken when they awaken.
He realized he'd have to keep fighting for them. He hoped he'd not end up fighting himself to fight for them.
On the other hand, maybe there was another way to think about it. He'd always told Clark that if one approach to a problem doesn't work, stop and rethink. The first time had been when one of the cows was calving. It was twins, too entangled for the cow to push out separately, too large to come out together. Clark had been, at nine years, too old for easy tears, but still sobbing at the animal's distress. He wanted to try to pull them out. Jonathan had explained why it wouldn't work, and instead told him he was going to push the twins back in, to get enough room to separate them. Clark had been so excited when it worked. He'd had a difficult time getting Clark to calm down enough to come back inside and get cleaned up.
There was another way to think about this, too.
Lionel Luthor had wanted to take everything from everybody. So wasn't the best way to repay taking Lex away from him? Grab the boy by the scruff of the neck, clean him up, reshape him as a good, decent man, and watch the change.
Of course, it meant a change in him.
He'd actually count it a win if he'd ever get Lex to call him "Dad."
Petty? Probably. But he could live with it.
During the bad winters, the cold returned harshly enough to refreeze everything. That meant frenzied hours of piling straw and mulch around the seedlings that had been coaxed into emerging too early, trying to protect them.
Jonathan's mind was at ease with these events as part of nature. Even when he cursed under his breath at the midwest winters and their unpredictable nature, he never took it personally.
He wasn't at ease when spring thaws and refreezing seemed to become metaphors. He wanted, like a kid, to poke Martha in the ribs to wake her up, so he wouldn't be alone with his thoughts. As that passed through his mind, he remembered--and God, it felt good to think of Clark's childhood again without bitterness--the many times when he and Martha had woken up to find Clark sitting, cross-legged, in the doorway, knowing that he had to be good and not wake them up, but just *willing* them to be awake. And then the huge grin crossing his still-chubby face when they were awake, and clambering on the bed for cuddling and playing.
He realized that he had his past again. That he didn't have to keep searching his mind in the wearying battle to discover what had gone wrong. What he had done wrong. What he had done or not done, said or not said. And the frightening time when a bottle held, if not answers, respite from the questions. It hadn't been long, but long enough to leave its marks on both him and Martha.
But now their boy was back.
Except Lex Luthor felt the same thing. That Clark was back.
It's easy to do the right thing once. Especially if it's something big.
It's so much harder to do the right thing again and again and again. He knew how few souls--including his--thrive on self-denial. But that would be what he'd have to live with. Clark wasn't leaving Lex and Lex wasn't leaving Clark.
Not for a long time.
He wished he were happy about it. Happy for them. Even he had to admit that somehow it looked so--balanced in that room, where the two of them were sleeping. Like that Chinese symbol that so many of the high-schoolers wore on t-shirts that one year. Ying yang, that was it. The black of Lex's duster curling into the white of the blanket. The black of Clark's hair and the white of the reflected light off Lex's scalp.
But balance can be broken. Nature can break the balance of the seasons by refreezing during thaw. A balance of sleeping bodies can be broken when they awaken.
He realized he'd have to keep fighting for them. He hoped he'd not end up fighting himself to fight for them.
On the other hand, maybe there was another way to think about it. He'd always told Clark that if one approach to a problem doesn't work, stop and rethink. The first time had been when one of the cows was calving. It was twins, too entangled for the cow to push out separately, too large to come out together. Clark had been, at nine years, too old for easy tears, but still sobbing at the animal's distress. He wanted to try to pull them out. Jonathan had explained why it wouldn't work, and instead told him he was going to push the twins back in, to get enough room to separate them. Clark had been so excited when it worked. He'd had a difficult time getting Clark to calm down enough to come back inside and get cleaned up.
There was another way to think about this, too.
Lionel Luthor had wanted to take everything from everybody. So wasn't the best way to repay taking Lex away from him? Grab the boy by the scruff of the neck, clean him up, reshape him as a good, decent man, and watch the change.
Of course, it meant a change in him.
He'd actually count it a win if he'd ever get Lex to call him "Dad."
Petty? Probably. But he could live with it.