The sun has yet to peak over the horizon, leaving only the soft dots of Christmas lights left glowing from the night to illuminate the cold dark morning.

Although together, the two feel completely alone. Crushed and broken, Lana lays cradling her knees in the truck seat, watching the trees slowly breeze by the passenger's window, her swollen eyes seeing it all but unable to focus on a thing.

The knitted afghan throw Clark brought along to comfort her fails to bring her solace, yet, she lets it rest where he laid it, draping over her frail frame, shielding her from the weather induced chills it can battle.

Constantly checking on her out of the corner of his eyes, Clark fidgets with the heater, the sight of Lana's chin quivering causing him pain, yet he fears there isn't anything in his power he can do to help her. He has to force himself not to ask "are you okay?" knowing there is no possible way she could be.

He watches her softly bat away the moisture pooled in her eyes, the well of tears seeming to never run dry. The sight of his beloved balled up like a child makes his own eyes sting, yet, he cannot shed a tear, feeling her sorrow is far more worthy.

Crippled by the shackles of their predicament, there are no words he can speak to soothe her, not even the three beautiful ones she loves to hear whispered from his lips.

The feeling of being useless killing him, Clark brings his hand to her knee, hoping his warm touch will remind her that he will always be there for her. The feel of his flesh upon her seems to bring her discomfort, she shifts uneasily, pulling her leg away from his grasp, curling her body into a tighter ball.

Clark takes the hint, bringing his shunned hand back to the wheel, crushed that it seems everything he does inevitably causes her pain.

He can't help but long for the time when his hands brought her pleasure, when they're love was simply enough. Yet, as he looks into the face of his broken hearted lover, he cannot help but fear those days are gone forever.