It was a lonely path that wound around the mansion and into the wood beyond. Lex had not been down this route since the body had been found. It had given him no pleasure to cover up Jason's indiscretions. At the time, he'd not been absolutely certain of the young man's involvement, but his antagonistic attitude in the cabin far in the woods had given him leeway for confirmation. The morning had not yet come, and the dew still hung heavily on the trees, creating a serene, peaceful existence in the glorious hour before the awakening of the dawn. His footsteps were the only ones heard in the immense grounds, masked beneath the rustling of trees overhead and the eager chirping of birds.
He walked with hands in his pockets at leisure, confident in his ability to remain unscathed, with the remnants of serious conversation revolving through his head. The night spent as a guardian to the woman he loved had left him with disquieting realizations. Never before had he simply held anyone. No other woman had asked that of him, with such trusting innocence. Lana was surely acquainted with the ways of the world, with the dangers that it would prompt, and yet it was not weakness that begged for him to place his strong arms around her, and hold her throughout a night that might have otherwise been tormented by inner demons. For just an instant, he had caught sight of something else in her eyes, a full acknowledgement of what act she was committing, what bond was being formed between them through this action. There was no emotion quite like this that he had ever before experienced. It was something deep and spiritual, a yearning desire to protect and defend beyond what might be gained through it.
Lex had been protecting the women in his life for as long as he could remember. As a child, he gazed at the paintings and sketches of courageous knights defending damsels in distress, but as maturity caught up to him, he had seen the dragons transformed into men. There were fewer scales on these monsters, but just as barbaric of actions. One after another, he had come to the rescue of defenseless souls. He could still remember the rage in his father's eyes, the blood that pounded to his head as it snapped back, the thunderous sound of the floor reaching up to collide with him when Julian's body was found; his sacrifice so that his mother would not be fed to the wolves. Helen had led him into it as well, nearly prompting him to murder. When he had found her limp form on the floor of the lab, drenched in blood, Lex had gone nearly to the brink, hesitating only before plunging into the abyss. Even Chloe had benefited from his protection, but none mattered so much as Lana. He would never allow her to fall prey to his father's schemes of blackmail and treachery, even if it meant betrayal to the man that had raised him.
Lionel knew his weaknesses as well as his strengths. They had fought on equal ground before, but never over such a thing of value. That he would dare involve Lana in his attempts to unite the elements and obtain their powers was the final straw. He wanted the stone, and would have it, but not without a price. Lex would not take it from her, no matter how much it called to him, evil whispers of what he might obtain through its uses. As tempting as it remained, he had made a promise that he would not break. She must choose to give it to him, to trust him with it. Lionel would have it for a brief instant only, before it brought about his destruction. They were accustomed to playing psychological chess with one another, and this time would be no different. Lex was content to protect the others, but abhorred the thought of allowing her out of his sight. He knew that she was safe in the mansion, where nothing could harm her, that she slept still, one hand curled beneath her chin, the perfect image of idyllic beauty.
Beyond the grove was the gazebo installed a few weeks earlier. The grounds had been so carefully tended that one would have thought it stood there for years, already beginning to rot in its ceiling beams. His hand fell against the rough railing as he ascended to survey the landscape. As he stood gazing into the wood, the hair on the back of his neck began to rise. He had the feeling he was being watched. His men, after an arduous search for miles along both of the riverbanks, reported that Jason's body had not been found. It was unfathomable that he could have survived the fall, but determination for survival often outweighed the odds. Lex had maintained life on many occasions when it should have been taken from him. Jason Teague was no different, a formidable, manipulative young man that Lex was well acquainted with.
Edward Teague kept his son educated in the finest elite schools in the world, and Lionel Luthor deliberately chose alternate institutions for his rebellious only child. One year they met on equal terms. It was in London, and Jason was two grades behind him, but an immediate dissention formed between them. Only six months passed before Lex was transferred to a school in Paris, his father having come to the realization that an institution that housed two such potential troublemakers would only prove to ultimately transform into a battleground. When Lex had learned that Jason had met up with Lana in Paris, he knew there was more to it than met the eye. The Teagues, much like the Luthors, never did anything without a promise of profit. His attempts to protect her had only succeeded in luring her into the dark abyss in which both families dwelt, sirens of hell determined to drag one another to their mortal end.
He rubbed his fingers thoughtfully against his lips, his eyes taking on an unnatural gleam in the faint morning light. He turned back to the house, keeping up a natural pace, though he could have sworn a twig snapped in the wood. Choosing to believe it was nothing more than an animal, Lex entered through the side door. There was no movement from the upper corridor, and he went to his study. Lana was there, leaning over a breakfast tray, adjusting the molded curves of the silver coffee pot. He paused a moment to watch her, observing the turn of her throat, the natural grace in her touch, the brilliance of her warm brown eyes as she acknowledged his presence.
"Lana," he said, "this is unexpected. I didn't think you'd be up for hours."
"I was restless, and it's the least I could do after putting you to such inconvenience. You'll find that my coffee making skills have improved."
She sounded considerably more at ease this morning, even mildly cheerful. Lana had come a long way since the girl who had made a mess of her short-term job at The Beanery. Confidence radiated from her as she poured him a drink, their fingers briefly touching as the warm cup was transferred. Taking a sip, he complimented her on it and noticed the flush of pleasure that rose into her cheeks.
"Having you here is no inconvenience. I am grateful that you are allowing me to help you."
"What better person to trust with such matters than Lex Luthor?" she replied.
Her eyes were drawn to the cup as it was set on the table, steam slowly rising from its center. Lex did not hesitate as he rested his hand conveniently near hers. The motion drew her attention to him, and what she read there was both comforting and disquieting. His soul was displayed in his eyes, the same look he had given her weeks before after their painful reconciliation. He reached out and gently brushed her hair back from her face. The evidence of violence lingered on her throat, fading with time but retaining an ugly hue. "Guinevere had quite a grip," he remarked. "I'm sorry. If nothing else, it may help your defense."
Trying to ignore the butterflies that his sensitive touch invoked in the pit of her stomach, Lana said, "Thank you for everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
She was relieved that his expression did not change, retaining the same empathetic confidence that soothed her panic of the night before. It shamed her to think of it now, to comprehend the insensible ramblings she had experienced while in shock. Vaguely she remembered her insecurity, but more profound was his sense of calm throughout, as though she was a ship in a storm, and he was the captain. She maintained eye contact, however much she wanted to look away, and prompted him to lean forward.
"You know I would never let anything happen to you," he said softly.
Behind them, the double doors opened. "Mr. Luthor, may I speak with you a moment?"
Lex rose gracefully to his feet and, promising to return before his coffee cooled, stepped into the spacious hall garnished with a ridiculously expensive piece of artwork. As the door clicked shut behind them, he inquired, "Is this about—what we discussed?"
"I'm afraid there's no news of him, sir. This is more imminent."
Rising concern failed to alter his appearance as he was informed of the circumstances, but Lex returned to the study with a heavy heart. He knew what this would mean to Lana, the memories it would invoke. The previous meteor shower on the town had left him in a coma, stripping him of his hair and much of his boyhood spirit. But it was nothing to the devastation that it had hailed upon the Langs, taking not only their livelihood, but also their lives. The little girl forever immortalized on the cover of Time Magazine had only just begun to slip beyond the bonds that shackled her to that image, only to be forced to return to it in a rain of fire from the skies.
Lana was not as cheerful upon his return, concern written into her features as she rose to her feet. "What is it?" she demanded. "Is it about last night?"
"I'm afraid it's more serious than that." He hesitated. "Lana, meteorologists have informed my security panel that there's a predicted strike in the area surrounding Smallville in the next four hours." He could see the fear returning to her eyes, blossoming into the terrible memories she had of devastation and loss. Taking gentle hold of her upper arms, he said, "It's all right. The town has warning, and will be evacuated. I'll make arrangements to fly you out as soon as possible."
She remembered the burning skies, her childish scream as the meteor plowed into the earth, taking her parents with it up in flames. Lana took a deep breath, forcing back the memories, running an anxious hand through her long hair. Lex guided her to the couch and encouraged her to sit down, pouring her out a steaming cup. "Breathe," he commanded, and she weakly smiled. Her hands folded around the cup and lifted it to her lips. The liquid slipped through them, lessening her fears. Brilliant sunlight was streaming through the windows, falling in rippling patterns across the floor.
"What about Clark?" she asked suddenly.
Lex glanced across at her, an unreadable expression in his eyes. He could see that she was beginning to think more clearly, that the clouds of suspicion and doubt were fading into the purposeful sense of control that normally accompanied her actions. Rational thought would be of assistance in the trials head, but remained centered around those that she loved. She still struggled with her feelings for Clark. Whenever they crossed paths, a wound deep inside her soul opened and bled with disappointment. Lana was clinging to what she knew in an effort to halt the passing of time, and Clark was a part of her childhood memories. His feelings toward the farm boy had changed in the past six months, but Lana's remained formed of a strong attachment.
"I'll offer them a ride to Metropolis."
He had been meaning to visit Clark, for Jason's rash words at the edge of the cliff had increased his belief that it was Clark who remained pivotal to the finding of these stones. Clark had unearthed the caves, and interpreted their meaning. The mythology behind them alluded to a god sent from the skies to live among them, and the adversary that would rise against him. However strong their friendship had once been, over time it had eroded, leaving only dark suspicions that kept them forever apart. Lana's concern, and his reassurance to her that he would see the Kents safely out of town, gave him a legitimate excuse to visit the farm. Once it had been natural for him to intrude at all hours, but since the incident where he had nearly killed Jonathan Kent, relations between the two families had been strained. He did not lament the incident so much on the part of Jonathan, but it was Martha that wounded him the most. She had always been willing to trust him, and now there was a shadow of fear behind her eyes whenever they met. He did not know what he had done or said, but it was reflected her aversion.
He found the Kents in the throes of harried packing, and did not bother inquiring after Clark. Leaving his car at the end of the drive, he went to the loft, encountering the family dog on the way. Shelby growled at him as he passed. Soft creaking noises from above reassured him that the individual he sought was among his things, and he ascended the stairs. Clark removed something from a box and shoved it guiltily into his pocket as Lex approached. Its octagonal shape drew his eyes to the accompanying stoic countenance, and a hint of a smile twitched at his lips. Clark never had been a convincing liar, and was ill at ease in his presence. There was a mild form of satisfaction in the knowledge that Lana would soon be beyond the farmland and separated from the source of her true anxiety. His offering of assistance was turned down, and pausing only to wish Clark the best through the dangers ahead, Lex returned to the mansion.
His team of servants was working frantically to clear out all the expensive ornaments when he returned, packing them in boxes to be taken into the underground vault beneath the wine cellar. Long coat fluttering around him as he proceeded down the long hall, a figure fell into step with him. "Mr. Luthor," he said, "you should be informed that Miss Lang left the mansion earlier, but returned a few minutes ago. She's waiting for you in the study."
"Have you made arrangements to ship her things to Metropolis?"
"There's a team on it, sir."
As he approached the open doorway, Lana's soft voice rippled through the air. She was seated with her back to him, a cell phone pressed against her ear. Frustration flooded through him. There was a possibility that Jason was still alive, and this was an imminent threat to Lana's life. It was not merely the elder Teague who desired power and he would stop at nothing to obtain it. Only Lex could keep her safe, could be trusted not to say anything of her whereabouts. Lana had no conception of the true danger of her involvement. She could not know the murderous nature of those she dealt with. He had always been honest with her, but could not be now. She could never know the intimate, jarring details of those hours of torture in the cabin in the wood, of the burning hatred in Guineve's eyes as she had held the hot poker against his skin. Her malicious nature was second only to that of her son, who had deserved whatever fate had befallen him in the river. The thought that Jason had manipulated Lana for so long, that he had held and caressed her, made ice run through Lex's veins.
"Chloe, even though you won't hear from me for awhile, I want you to know I'm okay."
Rapidly removing the cell from her upright fingers, Lex said sharply, "I thought we agreed you wouldn't talk to anyone."
Lana gazed up at him in disbelief. "I have to let my friends know I'm all right."
Her wounded expression calmed his anger somewhat, and he closed the cell phone. It admitted a little beep as it powered down. "Lana, I understand you not wanting them to worry, but you have to trust me. I assume the stone is still safe?"
There was a trace of anxiety in her eyes that concerned him; they flickered to the ground as she replied, "As safe as can be."
"Let's keep it that way."
Approaching the expensive panel of books aligning the near wall, Lex activated the secret door that unearthed the cold metal of his safe. Lionel had vowed to turn Guineve's body over to the authorities, covered in Lana's DNA, if his son didn't obtain the element for him. Her ill-thought attempt to contact Chloe had proven how unstable she was. The only safe place for the stone was in his possession. He had the suspicion she would not give it over willingly, but thought it was worth the effort of an appeal.
"I'll put it in my vault."
Lana's eyes narrowed. What had driven her to leave the mansion, she could not have said, only that desperation had carried her to the Kent farm. No one had seen her along the road as she slipped into the barn to wait for Clark. In a motion of trust that Lex would never understand, she had given him the element. Throughout the night, her dreams had been filled with prophecies that led to Clark. She knew it was meant for him. The moment it was out of her possession, her hands had stopped trembling, her footstep not as burdened, the remnants of Isobel forever vanquished. To have it gone, to have closed that chapter of her life, to bid Clark a farewell deeper and more meaningful than a simple prayer that both would survive what was to come, had brought her peace. But now, as she beheld the slender, attractive figure standing in his immaculate study, the man who had opened his arms to her in her hour of weakness, who helped her to remain strong even when she was terrified, who encouraged her to be independent but was willing to catch her when she fell, Lana felt the first true stirrings of doubt. She knew that he had only the best of intentions, but to confess to him that she had given the murder weapon to Clark would only disappoint and infuriate him. The only response that came to her lips was, "Why?"
"A chopper is being fueled to evacuate you to Metropolis, where you'll stay at a hotel until your lawyer arrives. It's probably best not to travel with the murder weapon."
He was proud of the defiance in her eyes. It was not difficult to see why Clark worshipped her, why he had been drawn to her from their first meeting. Over the years, amused interest on the behalf of his friend had transformed into something more. She was never more desirable than in that moment.
"I understand that, Lex, but I'd rather hold onto it."
There was not as much annoyance in his response as interest, an attempt to play with her on level footing, to see how far she would go in resistance. It was a game he had played with Victoria, and Helen, but never at such a high cost. Beyond the garden lay the guesthouse, and in it, Lionel Luthor bided his time, stroking his beard and watching the clock with a knowing smile, wondering if his son would rise to the challenge.
"Lana, that object is what prosecutors fondly refer to as a 'smoking gun.' Now, I'll do anything to protect you, including supporting whatever story of self-defense you want to run with—"
He knew it was a mistake the instant it was out. Lana's brow furrowed, and a defensive tone came into her voice. "It's not a story, Lex. I would never murder somebody!"
"Of course not." Crossing to a chair and sinking into its depths, he appraised her seriously. The time for games was at an end. "Lana, I trust you. Now you have to trust me with that stone."
There was a coldness in her countenance as she beheld his final effort. "I'm sorry, Lex, but I can't do that."
His expression of wounded acceptance was more profound than her instantaneous feeling of empowerment. Something had been irrevocably damaged between them. Both sensed it, a prevailing chill. It had only been a few hours ago when she had sat with him on this couch, trembling beneath his reassurances it would be all right. Now her hands were clean of Guineve's blood, but it was her soul that bled. It was painful, and equally so for her companion. Lex gave no immediate response, rising to his feet and walking away. She wanted to go after him as he retreated, wished that she still had the stone so that she could give it to him, to remove the wounded silence between them. Her purse felt too light without it, her happy euphoria of giving it over to Clark suddenly dissipating.
From the hall came the chiming of a clock, announcing the lateness of the hour. Lex's eyes flickered toward the mullioned window, anticipating the arrival of his father. "I know that it's been a difficult twenty four hours for you," he said, "but you must hold on a while longer. Go and get some rest. I'll send for you when the helicopter is ready for departure."
Sliding the strap of her purse over her shoulder, Lana turned as she came to the doorway, her voice soft but empathetic. "I am sorry," she whispered.
Lex did not turn to acknowledge her, hands deep in his pockets, and as she went down the lonely corridor, Lana fought back salty tears.