Chapter 3 - Painting

Martha gave it another week before pushing things with Lex. Part of it was to give him time to heal. Part of it was to give herself the same.

Clark seemed to be making some headway toward recovery; he was catching up with his school work, he was doing his chores, and he had started visiting with friends again. Jonathan had physically recovered enough to do a bit of farm work, and emotionally enough to hold conversations normally. Martha herself was getting to sleep through the night, and that was doing wonders for her health.

Lex alone was unchanged. He barely left his room, except to go to the mansion for a few hours each day. He carried his laptop with him most of the time, and she was pretty sure he was getting some work done, but he didn't socialize. She didn't force him to sit with everyone at mealtimes, except at dinner, where he ate quietly and then excused himself.

On a Saturday morning, Martha knocked on Lex's door to find him sitting up on his fully made bed in his sleep clothes. He had his laptop open in front of him, and his head was posed to face it, but his eyes were glazed, focusing on a point far past it.

"Hey," she said softly.

Lex looked up, then back down at his laptop. "Morning."

"How are you doing?"

"Busy."

"Do you want to be left alone?"

He shrugged.

That was as good as a confirmation that if she left him alone in his room, he would use the time to work himself into a worse mental state. She knew him too well. "Okay. Get up, get dressed."

He looked up at her again, curiosity in his eyes.

"We're going to do something as a family today. It'll be mindless, but it'll keep your hands busy."

"Though you said I wasn't going to do chores."

"It's not exactly a chore. We're going to paint your bedroom." She smiled softly. "You can even use that paintbrush your dad gave you."

"Oh." He looked down at his hands.

She sighed. "Sweetheart, if you're not up to it, I won't force you into it, but . . . I really feel like it would be good for you to do something today, other than staring at that computer. It doesn't have to be a lot, and—and I don't want to pressure you, but—"

"No, it's, ah . . ." He chuckled to himself, though there was no mirth in his eyes. "It's fine, I can paint. I just don't have the paintbrush."

"That's okay, we can pick up another one, and some rollers. Or do you want to run back to the mansion for it?"

"That's not what I mean." He closed his laptop. "Lionel burned everything you gave me."

Her heart had broken for her elder son so many times at this point, she felt like she ought to be used to it by now. But every time, it hit her fresh. "You could have told us."

"Compared with everything else, I didn't think it mattered."

Martha breathed in to chide him further, but she couldn't exactly disagree with him. Considering everything they could have lost, it was a small thing. She just knew it must have hurt. "Well, your father's gift was to let you choose a paint color for your room. Your brother's was just to let you know he considered you part of our family, and mine . . . well, I wanted you to have something that smelled like home, for when you're at the mansion. I can give you another quilt."

"You don't have to do that."

"I want to." She came to sit beside him on the bed, reaching out for his hand. She wanted to ask if he'd had to watch Lionel burn his possessions, but she couldn't get the words out. "I'm so sorry."

He pulled his hand away, set his laptop aside, and stood up. "I'll get dressed."

She stood as well, letting her breath out. She'd chosen the right time to push him to do this. He clearly needed it.


Jonathan had been hoping to get caught up on some chores that Saturday morning, but Martha came out to tell him that Lex was up and willing to go look at paint colors for his room, and she thought it would be best if he was the one to drive Lex to the paint shop. And that put an end to his other plans for the day.

If the last couple of years had taught him anything, it was that he had to keep his pride in check. Put the family first, even—especially—over the farm. If Jonathan was concerned was about finances, Lex could help them, and Jonathan would have to accept that, as much as he didn't like it. But if he was just concerned about whether he himself was doing enough for his own satisfaction, he needed to let that go.

They were quiet on the way to the paint shop, and Lex was fairly passive as they stood in front of the rows of colors. Jonathan had to ask specific questions to get him to open up about his preferences, and it was like pulling teeth, but they finally narrowed it down to a few shades of gray, and then to one with a mildly blue, almost purple tint. It might have been a little dark, if not for the window in his room, but Jonathan had told himself that he'd be supportive no matter what. Lex might only be living in their house for another six months, but that room would be his every time he came to stay with them for a night. Clark had chosen a color for his own room when he was eleven.

Jonathan did the best he could to start a conversation with his son in the car on the way back to the farm. He knew his son would be evasive when it came to questions about his own health or mental wellbeing, but he wondered if Lex might be more open about his plans for the future. "So, what's next for you, son?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean." Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck. "Well. You're the inheritor of LuthorCorp, but you don't have to run it."

"The hierarchical reporting structures within the company allow it to largely run by itself. I can delegate out the remaining tasks if I choose not to engage any further."

Jonathan nodded slowly. "Do you think you'll do that?"

Lex was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I haven't made any final decisions about the company, other than the merger with LexCorp. It'll grow and thrive with a strong leader. Without, it'll only just survive."

"You sound like you've made your decision."

"Maybe." He continued to stare out of the window.

Jonathan glanced over at him whenever he could spare his eyes from the road. "Son, you need to know that you don't have to. You can be anything that you want. Whether that's a CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, or a, uh . . ."

"Farmer?"

Jonathan smiled to himself. "You've got the work ethic for it, son, but I don't think that's what's going to make you happy. Then again, I don't know if the corporate world does, either."

Lex didn't say anything to that.

"What makes you happy, son?"

Lex's brow furrowed, ever so slightly.

Jonathan swallowed. He was sure he was going about this conversation all wrong, but Lex had been talking to him, at least for a little while.

Then Lex said, "Solving mysteries."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows—it wasn't what he was expecting to hear from Lex. "Mysteries? Like, detective work?"

"No. Mysteries of the world around me. Like Kryptonite."

"Like science." That made more sense to what Jonathan knew about Lex.

"I've been looking into some of Lionel's old research."

Oh. "Is that what you've been doing on your laptop over the past few days?"

Lex's silence was confirmation enough.

"Son, I'm not sure that's the best way to be spending your time. Not right now."

"It helps me stay close to him in the only way I know how."

Jonathan blinked a couple of times. He'd never heard Lex hint that he wanted to be close to Lionel, but now that the man was dead, maybe he needed the assurance. Jonathan just wished he understood better. "Well, what have you found?"

"I might want to pick up some of his old projects. His team of scientists had made some remarkable strides in the medical field."

"You want to be a biomedical researcher?"

"Technically, that's where my collegiate training lies."

Jonathan had a vague memory that Lex had once mentioned that was his college major, but most of the stories he'd heard from Lex about his college days were about individual professors or colleagues he'd interacted with. "Well, I think that's a field where you could really make a difference. I'd be very proud of you, son."

Lex didn't say anything to that. He didn't seem to react at all to the words that had once made him tear up with joy.

Jonathan didn't speak for the remainder of the drive back to the house. He couldn't quite figure out a way to word what was on his mind—that Lex hadn't called him Dad in days, maybe longer. Lex barely spoke to his family at all, but over the past year, even at the times when he'd been the most withdrawn, he'd seemed to relish addressing Martha and Jonathan as his parents. Maybe watching his biological father die had made that more complicated for him, and Jonathan wanted to ask, but he had no idea how.

A little part of him worried that something else had happened to Lex while he was in Metropolis, or in the moment Lionel had died. He didn't want to suspect that Lex's darkness had taken him over, but he caught himself wondering how they would know if it ever did. It might pretend to be normal, to take advantage of their family, or of Clark.

He shut down that little voice, though. Lex had proven himself, in every possible way; it was just his old Luthor prejudice talking. Martha would scold him for it.


Clark could have painted the whole of Lex's room in a few minutes, but he understood why his mom asked him not to. The slow, steady strokes of the rollers were calming, in a way. Clark had been feeling a lot better over the past few days, but he was sure Lex probably still needed it. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if he had ever had to watch his father die. Of course, he also couldn't imagine what it would be like to have a father like Lionel, but that just meant he had even less understanding of what Lex must have been feeling.

His parents had helped them get all of the furniture out of the room and tape up the edges—again, something Clark could have done in seconds—and they'd helped start the painting, but they'd left after less than a half an hour. Clark didn't mind it. He hadn't had any time alone with Lex for awhile.

Clark wasn't sure exactly how to start the conversation, but he didn't have to. Lex jumped in for him.

"I've been looking over some of Lionel's old research."

Clark made himself keep the roller moving, even though his muscles all tried to seize at that. If Lex was bringing it up to Clark, that meant Lionel had known more about Clark even before he'd kidnapped their whole family and . . . Clark preferred not to think about the rest. "Oh?"

"Some remarkable stuff. I don't know whether you knew that your blood has regenerative powers."

"Regenerative?"

"Healing. You, ah, gave a blood sample to a hospital once, right?"

He had, against his will, but that sample had been lost. Lex was probably referring to the sample he'd been forced to give to Morgan Edge's men, but it wasn't important how Lionel had gotten it. "What was he doing with it?"

"Using it to develop a serum that could raise the dead."

Clark almost dropped the roller. He whirled around. "Raise the dead?"

Lex was still painting. "Yeah."

"That's . . . that's really wrong. You—you know that's wrong right?"

"Why is it wrong, Clark?"

"Because, like . . . natural order, and . . . Lex, have you never watched a science fiction movie in your life?"

"Sounds like you've watched too many."

"But . . . you've got to know that's not okay! Playing God like that!"

Lex's roller stopped mid-stroke, and he turned back to look at Clark. "This was Lionel's research, Clark. Not mine. You sound like you think I'm going to pick up where he left off."

"Well . . ." Clark put down his roller. "Aren't you?"

"You just got done lecturing me about how wrong it is."

"Bringing back the dead, yeah. But . . . what about healing the living? Maybe with some research, you could find a way to, I dunno, bring back dead cells or organs or something. It could save lives."

Lex shook his head. "I don't know, Clark. I don't even have the sample they had."

"But you have me."

"I'm not going to dissect you to do research on your tissues. Isn't that the exact reason your dad doesn't want you to tell anyone your secret?"

"He's afraid of scientists getting ahold of me and taking advantage of me. I know you'd never do that."

Lex took a deep breath.

Clark was always saying he wanted to help people. This was such an obvious opportunity to do just that; who would he be if he turned it down? "Lex, what would you need from me to take back up Lionel's research? You know, in a not-evil way."

"Well, for starters, to take your blood. Which would mean using a needle made out of kryptonite."

"Okay." That was fine with Clark. It would hurt, but if it would ultimately save lives, he had no problem with it. "You have that?"

"There were a few found among Lionel's possessions. God only knows what he was using them for." Lex turned away, picking back up the roller. "But forget it, Clark. Neither of us want to start walking down the path of Lionel's research."

"Why not? What path?"

"It wasn't just your blood he was researching. He had a stack of open projects—"

"Okay. Could any of the other ones be used for helping people?"

"I guess we could go through them together and talk about them—"

"Great!" This could be a way for Clark to help Lex to keep his darkness from taking over. "I want to help you. Whatever it takes."

Lex looked down at the roller, then back up at Clark. "We'll look. That's all I'm promising."

Clark grinned.