A/N: Last chapter for about a month, I need a little time to figure things out. We're launching into the endgame now! Looking at 10-20 chapters left before the epilogue (which honestly might be its own story).

Chapter 40 - Thankful

Jonathan woke up in a hospital bed, and he was alive. It was more than he was expecting.

Martha had been kneeling beside the bed, her head resting against his side. He gently ran a hand through her hair, and she stirred. Her eyes were swollen, her skin blotchy and red, lined with wrinkles both from age and stress, and from the folds in the blankets as they had pressed against her cheek. She was still the most beautiful thing Jonathan had ever seen in his entire life.

"Baby," she said, and her face lit up with a smile, and she leaned forward to kiss him deeply.

He pulled away. "Where are the boys?" he asked, only to find that it was a lot harder to speak than he had expected.

"It's OK, you just finished surgery, don't put yourself under any more stress."

He pushed himself to sit up. "The boys?"

"Clark is in the waiting room. I tried to tell him to go home, but—"

"Lex."

Pain filled her eyes. "I-I haven't seen him since that night in the barn."

A cold hand gripped Jonathan's heart, and the machine next to him started beeping a little more loudly than it had.

"No, no, it's OK, we'll figure that out later. You need to rest."

"Martha, you don't know what happened."

"It doesn't matter—"

"I hit him."

Her jaw dropped, horror filling her eyes. "No."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't tell me that!"

"I tried to tell him. I collapsed before I could."

"He'll never come home."

"I know," Jonathan said.

Martha broke down in tears. He reached out to her, but she turned away, running off out of the hospital room.

He wanted to call out to her, but even if he had thought it would do any good, he didn't have the energy. Instead, he lay back in the hospital bed, feeling worse than he had in a long time.

Within a few minutes, the doctor came in to talk to him. It was good news for his family, he supposed, who had thought he was a dead man, but it still came as a shock to him. He had had hours to live at most, but they had run an experimental treatment on him. It had gone better than expected. It would buy him a year, maybe two. After that, only a miracle could keep him alive: they had never seen anything quite like the heart disease he had, and they didn't have a cure for it.

Jonathan knew they never would. It was a Kryptonian illness. He had, at most, two years to live.

And "live" was a strong word. They told him he would be exhausted most of the time, restricted to a very limited diet, allowed only the lightest of exercise—farm work was out. The doctor tried to phrase things positively. He would be tired often, but he wouldn't be in terrible pain all the time. He would get to see Clark graduate from high school, see him off to college if he chose to go. He would have time to set his affairs in order without feeling rushed, he would have one or two more Christmases with his family. Thanksgiving was right around the corner; he would be home in time.

For all he had taught his sons about how there was no shame in tears, he didn't allow himself to break down in this moment. Clark would likely come to see him at any time; Martha would return, hopefully. He wanted to be strong for them.

But there was little strength to be found in him. They took him home, gave him a wheelchair, Clark helped him up the stairs to his room, and he stayed there for most of the next few days. He didn't have the energy to do much else. Martha didn't bring up what he had done to Lex, and neither did Clark, although he could tell from the uncertain look on Clark's face that he knew what his father had done. He deserved their disappointment. He deserved to be bedridden; he didn't deserve whatever miracle had kept him alive.

After a few days, he asked Clark to help him come downstairs so he could be on the couch in the living room. In some ways, this was worse. He could see the work happening around him, but he couldn't help with it. Clark was running the farm on his own, with a little help from Martha, but Martha also had to see to Jonathan's health. It was clearly taking a toll on her. She was quiet, withdrawn. He caught her crying sometimes, but not as often as he would've expected. Mostly, she just seemed worn out.

Within the week, though, he was able to get up and walk around the house, taking on a few hours worth of cooking and cleaning each day, relieving some of the pressure that had been on his wife. If he needed to go out, he still used the wheelchair, and he didn't last any more than a few hours before he had to go home and rest, but it was something.

The day before Thanksgiving, he ended up pushing himself to his outer limits to be able to help with the preparations. It would just be the three of them this year, unless Lex took them up on their invitation, which they had had to give to a security guard at the mansion. Jonathan tried to help on Thanksgiving day, but both Clark and Martha told him to rest in bed, to make sure it would be able to enjoy the meal with them. He stewed in resentment for a few minutes that morning, but ultimately he slept through much of the day, after having over exerted himself the day before.

There was a light knock on his door in the mid afternoon, and Jonathan rolled over to sit up. "Come in," he said.

Clark stepped inside. "Mom says come down for dinner," he said.

"Thanks, son. I'll be down in a minute."

Clark nodded and headed out.

Jonathan had mostly worn pajamas, t-shirts, and sweatpants the last few days. Today, he went to his closet and put on a shirt and pants, and he slowly, painstakingly made his way down the stairs.

The smells were as incredible and beautiful as ever, although the spread was a little smaller. Evidently, the doctor's restrictions on sodium and saturated fat hadn't slowed Martha down much. Clark had put on a real shirt, too, and Martha had her pearl necklace, and both of them smiled at him as he came into the room, although Clark took a step closer with his hand out, as though to help his father if he stumbled.

But Jonathan didn't stumble. He took his place at the table. It was set with the nice china and silverware.

Four place settings. One of them empty. Jonathan knew why they had set up the fourth—on the off chance Lex did show up, they had to be ready for him, not scrambling to find him a plate—but it took all of Jonathan's willpower not to stare at it as he sat down.

Both Clark and Martha were watching him. In the thick of his conflicting emotions, he almost forgot why.

He cleared his throat and began his prayer of blessing. "Martha, I thank God for you. You grow in strength and beauty every year, every day. You set me an example to follow, in love, and compassion, and you make me a better man. I love you so much."

Her eyes sparkled.

Jonathan looked over at Clark. "I thank God for you, son. It's a joy to watch you learn and grow, in your abilities and in your care for others. I couldn't ask for any better, and I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you," Clark lowered his head a little.

Jonathan looked out at the empty place setting. He knew he shouldn't focus on it. This was Thanksgiving, a day dedicated to being thankful for what he had, not transfixed on what he didn't. A year and a half ago, Clark had been in Metropolis and Lex on that island. There was a lot to be thankful for. And he was thankful.

But it was his fault Lex's place was empty. It was hard to imagine celebrating the rest of the season while knowing that. Jonathan knew they would set the table for four on Christmas Eve, just in case Lex changed his mind. He was sure they would invite him to spend Christmas morning with them, which meant they would buy him gifts that would remain unopened under the tree. Even the little traditions would feel emptier than they had the year before. Decorating the house. Baking cookies. Picking up the Christmas tree...

...Oh, God.

"Dad?" Clark said softly.

Jonathan couldn't get the words out, couldn't voice his irrational what if's. If every action they took served to strengthen or weaken Lex, what if Jonathan had done better? If he had listened, a year before, instead of jumping to conclusions and punishing his son for something he hadn't done? If he had given the boy a fair chance when they had first met, instead of seeing the worst at every turn?

And if he had kept in mind what he knew, what he always knew, when Lex had confronted him last week in the barn: that his son was insecure, afraid, testing boundaries, testing his parents' love?

But Jonathan had failed the test. He had driven his son away from the family, taken him away from Martha and Clark.

And he'd broken yet another promise. Lex would never have his Christmas tree.

Jonathan dropped his head. "Forgive me… God, forgive me, I promised him, I promised…" Tears dripped from his eyes and onto the plate.

A moment later, he could feel his wife's warm hand on his back. He shook his head, pulling away from her. He couldn't take her comfort, not right now.

"You're not perfect, Jonathan." Her presence remained beside him, although she did not try to lay a hand on him again. "No matter how you try to be."

"He wanted to pick up a tree with us. Was that so much to ask? He begged me, and I promised him, next year…"

"Jonathan."

"I hit him. After all the months he spent flinching away from me—"

"Look at me."

He forced his eyes away from the table, looking up at his wife's perfect face, the love and affection that he could never deserve.

"Do you remember when we had lost both boys, and the baby, and then we lost the farm?"

He nodded, numbly.

"You sat me down on the back of the truck, and you told me we would have happy days again. And… we have had such happy days, haven't we?"

New tears rolled down Jonathan's face.

She cradled his cheek in her hand and looked him deep in the eyes. "Baby," she said, "it won't be today, and it might not be tomorrow. But I promise you, we will have happy days again."

The floodgates broke. He wept, as desperately as he had ever wept. He let Martha pull him into her arms, fully accepting her forgiveness, and then she opened one arm to accept Clark into their embrace. Broken and whole, all three shed tears, and at last, Jonathan was truly thankful.


Lex poured himself a shot. Clark's screams from days before still rang in his ears; he needed to clear his head.

As predicted, his phone began to ring before he even had a chance to drink it. He knocked it back anyway, and he picked up the phone. "This is Lex Luthor."

"Mr. Luthor, is this some kind of joke?"

Lex sighed. "Dr. Fine, I didn't hire you to question my research decisions."

"But... the condition you're asking us to study."

"What about it?"

"It doesn't exist."

"I can assure you it does."

"You send us one lousy anonymous case file that doesn't even look real, and a vial of cardiac tissue."

"Top priority. Find a cure for the disease. The key should be in those cells. Is there a problem?"

"Sir, the chances of a return on this investment are astronomically low, and—"

"Rest assured you'll get paid either way. Now, are you going to research that condition or not?"

A long pause from the other side. And then the call ended.

Shame. Milton Fine was a good doctor. He would be tough to replace.

"I don't understand. Why are you trying to save Dad?"

Lex poured himself another shot. It was about time he heard from his weakness, although he had hoped he might avoid this conversation for the night. "Because I'll never hear the end of it from you if I don't."

"I haven't said a word. You could do anything with Clark's heart cells, but…"

Lex sipped at his glass.

"You still care about the Kents. You can't help it."

"Are you finished yet?"

"Why don't you tell them why you wanted the heart cells? They'd forgive you. You could go home."

"We had a fair test. Jonathan failed."

"It doesn't have to be this way."

"For the love of…" Lex rolled his eyes and took another shot. Maybe if he drank enough, the voice would shut up.