February 11-12, 2006 (Reckoning)
Clark sat in the loft, thinking--the radio was on, but he wasn't hearing it. Someone came into the barn and began climbing the stairs; he glanced up and saw Lana approaching. "Hi," she said. "I dressed warmly, like you suggested. Why so mysterious--what did you have in mind?" Clark looked at her, and his mind went blank, for a moment--he had been lost in deep thought.
"I thought we might go skating, at the lake," he said, after a moment. "It's frozen over."
"Hey, up there!" Chloe called from down below. "I've got a thermos full of cocoa and two pairs of girls' skates--yours are in the car, Clark."
Lana's face lit up. "Ooh, ice skating--let's go!" She hugged him.
In the car, Chloe drove. She took the turns carefully, but on one of them, close to the lake, the car hit a patch of ice and they slid for a moment, nearly going off the road into a field before they regained traction. In the back, Lana quoted cheerily from a poem she remembered from school, "'I think I know enough of hate to know that for destruction, ice is also great, and would suffice.'" Clark glanced quizzically at her while Chloe snarled "Unhelpful!" as she glared at the treacherous surface. "Frost." said Lana, turning towards him. "It's a little more than that," he replied, gesturing at the snowdrifts on either side of them. She giggled.
---
The next evening, the Talon was full of people--Kent campaign workers and well-wishers. A minute ago, they had been noisy and excited; now, they were silent and glum, because this wasn't to be a victory party, after all. The television blared, "And I repeat, we're declaring that industrialist Lex Luthor has defeated his opponent by a narrow margin, and will serve in the Kansas State Senate, barring a recount." Someone switched it off.
Clark was with his parents, and told his dad he was proud of him regardless. Chloe was nearby--she thought of something she wanted to say to Lana, and looked around for her, fruitlessly, as Lana had slipped away into a corner and was dialing the victor's private line. "Congratulations, Lex," she said when he picked up.
"Thank you, Lana--it's nice of you to call." He sounded a little drunk.
"It doesn't sound like there's much of a victory party going on where you are." There wasn't any background noise on Lex's end.
"I'm unwinding at the mansion. Once the polls closed, I sent my campaign team away--they're blowing off steam somewhere else, I'm sure."
"You're all alone on your big night? How awful."
"Well, come by and join me, then." Lana was inclined to do so--it might look bad, though, leaving the dejected throng here to go and celebrate with the winner; bandwagon-jumping at its worst. But Lex was her friend, and she hadn't minded who won, not really.
"Why not? I'm on my way, Lex." As she said Lex's name, Jonathan Kent was passing by--he turned and drew up next to her, looking cheerful given the circumstances. He gestured for her to hand him the phone, and she said, "Lex, hang on a minute--Mr. Kent would like to talk to you," and passed it off to him.
"Lex? I just wanted to congratulate you--you ran a fine campaign."
A pause on the other end, then, "Thank you, Mr. Kent." He sounded slightly surprised, and why not--it had been two years, at least, since Jonathan Kent had had anything at all pleasant to say to him.
"Listen, I'm not going to dispute the result and demand a recount--you beat me fair and square. Good luck to you in the State Assembly, son--I mean that." They said goodbye and ended the call. Jonathan handed the phone back to Lana.
"You'd have been a good Senator, Mr. Kent--that was very gracious of you."
"Thank you, Lana. I'll tell you a secret," he said, leaning in conspiratorially, "I'm not really sorry to have lost. Let Lex have the state house--I'm more convinced than ever that I belong on the farm." He winked, then assumed a more serious expression as he went to console and thank his supporters. Lana said her goodbyes, and left. On the road, as she drove to the mansion, a school bus full of rowdy Smallville High teens passed her, cheering and waving, and she waved back at them and honked her horn.
---
Lex was enjoying another in a series of celebratory glasses of brandy when Lana came into the study. He rose to greet her.
"Lana. I'm glad you came."
"So am I." She went over to him and touched his arm. "Are you all right, Lex? You don't seem that happy, for an election-winner."
"Trust me, Lana, I'm over the moon." He turned suddenly and dashed his glass and what remained of its contents into the fireplace, causing a burst of flame. Lana jumped, and said, "Lex, what--"
"For good luck," he said mildly. "Sorry to have startled you."
June 1, 2006 (Vessel)
Late into the night, and Clark was in the Fortress, pleading with the representation of Jor-El that dwelt there. "There has to be a way!" he cried. "Human life is fragile, my son," was the response. He was desperate to undo what had happened late that afternoon: the death of Lana Lang in a fall from the roof of the LuthorCorp tower. Lex was devastated and blamed himself--perhaps with cause. He hadn't said much else--like what the hell they were even doing up there, Clark thought bitterly. It was a last-ditch effort, coming here, but Kryptonian technology had few, if any, limits, from what he'd seen to date--if there was a way to restore her to life, it was here.
Several things had gone wrong simultaneously, atop the building--the sudden gust of wind and the blinding flash of reflected sunlight in the pilot's eyes first among them, and maybe no one was to blame after all. After the accident, the police had cordoned off the street around the point of impact, and a man had approached the perimeter, taken a long look at the scene, and then hurried away. The figure had been wearing a cap pulled low, but Clark had seen him for a split-second as he turned away. Subconsciously he had noticed something familiar about the man--his profile, his gait, something---but it had never really registered; his mind was elsewhere.
Jor-El was now delivering stern warnings against tampering with the fates of humans; Clark, sensing there might actually be some remedy to be grasped at, begged for all he was worth--and he won out, in the end, or perhaps his biological father was always going to allow himself to be convinced, as part of another test, or lesson. From a bank of crystals, one emerged: one that could achieve the desired result by rolling back time itself, it was explained, undoing the event entirely. And the crystal was unique, of course--it could only be used once and could never be replaced, and at that, Clark hesitated; desperate and grief-stricken as he was, he paused to think. What if something worse were to happen, in the future? It almost certainly would, at some point, the world being what it was--and there'd be no way to undo that catastrophe, whatever it happened to be. His imagination fired, and he began to envision blasted cities, mass graves, the deaths of the other people he loved...
But he stopped himself--that was no way to live, holding back in fear of the unknown. That was cold, Kryptonian logic, to run the numbers and work out the risks and rewards. Lana was dead, and he'd just have to save her and prevent terrible things from happening in the future, wouldn't he--what else were his abilities for? No one else had to die in her place, necessarily; Jor-El had been clear on that point. He reached out for the crystal, decisively.
---
Midday. "All right, McFly--do you want to start with how or why?" Chloe had just pulled Clark into a quiet corner of the Planet basement, after he'd demonstrated to her satisfaction that he was, in fact, repeating that day over again. He laid out the facts of the case for her.
"Unbelievable," she said thoughtfully. "Well, not literally; I do believe you. So I guess there's a crystal for everything at the Fortress--is there one that gets ink out of suede?" She pointed to a fresh stain.
---
"Come on, Clark, what is this? Did you have a psychic flash? A bad dream? Or did they deliver you a copy of tomorrow's Planet, by mistake?" Lex was amused and disdainful, looking across his desk at Clark.
"Look, I know you think this is stupid. Call it a personal favor to me, then. Your plans with Lana today...stick to cars. Take the limousine; drive your Porsche. Just stay off the roof and out of the helicopter. Please."
The pleading quality in Clark's voice convinced Lex. "Oh, fine. As a personal favor to you...fine. All right. Terra firma it is."
"You promise?"
"Yes, I promise," Lex answered exasperatedly. Clark, he thought, what is it this time? "Well," he continued as an idea occurred to him, "if you insist on interfering in my plans, Kent, there will be a price to pay." He thumped his fist on the desk mock-angrily.
---
In the Planet's basement, Chloe wrapped up her final task of the day, while Clark leaned against her desk, placidly watching the newsroom go about its business, content that he'd done what was needed--Lana was safe, he could trust Lex to keep his word.
Chloe banged on the keyboard angrily. "The system's been screwy all day--IT say they're baffled, that bunch of useless...Clark, you've already seen what happened, the first time today--did I manage to sort this out? Tell me 'no' so we can get the hell out of here." He turned and shrugged, with a smile. She scowled, took a breath to calm down, then tried again. After a bit more time and effort, her work was completed and filed.
"Finally--there. Done. Let's go," she said. She stood up, directly into a shaft of bright late-afternoon sunlight breaking into the basement from a window near the ceiling. She blinked, disoriented for a second; a few motes of dust were visible drifting around her head. Clark looked at her and, on a whim, moved close and kissed her. A moment passed; then someone whistled from across the room, and someone else tittered, and Chloe broke the embrace. "Clark! I work here, remember?" She poked him in the stomach, then grabbed her things and they moved toward the stairs, and then up to the street, leaving the building by a side door.
---
"Have a good evening, Mr. Luthor; miss." They nodded at the guard as they walked past, then Lex and Lana exited through the revolving front door of the LuthorCorp building. They crossed the street and walked south for half a block until they were in a paved area with benches and planters that abutted the sidewalk; a sort of park in which office workers ate their lunches on pleasant days.
"Ah, the magic hour--Metropolis looks lovely," Lex said. "Even delivery trucks and hot-dog carts can be pretty when bathed in golden light."
"It would all be even lovelier from above, I imagine," Lana teased, trying to sound sarcastic, but she wasn't all that disappointed that Lex had changed their plans at the last minute--they could dine just as well in Metropolis.
"Maybe, maybe, but high places can be perilous, or so I'm led to believe." He looked at his watch. "Should be along any moment." They watched some nearby pigeons squabble over a crust. "My money's on the brown one--which one do you like?"
Clark and Chloe were standing across the street at the corner, waiting for the traffic signal to change. Chloe looked back, up and over her shoulder at the Daily Planet's globe gleaming in the sun, and felt a familiar thrill of pride. The light turned green, and Clark took her hand as they walked across.
"Oh, here they are." Lana waved to the approaching couple, who waved back. Then Clark seemed to sense something and turned, while Chloe kept moving forward. A man with a cap pulled low to obscure his face had slipped through a knot of people waiting for a bus and was approaching them quickly. Lex and Lana saw that he was holding a gun at his side, in his right hand; Clark didn't. He had caught a shadowed glimpse of the man's face, and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before exclaiming, "You!" Lana yelled a warning just as the man shot Clark twice at point-blank range, at the same time as Lex was drawing his own small pistol from the shoulder holster he'd taken to wearing since his father had been killed.
The shots tore through Clark's chest--he was utterly bewildered for the second or so before he lost consciousness. One bullet nicked a rib and took a slight downward trajectory--it hit a drinking fountain and tumbled to the ground, a misshapen green lump. The other passed cleanly through and struck Chloe in the head, killing her instantly.
As the two of them were falling, the man moved to the side to get a clear view of Lex and Lana. He lifted his head slightly--it was enough for the wind blowing through the rows of office towers to catch the brim of his cap and tear it off. It flew wildly away and out into the street, and they recognized Jason Teague in spite of the beard and spectacles he now wore. His eyes rolled crazily behind clear glass lenses.
Lex's arm was drifting toward Teague to fire, but Teague fired first. Lex's gun dropped, and he fell to his knees, wounded. Jason advanced on him. "Bye bye, Senator," he said, with an awful smile. "Say hi to my mother." Lana dove for Lex's gun--Jason lunged forward and kicked her in the head, and she fell onto her back and lay senseless. He emptied the gun into Lex, firing seven more times before it clicked.
Teague paused, gazing at the stunned Lana, staring into her vacant eyes, then he stepped past her, aiming a kick at Lex's gun that sent it skittering across the plaza. He moved quickly toward the smaller street that ran along the north side of the park, and pulled another clip from his pocket. He reloaded the gun as he moved, perhaps thinking he might have to shoot his way to safety, then he slipped away around the corner and out of sight. Any people nearby had fled after the first shots--the immediate area seemed deserted.
After a minute, Lana struggled to her feet and looked at each of her maimed friends, aghast. Sirens could be heard, growing louder. She knelt next to Lex--his pulse was very weak, and he was surely losing too much blood to live. She couldn't stem the flow, couldn't even slow it down; there were too many wounds. He was blinking and trying to say something; she put her ear close to his lips but couldn't make it out; then he died. She looked toward her other friends, and gaped as Clark stirred and then rose slowly, his shirt drenched. He looked down at Chloe for a moment. Then he looked at Lana. Clark saw her, and the stricken Lex at her feet. Lana wiped away some tears, and started to say something to him, but he wasn't there anymore, and neither were Lex or Chloe.
August 10, 2025 (Absent)
I look up at the stage, and there's no need to wonder "Where are they now?" because there they are, the briefly-popular band called Lifehouse. Somewhat greyer and heavier than in their heyday, sure, but no one escapes the ravages of time, and happily, all of the original members are still alive. Lex paid an awful lot to get them here twenty years ago, he told me, but it didn't cost me too much more on top of the airfare to convince them to reunite here at Smallville High. Not that it matters; I have more money than I can ever spend, thanks to him. I just thought it would a nice touch, the same band twenty years later, although I didn't see them myself, the first time around. Everyone said they were all right, though.
Oh, there he is, across the gym. "Clark! Over here!" He must not have heard me, it's too noisy in here--I'll go over and say hi in a minute or two. I suppose Lois might've come with him but she's overseas--I read her piece yesterday about the rioting in Stalingrad. She shouldn't take such awful risks, but she always gets out unscathed--sometimes miraculously so.
It's been twenty years since I was last here at school, and it's been an awfully bumpy couple of decades, I will admit. Perhaps a long time ago someone hit me with that old Chinese curse: "May you live in interesting times." - it might've been that time I went to China, come to think of it. Sometimes--I know this sounds conceited, but bear with me--I feel like a star. Literally a star; I just sit there, floating in space while things orbit around me. Funny, right? Things happen to me, or around me, and I watch them and try to keep my head down.
I used to think a lot about that stuff, used to have some funny ideas about life, and fate--I would wonder endlessly if things would've turned out differently if I'd made different decisions; zigged when I might have zagged, and so on. I don't bother about that stuff anymore; I came to the conclusion that it was a waste of time. How could I ever have chosen any differently than I did?
"Hi, Lana--you look beautiful, as always," Clark says to me, having materialized at my side and looking quite dashing himself.
"Hello, Clark--thank you. I'm glad you could make it." We chat for a few minutes about this and that--he asks me how my daughter Lisa is, and I tell him that she's doing well at Met U. Some old classmates wander over--Paul Chan, Paige de Jong, Abigail Fine--and we say hi. "I like the decorations," Clark says to me--'Look to the Stars!' is the theme—a bit more nostalgia there, I did my homework. Then the band start up a new song, a slower one, they had a minor hit with it, I think, and I ask Clark to dance. He gets a funny look on his face and tries to decline, but he's just being a little bashful, surely, so I insist, and out onto the floor we go. And it's all very nice, though Clark looks like he's a million miles away.
END
Author's Note: Thank you for reading it; feel free to tell me what you thought, good or bad. My acknowledgement and thanks to the Smallville writers for writing some good episodes that I could jumble around like this.