Chapter 5 - May

A month in his room; a month in the house; a month on the property; a month of constant supervision.

It had never been stated that Lex would be free the fifth month. He didn't expect to be.

What he didn't expect was that when May rolled around, nothing changed at all. There wasn't a single word spoken of when anything would change.

Lex knew he deserved that, knew he needed it. Knew what his parents would say if he asked; knew the sympathetic looks they'd give him. Knew the way Clark would glare at him.

It drove him to his limit. Past it.

The desire to die was no stranger to him. But this felt like a new level of hopelessness. He had been given everything he'd ever wanted. There was nothing to strive for, nothing to look forward to. He couldn't imagine how things would ever get better.

The one, the only thing that kept Lex alive over the days and weeks that passed was the fact that his research into his father's heart condition was still ongoing. If Lex was gone, his father would have no chance at surviving.

Every day, Lex wished he could tell Clark about the research he was doing. He wished he could tell all of them, but he knew Clark needed it the most; he was the one who had been violated.

But the Kent family was already grieving the loss of their father before it came. They celebrated Clark's eighteenth birthday, and there were tears before the song was finished, the unspoken knowledge in the air that it would likely be the last time his father sang it to him. Lex knew hope wouldn't take the tears away; it would force their whole family to restart the grieving process if the hope was dashed.

Lex could tell them the truth if the research was successful. He wondered if he should tell Clark what he'd tried and failed to do, if his father died. He figured it wouldn't be easy—so far, he still wasn't allowed to be alone with Clark.

The only reason he was able to continue his research in secret was that his notes to the researchers would be more or less Greek to his parents. They'd even questioned him about some of the messages he'd sent, and he'd managed to sell them on a vague half-truth about a philanthropic medical project for a friend. They hesitantly allowed it.

Lex spent a few minutes on the evening of Clark's birthday in Clark's room, with their mother standing by the door listening. Lex had had a few ideas of what to get Clark for his eighteenth, but his mom had vetoed his suggestion, only allowing him fifty dollars of the money that had once been his. He'd gotten Clark a nice jacket, nothing more.

His birthday was a hot day. Clark smiled when he opened the gift, thanked Lex as he ran his hands over the material, and even gave him a quick hug, but it was too warm for him to try it on, so he merely set it aside.

There was nothing to say. They spent time with each other most evenings, supervised, but most days were as silent as this one.

Lex stood from where he'd been sitting beside Clark, wished him a last happy birthday, and headed out into the hall.

His mom looked up at him and searched his eyes, and he shrugged, numb. She pulled him into her arms for a moment, then she whispered, "I'm going to talk to him," and she went into Clark's room.

Left alone in the hall, Lex went into his own room. He shed no tears. These days, he had none.

Martha stepped into her younger son's room. Clark was sitting on the edge of his bed, running a hand over the jacket his older brother had given him, eyes glazed.

"Clark."

He looked up at her, and she came to sit beside him on the bed.

"Mom, why don't I trust him?"

"Because he hurt you."

"He's saved my life, too. And dad's."

Martha settled in. He didn't need her to talk. He needed her to listen.

Clark took a deep breath. "A lot of people's lives. And I know he's sorry for what he did to me. He gave up everything he had. He even . . . hurt himself."

Martha reached over to put a hand on his hand, which was sitting on his knee.

Clark shook his head. "Why can't I just trust him?"

"Because the good he's done doesn't take away the hurt he caused you."

"He says he had a good reason."

"Do you think there could be a good enough reason to do what he did?"

Clark winced. "I had a good enough reason to let him. I wanted to save my father."

Martha looked down at Clark's hand beneath hers. She hadn't devoted much time considering what Lex's reason might have been. She knew he'd taken Clark's blood, marrow, and CSF for biomedical research—she herself had been involved in his labs. The potential of Kryptonian materials was incredible, and from what she'd gathered, the medicinal properties of Clark's biological material was promising as well. Lex had made quite a bit of money on the discovered treatments; granted, he wasn't taking in that money anymore. Of course, the true potential of the Kryptonian materials had been in dealing with meteor-related infections and illnesses. They had never gotten far with that research, and it was completely stopped now.

But heart cells. Martha had a hard time imagining even the darkest parts of her older son being so unimaginably cruel. And if he had done it to be cruel, he would have emphasized that, used it as ammunition to insist he was unloveable and unforgivable and unredeemable.

He hadn't. Instead, Lex had insisted to Clark that he'd had a good reason. And he wouldn't tell Clark what it was.

Martha frowned. She'd assumed that Lex was refusing to tell Clark his reason because Clark wouldn't find it valid. It hadn't occurred to her until now that Lex would be harder on himself about what constituted a good reason than Clark ever would.

But that meant Lex hadn't done it to make money, or for some nebulous possible future medical advancement. He'd known exactly what he wanted when Clark came to his door. He wasn't anticipating some future heart condition he might cure; he knew of one he wanted to cure now.

. . . Oh.

Martha couldn't imagine why it had taken her so long to see it. It was right in front of her face. Hope bubbled up inside of her, and it was all she could do not to let out a laugh.

Jonathan might live.

Clark went on, "I mean, he didn't have to do that to me. He could have just given us the money," Clark went on. "Does he even love Dad?"

Martha almost burst out with what she'd figured out, but she held back. If Lex was trying to find a cure for Jonathan, why wouldn't he have told them? He was probably trying to spare them false hope. She owed him a good talking-to; he should know by now that hope was always better than hopelessness.

But she wouldn't force his hand. Lex should be the one to tell them, if he chose to.

"Clark," she said softly, "I . . . can't imagine the pain you went through. And you should take as much time as you need." She swallowed hard. "But if you think there's . . . even a chance, that he might be telling the truth—"

"If he had a good reason for wanting the cells, why not just tell me? Why wait until Dad was about to die to force me to give them up? If he had a good reason . . . I would have given them to him."

"I know, baby. But . . . you had to keep a secret from him, too, for a very long time."

Clark was quiet.

She squeezed his hand and stood. "Just think about it."

He nodded, and she kissed his forehead and left his room to enter her other son's.

Lex was sitting up on his bed staring off into space in much the same way Clark had been.

"Hey," she whispered.

Lex didn't look up at her. "Mom, why am I here?"

"Because we love you, and we want you here." She kept her voice firm. It was an answer she and Jonathan had discussed and agreed on.

"Clark is never going to forgive me."

"In many ways, he already has."

"He doesn't trust me."

Martha stepped closer and waited for him to look up at her. When he did, she looked him right in the eyes. "I don't want you to give up hope."

"I grew up believing hope was a weakness."

"And if you don't know by now the strength it can give, I haven't taught you much." She gave him a pointed look.

His eyes lingered on hers for a long moment, then he sighed and looked away. "I'm going to sleep."

She nodded, sighing, and squeezed his shoulder before heading out into the hallway, this time going to her own room.

Jonathan was already there. He gathered her up in his arms as soon as she stepped inside. When he let go, he asked her, "How does it feel to have two adult kids?"

"They're both still little boys."

Jonathan smirked.

Martha took his hand. "I think we need a vacation."

He snorted. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"No, I'm serious."

"Martha—"

"It's time. And you can't say we don't have the money."

He stared at her for a long moment, then he asked, "What do you have in mind?"

She smiled. "I've got a few ideas."