Chapter 34 - Judgement

A quick phone call confirmed it. Lex's father was in a coma, and the doctors wouldn't know the full extent of the damage until he woke up—it was likely that he would be paralyzed—but the consensus was that the coma wouldn't last long. He would live.

Lex's first inclination was to fly directly to Metropolis, where the best doctors in the country were overseeing his father's care, but he held himself back. He didn't know if he could stomach the level of hypocrisy it would be to stand beside his father's bedside and pretend to mourn. It was even worse than staying away from the hospital. It had been days; Lex could take a few more hours to figure things out.

The last thing he wanted to do was to talk with Pamela.

Lex knew Clark hadn't intended to pronounce judgement on Lex when he'd prescribed a conversation with her. He'd only meant to provide some friendly, helpful advice, probably straight out of the Kent playbook. Lex was sure that when Clark was in trouble, he was free and encouraged to seek help from his parents, and he could imagine Mrs. Kent being much more sympathetic and understanding than her husband. Clark was probably just telling Lex to seek comfort from the closest thing he had to a mom.

But that wasn't how Lex saw it. The command to confess to Pamela felt more like a penance—or a referral to a higher confessional where he would receive his true sentence. It was as harsh a sentence as Clark could have given him. The very thought filled him with trembling.

The truth was, Lex had no idea what Pamela would say. She had been a good caretaker: gentle and loving and no-nonsense, firm when she needed to be. She was clever in her way, not quite as much as Lex's father, and she had strong moral principles. But that had been a long time ago. Aside from having no idea how she'd take the news that he'd tried to let his father die, he didn't know what role she'd want to play. Lex had been a child when she'd looked after him. He was subject to her authority at the time.

She might not have the authority now to put him in a corner, make him write lines, or send him to his room and take away his books. But she could still look him in the eye and tell him she was disappointed and ashamed at the person he'd become. She could walk away from him, refuse his help and the treatment he was providing, and die of her illness.

Lex would have refused to confess to her, but he couldn't help but interpret Clark's advice as a sentence. This was his penance, the risk he had to take. His only opportunity to earn Clark's friendship back.

His knees trembled as he knocked on the door of her hotel room. She came to the door and opened it for him, and she'd thrown her arms around him before he could even step into the room.

"Alexander!" She let go of him, but kept one hand on his arm, squeezing tightly. "I was worried sick about you!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"What do you think you were doing? Ignoring my calls like that?"

"I didn't mean to worry you."

"I didn't agree to let you help me with my cancer just so that you could give me a heart attack."

His eyes watered against his consent. It had been so long since he'd had something like this. Now he was going to lose it.

Her expression softened, and her hand lowered to his, guiding him into the room. "I'm sorry, Alexander, I was just scared. Are you hurt?" Her eyes wandered up to the bandage on his head.

"I'm fine."

She closed the door behind him and walked him over to the couch beside the window. "What's on your mind?"

"It's . . . my father." He looked down at his hands.

"He's in a coma, isn't he?"

"How did you know?"

"It's been all over the news." She put a hand on his shoulder and stroked gently with her thumb. "Are you okay?"

"No." He shook his head. "It's my fault, Pamela."

Her hand froze.

He held his breath, ready for the explosion.

But her voice was softer than ever. "What do you mean, Lex?"

"A column had fallen on him. He was pinned to the floor, and part of the ceiling was about to fall on him, and he begged me to save him—"

"And you didn't."

"No. I almost did, but . . . No."

"Wow." Her eyes wandered away from him, and her face was even paler than usual.

That was all. He had expected panic, rage, disappointment—but she just looked pensive. "Aren't you going to . . ."

"To what?"

"To yell at me? Kick me out? Tell me I should have saved him?"

"Should you have?"

Lex's breath caught in his throat. Even if he were to be given a second change, he couldn't imagine having made a different choice, especially not after visibly hesitating. His father was already going to kill him when he woke up—that probably wasn't an exaggeration.

She sighed. "It's not your job to decide who lives and who dies. It's not fair that you had to. Your father has killed before, and he'll kill again."

"I know."

"And you—you had to choose between him and . . . everyone he would have killed."

His eyes fell closed.

"I saw him raise you, I watched him beat you. If you were the one who was pinned, I don't know if he would have saved you. In your place, I don't know what I would have done."

"You would have saved him."

"Probably. But I don't know if that would have been the right decision."

"I should be in prison."

She paused for a long time, then she looked him right in the eyes. "There are two reasons why a person should go to prison. One is to protect others from him, because he's a danger to society. The other is to punish him, because he deserves it." She brought a hand to his face and wiped away a tear he hadn't noticed falling. "I don't think you're a danger to anyone. And I don't think you deserve to be punished."

"I do," he choked out.

"You're punishing yourself already."

He shook his head, looking down again. "I deserve worse."

"Maybe. But that's not up to you."

"Then who?"

"Well, you're not going to call the cops on yourself. You might answer to your parents, but your mother's gone, and your father's in a coma."

"So it's up to you," he said.

She gently tipped his chin up, forcing him to look her in the eyes. "What do you want from me, Alexander?"

"Judgement."

"You want me to be the one to judge you?"

His heart skipped, but he kept his gaze. "No court is going to do it."

A long moment passed as Pamela sat with her eyes closed in deep concentration. Lex felt like every muscle in his body was tightening. The tension in the air felt similar to the long minutes that had sometimes passed in his teenage years, while his father was cooking up a particularly creative punishment for him. The difference now was that he would deserve whatever was coming to him.

After a long while, she sat up a little straighter and put a little distance between them, turning to face him. "You need to do three things. You don't have to do them all at once."

"Okay."

"First, you need to find a therapist. Someone who can help you with your issues but won't report you to the police."

"I—I don't believe in that kind of thing."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "That's your father talking. He would never allow you to accept a therapist's help."

"They wouldn't be able to help."

"Therapy helped me quite a lot when I received my diagnosis."

Lex didn't like the idea of it. Aside from being convinced it wouldn't be helpful, Lex was more than a little guarded about his personal life. It was difficult enough to open up to Clark, and Lex hadn't told Clark everything. Opening up to a stranger was unthinkable. It sounded worse than prison.

"Alexander, do you trust me?"

That was a big question. She had left him when he needed her the most, but it hadn't been her fault. And for now, he was choosing to trust her. He didn't have a choice. "Yes."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "The second thing is, you need to keep a close eye on your father. When he wakes up, he might not remember what happened between you, but if he does, he's going to come after everything and everyone you love. You need to be at your best and stay on your guard."

"Of course." He would have done that anyway. "What's the third thing?"

She smiled and placed a hand on his cheek. "You need to forgive yourself."

Lex flinched away from her. "No."

"You did the best you knew how to do in that moment. You couldn't have made any other decision."

"No, but I should have."

"That's not the point."

"I can't forgive myself, Pamela."

"Your therapist can help you."

"I won't forgive myself."

She raised her eyebrows. "You would defy me so soon?"

"How could you ask me to . . . how could I . . ."

"Alexander."

"You—you can't ask me to do this." He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks.

"You don't have to do it today."

"I n-never—" His shoulders shook, and he buried his face in his hands.

She wrapped her arms around him. And for the first time since his mother was alive, he cried into another human's shoulder.