A Promise of Things to Come

Notes: This was a nonsensical headache that several people kindly attempted to make sense of. Fromward. It's done. Whew. So how many different ideas were discarded? Haha. Thanks for sitting through them all. Many thanks to kitkat3979 for the beta. And listening to me change ideas on a weekly basis. And thank you chasethecat for listening to my every-so-often "I'm almost finished!" that ended up spanning a couple of months. And years, if you want to get technical.

It's hard not to feel like a god here. Dad's been weaning him on the sensation since childhood. In private jets and sports cars, and by holding people's lives in the balance with a signature on a dotted line.

Now he's walking on water, still and solid, waves of white beneath his feet — frozen for miles in all directions.

The howl of the Arctic is little more than a whispering breeze against his ear. And it's not even cold. Maybe that's because Clark's chest is against his, body pressed into him like a shield.

A lifetime with Lionel Luthor's taught him this much: standing firm-footed in the face of doubt, commanding with confidence when there is none — how to lead an army into the wilderness.

"You don't have to do this. Not if you don't want to," Lex says.

It's anyone's guess where he learned compassion.

The doubt's evident in Clark's grip of his gloved hand, fingers linking with his, eyes widening and head shaking.

"Liar." And a smile peeks through the uncertainty in Clark's face.

When Clark gives him that look, it's hard not to want to pull Clark closer, to take him away from the polar caps and tuck him safely under a flannel blanket in a farmer's barn.

But they've both been born for more than fields of corn and the Kansas sun. Lex wants this, knows Clark wants this too.

"Stuff of legend, right Lex?"

Clark's pulled that line on him before, as if it's some barometer of truth. It's a promise Lex made once, one that Clark's going to hold him to.

"They'll have to rewrite the history books," Lex replies.

It's easy to feign certainty around Clark, easy to make grand proclamations and sweeping statements. He knows how to wrap himself in a cloak of confidence. He's always worn it well, better than silk or satin.

Especially when he can see the wheels spinning in Clark's head, slow and creaky. He's grown accustomed to that look of concentration on Clark's face, etched in furrowed brows and pursed, pink lips.

It's what makes Clark a bad liar.

"You're letting your fear show," Lex says.

"I am?"

He could say something, but instead he pulls Clark's head to his and leans in, skimming the surface of Clark's mouth in a gentle truce of tongues and lips.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," Lex utters the words in a soft caress, as much to himself as to Clark.

What little light there is frames Clark's face — dark, windswept hair and ruddy skin aglow. Clark makes isolation, the quiet solitude of this place seem more beautiful than it should.

It's a kind of beauty that's not entirely alien to Lex. Pure, unadulterated dependency. Need more than personal favors or gifts between friends.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because this is your destiny, Clark."

"Ours," Clark corrects him.

It's when he says those words that Lex can feel a chill scaling his spine. Too many thoughts coursing through him at the same time, too many emotions coloring his vision of Clark. His Clark.

Such a discovery, of a future greater than his own, should've filled him more than it did. He wonders, though, if his presence is theft. Theft in the form of security.

Greatness can't be achieved when weighted down by weaker, more fragile beings. Mortal beings. Because one day, he won't be able to go on holding Clark's hand, being Clark's lifeline.

He can't help but wonder if being here is robbing Clark of his real destiny. Because somehow he doubts immortal aliens were meant for anything other than being alone. It probably makes conquering entire planets easier, too.

But if by being here, it makes Clark feel somehow less alien, less alone, then maybe that certainty on its own is enough to eclipse all others.

Clark's reminded Lex of what he's said about fate and destiny before, too, and Lex is never quite sure how to respond to it.

"I'm flattered you think so, Clark."

He isn't sure how it ever got to this point, of Clark needing him, wanting him. But in the back of his mind, Lex knows he needs this too. He's never been someone's savior before. It's intoxicating and powerful.

Godlike.

It's the same feeling he had when Clark crumbled into his arms before Jonathan's grave.

The realization is potent enough to break Clark's grip from him.

"Go," he says, reaching into his coat pocket, slipping the Kryptonian stones into Clark's hands.

"Lex?"

"What is it?"

"I'm sorry … For bringing you out here. Getting you involved in this."

"I would've come anyway. And I'm going to wait. Right here."

"And you won't leave me?"

He kisses Clark's forehead, taking in the scent of his cologne on Clark.

"I'm usually the one who's left behind." Mom, Pam, even Helen. And probably sooner than he likes, Clark. "I won't leave you."

Lex always wanted a reason to believe in the caves and its prophecies, and now he doesn't need one.

Everything's swirling, the earth spinning around him and for a moment he could be lost in this foreign land. But Clark's figure is unmistakable in the distance, and the dark blue of the jacket and jeans, the tan of the boots, the only color against the pale horizon.

And Lex remembers, the memory marching through his mind.

"Lex, there's something important I need to tell you."

Until now, he'd seen everything and knew nothing.

"Clark, if there's anything I can do for your family. What is it you need?"

The earth is opening, glowing beams sprouting forth, a display of daggers cutting through snow.

Flashes of light, faster than his brain can process. And he doesn't want to, but his eyes burn, enough to force an arm over his face, obscuring his vision.

"Not to be alone. Thing is, I'm not good at keeping secrets from you."

Columns rise up— like secrets revealed, of the crystals, of the cave, of the crash … of Clark— moving away from the ground and instead towards the sky, walls unfolding, meeting each other in unison.

"Are you sure about that, Clark?"

A hint of sun almost gilds the edges, a vast expanse of crystal domes and translucent pillars.

"But I have to trust you first, and I'm … I'm not sure how anymore. And that scares me."

And suddenly it stops growing. It's wide enough to hold them both, and the secrets they shared between them. And yet it's close enough to carry and cradle all doubt, he hopes, and create something beautiful from it. Something beautiful like Clark, like this fortress.

Lex is making his way down the frozen slopes, nearing the palatial walls, mightier than Mount Olympus, taller than the Tower of Babel.

It's easy enough to wonder how the scholars and scribes will commit this to memory once he's gone, written in Arctic arches and forged along a path of snow.

He'll be remembered, that much he is sure of. It's always been his destiny.

He can feel himself moving closer to it each day.

"Clark, if your destiny is to be alone, then I'll be the one to change it."

Closer to Clark.