Chapter Text
If it were up to Lex, Clark’s parents would be wining and dining at the finest Metropolis restaurants, sleeping in the grandest room at a five-star hotel, and given an all-exclusive tour of LuthorCorp—all on Lex’s card, of course. Unfortunately, he needed to “compromise” and “understand that Ma and Pa can’t just leave the farm, it’s not easy for them to get help these days, Lex”.
“Compromise” came in the form of a weekend trip to the Kents' farmhouse in Kansas on Lex’s private jet. No fucking way was he going to brush elbows for two and a half hours with some sweaty hick from Nowheresville, except for Clark, of course.
Lex had already survived the meet-the-parents routine twice, both times carefully curated to demonstrate his desirable amounts of wealth and intellect. The father would be impressed by his bank accounts and car collection. At the same time, the mother would swoon when he complimented her jewelry and youthful complexion (often aided by thousands of dollars' worth of plastic surgery). Then, after a glass or two of champagne, they would be practically begging Lex to marry their daughter.
His first ex-wife was the daughter of a Texan-born media mogul. The marriage had been more of Lex’s father’s idea than his own; settling down was what a young man ought to do, after all. However, after two years of the woman practically draining Lex’s pockets, her father’s bankruptcy was the nail in the coffin for their divorce. Soon after, he married his second ex-wife, an heiress to a duke in Toran. The marriage lasted less than a year, ending in the two exclusively communicating the separation through Lex’s assistant and her advisor. While the marriages had ended for uniquely disastrous reasons, they had been similarly fostered from monetary mutual benefit and familial pressure rather than out of love, not that Lex was all that interested in love in his twenties.
At least those meetings had been predictable. Formulaic, even. Every reaction was anticipated and expected. Yes, they both led to a swift and painful divorce, but at least Lex had had every card at his disposal to flaunt his success to his future in-laws.
So if Clark was going to disarm him completely by making them fly out to Kansas with nothing but a suitcase and his fucking pride, Lex figured he should at least be prepared.
In the days leading up to the visit, Lex compiled all the necessary information on the town of Smallville (population of 1,947), Martha Kent, Jonathan Kent, and any miscellaneous data on the simple family lineage of the Kents. He read about typical Midwestern cuisine and pastimes, even the stupid ones like cornhole. He learned that Martha Kent ( née Smith) was born in Topeka before her family moved to Smallville sometime in the 1970s. Lex found black-and-white newspaper archives of a regional colorguard championship and barely legible yearbook photos of Martha Kent as a senior at Smallville High School. She met and married Jonathan Kent, the only child of a family of farmers, in the 80s, presumably immediately after graduating. Clark didn’t enter the family picture until 1995.
After hours of tedious archival research, Lex came to the unsurprising conclusion that the only extraordinary thing about Clark’s parents was Clark.
When Clark initially brought up the idea to Lex, he had shut it down immediately, mostly because it was a horribly stupid idea. Meeting Clark’s parents, who, unless they lived under a rock, likely were aware of Lex’s former plots to kill Superman, obviously complicated an already tenuous situation. If—and it was a big if—the meeting went well, it meant a level of interpersonal commitment that Lex hadn’t confronted in almost a decade. At the same time, it showed that Clark wanted to be with him. It showed that Clark wanted a future with him. For Lex, that would be preferable to the alternative, but the thought of meeting Clark’s parents still turned his blood to ice. And, if the meeting did not go well, Lex couldn’t guarantee Clark would stay, a notion that Lex rarely entertained.
(The last time he did, he couldn’t eat for two days.)
Ιf Lex had learned anything about Clark, it was that he adored his parents. Almost every day, Clark would be on the phone with his parents, texting them photos of day-to-day affairs, or receiving dorky Hallmark letters for the holidays. Lex found it strange how close they were; nevertheless, he would be damned if he didn’t get the Kents’ approval.
“Don’t be nervous.” Clark's hand grasped Lex’s gently.
They were only half an hour into the flight, and Lex was entirely too close to ordering the pilot to turn around. The clear advantage would be that Lex would get to keep his dignity and hold onto Clark with certainty. The disadvantage would be that it would disappoint Clark, and Lex would never hear the end of it. So he kept his eyes fixed on the compact window, willing this weekend to be over before it even started.
“I’m not.” Lex pulled his hand onto his lap, conscious that Clark could feel the sweat on his palm.
“You don’t have to worry, I promise.” Clark leaned into him, pressing into Lex’s side.
Lex kept his gaze on the sea of clouds. “That depends. Do they know about Boravia?”
“Yes, but I think a lot of people do. It was on international news.”
“And the rift? And the clone?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“And that I tried to kill you?”
“Maybe.”
“Clark.”
“Okay, yeah.”
Lex shifted uncomfortably. He needed to get these seats refurbished; they’ve become worn-out and scratchy. “And what about the dog?”
“Actually, I never told them about that. But they might’ve seen the video. You know, the viral one of me yelling at you.” How could Lex forget? He’d never admit it to Clark, but he still found it sort of funny. “Not one of my best moments,” Clark confessed, as if it was his fault at all.
“So it does seem like I have some things to worry about.” He can’t believe that he let Clark convince him to go to Kansas. At least in Metropolis, he could’ve clouded their judgment with fine liquors.
“It’ll be fine. I explained to them the situation,” Clark said, like it clarified anything. Then, as if Lex wasn’t four seconds away from parachuting out of the jet, Clark relaxed back in his seat and put his headphones on.
“Whatever the hell that means,” Lex muttered.
In a true act of desperation, he picked up his phone, turning his screen away from Clark, to scroll through the Wikihow article, “How to Impress Your Boyfriend’s Parents When You First Meet”. Thankfully, Clark seemed more interested in poking around at the miniature TV screen in front of him.
As soon as they touched ground, Lex’s driver was already waiting for them outside the terminal at the private airport.
The scenery during the ride to the Kents' consisted mostly of cornfields, farms with cornfields, and more cornfields. When they weren’t driving through cornfields, Clark was pointing out the various sentimental buildings that they passed—schools, libraries, movie theaters—and commented on the shiny new developments, which stood out like a sore thumb among the aging brick buildings. Watching the blur of small-town USA pass by, Lex found it surprisingly easy to imagine a pre-Superman Clark walking down the pot-hole-filled streets on his way to one of the three local cafes.
Pulling into the Kents’ driveway, Lex’s senses were immediately assaulted with the thick stench of fertilizer. He held up a hand over his nose, trying not to visibly gag. The Kents’ cows, the apparent offenders, greeted them with low moos as the car came to a halt in front of a one-story red-roofed farmhouse. It looked like it was pulled directly from a children’s storybook, complete with the sweet old couple, Martha and Jonathan Kent, standing on the porch steps waving out to them.
Clark, who insisted on carrying both of their suitcases, quickly threw the baggage down on the porch and pulled his parents into a tight hug, which they reciprocated warmly. Lex ambled a few steps behind, attempting to mask his uncertainty with politeness.
Jonathan Kent greets him first, holding a large, calloused hand out. “Alex, is it?”
Lex takes it into a firm handshake. “Just Lex.”
“What a unique name,” Martha Kent ducked away from Clark’s embrace and pulled Lex down into a hug.
“Ma,” Clark scolded, though smiling.
Lex found an opportunity in Clark’s admonition to pull away from Martha Kent and step away to a safe distance.
“It’s true! I’ve known quite a few Alexanders and not one—”
“Ma,” Clark interrupted, his face now flushed from embarrassment.
“Okay, okay. Come in, dinner’s almost ready.” She stepped aside, but not before turning to Lex. “We got the guest room all fixed up.”
Clark guided Lex into the house, one hand on the handle of a suitcase and the other pressed to the small of his back.
The image was sickeningly cozy, Lex mused as he cut through the heaping serving of roast beef and mashed potatoes on his plate. The Kents, talking over each other in their Midwestern accents, reaccounting unremarkable stories to Clark about family friends and local football games and seasonal produce. Clark nodded along, occasionally glancing over to Lex, probably to make sure he was paying attention. Lex tried to smile back, an affirmation of his attentiveness, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace.
Without mundane stories of his own to tell—like hell he was going to spill about his new pocket dimension project or international deals—Lex took to simply observing. As per his research, Jonathan Kent was a soft-spoken farmer with the thickest accent Lex had ever encountered. He had to strain his ears at every other sentence, and even then, Lex barely understood him. He laughed like Clark, ate his food like Clark, gracelessly and loudly, and wrung his hands when he talked about something passionately. Like Clark. Martha Kent was sharper, correcting her husband on misremembered dates or facts, while relentlessly doting on Clark. She had a slight tremor in her left hand. Lex couldn’t tell if her frequent head shake was a tic or a habit.
“So, what about your folks, Lex?”
Lex blinked, caught off-guard by Jonathan Kent’s question.
“Pa—” Clark reprimanded, looking genuinely mortified.
“No, it’s fine,” Lex interrupted. Maybe he would be better off pitied by the Kents, rather than resented. “My father died several years ago. My mother and I aren’t close.”
There was a heavy pause; the evening birds and the drone of the grandfather clock filled the silence.
It was Martha Kent who broke the silence with her honey-sweet drawl. “Well, dear, you’re always welcome here.” Then she leaned in with a faux-whisper. “Even without Clark.”
Clark flashed him a smile that said, I knew they’d love you. Lex desperately wanted to respond, I don’t believe it for a second.
The conversation quickly pivoted to projects on the farm and about the plausibility of hiring workers for the harvesting season. “Oh, that reminds me. Clark, be a dear and bring the tools into the shed. Forecasters say it's gonna rain tonight.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“And check out the fence in the morning, will you? The latch is acting up again.”
“Yes, Ma.”
“And don’t forget to seal that window in the guest room. Don’t want our guest here getting too chilly tonight.”
“Of course, Ma,” Clark said, looking at Lex, his eyes twinkling.
The guest room is unsurprisingly small, with one double bed pressed into the corner, a creaky wooden dresser that could’ve been made in the 1950s, and an old-fashioned writing desk. Clark fiddled with the paint-chipped window for a couple of moments before pulling Lex into a deep kiss.
“Wake me up if you get too cold,” Clark whispered, breathlessly.
Then he was gone, and Lex was alone. He slumped on the quilted bed, the mattress springs groaning underneath him.
Lex slowly woke to the sound of domestic bliss: birds chirping, soft clattering in the kitchen, the low mechanical drone of a tractor. As he stretched onto his back, Lex realized that he hadn’t slept this well in years.
He sluggishly followed the scent of breakfast into the kitchen, where Martha Kent was standing over the sink, scrubbing carrots. Two plates were stacked by the dishwasher; Clark must be outside already with his father. Lex felt acutely betrayed by Clark's decision to let him sleep in.
Martha gestured to the table with a single plate of two eggs over easy, a slice of thickly buttered toast, and a glass of orange juice. “Good morning. Made you one of Clark’s favorites, hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Lex sat down at the empty table, the euphoria of a good night’s sleep wearing off. “Thanks.”
Lex was attempting to ration his bread with the egg yolks when Martha spoke up again over the rush of the faucet. “Oh, I forgot to ask…You don’t mind helpin’ me out this morning with some errands? I meant to do them yesterday, but time seemed to run away from me.”
“Not at all,” Lex repeated, though dread began to replace the feeling of pleasant fullness in his stomach.
He cleared the rest of his plate despite the nausea, which seemed to please Clark’s mother well enough.
Just as Lex slipped on his shoes to follow Martha, Clark entered through the back door, covered in dirt and grass stains. “Where are you guys going?”
Before Lex could open his mouth, Martha popped her head back in the kitchen. “Oh, I’m just borrowing Lex to grab some groceries and soil for that new raised bed. We’ll be back before you know it.”
“Are you sure? I’m almost done outside with Pa…”
“Yes, you go take care of your things, and we’ll take care of ours. Can we get you anything while we’re out? Enough feed for the chickens?”
“Yes, Ma, all good,” Clark said, exasperated. Then he turned to Lex. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Lex tried to sound convincing. Surely, he can handle a couple of hours alone with Clark’s mother. “Go and pick corn or whatever you were doing.”
Clark cracked a relieved smile. “Alright. Have fun, you two.”
Lex had experienced many painful incidents, from getting his ass kicked by a flying dog to being publicly humiliated on international news, but at that moment, nothing seemed as agonizing as sitting in the passenger seat of a truck with Martha Kent in deafening silence. Worse still, the truck was about as beat up on the inside as it was on the outside. Lex tried his best to keep his hands folded in his lap to avoid unnecessarily touching the grime of the seat and the dashboard.
“Well, here we are,” Martha finally broke the silence as they pulled into a long driveway that ended in a greenhouse and a store with a neon sign that read: Molly’s Plant Nursery.
When they stepped out of the tetanus-ridden truck, Martha instructed Lex to carry seven fifty-pound bags of the soil that sat outside the shop into the back of the open truck bed while she paid the employee inside the shop. “Just holler if you need help!”
Lex willed himself not to roll his eyes until she turned her back. Martha might be used to her son’s superhuman strength, but Lex is more than capable of lifting some stupid bags of dirt.
The first four bags proved to be easy enough, but as Lex heaved up the fifth, he quickly realized that it sprang a leak, smearing soil across his brand-new ash-grey shirt. He threw the final two in the back quickly so that he could wipe off as much as he could before it seeped in and stained the fabric.
Martha Kent didn’t seem to notice the dark, wet stain across Lex’s chest when she exited the shop, tucking the receipt into her wallet. Or maybe she just didn’t care, since she turned the radio onto some gospel country station and started humming along jovially.
The Smallville grocery store was no more than seven aisles of local produce and highly processed foods. He couldn’t help but feel like a child as he pushed around the squeaky cart as Martha filled it with cereal, baking supplies, and out-of-season fruit. It was even more helpless standing in the check-out line watching Martha count her twenties and accept the senior discount.
As the pimple-faced cashier fumbled with her change, out of the corner of his eye, Lex noticed the people standing behind them staring him down. He turned to give the hick with a bad tan a taste of his own medicine when his gaze traveled down to the magazine rack with his face plastered on the front cover of Tell-All Magazine. In bold letters, it read, ‘Insider Exclusive: Does CEO Lex Luthor plan to destroy Metropolis…again?’
Then the hick dared to open his mouth. “Hey, are you this fuckwad that caused the rift? My nana almost lost her house!”
Maybe another time, Lex would’ve punched the remaining loose teeth out of this man’s head. Instead, he scooped up Martha’s grocery bags and stalked out of the store, seething.
Back in the truck, Lex’s anger had simmered into a quiet humiliation. He knew going to Kansas was the stupidest idea ever. Fucking Clark and his relentless fucking optimism.
Martha sighed heavily. “Oh, don’t mind them. People in small towns can be short-sighted.”
Lex shrugged dismissively. He had stopped being offended by the lies those gossip magazines were spewing a long time ago. For the most part. At least Martha seemed to be affronted on his behalf.
He noticed her hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. “You know, we were so afraid for Clark growing up. People do terrible things when they’re afraid or when they see something they don’t understand.”
“Right.” Lex kept his eyes fixed on the road. He had already anticipated this conversation before arriving in Kansas. Even before agreeing to go to Kansas.
“Me and Jon were rightly nervous when Clark moved to the city for school. But, oh Lord, did that boy want his independence. We…we hoped that bein’ from the city, folks would be more open-minded about Clark bein’ different. I suppose most are.”
Lex just nodded, now watching the speedometer rise steadily. He pointedly ignored the emphasis in her voice when she said most.
“He’s just tryin’ to help people. He’s a good kid. It’s a real shame when folks take advantage of that.”
As they close in on a stop sign, the deceleration causes Lex to lurch forward, bracing himself on the dashboard. He swallowed as he slowly sat back, his mouth dry. “Yeah. A shame.”
There were no cars at the four-way stop, but the truck was at a standstill. Eventually, Martha looked at Lex, her eyes glossy. “Might I be frank with you for a moment?”
“Of course.” Lex braced himself for a blunt confession. You’re no good for my son. Or maybe, You need to leave town as soon as we get back before Clark’s Pa gets the shotgun.
Instead, she reached over to place her hand over Lex’s. “Not too long ago, Clark told us, me and Jon, that you and him reconnected somehow. He told us that you’re a different man. That you…no longer was doin’ the things you were before. It was like a miracle; we couldn’t believe it. Now, listen here, because I will not tolerate any more hurt on my boy, but Clark is grown and has a good head on his shoulders. We can’t tell him who he can and can’t love. But, me and Jon, we just want him to be happy. Can you, from the bottom of your heart, promise to make Clark happy?”
“I will,” Lex responded. He couldn’t bring himself to move his hand. “I mean, yes. Of course.”
“Good.” She lifted her hand back to the steering wheel and finally moved past the stop sign. “Well, that’s all said and done. Let’s get this back before Jon starts wonderin’ where his truck went.”
Clark met them as they pulled in front of the house, streaked head to toe in grease and mud. Even still, he looked completely and utterly perfect.
“Lex!” Clark waved him over eagerly, his smile fading as Lex approached. “Oh, no, your shirt.”
“Ah. Yes.” Lex regarded the stain that had now thoroughly soaked through the fabric. He had blissfully forgotten about that.
“Here, you can go inside and soak it, and I’ll take care of these. You can wear one of mine.” Clark walked around to the back of the truck and hoisted all of the bags up at once, like they weighed nothing at all. “Ma! You want these out back?”
Clark’s room was an endearing time capsule of the early 2000s with his twin-sized bed, Mighty Crabjoys poster, and full collection of annotated Shakespeare plays. While looking for an acceptable shirt replacement, Lex took his time turning every leaf in that room, from his posters to the faded titles on his CDs.
When Lex picked up a shiny wooden plaque that read Smallville Middle School Spelling Bee - Third Place, a pair of hands brushed his bare shoulders, and he nearly threw the damn thing at the wall.
“Jesus, Clark,” Lex whipped around to see the smug bastard, still in his dirty coveralls. “Warn a guy next time.”
“Sorry.” Clark moved his hands down to hold Lex’s. “Find anything interesting?”
Lex shrugged. “I thought there would be more for football. Or, I don’t know, something athletic.”
“I wasn’t allowed to. Well, Ma and Pa told me I wasn’t allowed. I used to be pretty upset about it when I was a kid, but now I think it was the best decision they could’ve made. I could’ve really hurt someone.
“Probably. Or maybe you could’ve given the Smallville Giants a massive advantage. You could’ve gone to the big leagues.”
“True,” Clark chuckled. He pulled Lex in closer, pressing his lips to his neck, right below his ear. “Look at you, always thinking of the big picture.”
“Clark. Your parents,” Lex hissed as Clark peppered more kisses near his collarbone.
“They’re still outside. I finally have you to myself.”
“But you’re filthy.” Lex freed one hand to hold Clark by the nape of his neck, running his fingers through his mud-caked hair.
“Oh, you love it.”
Lex found himself at a loss for a response when Clark’s lips pressed against his, his hands pulling him close.
After some thorough showers and a hearty dinner of chicken and green beans, the Kents ushered them into the living room. It was meant to be family game night, but it quickly devolved into family photo night when Lex inquired about the thick leather book on the coffee table.
“And here’s Clark in his little graduation photo. Oh, jeez.” Lex is certain Clark’s father is crying now. His broad shoulders shake as he cradles the tiny picture in his hands.
Martha pats Jonathan on the back sympathetically. “Oh, Mush.” She shook her head, smiling at the photo. “What a little rascal Clark used to be. Especially when he was first learnin’ about his gifts…”
“Please don’t tell the tree story,” Clark groaned.
Martha ignored him, much to Lex’s delight. “When Clark was six years old, he learned that he could fly. So, he flew all the way to the top of the tree out there. See that one right out that window there. It used to be a little smaller, but still tall enough so we couldn’t reach ‘em at the top. Not even with a ladder! Oh, Lord, Jon had a fit. And Clark was crying ‘cause he could get up, but he didn’t know how to get down. Eventually, we had to call the fire department to get him down. They’d saved many-a treed kittens before, but never a treed child, that’s for sure.”
“Oh, look at this one,” she held up a candid of an adolescent Clark in Jon’s arms in front of a sign that said Smallville Animal Farm and Petting Zoo. “Now, when Clark was ten—”
“I’m so sorry,” Clark murmured, as Martha delved into a story about Clark freeing several captive animals and the family’s subsequent perma-ban from the farm.
“Don’t be,” Lex whispered back. “You were such a menace.”
Clarked nudged him lightly, with a glint in his eye. “Some may say I still am.”
When the Kents decided to retire for the night, Clark quickly collected the keys and a pile of blankets for a “surprise” that he planned. Lex was willing to humor him, especially since they had barely spent any time alone in the last twenty-four hours.
“Ma, we’re taking the truck out!”
“Be careful, Clark! It’s deer crossin’ season.” Martha called through the screen door.
Clark turned on the radio to a pop station and insisted on singing along to top forty hits as they drove along dark dirt roads, winding past endless cornfields and fenced lawns filled with sleeping cows. Eventually, they pulled into a narrow off-road clearing. Clark cut the engine, and Lex collected the pile of quilts.
There they lie on the truck bed, shoulder-to-shoulder, looking up into the infinite night sky. Lex would have poked fun at Clark for taking him stargazing, but he truly couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen this many stars, billions visible before their eyes; the vastness of the Milky Way inviting him to explore the unexplored, to know everything there is to know about their universe and the rest.
“Thanks for hanging out with my Ma all day.” Clark broke the silence. “I’m sorry I had so much work to do. Pa can’t really handle a whole lot anymore, and hiring help has gotten a bit much for them.”
“No, it was…nice.” Really, the affair was like slowly ripping off a bandaid, painful but fortunately ending in relief.
“That’s good. She thinks you’re great.”
Lex turned his head toward Clark, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”
“Well, yeah. They like you because you’re important to me. And…I told them everything, especially as things were changing. Things were as they were before, and now they’re different.”
“You really believe that?”
“Of course. Don’t you think so?”
Lex’s voice caught in his throat. Unspoken words hung suspended in the air.
One year ago, Lex would have happily used all of this information to his advantage. He would have ruined Superman’s life and reputation, no matter the cost, and done so with pleasure. One year ago, Lex would have never believed anyone if they told him that Superman was also a bespeckled journalist from Smallville, Kansas. He would have never believed that Superman could be so painfully mundane. That he laughs like his adoptive dad and cries during sappy movies, and likes shitty pop music. That he chose Lex over everyone else in the world.
Suddenly, Lex realized he’s been quiet for a little too long. “We didn’t play cornhole once. I can’t believe you made me learn all the rules for no reason,” he blurted.
Clark laughed. “I didn’t make you do anything. You did that to yourself.”
“Sue me for doing my research.” Lex turned back to the abyss above them. Up there in the expanse of space are the shattered remnants of Krypton floating aimlessly. He’s been aware of the fate of Krypton since he became aware of Superman’s existence three years ago. He’d never thought about it much, the death of a whole planet. Lex tilted his head back to Clark, studying his profile. “Clark.”
Clark's eyes met his, now dark and warm, reflecting the sparkling night sky.
“Do you ever think about what it would have been like if you stayed on your home planet?”
“Well, I would probably be dead.”
Lex gave him a look.
Clark shifted his gaze back to the sky. “Sometimes. Not as much anymore. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“If I wasn’t here.”
“I would be so damn bored,” Lex exhaled. In truth, he hadn’t felt alive until four years ago.
“Oh, I’m sure you would find something else to obsess over.”
“No. I don’t think so.” It’s a fact that there is no one like Superman. No one could be like Superman. Even when Lex tried deliberately to replicate him, to improve him, the defects were, in hindsight, inevitable.
“Well, I’m happy that I make life exciting for you.”
You do more than that, Lex wanted to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he asked, “Why don’t you think about it anymore?”
Clark intertwined his fingers with Lex’s. Lex could feel his pulse thrum through his wrist, grounding him, keeping them both on Earth. “I think I realized that everything I love is already here. My parents, the ones who actually raised me. My friends. My job. Smallville. Metropolis. You.”
Lex could see constellations in Clark's eyes. New ones, unnamed ones, ones Lex yearns to call his own. In the middle of a cornfield in Kansas, Lex felt as if he and Clark were the only two left on Earth.
Lex unlaced his fingers from Clark’s and traced letters slowly onto his palm, hoping that Clark’s ultra-keen senses would pick up on the subtle lines and curves of the words he can’t bring himself to say.
I love you.