School on Tuesday was surreal; Clark tried to be inconspicuous, and people accommodated him by ignoring him completely. No one spoke to him unless he spoke first, and often not even then. Chloe and Pete cooperated by avoiding him whenever possible, and even his teachers seemed to be in on the conspiracy; he didn't get called on once all day, even when he'd obviously not been paying attention.

Gym class was even weirder. In the locker room, the guys' eyes slid right over him like he wasn't there, even when they pointedly took their clothes to a different row of lockers to change. His teacher gave him a few sympathetic looks, but even he didn't actually speak to him. By the end of the day, Clark had an intimate understanding of the reasons why shunning was a grave punishment in some societies -- it was hard to feel normal while everyone around you pretended you didn't exist.

He decided to skip his usual stop at the Talon, not wanting to face his peers any more than he had to, so instead he went back to the castle. When he got there, he thought about calling Lex just to hear a friendly voice, but didn't want to interrupt him at work. Clark's halfhearted attempt at homework was severely hampered by his missing books, so instead he screwed up his courage, picked up the phone and dialed home.

"Hello, Kent Farms." His mother's voice was warm, familiar. He didn't think anything felt quite as much like home as that sound.

"Hi, Mom. It's me, Clark," he replied, unable to keep the stress of the day from creeping into his voice.

"Clark! Are you all right? You sound awful!" she said, her tone suddenly sharp and worried.

His mother's concern was like a soft blanket, warming something deep inside. "I'm ok," he said, trying to put some of that warmth into his voice, "I just... I need to come home, get some stuff, and I was hoping..." He trailed off, unsure of just what he'd been hoping for. An unconditional invitation to come home? His father's complete about-face? An open-armed welcome into the Kent Clan for one Lex Luthor?

"How about dinner?" asked Martha gently, "I'm sure your father would like to see that you're well, and you know I miss you."

Clark sighed with relief. Dinner was certainly a start, but, "What about Lex? I... He'll need to come pick up my stuff with me."

He could practically hear the wheels turning in his Mom's brain. "Hmmm," she said, "I don't think Jonathan is quite up to dinner with your boyfriend again, do you think he'd be offended if we asked him to pick you up afterwards? I think I can distract your father long enough to get your stuff into the car without any more, ah, incidents."

Clark could feel his chest tightening up, but instead of the protest trying to claw its way out of his throat, he said, "I'm sure that'll be fine. Sixish for dinner?"

"As usual. You might want to get in a little early so you can be all packed up before we eat... Oh, there he is now, I'm going to go. See you soon!" The phone clicked in his ear when she hung up, and he just stood there staring at it for long moments before hanging up.

He looked at his watch -- just over an hour and a half to kill before the earliest he could possibly consider being. Another big sigh, and he pulled back together the shreds of his courage, and grabbed the phone again. Time to interrupt Lex's work after all, to arrange for the getaway car.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Clark froze, one hand on the doorknob, beset by sudden doubts. Should he knock? Could he just walk on in like he still lived here? He could see Martha setting the table, everything in its familiar place just past the thin barrier of the screen door. He shook his head and took a deep breath to steady his nerves, perfectly well aware that it was only a stalling tactic. He was saved from deciding when his mother looked up and beckoned him in with a smile.

He could do this. Lex had been understanding, and promised to be there discreetly and promptly at 7pm; Clark only had -- he checked the clock -- 87 more minutes to live through, whatever might happen. His mother's smile drew him inside, bright and welcoming and so achingly like home. Of all the things he'd lost recently, he missed her presence the most, and he drew her suddenly fragile-seeming body into his arms for a gentle hug.

She seemed flustered when he let her go, but was still smiling as she stammered, "Why, C-Clark, what an unexpected... Welcome home, dear. Why don't you go pack while I finish up here?" Her eyes darted towards the door and she added, "Your father should be in from the fields any m-minute now."

Clark went upstairs, puzzled by her apparent nervousness. He'd expected sad, resigned or even upset, but his mom was nothing if not composed. At least she'd found a few empty boxes for him, so he set to packing quickly and quietly. Something told him that his father wouldn't be nearly as happy to see him, and he wanted to make sure everything was ready to grab and go, just in case. He felt his heart rate spike when the screen door slammed and Jonathan stamped in, and a little stab of pain in his chest when harsh voices floated up the stairs.

"Still setting a place and hoping, Martha? I told you that Luthor would steal our son, and he has."

"No one stole Clark away from us, you kicked him out, or don't you remember?"

"He had a choice, and he chose Luthor."

"Well, he's also chosen to try and mend things. He'll actually be joining us tonight; he called earlier."

"That explains the pot roast. I'll just clean up and grab a bite in town."

"Jon, wait--"

Clark hid behind his door as angry footsteps stomped up the stairs and into his parents' room, then the bathroom. As soon as the shower started, he super-sped through the last of his packing and carried all three boxes downstairs in a teetering pile, eyes bright with unshed tears. He felt almost numb, unable to process the thought of his father so disgusted by his relationship with Lex that he wouldn't even share a meal with his own son.

He felt blind, lost, and he wasn't really sure who he was talking to when he croaked out, "Maybe I should just--"

"No, Clark," said his mother, her warm hand on his arm both comfort and brand. He had her love, Lex's love. But not his father's, not anymore. He'd managed to extinguish that, inadvertently, the way he'd ruined so many other things.

"Stay," she said, cutting through his thoughts of past mistakes and bringing him back to the bleak present. "Lex won't be here for awhile yet, and maybe if your father sees you..." she let the thought die out, letting it go unspoken what might yet happen.

"I..." Clark had to stop, clear his throat, begin again. He set the boxes down near the screen door, as unobtrusive as he could make them, using the motion to hide his tears, wipe his face. "I don't know if that would be good or not. I'm sure if I called, Lex would..."

"Lex would what, Clark?" Jonathan's voice on the stairs was strangled, rough. Clark thought it might be anger, but one look showed pain in his father's eyes.

"Come get me earlier. So you didn't have to look at me," Clark replied softly, eyes to the ground. Had he done this? Hurt his father, put that look of sadness on his mother's face? He looked up, seeing surprise overlaying the pain in Jonathan's eyes, and added, "I'm sorry, you know. I never wanted to be anything but normal, but my heart..." he pounded a fist into his chest, hard enough to bruise or break a normal man. "It doesn't know how to not love Lex."

At the mention of Lex's name, Jonathan's face hardened. "It knows how to leave this family, though, doesn't it?" he said, stamping down the stairs and pushing past Clark. The screen door squeaked as he turned back for one last, biting remark. "It knows how to not love me!"

Clark was so stunned for a moment, precious seconds trickled by as he tried to understand what his father was saying. "Dad, no!" he cried out, turning, needing to follow, but his father was already gone, down the stairs to their truck, pulling out of the driveway as Clark's knees began to buckle. "How can he think that?" Clark asked, his voice strangled.

He sat heavily in the nearest chair, ironically his father's place at the head of the table. Martha walked over and put a hand on his shoulder, saying softly, "Your father is hurting, Clark, and he's lashing out because he doesn't know how to make it stop. Give him some time, and he'll realize that you did what you had to do."

Her eyes were shadowed, sad and distant. Clark wondered how much this was straining his parents' marriage; she was so obviously on Clark's side, even helping him to live with Lex against her husband's wishes. God, it was all so complicated. If only he'd been able to make it work with Lana, or even Chloe. He sighed heavily, and put a hand over his mother's, saying, "I really am sorry, Mom. If there was a way I could change this..."

"Don't say that!" she said, his misplaced guilt bringing a spark to her eyes. "You're not the one at fault here, and we all know it, even your father. Well, very deep down, with him," she added, giving him a quick half-hug, eyes darting towards the door. She sighed and went to start putting the food out on the table, saying, "We might as well eat. I don't think he'll be back any time soon, and Lex will be here in an hour."

Clark stood and went to his own place, eyes lingering on his father's empty chair as he and his mother ate in companionable silence. Even though there was a whole host of things hovering unsaid in the air between them, it seemed better, simpler somehow, for them to share this one last meal without having to deal with any of them.

Seven o'clock came just as he was finishing a slice of cherry pie, his father's favorite. He'd had a moment of painful nostalgia when she'd pulled it, still warm, from the microwave where it had been hidden. Their heads snapped up in unison at the soft crunch of gravel and the unmistakable purr of an overpriced European engine.

"That's my cue," said Clark, standing up and wiping his mouth. "He's not going to come to the door, so..."

His mother nodded, saying, "I figured as much." She stood up, too, and gave Clark a proper hug this time, with nothing in the way. He held on to her familiar maternal comfort for as long as he could, his throat going all tight when she whispered, "I love you, you know."

"Yeah," he croaked, "I know. I love you, too." A dry chuckle cleared something up and he added, "Dad, too, if he ever wants to hear about it."

His mother released him, pulling back to look him in the face. She brushed the hair out of his eyes, saying, "I'll keep telling him until he believes it."

"Thanks, Mom," said Clark, turning to gather his things, eyes gone bright and blurry again.

She opened the door for him and stood in silence, watching as he loaded the car, got in, and rode away. He could still see her silhouetted in the doorway when they turned onto the road, and it hurt just like the first time he'd had to leave. But tonight, time had taken away the insulating numbness of shock, and it was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart as soon as they lost sight of his former home.

Lex seemed to sense Clark's distress, reaching out to rub Clark's leg comfortingly when he didn't have to shift. The car was filled with the harsh sounds of Clark's breathing as he tried to hold back his tears. He could barely see by the time they'd navigated the icy roads back to the castle, his throat tight and eyes hot, and he ached in ways only tension and internal pain could inflict.

They took all his things up to his new bedroom in silence, the cardboard boxes of meager possessions looking pathetic and lost in their opulent surroundings. He tossed his backpack onto a chair, took a deep breath, and felt something inside him break.

"Well," said Lex, looking at the boxes, "We should be able to get this stuff... Clark?"

Huge sobs wracked Clark's frame. He'd really done it this time, packed up his whole life and left his family behind. He distantly felt Lex leading him to the bed, where he sat heavily and continued to cry, head in his hands. Minutes passed while Clark wept and Lex murmured completely useless phrases, neither comfort nor meaning penetrating.

Eventually, Clark's crying subsided to dry-eyed hiccups, and he collapsed into Lex's embrace. When he finally drifted into an exhausted half-sleep, Lex eased him down onto the bed and removed their shoes, wriggled Clark out of his shirts and got him to lift up so he could take off his jeans. Then Lex turned down the bed, stripped out of everything but his own underwear, and carefully maneuvered them under the covers.

Clark curled into his boyfriend, clinging to Lex like a lifeline. It was early still, well before the time Lex usually stopped working let alone went to bed, but he never protested, never did anything but hold and comfort and just be there for Clark. Through the numbness and the pain, Clark's mind still found a spark of warmth to keep him holding on to hope as he held onto his love. He found some measure of calm in Lex's kindness, his relentless devotion, and in time, he found rest.

continued in Out, Chapter 12: Trial by Fire