Pausing outside a door with a frosted glass-window, Lex read the worn and peeling stick-on sign which stated ‘Metropolis Psychological Associates.’ He had sworn to himself that he would never see another shrink, but given the circumstances… well, he couldn’t ignore a court order. 

Just inside the door was a receptionist, who was so stereotypical in her looks and actions, Lex was honestly astonished not to see her filing her nails. She demanded to see his court order, barely glanced at it, then slapped a blank name tag onto the desk in front of him. In the whole course of action, she never managed to look above his elbows and quickly went back to perusing the Daily Planet’s zodiac horoscopes. When he’d finished writing on the nametag, she noticed that he had written out his full name which was listed on the court order, Neal Rhon Delatroux. She snorted impatiently, jerked the sticker out from under his pen, and slapped another down in its place.  

“Mr. …” her eyes wrinkled as she tried to figure out how to pronounce his last name : “Delatr-ux…”  

“Dela- troy” he said it phonetically for her, as he wondered why he bothered when it was just an alias, and one that he didn’t intend to use for very long.  

"Unh-huh,"  she was clearly impressed, or at least impressed enough to tap the nametag with a gaudily painted false nail and yawn, showing Lex the almost mandatory wad of overly-chewed gum as she corrected him: "First names only- you know the whole anonymity thing. … Here," she shoved a file across the desk and pointed to a door at the end of the waiting room. "Fill those out before you leave, but the session's gonna start soon." 

"Thank you." Lex commented in amusement, peeled the nametag off its backing, slapped it onto his lapel with a smirk, and headed into the counselor's office. However, his smirk dissolved in astonishment as soon as he stepped through the door and discovered his counselor's identity. 

At the far end of the room, a tall well-built man, clearly the psychologist, patted a seeing eye dog on its shoulder, ordering, "Down, Shelby. Good boy…" as he took the center seat. On each side of him, a half-circle of other outpatients were taking their seats and eyeing Lex impatiently as he stood in the doorway studying the doctor.  

The dark glasses. Much longer hair. Broad, still quite visible scars ran from under a curtain of blue-black bangs down his right temple, across the expanse of his cheek, curled under his jaw, and down his throat. Without asking, Lex knew that they covered the doctor's chest, shoulders, and upper torso. In fact, he knew that the scars covered the doctor's entire left side. With the exception being an approximately one and a half foot wide swath where Martha Kent's body had protected her son from the toxic-meteorite enhanced racing fuel that had turned the Kents’ truck into an inferno after it was struck by one of Jason Dante's souped-up racers, driven in an illegal street-race, ironically by Clark's former best friend, Pete Ross.  

"I know that you're all here because the court has ordered you to attend anger-management treatment, but I would still like to thank you for coming." Clark began as he somehow pinpointed their locations sufficiently enough to nod to each of them. "Before we get started, I would like to lay down a few ground rules. First, it is important that everyone here has the utmost confidence that what they say will remain within the group. For that reason," his voice grew intense, "if anyone is even suspected of leaking secrets outside of this group, I will immediately contact the judge and let her know that you have not only not participated with treatment, but have also prevented others from fully doing so. And, the leak will end up with whatever jail time and fines that he was trying to avoid in the first place, as well as a bill for my services at whatever rate I choose to set."  

Lex was impressed. Clark had grown an edge; thirteen years earlier, Lex wouldn't have believed that Clark could have pulled off even the lightly menacing tone he was now using. 

"Second, for obvious reasons, I would like to ask that you do not move the furniture more than necessary. I sometimes do like to get up and move during discussions; if I have to unfold my cane or get Shelby up every time to do so, it would be very awkward and distracting."  

- 

Brief flashes of Clark pacing nervously around the edge of the pool table, weaving through the Talon's often oblivious patrons, or jumping up from the couch to perch at the bay window – pulled a smile from Lex. Perhaps, despite circumstances and all appearances to the contrary, some things might not have changed as much as they seemed.   

- 

"Although I'd expect you to realize this without it being said, you may not under any circumstances bring weapons to group, or touch, harass, or otherwise threaten anyone directly or indirectly related with this group, the center, or the court." 

As Clark got down to the business of introductions, Lex found himself drifting off, remembering the last time he had seen Clark. To the few close acquaintances that he ever discussed that period of his life with, Lex referred to it as "hell year": the year that the life he had begun to build for himself fell apart. Contrary to his fears and expectations, the implosion of that life had not, ultimately, been the result of anything he had done or could have done, nor was it the result of a choice he'd made or had failed to make, and most surprisingly to him, his father and his father's sick desires for his destiny had almost nothing to do with it. Nor, had it been, as he had once feared it might be, the catalyst for his destructive nature to overwhelm him. 

Instead, that year had seen him vanquish his destructive tendencies, end his association with his father, and start over free and unencumbered of long-held beliefs and accusations that had been exposed as false in Dr. Garner's memory tanks. Up until that point, he had from the moment of their meeting, held tightly to his friendship with Clark as he would a life preserver or perhaps more accurately a shield or buffer fending off both threats from outside, as well as the encroachment of his own inner demons. Ironically, it was the violent implosion of Clark's own life that burned out many of Lex's demons and freed him of his former life, even as it ended their friendship.  

"Hey, we're waitin' buddy." The speaker next to Lex interrupted his thoughts, elbowing him to get his attention. Before Lex could object, Shelby jumped from his spot beside Clark and was growling viciously at the man who was staring at the dog with animosity.  

"Hey, call Cujo down, Dude."  

"Shelby…" Clark called the dog softly, causing Shelby's growl to soften as he continued: "He doesn't like it when people don't control themselves… and neither do I. I won't give another warning to anyone. But… come back, Shelby."  

To Lex's amusement, Shelby stopped growling and returned to his spot, but kept his teeth bared and continued to eye the man with what Lex could only describe as a dirty look.  

"Does that thing have to be in here?" the offended man asked, drawing laughter and derisive comments from several of the others until Clark surprised them by reaching down, unhooking the guide harness, and ordering: "Shelby. Couch." 

Immediately, Shelby scrambled to his paws and padded out, pausing only twice. The first time the dog paused was to playfully hop from foot to foot as he taunted the man who'd elbowed Lex with an obviously mischievous snap before turning and padding further along as several of the others in the group again broke into laughter. With most of the others distracted by the laughter and throwing jibes at the man, only Lex noticed when Shelby paused beside him to sniff his hand then continued to pad off, wagging his tail.  

Just as Clark tried to return to the topic at hand, a buzzer sounded calling an end to the session. As the others filed out, Lex hesitated then joined the line. 

If Clark wanted to contact him, he had the number. No matter where he'd moved, Lex had made certain to update his contact numbers with Bruce on a monthly basis, with orders that he pass them to Matt Murdock, the friend that Bruce had arranged to guide Clark through his transition to living in the unsighted world. From there, he could be certain that Matt, who seemed even more rigidly ethical than Bruce, would pass them to Clark.  But, in the ten years since Lex had woken from a fitful slumber in the poorly constructed guest chair that he had pulled up beside Clark's hospital bed to discover that Clark was awake and already knew of both his mother's and Pete's deaths, Clark had pushed him away and never contacted him thereafter.  

Following so closely on the heels of first Chloe's then his father's death, the deaths of his mother and oldest friend had sent Clark into a spiral of depression that even his recent blindness had failed to accomplish. In the days between his return to consciousness and his grandfather's arrival to handle the Kent's estate and take custody of Clark, he had refused to see anyone who came to visit, stopped eating, and refused to cooperate with the treatment of his burns or ask for pain medication when it was obvious that he was suffering. Both Lex and Lana had persisted, hoping to wait out his depression, but an enraged fit that he'd thrown when Lana snuck into his room dressed as a candy striper, and had tried to comfort him with almost inane stories of how she'd overcome her parents’ deaths quickly divorced them of the idea. When they returned from not eating a somber lunch, they were met by Clark's grandfather, who informed them that he would be filing for a restraining order if they didn't stop harassing his grandson.   

Lex had been more discreet after that in his attempts to show Clark his support and did what he could to help through using third parties. He arranged through Bruce for Clark to have Bruce's blind friend as a mentor. He donated an exceptionally intelligent golden Labrador pup that he'd discovered in Luthorcorp’s labs and ten other lab pups to the local suppliers of seeing eye dogs on the condition that one of the rescued pups be earmarked for Clark. Later, he had funded a full scholarship for Clark through Wayne Industries to a private high school for special needs students in New York, and just before he left Smallville and Kansas not too long after that, with Murdock's help, he had set up a trust to support Clark in whatever lifestyle he preferred. But nothing that Lex could do either openly or discretely seemed to make a difference, and before he knew it, his own life began to require his complete attention as it dissolved around him.  

Without even realizing that he'd drifted away again, Lex was startled out of his memories by Clark's hand on his shoulder.  

"It may interest you to know, Mr. Delatroux, that, years ago, a close friend taught me how to read anagrams." Clark's voice was utterly emotionless as he reminded Lex of the spring afternoon twelve years earlier when they had spent the entire afternoon and evening pouring over the twenty newspapers that Lex had picked up from a newsstand in Metropolis.

Gripping the door, Lex waited, certain that Clark wasn't finished yet and equally certain that he needed to let Clark make the so-called next move regardless of the outcome. It had been ten years after all, he'd lived close to ten years without Clark in his life and he could do so again.  

"But, while I remember both fondly, my life no longer has room for that friend or his anagrams."  

If Lex could have moved at that moment, he would have rushed out without saying another word, hoping that Clark would have enough doubts to wonder whether he'd actually spoken with his friend to pause to wonder about Lex and what he was doing now. Instead, Lex was held in place by shock and pain. He had always believed that once Clark overcame his depression, he would be happy to see him and would want to resurrect their friendship. It had never … never once … in ten years … occurred to Lex that Clark wouldn't 'have room' in his life for him.  

"However, I spoke with Judge Ross and her judgment stands, if you don't attend this series of anger management sessions, you will be spending the next six months in jail. In other words, please attempt to be on time for the next session. Also, please think over your introduction, it wouldn't be fair to the group to let you get out of it, but given the circumstances I'm sure that you'll need to be careful about how much you reveal about yourself." 

"Okay." Lex was almost surprised that he could even manage that. 

"Good afternoon, Neal." Clark finished in parting and left Lex to speak with his receptionist.

End