Jonathan Kent watched from the kitchen doorway, something inside him unwilling to go out and interrupt. The hand-carved porch swing, stain-washed white and hanging from link chains, had been the first thing Clark returned to its rightful place, after Lex Luthor had bought the Kent Farm.
Jonathan frowned. He wasn’t too keen on the fact that he was, once again, indebted to a Luthor. The deed was accepted with reluctance on Jonathan’s part, because no gift this size was given without strings, no matter how graciously or gratefully given.
He wondered if he were witnessing those strings now, looking out the screen door. Clark hadn’t let Lex leave after presenting the deed. They were seated on the porch swing, had been for a while, gently rocking as dusk settled around them.
Friends – male friends – didn’t sit like they were, no matter how innocent it seemed. Clark’s arm stretched across the back of the bench swing, his hand curled over Lex’s shoulder. They sat very close, Lex fitting in the curve of Clark’s body, all parts of their sides touching from shoulder to hips to knees. Even their feet were side by side, gently propelling the swing. It was a position Jonathan and Martha had been in many times over the years; one Jonathan had thought he’d see his son with Lana Lang in some day, but never with Lex Luthor.
Clark and Lex were silent as they rocked, not having said a word since settling on the swing. Comfort and caring surrounded them like a soft blanket. Still, both looked tired and worn. Too much had happened for such young men, even Jonathan could admit with Lex, and the shroud of innocence that had once covered them in different ways was forever torn away.
Jonathan supposed that was why he wasn’t going out there. Peace was a fragile thing, and Jonathan knew they both deserved it. It would be broken soon enough, when reality came calling. For now, he’d leave them to sit and rock, and just be.