Last in a Series

By Shakespeare's Girl

A/N: To everyone who read the rest of this stuff previously and begged for an ending, this is it. It took me a while, I grant you, but I wanted to get the end just right. And then, a few nights ago, I found the perfect quote to end this series while watching "The Wizard of Oz" and I had to drop everything and write this. So, after much anticipation on everyone's part and much frustration on mine, I present to you, the final chapter. Enjoy.

If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any farther than my own backyard, because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with.

It wasn't fancy, or big, or filled with modern amenities. It was just a farmhouse, located in Smallville, a few miles from town, and a few miles from the looming shadow of the Luthor Mansion.

It wasn't filled with family and friends. The furnishings were minimal, having been sold off long ago to raise a little extra cash and make a little room for things like glass topped desks and swivel chairs. In fact, only two rooms remained untouched.

It wasn't dark or cold or gloomy, either. It was painted a sunny yellow, just like it always had been. The inside was done in warm colors, browns and yellows and reds. Even the barn, old and shabby as it was, seemed bright and warm.

It wasn't a working farm anymore, the land having been rented out to neighbors, or sold to other farmers in the area, but there were about twenty acres of paddock for animals and another twenty in back of the barn for gardening and minor farming.

The two men standing on the dirt road just outside the driveway that lead up to the house were smiling. It had been years since they'd come back to this little haven in the center of farm country in Kansas. The taller man leaned on the truck they'd driven this far, it's paint a faded blue; a dinosaur of a thing, big and tall and running on diesil, seats kept together with duct tape and a permanently gaping glove box. The shorter man stood, feet spread, arms crossed, staring at the yellow house that beckoned them.

"Done looking yet, Lex?"

Lex Luthor turned around. "I'll never get tired of looking, Kent," he informed his companion.

Clark Kent smiled. It was a big, goofy ear to ear grin, the same one he'd been wearing for years. Lex turned his scrutiny toward Clark, looking the man over. He was older, but he still looked exactly the same as he had the first time Lex had met him. Strong and broad shouldered, dark hair without a trace of grey, good looking farmboy, innocent green eyes. Eyes that had seen more than anyone should have to, and yet still retained their innocent look. Lex shook his head, then turned back to the Kent farmhouse.

"Is this what you really want, Lex?" Clark asked, shifting his weight off of the truck.

"Yes, Clark," Lex nodded. "The house, the picket fence, the farmer with his muddy boots tracking dirt into my bedroom." Lex took a deep, contented breath. "I want the family I never had. I want the life I didn't think existed. I want the American Dream."

"Thought you already had that," Clark joked. "What with being a Luthor and rich and all."

"Riches aren't the American Dream, Clark," Lex explained, a patient smile on his face. "The Amercian Dream is home and family and belonging."

It was Clark's turn to smile. "Well, I think you've already got three for three," he reminded Lex.

Lex nodded. "Yeah, well . . ." They looked up the driveway at the silent house for another moment. "Shall we?" He extended an arm to Clark.

Clark smiled at the older man. Lex was a little more worn around the edges than Clark was, occasional glimpses of the man he'd be in another twenty years flashing through the still youthful eyes. Clark liked it. Maturity looked good on Lex. He took the arm offered to him, and led Lex up the driveway. "Let's go home, Lex."

"Yes," Lex agreed. "Let's."