(Note: This is for anyone who may have watched Smallville up to the end of S7 and wondered what may have been if the actress Kristin Kreuk didn't have to leave to film Chun Li and was in the last few episodes, or anyone that only watched to the end of S7 and thought there had to be more to that original telling and surly this can't be the end, or may have watched after to S8, or heavin forbid 9 or 10 and wasn't satisfied with the show's direction as it was so often unofficially referred to as (and perhaps rightfully so) "Metropolis" then by original fans of the show and even Tom Welling himself when the new producers took to the helm. If any of that sounds like you, if you wanted a better ending, if you thought the last 2 or 3 season's seemed off putting and not inline with the original work or disrespected what was made prior then this is for you. This is my attempt at giving Al and Miles epic tale of Smallville the proper send off I so believe it deserved. I had to retcon the ending of S7 just a little to get it to fit the greater story I concocted, and restore a more proper role for Lana in it but also to make it different enough from the original as to be entertaining in it's own right. I hope all Smallville fans enjoy this as much as I do and I honor Al and Miles with my work, and please if you enjoy my story and think I capture the original essence and character portrayals well write to me. I enjoy talking with all Smallville fans that watched it in the early years of it's production and understand the unique and different take that Smallville was compared to any other Superman related media.)

Chapter 1:

The Kent Farm A few months had passed since Pete’s visit—since Lionel had locked Clark in a kryptonite cage, and Lex had finally crossed the line that couldn’t be uncrossed. And somehow, after all that noise, peace had arrived.

Not the dramatic kind. Not the kind you earned with a victory speech. Just… quiet mornings. Soft light through kitchen curtains. A home that didn’t feel like a battlefield for once.

Lana stood at the stove, flipping blueberry pancakes with the ease of someone who’d learned how to turn survival into ritual. Clark leaned against the counter and watched her like he couldn’t quite believe she was still here—still real.

He inhaled, and the smell hit him: butter, warm berries, sweetness.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth. Lana glanced over her shoulder. “Doing what?”

“Making me forget the world exists.”

She huffed one of those small, adorable breaths she always made when she was trying not to smile too much.

Clark slid closer, resting his hands on the edge of the counter. “Blueberry pancakes. Again. You never cease to amaze me with your breakfast culinary skills.”

Lana’s eyes softened. “You know some of what I learned was from spending time with Martha… when she was still around.”

Clark’s expression shifted—warmth tempered by something tender and aching. He nodded, like he was holding the memory carefully between them.

“Oh,” he teased gently, pulling himself back into the moment, “is that your secret? How you know all my favorite dishes?”

“It’s… some of it.” She set a plate down, then stepped closer and sprinkled pistachios and walnuts over the pancakes like she was finishing a masterpiece. Homemade syrup followed—thick and glossy, poured with calm precision.

“But I also pay attention to what you like,” she added, “and I’ve got a few twists of my own. Aunt Nell. And… France.”

“Ah.” Clark’s eyes gleamed. “So you’re saying I’ve been outmatched.”

“Completely.”

She leaned in and kissed him—soft at first, then slower, like neither of them wanted to risk the moment breaking if they moved too fast.

When they finally separated, they didn’t step away. They just stayed there, foreheads almost touching, hands still linked like an anchor.

“So,” Lana said, voice low, “what’s on the agenda today?”

“I’ve got an interview at the Burner.”

Lana blinked. Then she laughed—quiet, incredulous. “The Burner? You mean that new Smallville news outlet that suspiciously popped out of nowhere and gave itself a name just close enough to the Torch to be annoying?”

“That’s the one.”

Lana lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s weird they showed up in Smallville and all they do is write cheesy tabloids and the occasional Bigfoot story?”

“Of course I do,” Clark said. “That’s one reason I want the job. I want to see if there’s anything… fishy.”

“And the other reason?” Lana asked, already knowing.

Clark exhaled, glancing past her toward the kitchen window, where the fields stretched out like a promise he was still learning to keep.

“My mom isn’t sending money anymore,” he admitted. “And the farm barely makes enough for us to breathe. Dad knew how to maximize crop yields. I’m… not as good at that. So I need something part-time.”

Lana’s expression shifted—concern and pride stitched together. Clark kept going, almost sheepish.

“And I’ve always leaned toward journalism. Even if I’ve barely taken any classes.”

Lana stepped closer, hands resting lightly against his chest, grounding him.

“Gotta start somewhere,” she said.

“Exactly.”

She hesitated, then looked up at him with those steady, unwavering eyes. “I could get a job too.”

Clark’s brow furrowed. “Lana—”

“I mean it,” she said softly. “As much as I still enjoy the occasional charity work for the meteor-infected… I’ve been thinking it’s getting close to time to close that chapter. Move on.”

Clark studied her. He didn’t argue. He didn’t rush in with solutions. He just spoke carefully, like this was something fragile.

“Do what feels right,” he said. “You’ve given more of yourself to helping people than anyone I know. But… Isis was also tied to a past full of bad memories.”

Lana inhaled—deep, steady—then let out a subtle sigh that still carried weight.

“I know,” she whispered. “You’re right. Like you usually are.”

Clark smiled faintly. “Please don’t do it just to get a job. I’ll handle the finances. Quit Isis when you’re truly ready… not because of my bank account.”

Lana’s mouth curved, grateful. “I want to close it properly,” she said. “I just need to make the preparations first. See the last clients. Secure the files. Don’t rush selling the equipment to just anyone.”

Clark’s eyes widened slightly, trying to lighten the mood. “Well… if the Burner doesn’t work out, at least we’ll have tens of thousands of dollars in equipment to fall back on.”

Lana laughed—full and bright—and kissed him again. “Tens of thousands? Clark… that equipment is hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

Clark stared. “Okay. Noted.”

“We’ll be fine for years once I sell it,” she said, then grew a little more serious. “But I’m doing it properly. It’ll take time.”

She glanced at the clock.

“Oh—look at the time.” Her eyes widened. “Clark, you’re going to be late.”

“Clark Kent late,” he murmured, amused. “That would be a first.”

“Not when you’re not out saving people,” she teased.

Clark’s smile softened. “When we’re together I lose…”

“All track of time,” Lana finished, and the warmth in her voice made it feel like a vow.

They kissed one more time.

Then she pushed him gently toward the door. “Now go.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clark was gone in a whoosh—wind and sunlight and a familiar red-and-blue blur slipping out the door like a secret the world still hadn’t earned.

The Burner — 30 Minutes Later

“So.” A man with a scruffy five o’clock shadow tapped a pencil against his desk, unimpressed. “Do you think you’ve got what it takes?”

Clark stood straight, polite, measured. “Yes, sir.”

The man squinted at him like he was trying to smell the farm dirt through Clark’s shirt.

“Mmm. Yeah. Alright. You got it, kid.” He leaned back. “But don’t disappoint me. I’m from the city. I’m skeptical of you Smallville boys and your work ethic when it comes to white-collar work.”

“I won’t,” Clark said, a grin flickering. “You can count on me.”

“Good.” The man slapped a thin file onto the desk. “Here’s your first assignment. Nearly three years ago, there was supposedly a spaceship that crash-landed here. I want you to go to the site. Interview locals. Find out what they saw.”

Clark blinked. “A spaceship…? That was around the second meteor shower.”

The man’s expression soured. Clark could feel the warning in the air.

“Are you sure these aren’t just rumors?” Clark tried. “People see crazy things when the sky is literally falling—”

The pencil stopped tapping.

The man leaned forward, voice low and sharp. “Clark. Are you going to question me… or are you going to do the legwork and bring me a story?”

Clark swallowed. “I’ll do it, sir. But what if I can’t find anything?”

The man smiled—wide and unpleasant.

“Then we make something up.” Clark stared.

“What?” the man scoffed. “Did you think this paper was in the business of being a hundred percent factual?”

He gestured dramatically to the logo on the wall.

“We’re The Burner. The more outlandish, the better.” He chuckled, delighted with himself. “Now go get me that scoop.”

Clark forced a professional nod. “Yes, sir.”

And as he turned to leave, something cold settled in his stomach.

Because tabloids didn’t scare him.

But people who didn’t care about truth did.

Isis Foundation

The building was quieter than it used to be.

Lana moved through the offices with a clipboard in hand, closing chapters in real time: deleting dormant files, sending notices, making careful lists of what needed to be secured and what needed to be locked away.

“One month,” she told her staff, keeping her voice calm even as it tightened around the edges. “That gives everyone time to transition.”

She tried to make it sound like logistics.

But grief lived in every corner of the place. So did guilt. So did the weight of every person who’d ever walked in here hoping someone would finally believe them.

She paused at a row of locked cabinets.

For a flicker of a moment, the thought came again—quiet and persistent:

Maybe I don’t have to end it. Maybe I could downsize. Reduce costs. Transition it. Make it sustainable. Even sell the concept to someone else who could keep helping… It was a warm thought.

Then reality followed it like a shadow.

Who would ever want to help the infected—really help them—when it was safer to fear them?

Lana shook it off before it could root.

“Lana?” Kylee appeared at the door. “Your next appointment is here. Should I send her in?”

Lana blinked like she’d been pulled out of deep water. “Yes,” she said quickly. “Yes, of course. Send her in.”

The Kent Farm — Later That Night: Clark pulled his truck into the driveway and smiled before he even stepped out. The lights were on. The air smelled like something warm and good. Home. He walked in and found Lana in the kitchen. For a beat they just looked at each other—like they still needed to confirm the day hadn’t stolen them away. “How was your day?” they said at the same time. Lana laughed. Clark’s smile widened. “You first,” he said. “No, you.” Clark pointed at her with mock seriousness. “No. You. I insist.” Lana rolled her eyes, amused. “Fine.” She set a dish down, then leaned against the counter. “I started deleting the oldest files,” she said. “Anyone who hasn’t been a regular… they’re gone now.” Clark nodded slowly, tracking the weight behind her words. “And I had an appointment with a young woman today,” Lana continued. “She didn’t want her name known. She went by the alias… Plastique.” Clark’s face hardened. “Another LexCorp experiment.” Lana nodded once. “Mm-hmm.” Clark exhaled through his nose. “How many are there?” “It’s a lot, Clark,” she said quietly. “More than even I realized. Lex only told me about a fraction of the labs. I’m starting to understand how much he kept hidden.” Clark’s jaw tightened. “Lex always let you in just enough to make you believe he was telling the truth.” Lana’s expression cooled. The warmth drained from her eyes. “Let’s not talk about Lex,” she said, voice flat. “Okay?” Clark’s face softened instantly. “Yeah. I’m sorry.” He lifted his hands like a peace offering. “No L-word in this house. From now on.” That earned a small smile. Lana stepped into him, and he wrapped his arms around her. For a moment, she just breathed against his shoulder like she’d been holding her breath all day. Then she pulled back. “So,” she said, recovering her lighter tone, “tell me about your day at The Burner.” Clark groaned. “Oh, lord.” Lana’s eyebrows rose. “That bad?” “They had me investigate the Kryptonian ship crash site.” Lana’s smile vanished. “Clark…” He hurried on, trying to reassure her. “It’s fine. This paper is a tabloid. Nobody takes them seriously. It was just interviews. Farmers. Locals.” But Lana’s worry didn’t lift. “That’s getting a little close to home.” “I know,” Clark said. “But I can steer it. And if it gets too close… I’ll quit.” Lana studied him, weighing whether she believed the world would actually let them have that kind of peace. “…Okay,” she said finally. Relief softened her features. “Okay.” Clark hesitated, then added, “One of the farmers told me something, though.” Lana’s eyes narrowed. “What?” Clark leaned against the table, remembering. “He said he stayed in his basement during the shower. Watched everything from a slit in the storm door.” Clark swallowed. “He said he saw something slower than the meteors. A black streak. Triangle-shaped. Not falling—moving.” Lana’s lips parted slightly. “And he said,” Clark continued, “it’s surprising bigger outlets didn’t investigate it. Like someone… made sure they didn’t.” Lana’s voice lowered. “When you say someone, you mean…” Clark nodded once. “Yeah.” Lana’s shoulders tensed, and she looked away like even the name was a bruise. “I don’t want the Luthors in our lives anymore,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Lionel included.” “Well,” Clark said gently, “Lionel’s dead. So he can’t hurt you again.” Lana’s eyes flickered—relief mixed with the kind of pain that didn’t vanish just because the monster was gone. Clark stepped closer. “I’ll keep it away from them,” he promised. “I’ll keep it away from us.” Lana nodded. And for a moment, the quiet returned.

And... When I tell you I had a realization, I mean I SCREAMT WHEN I REALIZED IT WOULD WORK.

They are them. They just are. I see no difference. Those are my parents. Obsessed.

Smallville was Bat POOP crazy! I REPEAT, Bat POOP crazy for breaking these two up. You don't take the best chemistry of the 21st century and split them. Like, what the crap.

These... Ladies and Gentlemen, these are the faces of perfection. The essence of epic. The true embodiment of chemistry.

I just came across a video a Clois shipper spliced together with clips of Tom talking about how he didn't think Clark and Lana should have ended up together. Now, I'm not going to share it because I would have to reblog it with my statement and I don't want to start a feud because I don't agree.

I honestly feel like Tom only says this because Smallville never got to finish the story it was meant to tell. When the show shifted direction at the end, it abandoned the very thing that made it extraordinary—the boldness to craft its own, original Superman myth.

And I truly believe that if someone sat down with Tom and really laid out another perspective, he’d see it. He’d feel it. Because in his mind, Lana wasn’t an option simply because of the way the show wrapped things up—not because of what the story had actually been building toward for years. The ending closed a door that was never supposed to be shut.

Lana didn’t just make Clark better — she helped him become the very best version of himself. And he did the same for her. That’s part of what made their relationship so beautiful, so powerful, and so deeply meaningful. They fought through so many hardships, yet every challenge only strengthened their bond. They grew together, and they grew individually, shaping each other in ways no one else could.

When they finally found their way back to each other, they were in such a good, grounded place — wiser, stronger, and more connected than ever. They could have been endgame. Truly. Their story still feels like one that had so much more to give, so much more love left to grow. And honestly… Imra’s words about Lana in Legion say it all.

"You're part of the reason Kal-El becomes the hero we look up to."

But lastly, let me point out, when Smallville was doing their own thing, Tom said and I quote about Kristin and Clana, "well, she's beautiful of course. And I don't know if we'll end up together, but I hope so."

#we all know what couple ran the show 😏😏

#the most epic are always the most tragic