A/N: This is book 3 of the If She Looked Over series, which began with If She Looked Over and continued in book 2, Truth & Justice. Normally, this is the part where I'd say, "If you decide to read this book without having read the earlier books in this series, *this* is what you need to know," but I really don't know what I could say to make this fic make sense if you haven't read Truth & Justice.

I also wanted to remind you that there are 5 one-shots in this series that can most easily be read between ISLO and T&J (Brave Enough, His Father's Son, Big Brothers, Red Kryptonite, and No Sign of Weakness), and 1 that is most easily read between T&J and this fic (Fall).

SUMMARY: All of the Lex's fears have come to pass. He's fallen at last, his dark side taking dominance. The Kents are determined not to give up on him, but they don't even know he's fallen. What's left of Lex's lighter side is determined to fight his darkness, but the darkness has other plans . . .

Chapter 1 - Funeral

Martha had never imagined herself attending the funeral of the man she had despised most in the world, the man who had kidnapped and tortured one of her sons and raised and abused the other. Then again, there were a lot of things in her life she had never envisioned.

The familial conflicts between Lex and Lionel were well known to the public; the fact that they extended beyond the occasional squabble, to the point of life and death, was something Lex wanted kept quiet. Unfortunately, that meant he couldn't remove himself from the funeral proceedings.

She had worried he would be expected to plan it. It turned out his idea of planning it was paying someone else to do the work; she was glad for him that he didn't have to deal with that, at least. Of course, he still had to attend the funeral, and he was expected to give a speech.

The funeral date had been set for two weeks after Lionel's death. Lex was quiet on the morning of the funeral. He tried to turn down breakfast in favor of a cup of coffee, but Martha pushed him to eat something—if she was getting to parent him for another six months, she would take the opportunity to instill better eating habits, because she was convinced he was only making things worse for himself by refusing to eat all the time—and he finally agreed to a piece of toast. As soon as he'd finished it, he went over to where his jacket was hanging and checked the pocket. He frowned.

"Looking for these?" Martha held up his keys.

"Thanks." He held out a hand for them.

She held them back, away from him. "Ah, ah. You're not driving."

His brow furrowed. "We talked about this. I have to get to the funeral—"

"You're in that mood where you're going to press the pedal to the metal until you hit a hundred miles an hour or more. You just survived a room full of gunmen; I'm not losing you to a car crash." She picked up her own car keys. "I'm driving you."

His breath caught. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but—"

"You're not going to that funeral alone."

"If you come, the media's going to ask a million questions about who you are."

"I think I can put up with their questioning."

He let his breath out, rolling his eyes. "Fine."

Martha almost said something about his rudeness, but she decided to let it go. This was a difficult time for him, and she was going to need to be extra patient. There would be a time for firmness, but this wasn't it.

He didn't speak on the way to the funeral. Halfway there, she softly asked, "Do you have your speech ready?"

"Of course," he said, but no more than that.

She let her breath out. Maybe he would be more open to talking when it was all over. Usually, when he was alone with her, he'd open up and talk through what he was feeling. Then again, this event was particularly traumatic; it might take him longer.

It was an outdoor funeral, with more flowers and other decorations than Martha had seen at most weddings. She knew she shouldn't have been astonished by the number of people at the funeral; many of them were probably there for political reasons. A good number of his employees had come; Lionel might have been a cruel businessman, but the jobs he provided put food on their tables, and they probably felt they owed him something for that. Many of the other attendees were other powerful businessmen, allies and maybe even competitors.

She doubted many of the people here would have identified themselves as friends. Lex seemed to be the only family member who had bothered to show, though she was pretty sure Lionel had been an only child, and his parents were dead.

A few men came over to speak to Lex and offer their condolences; he numbly introduced them to Martha as his upper level managers. Martha didn't recognize any of them, other than Gabe Sullivan. It was a small town, but they associated with very different circles of people. Gabe stuck around for a few minutes after the others were gone. "Boss, I'm happy to keep the plant running for as long as you need. And if there's anything else I can help you with—"

"Thanks, Gabe, but I'll be fine—"

Martha cut in, "He appreciates that very much, Gabe, and he'll let you know what you can do."

Gabe breathed in as if he were going to say something else, but he settled for a sympathetic smile, and he left to take his seat.

"I'd appreciate you not interfering with my work," he hissed under his breath.

"I'm looking after your health."

"That's not your job. I'm an adult."

"You will be in six months."

"In my own workplace—"

"Gabe is more than happy to help you."

Lex's jaw pulsed, but he dropped the issue, at least for the time being. He led Martha up to the front of the rows of chairs, and they both took their seats. The musical prelude was beginning.

A priest spoke first, which felt ironic to Martha on many levels. It was clear from the way the priest spoke that he knew Lionel only by reputation. He read the obituary aloud, which mostly talked about Lionel's business accomplishments. The list sounded impressive, with the omission of everyone the man had cheated, lied to, or murdered.

Lex was the first to speak. Martha gave him a quick pat on the back before he walked up to the platform. She detected no fear or anxiety in his step, and no pain in his facial expression. She didn't think the media would be able to use his lack of emotion against him, though. Luthors almost always appeared that way in the news.

Lex stepped up to the podium, set down his note cards, and spoke to the crowd. "A year ago, I was in a plane crash that landed me on a deserted island for three months. I was left with nothing but the clothes on my back. Had I been the son of any other man, I am sure that I wouldn't have lasted a week. I owe my life to my father in many, many more ways than one.

"He taught me a great many things. He taught me everything I know about business and leadership, but he also taught me how to be strong in the face of disaster, and how to speak when it seems like there couldn't possibly be words. He taught me how to survive. If I achieve even a fraction of the greatness he reached, I will have considered my life a great success, but still I feel him urging me on to strive for greater. I'll carry with me everything he taught me for the rest of my life, and in that way . . . he'll never really be gone."

Martha didn't know what she should have been expecting. It was, in many ways, the best speech he possibly could have given. It was positive enough not to let anyone know the truth, but at the same time, there were no lies. There was also no emotion. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was convincing that he might simply be keeping a tight reign on everything he was feeling—she knew that was true—but part of her also felt like he was doing it too well.

Of course, that was a result of his past. She didn't want her son to have had years of experience keeping a straight face in spite of the storm in his mind and ragged brokenness in his soul, but even if he were fully healed, he might still have that skill.

Lex came to sit down beside her, and she took his hand. His grip tightened around hers.