Title: "Fifth Gear and Beyond" (part 2)

Author: bipolypesca

Archive: ask first, please

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: The following piece of writing is a fantasy.  It never happened.  It has nothing to do with Smallville or the CW or any of the creators of any of the permutations of the characters mentioned.  It is no different than writing down a dream I had about a TV show in my dream journal and then sharing that dream journal with my friends via an LJ post.  It is no different than talking in a public forum about how much better a movie would have been if it had ended a different way than it did and then discussing that different way.  I don't make money from my fantasies, nor any other gain but to hear what other people of like mind think of said fantasies.  And no one has domain over my fantasies nor how I choose to express them.

Feedback: Only if you're honest. Chocolate and champagne are always nice, but only if it's honest chocolate and champagne. I'm a sucker for good constructive criticism.

Warnings: Schmoop, drama, angst, very mild het, graphic boy/boy sex, alien weirdness.

Author's Note/Continuity: You will find that the canon of Smallville is rearranged, discarded, embraced, or used as can(n)on fodder at my whimsy.  Please also note that I stopped watching Smallville mid-seventh season.  I don't know what happens after around episode Blue; I don't even read the episode guides, plot points, or reviews.  Therefore, it is very possible that as I go forward, I will contradict the show at its base rather than only in the details.  It's very possible I'll bring in comics characters of my own interpretation that the show itself has brought in or will bring in completely differently.  I've been rewriting the show since mid-second season anyway, but trying to incorporate some things that I thought worked, or could have worked with some tweaking.  It is probably best for the purposes of reading this story that you disregard anything that's been going on in the last couple of seasons on Smallville.

Spoilers: Through 4th season.

Prequels: Twelfth in the "Manual Transmission" series.  Go home for the first eleven.

Sequels: The next in this continuing series is "Overdrive, part 1."  Link at the bottom.

Summary: Not every shift is a smooth one.  Transmissions tend to stick, gears tend to grind, and when the various parts do not communicate properly, stalling is imminent.  Even once the vehicle is operating efficiently, one finds that merging into traffic is delicate business: Everyone else on the road must be in tandem with your efforts.  It is not despite this struggle that a destination be reached, but rather because of it.  Bumps in the road are part of the journey, but a body in motion only picks up speed...








Fifth Gear and Beyond
byline: bipolypesca
creation date: July 2010

*      *      *      *      *      *

Clark gazed across the dust and the darkness and into his eyes, his expression rife with concern and hesitation and the apologetic mien that always came over him whenever they found themselves dealing with things like this: Those things which highlighted his differences more starkly than usual, those things beyond his control for which he nonetheless blamed himself.

His hair was still damp from the shower in which he'd spent little time, clinging to his temples and neck and soaking a dark spot into the back of his coat.  Even Lex's clothes clung to him in a few places, as he'd dried himself only hastily before throwing on the first warm clothing he'd seen in his closet: Steel grey cashmere half zip pullover sweater, Italian black wool three button suit slacks, and black Ferragamo Oxfords.  The whole of it was covered only by his favourite—and hence most easily accessible—black overcoat, as he hadn't taken the time for gloves or a scarf.

It wasn't the most inspired mix, but fashion had been about the last thing on his mind after the alarming ordeal that had sent them zooming to the caves at speeds that were palpably unsafe around the slick curves of Smallville's back roads, but which the ’02 Z8 was able to handle with grace (unlike the downgraded ’03 Alpina version, which probably would have sent them flying into the woods at 105mph, and which Lex had never deigned to purchase for that very reason).

They stood in the caves now, Lex with a hand held low on his belly—which no longer felt any different than normal, but which he kept cradling nonetheless due to the vivid memory of the oddness that had accosted him not so long ago—and Clark with a death grip on the octagonal key, as though he believed it would be sucked out of his grasp if he gave it any quarter.  It probably would have; they stood very close to the depression it was made to fit and Jor-El was ever anxious to speak to his son.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Clark asked in a whisper, as though afraid someone was already listening in.

"I've got to know," Lex breathed back, his voice just as hushed.  The cave's excellent acoustics afforded them not even the illusion of secrecy.

Clark gave a slow nod, took a deep breath, and turned toward the cave wall.  He relaxed his grip minutely and stretched his arm just an inch closer.  The key was immediately ripped from his hand and slammed into the depression.

The symbols glowed—‘Kal-El,’ ‘Krypton's last’ ‘hope’—a halo of white light bursting from its circumference as it slid home, and then each symbol in turn began to glow more brightly, the light softening from its blinding intensity to a more golden hue, before the irregular pentagon opened in its centre, and the entire wall began to glow and fill the cave with a powerful breeze from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"My son."

Even distracted by the beauty inherent in the Kryptonian programme built into the cave wall, Lex noticed Clark sneering at that particular term.  Jonathan Kent was Clark's father, and there was no room for another; Lex knew it without having to be told, but Jor-El's opinion obviously differed.

"I've come here because we have questions!" Clark shouted into the wind.  "So let's dispense with the niceties.  There's... something going on with Lex."

There was a pause, and Lex wondered if Jor-El was waiting for one of the aforementioned questions to be asked.

"Is your chosen ill?"

Clark closed his eyes on an exasperated sigh.  "Lex," he said with intensity, as if to remind Jor-El that Lex had a name, "has had an unusual... experience.  R-Reproductively.  There was a... a... uh..." Clark floundered, looking to Lex with an awkward expression akin to pain.

Lex winced in response to his discomfort.  "Spontaneous ejaculation?" he offered in a mutter.

"Yeah," Clark blurted, looking back to the wall.  "That.  Um, two of ’em, actually."  He paused.  "W-Why...?  I mean, is something...?  Is something wrong?"

Then, as if anticipating an answer he didn't want, Clark took a step closer and to the left, placing himself partially between Lex and the cave wall.  "Don't touch him!" he spat angrily.  "Don't hurt him.  We just want to know... if everything's okay."

For a few protracted moments, there was only the bright light and the constant, swirling wind.  Then, softly, almost as if cowed by Clark's concern, "I can answer your question, Kal-El.  But I must commune with your chosen."

"No!" he glanced forward with the ferocity of his denial.  "Don't you touch him again!"

"Clark," Lex hissed, putting a stilling hand on Clark's shoulder from behind, "if it's the only way to—"

"Lex, no!" he whispered back, his voice harsh and raspy.  "After last time—"

"Kal-El," the booming, disembodied voice interrupted, though his tone was much gentler than Lex remembered it, "I will not harm him."

Clark's gaze shot back to the cave wall.  "Yeah, that's what you said last time!"

"It is unfortunate that our previous communication caused such biomechanical shock.  The programme was made to be as gentle as possible, but humans are frail."

Clark made a disgusted, derisive sound in the back of his throat.

"But that was a communion of minds.  It was necessarily deep and jarring.  The communion I speak of now will be physical—brief and noninvasive."

He fell silent, but Clark only continued to glare at the wall.  Lex stepped slightly around him, trying to get his attention.  "Cl—"

"He is not even capable of perceiving the contact."

Cut off mid-word, Lex shot a wry look at the cave wall.  Jor-El had an uncanny knack of making humanity sound like an unfortunate medical condition.

"Clark," he said, his tone dry, before he looked back to him and spoke sincerely, "I've got to know what's going on.  If it...  If anything..."  He trailed off and swallowed down the rest of his suspicions, irrationally petrified that saying them aloud might make them true.  "If this is the only way, then please... let him do it."

Clark turned to him, his brow tight with fear.  "But, Lex—"

"Clark... please.  Just let me do this.  I have to know."

He let out a great whoosh of breath, bowing his head and shaking it as though at a loss.  A long moment went by as he considered the very few options they had, and finally, he raised his gaze to the cave wall.  "All right," he said softly, his voice stunted with hesitation.  "But if you hurt him again, I swear..."

Jor-El's voice was calm.  "He will not be harmed."

A soft yellow light began to exude from the key, not a bright hook of a lightning bolt like before, but a slow, diffused glow which eventually sharpened to a flattened beam, and seemed to scan Lex's body from head to toe.

Lex was frozen at first, he, like Clark, not fully convinced of Jor-El's ability to touch him without causing some catastrophic damage to his body.  But as the scan went on, he let out a sigh of relief, a cockeyed smile sitting on his lips.  

"Lex?"

"It's all right, Clark," he said, meeting Clark's troubled gaze.  "It doesn't hurt."  He let out a little laugh, turning his hands upward for an instant.  "I can't even feel it."

If anything, the scan was like having a powerful flashlight on him.  The scan was slow and covered his length from head to toe twice, and it was only as it was coming to an end that he felt a slight warming sensation, but it was not at all unpleasant.  In the winter weather, in the dampness of the cave, his clothes offering only minimal protection against the cold, he might have even called it comfy.

"Your chosen's vessel is being prepared for the task it will undertake."

All semblance of a smile fled from Lex's face, his mouth pulling into a concerned frown.

"Okay," Clark said, his voice tight with restrained panic, "what the hell does that mean?"

"Your cells are preparing him to carry your brood."

Lex felt a gag rising in the back of his throat, and held it back with a force of will even as he saw Clark shudder beside him.

"Preparing him how?" Clark managed to choke out.  "What exactly is it the cells are doing?"

"Your ejaculate contains four types of cell—"

"Four?" Lex breathed, barely loud enough to be heard.

"Sperm, ova, soo'ak, and eustran.  The word soo'ak has no English equivalent, but is similar to the words—"

"‘Seek’ and ‘transport,’" Clark said tonelessly.  "And eustran is like ‘learn’ and ‘retain.’"

"That is correct."

Lex felt a small beat of pride over having correctly named the seeker-transporter cells he'd discovered in Clark's semen, but it was buried beneath his frustration at having somehow managed to completely miss a fourth type of cell.

"The purpose of eustran is to access and acquire information about your chosen's reproductive cells: Their location, their health, their abundance, and retain that information until it is required for fertilization and accessed by soo'ak."

"Wait a minute," Clark said in a panic, "so you're saying that Lex had a... had a..."

"Spontaneous ejaculation," Lex offered numbly.

"—because my cells were trying to get at his sperm?"

"That is correct."

"But you said my cells were dormant!" Clark's voice shot up an octave in panic.

"The cells necessary for fertilization are dormant, Kal-El.  They will remain so until the yellow sun is able to strengthen them sufficiently.  But soo'ak and eustran have a relatively noninvasive purpose."

Lex snorted.

"There was no need to weaken them in order to protect human flesh."

"I... I don't..."

"Ask him what he means by ‘preparing me for the task,’" Lex whispered by Clark's ear.

Clark nodded, looking relieved to have something to say.  "What do you mean ‘prepare’ him?  Prepare him how?"

"All humans are pure Senjal, Kal-El.  You are male, as is your chosen.  Therefore, he must be prepared."

Lex stared at the cave wall in confusion.  He recognized the term ‘Senjal,’ but he'd thought it had meant ‘straight.’  That didn't seem to fit here.  "What does he mean," Lex hissed into Clark's ear, "that all humans are Senjal?"

Clark did a double-take, looking at Lex with confusion.  "Senjal, for a male, means you can only impregnate, but not be impregnated yourself."

Lex blinked.  "Oh."

Clark tilted his head slightly.  "What'd you think it meant?"

"Uh... never mind."  He cleared his throat, feeling vaguely embarrassed about such a long-held misunderstanding.  He supposed there were benefits to having been downloaded with the Kryptonian language.  "Ask him—"

"Alexander Luthor-El."

Lex and Clark's heads both whipped toward the cave wall, their jaws dropping in shock.  Lex was too speechless to respond.  Barring their violent communion, which had been only a tool for Jor-El to learn about him so he could judge the level of danger Lex posed to his son, Jor-El had never spoken to Lex directly.  He had certainly never referred to him in that manner.

"As Kal-El's chosen, you are welcome here.  You may, if you wish, direct your inquires to me."

Slowly, Clark turned to stare at Lex, slack-jawed, and Lex imagined he looked much the same.  But he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.  "How," he asked, trying desperately to keep his voice steady, "are the eustran cells changing my body?"

"The eustran are not changing you.  They are only learning about your physiology.  When it is time, the soo'ak will seek out the knowledge of the eustran and transport the necessary cells to the necessary location."

"But Clark won't become fertile for years, maybe a decade."

There was a long pause, as if Jor-El was waiting for more.  

Finally, he said, "That is correct."

"But... won't these cells die?  What they've learned now won't be passed on.  Am I..." he swallowed his dread, "am I going to have to go through this every time these damn things—"

"Eustran do not die.  They learn, retain, and wait.  They will remain within you as tutors until your life has expired."

"Uh—  Uh, hold on, are you telling me that Clark's semen never leaves my body?  Because—"

"No.  Only eustran do not die.  Currently, his sperm and ova are too weak to survive your acidic environment."

"What about the soo'ak cells?"

"Soo'ak are chemically connected to sperm and ova.  When they die, the soo'ak are rendered purposeless and inert.  They are expelled by your natural filtering processes."

Lex let out a great sigh of relief.  Finally, his hand fell from his stomach.  Instead, he ran a palm over his mouth and chin, almost physically holding in the whoop of joy built up in his chest.  He wasn't sure when his concerns had last been so effectively assuaged.  "What happens," he asked as an afterthought, "to all the other eustran Clark... uh, emits, now that these have found whatever it is they need?"

"No further eustran will be produced by Kal-El until he is fertile or until he chooses another."

"You—"

"Clark, let him finish."

"When he is fertile, another small batch will be released to join the first within you.  When he chooses another mate, a small batch will be assigned to its vessel as well."

Clark took in and let out a sharp breath, shaking his head and obviously bursting with angry words for his biological father, though he left them unsaid.

"Be assured, however, that they will not harm you.  Kal-El's reproductive cells have been carefully engineered to be compatible with humans.  They will render themselves inert before chancing physiological harm to your vessel."

"And," Lex added, holding one hand out, "just so we're clear: When you say ‘vessel,’ you are referring to my body in its entirety, correct?"

There was a short pause that was somehow wry regardless of Jor-El's lack of a physical body.  "That is correct."

"Good."

Lex glanced at Clark and found him offering another apologetic look, though this time there was a degree of hope in it, as if to ask if Lex felt better.  He gave a quick nod and a smile to communicate his relief, receiving a small smile in response.

"Alexander Luthor-El, it is likely you will have many more questions as the years pass.  I will answer all that I can.  To this end, I offer you this."

Lex's brow tightened, waiting for Jor-El to explain his offer.  He only belatedly noticed that the key in the wall had begun to shimmer.  The opening in its center looked as though it was beginning to fade, and the key started to lift and separate itself from the depression that held it.

Lex was surprised at this at first, as he'd been under the impression that Jor-El could only speak—or rather, that his programme could only be accessed—when the key was in the cave wall.  But as the key began to approach them on a beam of soft yellow light, Lex realized it was not the key in the wall, but a second, almost identical octagonal key that had solidified into existence before his eyes.

He watched it, slack-jawed, as it floated to him on nothing but light, and hovered half an arm's-length from him at eye level.

"Alexander Luthor-El, as Kal-El's chosen, you are granted access to all programmes written for that role.  This key will act as the portal between you and I.  You may use it to contact me at any time, and you may ask any question."

Lex let out a breath of disbelief.  He looked to Clark, and found his eyes awash in concern.  Though Lex himself was filled with curiosity and an intense desire to reach out and take the key in his hand, feel it against his skin, know that it and the knowledge it represented were at last meant for him, he recognized the fear in Clark's eyes.  Still, the cave was Clark's place, not his, and Lex respected that ownership.  He glanced to the key, then back at Clark, and nodded his agreement.

Clark nodded back, looking mildly relieved, and he reached to take the key from the air.

"KAL-EL!"  Jor-El's voice boomed through the cave, echoing from the walls, and made Lex jump and briefly cower from its suddeness and power.  His heart was in his mouth.

Clark, also startled, pulled his hand back.

"This is not meant for you," Jor-El said, his voice at normal volume, but still powerfully stern.  "It is Alexander Luthor-El's key.  You are not to use it just as he is not to use yours."

Lex's eyes widened at this warning, and he looked to Clark sharply, finding the same realization in his gaze: It had just become quite clear that it was a very good thing Clark had never felt right about the idea of Lex putting the key in the wall, and that Lex had never given in to his desire to do so.  The warning in Jor-El's voice was clearly one of danger.

But Clark did not fully capitulate, directing a wary, squinting stare into the wind that buffeted his clothes and hair.  "I don't trust you.  I don't know what you're going to do to him if he takes this thing."

"I have no intentions," Jor-El said, his tone beginning to sound weary, "of harming the one you have chosen."  He paused.  "But if I did," he added somewhat thoughtfully, "it would not be required he touch anything."

Lex's eyebrows reached for his nonexistent hairline, a strange and inexplicable desire to laugh rising in his throat.  There was something about being in constant, inescapable, and unpredictable danger that made him a little giddy.

Impetuously, Lex shot a hand out and grabbed the key.

"Lex—!"

The light that had ostensibly held it disappeared, and Lex found the key felt exactly like Clark's in his hand.  He looked at it, studying the three symbols upon it and ignoring Clark's stalled objection.

One of the symbols was instantly recognizable as Clark's name, but the other two were completely foreign to him.

"Clark," Lex said quietly, holding it out to him, "what does it say?"

Clark was staring at him with some disbelief, but the question seemed to catch him slightly off guard and he blinked it away.  He glanced down at the key for only a second, then looked away with a disgusted scoff.  "‘The one Kal-El has chosen.’"  He said it with distaste, obviously hating the pretentious sound of it: As if Lex's individuality did not matter, only his relation to Clark.

But Lex didn't mind.  He was proud to have been chosen by Clark and was not foolish enough to discard the importance of that role—especially not here in this place.

"No, my son," Jor-El said calmly, garnering both their attention.  "You are mistaken.  It says, ‘Kal-El has chosen The One.’"

Lex's lips parted in astonishment.  He looked to Clark and found him plainly stunned by the palpable difference between the two interpretations.

Unbidden, Lex felt a small lump rise in his throat, and his eyes began to lightly burn.  He looked away from Clark and from the key, finding a nonaffecting place to lay his gaze: The broken pictograph of Segeeth and Naman, which had unfortunately been destroyed the last time he and Clark had been in this cave asking Jor-El questions.  Its loss was a tragedy.  It had been there for centuries before their violent confrontation had so irrevocably damaged it.

The brief loss of emotional control was quickly beaten into submission, and Lex looked down at the key in his hand once again.  He turned it so that Clark's Kryptonian name was at the top, its apparently correct orientation.

"You will be entered into the Hall of Memories as a cherished member of the House of El."

Lex looked up into the light in surprise, somehow not having expected Jor-El to speak to him again, and certainly not expecting such a statement as this.

"There is a short, somewhat quaint ritual, which has been passed down through the ages.  Alexander Luthor-El, will you undertake this ritual?"

"No."  Clark stepped in front of him again, Lex letting out a small sound of irritation at not being allowed to respond.  "No rituals."

"Clark—"

"Alexander Luthor-El," Jor-El repeated, ignoring his son's objection, "will you undertake it?"

Lex stepped out from behind Clark's protection.

"Lex," Clark hissed, looking to him with incredulity.

Lex offered him a brief apologetic glance, then turned his attention to the light and wind that represented Jor-El's will.  "Does it pose me any danger?"

"No.  The ritual is not dangerous."

Clark was obviously not convinced.  But Lex didn't look to him for permission.

"Then yes," he said without hesitation, ignoring Clark's breathy sound of disbelief.  "I will."

"Lex—"

"What do I need to do?"

Clark made an aborted sound of incredulous objection, then fell into a quiet anger, staring at his boots and shaking his head.

Lex didn't acknowledge it.  Later, he could apologize or explain or beg for forgiveness for having thrust carelessly forward.  But there was nothing—excepting perhaps the threat of death—that could have stopped him from responding to such an offer.

Since their fateful meeting, understanding Clark had been Lex's passion and his obsession.  He'd desired so deeply to wrap himself up in everything that Clark was, to understand even those things that Clark himself did not, that he had been willing to come to this very place and go through anything required of him to receive any knowledge he was offered.  When Jor-El had pierced his mind, flayed him open, he had accepted and even desired it, regardless of his terror, regardless of the danger.  He'd wanted, more than anything, to know.

Despite everything that had come before now, that desire was still just as strong as ever.  Clark had never stopped being his obsession.  Clark had never stopped being his passion.  And there was no way in hell he was going to pass up an opportunity to be welcomed into the fold.  The truth was that Jor-El could have told him his chances of survival were fifty-fifty and Lex still would have been willing to go through with it.

A new light began to emit from the wall, this one with a bluish tint, but just as soft and diffused as the yellow had been.  It projected an image into the air, directly in front of Lex.  It appeared to be his own torso, showing the key in his hand and an exact copy of his open overcoat and the sweater beneath, but the image cut off at the neck and waist.  The Lex in the image was holding the key in a very particular way: It rested in the centre of the left palm, the right hand underneath the left.  The sides of the hands were against the centre of the chest.  The thumbs pointed away from the chest, the pads pressed gently together, creating a small triangle of space.

As soon as Lex imitated the image, it faded.

"With the circuit complete," Jor-El said, "gaze upon the key and consider the reasons you've been chosen."

Lex looked down at the key in his hand, and blinked.

A long, uncomfortable pause went by.  He shifted on his feet and his brow furrowed.  His eyes shifted to the left and the right.  He stared at the key some more.

He opened his mouth, closed it, shifted again.  He stared.

"Alexander Luthor-El," Jor-El said, his tone noticeably chastising, "you must concentrate."

Lex let out a frustrated breath.  "I'm trying, I..." he sighed sharply and stared at the key a little harder.  His cheeks began to grow hot.

"Lex?"  Clark took a half a step closer.  There was some concern in his voice and Lex glanced up to offer him a quick smile of reassurance, though it felt awkward on his face.

Looking at Clark made him feel guilty.

He stared back to the key, but it was no use.  His mind was completely blank.  He had absolutely nothing.

A feeling of utter inadequacy growing in his chest, he looked to Clark with hesitance.

"What's wrong?" Clark asked quietly.  "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just..."

Lex glanced at the key again, and back at Clark, his embarrassment growing.  He let out a sharp sigh at himself and shifted on his feet once again, feeling eminently uncomfortable.  "I just..." he leaned in a little closer, knowing even while he did it that it wouldn't stop Jor-El from hearing his chagrined confession.  "I-I don't know why I was chosen."

Clark blinked at him.

Lex was wincing internally as he waited for Jor-El's derision at his deficiency and was grateful when several seconds passed and he said nothing.  But Clark also remained silent, and Lex's restlessness grew.  "Can you...?  I mean, why... why did you choose me?"

As Clark continued to stare at him, Lex realized the expression on his face was not blankness, but astonishment.  "I..."  Clark scoffed, looking briefly confused.  "Lex, I love you."

He gave a little shrug of acknowledgment.  "Yeah, but... why?  Why me?  Of all the people in the world..."

For a moment, Clark looked startled, and then he gave an honest soft laugh, shaking his head.  "Lex, I can't stand here and give you a bullet point rundown of why I'm in love with you.  I mean, I don't..." he shrugged.  "I love you...  I love you because you're you."

When Lex didn't respond, only watching him for something more—perhaps something less abstract—Clark reached out and drew a feather-light touch down Lex's cheek.  His thumb passed gently over Lex's bottom lip, and then he held Lex's chin in his hand for a brief moment before he pulled away.  "Don't you know that?"

As he gazed into Clark's eyes, seeing them shine with the very love he spoke of, the very love Lex so often felt so deeply in his own soul, he felt a small, sheepish smile of understanding quirk one corner of his mouth.  He let out a soft laugh and shifted his stance one more time, but for an altogether different reason, as a warm beat of pride infused his chest.

"Yeah," he said, almost to himself.  "I guess I do."

Clark smiled, showing a swath of perfect white teeth, his eyes sparkling with sudden happiness, and Lex felt momentarily abashed by his powerful show of emotion, and had to look away.  He glanced at the key for the briefest of moments, and then felt the weirdest sensation he'd ever felt in his life.

A flash of blue light shot from the cave wall, not at him but through him.  But it wasn't like the medical scan—not at all.  It had body to it, and he felt it pass through every inch of him, something akin to a person brushing by him on the street, but instead of their arms bouncing off of one another's solid flesh, each and every one of the cells that made them up separated and brushed by one another one by one by one by one, each of the other person's cells squeezing between two of his own, and vice versa.

The feeling was all over his body, all at once, from the front to the back as the light passed through him, and he gasped from the sensation and took a stumbling step backward as it exited.

Clark was steadying him in a flash, one hand on his arm, the other around his waist, his voice immediately thick with concern.  "Lex!  What—?"

Lex tried to say he was okay, but he was momentarily breathless, his eyes wide, his mouth gaping with surprise from the shock of it, and Clark turned sudden fury on Jor-El.

"What have you done?" he shouted before Lex could respond.

"I'm all right!" he finally managed to say, the words run together and too sharp.  Clark's gaze snapped back to him.  Lex took a breath and steadied his voice.  "I'm fine," he said, still panting.  "It didn't hurt.  Just... felt kind of weird."

His hands had fallen out of position as soon as the strange occurrence had started, and he let his arms fall to his sides, his key—his key!—held as tightly as he could manage in his left hand.

"You said you weren't going to touch him," Clark growled.

"I said I would not harm him," Jor-El parried, and Lex once again had to hold back the exceedingly inappropriate desire to laugh.

"Alexander Luthor-El," Jor-El said, his voice taking on a powerfully important tone, as if he was making a great announcement, "you are welcomed... into the greatest family... Krypton ever knew."

Clark began to speak, Lex not sure what he was going to say, though he knew it would be the beginning of another round of censure of Jor-El, but something had caught the corner of Lex's eye, and he began to turn in Clark's embrace, and didn't hear a single word.

He turned, slowly, his mouth hanging open, his eyes widening in utter shock, until his back was to the wall and the wind.  As soon as he could think to move his hands, he slapped Clark insistently on the shoulder, interrupting whatever it was he had been spitting at his biological father.  "Clark, Clark," Lex croaked, seemingly unable to make any other sounds.  He pointed at what he was seeing and tried to say ‘look,’ but only managed to form the L.

It didn't matter, as Clark spun on his heel at the sound of Lex's insistence, and his gasp spoke for both of them.

They were surrounded by a blue-white scene, much like the projection of the instructions Lex had received regarding how to hold the key, or the anatomy lesson they'd both received when they had first come to these caves together to ask questions of Jor-El.  But this scene did not seem to come directly from the cave wall whence Jor-El's voice emanated, but instead from everywhere and from nowhere.

The scene consisted only of people: All around them in a semi-circle stood what must have been a hundred people, two hundred, maybe more, all standing perfectly still, all in what appeared to be some kind of ceremonial garb of loose, flowing white clothing that covered them completely but for their hands, throats, and heads.  Their hairstyles varied widely, as if some of them were from completely different eras than others, but the ceremonial garb was the same for all of them, male and female: The tops were robe-like, reminding Lex somewhat of the attire of a judge, but shorter, ending just below the waist.  The slacks were similar in material, loose and light, and tucked into soft slouched boots with a small, flat heel.  Though everything was presented in a blue light, it was plain that all of their clothing was virgin white and immaculate.

Lex noticed that the women wore no makeup, that every single person looked to be in peak physical condition, and that not a single one of them was unattractive.  Some of them wore a piece of jewelry, like a ring or a necklace, but every piece was simple and clean and none of it was ostentatious.

There was only one person in the entire crowd he recognized, and that was Clark.

He stood, not in the centre or slightly forward as if a leader, but off to their left, standing equally with the rest, a part of the crowd—a part of, apparently, the family.  His hair was long and straight and smooth, not slightly damp and blown about as Clark's was at the moment.  He looked dignified and sure of himself, and very much as if he belonged there.  And, most surprisingly, around his neck he wore a copy of the pendant Lex had given him.  It sat atop his ceremonial robes, centered proudly on his chest, the glyph upon it plainly visible.

Lex's gaze travelled the faces many times, but he always came back to Clark: Regal, calm, and at peace.

A trembling, pointing hand became visible out of the corner of his eye, and he looked to Clark, surprised to find him not pointing at his own representation, but at two people gently touching fingers, just slightly to Lex's right.  He looked at them, and realized the woman looked slightly familiar.

"That's them," Clark said, his voice awash with amazement.  "Those are my parents."

Lex's gaze snapped to him in surprise.  A trembling, confused smile sat on Clark's lips, his eyes wide with wonder.

"I recognize them."

Clark's hand was just starting to come back to his side when they each noticed a movement somewhere in the back, behind the crowd of people that stretched throughout the cave and seemingly beyond.  Someone was moving through, and the crowd was parting to make way.

Just then, as if he sensed the approach though there was no sound to accompany it, Clark's avatar slowly turned his head and looked back.

Lex could not have said he was surprised when an manifestation of himself, dressed in the same ceremonial garb, and holding an octagonal key in its right hand, made its way through the last of the crowd, and met the gaze of Clark's representation.  Clark's avatar reached out a hand just slightly, and Lex's reached out his empty left hand, and gently touched only the tips of their fingers together.  They did not smile at one another, but only stared into each other's eyes for a long moment as Lex's avatar settled into place beside Clark's.  The front line seamlessly adjusted to make room for him, and they both looked forward again, expressionless, connected only by the whisper-light touch of their fingertips.

He looked between the representation of the two of them, and the representation of Clark's biological parents, and he noticed the similarities in their positions.  A dawning realization settled into Lex's mind and he leaned slightly closer to Clark.  "Don't quote me," he whispered, "but I think we just got married."

Clark looked at him sharply, his eyes wide.  Lex offered a tiny quirk of a smile, unsure of Clark's reaction to this news and suddenly not certain he'd been wise to mention it.  But he was soon answered with a wide, thrilled grin, Clark's eyes sparkling with absolute elation.

Before he could say a word, however, the entire prosopopoeial image faded.  Once again they were alone in the cave with only the white light and the wind to remind them of Jor-El's presence.

"It is complete," he said.

They turned to face the wall, and Lex was pretty sure it was the only time he'd ever seen Clark look at the place his biological father's voice came from, and smile.  It didn't last long.

"Alexander Luthor-El, until and unless Kal-El dispossesses you," and Clark was immediately scowling, "you are welcome here, and the key you hold will access all that is available to Kal-El's Chosen—in these caves and beyond."

A dark shadow had fallen over Clark's face at the casual suggestion that he might toss Lex from his life, but Lex took no issue with the words.  He understood and accepted Jor-El's point: In here, it was all about Clark.

Lex knew he only mattered in the caves or to Jor-El insomuch as he was connected to Clark, and that if that connection did not exist, or should ever cease to exist, then his acceptance into these caves, and presumably into the House of El, would vanish.  He would have expected nothing more and nothing less.  

He was curious, however, as to what the ‘beyond’ Jor-El referred to was, but he also knew that Clark's patience with Jor-El was short, and that they already had a lot to talk about.  With the new key in his hand, Lex was confident in the fact that he could come back to this place at a later time and satisfy many of his curiosities, if not all of them.

Before they left, however, he did have just one more thing he wanted to ask.

"Uh..." Lex started nervously, not exactly sure what the protocol was for making a request.  "Now that I'm part of the family... I could ask you for something.  Is that right?"

He saw Clark look at him in confusion, perhaps even mild concern.  Lex knew the question probably seemed a little out of place.

Even Jor-El's voice was heedful.  "You may ask, Alexander Luthor-El."

Lex nodded, swallowing dryly, and looking down at his feet.  "I was just wondering if—as a personal favour to me..." he glanced up at Clark, offered a small smile, and then directed a somewhat pained expression into the light, "could you call me Lex?"

Clark snorted.


~


Clark and Lex sat in the car, the engine running, the heat on, and stared out the windshield for a very long time.

Lex still had not put his key down, holding it tightly in his hand as if afraid it would disappear should he allow his grip to relax even an iota.

"At least we know you're okay," Clark said numbly.

Lex was mildly startled by the sound, having been enveloped by silence for so long.  "Yes," he said, his voice just as dull.

Neither of them had dared speak their fears aloud, not wanting to say the words and not wanting to hear the other say them.  Their mutual relief at Jor-El's explanations had been palpable, but what kept them frozen now was the astonishment of what had come after.  It seemed that no matter what it was they came to Jor-El for initially, they always ended up with a hell of a lot more than they'd bargained for.

Lex was plainly thrilled to have been accepted into the House of El—whatever that might have entailed.  Clark, for his part, had found his happiness in the moment when Lex had likened the ritual to a marriage—something he knew they couldn't undertake in the human world.

But what had Clark most dumbfounded was that it had been astonishingly easy for Jor-El to accept Lex.  It was the first time in his life—and he hoped it would be the last—that Clark had found himself thinking, ‘Now, why can't Dad be more like that?’  He felt kind of dirty about it.

"You know," Lex said at length, "I thought all this time that Senjal meant straight."

"Huh," Clark muttered, still staring blindly out the windshield.  "Well, it kind of does... in a way."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lex looking at him, and turned to meet his gaze.  Lex looked supremely confused.

Clark shrugged.  "I mean, if you're male, and you're Senjal, you can be gay, but you'll still only be able to reproduce like a straight person.  So if you were a male gay Senjal and you were in a relationship with another gay male Senjal, you would never be able to reproduce."

Lex looked at him for a long time, blinking as he considered this.  "Just like humans."

Clark nodded.  "I think," he said through a little laugh, "that the closer Kryptonians were to humans, the less honoured they were considered to be."

"Yeah," Lex snorted.  "I get that impression."  He paused.  "So Senjal doesn't mean straight at all.  It means you can only reproduce if you're straight."

"Kind of, yeah.  Though, if you're a pure Senjal gay male, and you're in a relationship with a Koren male, gay or bi, you could impregnate the Koren male."

"Because as Koren, he can reproduce with males or with females."

Clark shook his head.  "He couldn't reproduce with a Senjal gay female."

Lex's expression morphed into complete befuddlement.

Clark let out a little laugh, understanding Lex's confusion.  "A Senjal gay female is only capable of reproducing with a Kor'jal male.  But she wouldn't, of course, because she's gay.  You have to be at least Kor'jal female to be able to reproduce with another female, so Senjal gay females are generally considered the end of a bloodline."

"Wait, but wasn't your great-great-grandmother or someone a Senjal female?"

"My fourth mother, yeah.  But she was straight.  So she was able to reproduce with a Senjal straight male, or a Kor'jal or Koren male of any sexuality."

Lex let out an irritated breath, shaking his head.

"I know," Clark said.  "It's confusing.  The problem is that Kryptonian is just nothing like English.  No word has only one meaning.  Senjal, Kor'jal, and Koren—they're said in Kryptonian because there are no English equivalents.  The meanings of each of the words literally changes depending on the relationship you're describing.  ‘Senjal male’ only means ‘man who can only procreate with a woman’ if the relationship you are discussing is one between a Senjal straight or bi male and a Senjal, Kor'jal or Koren straight or bi woman.  It's like...  Okay, just for instance: The phrase that means ‘healing person’ or, like, a doctor?"

Lex nodded.

"That same phrase said in exactly the same way can mean ‘fire starter.’"  Clark snorted as Lex's eyebrows climbed his forehead and he looked at Clark in astonishment.  "It depends where it is in the sentence, what other words are around it, even what kind of person is doing the talking."  He shrugged.  "Getting downloaded with the Kryptonian language was not my idea of a good time, but I get why he did that instead of handing me a ‘Conversational Kryptonian in 30 Days’ CD or something."

"Yeah, well, if that exists, I'd love to get a copy."

Clark chuckled.  "But even being downloaded wasn't enough at first," he went on.  "It took me a while to work out what he was saying, ’cause I hadn't made use of those terms before.  Honestly, I'm still not sure I understand it completely."  He shrugged dismissively.  "Doesn't matter, anyway.  It's not as if there's a bunch of Kryptonians running around whose reproductive details I need to comprehend.  I'm having a hard enough time with my own."

Again they both looked out the windshield, though comprehending nothing outside the car, and remained silent for a minute or two.

"When he said there was a fourth type of cell..."

Clark laughed.  "Yeah, I saw you get pissed off at yourself."

"I guess they don't show up very often."  He paused.  "Honestly, I'm a bit miffed that I missed them.  I wonder what they look like under the microscope."

Clark let out a great sigh, which morphed into a groan halfway through, and he dropped his head back onto his headrest.

Lex chuckled.

"Please, Lex, no more plastic cups in the bedstand, okay?"

There was a brief pause.  "Request noted."

Clark groaned louder at what Lex was not saying.  He'd been hoping for something more along the lines of, ‘You have my word.’

"Can we get out of here?" Clark asked, closing his eyes and wincing, almost wishing he could get a stress headache.  "I need to go do something normal or my head is going to explode."

Key still in hand, Lex put the car in gear.  "I know the feeling."


~


Lana blew a stream of air from the corner of her mouth, trying without success to get her rapidly growing bangs out of her eyes as she attempted to hang a painting over the most isolated booth in the back of the Talon.

For all the years her hair had been long, she had often lamented its lack of ability to grow quickly.  Now that she'd decided she'd rather have it short, it was growing like weeds.  Two weeks in and she already needed a trim.

It was far from her idea to exhibit her artwork—any of it—at her place of business.  To begin with, she thought it seemed kind of egotistical, and furthermore, her work wasn't good enough to be displayed publicly.

But Brad had been working on her for months, insisting that she was passing up a golden opportunity, certain that the Talon's varied patrons wouldn't be able to help but fall madly in love with her talent.

She rolled her eyes at the memory, even as she was unable to suppress a smile.  Lana was aware that Brad didn't know the first thing about art, and wouldn't have given any of her work a second look—or a first one, for that matter—if he hadn't been so interested in the artist.  But that wasn't the point—or maybe it was exactly the point: Brad supported her hobbies, even if he didn't personally understand them.

She paused in adjusting the corners of the frame as a small, vaguely confused frown settled around her mouth.  When had she started thinking of art as a hobby?

"I think it's still a little crooked," came a perky voice from behind her.  "Put the right side up just, like, a quarter of an inch."

Lana glanced back over her shoulder to find Lois Lane, Chloe's cousin and Lana's latest hire, standing with a damp kitchen towel flung over one shoulder, her fists on her slim hips as she looked up at the painting in consideration.  The teal apron draped over her long form was spattered with coffee, chocolate, and muffin crumbs.  But it was an improvement.  Last week, some of the customers had been.

Lana offered a small smile of thanks and tilted the corner up just a smidge.

"Hm.  I think that's too far.  Now it's crooked the other way."

Lana tilted the left side just half a smidge.

"Huh."  Lois sounded unsatisfied, but said nothing more.

Lana's arms were starting to hurt.  She looked awkwardly back over her shoulder.  "Well?"

Lois was looking up, higher than the picture, her gaze slowly moving from the left side of the building to the right.  "Oh.  Um, never mind.  It's the ceiling that's crooked."

Lana let out a disgusted sigh and hung her head, but was unable to stop herself from laughing quietly.  She let go of the painting and climbed down from the booth, which Lois immediately wiped down with the wet towel over her shoulder to remove any boot prints Lana had left behind.

Lois was far from a master barista, but there was one thing Lana would give her: She was fastidious.  A newly empty table never went unclean for long when Lois was around.  Privately, Lana thought she might have missed her calling as a busboy.

"It's nice," Lois said with a nod when she was done, referring to the painting.  "I'm not much of a horse person, but that one looks, you know, peaceful."

The painting was of Lana's gelding when she was a little girl, grazing in a verdant meadow.  Branches were brushed into in the foreground and a summer breeze played over the horse's mane and tail and the grasses it feasted upon.  The horse who was the subject of the painting was long dead—gastrointestinal distress had led to uncontrolled rolling, which had twisted his guts into unusable and excruciating knots, and he had been put down by the vet—but this was how Lana imagined he would have been in later life, had he lived: Quiet and happy, peacefully grazing his golden years away.

She had named him Forever Horse—because she had been six, and silly, and overindulged by her Aunt, who knew she could never take the place of Lana's missing parents, and so hadn't had the heart to say, ‘That's a stupid name for a horse, Lana’—and, on a similar whim, she had named the painting after him.

Lois leaned in and read the little makeshift plaque Lana had put next to it (which was also, Lana now noticed, quite crooked), "‘Forever Horse,’" she quoted, and nodded.  "Yeah, that's nice.  Just being who and what he is, grazing around, being all horse-like.  Cool."  She met Lana's gaze.  "A social commentary on how being yourself and not selling out will ultimately bring you peace, right?"

Lana blinked.  "Um..." she looked at the painting of her horse, considered the sappy reasons she'd painted it, and decided, quite rapidly, to lie.  "Yes."

"Deep."

"Uh-huh."

There was a pause.

"We're almost out of the Aztec stuff."

"Right."  Lana spun on her heel and headed back behind the counter, where she found she felt infinitely more comfortable.  She headed first into the back room to be sure there wasn't another package of it hiding in the shadows and to make note of anything else that was low, then found the number of her supplier to place a small order.

‘The Aztec stuff,’ incidentally, was the cayenne sipping chocolate, and the fact that they were running low on it was a stark illustration of the fact that Lex had been, as usual, right.  Improving and embellishing the descriptions on the menu had increased orders of the various sipping chocolate varieties by well over two hundred percent.  She was amazed sometimes by how simply the general public could be manipulated into trying something new.  And, again as Lex had predicted, once people bothered to try it, they found they really rather liked it, and so the sales had kept up.

Lana was no more of a business genius than she was an artistic genius, but she had an excellent teacher in the former, and her progress in the latter had proven she was a damn good student.

In short order, she planned to enhance the menu descriptions of her three slowest selling coffees, too.


~


Clark looked up from the book he was unsuccessfully pretending to read and glanced at the clock.  An entire hour had gone by since they'd returned to the mansion.  He briefly wondered if Lex noticed he hadn't turned the page of his book even once, but as soon as he cast his gaze that way, he realized Lex probably hadn't noticed much of anything.

Lex appeared to be sitting at his desk working on the laptop.  But, in fact, his eyes were dull and unfocussed, and not actually pointed at the screen.  His fingers sat listlessly on the edge of the keyboard, just short of the touchpad.

It was quite evident that they were in the same boat.

"Can't concentrate either, huh?"

Lex jumped.  He looked to Clark with surprise, which quickly faded into a chuckle.  "Am I that obvious?"

Clark shrugged, smiling as he closed his book, not bothering to mark the page.  "Almost as obvious as me," he said, putting the book down on the cushion beside him.

Lex was silent for a moment, the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward.  He shook his head minutely.  "I feel like I should be planning our honeymoon."

Clark's smile immediately became a full-fledged grin before he was able to temper it again.  "Do you really think it was like a marriage?"  He asked this while trying very hard to keep the delight out of his voice, and failing quite miserably.

"Well," Lex said with a shrug, his tone somewhat wry, "I was accepted into the family.  I figure it's either marriage or adoption, and I would prefer not to think of you as a brother at this juncture."

Clark snorted with laughter.  "Point taken."

They quieted, Clark watching Lex probably more intently than he'd meant to, but he didn't seem able to help himself.  Eventually it seemed to make Lex feel a little awkward, as the small twist to his lips became a quirk, putting his expression just barely on the distinguished side of dorky.  "What?" he finally said with a small chuckle and shift of his eyes which conveyed his mild discomfort.

But Clark only smiled.

Lex watched him for a moment and, upon realizing no answer was forthcoming, he leaned forward, forearms folded on the desk, and sighed.  His expression softened into affection, with maybe a hint of indulgence.  "What is it, Clark?" he asked softly.

Clark let a beat go by, making sure he had Lex's undivided attention, though he already knew he did.  "I would, you know."

"Would you?" Lex replied immediately with amusement.  It was clear he hadn't caught Clark's meaning.

"I mean, if we could.  I would."  He shook his head just slightly, not disagreeing, but emphasizing the veracity of his statement.  "In a second."

It was plain the moment Lex got it: He blinked a few times, rapidly, and his posture straightened.  His lips parted, at first it seemed in astonishment, but then, as he glanced down and to the side, it seemed to be just regret and sadness.  When he met Clark's gaze again, he didn't have to say what he said in order to be understood, but he did just the same.

"Yeah.  So would I."  He smirked.  "In half a second."

Clark snorted with mirth, driven to constant amusement by the innate Luthor competitiveness.

Then he took in a deep breath and sighed, pushing his way out of the cushy loveseat and moving away from the toasty warm fireplace.  "I'm gonna head home," he said.  "You have work to do anyway, and I..." he shrugged, "think I need a walk."

"Yeah, all right."

Lex came out from behind his desk to offer a warm, lasting hug, and a kiss that began chaste and quickly turned deep but tender.  When they'd parted, he slid his hands into his pockets, then smiled when Clark met his gaze before disappearing around the corner.

His shoulders dropped as soon as Clark was gone, a deep sigh emanating from seemingly his very soul.

He knew he should go back to his computer and get some work done, but he wasn't sure he'd be fooling anyone at all.  Clark hadn't been able to see it from where he was sitting, but before he'd said something, Lex had been inactive for so long, the screensaver had come on.  He should deactivate that thing.  At least then he could try fooling himself once in a while.

But not now.  He wasn't in the mood even for the attempt.

He found himself missing The Room.  Whenever he felt the way he felt now, it was where he most longed to be.  But the contents of The Room and the comfort it offered were both long gone, and he hadn't even opened that door in months.  He couldn't bear to see its emptiness.

After mulling it over for a bit, standing still as a statue in the middle of the room, he decided he really wouldn't mind going for a long drive on Smallville's many soothingly curved back roads.  Perhaps he'd even make a pit stop by the Talon for a cup of equally soothing drinking chocolate, which would perhaps chase away more than just the winter chill.

Lex smirked at himself as he was entering the garage and choosing an appropriate vehicle (something small and sporty, of course, prizing handling over all—a Porsche, obviously.  But which one?).  It was already clear to him that he was looking forward just slightly less to the drive than to the chocolate.

In the past, Lex had never been much of a believer in comfort foods.  But, hell, it sure seemed to work for Clark.


~


Clark took ‘the long way home,’ which for him meant that he walked at a human-like speed the entire way.  His pace, in fact, was slightly less than a human's casual stroll.  He might have been approaching sloth-like speed, actually.

Clark's parents had not been aware that Clark and Lex had decided to go to the caves this morning.  It had been a very sudden decision based solely on Lex's odd experience in the shower, which had brought all of their stressful, enduring, mostly unspoken worries into instant sharp relief.  The decision had been made in the bat of an eye, with very little discussion.  Even Clark hadn't had the heart to do much protesting after taking in the terrified expression on Lex's face, and instantly understanding that there was very little, if anything, that Clark himself could do to quell it.

Now that Clark was headed home, he had to think about how to tell his folks that the two of them had once again gone and done that stupid thing they'd said—or at least implied—that they would never do again after what had happened to Lex the last time.  The more he thought about it, the more his internal question started drifting away from, ‘How do I tell them?’ and toward, ‘Do I really need to tell them?’ instead.

It was true that this time was different in that Lex had not been hurt by going to the caves.  If anything, it seemed that he'd been honoured by Jor-El.  But this was simply a lucky happenstance, and Lex's current good health was not in any way due to some special precautions they'd taken or some guarantee of safety they'd received.  They had run into the situation all but blindly, Clark knew, and his parents would see that, too, and they would point it out: ‘Well, thank goodness you were lucky, because you sure were stupid!’

He couldn't argue the point.  He knew from Lex's last experience that the cave had powers and speed even beyond Clark's, and that if Jor-El had wanted at him, there was nothing Clark could have done but scream and fume and rend his garments, waiting for Jor-El to have his fill and give Lex back to him.

An ugly chill crept up Clark's spine at the thought of it, the danger becoming somehow much clearer in retrospect than it had been even when they'd been in the thick of it.

‘Do I really need to tell them?’

He could hear this question taking dominance in his mind, and wondered only briefly why he was so reluctant to bring the subject up.

It certainly wasn't that he wasn't ready for his parents to hear the details of his and Lex's Kryptonian ‘marriage’—if that was what it was—as Clark felt he could burst from happiness over the very idea of that incident, and would have been thrilled to shout it from the rooftops if it had been a viable option.

No, what it came down to was simple, and it was this: Clark was a coward.

He kicked at a rock in his path, head both drooping and nodding as he agreed with this self-assessment.

Oh, sure, he could throw himself into harm's way to save a friend—or even a stranger.  He'd stand brazenly right in the path of an out of control locomotive, let it slam into his body rather than fly off the tracks, in a valiant effort to protect the people in the cars.  He'd step in front of a bullet (or twenty) and take them into his own chest to save someone else from having to do the same.  He'd face destructive weapons of all kinds: Fire, acid, poison, knives, guns, forty-ton trucks, mutant super-powered people, probably even a nuclear bomb if the situation came up.

But facing his parents’ disapproval?  Now, that was scary.


~


Chloe sat in a booth at the Talon, ostensibly working on homework, but in reality just staring a blank stare at the back of the empty booth in front of her.  She was tapping the tip of her pen repeatedly on her notebook, turning it over, tapping the other end, turning it again, and so on, and her mocha was cooling in its cup despite the tightly adhered lid.

She might have sat there doing nothing for a whole lot longer if someone hadn't slid into the booth across from her and startled her out of her reverie.

Chloe gaped across the table, shocked beyond belief by the smugly smirking face before her.

After a protracted moment of stunned silence, she let out a little snort.  "Uh... so I guess you didn't hear about my little blow-up with our favourite farm boy."

Lex's smirk, if possible, became just slightly more smug.  "Oh, believe me, I heard."

She stared at him for a long moment, waiting for an explanation, but nothing seemed forthcoming.  Eventually, she scoffed in incredulity.  "Well, do you really want to risk being seen fraternizing with the enemy?"

"Mm," Lex winced as if the term was painful or too harsh, then shrugged carelessly.  "I'm not worried."

"No?  Well, let me tell you, the Kent wrath can be pretty bad.  I wouldn't push my luck if I were you."

"He's still friends with Pete, isn't he?"

Chloe blinked, thrown by this seemingly unrelated question.  "Uh... yeah, I guess so."

"And..." Lex looked around briefly, "Pete talks to you, doesn't he?"

"That's... true."

His smirk became a full-fledged smile.  "Then I should be in the clear."

Chloe watched him with disbelief for a few seconds before she realized he was serious: He was going to sit there and talk to her, maybe offer her a little sympathy or support, despite the fact that if Lex had only one reason to take a side in Chloe and Clark's little disagreement, it would probably be that he was sleeping with Clark.

Chloe and Lex had not spent a lot of time together over the three plus years Lex had been in Smallville, but on the few occasions she'd gotten the chance to talk to him, she'd found him to be brilliant, suave, and quite possibly the coolest thing since cucumber sandwiches.  Chloe could find her way to admiring Lex, or wondering what made him tick, but she'd certainly never thought of him as a ‘friend.’

She supposed that was probably why, when she realized he was going to sit there and talk to her and damn what Clark might think, it made her feel just a little choked up inside.

Suddenly all the tumultuous emotions she'd been feeling over the past two weeks while Clark had been treating her to the cold shoulder were scrambling over one another to make themselves known, and she felt her features slowly twist into one big wince of distress.  "I didn't—" she started impetuously, choking on her own words.  "I wasn't gossiping about him."

Lex nodded, his smirk gone, a quiet empathy entering his eyes.

"It wasn't like I was snickering behind his back or being—god.  It was just such a stupid, thoughtless thing."

He remained quiet while she took a moment to look down at her hands and compose herself.  It was just as she was about to glance up again that he spoke, with uncanny timing.  "So why did you tell her?" he asked.

She looked up sharply and must have appeared immediately defensive, as he rushed into an addendum.

"Oh," he turned a hand up briefly on the table, "I'm just curious.  That's all."

Chloe let out a tight sigh, feeling somehow more and more simpleminded every time she had to answer this question.  "She was saying things.  Stupid things.  I should have just let it—  But Pete and I hadn't been together that long, and I guess I was sensitive about my..." she hesitated and rolled her eyes, "thing for Clark."

Lex quirked an eyebrow, looking intrigued.  "‘Thing for Clark’?"

All the blood drained out of Chloe's face and she felt, if possible, even more awkward.  "Oh," she said tonelessly.  "So he hasn't..." she cleared her throat, "uh, mentioned that."

Lex was silent for a few discomfiting seconds, and it was only as he started speaking that Chloe noticed the mischievous sparkle in his eye.  Her reporter instincts seemed to be slipping.  "You wouldn't be referring to the long-lived schoolgirl crush you harboured for him before he finally told you about himself, would you?"

Before he was done, she was already wearing a wry quirk to her lips, but it didn't stop her from blushing a deep pink.  "Yeah," she said blandly.  "That'd be it."

Lex looked toward the ceiling briefly, as if pondering it, before meeting her gaze again.  "You know, he might have mentioned it once.  Perhaps twice."

She sighed, as much at herself for not realizing that Lex probably knew every single thing Clark had ever thought about her, as at his friendly ribbing.  She shrugged, shaking her head at herself.  "I'm sure she was just kidding around.  But, I don't know.  It bothered me.  It was like she was suggesting Clark and I were having some clandestine affair, sneaking around behind Pete's back.  And I just wanted it to stop before she said another word, even if it was just a puerile joke."

Lex was nodding at her reasoning, which made her feel just the tiniest bit better even as she told the story.  "So you told her such a thing wouldn't even be possible because..."

"Right.  Stupid, I know."  She paused briefly, then felt another wave of shame come over her, and slapped her hand over her eyes.  "God!  I didn't even think that he might be upset, it's just..."  She leaned her forearms on the table and sighed heavily.  "I don't know.  My whole life, I've never hesitated before telling Lois anything.  Partly because I hardly ever see her so it doesn't feel like much of a risk, you know?"

"Sure," he shrugged.  "Who's she going to tell?"

Chloe scoffed at herself.  "Yeah.  And now I just wish I could go back and clap my hand over my own mouth before I get word one out."

Lex was nodding again, his expression rife with understanding and sympathy, and Chloe got the impression he'd sit there for another half hour, letting her blubber out her regrets and apologies, and never offering a single contrary word.  He was trying to make her feel better.  But she suddenly realized that was all it was.

She watched him consideringly and he gazed back at her, his expression open and placid.  "You... can't tell him any of this, can you?"  It wasn't really a question.  She was only verbalizing what she'd already realized: Lex couldn't help.  He was just letting her know he sympathized.

Just the same, he seemed to carefully consider his response.  "Well," he said seriously, "I have heard that his wrath is pretty terrifying."  The smirk reasserted itself, though now Chloe recognized rakish delight, not smugness.  "I wouldn't want him to know I'd been talking to you."

Chloe laughed softly, smiling despite herself as Lex winked and got up from the table.

"Hang in there, Chloe," he said, touching her shoulder softly with the hand not holding his coffee.  "He can't stay mad forever."

"No," she said, keeping the rest to herself until she heard the tinkling bells on the door announce his exit.  Then she leaned back heavily into her seat, her voice glum and meant for no one.

"Just through college."


~


"Do you really think we're married?" Clark asked, and hardly for the first time.

It was late, and they lay in bed together, on their sides and facing one another, too keyed up about recent developments to sleep, despite the fact that it had been two days since the caves.

Lex laughed as if he couldn't help himself despite his best efforts.  He brushed his fingertips over Clark's bare side and left a rash of goosebumps behind.  "I think so, but I can't be sure..." he trailed off, then smirked.  "Maybe we should go back and ask him."

Clark snorted and rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, no thanks.  As far as I'm concerned, we can keep our distance from those caves for as long as we can stand it—maybe longer."

Lex smiled lightly, but it didn't reach his eyes.  The sight of it soured Clark's smile altogether.  He privately wondered how many harrowing experiences Lex would have to have in the caves before he was finally satisfied enough not to want to go back in.

He tried very hard—he really did try—to understand why Lex was so interested in Jor-El and the information he possessed; to accept that it was important to Lex and that it was difficult for him to hold back when Clark asked him to.  But the cold, hard truth of the matter was that he just didn't get it.

The caves were a big, dark, ugly representation of the part of Clark's life he wished wasn't there, the part he hoped to one day be able to leave behind completely and never turn back.  Why should Lex want to involve himself in that?  To Clark, it felt like Lex was desperately trying to catch a terrible disease which Clark had suffered from since birth, the symptoms of which he was only barely managing to hold at bay.

"So, what would you think," Lex asked quietly, not meeting his eyes, but gazing instead at his pendant, which lay face down on the bed in the scant space between them, "of my using the key?  My key."

"I wouldn't think it was a good idea," Clark answered immediately.  He was uncomfortable talking about it like it was a hypothetical question, because though he wished it was, he knew it wasn't.  "I'd be very worried."

Lex nodded slightly, his fingertips still trailing over Clark's bare skin.  He said nothing, only waiting for Clark to go on.

Clark sighed, and reluctantly dropped the pretense.  "I'll go back in, Lex," he said, and was instantly greeted with Lex's surprised gaze and arched eyebrows.  Clark nodded in all seriousness.  "Any questions you want to ask, I'll go ask them.  There's no reason for you to go back in there yourself.  You can't get anything new out of him that I can't get out of him—not without putting yourself in harm's way again."  He shrugged one shoulder.  "I guess it's good that you have your own key, just in case of some emergency or something—in case you really, really needed it.  But if it's just questions, Lex," he shook his head once, determined, "I can take care of that for you."

Lex let out a tiny scoff, his fingers finally stilling on Clark's hip.  "But you hate going into those caves.  How could I ask you to go in there and ask questions for me again just because I'm curious?"

"Well... I don't know, save them up.  Make a list or something, and I'll go in and ask them all at once when you have a good handful."

Lex laughed aloud at that, shaking his head as though he found Clark's offer positively adorable.  "You know it wouldn't work like that.  Any question I would have would lead to a dozen other questions based solely on the answer I received to the first one.  It would be a conversation, not a questionnaire."

"Then I'll go back in and ask those questions, too," Clark countered, jaw and shoulders set, mouth pulling into a tight line.

Lex only smiled slightly and lowered his gaze again, saying nothing further.  His fingers resumed their soft exploration of Clark's skin.

Clark watched him for a long time, slowly shaking his head as the situation became clearer and clearer to him.  It had never been obfuscated—not really.  Clark just hadn't wanted to see it.  But he was swiftly losing his ability to deny the unspoken truth.

Lex's question had been rhetorical.  But only because he planned to use the key no matter what Clark had to say about it.

Clark scoffed in disbelief.  "Jeez, Lex," he said, turning angrily onto his back and dislodging Lex's touch.  "Why did you even bother asking?"

There was a lengthy pause, and then the sheet shifted as Lex shrugged a shoulder.  "I wanted to know how you felt."

He shook his head at the ceiling.  "But you're going to use it anyway."

Again, a long pause, and after a time, Clark couldn't resist the temptation to look over at him.  He found Lex's expression somewhat apologetic, but not repentant.  "It's... my key," he said, as though this quite accurate statement was the natural end to any discussion of the subject: Lex had been given something, had been made an offer to use it, and it was no one else's right to tell him he couldn't.

What's more, Clark couldn't really argue with that.  He could worry, and he didn't have to like it; he didn't even have to support it.  But it wasn't like when Lex had wanted the two of them to use Clark's key to ask questions of Jor-El.  The caves weren't just Clark's anymore—Jor-El himself had decreed it—and neither was the decision to use them.

He didn't like it—not at all.  But he also knew he was fooling himself if he seriously thought the decision to use Lex's key didn't lie with Lex and only Lex.

Clark sighed, letting his irritation fade, though his nagging apprehension only grew stronger.  He turned back onto his side to face Lex again, and laid his arm back over him, the body language of acquiescence without agreement.  "Be careful," he said with feeling.  "Don't do anything stupid."

"I—"

"Well, anything else stupid."

Lex's lips twisted into a wry expression.

Clark smiled briefly in response, but he just as quickly sobered, his voice dropping into a breathy whisper, "Just don't get hurt."

Lex nodded, his expression solemn.  "Okay," he said, though they both knew it wasn't a promise he was capable of keeping—not if Jor-El wanted it differently.

Truth be told, it had become difficult for Clark to continue to believe that Jor-El wished Lex harm.  Something about that ritual had seemed so sacred to Jor-El, and as awful as he'd found Jor-El's lack of conscience in the past, it was hard for Clark to envision him physically harming someone he'd literally accepted into his own family.  In that ritual, it had seemed as if Lex had become just as Kryptonian as the rest of them, just as if he'd been born into place.

Besides, Clark thought, his lips twisting mildly askew, Lex was his ‘Chosen,’ his mate.  How was Clark supposed to spawn a legion of Kryptonian-human hybrid warlords if his biological father went around snuffing out his would-be incubators?

Lex snorted softly.  "What's that look for?"

Clark rolled his eyes at his own thoughts, then met Lex's gaze with a small smile.  "Jor-El," he said, the only explanation that was needed.


~


Chloe and Pete watched with twin expressions of worry as Lois carefully sprayed whipped cream onto Chloe's mocha.  Her tongue was pressed into the corner of her mouth in concentration.

As the pile grew, it began to list, and both Chloe and Pete found themselves leaning just slightly to the opposite side in sympathy.

But, thankfully, Lois adjusted her aim, built up the lighter side a bit, and when she was done, a veritable mountain of whipped cream sat melting atop Chloe's coffee.

Lois put the can down and grinned widely.  "Tips are gratefully accepted," she said, and shook a liberal amount of chocolate powder onto the drink with panache.

Chloe reached for her coffee with a pleased smile.  God, how she loved whipped cream.  "And richly deserved!" she said sincerely, and tucked a buck and some change into the tip jar with her free hand.

"I'm really getting the hang of this," Lois said cheerfully.  "Lana's teaching me how to do latte art.  So far I can make a heart and a flower."  She paused, then stuck out a hand palm down and wiggled it back and forth briefly.  "Ish."

Chloe snorted, which wasn't particularly attractive, as she was just barely avoiding getting whipped cream up her nose as it was.  Pete snickered and handed her a napkin.

"Did you figure out the sipping chocolate yet?" he asked Lois.

Lois made a drawn out, noncommittal sound.  "I figure I'll get that one in the bag just in time for summer."  She pointed a finger at him like a gun, crooking her thumb, and winked.

Pete nodded in agreement, doing his best to keep his expression free of just how weird he thought she was, though he wasn't succeeding.

"Mm!" Chloe said, wiping her mouth free of whip.  "Lois, this is really good!  The espresso's just perfect."  Chloe gave her their customary high five, which was only a medium-height five for Lois, and Lois beamed.

"Yeah, it's nice to have a career to fall back on if being a military brat falls through," Lois said sardonically.

Lois's father was a four star general in the U.S. Army, and had always assumed—nay, demanded—that his daughter would follow in his footsteps.  Lois, who was sure by the time she was six that there was no way in hell she was ever joining the armed forces (it would be like being stuck at her house forever), hadn't broken the news to him yet.  Boy, was he in for a shock.

"Think you could try—"

"Oh, hey!" Lois's expression lit up unexpectedly and both Chloe and Pete turned to see who she was talking to.

Chloe recognized the kid as one of the jock set, thought his name might be James or Jordan or Justin or something.  She didn't know much about him, but a quick once over told her he was just her cousin's type.  Chloe gazed at Pete apologetically.

"Uh, Lois?"

"How's it going?" Lois said to the jock, completely steamrolling over Pete's request.  "What can I getcha?"

What's-his-name looked slightly taken aback by Lois's enthusiasm, but he didn't waste any time getting his order in.  "Yeah, lemme get a macchiato."

"Ooh!  I can put a heart on that!"

"Uhh, I don't really—"  But Lois was already making a beeline for the espresso machine and didn't acknowledge his protest.

Briefly, Chloe met his gaze, and they shared a somewhat alarmed expression before Chloe turned back to Pete and rubbed his back in a caring, soothing manner.  "It's okay, Pete.  You can have some of mine."

Pete was still standing in the same place, his hands palm up, his expression displaying his disbelief.  "I mean, I'm here, right?  I haven't gone Amy Palmer or anything, have I?"

She patted his back gently and gave him a little nudge toward a booth.  "It's okay," she said sympathetically.  "We'll try again later.  Come on."

Slowly, Pete stepped in the direction she'd indicated and let her lead him to a seat while Lois cheerily prepared a macchiato, steamed milk heart and all, and flirted with the dark-haired jock so shamelessly, Chloe was embarrassed to be related to her.

There was really no stopping Lois once she got started, and she knew Pete didn't have a chance at a sipping chocolate or any other drink until either the jock left or someone else joined Lois behind the counter.  Even more than pitying Pete's drinkless state, however, she felt sorry for the dark-haired kid.  If Lois was into him, he had no idea what he was in for.


~


Saturday morning, Pete was lucky enough to have gotten a different barista at the Talon, and he was cheerfully alert on an expertly blended cappuccino.  But they'd left the Talon about half an hour ago, and Pete was now rolling his eyes as Chloe lingered unreasonably long at the far end of the farmers’ market.

"You can't possibly be that interested in vitamins and sports supplements."

"Hey," she said, affecting offence, "I was thinking of taking up cross-country skiing."

Pete didn't even try not to snort.  She shot him a wry look.  "Oh, what?  Skiing from Wi-Fi hot spot to Wi-Fi hot spot with your laptop on a mini-desk that's been surgically attached to your waist?"

"It could happen."

"Chloe," Pete said seriously as she walked away from him, around the display of pristine white bottles of vitamins bragging they were all natural and made from the same whole foods which they were insisting didn't provide you with enough vitamins, "this is the one place in all of Smallville where Clark doesn't have a choice but to be nice to you.  Why don't we go ask him for a detailed explanation of how their peaches are preserved?"

Chloe ducked down a bit and pretended to examine a label on a massive bottle of powder which insisted that, while it was not steroids, it would give you all the benefits of having taken steroids.  It was located next to a display of detoxing kits.  "I'm not interested in how peaches are preserved," Chloe muttered.

Pete's eyes rolled so far into his head, he thought he might have sprained his eye muscles.  "Yeah, Chloe.  I know."  He paused.  "Please come out from behind the steroids."

Still bent at the waist to examine the labels, Chloe pointed at a five pound, bright purple bottle.  "It says it's not—"

"Chloe."

Chloe sighed and stood up straight.  She pouted.

Pete resisted.

"He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you."

"Well, he doesn't like me."

"How could anyone not like you?"

One corner of her mouth quirked as she watched him steadily from beneath her lashes.

Flattery will get you everywhere, she'd once told him.  She'd only been partly kidding.

Pete smiled somewhat devilishly and strolled around the display.  "You're beautiful... brilliant... sweet... charming... and did I mention beautiful?"

Chloe's smile was spreading even as she backed away from him, around the other side of the display.  "You did.  But feel free to mention it again."

He faked left, then right, and before she'd adjusted, he zoomed around the edge and caught her in his arms.  "Beautiful," he said quietly, and kissed the corner of her smile.

She sighed, her arms wrapped high around his shoulders.

He let his arms fall to her waist, gripping one wrist with the other hand behind her back, and spoke softly to her.  "C'mon, Chlo.  You know his mom'll be there.  You should hope he's not nice, just to watch him suffer through Mrs. Kent's I'm-so-disappointed-in-you look."

Chloe winced.  "Ouch."

"Besides," Pete said, and kissed her fully on the lips, "the whole reason my dad sent me to the farmers’ market in February was to buy a Kent Farms pie."

Chloe snorted, swatting him on the shoulder even as he snickered at her reaction.  "I thought this was a weird place for a date!"


~


Justin Sharp was doing his damnedest to show genuine interest in the twenty-four dollar bottle of white truffle oil that he had no intention whatsoever of buying.  What the hell was ‘truffle aroma,’ anyway, and why the hell would anyone pay twenty-four bucks for it?

The entire purpose for this was that he was trying to politely shrug off the attention of the new girl by acting like he couldn't hear her constant blather.  She didn't seem to notice.

Her name, he thought, was Lisa, and she was somehow related to Chloe Sullivan, the chick who wrote all those weird stories in the school paper.  Lisa didn't look anything like Chloe, and Justin couldn't remember how, exactly, they were supposed to be related.  All he knew was that ever since he'd noticed her chatting with Clark Kent at his locker, she'd been on him like white on rice.  He was starting to wonder if Kent had told her that Justin had a crush on her or something, to pay Justin back for not being much of a help whenever his friends got it into their heads to beat up on their favourite geek.

Honestly, Justin couldn't blame the guy.  He probably could have been a little more helpful if he wasn't constantly paralyzed at the thought of his friends finding out why he wasn't interested in pushing Kent around anymore.  But if Clark had any idea how many times Justin had steered the guys’ thoughts away from going to find him to ease their boredom, he might not have been so eager to get back at him.  He was sure he'd saved Clark quite a few roughings-up over the past few months.

At the moment, Lisa was chattering his ear off about Smallville and how well it lived up to his name and how in the city, people were so much more open-minded, and...  He didn't have the foggiest idea what her point was.  She talked about Smallville being a hick town quite a lot, as if he hadn't been aware of this fact; as if there was anyone who wasn't aware of this fact.

He turned to her with a sigh.  "Look, Lisa—"

"Lois."

"Right.  Lois.  Sorry."

She smiled, unperturbed.

"Thing is, I'm meeting some friends here soon, so I kind of have to go and... you know... be... like, ready for them and stuff."

"Oh, sure!" she said brightly.  "I'll walk with you."

Justin's left temple began to ache.  "No.  No, that's okay.  Look, it was great talking to you," he lied.  "But I gotta take off."

"Oh," she said simply, and nodded.  Then, out of nowhere, "Clark's working the Kent booth to-day."

Justin blinked at her.  "Yeah.  Uh... the Kents are his parents.  So he does that."

"Right."  Again, she smiled.

Justin wondered if she had some minor brain damage.

"He's nice.  Clark, I mean.  You know?"  She nodded consideringly at her own words, sliding her hands into the hip pockets of her insanely tight jeans.  "And hot!" she added with rather more enthusiasm than seemed natural or necessary.

"RRRRiiiight."  Justin felt his brow knit tightly together.  He couldn't believe it.  She was trying to make him jealous.  This girl was seriously disturbed.  "Well... uh... okay, bye."  He spun on his heel and hooked around the Italian imports stand as quickly as he could without running.  There was a cheery good-bye that followed him, but he didn't dare look back.  He didn't dare smile.  He didn't dare give her the slightest hint that he might be interested.  He just got lost in the crowd as quickly as he possibly could.

She hadn't given him any information he hadn't already had.  But he doubted that he'd get a chance here to finally talk to Clark.  The market was busy despite the season, and it wasn't like there was really anywhere to talk in private anyway.  Besides, his friends really would show up a little later, and that was the last thing he needed: Being seen in a heartfelt conversation with their favourite punching bag.

The fag jokes were already ubiquitous.  He didn't need to offer encouragement in the form of reckless behaviour.

On the other hand...


~


Clark arranged pies in the front as well as he could, a slight frown around his mouth.  He wasn't thrilled about the market to-day.

To begin with, the winter markets were far from his favourites.  Half the stands were closed altogether, and everyone who was left moved inside until the warmer weather started again, leaving the outdoor section covered with tarps and looking like a ghost town.

So Clark was stuck inside all day under the fluorescent lights, with the warm, stuffy air, and no windows.  There was nothing like a complete lack of sunlight to make him feel crabby and rundown.  He used to think it was because he just wasn't much of an indoors person.  A conversation with his alien father had cleared that one up: He quite directly depended on the sun to keep him strong.  He figured it was also why he slept so well at night.

Above and beyond this constant winter annoyance, he hated getting stuck with arranging the pies.  The display shelves were always square and the pie plates were always round, and it just didn't work.  And if one more person asked him how the peaches were preserved—How much sugar was added?  How long will they last on the shelf?  How ripe were they before they were preserved?—he was going to have to scream.

All in all, the farmers’ market was a hell of a lot more pleasant in the summer.

"Clark!"

The hissed word from directly behind him made him jump a little, and wrenched him out of his sullen thoughts.  He turned to find the half-mad grin and wild eyes of Lois Lane hovering a little too close.  "Hey, Lois," he said, casually taking a step to his right, away from her, on pretense of adjusting the strawberry rhubarb.

She took a slightly larger step, ending up even closer than before.  "Did you see him?"

Clark shot her a concerned look.  "Who?"

"Jock boy."  She tossed her head and gaze diagonally, to someone behind him, and he turned to look.

Lois grabbed his shoulder.  "Don't look!" she hissed.

Clark's eyebrows reached for his hairline.  "Uh... okay."

"Justin Sharp," she whispered, even quieter than before.  "He's here."

Utterly confused, Clark tilted his head.  "Um... Lois, I really don't think he's worth the effort.  I mean, don't get me wrong," he held his hands up briefly, "you're a beautiful girl.  But—"

She rolled her eyes dramatically and yanked at him as she walked away from the pies and around the corner of the stand.  Clark shot a confused, somewhat pleading gaze toward his mother, who was inside the stand and helping a customer.  But she only gave him an odd look and continued answering questions about the preserved fruit.

"Not for me, genius.  You like him, right?  I told him you're here."

Clark's jaw loosened.  "Lois—"

"He's been inching his way toward this stand ever since.  He keeps throwing looks your way."  She was grinning that half-mad grin again, and Clark finally placed the emotion: Pride.

Lois was playing matchmaker, and she was just tickled pink about it.

"Lois, what are you talking about?" he asked, staring at her in disbelief.

Her grin faltered only slightly.  "What?"

Clark looked around, and then it was him yanking Lois along as he ducked into the empty booth beside his family's.  His own voice dropped to a hiss.  "Why would you do that?  I'm still with Lex.  Why would you think I was into Justin?"

She appeared perplexed.  "Wait, who's Lex?  You don't mean you already have a boyfriend?"

Clark blinked, waiting for things to make sense.  "Uh, yeah.  The same guy I was with when..." he trailed off, watching Lois's confusion remain.  "Um.  Wait, so you didn't—?"

Suddenly, she gasped.  Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped.  Her voice, while still a whisper, rose in pitch.  "Whoa!  You mean Lex Luthor?"

Struck dumb, Clark was utterly nonplussed.

Lois's eyes and mouth formed a trio of perfect Os.  "Holy shit!" she hissed.  "Lex Luthor is gay?"

Clark vehemently wished to either swallow his own tongue, or wake up.  "Y-You're telling me... that Chloe... Chloe never told you...?"

She shook her head slowly, her eyes still wide as saucers.  "Oh, my god—no way, Clark.  She never said anything about a boyfriend.  Christ, he's my boss!"

He looked at her wryly.  "Lana's your boss.  Lex is more like an investor.  They'd both correct you on that one."

Lois either didn't hear him, or didn't care.  "So, wow—how did you manage to land the only billionaire in a hundred mile radius?  Seriously, inquiring minds want to know; share the method, man!" she punctuated this demand with a hard, flat palm to his shoulder, not seeming to notice that he didn't move, nor feeling the sting to her own skin he couldn't imagine she didn't feel after trying to hit a wall of unnaturally solid flesh with that much force.

He opened his mouth to say he knew not what, and was saved from having to say anything, as she apparently wasn't done.

"You know, I had no clue he was..." she glanced around unnecessarily, her voice too quiet for eavesdroppers, "gay."

"It's not a derogatory term—

"All the papers are always—"

"The papers say a lot of things, Lois."  He sighed harshly, angry at himself.  He barely knew this girl and it seemed she already knew as much about him as his best friends.  He was less nervous about it than he by all rights should have been, but no more happy about it.  "Crap," he muttered.  "Look, you can't—"

"Lips are sealed, Kent."  Her gaze flickered to his right, and far away, then back.  "Look, sorry about Justin.  I thought you liked him.  I thought..."  She trailed off, her gaze focussing on nothing, and Clark felt a bit of sympathy for her.

He got the feeling she didn't often get the chance to play matchmaker.  "Well, you know, thanks for thinking of me and everything..."

She shrugged, not looking at him.

"You were half-right, anyway," he offered.

She met his gaze, intrigued.  "Oh?"

"He kind of liked me once, I guess.  Um, I mean, he came on to me once."

Her eyebrows arched with interest.  "Oh!  So..."

"Yeah, that's how I even knew that he—I mean, we're not friends.  We never were."

She nodded, then let out a long sigh followed by a small smile.  She was obviously still a little put out that her plan hadn't worked, but seemed somewhat soothed that at least her instincts hadn't been completely off.

"Um..." Clark rubbed the back of his neck with discomfort.  It was hot with tension beneath his hair, pulled into a loose tail at the base.  "Listen, does he know that I...?"

She watched him, waiting.  "What?" she finally asked when he didn't finish.

"I mean, does he think that I... you know, told you about him?"

"Oh."  She thought about it briefly.  "No, I don't think so.  I mean... I haven't mentioned it."

"Well, don't.  Okay?  I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone."

It was only as she stilled that Clark became aware she'd been rocking just slightly on her feet, as if she'd been idle but had suddenly become alert.  "Oh?" she asked, her voice friendly.  "You did?"

"Yeah.  I wouldn't want him to think—"

"What?" she interrupted, her gaze steady.  "That you betrayed his trust by letting it slip?"

Clark's open mouth closed with a click, and he blinked at her.  "Well, I didn't really—"

"It's amazing how that can happen, isn't it, Clark?"

"Hey," he snapped, irritated by her implication, "I didn't tell you.  You guessed.  It's not the same."

"Really? Because that guess came straight off what you said, Kent."

He took a sharp breath for denial once again, but she interrupted his momentum.

"Hey, don't get me wrong," she said, offering her palms and wide eyes in peace.  "I'm not saying you betrayed the guy's trust.  I don't think you did.  I'm just wondering if he would be understanding enough to see it that way.  Or if, you know, he'd be a big dick about it."

Silent, Clark watched her with suspicion, uncertain if she was threatening him or just insulting him.

She rolled her eyes.  "Relax, Smallville.  I'm not gonna tell him.  I'm just saying.  That's all."

Before he thought of a response, she walked around him and away, and he was left irritated, confused, and most strongly thinking one thing:

‘Smallville’?


~


Chloe felt stupid.  She was all but shaking as they approached the Kents’ booth.  She knew her aversion to Clark was way out of proportion to the situation.  It wasn't as if he was violent or insulting or even outright mean.  He was just being cold to her, ignoring her altogether when he could get away with it.

But she'd always known Clark as a naturally warm person.  The difference was what was so shocking, like passing from a warm summer's day into a bitterly cold, blustery winter's night with a single step, not having known what was coming.

"Relax," Pete's honeyed voice whispered into her ear.  "We're just gonna buy a pie."

She knew her hand was clammy in his grip, but she didn't want to let go, and he didn't seem to mind.  Chloe focussed her gaze on the nearest Kent Farms pie—pumpkin variety—and kept it there.  By the time Pete had walked them to the left side of the stand, she was looking uncomfortably back over her shoulder to keep staring at it.

"Hey, Mrs. Kent," Pete said cheerfully.

"Pete!"  Chloe yanked her gaze away from the pie as soon as she heard Mrs. Kent's voice.  "Hi, honey.  How are you?"

"I'm good.  But my dad's suffering a terrible bout of lack-of-pie.  He's really torn up about it."

She beamed with delight.  "Well, we'll see if we can find a cure for that."  She turned her friendly eyes on Chloe.  "Hi, sweetie.  How are things?  Haven't seen you around the farm in a while."

Chloe smiled nervously, and just as she was about to answer, she saw Clark walking into the booth from the other side, looking behind him in mild confusion as if someone passing by had just said something odd.  Her gaze fell on him, and she forgot to answer Mrs. Kent until he turned, and for a still moment, their eyes met.

For that moment, Clark's gaze was open, and then, just at the time Chloe expected it to shut down and freeze over at the sight of her... it didn't.

Instead, he seemed to become even more confused, as if it was very strange for Chloe to be here at this moment, and perhaps even as if he suspected her of something.  He looked behind him again toward wherever he'd just been, then back to her.

She tried to ask a question with her eyes, amazed she was having any interaction at all with him, even if it was silent.  But he only shook his head minutely and looked away, moving to the right side of their booth to check the placement of the price stands.

"Um... things are okay," Chloe finally answered.  "School keeps me busy.  You know."  She smiled at Mrs. Kent briefly, her gaze drifting back to Clark despite her best intentions.  She suddenly realized she would give just anything for him to look at her again and ask a question with his eyes—even if it was one she didn't understand and couldn't answer.

Mrs. Kent seemed to understand or at least accept her distraction, and turned back to Pete.  "So what can we do for you to-day, Pete?  Sweet Potato?  Key Lime?  Pecan?  I have a new Pumpkin Rum flavour."

"I think he's looking for something in the chocolate and/or—preferably and—meringue neighbourhood."

"Ah," she chuckled.  "A sweet tooth.  Well, I think I have just the thing."  She walked along the left side of the booth, fully opening up Chloe's view of Clark.

He chose that moment to finish fiddling around with the price stands, and looked up at her.  Once again they locked gazes, and once again he looked somewhat confused.  He was so distracted by whatever was going on in that inscrutable mind of his that he didn't seem to notice Chloe was staring right back at him, her eyes wide and hopeful.

So his confusion changed quickly to surprise when she impulsively blurted, "Hi, Clark."

He seemed physically taken aback, blinking, his head jerking back slightly.

She offered a shaky smile, waiting for the frost, the roll of his eyes, the icy glare, the silent turn of his back.

"Hi."

Her face smoothed, her eyes growing evermore round.  "H... Hi."

"Chocolate Meringue.  There you go, Pete."

Pete took the pie with one hand, wincing at the pressure currently being put on his right, though he didn't say anything about it.  "Perfect!  Thanks, Mrs. Kent."  He put the pie down on top of a key lime one in front of him, and reached across his back with his left hand to get his wallet out of his back right pocket.

It was a hell of a contortion to open it and slide a bill out of it for the patiently waiting Mrs. Kent all with one hand, but he didn't complain and Chloe didn't notice.  The change just got shoved into the nearest pocket.

"Clark, help me with this, will you?"

Clark blinked and looked away, and Chloe took a breath.

Mr. Kent was standing at the side entrance to their booth, holding two large baskets heavy with cellar parsnips.

Clark made an irritated sound.  "Dad, why don't you let me carry stuff like this in?" he asked, taking the top basket with ease.

The lightened load straightened his father's back.  "Yeah, yeah," he muttered, bringing the food into the tightening booth.  "If I waited around for you, nothing would ever get done."  He missed the wry expression Clark shot him.  "Chloe, Pete," he nodded to each of them in turn.

"Hey, Mr. Kent," Pete answered.  Chloe was too dumbfounded to speak.

She sensed Pete peering at the side of her face, but couldn't look at him.  She just kept staring at Clark, waiting for him to look at her again, say something again.

But though Pete really pushed the limits of politeness by quizzing Mrs. Kent on the various pie flavours, and how the winter varieties compared to the summer varieties, and even fell back on his original half-joke of an idea to ask how peaches were preserved, Clark was careful not to look at or acknowledge Chloe again.  In fact, he was exceedingly helpful to and talkative with every other person who came to the stand while they were there, which was probably what was helping Pete keep Mrs. Kent's attention for so long.

Eventually, however, Pete had run out of ideas, and he tugged gently at Chloe's hand.  He had to tug a second time before she looked at him.  "Hey," he said softly.  "Did you need anything else?"

"Oh."  She looked at Mrs. Kent, who was still polite, though noticeably confused.  "Um... um, no.  Thanks, Mrs. Kent."

"Okay, sweetie.  Enjoy the market."

"Thanks."

They were six stands away from the Kents’ before Chloe noticed Pete was carrying a bag heavy with more than one pie.  "Whoa!  How many did you buy?"

He looked at her indulgently.  "Three."

She gaped.  "What are you going to do with three pies?" she exclaimed.

He snorted and shook his head.  "Well, you're going to help me eat them, I know that much."  He paused, looking her over curiously.  "So?" he asked.  "Was it so bad?"

Chloe shook her head, slowly at first, then, with a sigh, more emphatically.  "No.  No, not at all."  She shrugged, feeling a goofy half-smirk settle onto her mouth.  "He said hi."

"Ahhh," Pete said, nodding sagely.  "Well, then.  It was definitely worth it."  He winked, dodged her half-hearted slap, and offered to let her buy him a smoothie, since he was now quite emphatically broke.


~


"Oh my god!  Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"

Clark turned at the high-pitched, frantic sound, and his eyebrows immediately shot up his forehead at the sight of Chloe Sullivan coming through the school's front entrance and rushing toward him at breakneck speed.

Her cream coloured, faux fur lined winter coat was open all the way, freshly fallen snow lining the collar and hood, but she didn't seem to notice, her face flushed with heat despite the cold.  Her backpack was bouncing on her shoulder as she ran, one hand stopping it from slipping away, the other clutching a pile of abused papers with a death grip.

For the briefest of moments, Clark was afraid something terrible had happened, but the huge grin on her face quickly divested him of that concern.  Now he was just wondering why she was running at him instead of slinking away from him like she had been for the past three weeks.

He held out his hands in the hopes of bringing her to a softer stop, afraid she was going to plow right into him and break a couple of her ribs in the process, but he didn't have much success.  She threw herself against his body, wrapping her arms as far up and around his neck as she could, all of her breath coming out of her with a grunt and a whoosh as she collided with his immovable flesh.

Stunned, he stared over her blond head of hair, blinking and gaping his disbelief at the slowly closing front door.

"Oh, I know you hate me right now, but I don't care!" she said, her voice higher than usual with obvious joy.  "I just had to tell you!"

Clark felt a blush race up to his ears.  "I-I don't hate you—" he started, trying to correct the wording, but she plowed right over him.

She leaned back, grinning madly.  "I got the scholarship!" she exclaimed, her voice almost a squeak.  "Look!  Look!"  She flashed the papers in front of his nose, too fast and too close to read.  "I'm going to Met U on a Journalism scholarship!  Four years!  Me!"

"Wow," Clark said, honestly astonished—not that Chloe got the scholarship she'd wanted, which Clark knew she deserved, but that she'd decided to ignore their stalemate in order to tell him about it.  "That's—"

"Lois!"

Clark looked sharply to his left, where he found Lois Lane coming around a corner, looking as astonished as he felt at Chloe's sudden effusiveness.

Just that quickly, Chloe was out of his arms, rushing to her cousin and screeching her news again.  Lois responded with a similar sound, and they embraced and jumped around together in a jubilant little circle.

They quickly disappeared down the hall, Lois chattering about how great Met U was and how she and Chloe would be best friends there, and then it was all over.

Clark stood in the hall, bookbag in hand, still trying to process the fact that he and Chloe had talked and hugged and smiled at each other for the first time in weeks.  It had of course been his decision to cut Chloe off, not hers, so it wasn't as if this action on her part suggested a change in their current relationship on his part.

What was so astonishing was that having Chloe happily crowing in his face, wrapping her arms around him, sharing her excitement with him almost just as she would had they still been friends, had felt... really good.

It had only been as she'd discarded him for Lois and walked away, taking her glee with her, that Clark began to realize how much he missed it.


~


"Chloe got news about her scholarship to-day."

His parents looked up from their activities, interested, eyebrows arched in expectation.

Clark smirked, feeling a beat of pride for the friend he wasn't so friendly with anymore, even knowing he didn't deserve to be proud.  "She's got a free ride."

"Clark, that's great!" Martha exclaimed.

An appreciative grin sat on Jonathan's lips.  "Well, good for her," he said with an approving nod.

"Yeah," Clark knew his smile wasn't reaching his eyes, and he let his shoulders slump a bit.

"Well, aren't you happy for her, Clark?" his mom asked curiously.  "I know you two aren't getting along right now, but this is Chloe's future we're talking about."

"Oh—no," Clark hurried to correct his mother's impression of his melancholy.  "I'm definitely happy for her.  She deserves that scholarship—she deserves all the luck in the world."

Martha smiled and gave a little nod of agreement.

"I doubt luck had much to do with it," his father said, filling his coffee cup from the decanter.  "Chloe's a hard worker.  She got a journalism scholarship because she earned it working on that paper of hers.  She's a determined young woman, that one."

Clark's smile was both fond and sad.  "Yeah..."

"What's wrong, Clark?" his mom asked, and joined him at the table.

"I don't know," he said with a glum shrug.  "I just... I guess I miss her, that's all."

"Well..." his mom glanced back over her shoulder to share a look with her husband, then met Clark's gaze again.  "Have you thought about reconsidering your approach with Chloe?  I know you were angry with her...  Are you still?"

Clark shrugged.

"How'd you find out about the scholarship, anyway?" his dad asked.  "Pete tell you?"

"Oh," now Clark's expression brightened and he sat up a little straighter.  "She came into school this morning, jumping around and shouting and stuff, and I guess she was so happy about the scholarship, she forgot to avoid me."  He chuckled quietly.  "She hugged me," he said, grinning.

"Ohh."  His mother's eyebrows went up knowingly, and then she got to her feet and started to make herself some tea.

Despite her back being turned to him, Clark could plainly see the smirk on her face even without the use of his special vision.  "‘Ohh,’" he repeated wryly.

She looked back over her shoulder innocently.  "What?"

He snorted.  "In that knowing way."

She turned away again, but not fast enough to hide her growing smile.

"If you miss Chloe," his dad said matter-of-factly, "why don't you just tell her?"

"’Cause I don't know, Dad.  It's one thing to miss someone's friendship, but it's another thing to trust them.  And I don't..." he shook his head and sighed.  "I just don't feel comfortable trusting Chloe again right now."

"Well, you're right," his mom said, turning around to face him again while the kettle heated.  "Trust is a very important part of any friendship."

He opened his hands on the table, as if he could contain his thoughts between them.  "I mean, I want to be celebrating with her right now, and I want to tell her how happy I am for her, and how proud of her I am... and I guess maybe I'm second-guessing myself a little bit about ending our friendship, but... aah," he groaned, still as uncertain as ever.  "I don't know."

He sighed and let a few beats go by, the kettle noisily announcing its cavitation stage, his parents continuing to gaze at him in supportive silence.

"I'm a little jealous about the scholarship," he finally said with all honesty.  "I can't help thinking that I wish I could get one.  Make this all a little easier on us."

"Clark..." his mom said gently, shaking her head.

"We agreed a long time ago that you needed to stay under the radar," his father said, "that you shouldn't over-achieve and draw attention to yourself.  It's more important you stay safe than be in the top nth percentile, okay?"

He shrugged, nodding his understanding, though it didn't cheer him up any.

"You know we never expected it," his mother added.  "And you know you're going to take your share of the burden in student loans you'll eventually need to repay."

"No, I know," he said with a shrug.  "I was just thinking, that's all.  About how it could have been easier on us.  I mean..." he trailed off, hesitating before finishing his thought, "other ways it could have been easier on us..."  He met his father's gaze out of the corner of his eye, and found his meaning wasn't lost.  His dad was shooting him a knowing glare.

"Clark..."  Jonathan said his name as a warning, drawing out the vowel.

He sighed harshly and dropped his chin to his fist on the table.

"Speaking of Lex..." his mother said dryly as she turned off the boiling kettle, "how is the research going?  Any progress?"

Clark shrugged listlessly.  "We haven't done another experiment since Jor-El told us—"  Clark stopped speaking so suddenly, he considered himself lucky he hadn't swallowed his tongue.

He raised his head from his fist, his back straightening, his eyes wide with surprise at his blunder.  His father, too, was straightening his back and standing up from the cupboards where he had been leaning.  His mother had forgotten she was preparing tea and was gaping at Clark with shock.

"Since Jor-El told you...?" his father asked leadingly.

"Clark," his mom said, her tone incredulous.  "You didn't."

"Oh, jeez!"  Clark slapped his hands over his face and scrubbed at it briefly before dropping them to his sides.  "Um..." he winced bodily in anticipation of their reaction, then spat it all out in a run together rush of words, "Something weird happened and we went to the caves and Jor-El said I have four kinds of reproductive cells and then he accepted Lex into the House of El and I think we're kind of married now but no one was hurt or anything so it's really okay."

His parents blinked at him, then began to speak at the same time.

"Accepted into—?"

"Kind of mar—?"

They cut each other off, and Clark just looked back and forth between them, refusing to answer any question he wasn't directly asked.  He was berating himself deeply.  He hadn't meant to bring this up, not by any stretch of the imagination.  And, if and when he had planned to tell his parents, he would have wanted to tell them with Lex there, not alone.  But it was too late now.

"Okay," his mother said, obviously trying to steady herself.  She ignored her tea completely and instead sat down hard on the chair across from him.  "Let's start over."  She paused to gather her thoughts.  "You went to the caves?  Again?"

"After we specifically said—"

"Yes!" Clark blurted, wincing at his father's irritated tone.  "Yes, we went again.  I'm sorry we didn't talk about it—I'm sorry about the whole thing, but we just didn't have time to think.  Weird stuff was happening and—"

His father sat down in the empty chair to Clark's right.  "What kind of ‘weird stuff’?"

"Um..." Clark hedged, hoping his mother would interrupt with a question he'd prefer to answer.

She didn't.

"I... don't want to talk about it," he finally said.

His father's gaze turned to stone and his mother gaped at him.

Clark was very determined.  He held his ground for all of six seconds.  Then, squirming, "It was sex stuff, you guys."

His mother blushed and his father quickly focussed on his hands.  They plainly hadn't been expecting that answer.

For a terrifying moment, Clark was sure they were going to push through their embarrassment and demand he describe just what exactly had happened to make him rush to the caves without even discussing it with them, but to his relief, ‘sex stuff’ seemed to be enough of an explanation for now.

"And you say," his father said gruffly, and cleared his throat, "that Jor-El... accepted Lex somehow?"

"And how exactly do you kind of get married, Clark?"

"Yeah..." he muttered, trailing off into a sigh and trying to gather his thoughts.  "Um... okay.  So, there was this blue light and—well, no.  First there was the key."

"The key to the caves," his mother said, nodding that she understood.

Clark shook his head.  "No, not that key.  A new key.  Um... Jor-El gave Lex his own key."

Jonathan's eyebrows reached for his hairline.

"Yeah," Clark said with a little laugh.  "That's what I said."

"What is Lex supposed to do with a key to the caves?" his mom asked.

Clark shrugged a shoulder.  "Ask questions, I guess.  I don't know.  Jor-El kept giving Lex his surname.  I-I mean, he kept calling him ‘Alexander Luthor-El,’ and he said that Lex was welcomed into his fam—well, our family, I guess.  And then there were all these, like, holographic people or something like that, and they were all the Els, I guess, and Jor-El was there and... and Lara."  He had to pause to catch his breath.  He hadn't thought at all about the vision of his birth mother standing in the cave in a gown of blue-white, smiling on him, since it had faded.  But now that he thought of it, that he consciously remembered it, it took his breath away.

He didn't understand how he could have ever not seen her face in his mind.  Every time he thought of her, the connection he felt was absolutely overpowering.  He wondered, in fact, why it was Jor-El and not Lara who talked to him in the caves.  Clark's draw to her was so intense that he was sure it would have been embarrassingly easy to get him to do many of the things Jor-El wished if it had been Lara making the demands.

"Um," he shook his head, trying to get back on track, and found that he had to blink wetness from his eyes.  He cleared his throat awkwardly.  "And I was there—a hologram of me, I mean.  And then Lex was there, too.  And his hologram stood next to mine, and touched my hand the way Jor-El and Lara were touching hands, and... and it just seemed like..." he trailed off and shrugged a shoulder slowly, unsure what else to say.

"Wow," his mother said, plainly stunned.

"When... exactly did this happen, Clark?" Jonathan asked suspiciously.

"Um..." Clark hunched his back and ducked his head, pulling into himself and trying to appear smaller than he was.  "Weekend before last," he muttered.

"Clark!" his mother chastised sharply.

"I know!" he said, his tone plaintive.

"And when, may I ask, were you planning on telling us this?"

Clark spread his hands.  "I'm telling you now."

His father peered at him with a dry expression, biting the inside of his cheek.  "This was an accident, Clark," he said dully.

Briefly frozen, Clark groaned and put his head down on the table.  "I wasn't going to," he muttered.

"Ever?" his mom asked.

Clark shrugged mopishly.  "I knew you'd be disappointed in me for going back to the caves," he mumbled, his forehead still on the table, his face off the edge and pointed at the floor.

"Clark.  Look at me."

Grimacing, Clark slowly met his mother's gaze.

"What's worse?  Disappointment that you went?  Or deeper disappointment that you went and then lied to us about it?"

"I didn't really lie—"

"Clark," Jonathan warned.

"The second one," Clark mumbled, ducking his head in submission.

His father sighed heavily and sat back in his seat, and everyone was silent for a minute.

"Maybe we should call Lex over," Martha mused, meeting her husband's considering gaze.

"No!" Clark said, trying to keep the panic and the whine out of his voice.  "I told you everything anyway."  He glanced at his watch.  "Besides, he has another EPA meeting at five."

In tandem, his parents looked up at the clock on the wall, which announced it was only four.  They looked back at him.

Clark blinked.  "In Washington."

"Oh."

"Well, Lex isn't going to use that key, is he?" Jonathan asked.  "He knows how dangerous those caves are."

"I don't know, Dad.  I mean... Well, yeah," he said decisively.  "I think he will use it.  It's his.  I can't tell him he can't."

His mother was staring at him in disbelief.  "But after the last time, how can he think—?"

"Lex doesn't think Jor-El means him any harm—didn't even then.  And, honestly... I can't disagree with him."  He took in his parents’ twin expressions of incredulity, and shrugged.  "Jor-El says Lex is my Chosen.  He's given him our surname.  He's told him he's part of the House of El.  It doesn't make any sense that Jor-El would ever try to hurt him.  He's said he has no intention of hurting him.  And he could have k-killed Lex any time he wanted," he stuttered over the concept and had to swallow past a tight throat and quickening heartbeat.  It always made him uneasy to think back on the times Lex could have been so easily taken from him.

"But, Clark," his mother said gently, "even though Jor-El wasn't trying to hurt Lex that first time, he did hurt him.  Lex nearly—" she swallowed down the rest.

"Your mother's right, son.  Even if you trust Jor-El to keep his word, which I think is a bit of a stretch anyway, there's no guarantee he won't hurt Lex by accident.  He doesn't know his own strength, and maybe doesn't fully understand the frailty of human life.  Or," he added in a mutter, "its value."

A small smile sat on Clark's lips and he let out a quiet laugh through his nose.  "I can't disagree with you, either," he said, then looked up to meet his parents’ gazes in turn.  "But you try stopping Lex Luthor when he's made up his mind about something."


~


"I don't really see the point," Clark said with a shrug.

They stood in Lex's makeshift home lab, standing over the microscope and conspicuously empty petri dishes, cut off from the rest of the world by the heavy steel door at the entrance.  They'd been arguing over the next step in their research of Clark's reproductive system for nearly ten minutes.  Lex was doing his damnedest not to shout.

"He said my cells can't exist in your acidic environment.  They're too weak.  How can we really research anything?"

"He said they couldn't exist in my body," Lex said, his tone starting to show his irritation despite his best efforts.  "We could still do fertility experiments in vitro.  Anything that's taking place outside my body shouldn't kill the cells—presumably."

Clark's jaw dropped and he crossed his arms over his chest, a very bad sign.  "‘Fertility experiments’?  Lex, you didn't say anything about fertilization!"

Lex held back the urge to growl with frustration.  "I'm not suggesting fertilization!"  He calmed himself, then tried again.  "I'm just saying... we could expose my sperm to one of your eggs in the presence of the soo'ak, just to see what they do, just to see how it works.  Do the soo'ak bring the egg to the sperm?  Is it the other way around?  Do the soo'ak access the sperm first and collect information?  Will they try to seek out eustran first and, unable to find any, will nothing at all happen?  We don't know!"  He spread his hands to illustrate just how empty they were.  "But if we can find out, it might just give us some clues as to how we can stop fertilization from happening once it becomes physically possible."

Clark covered his face with his hands briefly, then rubbed harshly at the skin.  He was plainly just as frustrated as Lex was.  "Lex..." he said, his tone almost a whine, then trailed off.  He took a deep breath, gaze on the floor, head shaking minutely from side to side.

"Clark," Lex said gently, "there is very little more that I can learn from watching the cells individually.  I have to see how they react to one another.  If we're going to get anywhere, this research has to be done."

"But what if—?"  He broke off and sighed harshly.

Lex leaned a hand on the table, trying to remain calm.  "What?"

"Lex," Clark finally met his gaze, his eyes full of worry and trepidation.  "But what if it actually fertilizes?  What if it..." he shrugged slowly, "starts to grow?"

They stared at one another in silence for a long time.  Lex was hesitant to answer.  Not because he didn't have an answer; he did.  He wasn't sure how Clark would feel about it, but he had already thought that possibility through to its inevitable conclusion, and he'd made the obvious decision long ago.

"I don't think that will happen," he said instead.

"Yeah, but what if it does?" Clark insisted.

Lex held his gaze steadily and did his best to look sure of himself.  "Then I'll expose it to kryptonite."

As expected, Clark's eyes widened, and his lips parted with astonishment.

"I would imagine," Lex said, and cleared his throat somewhat nervously, "that something that small wouldn't need a large dose in order to... expire."

He waited, but Clark didn't comment.  He only continued to stare at Lex in disbelief.

Lex cleared his throat again, then again, feeling tension tighten on his voice box.  "Unless... you wouldn't be okay with that."

Clark turned his head slowly, and stared at the empty petri dish, no doubt imagining what might go on there in the very near future.  He was still for a minute, then shook his head once, quick and harsh, as if shaking something off.  "It's only a fertilized egg.  It's not a life."  He paused uncertainly.  "...Right?"

Lex gave a little shrug, finding his own gaze drawn to the empty dish.  "That's a contentious issue, Clark.  It's a question we all have to answer for ourselves.  What's important here is what you think."

Clark's head snapped up at that, and he fixed Lex with an intense stare.  "It's what you think, too, Lex.  It would be... well, it would be half you."

Clark stared at him steadily, waiting, and Lex knew he wasn't going to be able to back out of this question, which he very strongly did not want to answer.

But Lex knew that if Clark was ready to ask him the question, then he deserved the truth, and so, as uncomfortable as it was to say, that's what Lex gave him.  "I don't personally believe that an embryo is a child with the right to its life until it has the ability to survive outside the womb."

Clark blinked at him, perhaps bothered by the no-nonsense, scientific way Lex imparted his opinion, but he didn't interrupt.

"When only able to continue to survive and thrive if inside the womb, then if the mother—well... uh..."

The language in this discussion was plainly difficult as it pertained to their situation, and Clark seemed to grasp that easily.  He nodded with understanding, "Go on."

"Well, speaking strictly in human terms—or... Senjal terms—if the mother doesn't want a child, then the embryo exists within her as a parasite.  It is taking its sustenance from a living, sentient, conscious being against that being's will.  It's only her powerful desire to pass on her genes—her desire to have a child—that makes a fetus's habitation within her body acceptable.  If the embryo's existence is not desired by the one who has to carry it, then I don't believe it has the right to subsist off that person's body.  If it is unwanted for any reason, then the mother should have the right to purge it as she would any other undesirable taking up residence within her against her will."

He stopped to clear his throat, knowing his voice was getting rough.  He didn't usually care to go into detail about his opinion on this matter, and so this discussion was unusually awkward for him.  In human terms, he was male and unable to carry a child, and therefore could never know what the decision truly meant, so he didn't feel he had any right to go blathering on about it.

In his and Clark's unique situation, of course, it was possible he could carry a child.  But he damn sure didn't want to.  So his opinion, the same one he had silently held for human mothers since before he'd seriously considered the possibility of any male gestating a fetus, now transferred, amazingly, to himself.  It also, of course, applied to Clark; though Clark's own opinion, whatever that should be, would certainly trump it.

He just wanted Clark to know that if they happened to share this same opinion, then Clark would receive no resistance from Lex if the unfortunate situation should arise.

"Therefore," he went on, "if neither you nor I wished to carry the embryo to term, then I would feel no moral ambiguity about terminating its growth."  He shrugged as casually as he could.  "I've always felt that way.  It's an opinion probably based more on science than conscience, I'll admit.  But," he gave a sharp nod of conclusion, "that's what I think."

He fell silent, watching Clark, waiting nervously for his response.  Lex was much less concerned that Clark might disagree with his opinion than he was that Clark might think him a cold, calculating monster for having it.  If they differed, it was something Lex was willing to work with.  But if Clark thought ill of him because of this, there was very little he could do about that.

Eventually, after a heart-pounding wait, Clark nodded.  "I think that makes a lot of sense."

Again, Lex waited, but there was nothing more.  "So are you saying... you wouldn't be averse to destroying an embryo, should it somehow fertilize?"

Very, very slowly, Clark shrugged.  His arms were still tightly crossed over his chest.  "I... don't think so.  But," he sighed, "I also don't think I'll really know how I'm going to feel unless it actually happens.  But... hopefully it won't happen.  Right?"

Lex nodded.  "It shouldn't.  Not yet."  He took a step forward, and was relieved when Clark uncrossed his arms and let Lex take one of his hands.  "I only want to research them, Clark," he said sincerely, "so we can learn how to control them.  You know I'm not trying to breed super-humans here."

Finally, Clark smiled, ever so slightly.  He nodded.  "Okay."

"Okay?  Go forward?"

Again, he nodded.  "Yeah," he smiled more assuredly than before.  "Let's go forward."

Lex's smile grew with relief, and he pulled Clark to him in a loose hug, resting his cheek on Clark's shoulder.  Clark gently kissed the side of his neck, his arms low around Lex's waist.

They held each other quietly for a little while, both glad to have finally navigated this prickly discussion intact.

But, eventually, Lex had to bring them back to reality.

"You know this means I'm going to need another semen sample, right?"

"Ugh!"  Clark buried his face against Lex's neck.


~


When Chloe had decided to step up her investigation on Clark, she had not allowed herself to consciously think about the fact that it might mean she'd end up investigating more than just Clark.  But she wasn't dim.  In the back of her mind, she'd known the likelihood was high.

So when she found herself using what Pete had once christened, in text speak, her ‘mad haxor skiLz’ to hack into LuthorCorp's mainframe, she couldn't have honestly said she was surprised.

Of course, she didn't turn to Lex's business—a long shot at best—before first trying the usual suspects.  Smallville General had digitized all of their files over the past couple of years, and shared them with other computerized Kansas hospitals.  Chloe hadn't even had to hack Smallville General itself to get the files it had stored away on Clark.  In fact, she hadn't had to hack into anything.

There were no medical files on Clark.  She found this, to be as polite as possible, really freaking weird.

That's not to say there weren't records of the usual immunizations that everyone had to have in order to get into school—they were certainly there, though they didn't come from any place nearby: Those records went back to Metropolis United Charities, a name that put a little chill up Chloe's back as she remembered the confrontation with Clark her last foray into that company's existence had brought her.  It didn't matter much now, of course, since she was already persona non grata as far as Clark was concerned.  But there wasn't much of anything there to discover that she hadn't already seen.

What was strange was that after all the stuff a kid needed to go forward through life, there was just nothing.  There was only precisely what Clark would need, in fact.  Not a single check-up more.  It was just too perfect.

He never fell?  He never had a fever?  His adoptive parents—Clark being their first experience at raising a child, who was thrust into their lives quite suddenly according to the close-knit dates on his adoption papers—had never panicked or become overly worried and rushed him to the emergency room for a cough they were just sure was pneumonia?

Nope.  Not according to Smallville General's records, anyway.  Apparently Clark had been the picture of health his entire life, and his parents had taken that at face value.

But while she was nosing around in there, Chloe had noticed that Metropolis Hospital was also digitized, and though she'd found nothing in their records about Clark, either, she'd stumbled across—okay, actively sought out—what they had stored away on one Mr. Alexander Luthor.

The stab wounds, stomach pumpings, and psych evals didn't interest her much—everyone knew Lex had been a bit of a wild child as a filthy rich teen in Metropolis—but what she hadn't expected was all the other stuff.  Lex had spent so much time in hospital as a child, it had literally taken Chloe hours just to sift through all the records.

Before the meteor shower, he'd apparently had some nasty asthma: He'd been in for test after test after test, prescribed half a dozen medications that didn't seem to help a bit, and rushed to the emergency room with blue lips so many times, she lost count by age seven.

But after the meteor shower was when things really got interesting: The records’ volume expanded tenfold.  She'd never heard of so many tests being run on one kid unless that kid had come down with some new and unique form of cancer.  Only there didn't seem to ever be anything wrong with Lex.

There were a few things off kilter, of course, a few PDFs with notes in the margins followed by double question marks that showed he had been puzzling the best Metropolis's medical community had to offer.  But there didn't seem to be anything actually wrong with him.  He never fell ill.  He recovered from even the worst of childhood scrapes with astonishing speed and ease.  Even despite his baldness, his follicles appeared perfectly healthy—they just didn't seem to feel that producing hair was necessary.

The lack of hair had always been the obvious effect of Lex's encounter with the meteor shower.  Other than her fledgling theory of a descending meteorite somehow connecting Clark and Lex emotionally or psychically, Chloe hadn't really thought about Lex being physically altered in any other way.  But judging by his white cell counts and his astonishing rate of recovery from every injury he'd ever suffered—self-inflicted and otherwise—there was a little more going on under that skin than just being follicly challenged, and all evidence pointed to the meteor shower as a source (that is, as long as the person examining the evidence had a mind open to that possibility).

Perhaps her research in the last few hours had become more about Lex than about Clark, but that was quite honestly because there just wasn't anything to find on Clark.  She figured that at least if there were trails to follow on Lex, maybe one of them would eventually bring her to something helpful regarding her intended subject.  Sometimes it was best to start at the centre of the maze and find your way out rather than try to make it to the middle from outside the gate.  And as far as she could tell, Lex was the centre of whatever was different about Clark.

For the first two years of Lex's life in Smallville, it seemed that nearly every trip to the hospital had Clark Kent listed as the person who had brought him in.  Chloe expected that to stop when the two of them started their affair, somewhere around late 2002 or early 2003, when they had reason to conceal the fact that they were so intimately involved.  She was thrown to find that that wasn't the case at all.  In fact, it was nearly a year after that when Clark Kent's name stopped appearing as a footnote in Lex's medical records.

For a minute, she thought maybe she was throwing the timeline off, putting Clark and Lex into a romance before they'd had one.  But after she'd double and triple checked herself, she was sure she was right.

It didn't make any sense that after they'd been together for a while, Clark would be less likely to rescue Lex from his regular scrapes with Smallville's seemingly endless supply of undesirables.  Surely he would be even more likely as time went on to be in the right place at the right time.

But there it was in black and white: For nearly a year of their romance, he was recorded as bringing Lex into the hospital, being the person who called the ambulance, or being present when the EMTs arrived.  Then, suddenly, he disappeared.

From the autumn of 2003 and onward, Lex began arriving at the hospital unaided despite his injuries, or ambulances were alerted to his situation by anonymous tips, and when they arrived, he was alone, with his tormentor mysteriously unconscious in a corner and Lex at a loss as to how that could have happened.  Again and again, next to ‘patient arrived at hospital by...’ was written ‘none,’ ‘unknown,’ or just a simple slash marring the space where Chloe was sure Clark's name should have been.

So, why?  Why wait until they'd been secretly together for nearly a year before taking active steps to distance themselves from one another on paper?  Why did Clark disappear from Lex's medical life so very long after he'd presumably appeared in his love life?  Had they honestly just not thought of it before then—that someone might look at these records one day and wonder about Clark's constant cameos during Lex's most harrowing episodes of danger?

But it was hard for Chloe to believe that Lex would be that shortsighted.  Surely the instant they realized that Clark's secret might be compromised—

"Oh!"

That must have been it! she'd realized suddenly.  They hadn't known yet!

In the fall of 2003, something had become clear to them that they hadn't realized before.  That was why they'd suddenly decided to stop leaving such clear trails to follow right back to their odd connection to one another.  Was it possible that for so long, they'd really just thought that Lex was lucky and Clark had good instincts?  And, more intriguingly, what exactly had happened to make them aware that their connection had supernatural attributes?

Chloe had chewed at her lower lip, scrolling through page after page of Lex's medical records and not finding Clark Kent's name in them a single other time.  To anyone who didn't know their story, it would appear that Lex had once had a good friend named Clark Kent and then that friend had dropped out of his life.  But Chloe knew for sure that Clark still had something to do with these scrapes Lex got himself into, because she had the videotape to prove it: Outside the abandoned warehouse where Lex had been taken hostage by some ecoterrorist whack job, Clark had melted into the shadow of an ambulance and slunk away, with no one the wiser but the roll of film.

Not even the nerdy nineteen year old who'd shot the film, Ned, Chloe's contact at Channel 4 News, had noticed Clark was there.  Wanting an extra set of roving eyes in her research, but knowing asking someone to keep an eye out for any action involving a high school farm kid nobody would prompt questions—not just of her, but also about Clark himself, which could end up being a very bad thing for him indeed—Chloe had smartly asked Ned to keep her in the loop on anything involving Lex Luthor. No one asked questions when they heard you wanted the dirt on a Luthor.

It might have been a long shot based on a shaky theory she wasn't sure even she believed, but the request had paid off quite nicely.  It had given her the closest thing to hard evidence she had that something wasn't quite right about Clark: The time stamp showed he'd gotten completely across town on foot faster than he could have in a car—even if he blew through every stop light between Smallville High and Argonia Street—all to save Lex from Mr. Eco-Freak, then fade gently into the night and never mention it to anyone.

By the time Chloe got to the end of Lex's medical records, she knew she was on to something, but she hadn't been sure where to go from there.  Clark was connected to Lex, but Lex had figured that out and taken steps to conceal it.  So where might a Luthor squirrel away the things he didn't want the general public to know?

Chloe entered the final algorithm and watched LuthorCorp unfurl like a night orchid at her fingertips.  She smiled a slow, predatory smile as she immediately began to dig.  Her fingers moved effortlessly over the keys and the mouse, her gaze flying across the screen, over documents, links, and references.

It was already nearing midnight and she had an early class in the morning, but nothing was going to take her away from the computer right now.  Early mornings were what espresso was for.


~


"You did what?"

Chloe's eyes widened over the rim of her triple caramel mocha, but she didn't stop drinking it.  She needed it.  She might as well have tried to stop breathing oxygen.

"You're joking, right?"  Pete was staring at her with his mouth hanging open.  "I mean, you didn't really...?"

Finally, she lowered the cup, trying not to let her eyes flutter closed in pleasure as the warm, sweet caffeine goodness rushed down her throat and warmed her belly.  "Well..." she demurred, and shrugged a shoulder.

"Oh, man."  There was a thunk as Pete's forehead hit the table, his arms splayed out palm down.  "Chloe," he moaned, shaking his head against the Formica.

"Come on, Pete, it's not like—"

"Do you have any idea," he asked, raising his head wearily, "how illegal that is?"

Chloe stared at him a beat, then looked away, to her left, letting her eyebrows do the talking for her.

"Yeah?  Well, did you consider that putting a federal crime on your record might just hamper your scholarship?  They don't have to pony up, Chlo.  They can rescind it anytime they want."

Chloe let out a frustrated scoff—frustrated because she knew Pete was right, but she didn't want to admit it.  "I didn't get caught."

"But what if you had been?"

She leaned forward.  "I wasn't."

Pete leaned forward even more.  "But what if you had been?"

"Ugh!" Chloe threw her hands up and sat back harshly into her seat.

Slowly, Pete sighed and sat back as well.  He stared at his hands on the table, shaking his head.

After a few seconds and another sip of her coffee, Chloe finally broke the silence.  "Well, don't you want to hear what I found?"

Pete's hands came up, palm out, and he begged off.  "Ohhh, no.  You're not pulling me in on this.  I don't want to hear a single word about it, Chlo."

Chloe rolled her eyes.  "It's not even what I found, anyway.  It's what I was able to postulate from what I found.  And anyway," she leaned her chin on her wrist, and her elbow on the table, trying the cuteness approach, "the LuthorCorp files didn't help even a little," she said, pouting.  "It was the medical records that gave me some clues."

With a pathetic sound, Pete covered his face with his hands, shaking his head repeatedly.

"Although..." Chloe mused, almost to herself, "I'm really curious to know why Lex would need an ultrasound machine delivered to his home...  But," she shrugged it off, "it's probably some new project.  I guess you don't get to stay a billionaire for long if you don't take some work home with you."

Pete moved his right pointer finger away from the others and peeked through the gap.  "Ultrasound machine?" he asked, his voice muffled by his palms.

"That's not the thing—listen."  She leaned forward, lowering her voice even further, though they were already speaking very quietly so as not to be overheard.  "I think something happened about a year and a half ago that alerted them to this..." she waved a hand vaguely, looking for the term, "meteor-freak bond they share."

Pete was silent for a long moment, then finally sighed and dropped his hands from his face.  He crossed his forearms on the table and leaned forward wearily, in defeat.  "Oh?"

"I thought Clark would start keeping a low profile once they started their little—ya know."

"Uh-huh."

"But he didn't.  He didn't start keeping his name out of Lex's medical records until about a year after they got together.  Didn't make any sense to me at first, but then I realized: There must have come a moment when they figured out that Clark's uncanny timing was more than just luck.  Something must have happened to alert them to the fact that Clark was... different somehow.  And that it was responsible for him always showing up to save Lex in the nick of time."

"Uh, okay."  Now Pete was genuinely confused.  Chloe's reasoning mind was taking her to all kinds of places he hadn't expected.  She was dead wrong, of course, but it was still pretty interesting.  "Like what?"

"I don't know.  But I don't think it really matters anyway."  She leaned forward, lowering her voice even more, though Pete was already having to strain to hear her.  "Because the more I think about it, the more this doesn't quite fit.  Clark had secrets way before Lex moved to town, and I don't think they were all of the sexuality variety.  He had a tendency to show up right at zero hour for Lana, for me—even for you, Pete.  For a minute, I thought maybe he has those kinds of bonds with all the people he cares about, but that doesn't make much sense to me.  I think... I think maybe it's something else."

A little chill crept up Pete's spine and he kept his chin on his forearm only with a force of will.  He wanted to sit up straight, loudly deny something—anything—and cross his arms defiantly over his chest, but he stayed where he was.  The little hairs on the back of his neck were standing straight up, and he could feel the tiny, vestigial muscles on the sides of his head struggling to push his ears forward, so as not to miss a word Chloe was saying.  The only thing he couldn't stop himself from doing was swallowing noisily against the stress.  "Something else?"

"Something more.  I mean, like, more general."

Again, Pete swallowed past a tight throat.

"I still think he has a particular connection to Lex, but there's something that leads him to people in trouble just generally, too.  He can sense it or something.  I don't know... maybe he can do more than just get places fast.  He can tell where he needs to be.  Plus, as far as I know, he's always been successful, so he must have some kind of... um... I don't know, fighting ability or something.  And his speed, I mean," she shook her head in mild disbelief, "he must be able to just take off like a shot when he wants.  Because he'd have to be faster than the human eye can perceive, or else people would have seen him zooming around.  Or I guess maybe he can teleport."

"Teleport?"

"You know, just think about where he wants to go and then be there."

Pete snorted, though it sounded flat to him.  "You're making him sound like Spider-Man or Doctor Manhattan or something."

Chloe acknowledged the joke with a small smile, but then the consideration was right back in her eyes.  "Something like that.  Not quite."

"Y-You think Clark's some kind of... superhero?"

She shrugged and leaned back in her seat with a sigh, the tension lessening.  "I'm not sure.  I feel like I'm on the right track, though.  But this is all conjecture.  I can guess and theorize ’til I'm blue in the face, but until I know for sure, I can't go to Clark about it."

"Well, Chloe, I don't see how you can ever know for sure what's really going on with Clark unless Clark himself tells you."

"Yeah..." she said vaguely, and took a long pull on her coffee.

Pete sat back, slowly, trying not to look too petrified and hoping she didn't notice the sweat at his temples.  "How's the coffee?" he asked, just because he was desperate for a subject change.

"Mm," she said, and smiled extra-slowly, like a cat in the sun.  "I think Lois has finally found her calling."

He laughed, maybe more than he needed to, the sound rife with relief.  "Seriously?  I thought you said she'd be a disaster."

Chloe clucked her tongue.  "I know.  Me: Wrong!"  She widened her eyes comically.  "The mind boggles."

"I think she's a good reporter, actually."

Chloe nodded, her smile growing.  "You should have seen the way she cornered Principal Reynolds outside the faculty lounge about the whole girls’ volleyball scandal...?" she paused as a question, to make sure Pete knew the backstory.  He indicated with a nod that he did.  "She was firing questions like her mouth was a machine gun.  I've never seen him stutter so much—well, at all."

"Did she get the dirt?"

"Not just yet.  But she's still working on it.  She's determined to get the coach at least suspended if not fired."

"Wow."  Pete shifted awkwardly in his seat.  He did prefer this subject to the previous one, but it was still pretty icky.  "You really think Coach Grasby is sleeping with a player?"

Chloe shrugged.  "Word is it's someone on the varsity team."

He shuddered.  "Ew."

Chloe snickered.  "Well... at least it's nice to know the coaching is hands-on."

A guffaw burst from Pete's lips before he was able to appropriately groan his disgust.  Before he could say anything more, however, he was distracted by the sound of a door closing whence he didn't remember hearing one close ever before.  He looked up and at the top of the stairs no one ever used, he saw Lana locking the door to the apartment she'd once offered to Pete when he briefly didn't have a home of his own.

"Oh, I didn't think she was here."

Chloe followed his gaze.  "Yeah," she sighed.  "I can't believe she's really moving out of our house in order to shack up in that tiny apartment with Brad.  She's disgustingly happy about it, too.  Ugh," she rolled her eyes.  "I'm so sick of the Pottery Barn, I could throw up in 400-thread count."

Pete cackled, then stopped abruptly when Chloe fixed him with a deadly look.  He cleared his throat.  "Sorry."

"Hmm..." she was plainly not convinced of his sincerity.

He tried for a concerned expression.  "Uh... so she's really not going to college?"

Chloe looked after her wistfully as she slipped behind the counter and into the back.  "Guess not," she said with regret.  "Her aunt is furious with her."

"Yeah, I bet.  She gave up art school in Paris for the summer, too."  Pete shook his head, mystified.  Brad seemed like an all right guy, but he couldn't see him being worth passing up that.  "Who does that?"

"What?" Chloe asked, turning her smile on him.  "You wouldn't give up three months in Paris for me?"

Slowly, Pete smiled.  He reached across the table to take Chloe's soft hand, warm from being wrapped around her drink, between his own, and caress it.  "For you?  I'd give up Europe."

"Hmm... Italy?"

Pete nodded.  "Mm-hmm."

"Spain?"

"No question."

"Amsterdam?"

He shrugged.  "Meh.  We have California."

Chloe snickered even as Pete leaned in to kiss her, which he did tenderly but chastely.

He sat back down in his seat, still smiling.  While what he'd said was emphatically true, what Pete wasn't saying was that he was thrilled to have gotten Chloe off the subject of researching Clark.

Lying was bad enough.  But he was seriously starting to feel like a first-class turncoat.


~


Lex kissed with his eyes closed in deference to the steamy hot water cascading upon them from above, all eight of the wide silver showerheads embedded in the tiled ceiling turned on full.  Clark, his nature unique, had no such concerns.  His eyes were half open, and he watched the expression on Lex's face smooth, and his eyelashes flutter, and the colour rush into his cheeks from a potent mixture of wet heat and naked desire.

Lex's lips were plump and soft against his mouth, his kiss slow and sweet and shallow.  Clark watched him with lazy interest, sucked on each lip in turn with a gentle pull, and savoured the taste and texture of his tongue each time it was barely offered.

They pressed together from their midriffs and down, each hard in the hollow of the other's hip, two beats pulsing between them: Thrum.  Thrum-thrum.  Thrum.  Thrum-thrum, one beat laying atop the other, laid upon by the next.

Lex's fingers were feather-light, caressing Clark's neck, gentling along the curve of his ear, smoothing along his jawline.  Clark felt that tender touch among the beat of the water as if the water wasn't even there—as if nothing else was there.  Lex could have been touching him in a vacuum, in a sensory deprivation chamber, and it would be no more intense than it was now.  Every hair on his body stood on end, his skin riddled with goose bumps despite the warmth of the water, every inch alive with sensitivity.

Clark loved, too, the way that, each time they parted for a brief moment, as Lex turned his head or opened his mouth or stood half an inch taller, he didn't just bring himself back to Clark's kiss, but cupped his hand over Clark's cheek and led Clark back to him—firm and sure, like guiding him back home.  And every time they parted, Clark took in the sight of Lex's mouth, the pout of it, the fullness of his lips, the flush of pink and red beckoning him in, and then gave into it again.

He opened his mouth wider this time, and gently slid his tongue forward, and Lex met him not in surprise, but as if he'd been expecting him, and he was welcome, and Lex had been wondering what was keeping him.  He slid the flat of his tongue over Lex's tip, half to taste, half just to touch, and when he retreated again, Lex followed him easily.  His tongue swirled lazily, sultrily, inside Clark's mouth, twisting with his own, tickling the sensitive palate, and all the while, Lex kept up a steady, soft suction at the seal their lips made.

Clark tried to move an inch closer, sliding his leg more fully between Lex's thighs, pressing gently into the stiff stripe resting in the hollow of his hip.  Lex grunted into Clark's mouth and tilted his hips, pushing back at him in turn.

"Lex," Clark breathed when they parted briefly once again.

Lex only moaned wordlessly and brought Clark's mouth back to his own.  He kissed him even more deeply than before, his fingers splayed over Clark's cheek and behind his ear.

"Lex," he said again when he next had the chance, and this time Lex laid their foreheads together, his hand cupping Clark's face, his hips still moving him gently against Clark's body.

"Mm?" Lex answered, looking down between them where their flesh slid together.

"No tricks, right?" Clark whispered.

Lex met Clark's gaze with confusion.  "Tricks?" he asked, losing some of the softness of his tone.  "What do you mean?"

"Well..." Clark paused to kiss him again, unable to resist the pouting plumpness of his bowed upper lip and the pink shine of his tiny scar.  Lex's fingers found their way into Clark's long, wet hair, tangling into the strands instantly.

"You don't have," Clark continued when they'd parted again, "a plastic cup hidden around here somewhere, right?"

Lex laughed softly, his voice husky with desire.  "No, Clark," he said in a loving tone.

Clark smiled into his eyes.  "You promise?"

Lex shook his head, not to disagree, but as if in wonder at the way Clark's mind worked.  "I promise," he said, and kissed him again.

He took a step forward, then another, slowly leading Clark to rest his back against the nearest wall.  It was slightly chilly, which felt wonderful on his already overheated skin.

"But," Lex said when he'd released Clark's mouth and was thrusting gently against him, "you realize that if you'd just consent to provide a sample the way millions of men have been providing similar samples to fertility clinics for the last fifty years—"

"Yeah, yeah," Clark cut him off, rolling his eyes, and put a halt to any further comments on Clark's ejaculatory modesty with a firm press of his lips.

Lex didn't fight him.  On the contrary, he seemed pleased to be silenced in this manner, and gave into Clark's deep, hard kiss with relish, the muscles at the back of his neck softening in Clark's hand, the movement of his tongue eagerly following Clark's lead.

Clark pulsed against him and jerked with slight surprise at the intensity of the sensation of his returning kiss.  One hand still buried in Clark's hair, the other began to trail its fingers slowly along Clark's side, not quite tickling and not quite caressing, but something in between that was soft and ethereal.

As gently as Clark always tried to treat Lex's delicate human skin, he could never quite reach the pinnacle of tenderness that Lex seemed able to attain at will.  It was an astonishingly beautiful feeling to be treated with such veneration, and despite the knowledge that he could never match it, Clark did his best to demonstrate the mutual sentiment.  He, too, trailed his fingers along Lex's skin with the lightest touch his unnatural alien strength could muster, and felt a measure of success when Lex sighed sweetly into his mouth.

"Clark," he breathed, and this time when he brought Clark back to him, he bypassed his mouth to trail a string of warm, wet kisses along his jaw, behind his ear, and down the side of his neck.

Clark arched his neck, pressing his head back against the shower wall, and moaned quietly at the ceiling and its complement of showerheads.  Lex's lightly travelling hand had found its way to Clark's hip, and there it traded gentleness for a firm caress, and massaged Clark's flesh with unyielding pressure.  The bold touch sent bolts of sensation along his groin and into his cock, which was throbbing in regular beats where it rested against Lex's hip.

"Oh, god," Clark whispered, so softly Lex might not have heard him over the shower's spray.  As Lex continued his deep, firm massage, he sunk his teeth into the thick cord of muscle where Clark's shoulder and neck joined, and Clark's erection jumped sharply in response, making Clark groan so loudly, there was no doubt Lex heard him this time.

Lex rutted against him in a steady pump, shifting a little farther to his left with each thrust until they finally lined up together.  Clark immediately joined Lex's rhythm, letting out a soft moan and dropping his forehead to Lex's shoulder.

Lex laid his cheek against Clark's briefly, panting hot breath into his ear, before shrugging Clark out of his shoulder and pulling gently at his hair to take his mouth once again.  His kiss was hot and impatient, the hand on Clark's hip tightening steadily, the hand in his hair fisting to turn Clark this way and that as he wanted.

Clark's grip was losing its tenderness as well, both his hands having found their way to Lex's hips, where they were helping to guide his firm, steady thrusts.  His back arched, pushing him away from the wall and more tightly against Lex's groin, increasing the pressure by only a little, but the sensation exponentially.

Lex grunted into Clark's mouth, breaking their kiss and pressing their foreheads together once again.  His fist was still buried in Clark's hair, and he looked down between them, well past Clark's pendant where it rested on his chest, while Clark took his fill of the expression on Lex's face: Open-mouthed panting, a brow knit tight with the reaching nature of this feeling, eyes that sometimes closed to savour a particularly luscious beat of pleasure.

"Oh, god, Lex," Clark whispered at the captivating sight of him.

Lex met his gaze then, quick and hard and intense, and Clark's legs were folding under him before either of them said another word.

Lex stumbled back just slightly, startled by the sudden change in position.  But the moment Clark shot forward and caught Lex's thick erection between his open lips, Lex's empty hands found the support of Clark's shoulders, and he held himself in place with a slightly shaky grip.

Clark's hands remained on Lex's hips, still guiding his thrusts in the same rhythm, and he closed his eyes, savouring the silky feel of the flesh in his mouth and the slightly salty flavour of the spurt of fluid Lex immediately gave him.

He hollowed his cheeks as he moved on him, keeping a constant suction as his lips moved from the ridge to the base and back again with a smooth, practiced motion.  Often, when Lex's flesh first hit his tongue, Clark would think back on the first time he'd ever done this, Lex's strong ginger-musk scent, unique flavour, and smooth skin a powerful mnemonic combination, and he did so now, too.  He remembered how frightened he'd been to do something wrong, he remembered Lex's patience with him, he remembered the dizzying feeling of achievement when Lex had shouted, and come without any semblance of control, driven to it by Clark's hungry, uncertain mouth and his desire to please him.

Lex's fingers dug deeply into Clark's shoulders as Clark pushed himself as far as he could go, his nose smushing against Lex's groin, the lack of oxygen and the water trying to run into his nostrils no concern for him and offering not even a hint of distraction from his task.  He swallowed slowly against the bulk of flesh filling his throat and Lex's thighs trembled.

"Clark," he groaned, then kept up the sound, though wordless, as Clark returned to rhythm once again.  "Oh, god," he breathed.  The sound had changed, and Clark realized from the nature of it that Lex had thrown his head back and was directing his words at the ceiling, the shower's spray bathing his face.

Clark paused at his tip and ran his tongue around the head and underneath, swirling and tasting and teasing another small spurt of viscous, tangy fluid from him before plunging forward again.

"God, so good," Lex panted, head hanging forward once again, and he sucked in a stream of air and water through clenched teeth.  "Clark, god, you're so good."

Clark only hummed a response to indicate he'd heard, his eyes still closed, his cheeks still hollow, his lips still moving on Lex's flesh with utter engrossment.

"Clark... Clark, you gotta stop," Lex whispered.

Briefly, Clark's brow knit, but he quickly disregarded it and instead he twisted his head to the left the next time he pulled back, then to the right when he slid forward again, drawing circular patterns on Lex's skin with his tongue.

Lex let out a shuddering breath.  "Ohh," he said, his tone a warning.  "Clark, you had better stop."

Clark hummed on him again, this one more of a whine than an acknowledgment, and Lex let out a breathy laugh.  "Please," he whispered, and trailed a hand softly along Clark's concave cheek, though his touch was unsteady.  "Stop and let me have you."

Mid-shaft, Clark paused, then continued on for a few more strokes.  But when Lex moaned again, Clark finally took him in hand at the base and pulled off, slowly and with regret, increasing the power of his suction as he went until Lex came completely free with a wet popping sound.

Clark looked up, his eyes open despite the pouring shower, and half-mast with desire.  His lips felt swollen and empty.  When Lex brushed a thumb over them, Clark immediately captured it and sucked on it hard, and Lex's eyes rolled back even as he sighed.

"Get up," he said, his words both soft in tone and clipped in cadence.

Clark let Lex's thumb slip out of his mouth and he licked his distended lips.  He stayed on his knees, gazing up at Lex with concentrated ardor.

"I want you so damn much," Lex murmured.  "Get up and let me have you."

Clark gazed into Lex's eyes for another moment before leaning forward to lick a final thick strip up his underbelly, and then he obediently got to his feet.

He wasn't yet at his full height when Lex took his mouth hard, shoving his tongue inside, which Clark sucked at only briefly before Lex let him go and breathed a hot demand against his pouting lips.  "Turn around for me," he said, his voice gruff, his eyes nearly black with dilation.

Clark smiled just slightly and caressed Lex's hips once more.  He pressed a quick kiss to Lex's tumid mouth before turning around and bracing his hands on the wall.  He spread his legs and arched his lower back, pushing his ass into the air, and listened to Lex's breath shudder.  Head hanging between his shoulders, pendant swinging gently free, Clark's hair streamed around his face with the shower's spray.  He closed his eyes and waited.

There was a brief pause as Lex retrieved the bottle of lubricant from the corner behind him, then the sound of the lid flipping open and closed.  A warm, steadying hand was pressed against Clark's curved back and Clark gasped when Lex's tongue—not his fingers or his cock as Clark had expected—licked a hot, thick trail over his entrance.  He was already wet from the shower, of course, and it wasn't but a moment more before Lex's tongue worked its way in, at first wiggling and licking and then thrusting in and out of Clark's sensitive hole.

Groaning, he spread his legs a little more, arched his back as far as it would go, and relaxed the ring of muscle.  His cock jumped with every wet, twisting thrust where it strained into the empty air between his thighs, Lex's tongue like a conductor, sending tingles of electricity through his every nerve ending.

As Clark's erection dribbled its excitement onto the shower floor, Lex withdrew, instantly replacing his searching tongue with two slippery fingers, which pressed slowly into Clark's body, slicking the way with waterproof lube.  Clark's hips shifted in impatience.  Lex knew he didn't need this much care—didn't need any preparation at all, in fact—but Clark knew he had his own reasons for taking his time.

It was another minute before the hand withdrew and Clark sighed at the first sensation of thick, hot breach as Lex began to finally push into him.

They moaned together when the corona passed, and then Clark held his breath as Lex continued to slide steadily inward.  He waited for the delicious but maddening bump against his inner barrier, expecting the usual maddening few minutes of shallow teasing before Lex gave him what he really wanted.  He once again had a surprised gasp ripped from his throat when Lex's ingress neither slowed nor stopped, but he kept up the same steady speed all the way in, through the barrier and deeper, until his hips rested flush against the globes of Clark's ass.

Lex groaned loudly at the sensation of passing through the membrane, but didn't let what he'd told Clark was a phenomenal sensation break his rhythm.  He paused only briefly when he was fully buried, then began to thrust deep and regular, the quality and volume of his moans informing Clark of just how serious Lex had been when he'd said Clark had to stop.

"Oh, god.  Oh, yeah," Lex panted in rhythm with his thrusts.  "Clark, god, you're so—"

Clark didn't get to hear the rest, because the feelings that were rising in his body had gotten the best of him, and he had begun to make the sound Lex called his ‘siren,’ and it blocked out just about everything in the world except what was going on inside his own body.

Every muscle, every fiber, every cell was alive with sensation.  It wasn't just his ass, just his cock, just his skin where Lex's hands held him tight.  When Lex pressed into him this deeply, his sexual fervor was a full-body experience: Like being dropped in a vat of pleasure, breathing it in, drowning in it, absorbing it through his pores, through his pupils, through his hair follicles, and into the soft skin underneath his nails.  It was like nothing else.  It wasn't like being sucked or like pushing his way into Lex's tight, eager body.  It wasn't like the way Lex described having his prostate massaged; it wasn't like the rush of pleasure Clark got from red kryptonite.  It wasn't even like coming.  Each and every one a perfect, mind-numbing, incredible feeling, but none of them was like this.

What it was was impossible; it was insane.  It was unbelievable that anything should ever feel like this and not be fatal.  And to this day, it was the only thing Clark had discovered about himself that made him appreciate being so different.

Lex's hips were snapping against him now and Clark's siren was mortifyingly loud even to his own ears, but he couldn't stop.  It was rising and rising, and the faster and harder Lex moved, the more intense the feeling became and the louder the siren got.

Clark curled his fists against the shower wall, not sure just now what his strength was like, hoping he didn't push them through before this feeling peaked.  A deep-seated vibration began low in his spine at the apex of Lex's next thrust and Clark's thighs trembled.

The siren rose like a warning and then Lex was slamming into him and finally Clark heard something other than himself—heard his name being hoarsely shouted—and the vibration moved into his loins and the sensation alive in every pore suddenly concentrated into a ball of flame around that vibration and then Lex's hand was on his cock and Clark was screaming as he came.

It was sharp and powerful and deep and Clark's scream had denigrated to a sob by the time the spurts of fluid had weakened.  His legs shook—his everything shook—and he slid to his knees, Lex pulling out along the way, though he followed him down.  He cradled against Clark's curved back as Clark pressed his forehead to the wall and tried to remember how he was supposed to breathe.

"Oh, Clark," Lex was panting near his ear when Clark could hear again.  "Christ, that was good."  He kissed the back of Clark's exposed neck, his hair still parted in the centre by the shower's spray and hanging around his face.

Lex reached out to gather up one side of it and smooth it over Clark's left shoulder with the rest.  "You okay?" he asked quietly against Clark's skin, and Clark nodded shakily.

Still petting his hair with one hand, Lex reached around with the other, underneath Clark's hanging pendant and around his chest, and tried to tug him gently away from the wall.

Clark didn't move at first, shaking his head as he tried to forge a few words out of a fractured thought.

"Hey," Lex said softly.  His fading erection was pulsing against Clark's right thigh, the beat matching Clark's own.

"Lex," Clark finally managed to say.

Lex kissed his neck again.  "Yeah."

"L-Lex, I love you."

His lips stretched into a smile against Clark's skin, and he nodded.  "I love you, too, Clark," he answered simply, and gave a little tug again.  "Come on."

Finally, with an uncoordinated push, Clark fell back from the wall and into Lex's chest.  Lex led him down to lie on his side on the floor, then was gone briefly to press a few buttons.  The spray in Clark's face and trying to fill his ear was suddenly cut off and instead only his body continued to be drenched.  Then Lex's warm, slick form was sidling up behind him.

They spooned on the hard shower floor for some time, Lex gently smoothing stray strands of hair out of Clark's face and over his shoulder, until Clark started to feel like he had a body again.

He reached back and put a shaky hand on Lex's hip, then slowly turned onto his other side to face him.  Lex's eyes, though squinting in deference to the mist coming from the four showerheads that were still running, were filled with love and satisfaction.  A small, satiated smile sat on his lips.

Clark smiled back, though how steadily, he wasn't sure, and leaned forward to kiss him slow and gentle.

As they kissed and held each other, Clark slowly regained his equilibrium, and in time he wound an arm around Lex's back, the opposite hand supporting his neck from underneath.

"Mmm," Lex hummed against his mouth, and sighed with obvious contentment when they parted.  "I know you're going to tell me you can't stay," he said across the few inches that separated them, "but I'm seriously considering the merits of begging."

Clark chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to Lex's, his eyes still closed.  "And while that might be fun... I'll still have homework and studying to do when you're done."

"Haven't you learned how to freeze time yet?"

He sighed through a growing grin.  "Not yet."  He paused.  "But if I ever do..."

Lex lifted his eyebrows in question.

Clark's smile softened.  "If I ever do, I'm going to freeze it all the time for moments just like this one."

Lex's smile grew, though a glint of amusement did show in his eyes.

Clark chuckled softly, a little amused, too, by his own mawkishness.

But after the sound had faded, Clark noticed that Lex's eyes had become more serious.  "Clark?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"What is that like for you?  Is it..." he shrugged slightly, "as extraordinary as it seems?"

Clark's smile grew to a contented grin.  "More."

Lex chuckled knowingly at the carnality in Clark's expression, then leaned in to take his mouth once more, knowing it would soon be time to let him go for the night.


~


"Hey."

Clark looked up from his schoolwork in surprise at the voice he'd thought he'd heard.

He was right.

"Wow.  Hey, man."  He got to his feet, rubbing his hands on the back of his jeans, and took a couple steps toward the stairs Pete was climbing.  "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah, well..." Pete shrugged, "you're not talking to my girlfriend, so..."

Clark dropped his gaze to his boots and let out a soft sigh.  "Pete—"

"Clark, I'm here for one reason, and one reason only," Pete said as he reached the landing.  "You've gotta make amends with Chloe."

"Me?" Clark exclaimed in disbelief.  He pointed harshly in the direction of town, "She's the one who—"

"It was a mistake, Clark," Pete interrupted, his voice hard and unforgiving.  "You've made plenty of them.  So don't stand there and tell me Chloe's got to be perfect when you're far from it yourself."

Clark's gaping mouth closed with a click, and he let his arm fall slowly back to his side.  He looked at Pete with some measure of apology, but he wasn't convinced, and he knew that was in his expression, too.

"Look, man," Pete walked closer, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans.  He looked down at his boots and shook his head, "this is for your own good.  Chloe is not the kind of girl to give up without a fight."

When Pete was only a few feet away and met his gaze again, Clark held it for a long, considering beat, searching his expression suspiciously.  "What do you mean?" he finally asked.

"She's researching you.  Hardcore."

"What?  Why the hell would she be doing that?"

"Because she wants you to trust her!"

Clark scoffed, his eyebrows knitting, his lip curling, and he was sure the utter bewilderment he was feeling had to be all over his face.

Pete made a loud, frustrated sound, and briefly covered his face with his hands.  His fingernails were nearly blue with cold, and Clark briefly wondered why he wasn't wearing gloves.  "Shit.  I know that doesn't make any sense... Listen.  Here's the thing, okay?"

Clark nodded once, crisp, his attention quite undivided.

"Chloe thinks that if she figures out what it is you've been hiding..." Pete spoke slowly, gesturing with his hands, trying to put the situation together in some way that made sense, even though Chloe's contorted logic didn't really make sense to him, "then tells you she knows the truth about you, but will keep it a secret until her dying day... you'll see that you can trust her with the important stuff... and, like, through all this, she'll prove herself to you and you'll forgive her for the Lois thing and you'll be best friends again—not ‘again,’ but even better than before.  So she's researching you."  He dropped his hands to his sides with a shrug, knowing that was the best he could do.  "She's... got some theories, man.  You'll do better if you just call off the cold shoulder and get things back to normal around here."

"What ‘theories’?  What kind of research are you talking about?  Is she..." Clark couldn't help himself: He looked around his loft in paranoia, his face reddening at the thought of all the really private things he did in this room, "is she watching me?"

Pete scoffed with plain sardonicism and plopped himself down onto Clark's sofa.  "Researching you from afar, Clark.  Through records and hacks and the usual Chloe-like methods.  She's not Lionel Luthor."  He sighed as Clark slowly settled next to him.  "I told you before she thinks you're a meteor freak."

"Yeah, believe me, I remember."

"Well, she's still on the wrong track—more than one wrong track—but even though the theories are wrong, some of the details..." he trailed off meaningfully.

Clark swallowed hard, but it didn't seem to help the tightness of his throat.  "What does she think?"

Pete let out a harsh sigh.  A very small, humourless smile sat on his lips as he shook his head.

Clark looked down at his hands on his knee, feeling the guilt wrap around his heart.

It was so unfair, and they both knew it.  How was Pete supposed to be loyal to the both of them?  It had to be tearing Pete apart at the seams to protect Clark's secret, lie to his girlfriend, and yet watch her suffer through the rigors of not knowing, of wanting to know, of not being trusted, of wanting desperately to win Clark's confidence.  Every question Clark asked must have been a stab to Pete's heart, making him feel like a traitor, a spy, a complete dirtbag.

And yet Clark couldn't not ask.  It was his safety at stake—maybe the safety of all who loved him, maybe Chloe and Pete's safety, too.  If Chloe managed to stumble on the truth, and the wrong person knew it or saw it, they could all be in danger.  So Clark let the guilt sit squarely atop his shoulders, and pressed on.

"I know," he said softly.  "I know how you must—"

"Save it."

Clark looked at Pete out of the corner of his eye, his head still bowed, but Pete was in the exact same position, wearing the exact same expression.  "I'm sorry," Clark said softly.

"Yeah."

After a few moments, Pete took in a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, looking forward once again.  "She's got this theory that you and Lex are connected together somehow.  Like that you know when Lex is in trouble because you guys have some kind of meteor-bred bond between you that lets you know when he needs your help.  That was enough of a wrong track that I wasn't really worried about it that much.  But... well, it's just part of what she's thinking.  She's suspected your speed for a while, and she thinks it's because you're a meteor freak.  But she hasn't guessed about the Doberman-like hearing or the fact that you can see what's going on in Shanghai anytime you want.  She's putting this whole bond with Lex thing in its place."

"But that sounds like she's getting further on the wrong track, Pete, not closer to the truth."

"Yeah, you'd think.  Only, she realizes it doesn't quite fit.  Because it isn't just Lex you've been saving over the years.  It's been him a lot, but she's trying to figure out how that all fits in with you saving her or saving Lana.  She knows the meteor-bond theory is flawed and, Clark, she's starting to think that maybe you can just sense when anyone is in trouble... and if she starts going down that path, she's going to wonder how you can tell, and..."

"Okay," Clark said, his heart rate increasing at a staggering pace, "I get it."

"She's only doing this because you're not talking to her.  You need to bury the hatchet, man.  Just... forgive her, you know?  You should do it for your friendship.  And if not for that, for your own good.  And, Clark, if not for that..." he shook his head.  "Do it for our friendship, man," Pete gestured between them.  "You and me.  Because, damn it, Clark, I love Chloe.  And I'm not gonna keep doing this crap.  I'm not gonna keep coming to you, you know?"

"I know it must be h—"

"You don't have any... idea, man.  You know what it's like to keep the secret, but you don't know what it's like to have to be a two-faced snitch.  If this keeps up, Clark, I'm gonna be forced to pick a side.  And if I have to choose..." he trailed off and met Clark's gaze, and his feelings were so clear in his steady eyes that Clark had to swallow hard and hold his breath.  "If you force me to choose, Clark, I will choose Chloe.  Don't make me choose, man.  Please."

"Pete, I can't just—"

Pete looked away sharply and with an angry sigh, and that cut Clark off just as effectively as an interruption would have.  "You remember when I was covering for you?  When you wouldn't tell me what was going on?  You were sneaking off with Lex and I had no idea what the deal was, but I covered for you anyway?"

"Yeah, Pete," Clark said, his voice weak.  "I remember.  I appreciated that."

"More than appreciated it, man.  You said you owed me one.  Big.  Well," he shrugged, "I'm cashing it in."  He met Clark's gaze, hard.  "I want you to forgive Chloe.  I want you to wipe the slate clean and give her another chance."

Clark felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.  The very idea that Pete felt he needed to bribe or guilt Clark into forgiving a person he not so long ago considered one of his best friends in the world was mortifying.  Did he really seem like that much of an ass?

"Pete... look, it isn't just about trust, you know.  Telling Chloe, it's..." he trailed off and shrugged.  "Well, I don't know that I want to put her in danger like that.  It is dangerous, you know?  Knowing about me."

Pete spread his hands.  "I know about you, Clark, and I'm doin’ just fine."

"Yeah... and I'm thankful for that.  But it can still be dangerous, Pete.  If the wrong person should ever realize there's something different about me, and then get wind of the fact that you might know what that is... I don't know what could happen.  I don't want to put Chloe in that situation.  Maybe..." he shrugged slightly, "Maybe I never should have put you in that situation."

"But you did, Clark."

The words were simple and clipped and Pete was staring at him stonily.  He didn't blink and he didn't look away, and enough time passed that it became starkly uncomfortable.

"Do you wish I hadn't?" Clark finally asked, the question quiet and sincere.  He wasn't being belligerent.  He really wondered if it was the case.  "Should I have just let you walk away that day?  Do you think that would have been better?"

Pete held his gaze, and they searched one another's eyes for the answers to the questions they each had, until finally, Pete looked away and shook his head.

"No," he said honestly.  "I'm glad you told me.  I'm glad you trust me.  And I know that Chloe would feel the same way—probably feel it even more—despite any possible danger that might come along one day because of it."  He paused for a long time then, staring steadily across the loft.

"You don't... see her, Clark," he finally went on, his voice thickened slightly.  "You don't see what I see since you cut her off.  She's sad... all the time, man."

Clark swallowed hard.  He watched as the edges of Pete's eyelashes became damp, then looked away to focus on the floor and let Pete retain his dignity.

"It's getting harder and harder to cheer her up, and... I mean, I'm trying, but..."  He paused again, swallowing audibly.  "You don't realize how much s-she loves you, Clark."

Clark looked up in surprise, lips parted, eyes wide, to see Pete's watery, bloodshot gaze trained on him, dejected and regretful and slightly defeated.

"Pete..."

A tear slipped out of the corner of his left eye, and his hand brushed at it quickly, casually, as he turned away again.  "Not like that," he said to the wall, and shook his head.  "That's gone—well, I guess it'll never be gone, but... Like a friend, you know?  You mean a lot to her."

Clark licked his lips, a soft sigh issuing from his chest, and he let a few beats go by.  "Pete, look..." he finally said.  "I'm gonna... I'm going to go talk to Chloe."

Pete turned to him, eyes still red, but now round with astonishment.  "You're gonna tell her?"

"No," Clark said firmly, and watched with yet another twinge of guilt as Pete's expression dulled.  "No, I'm not going to tell her.  Not that.  But, I've been meaning to... I mean, I've been wanting to, you know, make up with her."

Hope swiftly replaced the surprise in Pete's expression.  "You have?"

"Yeah.  I... I miss her," Clark said in all honesty.  "And I think she gets why this upset me so much and..." he trailed off and shrugged.  "I don't know.  I think maybe we should just put it behind us."

"Clark, that's great!" Pete exclaimed.  "Oh, man."  He slumped into the back of the sofa, shoulders falling with relief.  In no time at all, he was grinning, his eyes rapidly drying.  "I wish I could be there to see her face.  She's gonna be ecstatic."

Awkwardly, Clark shrugged.  "I guess."

Pete turned his head, but Clark didn't meet his gaze, just watching him out of the corner of his eye.  "You can trust her, Clark.  She'll never make a mistake like that again with you.  Chloe's rock solid, man.  You gotta know that."

Clark offered him a wan smile and a little nod, but said nothing.  He only stared at the far wall, his mind racing with concern and uncertainty.  He wished he could be as sure as Pete obviously was, but he just didn't feel it.  All he could do was wait, and hope that time would prove Pete right.


~


"Are you ready for this?"

"I'm not even remotely ready for this."

Lex hovered over the petri dish with a tiny pipette of his own sperm cells, washed and separated from the other seminal fluids.  He met Clark's gaze.

Clark nodded, once, his eyes clouded with uncertainty.  "Do it."

Carefully, Lex touched the tip to the edge, and a few hundred cells transferred to the dish.  He immediately put his eyes to the microscope.

"What do you see?"

"Hold on."  He adjusted the magnification until he could make out each cell: The sperm like nervous little specks, the soo'ak like wiggling bacterium, and a single, massive ovum sitting perfectly still in the centre of it all.

At first, everything seemed pretty normal, each spermatozoon swimming steadily in whichever direction it happened to be facing, the soo'ak continuing their incessant grid-like search of the petri dish's boundaries.  But then, all at once, one of Lex's sperm cells happened to come in contact with one of the soo'ak, and every soo'ak in the dish except that one made a beeline for the ovum.

They crowded underneath it and around it and began to rush it toward the single soo'ak that had encountered the sperm cell and was tracking it like a faithful puppy.

"Ah.  They're moving the egg to the sperm.  Jesus, they're fast."

"What is?  The soo'ak?"

"Yeah."

"Let me see."

"Okay, just hold on a sec."

The soo'ak deposited the ovum smack in front of the one discovered sperm cell, very nearly smashing it down on its head, and then they hurriedly began building a kind of wall around the egg and other sperm cells that happened to be nearby.  In short order, several of Lex's cells were knocking at the wall of the ovum.

He swallowed harshly, not having expected such an instantaneous result.  "Okay..." he said cautiously, "uh, they're trying to fertilize it."

"What?"

Lex finally pulled himself away from the oculars and Clark was on them in a second.

"Oh my god!"  Clark's voice was breathy with amazement and not a little revulsion.

"What's happening?"

"They're all over it, they're..." Clark trailed off and watched in silence for a few seconds, Lex itching to see things for himself again.

"What, Clark?" he asked impatiently.

"They're breaking through."

Confusion settled over Lex's features.  "What?  No, only one will break through.  Then the wall—"

Clark took his eyes from the microscope and pinned Lex with a caustic look.  "Lex, I've been to biology class.  I know what's supposed to happen.  They're all breaking through."  He took a step back and let Lex have the microscope again.

Lex looked through, mystified.  Clark was right.  This wasn't a fertilization—thank god—it was a storming of the castle.  At least forty percent of the sperm in the dish were swarming all around the ovum and cell after cell kept disappearing into it.  As Lex watched, dumbstruck, the ovum began to lose its shape.

"They're obliterating it," he murmured.

In another thirty seconds what had once appeared to be a perfect, healthy cell was a deteriorating mass of jelly swimming with parasites.  It looked like a diaphanous worm-filled biscuit.

Lex raised his head.  "Well," he said with finality, "that was informative."

"So he was right," Clark said, a noticeable lilt of relief to his tone, "the cells are still really weak."

"I should say so."  He looked into the oculars again and found another of Jor-El's predictions coming true before his eyes: As the egg died its pathetic death, the soo'ak began to slow, and eventually to stop moving altogether.

"I wonder," Lex mused aloud, "if it has anything to do with the eustran."

Clark looked at him curiously as Lex looked up from the microscope once again.  "What eustran?  There aren't any."

"Exactly.  Jor-El said the soo'ak access the eustran for information.  I wonder, if there had been a few present which contained information about my genetic makeup, whether the soo'ak would have been able to better prepare the ovum for what was coming."

"You make it sound like a military manoeuvre."

Lex smirked and looked into the microscope again.  All that was left were some fruitlessly swimming sperm cells in a mass of dead jelly.  "Yeah, well, you take a look in there and tell me it doesn't look like a blood-soaked battlefield."

He looked up to find Clark's lip slightly curled.  "No, thanks."

"What we should do next," Lex said with a sigh, "is see what happens when we introduce just one sperm cell to the ovum.  It might be too weak to protect itself from bombardment, but I'd like to see what it would do with just one."

Clark sighed sharply, shaking his head.  "I feel like we're playing with matches.  As much as I know we have to research this thing, I just... I really don't want to be put in the situation of having to decide to..."

"I know," Lex said gently.  "I know you don't, Clark.  Neither do I."

For a moment, they each stared listlessly at the microscope from a distance.  Then, as previously agreed, Lex retrieved the petri dish from the stage, dropped it into the fireproof bin, dribbled a corrosive solution onto it, and tossed a lit match in after it.  Then he closed the lid to let the evidence burn and melt down.

He lowered himself onto the stool with a sigh and they both stared at the closed bin, lost in thought.

"We don't have to do it right now, do we?" Clark asked at length.

"No," Lex said, ready for a break from the lab, himself.

"Good."

A brief silence went by.

"’Cause I'm not sure I've got another sample in me at the moment."

Lex snorted quite loudly.


~


Clark was picking with listless disinterest at his dinner, and Lex felt briefly guilty.  He then realized, however, that as much as Clark ate on a regular basis, he wasn't about to starve to death because he'd lost his appetite for one meal, so Lex just rolled his eyes at himself and pushed his own plate away.  He rarely had much of an appetite as it was.

"Well," Lex said with a sigh, and tossed his napkin onto the table.  "I guess this is a waste, hm?"

Slowly, Clark shrugged a shoulder, not looking up from his still full plate.  "Maybe we should wait a while, till they're stronger."

Lex stared at him without understanding for a few seconds.  He glanced at the plate of fillet, potatoes, and roasted vegetables, then back at Clark.  It was the distant expression on Clark's face that finally enlightened him that not only was Clark still thinking about their failure in the lab, but he also had assumed that was what Lex had been referring to.

"I... meant dinner, Clark."

Clark looked up, appearing somewhat surprised.  He glanced at his plate as if seeing it for the first time, and his fork finally stopped moving aimlessly over his food.  "Oh."  After a pause, he put the fork down, planted his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands over his plate to rest his chin on threaded fingers.  If he didn't look so glum, someone might have mistook him for a praying man.  "Yeah, I guess I'm not really hungry."

"I don't think we're wasting our time in the lab, Clark," Lex said, just to clarify this point.  "I think it's important we do what we're doing.  I know the cells will be very different ten years from now—maybe even five years from now—but I think it's best we learn everything we can now rather than wait until time is running short."

Clark nodded, looking almost absentminded, until he met Lex's gaze.  Then he smiled slightly and seemed to join the moment.  "Yeah," he said through a sigh.  He sat back in his chair and put his own napkin on the table.

He looked so damn downtrodden, Lex couldn't help but try to change the subject.  "How are things at home?"

"Hm?"  It took a few seconds for Clark to register what he'd said, then think it through.  "Oh," he said finally.  "Oh, good."  He shrugged.  "Um, you know, as they can be.  They act like we don't have any money troubles, and I act like I don't notice they're acting."

"Ah."  Lex had to briefly grit his teeth to avoid exacerbating the problem by suggesting how idiotic it was that he wasn't allowed to help with this situation when he so easily could and the Kents so plainly could use the assistance.  "Normal, then," he finally said, aiming for a casual tone.

This time Clark's smile seemed more real, and he held Lex's gaze for a while.  "And now I'm pretending I don't notice you're acting."

Lex bit the inside of his cheek, answering the twinkle in Clark's eyes with only dry silence.

Clark chuckled and pushed his plate away so he could lean onto the edge of the table.  "Pete stopped by."

Now it was Lex who was glad for the subject change.  "Oh?"

"To... have a talk with me about Chloe."

"Oh," Lex said with a mixture of realization and wariness.  "And how did that go?"

Clark shrugged.  "I'd been thinking about... maybe talking to her about it anyway.  But Pete was pretty insistent."  He sighed heavily.  "I think I'm going to talk to her this week and, you know, try to put this whole thing behind us."

Lex searched his pensive expression, his downcast eyes.  "You don't seem very sure, Clark."

"Yeah... I guess I'm not," he said with a little chuckle.  "But Pete's right.  I mean, I got so upset not really because she told Lois... well, what she told her.  It was really more like... I knew that it meant I couldn't ever tell her other things.  You know," he met Lex's gaze steadily, "the truth."

Lex slowly nodded his understanding.

"But, I don't know...  Maybe if I can accept that, if I can accept that I just can't ever tell Chloe, that we're not trying to work toward this moment when it's going to be okay to let her in... well, maybe we can just be friends like we have been all this time.  Nothing has to... ever change.  But I think..." he trailed off and sighed.  "I think I just felt like... like... I mean, I just..."  He finally gave up on trying, shaking his head with his lack of ability to verbalize what he was feeling.

Lex let a few beats go by.  "You were angry with her because she took away your hope."

Clark looked up sharply, startled.  His wide eyes caught Lex's own and he held his gaze for a long moment.

Lex offered a small, gentle smile.

"Yeah," Clark said softly.  Then, more emphatically, "Yeah."

"Is a stagnant friendship going to be okay with you?"

Clark shrugged, uncertain.  "Well, it has to be that way with Lana, because of her parents and all.  And it's been like that all this time with Chloe anyway.  It just... remains.  That's all."

Lex didn't point out that Clark hadn't answered the question.  He let a few seconds pass in silence as Clark seemed to be in an internal conversation with his uncertainty.  Then, when his shoulders finally started to relax, and he sat back into his chair, Lex allowed a little smirk.  "So no more finito?"

Clark chuckled and met Lex's gaze warmly.  "No, Lex," he said, his tone somewhat adoring.  "No more finito."


~


"Hi, Chloe."

Chloe looked up from her drafting board, her eyes already wide with surprise at the voice she'd recognized.  "Oh!  Um... hi, Clark," she said, and offered a nervous smile.

Her gaze darted toward the desk Clark had used to use for proofreading before he'd stopped helping out at the Torch.  He'd bowed out when his course load had gotten so ridiculous for senior year, and though it was now more manageable, if still busy, he'd just never started again.  It was considered Lois's desk now, though a lot of Clark's stuff was still on and in it.

"W-What's up?"

Clark sighed heavily and took a few steps into the room.  "I was just... thinking we should talk."

"Oh."  Chloe capped the marker in her hand and put it on the lip of the board, going slowly so as to avoid showing the slight tremble in her hands.  "Yeah.  Definitely," she said with a casual tone, getting off her stool and wiping her hopelessly marked hands on the seat of her jeans.

"Um..." Clark walked not toward her, but around her in an arc, keeping the same distance from her even as he entered more deeply into the room.  He stopped at his old desk and made as if to reach for the pencil holder.  Then his brow furrowed and he looked at Chloe with an indecipherable quirky expression.

Chloe glanced down at the cup.  Lois's green-haired troll pencil top was sticking out of it.

She chuckled nervously and shrugged.  "Lois."

"Ah."  Clark nodded his understanding, then pushed the stapler out of the way so he could perch on the edge of the desk.  "Um... I didn't get a chance to tell you that I'm really happy for you about your scholarship."

"Thanks," she said sincerely, smiling.

"And... I'm..." slowly, he shrugged one shoulder, "really glad we'll be at Met U together.  All of us, I mean.  Pete, too."

"And," Chloe gestured at the troll, "Lois."

Clark glanced halfway back, then snorted softly.  "Yeah.  And Lois."

A long, awkward silence went by then, and Chloe's already minimal reserve quickly broke down.  "Clark," she said, stepping closer to him and knowing her expression was permeated with tension and entreaty.  "I'm so sorry."

He nodded slightly, but continued to stare down, away from her.

"I know it was stupid.  I was stupid.  I should have kept my mouth shut, and you're totally right to be angry with me."

"Chloe—"

"But I swear it was a mistake.  And I'll never do it again.  I just..." she trailed off and sighed heavily, sliding her unsteady hands into her back pockets.  "I mean, haven't you ever made a mistake, Clark?"

He finally looked up at her then, his eyes round and interested and less cautious of her than she would have thought.

"Hurt someone's feelings?  Opened your big, fat mouth and realized only afterward that you should have kept it shut?"

He didn't answer her, and she wasn't sure she'd really expected an answer.

"I'm sorry, Clark," she said, her voice thick with regret.  "I really am.  But I... I'm only human."

A sharp and sudden flash of pain crossed Clark's eyes before he looked away—a pain Chloe didn't really understand.  She wasn't sure if he didn't believe her, or didn't think it was a good enough reason, or if maybe she had reminded him of a time he'd said the same thing to someone else.  She just hoped that whatever it was, it was in her favour.

"Clark... if you can find a way to trust me again, I promise you that I will never tell anyone the secret things I know about you.  I can keep a secret, Clark.  I really can."  She paused, noting the wariness in his eyes.  "I can keep as many secrets as you need me to," she added quietly.

He searched her gaze for a long time, and she didn't look away, barely even blinked.  She wasn't going to say aloud exactly what she meant, exactly what she hoped, but she knew that if he thought about it at all, he would understand her intention nonetheless.

He opened his mouth, took a breath, and paused.  He was still looking into her eyes when his own very suddenly shuttered.

She felt it like a punch in the gut: A moment when he'd seriously considered her veracity, and the instant he decided on distrust.

He neither said nor did anything overt, however.  He merely stood up, wearing a small smile and those dead eyes, and let out a little sigh.  "Well," he said, his tone as casual and as friendly as could be, "I just think we should put this whole thing behind us, Chloe.  We're friends, right?  We shouldn't let one little..." he shrugged a shoulder slowly as if not sure how to describe it, "uh, slip-up... you know, destroy our friendship.  Right?"

Chloe stared at him, her lips parted in astoundment at the difference between what she saw in his eyes and what she heard coming out of his mouth.  "Uh," she finally stuttered, blinking and trying to get her wits about her, "uh, right," she said through an uneven chuckle.

"So," Clark stuck out a hand and smiled, "friends?"

Numbly, Chloe reached out to take his hand, then was startled when Clark smiled and tugged her into a hug.  She hugged him back—she couldn't not—but she did so in utter consternation.  For a moment, she thought perhaps she'd been mistaken about what she'd seen behind his gaze, but as soon as he let her go, held her by the shoulders, looked down into her eyes from the eleven inches he had on her, she knew she hadn't been wrong about anything.  Clark was renewing their friendship while maintaining his now deep-seated distrust in her.

Clark was never, ever going to let her in again.

Chloe looked up at him in awe, blinking rapidly as tears started to fill her eyes.  He thankfully misunderstood her, smiling with a touch of sympathy and kissing her forehead before pulling her into another warm but distant hug.

"I missed you, Chlo," he said softly against her temple, then laid his cheek gently atop of her head.

"I..." her voice broke, and a hot tear rolled down her face.  "I-I miss you, too, Clark."


~


"I don't get it.  I thought you'd be happy."

Chloe and Pete lay together in Chloe's bed.  Her father was working late again, and Lana was, as usual, working at the Talon until closing.  They appreciated the opportunity to be alone together, as during the school year it was much more difficult to schedule private time than the summer had been.

Chloe hadn't bothered to tell Pete when he'd first arrived that Clark had come to talk to her earlier in the day at school, as she didn't exactly view the situation as good news.  Instead, they'd had the dinner Chloe had made from one of her father's recipes (palatable, but she knew it paled in comparison to his own version), chatted for a while, and eventually found themselves rutting on the sofa while a lackluster film played in the background.  Pete had wisely suggested they turn it off and go to bed.

Finally satiated, they'd snuggled together for some time, enjoying the afterglow, until Chloe's mind had turned to the afternoon, and she suddenly felt the need to talk it out.

Pete was obviously confused by her reaction.

"No—I am.  I mean... I sort of am."

"I thought this was what you wanted," Pete said, shrugging a shoulder helplessly.  "For Clark to put this thing behind him and be, you know, like before."

"Yeah..." Chloe trailed off and shook her head.  "It's just... you didn't see the distrust in his eyes, Pete.  It's like, he says we're friends again, but I get this haunting feeling that he wouldn't trust me to water his least favourite potted plant for a weekend, you know?"

"Aw, come on, Chlo," Pete said gently, and rubbed her slightly tacky shoulder with a still damp hand.  "Give him some time.  You can't expect everything to be perfect right away."

"Yeah," she said distantly.  "Maybe you're right."

"Chloe..."  He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together, meeting her gaze from so close that his soulful chocolate brown eyes filled her vision and made her smile despite her mood.  "Cheer up, huh?  I can't stand seeing you sad.  It makes me want to bash in the mug of whoever made you that way, and if I tried that with Clark, he'd kill me."

She couldn't help but laugh aloud at the mental image.  Even once the humour passed, her smile stayed, just because it was nice to hear that Pete cared so much about her happiness.   She supposed she'd been quite the wet blanket lately.

"Aw, Pete," she said, and wrapped her arm more fully around his back, kissing his warm, soft lips and briefly closing her eyes at the body-wide thrill his kiss always brought her.

Pete kissed her like no one else ever had.  He kissed her like he really meant it, like he really wanted it, like he'd do anything for her if she'd just let him keep kissing her.  Whenever Pete touched her in any way, she always got the feeling that she was cherished—maybe embarrassingly so.  He'd never once made her feel taken for granted—not even when he was angry.  He'd been angry directly at her only once, and even then, he'd made her feel like his being angry with her was the most critical thing in the world, that it was paramount that they solve the problem before anything else, not because Pete felt his own anger was so vital, but because he felt that the fact that it was directed at Chloe was important and disturbing, and a stop had to be put to it without delay.

She hadn't ever felt this important to anyone else, and a stab at an educated guess told her that she would likely never feel this important to anyone else ever again.  Though technically an adult, Chloe was still a teenager, and yet she'd managed already to find the one meant for her.  It astonished her when she took the time to think about the fact that she'd known him for years before she'd realized.  She was so lucky.  Her blindness could have cost her everything.

They parted tenderly, Pete's eyes opening only partway.

Chloe trailed her hand up Pete's back and caressed his neck.  "I love you," she sighed.

Pete smiled like he always did when she said that.  "I love you, Chloe."  He tightened his light grip around her lower back, squeezing gently.  "Try to be happy, okay?  Things are gonna work out with Clark; you'll see.  You guys'll be back to normal before you know it."

"Normal," Chloe repeated, and tried her best to smile.  "Yeah."


~


Lex listened to the silence as his call was routed along the long and treacherous path that would eventually terminate at an ancient rotary phone hanging on a rickety wall in a dilapidated barn in a tiny village in one of the most sparsely populated regions of Mongolia.  This was assuming, of course, that the call didn't get dropped.  Again.

There was only one reason anyone ever called that phone, and those calls were very few and very far between.  The unofficial name of the village—which was not big enough to have an official name—was Zài-nítu Zhong-dì, a bastardized version of Mandarin that roughly translated as ‘a drop in the dirt.’  When he'd first learned this, Lex wondered if the locals had any idea that the Chinese men who had stumbled on the ramshackle gathering and christened it such were just being assholes.

But the tiny, unimportant village had one thing going for it: It was unique in that it was the closest hint of civilization to the most remote Chán monastery in Asia.

The Bù Ke Gào Rén Monastery was so far from the nearest real town that it was for all intents and purposes forgotten by the masses, and that was as the monks wanted it to be.  Only the most dedicated of disciples ever even learned of the monastery's existence, much less made the life-threatening journey to its front door, and even the most interested tourist, who diligently pilgrimaged from Wudangzhao to Dazhao to Wanbu Huayanjin, never bothered these remote, isolated monks.

But occasionally, a particularly persistent student managed to glean from its history that the monastery was not necessarily destroyed as it was suggested in so many texts.  It was, in fact, only clear that the grounds had been badly damaged during religious persecution, though its destruction was thought to be implied by these stories.  This was surely intentional.

Lex knew better.  As a younger man, he'd done the right research, asked the right questions, and been rich enough to fund a few failed quests until he found himself ringing the gong in front of a door so overgrown with vines, any aspiring Buddhist wishing to find enlightenment must have wept at the sight of it, sure the sanctuary was long abandoned and all his hardships had been in vain.

But Lex wasn't a Buddhist and he wasn't interested in becoming a monk.  When the Abbot had come to the door—in his own good time, of course—and asked what Lex's purpose could be, traveling over such treacherous land, putting himself through great danger and threat of certain death, only to find himself at the door of this humble forgotten monastery, he had said simply, "I wanted to see if I was right."

It had been a long time since the Abbot had laughed, but he hadn't forgotten how.

Lex wasn't fool enough to think that made him a friend, but his intrepidness had ensured he'd be remembered.  Or at least he hoped so.

He'd been calling the same phone nearly every day for a month, asking if the Abbot was in town, if he had been in town, if he was expected to come into town anytime soon.  He'd listened again and again as it was explained to him in a broken, muddled mixture of Mandarin, Mongolian, and English that the trip from the monastery to their little village was many dangerous miles, and could take a normal man a moon cycle to complete, if he ever made it at all, as most would just fall off the side of the mountain.  And again and again he had said he knew that, but that he also knew that the Abbot was no ordinary man.

Finally, yesterday, he had received a response that gave him hope.  The villagers believed the Abbot might come into town the next day.

"Why to-morrow?" Lex had asked.

"Because the animals are at peace and easy to catch."

When it came to Abbot Shouchu, that was as close to a straight answer as a person could hope to get.

Abbot Huashan Shouchu could trace his lineage, unbroken, to Yuanwu Keqin, and if it hadn't been for his family's loyalty to their ancestors, it was likely Bìyán Lù—The Blue Cliff Record—would have been lost forever after Yuanwu's backstabbing disciple Dahui Zonggao had every known copy destroyed, right down to the printing blocks, during the Southern Song Dynasty.

To hear the Abbot tell it, there was never a time when he hadn't been an Abbot, having popped out of the centre of a lotus flower one day, already old and wrinkled and divinely enlightened.  Lex was inclined to believe it, too.  He was inclined to believe anything after seeing the feats the Abbot could perform without struggle, and did every day in the course of attempting to maintain his crumbling monastery.

The line began to crackle and Lex sat forward in his chair.

When the barely audible voice finally came over the line, its calm was undeniable and irresistible.  "Tiim?"

"Abbot Shouchu?"

There was a pause.  "Tiim.  Yes, I am the Abbot."

Lex turned the phone away briefly to let out a sigh of relief.  "Abbot, this is Lex Luthor.  From America.  We met several years ago when I visited your monastery."

He waited, but there was only silence on the other end, the static letting him know he was still connected.

He held back the urge to clear his throat.  "I have been trying to contact you for weeks," he said, trying to keep his tone light.  "You're a hard man to reach."

Still there was no reply.  He was sure the Abbot understood him.  When they had first met, Lex had attempted to speak Mongolian out of respect, but the Abbot had informed him that he was doing more disrespect to the language than he could ever do to Abbot Shouchu, and so he should stick to English.

‘There is only one phrase in Mongolian you must know, Mister Lex.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Bi mongol khel medekhgui.’

Translation?  ‘I do not speak Mongolian.’

The Abbot had ignored his wry expression.

"You... don't remember me, do you?"

"Mister Lex," there might have been a smile in the Abbot's voice, "we have had four visitors in the last decade.  I am not yet so feeble as to have forgotten their names and voices."

Lex smirked.  Enlightened or not, the Abbot had a whip of a sarcastic streak.  "My mistake.  Abbot, I'm calling about the manuscripts."

"Your concern is unfounded, Mister Lex.  The manuscripts are safe, and safe they shall remain."

Lex swallowed at the Abbot's no nonsense tone.  Already he had deciphered what Lex wanted, and was dead set against it.  Abbot Shouchu was not a man who misunderstood.  "Yes, I'm... certain they are," Lex tried carefully.  "You protect them diligently."

"As we have for a thousand years."

"Yes.  But..."  He chose his next words carefully, knowing what a dangerous edge he was walking.  If the Abbot hung up on him, Lex doubted he'd ever get him on the phone again.  And he really did not want to climb back up that mountain.  "I have some concern about the state of your monastery."

He paused, but the Abbot was only waiting.

"As last I recall, some of your walls were missing.  I was thinking about it, and I found myself worrying about the damp and the weather and the animals.  I thought perhaps it would be easier to protect the manuscripts if you had the supplies necessary to rebuild the destroyed section of the monastery."

Again, he waited, but again there was no response, only the silence and the crackling line.

He swallowed uncomfortably.  "And so, to ease my own foolish concerns, I've seen to it that a donation of three hundred million Tugrik will be delivered to your monastery, care of Zài-nítu Zhong-dì, of course.  I imagine the envelope is already waiting for you there.  I hope it will be enough to assist any rebuilding efforts you wish to undertake."

Three hundred million Tugrik was roughly two hundred and seventy thousand dollars, but it would go a lot further.  Lex knew it was far and away beyond what the monastery would need if they wished to return their sanctuary to its former glory.  And if they did not, it would be a welcome fortune for the Mongolian poor, which Lex knew would be its alternate destination.

For a long time, there was only silence.  When the Abbot spoke again, he was both cautious and curious.  "The fish sees the bait, not the hook.  Do you fish, Mister Lex?"

"No, Abbot.  No hook.  I promise: The manuscripts will be returned to you in the same condition they are now.  I would never dream of damaging them or betraying your trust, should you so choose to place it in me."

"The supreme treasure is knowledge; the lowest, material wealth."

Lex nodded.  He was glad he was up on his Mongolian proverbs.  "Yes, I agree.  What I offer you is not worth what I ask in return.  But it is the supreme treasure I seek, and so I as yet have nothing of equal value to offer."

"Your words are true."  He paused.  "You have laid eyes upon the manuscripts.  What need for them again now?"

He wasn't sure how to answer this question, even though he had expected it would be asked.  He knew that if he should lie, the Abbot would sense it in a moment, even over a great distance, even over a terrible connection.  But he couldn't not give an answer, either.  "New information has come to my attention.  And..." he hesitated, afraid to give away too much.  "And a friend needs my help."

Shouchu seemed to consider this for a long time, and Lex had to bite his tongue, knowing he could add nothing more with any heft and that anything else he said would be meek and an insult to the Abbot's intelligence.

When he spoke again, Lex was thrown by the subject change.  "I understand your father's company is now yours.  From the lion to the cub who is himself now a lion."

Now, how the hell did he know that?  Lex didn't imagine they got the Wall Street Journal in Zài-nítu Zhong-dì.

"But yet the young has not cast out the old.  Why?"

Lex knew better than to demure, or to tell the Abbot he was prying.  He knew the answer he gave to every question—even the ones that didn't make sense to him—would be dissected and measured as the Abbot mulled over his decision about the manuscripts Lex so desperately needed to study.  So Lex answered as simply as he could.  "Because he is my father."

There was a long pause.  What Lex had said could have had a dozen different meanings, but most likely it had them all, and he was sure the Abbot knew it.

"Two bears in one cave," Shouchu said thoughtfully, "will not end up well."

Lex let out a small, breathy laugh.  "Yeah, you're probably right."

"I shall send the manuscripts."

The suddenness of the decision surprised him, but it was quickly tempered with relief.  Attempting to bribe a monk was a slippery slope at best.  But attempting to bribe Abbot Shouchu was like clinging to the side of a sheer cliff by a fingernail: If it broke, there would be no second chances.

"I am very grateful."

"As shall we be... when they are returned."

"I understand."

In a steady voice, Lex carefully provided his address and a collect account number to use for FedEx International Priority service, though he knew the manuscripts would have to travel quite some time before they arrived at the nearest hub.  He didn't bother asking how the Abbot would get them that far.  He already knew he would have to climb the mountain back to his monastery and retrieve the manuscripts, then climb back down the mountain, and after dedicating that much effort, he would probably just take a donkey to the nearest city himself.

It wasn't until they hung up that he realized Shouchu had never thanked him for the donation.  Lex wasn't offended.  They both knew those manuscripts were worth a hell of a lot more than three hundred million Tugrik.


~


"If we sold a couple of the cows and invested the extra money in a few pieces of modern equipment, we could increase our yield by maybe ten percent this year without adding extra labour, and a little more the year after that."

"How much is that really going to bring in?"

Martha shrugged.  "Well, not nearly enough, obviously.  But a little."

Jon sighed over the books.  He hated staring at them, but seemed to have to do so more and more often these days.  The numbers started to swim after a while and he ached to go feel the dirt between his hands, remind himself of what was real and tangible.  He knew he was a very lucky man that Martha happened to be very good at this kind of thing.  He was no accountant.  He wasn't so sure he could have run this farm anywhere but right into the ground without her.  Not, of course, that he ever intended to find out.

"How much did you say cancelling the cable will save us per year?"

"About $800."

"What if we cancel the internet, too?"

Martha scoffed.  "Jonathan, if you're looking for a way to run Clark out of the house, just say so."

She looked back at him, her lips and chin tight against the urge to smile, and Jonathan shot her a wry look, chewing the inside of his cheek.

"I'm just saying..."

"Yeah, all right," he said, conceding the point.

Martha turned back to the books, managing to keep her amusement in check.  "I think that if we modernize enough, cut down on some of the manual labour, I might be able to get a part-time job.  Maybe one where I can work from home.  A lot of people work from home these days—over the internet, of course."

There was a long pause, which Martha hadn't expected.  Every time she'd brought up the idea of her working outside the farm, Jonathan had immediately shot it down.  She glanced back at him and was surprised to see that he seemed to actually be considering it.

It plainly pained him, his lips drawn tight, his brow harshly furrowed.

"No," he finally said.  "You have too much to do around here.  You'd be exhausted."

"I can do it, Jon," she said with determination.  "It'd just be part-time."  She waved an encompassing hand over the financial forest spread before them.  "It wouldn't be much different from this, and I do this all the time."

Again, a long pause.  She resisted the urge to look back.

"I'll think about it," he finally said.

Martha hid a little smirk of victory.

She loved being a farmer's wife, she truly did.  But it was hard not to make a financial contribution to the household, especially as they struggled to find ways to send Clark to the college of his choice, when she knew she had the knowledge and ability to do so.

Jonathan was right, of course.  She would be exhausted.  But she knew she could do it for a few years.  Clark wouldn't be going to college forever, after all.

"Okay," she said simply.

Jon kissed the top of her head, then slid into the chair next to her with a sigh.  "Well, what other corners can we cut around here?" he asked wearily.

Martha raked her gaze up and down every column for the umpteenth time, wishing she had something else, anything else, that would give their bankbook a little extra bump.  But the truth was, she was running rapidly out of ideas.  They'd cut so many corners already, it was starting to look like a circle.

"Well," she sighed heavily.  "There is one more thing.  But... I don't think you're going to like it."

Jonathan gave her a perplexed look, obviously not having expected that she would have held something back.

Eyes filled with sympathy, Martha reached out to cover her husband's hand with her own.  "We could... give up our cocaine habit.  That would save a few thousand dollars a week."

Jonathan made a sharp choking sound, but managed to hold back a laugh.  His face twitched.  "Oh, no," he said, his voice deadpan but for the slight tremor his swallowed laughter had caused.  "Anything but that."

She patted his hand in a soothing manner.  "I thought you might say that, dear."

They shared a smirk, their eyes briefly twinkling with humour, before they turned their attention back to their struggling finances and once again tried to ferret out some hint of wasteful spending that simply didn't exist.


~


To the Abbot's credit, it was little more than a week after he had granted Lex's request that Lex stood in his office, taking a long pull on a cool bottle of Ty Nant still as Clark stared in wonder at the manuscripts Shouchu had sent.  Clark's hands were deep in his pockets.  Now even more than usual, he was terrified of his own strength and what it could unintentionally do to precious things.

"My god, Lex, how did you get access to something like this?" he asked, breathless.  "It must be priceless!"

Lex paused, and let the water take its time making its way down his throat.  Then he cleared it.  "Someone owed me a favour," he said flippantly, then placed the bottle well out of the way and walked over to join Clark in examining the carefully preserved and very delicate scroll.  "I've seen them before, but I knew much less then than I do now."

Clark gave him a small in-the-know smirk before focussing back on the scroll.

"Of course, it's written to be oblique even in its own time, filled with metaphor and subtle pun, practically in code.  It's hardly a neon arrow."  He shrugged.  "But it's a start."

Clark scoffed.  "More than a start, Lex."  He pointed at the hand-drawn panel in the centre-right of the scroll, careful to keep his distance despite the protective plastic covering.  The drawing was faded with age, just like the rest of the manuscripts, and had never been coloured to begin with.  But, knowing what they knew, there was no mistaking what it was meant to represent.

It was one of the missing crystals, larger than the Fire Crystal they already possessed, shaped ostensibly like a pyramid, but irregular, with a sharp point at one end, and a broken, jagged base—or, rather, top.  Because though one would imagine a pyramid to sit on its wide end, with its point reaching for the sky, the symbol seared into the Crystal made it clear that it was meant to be inverted.

The symbol was not a new one.

Lex nodded at Clark's assertion.  "I actually didn't remember that drawing, I'm embarrassed to say.  I've seen that symbol a hundred times in the last few years, and yet it never reminded me of Mongolia."

Clark looked at him curiously, and Lex realized he'd never mentioned just who it was who had ‘owed him a favour.’

He shrugged a shoulder as casually as he dared.  "That's where they were sent from: There's a monastery in Mongolia that keeps them locked away and protected."

Clark only smirked, shook his head slightly, and looked back at the scroll without another word.

The collar of Lex's shirt seemed to be radiating heat.  He cleared his throat again.  "It's amazing, isn't it?" he said.  "How often your family name keeps popping up in places you wouldn't expect?"

Whatever was making Clark smirk seemed to be forgotten, and his brow tightened as he stared at the symbol in consideration.  "I don't think so, Lex.  Not this time."

Immediately confused, Lex peered at the symbol more deeply, thinking he must have missed something—an accent, an incomplete corner, a seriph.  But as far as he could tell, the symbol was just as he'd always seen it: In the cave, on Clark's key—he smirked to himself—hell, on his own key, and even in the ship that had brought Clark to Earth.  It was true the drawing was faded with age, despite the monks’ fanatical protection.  Perhaps Clark's alien eyes could see something Lex's human ones couldn't.

"It isn't?  Then what is it?"

Again, Clark pointed at the drawing, this time making a little arc with his fingers, moving back and forth over the edge from two feet away.  "You see how the symbol is drawn directly over the break in the plane?  How it's almost broken in two by the edge of the Crystal's shape?"

Lex did, indeed, see this.  It had struck him as a bit odd, since each plane of the pyramid seemed to have plenty of space on which to etch the symbol, and there didn't seem to be any need to draw it over the edge like that.  It hadn't occurred to him, however, that such a thing could actually indicate a new Kryptonian word.

"Well, it changes the shape of the glyph, so it changes the meaning."  He smirked again, letting out a tiny laugh.  "It isn't just the words on this thing that are filled with puns, Lex.  The Crystal itself is one big pun."

"So what does it mean?"

Clark sighed consideringly.  "Could be Air.  Could also be gathering, siren, or beacon," he shrugged.  "But I happen to know it's Air."

Lex knew that the manuscript itself had enough mentions of air and emptiness and wind and invisible movement that, given those choices, he would also have come to the conclusion that the symbol was meant to communicate the word Air.  However, he hadn't yet informed Clark of what he'd managed to translate of the text.  He leaned over the manuscript, studying it even more intently than before, wondering how the hell he was managing to miss so much.  He'd thought he was good at this kind of thing.  "How can you tell?"

Clark turned away from the scroll and faced Lex, looking supremely pleased with himself.  "Because when I went to the caves about the Fire Crystal, Jor-El told me the names of all of them."  A wide grin spread across his face.

Lex chewed the inside of his cheek, directing the wryest of his wry expressions in Clark's direction.  He let a few moments pass.  "You're an asshole."

"Yeah," Clark said, barely suppressing a chuckle as he turned back to the manuscript.

Lex rolled his eyes and headed back across the room for his water, as much because he wanted a drink as that he didn't want to give Clark the satisfaction of seeing his amusement at his antics.

After a minute had passed and Lex had finished the bottle, Clark asked in all seriousness, "So does this thing actually tell you where it is?"

Lex smiled almost apologetically as he turned around.  He shook his head.  "Not really, no.  Even if it does, it will be telling me where it was a thousand years ago.  I doubt it would still be in the same place."

Clark shrugged.  "So what good is it?"

"Well, if it can lead me to where it used to be kept, that place might lead me to something else that could tell me where it went next.  Besides, I have many more manuscripts on their way—some that reference this Crystal, and some that reference the other one.  These scrolls were some of the most difficult to obtain."

"Hm," Clark hummed consideringly, and all too knowingly for Lex's taste.  "So it's a good thing you were owed that favour, then, huh?"

Lex only swallowed, and reached over the bar for another bottle of water.  When he looked back up, he found that Clark had moved out from behind the desk where the scroll was currently spread, and was peering at Lex with narrowed eyes, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What?" Lex asked innocently.

Clark let a long moment go by, turning his head suspiciously.  Then, suddenly, "Seriously, Lex, how much did you pay for this thing?"

Lex dropped his jaw in insincere disbelief, and he scoffed rather thinly.  "I told you: I was owed a favour.  I didn't pay for it.  It isn't mine.  I have to send it back when I'm done with it."  All of which was strictly true, if supremely misleading.

Clark looked back at the scroll, then at Lex.  "So how much did you donate for it?" he said slyly.

"Ah."  Lex took a deep drink of his water and swallowed roughly.  He coughed.  "You see, that's the question I was hoping you wouldn't ask."

All at once, Clark hung his head rather melodramatically.  "Lex, you said you wouldn't—"

"It was hardly anything," he said, which was true, in a way.  "The exchange rate is incredible.  What's a fortune to them is really a paltry sum over here."  He shrugged, then was blatantly honest.  "Look, a chance to even glance at these manuscripts is worth a lot more, Clark.  Even if Krypton wasn't a factor.  They're priceless."

Clark looked up, his eyes wide open again, and almost surprised.  He uncrossed his arms.  "I think that's the first thing you've said with any conviction."  He paused.  "I believe you."

Lex tried not to sigh in relief.  "I've seen these once before, you know.  But I had to go through hell to get to them.  And, in the end, I spent a real fortune getting up there."  Clark looked vaguely confused.  "They're normally kept at the top of an inaccessible mountain that kills most who foolishly try to climb it," Lex explained.  "It took me four full-blown attempts to get to the summit.  This," he waved at the manuscripts as a whole—the scroll open on the desk, the others in their protective tubes and propped against it, "was a deal as far as I'm concerned."

Clark nodded slowly.  "Okay," he said, in a tone that suggested the subject was now closed.  He took in a deep breath and looked back at the scroll.  "So how long do you think it will take to fully decipher it?"

"I'm close.  Maybe another month or two.  Some of the other information that's coming in might help speed things along, too."

All at once, Clark seemed to blanch.  "A month?  That soon?"

In the blink of an eye, Lex saw academic interest turn to unadulterated fear.  Clark, the student, was interested in ancient manuscripts, ancient secrets, puzzles, clues, codes to be broken.  But Clark, the alien who would just as soon be human, was not interested in finding or dealing with the Crystals.  His sudden change in outlook was just the effect of reality coming crashing in.

Lex wanted to soothe him, tell him that just because this manuscript, or another, had been deciphered, did not mean Clark had to immediately go off and find the Crystal and deal with it.  Figuring out what this scroll said would almost certainly not lead them to the Crystal itself, but would just lead them to another part of the puzzle which also would need deciphered.  Maybe it was a treasure hunt, maybe it was a wild goose chase, but what it almost certainly wasn't was immediate.

But Lex knew that eventually Clark was going to have to deal with it, and comforting him now would, at best, make him put off dealing with his internal struggle, making it harder for him when the time really came—which could conceivably put themselves or others in more danger than they need be—or, at worst, make him resent Lex later for having given him a false sense of security when what he'd really needed was a slap in the face.

So Lex slapped him in the face.

"You're going to have to deal with it sooner or later, Clark," he said matter-of-factly.  "It won't go away no matter how much you might wish it would.  You know we've got to get these things out of the reach of humans."

Clark shot Lex a look somewhere between hurt and anger, but Lex didn't flinch, and it soon cooled.  "Yeah..."  He shrugged it off, obviously not ready to discuss that particular eventuality.  "Anyway, I've got chores to do at home, so I guess I'd better get going."

Lex had been thinking about asking Clark a question to-day about the reproductive research they were doing, but wisely realized that now was most definitely not the time.  "Yeah, all right."  He turned and reached under the bar.  "Here," he said, tossing Clark a small, circular bottle.  "For the road."

Clark smiled lopsidedly, managing, despite his overwhelmingly attractive features, to look like a big dork for a moment.  He twisted the cap off the Orangina.  "Thanks."

While Clark took a sip, Lex crossed to him again, leaning up for a sweet, chaste kiss just as he finished drinking, and getting a light taste of sugary orange drink for his trouble.  Clark smiled his dorky smile again and licked his lips as Lex leaned back.

Lex couldn't really apologize to him for telling him the truth, not without cheapening the very truth he'd told, but he could at least show he was sorry it had to be so rough on him, and Clark did seem to recognize and appreciate that.

"I love you," Lex said, not with a question at the end, a slight rise in the tone that suggested he expected a response, or even hoped for one, but instead a steady, even declaration of fact, just as he might have said, ‘ice is cold’ or ‘fire is hot.’  It was something he thought was apparent, but thought might be good to point out.

Clark smiled, his gaze on the floor, his head tilted, and then he suddenly looked up at Lex from under his lashes and became, in an instant, unbelievably coy.

Lex's heart sped up on cue, his skin feeling hot in its fabric despite the chilly temperature that seeped in from outside and won battles with the heat from the lit fireplace.  Lex might have believed there was once a time that Clark didn't realize how often and how effectively he flirted.  But there was no mistaking it now.  He held it back a lot, too—consciously, Lex was sure—so that when he did decide to flirt, its effect was magnified many times over.

Lex let out a scoff, looking away briefly just to compose himself, then slapped Clark on the shoulder.  "Get the hell out of here before I take you up on that offer," he said, and walked by him just as quickly and as smoothly as he could.

Clark turned as he passed, and when Lex looked up again, he was greeted with a bright, wide grin and a quick raise of the eyebrows before Clark turned and headed out the door, bottle in hand.  Lex was sure he would have preferred a more dramatic exit, but knew that speeding through Lex's office with all the priceless manuscripts sitting around would probably be both foolish and underappreciated, and he was right.

Lex was better off for it, anyway.  His body always gave off a little thrill whenever Clark did that—a visceral reaction to being permitted to see such blatant evidence of Clark's power, if not to the power itself.  But between the titillating promises he was sure the manuscripts held, and Clark's shameless flirting, Lex's body was thrilled enough as it was.


~


Brad paused to take another sip of his coffee.  "So my cousin—Shane?"

Lana nodded eagerly to show she'd been paying attention and knew the background story.

"Well, he's got his half.  And my parents say they'll both co-sign a loan with me, putting the house and cars up against it, and my uncle's getting in on it, too, so we can get as much as we can from the bank.  That and my own savings, plus what was supposed to be my college fund, means I have my half, too."  A grin spread across his face.  "So we're meeting with the real estate agent in two weeks!"

She blinked, stunned.

Lana knew the background story so well, in fact, that this development didn't even make sense to her.  Brad's cousin, Shane, was as passionate as Brad was about the garage they both had wanted to open for years, but he was broke.  In fact, his entire branch of the family was broke, and they didn't communicate with Brad's part of the family—or at least the adults didn't.  Shane's dad was an alcoholic and a deadbeat and he'd pretty much been written off by the rest of the Wilson clan.  Shane, on the other hand, was welcome, as they still had hope for his generation.  He seemed to be turning out to be a pretty good kid despite his terrible home life.

"Wait... how did Shane get his half already?  I thought his dad wouldn't help."

"Couldn't help, more like."  He shrugged.  "I don't know, really," he said, his voice belying his own curiosity about that very question.  "He said he's going to tell me all about what happened after we meet up with the bank and the real estate lady.  He sounded really hyped up, too, like he came into some serious good luck."

"Well, what in the world...?" Lana trailed off, trying to think up a plausible story where a twenty year old kid with no connections and no opportunities could come into two hundred and fifty grand overnight.

"My guess?"  Brad grinned.  "He hooked up with some rich, aging socialite who's doing a bit of slumming and is easily parted from her money."  He snickered.  "One of your boss's friends, maybe."

Lana scowled.  "Business partner."

"Right, right!" Brad was saying before she'd even finished, holding up a hand in peace.  "Business partner, that's what I meant."

"Also?" she added, her eyebrows arched.  "That's disgusting."

He snickered again and finished his coffee, and she took the cup to go refill it for him, trying very, very hard not to give him the satisfaction of a smirk.

She'd met Shane.  He was damn good looking, it was true (broad shoulders, blond hair, blue eyes, and chiseled features seemed to run in the family), as well as being utterly dashing, smooth, and charming.  She'd noticed the way Brad had slid in between them and put an arm possessively around Lana's shoulders, even while he poked good-natured fun at Shane's ‘womanizing ways.’  Honestly, she wouldn't have been surprised if Brad's theory turned out to be correct.  Shane certainly seemed like the type.

She slid the newly filled cup of coffee over the table and sat down across from him again.

"Thanks," he said, already dumping copious amounts of table sugar into it.

"So this is really going to happen," Lana said, still reeling with disbelief at the way their plans were coming together.  "You're going to have your own business..."

Brad was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling with warmth and joy.  "Yeah.  Can you believe it?  You and me, babe.  In twenty years, we'll own this town."  He winked and took a sip of his too sweet coffee while Lana chuckled and shook her head lovingly at him.

"Yeah," she said sarcastically.  "We'll rule on high from the apartment above the Talon."

"Pshaw," he scoffed, waving off the idea.  "Temporary digs.  You know how much money mechanics make?  Just wait: We'll be living the high life in one of those huge houses up on the hill behind the old drive-in before you know it.  Or maybe we'll build a new house on the lake—with a boathouse and a gourmet kitchen."

Lana looked down at the table, smiling fondly at the big dreams.  "Well, I don't need a mansion, Brad.  I'll be happy with a duplex in town.  It might be nice to be able to walk to work when I'm in the mood."

He shrugged, his expression carefree.  "That works, too.  But we gotta have a fenced-in yard.  I want a dog."

She grinned at him.  "Two dogs.  I want a Golden."

"Okay.  I want a German Shepherd."

Lana stuck her hand out over the table.  "Deal."

Smirking, he shook her hand once, firm and businesslike, then gave a sudden yank and sat forward at the same moment, making her yelp in surprise before sealing their Canidae-based agreement with a coffee-flavoured kiss.

"I still say," he said when he'd let her go, "that we should offer cross-business coupons."

She snorted and rolled her eyes.  "Hey, drum up your own business, buddy.  I'm not giving away perfectly good lattes so you can con people into getting alignments when crooked tires would do just fine."

He laughed aloud at that, just as the door chimes jangled loudly and Lana turned to find a gaggle of teenage girls streaming into the Talon.  She looked back to her boyfriend with a small sigh of regret, but he only smiled and winked.

"Get to work, woman.  I'll see you after closing."

Lana got to her feet and leaned on the table to give him a quick peck on the lips.  "Catalogue shopping," she said, pointing a short-nailed finger into his chest.  "Don't forget.  We are going to need dishes and towels if we intend to live like normal people."

"Yeah, yeah," he said unenthusiastically.  "Though I still say I'd rather test out mattresses."

He gave a licentious waggle of his eyebrows even as Lana slapped his arm and told him to shush.  "Disgraceful," she muttered as she turned away, pretending to be scandalized.

Brad watched her from the booth as she worked, finishing his coffee slowly and smirking the entire time.  She used to be embarrassed when he did that, finding herself getting clumsy with the whip and blushing repeatedly at the attention.  But it was old hat by now and, if anything, it just made her a little extra-nice to the customers.

It wasn't just her imagination, either: She had only to glance at the tip jar for the hard evidence.


~


"Oh, shit."

Justin lost his grip on the piked fence before he'd meant to and crashed into a prickly bed of what seemed to be bushes bred specifically for sprouting the biggest, nastiest, sharpest thorns known to man.

"Ow!  Ow!  Shit!  Fuck!  OW!"

He managed to extricate himself from the brush in record time, sure he was poked or scratched by every damn thorn on every damn branch of the two bushes he'd fallen into.  "God damn that hurt!" he hissed to himself, checking over the damage to his palms.  He sucked away a couple errant drops of blood, then spun on his heel and hunkered down where he was, worried his noisy ingress might have attracted the attention of the perimeter guard he'd seen go around the far edge of the mansion.

Luckily, the mansion was so freaking huge that the guy apparently hadn't heard him, and Justin was able to dart to the nearest large tree without incident.

Trespassing on Lex Luthor's property wasn't really what he'd had in mind when he'd followed Clark Kent in his dad's truck, the bed filled to the top with baskets of cellar produce, dairy products, and Mrs. Kent's homemade baked goods.  His original intention had been to catch him at home before he left, yank him out of the sight of any prying eyes that might be nearby, and force the kid to make time for him.

It had only been his bad luck that had him pulling around the curve on his way to the entrance to the Kents’ driveway just in time to see the truck pull out of it, going the other way.  At first, Justin wasn't positive it was Clark, because every now and then his dad made the deliveries, but he knew it was a pretty good bet.  So he'd just hung back, keeping the truck barely in sight, and waited until it had stopped at the first business.  Sure enough, Clark had popped out of the cab, looking all carefree and perfectly content to be doing the grunt work.  He'd lifted a box onto each shoulder like it was nothing, and carried them into the restaurant.

Justin had followed him from delivery to delivery, waiting for one that took place out in the middle of nowhere, to a home or business where he could be certain he wouldn't find any of his friends hanging out.  He'd been spectacularly unlucky.

Most of Clark's deliveries had been right in town, and Justin ended up just hanging out in the same parking spot for nearly half an hour, occasionally turning on the engine to run the heater for a few minutes.  Then when he'd started making his residential deliveries, every damn one of them was either to the home of someone Justin knew, or someone he knew knew someone he knew, or the girlfriend of someone he knew.

He'd followed him from place to place for well over an hour until, eventually, Clark had ended up here.  What was weird was that it made no sense to do it this way, leaving Luthor Manor for last.  The way the roads criss-crossed, it would have been smarter to make the delivery out here first, before he'd headed into town.

The gate had opened for Clark's truck, of course, after he'd pressed the intercom.  They'd surely been expecting their produce delivery.  Justin wasn't so lucky.  He knew there was no way they'd let him in there, so he'd just parked his truck a ways down the road, close enough that he was able to see the gate, but far enough that he figured it wasn't obvious, and he'd waited.

And waited.

Aaaaaaand waited.

It was getting late, and he was starting to sweat with nerves.  Was it possible he'd managed to miss him?  He was sure there wasn't another exit that a pick-up truck could use.  But what could be taking so long?

What he'd wanted to do was either catch Clark as he was leaving, or follow him home and talk to him there as he'd originally planned.  But time was passing him by, and he couldn't wait any longer.  He had to get an answer to-night, before he drove out to Granville.

So, he'd decided to do something stupid.  He'd waited until the camera was sweeping in the other direction, and the single security guard circling the perimeter had gone around the corner, and he'd jumped the gate.

He intended to find Clark's truck, just to satisfy himself it was still there, and then see if he could figure out where Clark was.  The only thing he could reckon was that the kid must do some odd jobs around the mansion for extra cash, and he was around here somewhere fixing something, or planting something that would grow in winter.  It was kind of weird that despite the fact that it was late February, the grounds around the mansion were lush and green, but he guessed you could do just about anything if you had enough money.

Justin didn't see the truck from where he hid behind a thick ash tree, but the road went around the back, and there was a garage, too.  Of course, Clark was just making a delivery, so Justin figured he must have gone around the back to use the servants’ entrance.

It took him another five minutes, but he jetted from tree to tree, managing to avoid the security cameras and the guard, until he was able to sprint around the side of the mansion.  The mansion was huge, unfortunately, so it seemed to him that the run graduated from sprint to cross-country before he managed to reach the other side.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Kents’ cherry red Ford pickup sitting outside the rear entrance, just as he'd hoped.

The bed was completely empty, so this was definitely Clark's last delivery, but there wasn't any activity going on around the truck.  He couldn't hear anyone, either, and as far as he could tell, there was no one in the yard (yard?  Field?  Football arena?  Who needed this much space?) other than him and the security guy, who Justin thought was actually kind of useless.  He figured he was mostly for show.  The real firepower was probably lurking just inside every door, and while he was already being stupid, he wasn't stupid enough to try to sneak inside.

So he waited there for a while, crouched behind another of those thorny-as-hell bushes, and waited for his chance to ambush Clark when he got into the truck again.

He was there for another ten minutes, checking his watch every thirty seconds, watching the sun start to set, and repeatedly telling himself he needed to get on the road.

He'd gotten so desperate he was about to go around the front, knock on the door, and innocently ask if Clark could come out to play, when the back door finally opened.  But he didn't have time to breathe a sigh of relief, because though Clark did walk out, smiling softly, his customer was right behind him.

Justin ducked down into his thornbush a little more, managing to scrape his cheek.

The last thing he needed was Lex Luthor catching him on his land.  The security guy, he might be able to coax into letting him just hightail it out of there, but Lex Luthor struck him as the kind of guy who would prosecute a trespasser just to send a message to other would-be trespassers, or, conversely, just for the hell of it.

Justin tried not to breathe, waiting for Lex to go back inside and Clark to climb into the truck, hopefully in that order, and it was this lack of constant oxygen that eventually gave him away.

Because when Clark leaned back against the doorjamb, still smiling his soft little smile, and Lex—Lex freaking Luthor—took a step toward him, put his palm on the open door, and kissed Clark smack on the lips—tender, and open-mouthed, as if they'd done it a thousand times, and with tongue—Justin opened his mouth, sucked in a lungful of air, and blurted, before he could stop himself, "Holy shit!"


~


Clark held Lex's hand gently in his own as he walked toward the door off the kitchens where his truck was parked.  Lex was trailing behind him, slowly, as though even Clark's snail-like pace was too fast for him.

Clark understood how he felt.  They'd been having a great evening: A game of pool, a relaxed conversation, a bout of lovemaking on the den sofa for old times’ sake.  But then Clark's father had called and asked if Clark had decided to run away to Canada with the truck, and so they'd had to cut it short so Clark could return it.

He was still taking his time, though, shuffling through the halls and around the corners, taking the long way around.  Every now and then, Lex paused his gait, just to make Clark slow down a bit more.

"Can't keep up," Lex murmured.

Clark chuckled softly and glanced back over his shoulder.  "It's that alien speed of mine."

"Mm."

They paused at the vegetable pantry, which was smelling fresh with hothouse basil, and Clark tugged him into it.

Lex laughed against his lips as Clark kissed him against the wall.  "We don't have to hide, Clark," he said through his smile.

"Yeah."  Clark kissed him again.  "But I like the privacy."

Privacy from what might have been another discussion altogether, as there was no one in the kitchens at the moment, as per Lex's order to clear their path.  But Lex decided he wasn't interested in that discussion, and instead he just leaned back and enjoyed being kissed.

Before things could get too heated and wilt the basil, Clark backed off, tugging Lex back out of the pantry, and they resumed their incrementally slow trek to the door.

Clark pulled it open and heard Lex's small, regretful sigh behind him, making him smile.  Before he'd taken a full step outside, Lex grasped his arm and led him to lean back against the doorjamb.

"I could have someone take it back," he offered quietly.

Clark's smile grew, and he sighed happily.  "Curfew anyway.  You'll just have to do without me."

"Hmm," Lex hummed, his eyes narrowed as if to say ‘we'll see about that.’

Then he leaned in slowly and kissed Clark sweet and deep, filled with the flavour of ‘until next time’ that Clark had become so dependent on over the past two years.

"Holy shit!"

Their kiss was broken swiftly, both their gazes whipping toward the slightly trembling bush that had apparently just swore at them.

"What the hell was that?" Lex said, his voice gone instantly stony and businesslike.

"I'm not sure."  Clark looked curiously at the shivering bush, and without thinking about it, found his telescopic vision popping on and zooming him up to and through the tree.  His elevated hearing got in on the action, too, and brought him the sound of panicked panting, which he saw was emanating from the nose of a boy who had his palm slapped over his mouth, the fingertips smearing a dot of blood on his left cheek.  The boy wore a letter jacket and had spiky black hair, bright blue eyes, and handsome features.  His eyes were wide as a startled rabbit's.

"Oh, no."

"What?"

The word was like a boom of thunder and Clark's senses came back to him.  He looked to Lex with great apology in his expression.  "It's that kid."

Lex's pointed and narrowed gaze shot back to the bush, but Clark knew he couldn't see him.  "What kid?"

"The other gay kid at school," Clark said, his voice little more than a whisper.  "Justin."

Lex looked at him, obviously confused.  "What, the jock?  The ‘Why would any boy want to kiss me in the locker room’ jock?"

Clark shot him a wry look.  "Yeah.  Him."

"Well, what the hell's he doing on my land?"

"Good question," Clark muttered.  "I don't know.  Um... I'm sorry, Lex.  I didn't realize..."

"What are you sorry about?" Lex asked him indignantly.  "He's the little bastard who's trespassing."

"Well—"

"You think he saw us?"  Lex was staring a very frightening kind of stare at the bush, which had finally gone still and silent.

"I would say... yeah."  Lex's gaze whipped back to him, but Clark cut him off before he could say anything.  "Look, just let me go talk to him.  Find out what's going on here.  He's," Clark shrugged slightly, "probably going through a hard time."

Lex glared at him.  "If you think I'm gonna feel sorry for—"

"Uh, sorry!"

Clark and Lex looked toward the bush in surprise, finding Justin standing on his feet and looking awkward and contrite.

"Hey, um, look... don't call the cops, okay?  I'm not stealing anything."  As if to illustrate this point, he turned his jacket pockets inside out, and his keys fell onto the ground.  "Oh.  Shit."  He reached down and snatched them up.  "Look, uh, I can just go.  Okay?"  He gestured vaguely toward the front entrance around the side of the mansion.  "I'm... you know," he shrugged, "sorry and all."

Lex muttered something uncomplimentary and Clark ignored him.

"Just hold on a minute," Clark called back to him, then faced Lex again.  "I'm gonna go talk to him, okay?  Just hold off a minute before you call security."

Lex snorted.  "‘Security.’  What security?"  He threw a hand in the air, then gestured with great emphasis that Clark should go talk to the little cretin if he wanted to so badly.

He stood there, scowling, his hands deep in his pockets as Clark jogged over to where Justin still stood.

It seemed at first that Justin might take off, but Clark held his hands out in a gesture of peace before he'd gotten very far.

"Hey, just hold on.  I'm not gonna do anything," he said calmly.  He stopped about ten feet away from Justin's hiding place.  "Um... what's up?  What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to talk to you.  You were in there... uh... a long time, and..."  Justin's gaze slid away from Clark, and behind him to Lex instead, which seemed to make him even more skittish.

"What, have you been following me?" Clark asked, taking a careful step closer.

Justin shrugged.  "Not, like, obsessively or anything.  Just the last couple hours or something."

"Uh... okay."  Clark took another half step forward.  "Any... particular reason?"

Finally, Justin met his gaze, and a half smirk settled onto his lips.  "Hey, man, you're hard to pin down.  I've been trying to talk to you for, like, months."

"Oh."  Clark nodded with understanding.  He recalled their many ships-passing-in-the-night moments lately.  "Um... so, what's up?  What did you want to talk about?"

Again Justin's gaze flickered to Lex.  "Look, is he gonna call the cops?  ’Cause, seriously, I didn't steal anything."

"He's not going to call the cops."  Clark glanced over his shoulder and offered Lex a tiny smile, though it didn't seem to do much about his scowl.  "I hope," he muttered.  Then he turned back to Justin with a friendly smile.  "Let's just talk, okay?"

"Yeah, all right."  Cautiously, Justin came out from behind the thornbush, giving it a dirty look when it grabbed onto the hem of his pant leg.  Slowly, they started to walk, shoulder to shoulder, away from the thornbush and toward the corner of the mansion.  "You know," he said, and tossed his head briefly back toward Lex, "I knew you liked him."

Clark's eyebrows arched sharply in surprise.

"I mean, uh," he shrugged, "I didn't know you were with him, but I did know you liked him.  You always used to stare at him with these moony eyes when you thought no one was looking..."

A blush rushed into Clark's cheeks and he tried to ignore it.

"I thought he was straight, though."  He glanced back at Lex again, who had casually begun to follow them at a distance, then quickly away.  "I mean, I don't really go for the bald thing, but, uh... I guess he's kind of hot."

Clark cleared his throat awkwardly, really, really glad Lex didn't have Kryptonian-like hearing.  "Yeah...  Um, you didn't follow me here and jump the gate to tell me Lex was hot, I'm guessing."

Justin looked at him sharply, his eyes round like a rabbit's again, and then he dropped his gaze to the ground and started kicking at the grass as they walked.  "Um... no."

"So...?"

"I, uh..." he shrugged a shoulder, trying and failing to appear casual, "I met this guy."

"Oh."  Clark blinked in surprise.  He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he didn't think it was that.  His face lit up with a happy grin.  "Hey, that's great!"

Justin glanced up, shyly, and a small smile settled on his lips as if he was trying not to show it.  "Yeah."

"Well, how'd you meet him?  What's his name?"

"That bar over the state line.  You know, The Backroom?"

Clark gave a short nod just to acknowledge he'd heard of it.  It was the nearest gay bar and it was an hour away.  It didn't have a great reputation, but Clark figured Justin knew that.

"I guess we both went there to, you know, try and meet somebody, but neither of us could get in.  They spotted my fake ID right away, and he didn't even have one."  He shrugged.  "There were a bunch of other underage kids that had driven out from all over, just hanging out in the parking lot with their own booze and stuff, so we just hung out with them and got to talking and stuff... I don't know.  He's from Granville.  His name's Miguel."

"And you guys are going out?"

This time Justin couldn't hide his smirk, and he looked up and nodded confidently.

Clark beamed at him.  "That's awesome!  Did you tell your parents, or—?"

"Oh, hell no!"  He scoffed.  "First they'll freak out ’cause I'm gay, then they'll freak out ’cause my boyfriend's Latino.  Uh-uh," he shook his head vehemently.  "Forget that shit."

"Oh."  Clark nodded with sympathy, totally getting where he was coming from; he'd been somewhere very similar once, himself.  "Well, maybe one day they'll..."

Justin shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.  Their stroll had brought them to the corner of the mansion, within sight of the gate, and Justin seemed a little more comfortable.  He came to a stop and toed at a small section of the winter ryegrass.

"So, things are going well with him?  How long have you been going out?"

"Yeah.  A couple months now.  Thing is, um... see, he wants to go to Prom together.  I mean, both our proms and... you know, Smallville's is before Granville's.  Like, he wants to come out to everyone.  You know, at Prom."

"Oh.  And... you're not ready."

"I don't know, man."  He managed to get a chunk of the grass free, and he kicked it away, making Clark wince.  He glanced back over his shoulder, where Lex was still standing at a distance, hands in his pockets.  His scowl seemed to have deepened.

"Um... you might want to take it easy on the lawn."

"Oh."  Justin dropped his foot flat on the ground rather abruptly.  He glanced behind him and his eyes widened slightly before he looked away again.  "You sure he's not gonna call the cops?"

Clark gave an awkward little laugh, unwilling to answer.  "You know," he said instead, "school will be over soon.  It's not like you'd have to deal with it for that long."

"Well, yeah.  But if it doesn't go well...  I mean, people have been killed for less around here."

Clark swallowed hard, remembering some of the worst stories he'd read about violent attacks on gay men when he'd first started to figure out he ‘wasn't exactly straight.’  "I know," he said softly.

"They string you up, you know?"  Justin was staring at the small hole he'd made in the lawn, though he refrained from widening it.  "Make a scarecrow outta ya."

"...Yeah."

He let out a long, heavy sigh and finally looked up, distantly, at the rapidly darkening sky.  "I was trying to talk to you back when I wanted to go to the club.  I wanted you to go with me.  But I couldn't get to you.  So I went on my own.  Then I wanted to talk to you when I met Miguel ’cause... well," he shrugged, and offered Clark a crooked smile, "who the hell else am I gonna tell, right?"

Clark smiled back.

"But lately, I've just been really needing to talk to you because... well, I was gonna see, like, if I did it, then maybe... I don't know, maybe you would do it, too.  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if more than one person did it at the same time."  He shrugged despondently.  "I didn't realize your ‘Metropolis boyfriend’ was Lex freaking Luthor, man.  Guess I can't really see him showing up at Prom."

Softly, Clark laughed at the thought, then met Justin's gaze with sympathy.  "Yeah, probably not."

Justin gazed over his shoulder, casting a considering look in Lex's direction.  "I mean, you don't think, like, maybe if you asked him, or...?"

"Justin..." Clark sighed.  "You and me, we're in very different situations.  Lex is in the public eye—"

"Yeah, big time."

"Yeah.  So if he did something like that, it'd be all over the news... it'd ruin both our lives.  And it could ruin a lot of other people's lives, too, because it could affect his business, which I know you know employs half the town."  He spread his hands helplessly.  "I know it's not fair, or right, or even makes any sense, but that's Kansas for you.  You and me, we're young, you know?  We can be who we are now and become who we're gonna be later.  But it's too late for Lex to come out—people already expect him to be a certain way, exude a certain image.  In his political position, he just can't afford to gamble with the public's acceptance."

"Wow."  Justin blinked at him.  "He's got you all locked up, don't he?"

Clark didn't allow himself to become visibly offended or to argue.  Justin didn't have the whole story, and Clark knew he couldn't give it to him.  He was aware that what little he could say made him sound naïve.  He just gazed at Justin steadily.  "It's just different with us.  That's all."

"Yeah, well, it ain't gonna be all peaches and cream for me, either, if I do this."  He sighed heavily, shaking his head.  "Look, you want to go to your senior prom, don't you?"

"Uh," Clark shrugged, "yeah, I guess."

"Well, why don't you come out with me to that bar?  I can't get you in, but there's other gay kids in the lot every weekend.  Maybe you'll meet somebody, too."  He cast his gaze briefly toward Lex again.  "Someone your own age, maybe," he mumbled.

Clark bit the inside of his cheek.  "If I go to Prom, I'm going stag, Justin.  With my friends."

"Your friends?"  Justin scoffed.  "They're all with someone.  Hot little newspaper chick and that black kid, and the cheerleader's with our running back.  You're gonna go alone with two couples?  Man, you're worse off than I am."

"Wow," Clark said, his voice deadpan.  "You just managed to insult me and each of my friends, individually, in one breath.  I'm impressed."

Justin turned innocent, wide eyes on him.  "What?"

"They all have names, Justin.  And Lana hasn't been a cheerleader for, like, three years."

"Oh.  I... uh, yeah, sorry.  Chloe, right?  And Ross."

"Pete."

"Yeah."  Justin pulled back a leg as if to kick at the ground again, then stopped himself at the last second.  "Look, I just need someone to talk to about it, man.  I don't know what to do, and I don't know anyone else around here who's queer.  I'm driving out to meet him to-night and he's expecting an answer."  He paused briefly.  "Thing is, Miguel does music, you know?  Guitar, piano, singing, composing, the whole nine yards.  He's real good, too; he's got a band and everything...  He's going to NYU on a music scholarship in the fall, and I've got a free ride at Notre Dame for track.  I mean... do I really want to do this?  I don't even know if I'll ever see him again."

"Look, Justin... this isn't about deciding whether or not you want to do it for Miguel.  You've gotta decide whether or not you want to do it for you.  You can come out and go to college with a clean slate, or you can wait a while.  Hell," he shrugged, "you're going all the way to Indiana.  If you wanted to, you wouldn't even have to come out in Smallville in order to be open about who you are at college.  It's a chance to start over out there.  They don't know who you are or what to expect."

"Clark, man," Justin looked up, his eyes awash with indecision and strife, "I don't even know who I am or what to expect."

Clark shrugged a shoulder, slow and careful.  "College is a great place to start finding out."

Justin fixed him with a dry look.  "You know that Notre Dame is a Catholic college, right, Clark?"

Softly, he laughed, shaking his head.  "Yeah, and I'm sure all the students treat their bodies like temples, and no premarital sex ever occurs there, either."  He shrugged.  "At least you'll have something to talk about at confession."

Justin snorted, a grin spreading over his lips.  "If I do it, though," he said, and his voice became serious once again, "I really don't think I can do it alone, man."

"You won't be alone," Clark said simply.  "You'll have Miguel."


~


Lex watched with a narrowed glare as Clark and the spiky-haired boy parted ways, then rolled his eyes with irritation when the kid jumped back over the gate without any trouble whatsoever from security.  It was at least moderately amusing, however, when his jacket briefly caught on a spike and he fell on his ass on the other side.

Clark walked back to him slowly, stopping to try to cover up the new hole in the lawn.

"Just leave it," Lex called, waving a dismissive hand.  "William will take care of it in the morning."

"Sorry."

Lex waved him off again, impatiently, and waited for him to get close enough for normal conversation.  "Is that little—?"

"He's not gonna tell anyone, Lex.  He's scared to death someone will find out about him, so he's not about to let any of my secrets out."

"Hmpfh," Lex grumped, unconvinced.

Clark offered a little smile.  "He's got a boyfriend."

"Bully for him.  What's he looking for, pointers?"

Clark rolled his eyes and passed Lex by, approaching the truck.  "Come on, Lex," he called over his shoulder, "haven't you ever been unsure of yourself?"

Lex just stared at the back of his head until Clark turned to meet his gaze.

He snorted.  "Yeah, look who I'm asking."

Finally, though, Lex had to relent.  He was irritated about the lax security and the torn lawn and the fact that he'd recognized that little twerp as the same kid who had called Clark's name in the middle of town and nearly gotten him exposed via a new Camaro suit, but he knew Clark was right: He should have some sympathy.  It wasn't easy being a gay teenager in the rural heartland.

He approached Clark slowly, until they were standing by the pickup together.  "Well, did you give him some good advice?"

"Hope so."

"Did you tell him to stay off my property?"

Clark let out a snort of laughter.  "Yeah."

"Then you gave him some good advice."  Even as Clark shook his head at him, Lex reached up to kiss his mouth softly.  "You'd better get the truck home," he whispered close.  "The phone's probably ringing off the hook in there."

"Yeah, okay."

"Coming back over to-morrow night?"

"Yeah.  After dinner."

"See if you can stay over, okay?"

Clark smiled at him softly.  "Planning on it."

Lex stepped back as Clark got into the cab of the truck, then kissed him once more through the open window before heading back into the mansion.

He would have rather had Clark at the mansion all night, keeping him away from his work, but the truth was that Lex had a pile of things to do.  Ceres Terra was expanding and he had some decisions to make about deployment.  On top of that—actually because of that—LuthorCorp was in the process of bidding for three different government contracts, and Lex was considering two others.  But he didn't want to stretch his resources too thin, so he really needed to focus on those and make a decision as to which one to start campaigning for.

Over all of this in interest, if not in exigence, was the research he was doing on the two remaining Crystals.  He knew he was going to have to struggle to get some actual work done before he allowed himself to fall blissfully into the captivating mysteries that surrounded those artifacts.  He could have very happily spent months if not years tinkering with old scrolls, shaky translations, and faded pictographs, ferreting out all the tiny details connected to Clark's own heritage that Clark himself did not know, if only he didn't have such an extremely large, extremely successful business to run.

"Ah, well," he muttered to himself, and smirked.


~


Lana knew she was smiling goofily as she arranged knick-knacks on the shelves, but she didn't bother to rein it in.  She was happy, so why hold back?

Though they already spent quite a lot of time there together, she and Brad weren't technically moving in until school was out, but she didn't see any reason to delay cleaning the place out and fixing it up nice.  She had put some of her own art on the walls, brought in some furniture that had been in storage ever since her Aunt Nell had moved to Metropolis, bought secondhand curtains and new linen.  Lately she'd been spending her spare time—of which, granted, she didn't have much—browsing through all kinds of shoppes for knickknacks to fill out the edges.  If she was honest with herself, decorating this apartment was about all the artistic activity she was engaging in lately.

Lana knew she should probably be putting more effort into her portfolio.  Even though she wasn't going to college in the fall, that didn't mean it was smart to blow off the requirements for senior year.  After all, she wasn't using up that much of her college fund to set up the apartment.  She was young; time was on her side.  Maybe she'd decide to go to college next year, or the year after that, and when she did, her grades would still be her grades.

Unfortunately, knowing all of this didn't seem to do much for Lana's artistic drive.  She hadn't painted anything in weeks—or was it months now?—and the only drawing she'd done was what was required during class.  Even she could see her efforts were looking kind of lackluster recently.

She found herself impatient for the school year to come to an end, and wished she had enough credits to graduate early and just get out of there.  School seemed to hold no appeal for her anymore, and when she had to be there, she always just wanted to either be out with Brad, working at the Talon, or here, setting up their place.  She was beginning to regret that it had taken her so long to realize that what she really wanted to do long-term was to run a business.  Art had been a secret passion for years, and she had always had some kind of vague dream that one day she would be living off the sales of her paintings.  But those dreams had been blissfully unfettered by reality: The reality that, honestly, Lana just wasn't that great of an artist.

Oh, she could draw, she could use various techniques, she had a steady hand.  She even occasionally had a spark of inspiration.  But she'd certainly never created anything that had made anyone cry, or boggle, or gaze upon it for hours, thinking of its societal implications.  She just didn't have the touch.  And, really, she asked herself, would three months in Paris have changed that?  Was she really missing out on anything by not wasting her time chasing after something she just didn't have the talent to achieve?

Lana was good at managing the Talon, and with Lex's help, she was growing steadily better.  Why shouldn't she lean on that?

She rearranged a couple of glass figurines on the display shelf that used to be in the living room of her and Aunt Nell's house, and smiled when she got them into a configuration she liked the look of.

There was something else she was good at, too, and that was being with Brad.  It had come to her as a surprise, because after what she'd gone through with Whitney and then with Clark, she had honestly been starting to think that love just wasn't her thing.  She'd all but sworn off boys, in fact, and it was probably part of the reason she'd been considering studying abroad to begin with.  She'd never counted on getting run off the road—literally—by a boy who would steal her heart and then give her in return everything she'd always needed but couldn't seem to get from the ones she'd wanted.

Lana turned around, running a critical eye over the apartment.  It was starting to look really good—like someone might actually want to live here—and she was proud of it.  This was going to be her life after high school, this apartment, this business, and this boy, and as far as she could tell, it was shaping up to make her the happiest she'd been since the day before the meteor shower had taken away her life and handed her back something she didn't recognize.  She was getting dangerously close to feeling like a whole person again.

Quickly, she glanced at her watch, then started to cross to the kitchen to wash some of the new dishes she'd bought.  But then her brain caught up with her, and she did a double-take at the time.

She had to check it against the new clock hanging on the wall, because it didn't seem right.  Had she been up there for two hours already?  The afternoon rush had probably already begun, and she hadn't even started her usual pre-rush check through the kitchens and over the tables, just to make sure everything was in order.

The dishes were going to have to wait.  After all, if Lana was going to spend her life as a business manager, she had to be sure to take care of business!


~


"Lana," Lex said by way of greeting.

Lana turned to meet his gaze with a smile, her pixie cut framing her face and giving her an even more sprightly look than usual.  "Oh, hi, Lex," she said, her hands not pausing in filling the appropriate dispenser with stirring straws.  He could see why she didn't want to stop: It looked to be the first time in a while that she'd had a chance to do anything at the amenities counter.  A large group had just finished filtering past, grabbing sugars, lighteners, and napkins as Lex had been picking up his own coffee, and there was an unordered line of others waiting to pick up, so the counter would surely be attacked again directly.

Lex nodded toward the group at the counter waiting for their orders to be made.  "I see business is booming."

She looked in that direction with a smile, a touch of pride in her eyes.  "Yeah, it really is.  I think you're going to be happy with this quarter's profit and loss sheets."  She turned her smile on him.  "Lots of profit, no loss to speak of."

"See that?" he said, finding her smile and good mood infectious.  "I always knew you'd make a helluva businesswoman."

She blushed prettily and moved half a step away to begin topping off the Sugar in the Raw packets.  "Well, I had a good teacher," she said modestly.

Lex only chuckled and shook his head.

"I've been thinking about it, you know... about the Talon?"

"Oh?  How so?"

"Well..." she shrugged, standing on tiptoes to pull the top off the napkin dispenser and drop in another couple packs of a hundred.  "Honestly, I was thinking of maybe turning it into a career.  You know, a real one.  Not just a high school thing."

Lex's brow furrowed.  He wasn't so sure Lana could afford much of a life on the salary she paid herself.  "What, the Talon?"

She shrugged again, tossing creamers gently into the bin.  "Maybe," she offered tentatively, "more than one Talon."

Instantly, lex grasped her meaning.  "Ah.  Entrepreneurship."

"Yeah, maybe.  I mean, I feel I've got a real head start here, you know?  We made a profit last year, and I think we'll do even better this year—probably each year.  And then maybe we could open another one in Granville... then maybe even Topeka."

"Sounds ambitious.  But what about your art?  I thought Clark said you were thinking of studying in Paris for the summer."

Her hands finally stopped moving, and she looked down into her half empty box of creamers with a sigh.  "I was.  A while ago.  But... you know, Lex, I'm just really not that good."  She looked at him head-on, finally, and Lex wasn't sure if she was looking for understanding of her lack of talent, or encouragement that she did, indeed, have talent.

Lex didn't have an opinion one way or another.  He didn't think he'd ever seen any of Lana's art.  He shrugged slightly.  "Well, far be it from me to disagree, but Clark says—"

"Oh, come on, Lex," she said, fixing him with an indulgent look.  "Clark?  Art?  Really?"

He blinked at her and tried very hard not to laugh.  "Point taken."

She let out a small sigh and went back to stocking the amenities.  "The truth is that I'm really not good enough to make a career out of it.  I'm just not.  And... artists starve, you know?  Starve for their art."  She shrugged, swiping some spilled sugar into the trash receptacle with a napkin.  "I'm just not that dedicated to it."  She let out a little laugh.  "I don't want to starve, Lex.  I want to be comfortable."  Again she turned her smile on him, and this time when she shrugged, it wasn't with resignation, but with happiness, as if to say, ‘this is me, and I'm okay with that.’  "I'm comfortable here."

Before he was able to respond, he heard the door chime behind him, and Lana's gaze went distant, then glazed over, her smile growing.

Lex glanced over his shoulder to see Brad Wilson standing just inside the door, one hand in his coat pocket, the other in a small wave, his smile just as wide, his eyes just as distant.  It was like Lex wasn't even there, and he could hardly blame them for that.  Lord knew he'd been there...  Maybe still was there, actually.

He looked back to Lana and found her smiling at him politely, but with obvious hope that their conversation was over.

Lex smirked, recognizing the sentiment.  "Might want to be careful with that," he said honestly, and glanced over his shoulder again, briefly.  "Getting too comfortable can be dangerous."

Then he turned and left her to her job and her boyfriend, but he noted the slight confusion that crossed her face at his comment.  He hoped that meant she would consider his words, maybe take a step back from her plans and her dedication to this boy that Clark seemed so sure wasn't good for her long-term.

But, more practically, he recognized that Lana was in love, and that while she respected his opinion regarding the business of the Talon, it was very unlikely that anything he said regarding relationships was going to cut through the haze of romance and expectation she and this young man had built up around them.

He and Brad passed one another halfway between Lana and the door, and Lex didn't bother saying anything as he knew he wasn't being noticed.  He glanced behind him on the way out just in time to catch their quick kiss and tight hug of greeting, and noted that any semblance of consideration Lex's words might have briefly etched into Lana's expression was already long gone.


~


Chloe watched Lex walk into the Talon, get a coffee, chat with Lana, and leave.  Not just ‘watched’—she stared at him with longing the entire time, actually.

She'd been sitting in the back of the establishment for half an hour, alone in a secluded booth, pretending to study.  But what she was really doing was trying to figure out how the hell to figure out Clark Kent.  If only it would be so easy as to walk up to Lex Luthor and ask him for the truth about Clark.  He surely knew, or at least knew more of it than she did.  But, all things considered, it probably would have been easier to get Clark's own parents to spill the beans than to get a Luthor to ever reveal a cherished secret.

Chloe sighed and put her chin down atop her threaded fingers on the table.  She wished she had some good ideas, but she really didn't.  The hacking she'd already done had been some of her most inspired work, but that hadn't really gotten her anywhere.  Due to her unfortunate lack of clairvoyance, every time something weird happened and Clark mysteriously showed up and fixed it—a regular occurrence in this town, that was for sure—she didn't hear about it until after the fact, and by then it certainly didn't do her any good: Suspicion piled on suspicion, and never anything concrete.

If only she could know when and where something like that was going to happen before it did.  If only she had the technology to plant a tiny GPS on Clark so she could track his every move.  If only Lex would do something ill-advised and get himself in—

Chloe sat up suddenly and looked around with a flush of paranoia and shame.  To her relief, no one was looking at her nor seemed to have known what she'd been thinking.  She looked back to her table, and stared at it blankly, blushing.

She was absolutely mortified to realize that she'd almost just thought, ‘I wish Lex would get kidnapped or something.’  She was apparently really getting desperate if she was willing to start wishing danger on people in order to make some progress.

Of course Chloe didn't want Lex to get kidnapped or hurt.  She wasn't that selfish.  It was just that if he happened to be—

She blinked.

Okay.  Now, that gave her an idea.

Chloe grabbed her coffee and headed out the door.  The moment she'd settled into her car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Ned Sandling's cell.  This was going to take some work.  She hoped Ned was up to it, because she sure as hell was.


~


"Ready?"

"Still not ready, Lex."

Lex chuckled softly and squeezed the solution from the eyedropper into the petri dish, infusing it with a liberal amount of Clark's soo'ak cells and one ovum.  In the dish already was one lonely sperm cell which had been washed from a sample of Lex's semen—which, incidentally, had been a hell of a lot easier to acquire than Clark's.

"Okay," he said, putting the dropper aside.  "Here we go."  He put his eyes to the oculars and adjusted the magnification.

The soo'ak worked so fast that before he'd even managed to get his eyes to the microscope, one had located the sperm cell and the rest were already rushing the egg toward it.  Lex shook his head very slightly, trying not to lose his view.  "Jesus, they're fast."

"What are they doing?"  There was plain tension in Clark's voice.

"Bringing the egg over."  He paused.  "Aaaaand... yep, there it goes."

"What, it went in?"

"Yeah."

As soon as the sperm cell disappeared into the ovum, the soo'ak seemed to take up sentry positions around its perimeter.  They were no longer moving the egg or conducting their usual grid-like search of the petri dish, and this last surprised Lex a bit.  The soo'ak were attached to Clark's cells, and there had certainly been much more than one egg in the sample Clark had—reluctantly—provided for this experiment, though there was only one in the dish.  Lex had expected that after fertilizing the one cell, they would continue to look for more sperm to fertilize the other cells.  But apparently there was some kind of proximity detector involved.  Perhaps the soo'ak were only responsible for the cell or cells they were closest to at any one time.

"What's happening?"

"Uh..." Lex stalled, waiting for something to happen.  At the moment, everything was still.  Maybe too still.  He was getting a little concerned about what was going on inside that egg.

"Lex?"

Surely fertilization wasn't possible.  Clark's cells were still too weak, according both to Jor-El and their own experiments.  The only way Lex thought fertilization might actually be conceivable would be if eustran cells were available, and even then he thought it was unlikely.  It wasn't just that the acidic environment of Lex's body would destroy the cells, but that even in vitro, Clark's cells weren't able to withstand the onslaught of normal human sperm.  But there was perhaps a slim possibility that if some eustran were available which held information about Lex's physiology, they would somehow be able to instruct the soo'ak as to what to do to increase the possibility of success.

It was just as he was thinking these thoughts, his heart increasing in speed as he considered the possibility that he might be unknowingly watching fertilization take place, that he was surprised to see the sperm cell pop out the other side of the egg.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, jerking briefly back from the oculars in surprise.  He quickly put his eyes back to it and watched the sperm make a slow turn, heading for the ovum again.

"AHH!"

Lex's attention shot from the microscope to Clark in record time, startled by his scream.  "Clark?  Clark!"

Clark was standing shakily, bent at the waist, hunching, both hands pressing hard against his temples.  His face was contorted with pain, his eyes closed tight, his teeth bared in a harsh grimace.

Flabbergasted, Lex looked to the microscope, then back to Clark, wondering what the hell was going on.  Could Clark be affected by what was happening on that dish?  Was he somehow physiologically connected to his own cells?  If so, why hadn't it caused any problems last time?

"Clark, talk to me," Lex breathed, his heart in his throat.  He closed the space between them and took Clark's biceps gently in his hand.  "What's wrong?  What's happening?"

Clark shook his head, fast and brief, his hair cascading around his hands as they clutched at his temples and he winced in pain.

"Is it this?" Lex gestured back at the microscope.  "What should I do?  Clark, talk to me!"

Clark's shoulders hunched further toward his ears, and he made a small, painful sound.  Then, all at once, he relaxed, and sighed with relief.  His back straightened and he dropped his left hand to his side, massaging gently at his right temple with the other.  "Wow.  Man, that hurt."

"Clark..." Lex shook his head in confusion, not even sure what to ask.

"Headache," Clark said simply, which didn't help at all.  Lex was utterly nonplussed.

"Headache?" he repeated incredulously.  That was ridiculous.  Clark was Clark!

He gave a little chuckle, looking almost sheepish.  "Well," he finally lowered his other hand, and shrugged one shoulder, "you were right."

"I... I was?"

"About the microscopic vision...?"

Lex blinked.  "Micro...?"

Again, Clark let out a small, almost embarrassed chuckle.  "Um... I wanted to ask for the microscope, but you looked so fascinated and then... well... I just kind of, like," he shrugged again, "saw at the cellular level.  I guess."

The expression on Lex's face must have indicated that he wasn't going to respond.  He was just going to gape for a little while.

"I, um... I saw it come out the other side.  When you did."

"So you have..." Lex shook his head hard, trying to get his wits back about him.  He wasn't that startled to hear Clark had developed another power—one Lex had expected to pop up sooner or later, in fact.  What he couldn't wrap his mind around was how that was related to the pain Clark had so obviously just suffered through.  "Have you had headaches before?"

"Oh!" Clark said, as if he'd suddenly realized what Lex's problem was.  "Oh, yeah.  When I first discovered my x-ray vision, I had headaches for a couple days.  ’Til I figured it out.  Then they went away.  This is the first one since then."

"So they'll stop?  Once you master the power?"

Clark nodded.  "Mm-hmm.  Should."

"Oh."  Finally, Lex let go of Clark's arm and breathed a sigh of relief.  "Jesus, you scared me."

A sheepish smile quirked the corner of Clark's mouth.  "Sorry."

Lex offered a small smile just to indicate acknowledgment, then swiped a hand over his mouth and chin.  He noticed the microscope out of the corner of his eye and realized he'd walked away from an experiment in progress.  "Oh, hell."

He hurried back to it and put his eyes to the oculars, but he couldn't have said he was surprised by what he saw.  The sperm cell was obliterating the egg slowly, entering it and exiting it again and again in its never-ending quest to fertilize it.  The ovum was turning to jelly exactly as the other had.  It was just a more gradual death.  The soo'ak, too, were slowing their vibrations, expiring along with their charge.

Lex lifted his eyes from the microscope again, and sighed.  "So this was pointless."

"Is it totally dead?"

He waved a hand vaguely at the stage.  "See for yourself."

Clark looked at the microscope, then at Lex, who wasn't moving away from it to give Clark room to approach it.  When he finally grasped Lex's meaning, he shot him a wry look.  "No, thanks, Lex."

Lex only smirked.  "Gotta master it sometime."

"Yeah, well, I'm not anxious for another headache like that one.  I'll just take your word for it."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged.

Clark only rolled his eyes.  "Well," he said after a beat, and shrugged, "what do we do now?"

Lex grunted softly with irritation.  He sat down on the black leather swivel stool and, slowly, let out a defeated sigh.  A long pause went by as he stared silently at the apparently useless experiment.

"The only other idea I have," he finally said, "you're not going to like."

"Lex," Clark scoffed, "I haven't liked any of your ideas so far, so that kind of goes without saying."

Lex looked at him with a dry expression, but he didn't argue.

"Well?" Clark asked after the silence had stretched a few seconds.  "What?"

Lex sighed.  "The only other thing would be..." he met Clark's gaze and hesitated, fully aware of the likely reaction to what he was about to say, "...figuring the eustran into the equation."

Clark looked confused.  "But Jor-El said I won't produce any more of those unless—"  He broke off, sudden and sharp, as the realization hit him full force.

Lex only continued to look at him steadily.

Briefly frozen mid-sentence, Clark closed his mouth with a click.  His eyes were round with surprise for only a moment before they narrowed to angry slits.  He stared at Lex.

He stared and he stared and he stared.

His jaw bulged with the clenching pressure of his building anger, his biceps twitched with it.  Lex wouldn't have been surprised if he lit something on fire in a burst of rage.  He just hoped it wouldn't be him.

"Aw, come on, Clark," Lex said, trying for a dismissive tone, but knowing his voice was shaky under Clark's scrutiny, "I'm not actually suggesting it.  I'm just saying it's the only other thing I can think of right now.  Of course we're not going to do it."  He looked away from Clark's furious expression and focussed on the microscope instead.  "We can't bring anyone else in on this.  I know that."

He waited for a response, receiving only silence.  But Lex refused to take his gaze from the safety of the microscope, staunchly ignoring the way Clark continued to glare hard at the side of his face, the way his breathing had become exaggeratingly controlled, the unnatural stillness in his stance, the fury radiating from him in waves.

But a long, uncomfortable stretch of time ticked by, and there was no change but the intensity of the atmosphere ratcheting up and up, and eventually Lex just couldn't stand it.

"Argh!" he groaned with agitation.  "Come on, stop glaring at me like that!  I'm not actually suggesting it."  He hopped off the stool and to his feet, stalking away a few steps in frustration.  Then he whirled and gestured sharply at the microscope.  "Look, there's nothing else I can do here!  These cells are nothing like they will be when they're strong, when you're f-f—" he couldn't help but stutter over it.  Neither of them had fully come to terms with the possibilities.  "Fertile," he finally spat, the word filled with distaste.  He sighed.  "I'm just... I'm out of ideas, here, Clark."

Another tension-filled beat went by before Clark finally relented, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall limply to his sides.  He shrugged.  "Then let's just forget it," he said blandly.  "Leave it alone.  Maybe in a few more years—"

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do if we can't figure this out before it's time?" Lex snapped.

Clark let out a scoff of laughter.  "Then we'll just have to bite the bullet and use condoms for a while, Lex," he said, his tone dry and speaking of the obviousness of this conclusion.

Lex's lip curled before he could rein it in, and he looked at the microscope accusingly.

Clark laughed aloud this time, plainly aware of the sentiment.  "Yeah, I know.  But if we have to while we do the research again—research when it's useful—I'm willing to suffer through for a little while."

Lex's mind was still churning, even as he acknowledged Clark's words.  He wondered if he was just missing something.  "Maybe if I expose them to large doses of UV radiation—"

"Ugh!  Lex."  Lex glanced over just in time to catch the end of an eye roll.  "Come on."

Clark crossed the space between them and slid his hands around Lex's waist.  "Let's just let it go for now," he said, close and gentle.  "We'll try again in a few years.  We've got time."

Lex met Clark's gaze for only a few seconds, then looked away sharply, disgusted with his own failure.

"Hey.  Hey."  Clark ducked his head toward Lex's until he caught Lex's gaze.  Clark was smirking slightly, his eyes shining with a mix of adoration and indulgence.  "I know this is difficult for you, Mr. Mad Scientist."

Lex snorted and rolled his eyes.

"But I'm not asking you to accept defeat.  Oh, god, no," he added dramatically, looking far into the distance with faux-shock.  "I would never even consider suggesting such a thing."

A crooked, self-deprecating smile took Lex's mouth despite his best efforts.

"Just," Clark shrugged, "a little delay."  His smile grew.  "A moratorium.  Okay?  That's all.  We'll get back to it.  I promise."

Eventually, though still bothered, Lex sighed and nodded his agreement.  He was deeply reluctant to let it go, but he did see Clark's point.  Research now was useless.  This all would need to be done when Clark's cells were strong and mature in order to provide any further useful information.  Waiting until he was fertile was, of course, the only other way to trigger a release of a eustran sample, anyway.

"We'll figure it out in time.  Okay?"

"Yeah," Lex muttered.

"Lex, look..." Clark still held him around the waist, and though he had been swaying them just slightly, now he stopped, and Lex could feel the muscles of his arms bunch, though he held Lex no tighter.  "I need you to know," he said, his tone serious, "that if you ever suggest I sleep with someone else again..."

Lex swallowed hard.  Breath held, heartbeat suddenly too loud, he met Clark's gaze with great hesitation.

Clark's eyes were briefly cold and dull.  "I'm not going to let it go so easily.  I didn't appreciate that way more than I'm letting you know right now."

Again, Lex swallowed, this time painfully, his throat nearly closed on him.  "Yeah," he breathed huskily.  "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Clark said simply.  With no blame or anger left in his expression, his muscles relaxed, and he leaned in and kissed Lex gently, softly, and it was plain all was forgiven, if not forgotten.  "Look," he said when he'd freed Lex's mouth again, "let's burn that up," he tossed his head toward the petri dish, "and get out of here, okay?"  Then he shook his head, a trace of disgust curling his lip.  "I'm sick of this room."

"Yeah, okay," Lex agreed, his voice still soft but no longer choked.

Clark kissed him again, more deeply than before, doing much to awaken Lex's nerve-endings, and then let him go just long enough to toss the cells into the bin and set them aflame with a look.  As soon as the lid was closed, Clark took Lex's hand in his own and gave him a gentle tug.

"Come on," he said as Lex gazed longingly at the microscope.  "It'll all still be here when it can do us some good."

"Yeah..."

Clark chuckled and shook his head.  "I'm sure you can think up something else to obsess over for a little while."


~


Lex was taking a very long lunch.  At this point, it would have been more accurate to say he was taking a half-day.

The manuscripts regarding the Mayan Legend of the Three Crystals had been much easier to obtain than those protected by Shouchu.  The Metropolis Museum held these papyruses—in fact, that was where Lex had first become aware of their existence as a small boy—and, always looking for sizable donations, and generally willing to be bribed, the director had been more than happy to let Lex study the documents for as long as he wished.

He didn't honestly believe he'd find much new information in them, but looked at it as a refresher course.  Besides, it was the only place he knew of that referenced the third Element—not the one lost in China, but the one lost without a trace—the Crystal of Water, he now knew.

While the other two artifacts were referred to in other texts from other cultures—even distant cultures—the Crystal of Water was the biggest enigma of them all.  Referenced in the original legend, but as far as he knew, never again spoken of by any documented culture, it seemed to be truly lost in antiquity.  While frustrating, it did, in a way, make him feel safe.  The Crystal of Air, lost in China a millennium ago and mentioned frequently in both religious and secular texts, he believed could conceivably be found by a sufficiently obsessed and well off devotee of the legend—someone like himself, for instance—and, in fact, it apparently had been.  But the Crystal of Water was, as far as he could tell, an impossibility.  Unless some new information came up—an archaeological find of great magnitude—Lex thought it very unlikely that another interested party would ever find it before Lex and Clark could.  They, at least, had Jor-El and a working knowledge of the Kryptonian language.  No one else probably even knew the symbol on the stone meant ‘water.’

There was a tentative knock on his door and Lex heard himself let out a quiet growl of irritation.  He was trying to concentrate!

"What?" he snapped in the general direction of his office's double doors.

One came open slowly and Lex's kitchen-assistant-cum-espionage-agent stood in the gap.  "Mr. Luthor, sir?"

Lex rolled his eyes and returned his focus to the manuscript.  "What is it, Sebastian?" he asked with no small measure of annoyance.  "I'm quite busy."

"Yes, sir.  I'm sorry, sir."  Just the same, he walked into the room and closed the door behind him.  "It's just that..."

He waited a moment, then finally looked up, letting every iota of his irritation at the interruption show on his face.  He flipped a hand up quickly in impatience.  "What, Sebastian?"

The man's back straightened into a more professional posture and he tucked his hands behind his back military style.  "There are no documents in the predetermined pick-up point, sir.  I have a meeting this evening, and..."

Lex stared at him for a few seconds, not comprehending, then suddenly realized what he was talking about.  "Oh.  Right."  He got up and crossed to the cabinet in his office, rifling through for the correct folder.  "I hadn't gotten around to giving them to—" he cut himself off before he could utter Marcia's name, and yanked the proper folder from its place.  "Here," he said, locking the drawer behind him, "just take them."

He held them out even as he settled back into his chair, and Sebastian walked around the desk to gather his ration of misleading reports to pass on to Lex's father.

Lex was already engrossed in the manuscript again before the folder was completely out of his hand, and he focussed on the faded portion in the upper-left hand corner, wondering if the restorer he used would be able to do a better job than the one the museum had on staff.

"Oh," Sebastian said from beside him, where he was apparently still standing.

Lex let a moment pass, then looked up at him when he said nothing more and still did not leave.  He expected to find the man looking at the information in the folder, having found something not to his liking or otherwise surprising, but instead found him looking over Lex's shoulder with great curiosity.

Lex's eyes narrowed and he began to move a nearby LuthorCorp report over the ancient document.  "Was there something else?" he asked icily.

"I just... excuse me, sir, but did you design the paperweight for your father?  It's very intriguing."

Growing evermore impatient, Lex glared at him in confusion and annoyance.  "What?" he asked sharply.  "What ‘paperweight’—what are you talking about?"

Sebastian gestured timidly at the document under Lex's elbow.  "That one, sir.  With the strange symbol on it.  I was wondering what it meant."

Momentarily stunned, Lex only gaped at him, and then his head whipped to the left to ensure Sebastian was indeed referring to the very document Lex was studying—the one with the artist's rendering of the Crystal of Water on its face.  Insufficiently heedful of its age and brittleness, he snatched it from his desk.  "This?  Are you saying you've seen this before?"

Sebastian seemed taken aback by Lex's vehemence.  "Y-Yes, sir," he nodded.

Lex's heart was in his throat, his ears rushing with blood.  "You say you've seen my father with it?  That he was using it as a—" he blinked at the very thought, holding back an inappropriate bark of laughter, "a-a paperweight?"

"Yes, sir.  He's very fond of it, sir," he added, as if to compliment Lex's taste in gifts.  "He was afraid, in fact, that I might break it."

Lex couldn't believe what he was hearing.  He knew his mouth was gaping and his eyes were wide with awe, but he couldn't stop himself.  "You touched it?"

"Yes, sir."

"This symbol?"  He held the document fiercely before Sebastian's eyes, letting the whole of it fill his vision.  "You're absolutely sure?"

Sebastian took half a step back, blinking rapidly at the sudden closeness of the drawing.  "Yes, sir," he said again, sounding utterly mystified by Lex's fervor.  "I held it in my hands.  I felt where the symbol is cut into its face.  It was very memorable; I'm sure it was the same object."

Lex pulled the document back to himself, and flipped it around to look at it in amazement.  The Crystal of Water.  Lost forever.  No trace.  Impossible to find.  "My god."

"I'm sorry, sir," and he did, indeed, sound regretful for any distress this information caused.  "Is there a problem?"

"Where did you see it?" he demanded.  "Was it in his office?  At the LuthorCorp building?"

"Yes, that's right, sir."

Lex couldn't help but grin, shaking his head at his luck, his pulse still racing.

"Shall I ask Mr. Luthor—?"

"No!" Lex said, far too emphatically, as he whirled on his double agent—his wonderfully productive, wonderfully clueless, best-damn-investment-he'd-ever-made double agent—once again.  "No, don't say a word.  Not a word!"

"I-I see," he said, though he plainly didn't.  "Very well, sir."  With a little nod of acknowledgment, he turned, folder in hand, and began to leave.

"Sebastian," Lex called after him before he'd reached the door.

He turned, the picture of propriety.  "Yes, sir?"

"The next time you happen to see my father... take note of where he's keeping the... paperweight.  Don't ask," he rushed to amend, closing his eyes briefly.  The situation was so delicate.  The luck was so unbelievable.  The last thing he needed was for the whole thing to be blown by a man on the inside who didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.  "Just... let me know where it is.  All right?"

"As you wish, sir.  But, if I may, sir...?"

"Yes?"

"Unless he's moved it since I saw him last, he keeps the paperweight on his desk, sir.  On... a stack of papers, in fact."

Lex couldn't help it.  He laughed aloud.

Even Sebastian's normally impenetrable mask of civility cracked, and he fixed his employer with a most curious look.


~


Lionel was becoming uncomfortably frustrated with being unable to bring Lex down, or to even make much of a dent in his son's misguided plans for the company Lionel had built with his own two hands.

All of his most meticulously thought out ideas were falling apart in his lap: His man at OSHA, tipping him off to the scheduled surprise inspection; his man at the Smallville plant sabotaging a processing pipe at just the right moment; his contact at the local news station pulling the story ‘accidentally’ to the top of her pile instead of burying it in Other News as her producer had instructed...  Every step brilliantly implemented, a public relations disaster building just as he had planned it, and yet the effect had been quickly muted by a botched agreement with Tobias Manning.

How was Lionel to know that Manning would pick a crazed environmentalist zealot for the task who, rather than carry out a simple kidnapping and issue the personal threats that had been agreed upon, would hold a gun to his son's head and tell him to say his last prayers?  Lionel had been furious at the misstep, prepared to snap necks over the thought that the life of his only legitimate heir had nearly been snuffed out by such incompetence.  But Manning took it in stride; he hadn't seemed at all bothered by the fact that Lex could have been killed.  Lionel, in fact, wasn't sure that hadn't been the man's plan all along.

He knew, too, that Lionel was in no position to have him taken care of—not anymore.  Manning was deep underground and Lionel didn't have the influence he used to.  All in good time.

Then, to his great irritation, though not his surprise, Lex had come out of the incident smelling like roses and garnering sympathy everywhere he turned.  It had been an absolute press orgy, pouring praise and pity over his son and LuthorCorp and everything connected with them, and the OSHA violations were forgotten practically overnight.  To add insult to injury, Citizens for a Natural World—a wonderfully helpful and propitious group which Lionel never had any hand in but appreciated nonetheless—had lost their nerve once it was discovered that the madman with the gun had been a member and had claimed he was acting in their name.  They had slunk away from their protests in shame.

The gaffes were setting his teeth on edge.  He detested watching a good opportunity pass him by, and his son's many and varied weaknesses were a fresh slap in the face every time Lionel managed to not... quite... capitalize.

He'd never believed much in Lady Luck, but if she did exist, the bitch appeared to be on Lex's side for now.

This had been a good part of the reason he had thought it might be a good time to tip the scales a bit.  It was one of the reasons—probably the main reason—that he had decided to hone in on his old desire to find the lost Stone of Power.  It was, in fact, much of the reason he now held it in his hands.

Lionel knew that there were very few people in all the world who would even recognize the thing he held in his hands and that the danger of theft was therefore quite small, but since his informer's hasty examination of it, which had caused Lionel's blood to briefly freeze in his veins, Lionel had kept it locked up most of the time just the same—often even when he was near.  Having it out now for personal examination was less a necessity than a somewhat foolish desire to remind himself it was real: He'd found it, and it was his.

Of nearly equal frustration to his being thus far unable to topple his son's minor successes was this thing's mysterious nature.  He still had no idea how it worked, and very little in the way of leads.  Every trail he started down seemed to turn cold almost immediately, as if chilled by his very touch.  He'd been regretting the untimely death of the stone's original finder much more often than he'd ever expected he might.

He clucked his tongue at himself and let his hand, heavy and cold with the Crystal, fall into his lap.

It had been a stupid oversight.  He'd been sure that once he had the Crystal in his own hands, its purpose would become quickly clear, and so there simply was no further use for the stuttering, socially inept explorer.  He'd never imagined it would be so difficult to unlock its secrets.  The most he'd been able to glean from the ancient documents he'd had decrypted was that the stone was supposed to make a man precisely the man he wished to be.  But that was it.  No directions, no details, not even a suggestion of how it was supposed to accomplish this astonishing feat.

Of course, there were others, he was sure—other people with the kinds of minds who could unlock the object's secrets.  There was an autistic savant child in Madison, Wisconsin who could solve any puzzle put before him in minutes, a blind man in India who could quickly decipher and use any object put into his hands, even one he'd never seen nor heard of before, and didn't understand the usefulness of.

There were others.  It was just finding the right one, and securing his cooperation.

Lionel had already obtained the Crystal.  That was the hard part; he'd been looking for the damn thing since before he'd even started LuthorCorp.  Compared to that, the rest of this was going to be a walk in the park.

Stone held securely in one hand, though his nail beds were turning purple from its temperature, Lionel reached across his desk with the other and picked up the phone.  "Mary?  Could you come in here, please?  I have a project I'd like you to work on."

"Should I bring pad and paper, sir?"

"Mm, yes.  I'm thinking of doing some charity work.  Autistic children, the blind—those unfortunate sorts of folks.  I'll need you to do some research."

Her voice changed noticeably, rising in pitch and enthusiasm.  "That's wonderful, sir!  My sister's son is autistic and—"

Lionel smiled, slow and slippery.  "Come into my office, Mary.  We'll chat."


~


"Your father has it?"

Lex nodded.

"How—?"

"I have no idea.  I spent all afternoon poring over LuthorCorp records, but if he used any company resources or staff to search for it, he hid the evidence quite well."

Lex didn't say anything more, knowing from his own experience that it took a minute to process this information.

When they'd decided to make an effort to find the two missing Crystals, Lex had been sure their best chance was to find the one thought to be lost in China: It had a trail.  It was conceivable someone might have figured it out and found it.  Lex had been certain that the one ‘touched by human hands’ must have been that one.

The other, lost in antiquity along with the ancient Mayans, was a much more nubilous enigma.  While locating the Crystal of Air would surely be akin to putting a 3D puzzle of a strange alien structure together in the dark, finding the Crystal of Water was, Lex was sure, going to be more like putting a twelve dimensional puzzle of an abstract idea together in the dark without the benefit of puzzle pieces or opposable thumbs.

In that way, the fact that it was the Crystal of Water that had already been found was an incredible stroke of luck and made their task exponentially easier.  This was the thing that had made Lex laugh when he'd first learned of its location.

But as soon as it had settled into his mind that the person who had the Crystal was the last person in the world that should be made privy to Clark's origins, the nature of the Crystals, or Lex's involvement in any of it, was the very person who had held the object in his hands and made the Crystal of Fire scream its displeasure... well, Lex hadn't felt like laughing anymore.

Clark was still wrapping his mind around these various attributes of the news, and Lex waited patiently for all the lines to be drawn.  He couldn't have claimed to be surprised when Clark showed no signs of amusement.  He knew how much Clark would have preferred the other two Elements remained lost forever.

"How can you be sure?" he finally asked.  "Did you see him with it?"

"Sebastian saw it.  It was on my father's desk."  Lex smirked.  "He claimed it was a paperweight."

The tentative relief in Clark's expression was immediately palpable.  "So you can't be sure.  He could have been mistaken."

Lex shook his head, slowly.  "I don't think so, Clark.  Sebastian saw a rendering of the drawing in some of my research.  He thought I'd actually had the Crystal designed as a gift for my father.  He didn't realize the age or the significance of the documents."

"But how do you know he's telling the truth?  What if he just wants you to think your father has it?"

Lex fixed him with an indulgent look.  "And why would he do that?  He didn't even know I was looking for it.  He doesn't even know what it is.  He saw the drawing by accident and remembered the glyph he'd seen in my father's office.  That's all.  It's a lucky happenstance, Clark."

"Lucky?" he scoffed.  "I don't think Lionel Luthor possessing a Stone of Power can be counted to the good, Lex."

"You're right."  Lex took two steps closer to him.  "We should get it out of his hands as quickly as possible."

Clark nervously took half a step back.  "Well, wait a minute.  How are we supposed to do that?  I don't want to get his attention.  We don't need him connecting that Crystal to us."

"He doesn't have to.  I can have it taken from him by a third party."

"Like who?  Like Sebastian?"

Lex shrugged a general agreement and Clark laughed a dry, harsh laugh.

"And you don't think he'd connect that to you?  Sebastian does work in your house, Lex.  Your father isn't a stupid man."

"You don't think I know that?" Lex said more sharply than he'd meant to.  He understood Clark's displeasure with the situation, and knew the irritation wasn't really meant for Lex directly, but it was hard not to take his derision personally.  "I'd be sure the evidence implicated someone else, so that Sebastian wasn't suspected."

"And what about that someone else, Lex?  What if he convinces your dad it wasn't him?  Or—god—what if he can't convince him and Lionel—"  He choked off, his eyes getting wide, his brow drawing tight, unable to finish the thought.

Lex swallowed against the urge to lie.  "All right," he said instead.  "Well, what do you want to do?  Get it yourself?  I could have Sebastian verify its location, and at the right moment, you could use your speed to take it, and no one would have to be implicated.  It would be a mystery."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest and Lex tried very hard not to growl in frustration.  "I'm not breaking in and stealing that thing."

"What ‘stealing’?" he growled, despite his best effort at civility.  "It's your property!  It was put here for you!"

Clark spun away, his hair whipping behind him.  He took a few steps, then came to a stop.  One arm fell to his side, the other bent in front of him, out of Lex's sight, and his head drooped, shaking minutely.

Lex's frustration softened at the sight of Clark's curved back.  "Look," he said gently, "I'm sorry.  I know you don't want to have to deal with this.  I know you wish you'd never heard of the Crystals.  I know you wish they didn't exist, or that they were impossible for anyone to ever find.  For your sake, I wish it was that way, too."  He walked closer, his tread light.  "But it isn't.  And as much as you hate it, the fact is, you have got to deal with it.  You can't leave these things in the hands of human beings.  Especially not ones like my father, but not any human beings."

Clark glanced back over his shoulder, confused.  It was only as he turned that Lex realized he was clinging to his pendant with his right hand.

Lex glanced at his desperate grip, its intensity measuring Clark's anxiety, then met his gaze.  He noticed Clark's befuddlement over Lex's statement, and shrugged.

Lex was discomfited by his own certainty, which seemed to have no distinct basis in experience or knowledge, yet nonetheless overwhelmed him with its insistence.  "Don't ask how I know, all right?  I just do.  I feel it.  I'm sure of it.  It's dangerous, Clark.  We're dangerous.  You have to get it back—you have to get both of them back.  No matter what you do with them, you've just got to get them out of our hands."

"Well, what do you think he's gonna do, Lex?  He has the Crystal, that doesn't mean he knows how to use it."

"But what if he does?"

"Do you have evidence that he knows how to use it?"

"No, but—"

"Then I think we should just watch him.  I think we should wait and see what happens."

"Clark—"

"Look," Clark turned and spread his arms, finally releasing his necklace, "you don't know that he's got some nefarious intention.  You don't know that this isn't just an archaeological find.  We should wait and see what he does with it.  Maybe he'll donate it to a museum or sell it to a collector, or maybe he'll just lock it away in a safe along with a bunch of diamonds and precious gems and bank bonds.  It could just be a trinket to him."

Lex's jaw hung loose.  It hadn't occurred to him that it was even a possibility for a person who knew his father to not assume the man was constantly up to no good.  He was astonished by the lengths Clark was willing to go to in order to fool himself.

"You can't be serious.  My father?  You're telling me you really believe—"

"Lex," Clark took a step forward, his hands out palm up as if in offering, "you said yourself that your dad was keeping the thing out in plain sight.  As a paperweight, right?"

"That was Sebastian's impression, yes."

"Well, think about that.  There's only two reasons he would do that, right?"  He ticked them off on his fingers, "Either he doesn't know what it is, how important it is, what it can do... or..." he paused, eyebrows arched in expectation, until Lex picked up the thread.

Lex's jaw tightened, his eyes dulled.  "Or he purposefully put it out there for Sebastian to see," he finished, his tone flat and disappointed.

Clark's expression smoothed, and he nodded slowly, his arms falling back to his sides.  "So I think the question we need to ask ourselves is: Are we sure your dad doesn't know Sebastian's working for you?  Are we absolutely positive that he's not setting a trap?  Because if he is, I don't think we should take the bait.  And if he isn't, then it probably means he doesn't know what he's got, and it's not really a dire situation."

Lex's lips thinned to a pale line, his head shaking minutely, his eyes darting to and fro as he thought it through, and finally he turned viciously away.  "Damn it," he spat.  He crossed back to his desk and leaned his fists on it, watching them go white as he put all his tension into them.

"Look, Lex, personally I think it's more likely that he just doesn't realize what he's got.  And if that's true, then he might try to unload it somewhere else.  If he does that, well..." he trailed off, and Lex glanced over his shoulder to find Clark looking supremely uncomfortable.  "W-Well, then, I don't know, we can think about getting it from there.  But the point is that it won't turn Lionel's attention onto us.  You've told me yourself we have to be careful around him.  The only reason he hasn't exposed us to the press is because of what you have on him from when he was running the company.  I don't want to give him any more reason to do it—or anything else to expose.  And, well, if it really is a trap, then taking it now will mess up your plans, won't it?"

Lex looked forward again, clenching his jaw, saying nothing.

Since Clark had expressed his displeasure at how Lex had used Sebastian to nearly destroy his father, Lex had backed off enough to only keep his dad in line, but not take the final steps to completely castrate him professionally or politically.  But despite the slightly lighter hand, Lex was continuing to use Sebastian's services to keep abreast of his father's activities, and to give him a small handful of wrong-headed business leads to follow.  Lex wouldn't crush him, but he'd continue to give him every opportunity to do it to himself, letting him slowly destroy his own reputation one bad deal at a time, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let him get a foothold on LuthorCorp again.

But he had made a point of not mentioning even these lighter cloak-and-dagger activities to Clark.  The subject obviously made him uncomfortable, he'd certainly made his opinion clear on it already, and Lex was capitulating to him to the extent he believed he reasonably could.  So while Clark didn't strictly know what he was talking about, he was nonetheless quite right.

"Yes," Lex answered reluctantly, his gaze fixated on a blank spot on the far wall.  "Sebastian would become useless and at the moment I don't have another way in."

"Right.  So—"

Lex spun on his heel and cut him off viciously.  "Just because you happen to be right about that, Clark, doesn't change the fact that the real reason you don't want to act on this is because you don't want to deal with the Crystals.  You're avoiding your Kryptonian heritage with the enthusiasm of a zealot, and if you didn't have a good reason to do so, you'd invent one.  So don't think you're going to convince me that your hesitance has anything to do with ensuring the usefulness of my interdepartmental mole."

Clark's eyes widened only slightly, and then he looked down at his feet.  He said nothing, the silence as loud an admission as any words he could speak.

Lex watched him for a moment, then sighed in a form of defeat and looked away, trying and failing to appreciate the way the late winter sunlight struck the stained glass window.  "Okay," he said quietly, because he had no choice.  "So we wait."

"Thanks," Clark mumbled.

Lex only shook his head.


~


It was getting easier to master his powers as he discovered them.  Either that, or Clark was just extra-focussed because he didn't want to think about anything else at the moment.

He sat at the kitchen table, alone, using his microscopic vision on a glass of milk.  He'd learned in the past several minutes that milk was very boring at the microscopic level.  It just looked like a bunch of fat little bubbles.

But he'd started with bread and was chagrined to find that a slice looked like a bunch of lumps of crystal at the microscopic level, which was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about.  Boring milk bubbles were infinitely preferable.

He'd zoomed in and out of this particular glass of milk so many times that he no longer had any interest in drinking it.  It felt like he'd just be drinking a glass of boring bubbles.

Clark sighed and stopped using his new microscopic vision, instead falling heavily into the back of his chair.  It had been a rough couple of days.  At the moment, what he really should have been doing was studying, but he was counting on his eidetic memory and would just cram at the last minute instead.

His parents were off trying to get new clients for the upcoming season like they did every year about this time, and though he'd at first been glad for it, because he'd thought he needed time to himself to think, now he would have given just about anything for some company.  And, though he felt guilty about it, he didn't want to go to Lex's for it.  Not now.

Yes, it was a blessing to have found someone who could accept Clark's differences so readily; for a long time, he'd thought that kind of acceptance was impossible.  But because Clark himself often had a hard time adapting when things got really weird, it could also be strangely stressful.  Lex was just too good at the alien stuff sometimes, and Clark had to find some time alone to freak out.  It was reassuring, however, to know that Lex would be there, ready to run headfirst into the bizarre, just as soon as Clark got his mettle together.

He ran a hand through his hair from the crown to the base of his neck, then pulled it over his shoulder.  Idly, he measured it against his chest, pulling it taut with his fingers and pressing the lowermost edges against his torso.  The longest strands had reached his third rib now.  He guessed that at some point, he'd have to consider letting his mom trim it, symbolism be damned.  He didn't want to become one of those people who had to move their hair out of the way before they sat down.

A gentle knock at the door startled him out of his reverie, and he tossed his hair behind him, affecting a careless air.  He always felt a little strange about other people seeing him admiring it—even his parents.  Only he and Lex fully understood the meaning of Clark letting his hair grow ever since he felt he'd found himself, and Clark didn't even mess with it much around Lex—rather, he let Lex do it, which was infinitely more enjoyable anyway.

He crossed to the door somewhat reluctantly, feeling guilty about the fact that he kind of hoped it wasn't Lex.  He loved him, of course, and maybe he was supposed to want to be with him all the time, but right now he just needed a little distance.

His enhanced hearing, however, told him that the heartbeat on the other side of that door did not belong to Lex Luthor.  Clark's eyebrows arched in an expression of surprise when he recognized it, and he pulled the door open.

"Lana," he said with a pleased smile.

She stood on the stoop, smiling in a friendly, open way, her coat closed and her hands in her pockets.  It was still cold outside despite the lack of snow, and though she wore a wool hat over her short ’do, it didn't quite cover the tips of her wind-nipped ears.

"Hey."

"Come on in!" he exclaimed.  "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

Lana shivered as she took her coat off and tucked her gloves and hat into it.  Clark hung it on a hook and gestured her to take the seat across from his neglected glass of milk.  "You want something to drink?  Tea or something?"

"Nah, I'm fine," she waved him off.

Clark settled into his original chair and slid the glass out of the way.  "So, um..." he spread his hands briefly, then clasped them together again, "what's up?"

Lana shrugged, still smiling her friendly smile.  "Nothing really.  I guess I was just hoping maybe we could hang out for a while.  I feel like we don't see each other much anymore."

"Wow."  Clark blinked at her.  "Lana, seriously?  Best timing ever."

She giggled.  "Yeah?"

"I was just sitting here thinking I could use some company.  My parents are off making the rounds, Pete's with Chloe as usual... and, honestly, I figured you were probably working."  He paused.  "Um... or, you know, with Brad," he added reluctantly.

Lana offered a small smile, but said nothing about his hesitation.  "Listen, about Brad..."

"Lana," Clark shook his head, ready to say there was nothing to be done about their antagonism, ready to deny all over again that he was responsible for it himself, but she didn't let him go on.

"No, listen," she said.  She reached across the table to take his hand in her chilly fingers.  "I know that you and Brad really don't get along," she shrugged, "and I guess there's nothing I can do about that.  But I want you to know that you're still my friend, and even if the two of you were mortal enemies, you'd still be my friend.  Okay?"

Clark smiled softly, and nodded.  "Yeah.  Okay, Lana."

"But I have to tell you something...  I don't know, maybe you heard, but you and I haven't discussed it."

He gave a small shrug.  "What is it?"

She let go of his hand and leaned forward onto the counter on her forearms instead.  Clark leaned forward, too, mirroring her.  "You know I'm not going to college."

Clark swallowed down his protests.  "Yeah."

"Well, Brad isn't, either.  He wants to open a business in town.  I have the Talon, and..." she trailed off and shrugged.  "Well, we've decided to make a go of it together.  Here in Smallville."

Clark blinked.  Unable to help himself, he glanced down at her left ring finger, found it blessedly bare, then met her gaze again.

She glanced down, at first as if not sure what he'd been looking at, and then she blushed when she realized.  "No, not that," she said through a breath of a laugh.  "Not that, but...  We're going to be moving in together.  After graduation."

"Oh."

"The apartment above the Talon has been empty for years.  I've been fixing it up."

"You're moving into the Talon?" Clark asked with some incredulity.

"No," Lana said dully, lifting an eyebrow.  "We're moving into the apartment above the Talon."

Clark was taken slightly aback by her apparent offence, and he sat back and lowered his gaze briefly.  "Oh."

"I haven't actually run this by Lex yet, because I wanted to tell you first.  But I don't think there'll be any problem, because that apartment is included in our contract, and I'm allowed to rent it out or use it however I see fit."

Clark only nodded.

"I... haven't exactly been keeping this a secret.  I thought you might have already heard from Chloe or Pete."

He shook his head, trying to keep his mouth from pulling into a frown.

Lana sighed.  "I know you're not fond of each other.  But, Clark, this is what I want to do.  I... was hoping that maybe you'd be happy for me."

For a moment, Clark did his damnedest to try to offer her a smile, but all he seemed able to manage was a grimace, and he gave up.  He looked at his own hands clasped on the table.  For once, he realized he couldn't do it.  He couldn't keep his mouth shut.  "I think," he mumbled without looking up, "that you're making a bad choice."

"I can accept that."

There was no pause or hesitation in her answer, and Clark looked up at her with surprise.

She offered him a brief, tiny smile, and then her expression became somber but friendly.  "If you can accept that it's my choice to make."

Clark weighed her gaze for a long time, its steadiness, its certainty, its pride.  Lana might have been wrong in Clark's opinion.  But one thing was clear: She was sure.

"Okay," he breathed.

"Okay?"

He nodded and swallowed the rest of his disagreement and disapproval.  She knew how he felt, she acknowledged it, but she wanted him to let her make her own decisions.  Well, okay.  He could do that.  It was difficult to step back and let her make a mistake, but if that was what she really wanted, he could do it.

Clark smiled as well as he could.

Lana seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.  "Good," she said emphatically.  "Now that that's out of the way..." and this time she smiled for real, "let's get out of here and go do something fun!"

Clark's smile became real, too, as Lana popped out of her seat and headed for her coat.  It was good, at least, to know that even though they might disagree about the most essential other parts of their lives, Lana was still just as dedicated to keeping their friendship intact as Clark was.  There were certain things he'd always have to hide from her, but when it came down to his honest opinion, it was nice to know that he didn't have to fake it on pains of losing her.

He got out of his seat just in time to help her on with her coat and, after dumping out his unwanted milk, and quickly tying his hair back, he followed her out to her car.  The only thing left to argue about was choosing between the ice skating rink and the cinema.


~


Lex leaned back in his office chair, his laptop having long since moved from an active screen to a screensaver to the pitch black of stand-by mode.  He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, following various options through to their inevitable conclusions in his mind, silent and still and blinking only seven times per minute.  It was difficult to judge the passage of time when so completely engrossed in the consideration of a single subject.

His focus, as it often had been this last week, was the Crystal of Water—the one his father held, the one Clark had no interest in obtaining, the one for which they'd decided to ‘just wait and see.’

But just waiting and seeing was simply not something Lex seemed capable of doing when it came to the Kryptonian artifacts, and so he found himself in this situation on a regular basis: Thinking, scheming, planning, and utterly absorbed in the how and the when of getting to Clark that which was foreordained for him.

While pleasantly surprised that the stone was so close, Lex was terrified at the prospect of it being held in his father's hands.  He hadn't gotten much solid information from the one surviving legend regarding the use of the Element, but what he had managed to glean—that somehow this thing could literally make a man precisely the man he wanted to be, however that might have occurred—did not fill him with hope for his father's possible courses of action if he should somehow figure out how to use it.

He knew he had to get it out of his dad's hands immediately, if not sooner.  Lionel Luthor was a wily and determined man and, more than this, he was desperate.  Stripped of his position, his power, most of his wealth, Lex knew he'd do anything to get back on top, and if he honestly viewed the stone as useful, he would surely pour everything he had into getting the thing to work.  He'd obviously dug his heels in just in order to get hold of the Crystal to begin with.  Because if there had been one of the three that was likely to remain lost forever, Lex had been sure that would have been the one.  But his father, somehow, had found it.

Lex had spent no small amount of time wondering just exactly how his father had managed to do that.  But at this moment, specifically, he was wondering whether it was possible that he could get hold of the Crystal without Clark knowing.

Yes: He could hide it in the safe in the panic room until the appropriate time—until Clark was ready to deal with the situation himself.

An ugly shudder trickled down Lex's spine and he felt oddly nauseated.

No.  Definitely not.  He didn't want possession of the thing for any length of time.  It wasn't his to keep, not even temporarily, not even locked away in a safe.  He didn't want it that close to him.

He wondered if perhaps Jor-El would let him into the place where the Stones were kept, to store it there without informing Clark.  Or, if it was unacceptable to allow a human into this place for even a moment, then perhaps Jor-El could just take the thing from him, use his strange Kryptonian forces like a hand to pluck it right out of Lex's grasp, and put it where it belonged on the Altar of Knowledge, alongside the Crystal of Fire Clark had already sepulchred there.  It would be safe, and reserved for Clark's use whenever he was ready to use it and, most importantly, it would be out of Lionel Luthor's greedy, dangerous hands.

Lex reached into his pocket to feel the outline of his new key, legs already tensed to get out of the chair.  He would send his father away on an errand, he would search his office from top to bottom, he would find the Crystal, and he would take it to Jor-El.

Then he came to his senses and sat down.  Firmly.

"Ridiculous," he muttered.

Even if he was able to steal the Crystal from his father in such a crass manner, it would be obvious that he had done it, and it would turn Lionel's attention to Lex, and possibly even to Clark, which they couldn't afford.  And even if he was somehow able to acquire the Element without alerting his father to the fact that it was him who had taken it, walking into the caves with a Stone of Power in his hand, he'd be lucky if Jor-El didn't strike him dead with a bolt of alien-powered lightning.

If anyone was going to get that Crystal out of his dad's hands without turning his attention on Lex or on Clark, it would either need to be Clark, moving at his top speed, plucking it out of his father's very hand and likely making him think he'd gone mad, or it would need to be someone with no discernible connection to Lex, and preferably a someone with a discernible connection to someone else—someone far away and with great influence; someone his father could conceivably suspect of interest, access to information, and the power to do something about it; and, ideally, someone who was very difficult to track down.

Someone attached to a crime syndicate—the Mob, the Yakuza, the Triads—a high-ranked individual who has been underground for years, and rumoured separately to be both dead and powerful would be perfect.  In fact, Lex had a specific Oyabun in mind already.  No one had heard from him directly in three years, and yet his position in the hierarchy remained suspiciously unfilled.  His Yakuza family also continued to be one of the most influential inside Tokyo, and his subordinates had long since taken to referring to him as Yuurei Kumichou—the Ghost Boss.

The problem, of course, was the time it would take to set something like that up.  Lex didn't think he had the patience for it, and he wasn't sure he could safely take the time to do it right, leaving the stone in his father's hands all the while.  Knowing some basic information about the Yakuza was one thing—anyone with a business as influential as LuthorCorp which had any ties whatsoever to Japan had some basic working knowledge of the crime syndicate there—getting a person inside the Yakuza, or getting at a person already inside in order to frame the organization was a whole other ball of wax.  Not to mention that while setting his father up to blame an important and dangerous leader of an important and dangerous organized crime syndicate for a theft they didn't commit would briefly get his dad off his back, in the end it would probably cause Lex way more trouble than it was worth.

While his mind continually swirled around complex plots to get the Crystal and yet not his father's attention, he kept foolishly returning to Sebastian.  The man had seen the Crystal.  He'd held it in his hands.  He had more access to Lionel Luthor than Lex could have ever dreamed.  He sometimes wondered, in fact, just how long Sebastian had been spying on him before he'd been discovered in order to have that kind of easy ingress.

It was tempting.  If Sebastian could swipe the Crystal without Lionel realizing it had been him, or ever suspecting it had been him, Lex was home free.  If, on the other hand, Sebastian managed to screw it up, get caught, and then stupidly told the truth about who set him up to do it, he'd lose his informant and attract his father's very unwanted attention.  At the very least, maybe he'd still be able to keep Clark out of it.

Lex sighed and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the situation.  Anyone else.  If it had just been anyone else who had discovered that damn thing, Lex would have had exponentially fewer problems.  A scientist, a treasure hunter, a crazed code-cracking nutjob—anyone!  He could have had the Crystal taken, and disappeared into the night leaving not a clue behind as to who was responsible for the theft.  6.4 billion people in the world and it had to be Lionel Luthor.

Not that it would matter in terms of its use, of course, only in terms of how easy or difficult it was for Lex to get the thing to Clark.  It wouldn't matter who had found the Crystal or in whose possession it finally rested; left in any human's hands, it would drive them mad with power, desperate for the other two pieces of the puzzle, impelled to destroy, pillage, and murder for the chance of dominion over—

Lex gave himself a mental shake to stop the sudden torrent of worst-case scenarios.  What the hell was he thinking about?

Clark had never said any such thing would occur if a human were to hold one or more of the Crystals.  He'd said they had some powers, and that they might not be a good thing for a power-hungry person like Lex's father to possess, but he'd never said anything about the objects somehow driving good men to kill.  Where was Lex getting this stuff?  And why was he so certain that he was right?

Even when he stopped himself, told himself he was being foolish, letting his imagination run away with him, he didn't quite believe it.  He was right.  The Crystals would turn any man to ultimate evil.  He knew it as surely as he knew his own name, as surely as he knew the sun would rise in the morning.  But why?  And how?

A persistent knock on his office door brought it to Lex's attention that someone had been knocking repeatedly for quite some time, and he'd been ignoring it, lost in thought.  "What is it?" he asked impatiently.

The door opened a crack and Marcia stuck her head in.  "Mr. Luthor?  The helicopter is waiting."  She glanced around as if searching for whatever it was that was holding his attention, then looked chagrined when she couldn't find it.  "They expected to take off twenty minutes ago, sir.  Should I... tell them you're on your way?"

"Helicopter?"  Lex looked at her without comprehension for a few seconds, then glanced at his desk, where his briefcase was closed and waiting patiently.  In a rush, it came to him.

"The investors’ meeting!"  Lex leapt to his feet and grabbed the case, several other, less important papers flying off the desk in his haste.  He ignored them as they fluttered to the floor, focussed on getting out the door as quickly as possible.  "Damn it, why didn't someone tell me I was late?" he snapped.

Marcia blinked in obvious confusion as he hurriedly brushed past her.  "I did, sir.  This is the third—"

"Tell them I'm coming.  Call Polly at headquarters and tell her to stall.  Bad weather or something.  And have her serve them coffee—the fair-trade Guatemalan blend.  Mrs. Guge hates—"

"Yes, sir," Marcia interrupted.  She was at his heels, taking in his orders.  "I already called when you said to the last time—"

Lex spun on his heel to face her.  "What?  I didn't tell you to call before."

Marcia had to skid to a stop and take a step back, just barely avoiding running into him.  "Mr. Luthor," she said, with a small measure of irritation coming into her otherwise professional tone, "fifteen minutes ago, I told you you were late and you told me to tell the pilot you were on your way.  Ten minutes ago, I told you you were getting later, and you told me to call your assistant and ask her to stall the investors.  ‘Bad weather,’ you said.  ‘Give them pastries and good coffee,’ you said.  ‘Mrs. Guge laments the quality of coffee available in London,’ you said.  I did as you asked, sir."  She paused, the slight annoyance on her face slowly morphing into concern and perhaps a touch of pity.  "But I would of course be happy to call again, Mr. Luthor, if that's what you would like me to do."

For a moment, Lex said nothing.  He was searching his memory in a panic, certain it would come to him.  It didn't.

He had no memory of saying these things to Marcia or to anyone.  He had no memory of having been told he was late.  All he could remember was that for the last several hours, he'd been sitting in his office, thinking about the Crystal of Water and how to get it out of his father's hands and into Clark's.  If someone had asked him two minutes ago, he would have said he was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he hadn't said a word to anyone—or in fact even seen anyone—in all that time.

But Marcia's confusion and concern were unmistakable.  He didn't think she was lying.  And yet the concept that everything she'd said was true unnerved the hell out of him.

"Oh.  Of course," he said, affecting as well as he could a sudden remembrance of their earlier conversations.  "I was otherwise... engaged.  I had forgotten.  Please," he turned and grabbed his coat from the stand in the hall, then resumed his trek to the rear exit closest to the helicopter's usual landing site, "call again, let her know I've just left.  And..." he searched his brain for further delaying tactics, skittish he would say something else he'd already said, "if they don't already have them, have her hand out the—"

"Last quarter reports, sir.  They have them."

He didn't allow his gait to stumble, heading steadily for the door.  "Very well," he said, his voice crisp and businesslike as he stepped out into the chilly air.  "Just tell her I'll be there soon!" he called over his shoulder, raising his voice to compete with the steady beat of helicopter blades on the lawn.

Marcia gave a quick nod, then turned to reenter the mansion, but Lex didn't miss the expression of disquiet that crossed her features before she did so.

And she was right to be worried, he thought as he settled into the chopper and tried to ignore the feel of his stomach dropping out as it lifted off.  He'd had an experience like this twice in his life before—once after his encounter with Jor-El in the caves, and once in the Egyptian desert—and neither had ended up being good for his health or the health of LuthorCorp.

This time, he was at least able to recognize the signs, and maybe that would give him a chance to do something about it: He was becoming unnaturally preoccupied with something Kryptonian, and he needed to find a way to resolve it, or his mental acuity for everything else in his life would just degenerate.

But this put him into a catch-22 position, because in order to resolve the situation, he needed to get the Crystal out of his father's hands and into Clark's.  But that task, unfortunately, was the very subject of what could swiftly turn into a debilitating obsession.

All he could do was try to figure it out quickly, before the fixation was able to do any further damage.  He didn't understand why the Crystals held such sway over his mind and not over Clark's—who could obtain them much more easily, and for whom they were destined anyway—but he didn't resent the responsibility.  If this was what Kal-El's Chosen was supposed to do, he'd do it gladly.

He just wished he didn't have to do it behind Clark's back.


~


Lex silently berated himself all the way down the hall.

He forced himself to acknowledge everyone he passed, making a concerted and vigorous effort not to let his thoughts run away with him, not to let himself get lost inside his own mind again.

But even as he nodded to the Customer Relations Manager, even as he idly noted that Trisha's desk was clean again since her return from maternity leave and wondered how the hell she managed to complete that volume of paperwork on a daily basis, even as he remembered to smile and look cool and calm because it was encouraging to staff—through all of this, he was also vividly aware that the path he was taking was leading him straight to his father's office.

And he knew exactly what he was going to do when he got there.

This is foolish.  I'm being a fool.  Turn around.  Turn around!

"Cyrus," Lex acknowledged the building's Maintenance Manager, who was on a ladder changing an air filter as Lex walked by.

"Good day, Mr. Luthor."

I have people to look into this for me.  The moment he sees my face, he'll know I know.  I'm showing my hand if I take a single step inside that door.

"Afternoon, Dad."

Christ, Clark is gonna kill me.

Lionel looked up from his phone conversation, his eyebrows arched sharply at Lex's entrance.  "Hm, yes," he said into the mouthpiece, dismissing Lex's presence by lowering his gaze to the desk, showing his concentration on the call.

Recklessly, Lex took the minuscule opportunity to dart his eyes all over the surface of his father's desk, searching for the Crystal or anything that might have held the Crystal.  This first precursory glance yielded no fruit and Lex still had enough control of himself to not look with any more intensity until he had a better opportunity to do so.

When his father spoke again, his voice softened and he slowly smiled and Lex felt his stomach grow cold for whomever was on the other end of that phone call.  "Mrs. McMillan, I am so sorry," he said, slimy with false sincerity, "but something has just come up here and I'm going to have to call you back."

Lex didn't recognize the name.  If he'd been in a better frame of mind, he would have made a mental note to check into it later.  But he wasn't.

"Yes, of course.  Now, you take good care of that son of yours," he said, his tone like that of a matronly schoolteacher, which would have been funny if it didn't make Lex's skin crawl so much.  "He's a very special boy."

As he said this, he turned his swivel chair to look out the window, and Lex had to fight with himself not to twist his head this way and that, searching the office from top to bottom for what he sought so desperately.  He knew his father could see his reflection in the glass, and though it wasn't complete, it was surely visible enough that if Lex made any overt movements, Lionel would notice and become unfavourably curious.

"It was no trouble at all.  I'm glad she's helping.  All right, I'll talk to you soon...  Yes, good-bye."

"Let me guess," Lex said as dryly as he could manage once his father had turned to face him again and hung up the phone, "another illegitimate child?"

Unbothered by the slight, Lionel's slow smile was sly.  A hand rose to touch idly at his right earlobe.  "Charity work," he said glibly.

Lex's left eyebrow rose into a sharp arch.  It was enough that the explanation was all kinds of unlikely, but his father's Ferengiesque tell made it quite clear that whatever it was he was doing, it was diabolical.

"Of course."

Lex knew his response sounded distant, but that was because the reason for the artifact's absence had finally occurred to him.  Yes, it was obvious now.  The Crystal must have been in his father's personal vault: Close by, but locked safely away.  Lex would have done much the same thing himself in his father's shoes.  He found himself wishing he'd moved his dad to an office without a safe.  Though, he supposed that would have just forced him to be more creative about where to store the Crystal, and might have made Lex's task even more difficult than it already was.

It was a monumental struggle not to move his eyes a tiny flick to the left to gaze upon the place he knew the vault was hidden.  Like his own office, it was behind a panel that resembled the walls, but which slid out of the way with the gentle touch of a hidden button.  Behind it would be a touchpad that would accept a six digit code to release the bolts.  Then two full turns of the primary wheel would disengage the re-locking device, and the door would swing easily open without a sound.

"Is there something I can help you with, Lex?  Or have you just stopped by to give me some more," he waved a hand over his desk with an air of utter boredom, "paperwork?"

"Just wanted to stop by and say hello.  Make sure your duties aren't too overwhelming."

At least... he hoped that was where it was.  There were two other possibilities he could think of: His father kept it on him at all times, which could prove unfortunate, or he'd sent it out to have it analyzed.  This last could prove to be quite an inconvenience, but it might actually make it easier to obtain, if only Lex could find out to where it had been sent.  But that information would surely be as well hidden as the Crystals themselves had been.

"Very droll, Lex.  But despite the relative unimportance of my contribution here, I do have rather a lot to do this afternoon.  If you don't mind...?"

Lex gave a small nod and began to turn toward the door.  He didn't see what he wanted in here anyway, and he was in no state of mind to come out well after a verbal sparring session with his father.  "I'll leave you to your work," he said, not a hint of sarcasm in his tone for once, and walked back out the door.

It was easier to leave the room than he would have thought, now that he was seriously considering the possibility that the Crystal might not have been inside.  His obsessive need to obtain the Stone was by no means satisfied, his disappointment at not having seen it sitting atop his father's desk being used as a paperweight just as Sebastian had described quite palpable.  But with something new to consider, Lex's mind was concocting other paths that could bring the artifact to him, and hence to Clark—perhaps something better advised than walking boldly into his father's office and scouring it for evidence right in front of the man.

After he'd been walking down the hall for a bit, thinking, and was slightly more than halfway to the nearest elevator, Lex was suddenly stopped in his tracks by a sobering thought.

That... had been a stupid thing to do.


~


"Wow," Clark breathed as they collapsed onto their backs, covered with sweat, atop the stained, wrinkled sheet.

"Yeah," Lex agreed, trying desperately to catch his breath.  That alien sex thing was never going to get old.  Never.

"God, that was hot."  Clark turned his head, at first numbly, then with some focus, until he could lay eyes on Lex.  "And you know what?"

Lex's head flopped to the right like a dying fish.  "Uh?" he grunted.

"I can't tell you how awesome it is not to have to worry about plastic cups in the nightstand anymore."

Though breathless, Lex laughed hard, wincing with pain at the lack of oxygen, and then having a brief coughing fit when he finally was able to inhale again.

The sex had been a fantastic distraction, and Lex had needed one of those quite badly.  Clark had been in his office, talking to him for at least a full minute, and had said his name three times before Lex had registered his presence.  This was not a good sign.  He'd been like this before and it hadn't led to anything good.  He needed to get a better hold on himself.

He still thought he was doing better than he'd done at similar times in the past.  At least he recognized that he'd been unresponsive.

Lex shook his head at the ceiling.  Here he was, hardly a minute past a spine-tingling orgasm which had made his eyes cross, and already his mind was on his obsession.  ‘Needed to get a better hold on himself,’ indeed.  It was all he could do not to—

"Have you thought at all about getting that Crystal from my father?"

There was a startlingly loud click as Lex's teeth clattered together in astonishment.  He hadn't just asked that question.  He had not, two minutes after they'd had sex, while they were still panting their way down from a height, while Clark was surely still floating in the haze of afterglow though Lex's had bowed to the pressures of his preoccupation, just asked that question.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I was just," Lex shrugged a shoulder jerkily, trying to be casual, "wondering.  That's all."

"Well, right now, Lex, I'm thinking about how much I love it when you kiss me and fuck me at the same time, so, no, I hadn't really been pondering the whole Crystal of Water issue."

Lex turned his head to look at him, but Clark was still staring at the ceiling.  He was shaking his head slightly, his brow softly furrowed, as if flabbergasted by Lex's choice of pillow talk.  Lex couldn't blame him.  But, tragically, it didn't stop him.

"I didn't mean now.  I just meant at all.  We've got to think about it, you know.  We can't just let him keep it.  He isn't trying to move that thing; he's trying to figure it out."

"Oh my god!" Clark exclaimed incredulously, and then he laughed—a deep belly laugh, in fact—as he scraped his long, damp hair out of his eyes.  He shook his head at the ceiling even as he grinned.  "I can't believe we're actually discussing this right now!"

"You don't seem to ever want to discuss it.  Tell me the time, Clark, and I'll bring it up then."

Clark's gaze snapped to him.  He was panting open-mouthed, but the delirious joy that had so recently been in his eyes had almost completely evanesced.  "Later," he said emphatically.  "The time is later, Lex."

Lex finally sat up shakily on an elbow, his strength still only coming back to him in tiny packets.  "But you have been thinking about it?" he asked for clarification.  "You are formulating a—"

Clark sat up to mirror Lex suddenly, all semblance of good humour fleeing from his features.  "Lex, just stop!" he snapped.  "I don't want to talk about this."

"I know you don't," Lex snapped back, "but those goddamn rocks are all I can think about!"

Clark's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flaring with anger.  The flush in his face from his previous elation melded perfectly with his fury.  "Why do you care about the Stones so much, Lex?" he spat.  "Is that what you're really interested in?"

The implication of his words was painfully clear, and Lex's anger and irritation instantly faded into shock.  He stared at Clark, open-mouthed in astonishment, and said nothing.

He didn't have to.  His expression was plenty, and Clark was quickly cowed.  His posture softened where he leaned on his elbow on the mattress.

"Look, I-I'm sorry," he said, his voice much softer.  "Don't think—I mean, I didn't mean that.  It's just..." he trailed off and sighed, and Lex joined him, equally regretful.  "I just don't want to deal with them right now."

"I'm sorry," Lex said, and rubbed at his eyes, still slightly damp with the water that had welled in them when he'd peaked, powerful and sharp and sudden.  "This was a crappy time to bring it up."

"Not just now, Lex.  I mean..."

He trailed off and Lex raised his head to meet his gaze.  Clark looked regretful and pained, and Lex reached out a hand to cup his sweat-damp shoulder in comfort.

Sheepishly, Clark scooted closer, and Lex did the same to meet him halfway.

"It's just that... I'm so tired of trying to live all these different lives," Clark explained gently.  "It's like... I'm trying to prepare for school, even though I don't get how my parents expect us to afford it.  Plus I'm dealing with this thing with Chloe, Pete caught between us, and Lana's boyfriend is just..." he sighed harshly, sounding disgusted.  "Look, I'm sorry.  I know it's important to you; I know you have a hard time with it because of the whole... Jor-El factor and all.  But I just don't want to think about this stupid Kryptonian crap.  Human life is hard enough, and I just..." he waved it off vaguely.  "I don't know, I wish it would all just go away."

All at once, Clark dropped his head forward, burying himself against Lex's body.  His back curved, his knees rising, making him seem smaller than he was, and he curled an arm in between them, under his own chin, even as the other slid over Lex's back.  His damp closeness immediately chased away the last of Lex's vexation.

"I know," Lex sighed.  He wrapped Clark in his arms as he pressed his cheek tightly to Lex's chest.  "And, honestly, Clark, I wish I could make it go away for you."

"For us both," Clark said, his voice muffled against Lex's skin.

Lex smiled softly.  "Yeah."


~


What had often been, in the past, an activity that relaxed him, that he enjoyed, that he looked forward to, was to-day a huge pain in the ass.

There were certain things that Lex was needed for at the Talon as 49% owner, and Lana often did him the courtesy of saving those things up for a few weeks until he had a little time to focus on it.  He had the time, just not the interest.  It had taken three calls and three vague promises to finally pull him away from the scrolls, but she'd managed to talk him into a trip to the Talon to at least sign a few things because, ‘I don't think we'll be getting much business with no electricity.  Seriously, Lex, they're going to turn off the power if you don't sign off on this bill.’

He supposed he'd been letting more than a few things slip lately.  He was cognizant of it, but for the most part, he didn't care enough to stop.  It was more important to get the Element, he knew that for sure.  More important than anything.  Certainly more important than coffee.

He hurried out the back way and into the alley, Lana still shaking her head at his back after he'd blown off her reminder that she was going to need just a few more minutes of his time within the next week if he expected them to stay in business.  If it hadn't been for the amount of time the paperwork would take, Lex might have considered just going ahead and signing the entire operation over to her now.

His gait was increasing in speed, and he was pulling his keys out of his pocket, when he glanced up and had to skid to a stop to avoid running headfirst into Chloe Sullivan.

"Chloe!" he exclaimed with surprise.  "Sorry.  Excuse me."

He tried to walk around her, but she slid easily to her left to block his path.  She smiled at his confusion.  "Do you have a second to talk?"

Lex blinked at her.  "What, here?"

"Here?" Chloe asked innocently, as if she had no idea what he meant.

He stared at her for a moment, but when it became clear she was honestly waiting for an answer, Lex gestured around them with plain incredulity.  "In the alley behind the Talon," he quickly clarified.

"Oh!  Um.  Yeah.  If you have a minute."

Lex eyed her for a moment more, then shook his head with a lack of understanding and shrugged.  "Sure, Chloe," he said, his tone a bit dry.  "What can I do for you?"

"I'm doing a story for the Torch—you know?  Our school paper?"

Slowly, Lex nodded.  "Yeah, I'm aware of it."

"Right.  Well, um... I was just wondering what you thought of this idea to lower the drinking age to eighteen."

Lex's brow furrowed.  "Eighteen?"

"Mm."

"Whose idea is that?"

"Oh," Chloe shrugged, "it's being bandied about.  Politics, you know."

Lex let out a soft scoff.  "Well... if our politicians are spending more time talking about the established drinking age than they are dealing with this dismal economy and the two wars we've got ourselves mired in... then I think, Miss Sullivan, we might be in serious trouble.  And, uh, you can quote me on that."

Chloe grinned widely, which made her look even sweeter than she usually did, and Lex couldn't help but smile crookedly back.  She wasn't exactly his type, but he certainly spent no time wondering why Pete had fallen for her so hard.

"Okay, thanks."

He nodded and started to side-step her, but she moved with him and blocked his progress.  Lex tried not to sigh with irritation.

"Um, so, did you hear that Clark and I made up?"

He smiled softly, finding a glimmer of understanding regarding her annoyingly perky enthusiasm.  "Ah.  Yeah, he mentioned it."

"Who did?"

Lex shot her a confused look and let a beat pass, expecting her to retract the question.  She didn't.  "Clark," he said emphatically, maybe slightly harsher than he'd intended.  "Who else?"

"Oh, right!"  Chloe briefly screwed up her face and rolled her eyes at herself, as if she didn't know why she was being so absent-minded.  "Duh."  They shared a brief chuckle at the lapse.

"Well," Lex gave her a short nod, then started to side-step her again.

Maddeningly, she followed him, blocking his path yet again.  "Chloe," he said through clenched teeth, "listen, I'm not trying to be rude, but I'm really in quite a hurry."

"Oh!"  She jumped in place, her heels or zipper or something making a click as she landed.  "Right!  Sorry."

She finally moved out of his way and let him pass.  "Bye, Lex."

He did his best to offer her a small smile as he went by, though all he wanted to do was shake his head at her antics.  Lex was pretty sure he'd just gotten a taste of his own future: That girl was going to make one hell of an annoying reporter.


~


Lex knew that Clark, had he been asked, would say that he felt in the very core of his being that Lex should not do what it was he was about to do.  But Lex's core felt exactly the opposite.  In fact, every fiber of his body and mind and soul told him that not only should he be doing this, but he probably should have done it much earlier.

The certain disagreement had been why Lex hadn't bothered to ask.  He could tell Clark about it later, if it became necessary, and suffer the consequences then.

It had been well over a month since he'd been given the key, and he actually felt he'd shown remarkable restraint in having not yet used it.  Despite his growing obsession, he had at least been going about his daily duties: He'd gone to work... usually; he'd involved himself as needed in the slow but effective progress of Ceres Terra; he'd more deeply buried the details of Aurora, simply to assuage his own growing paranoia that someone might alight on what it truly was he'd found in that desert wasteland; he'd researched the ancient documents he'd been able to procure from various sources in his hunt, that research now honed in only on the Air Crystal, as it was apparently the only one still lost; for the last few days, he'd even purposefully avoided encountering Sebastian, so as to not be tempted to tell the man to swipe the damn Crystal and be done with it.

But he was uneasy—terribly so.

While he wasn't surprised by Clark's hesitance to do anything about it, or even to remain on the subject for more than a minute or two, Lex was antsy.  His father was a dangerous man.  These Crystals, he knew, he felt deep inside, could increase that danger a thousandfold.  He simply had to get that thing out of his dad's hands.  He didn't even want it in his own hands.

But while Clark had heard firsthand Jor-El's warnings of leaving the Crystals with humans, even he did not fully understand Lex's obsessive need to get the Crystals back to Clark at any cost.  Clark believed, of course, that the danger was real, but he didn't feel it was so imminent—not unless a human had all of the Crystals and could put them together to open the repository.

Because Lex had no insight into the Crystals’ existence much less their abilities before Clark himself had obtained the information from Jor-El and told Lex about it, the fact that Lex's concerns were so much more pronounced than Clark's was confusing—not only to Clark, but to Lex as well.

He couldn't explain it, not even to himself.  He just knew.

In the desert, when he'd held the statue in his hands, he had felt only two things: A powerful urge to get it to Clark immediately, and an immense fear that he wouldn't do so in time.  ‘In time’ for what, he didn't know.  But, instinctively, he knew that if he was robbed, or left alone with the object for too long, some terrible disaster was likely.  He hadn't even known at that point what the statue held—or indeed that it held anything.  He had not understood, not by a long shot, its significance.  Nonetheless... he had known.

The Crystals were Kryptonian, and to Lex that meant he had two options: Get the information from Clark, or get the information from Jor-El.

Well, Clark didn't want to talk about it.

Lex took a step forward, less graceful than he would have liked, and, with trembling fingers, pressed the key into the wall.

It was not wrenched powerfully out of his hand as he had always seen the first key greedily accepted from Clark, but as he approached it, he sensed something like a light magnetic pull, and when he pressed the key home, it felt quite secure, with no danger of falling back out.

He stepped back, his heart racing with anticipation as each symbol on the key began to glow in turn with a soft, yellow light: ‘Kal-El’ ‘has chosen’ ‘The One.’

There was a startling burst of light from all around the edges of the key and the now familiar wind began to emanate, impossibly, from the wall.  Lex noted that its intensity was much less than that which Clark's presence initiated, more like a strong breeze than a whipping windstorm.  He wasn't sure if this was because the programmes written for Clark's human mates were purposefully less powerful, or if it was simply a manifestation of Jor-El's lack of interest.

"Alexander Luthor-El," Jor-El boomed importantly.

Lex muttered the shortened version of his name under his breath in correction, but Jor-El either didn't hear him, or didn't care.

"Kal-El's Chosen, you are welcome in this place."

Lex waited, but that was it: His greeting.  It was remarkably like booting up a laptop: A sound to recognize he's done so, and then it just sits there waiting for him to do something else.

He was slightly chagrined to realize he'd been hoping for something a bit more interactive.  Jor-El always greeted his son with his own questions.  But, of course, Jor-El's interest in Lex was severely limited.  One would assume he'd learned all he needed to know the first time around.

"I have a question," Lex started, speaking with a strong voice and getting right to the point, "about the Crystals of Knowledge."

The answer came without even a hint of hesitation.  "Those objects are not meant for your species.  Do not pursue them."

"I know.  The Crystals are meant for Clark.  I do not wish to possess them."  He said this last more vehemently than he'd meant to.  He shook his head at himself, annoyed at his own intense dislike of the thought of being in contact with any of one of the three Crystals.  Why should he feel so strongly about this?

"You do not wish to possess objects of ultimate power?" Jor-El asked, his tone suggesting quite plainly that he found that hard to believe.

"The Crystals are for Clark—for Kal-El.  I understand that.  I believe in that."

"Then you must also understand that details about their nature is also not meant for you.  I am sorry, Alexander Luthor-El, but I shall not answer your questions about the Crystals of Knowledge."

Lex had to refrain from taking a step forward, feeling suddenly as though Jor-El was about to shut down their communication for good.  But, to his relief, the breeze continued to emanate from the wall, and the key was still alive with light.  "I know where one is," he said, hoping this information would keep the subject alive despite Jor-El's decree.  "I think I can get it."

There was a long, silent pause—long enough that Lex began to wonder if any talk of the Crystals was now simply being ignored.  But finally Jor-El spoke, and Lex understood that it had just taken a while for Jor-El to form a response to what Lex had said; Lex had managed to take him off guard.  "You must inform Kal-El of what you know.  He will obtain the Crystal."

"I've told him.  He doesn't want to act on it."

Again, a long, silent pause.  Then, finally, and with a tone of reluctance, "Does Kal-El wish you to obtain the Crystal and bring it to him as you did the Crystal of Fire?"

"No.  He... doesn't want to act at all, actually.  And, of course," he rushed to add, "I wouldn't want to disobey him."

"You should not defy Kal-El," Jor-El agreed readily.

Lex smirked.  He knew he'd say that.  He was starting to think that Jor-El was a lot easier to understand than Clark had ever thought he was—he was just a programme, and like any programme, he had code to follow.

"I know.  However..." he swallowed, trying to gather his thoughts, still uncertain even now how to broach this subject and how to successfully explain what it was he was feeling.  "I'm finding it difficult to be patient."

"You want the Crystal for yourself.  This is the nature of humans."  Jor-El did not say this as if to offer Lex an excuse, but rather with some measure of disdain.

Lex rushed to correct him, feeling some sting to his pride, as well as a lingering trace of guilt that he didn't understand and couldn't place.  "No, that's not it at all.  I don't want the Crystal.  I want Clark to have it.  Immediately.  I find it difficult, in fact, to concentrate on anything at all except the thought of Clark getting that Crystal.  I-I can't understand it..."  He took a deep breath and let it out in a long, steady sigh, trying yet again to verbalize this ethereal feeling.  "I am absolutely certain that there is some terrible danger in letting the Crystal remain in the hands of a human."

"Humans crave power.  They are violent.  Your concern is not without merit."  There seemed to be some progress being made in the discussion.  That time, when Jor-El had mentioned humans, it was as if he was talking about other humans, and not about Lex.

"No—it's not just that.  I know of course that there is the possibility of something going wrong if a human has one of the Crystals.  But it isn't...  It isn't that vague.  I am certain—certain beyond a shadow of a doubt—that something cataclysmic is going to come of this situation."  He sighed harshly, irritation ratcheting his shoulders upward.  "Not in time or if the situation is just right or if the human is the right mix of power-hungry and intelligent—but quickly and definitely and without exception."

His fists were tight at his sides, and he suddenly flung his arms outward in a helpless gesture.  "I can't sleep at night for fear of this!  It's all I think about; it's all I breathe.  Clark has got to get that Crystal—and the other one, as well—and there is no time to waste!  But I..." he shook his head, "I don't know why I'm so certain.  I don't know why I should be so much more bothered about this than Clark is, and I can't explain it to him—I can't even explain it to myself!  Why isn't he the one terrified at the prospect?  The Crystals are part of his heritage—part of your heritage.  Why should it affect me so much?  Other humans—Clark's adoptive parents—know about this, and though they're concerned, it doesn't begin to approach my obsession with the situation.  Am I—?"  He broke off, not knowing what to ask or how to ask it.

Lex wasn't sure what he expected Jor-El to tell him.  Maybe he would have felt better if he'd known that Kal-El's Chosen was somehow assigned this task: To worry single-mindedly about things like this until they were resolved.  Maybe if Jor-El said that Clark's cells were changing his brain chemistry, too, making him more emotionally sensitive to Kryptonian affairs, he could feel calmer about it, understand that there was a reason why he was so crazed.  The feelings would certainly remain, but with comprehension, they should become more manageable.

But, truthfully, Lex didn't believe Jor-El would say any of these things.  Lex had been obsessed with all things Clark since long before he'd ever been considered ‘Kal-El's Chosen.’  He was sure the reasoning must reside somewhere in his own mind, his own personality.  So perhaps the true reason he had come to Jor-El was simply that Jor-El had more intimate knowledge of Lex's life and mind than even Lex himself did.

Jor-El had seen everything there was to see in there, understood every path, every choice, every mistake, every triumph.  If there was anyone in the universe who could give Lex an answer to the question, ‘Why am I like this?’ it wasn't Lex's father, it wasn't Clark, it wasn't a shrink, and it wasn't even himself.  It was Jor-El.

Troubled by the thoughts of his own mental weakness, his own tendency toward compulsion and obsession, Lex was absolutely nonplussed at Jor-El's response to his tirade.

He said, his voice laced with consideration and maybe the smallest hint of respect, "Your mind is powerful, Alexander Luthor-El.  More so than I could have anticipated."

Lex was dumbfounded.  "I—... I'm sorry?"

"You recall, I'm sure, our first communion?"

He blinked stupidly at the wall.  "You mean the one that stopped my heart, left me bedridden for twenty-four hours, and mentally addled for months afterward?"

There was silence, but it was loud with sardonicism.  "During our communion," Jor-El said, ignoring Lex's pseudo-question, "you saw all that could be extrapolated from your experience.  You saw all which I had sought: Every possible outcome to your life.  Every possible effect of your every possible action.  You saw every connection, you saw every point on your own thread as you have thus far weaved it, and every possibility henceforth."

Lex was nodding emphatically through everything Jor-El said.  "Yes.  Every future.  I remember..." he swallowed, seeing only a confused muddle where he recalled once seeing everything with utter clarity.  "I remember seeing it, but I don't remember what I saw," he finally said, and shrugged.  His lips tightened into a pursed expression of distaste.  "I suppose my mind isn't so powerful after all."

"You do not remember what you saw, Alexander Luthor-El, because your consciousness has been purposefully cut off from the images generated by the communion."

"Cut—excuse me?"

"I required all available information and extrapolation.  My ability to process images and memories has no physical limits.  Yours does not.  The amount of information accessed and generated by the communion is far too vast for your conscious mind to catalogue and maintain.  If it had all been left open to you, you would have quickly lost your sanity.  It was necessary to place walls within your mind, effectively separating your consciousness from the experience."

Lex's palms were out toward the wall, his head shaking in disbelief.  "Whoa, whoa—wait a minute.  You're telling me that you stopped me from remembering all those paths?"  His voice began to rise with impertinence.  "You turned all that clarity into a useless mush?  Do you know how paralyzed I was?" he was beginning to shout.  "I nearly lost my company—!"

"Alexander Luthor-El, it was not my intent to leave the memories a ‘useless mush.’  It was my intent to block the memories completely.  But your mind is stronger than I had expected, and you are able to catch glimpses of that which is hidden behind the walls placed within you.  I am certain that even this limited access caused great distress in your life.  It is quite impressive that you managed to move beyond the mental paralysis at all."

Lex's left eyebrow arched with surprise.  That had sounded dangerously close to a compliment.

"Please understand that if I had known at the time that the walls were not sufficiently opaque, I would have requested Kal-El return you to this place so I could strengthen them.  He did not mention your situation to me until long after the crisis had passed."

There was a long pause, and Lex stood in disbelief, swaying slightly, his jaw loose and eyes wide.  He couldn't believe what he was hearing.  All this time, he'd been sure that the muddled result of his interaction with Jor-El had been his own failing—a lack of mental discipline, the unfortunate imperfection of human recall.

For the first time, he began to understand all that had happened to him since his experience in the caves, and though at first he'd felt anger at being cut off from his own memories, from a part of his own mind, he was quickly beginning to calm, and he could feel a year's worth of irritation and frustration and anger at himself starting to melt away.  There was a reason he couldn't remember what had been so clear for that instant, for that eternity.  And though it was disappointing to learn that he could never fully comprehend what he'd seen and still maintain his sanity, finally understanding the purpose of the lack of access brought him a sense of peace.

"Alexander Luthor-El," Jor-El said after some time, and his voice was soft and more gentle than Lex had ever heard it, "I regret having caused you this torment.  I can, if you would like, strengthen the walls in your mind, effectively hiding the... ‘muddle.’"

Lex took an unconscious step back from the wall.  "Is that necessary?  I would rather..." he trailed off, then decided to be blunt.  "I know Kal-El won't appreciate it if I allow contact between us."

"That is true."  Jor-El didn't sound put out by this fact, he simply acknowledged the accuracy of Lex's statement.  "Because you have been able to move beyond the mental and emotional paralysis caused by having seen your own futures, I believe strengthening the walls is not necessary at this time.  I assume that you have resumed making daily decisions in your life," he said, this last partly a question.

"Yes.  I admit I have an eye more fully on the consequences than I ever used to, but the immobility has passed.  I think, if anything, the memories—muddled or not—have made me better at making choices... or at least have caused me to make better choices."

"Very well."

Lex let a minute pass, absorbing and sifting through all that he had learned, and then he remembered what had brought them to this.  "What exactly does our communion have to do with my being obsessed with Clark getting the Crystals?"

"The disquiet you are experiencing regarding the possibilities of the Crystals remaining in human hands is most likely a vestige of a memory of what you yourself would become if you came into possession of all three Crystals of Knowledge.  When we saw this path together, I was able to sense your... disinclination to the possibility."  It sounded rather disturbingly as though he was trying to be polite.

"‘What I would become’?" Lex felt his throat tighten with muted fear.  "What... what would I become?"

Jor-El waited a while before responding.  "Powerful," he finally said.

An ugly chill shivered up Lex's spine, and he steadfastly refused to ask for elaboration.

"You are correct, Alexander Luthor-El.  The three Elements should never fall into the hands of one human.  Though the danger is considerably less when only one is acquired, dominion of one will inexorably lead to lust for the others.  Eventually, such aspirations could lead the possessor here in an attempt to procure the Crystal of Fire.  This could bring danger to Kal-El, and will certainly put humanity on a path of great peril.  None of the Crystals should remain in human hands a moment longer than necessary."

Lex nodded slowly.  "So you're saying I should acquire the Crystal.  I should get it to Clark immediately."

A long pause went by.  "You should not defy Kal-El."

It was the second time he'd said those words.  But this time his tone was not nearly so confident, and Lex had always been good at reading between the lines.


~


She was thinner than when he'd last seen her, and he was trying not to show any hint of his shock or despair at her sunken cheeks and hollow eyes.  He knew it had been too long since he'd visited.  Even without their father's constant reminders, and Ches's every e-mail ending with, ‘She wants to know when you'll be able to stop by again,’ his sister's thinning face would have alerted him that he'd left too much time between visits.

"Oh, Sebastian," she said, her voice thin and weak, "don't look so guilty.  It's not your fault the food here is so bad."  She smiled, her skin loose and easily stretched.  "I'd keep my weight better if they'd stop serving me lime Jell-O and decaf."

He did his best to chuckle, though the sentiment wasn't coming anywhere near his heart, and he was sure it missed his eyes altogether.  "Sarah... you need to eat."

She tried to roll her eyes at him, but he would have none of it.

"I don't care if the Jell-O is stale and the meat is rubbery and the decaf is tasteless, you need the energy.  I want you to promise me you'll make a concerted effort to eat every bite they put in front of you.  Okay?  For me."  He squeezed her hand gently, its papery thinness held carefully between both of his palms.  "Do it for your little brother."

Sarah let out a small chuckle at his request, an old family joke.

Sarah and Sebastian were fraternal twins.  They had been delivered by crash Cæsarean section when complications arose during delivery, and the first leg the doctor had grabbed had happened to be Sarah's.  It made her technically older by about ten seconds.

"Okay," she said, little more than a breath.  "I'll do my best.  But," she added when he started to let go of her hand, and squeezed more tightly than he would have thought she could, "you have to promise me..." she had to pause to take a shuddering breath, unable to get it all out with one, "...that you'll visit more often.  ’Kay, little brother?"

He smiled for real this time, and nodded his agreement.  "I'll do my best."

Just then, the door opened, and Sebastian looked back over his shoulder.

His sister's husband was standing in the gap, looking vaguely stunned at his presence, and then he bowed his head and stepped back into the hall, the door closing silently behind him.

Ches wasn't the only one who was stunned.  Sebastian couldn't believe what he'd seen: How weary Ches looked, how dark the bruises below his eyes had become, how haggard and worn he was, as if he was slowly hollowing out inside.

A lump rose in Sebastian's throat and he blinked his eyes hard a few times before facing his sister again.

"I'm gonna take off, okay?"

She nodded weakly, offering another wan smile.

"I love you, Sarah."

Her smiled widened ever so slightly.  "Love you, Bastian."

He kissed his sister's sallow cheek and left the room silently, throwing her one last smile before he stepped into the hospital hall.

Ches was sitting in a chair just outside and he got to his feet the moment he saw Sebastian exit the room.  "Hey," he said, his voice hoarse and thin.  "Thanks for coming by.  She misses you."  His Eton accent—the town, though not the college—once posher than posh to Sebastian's ears (indeed, the ears of his entire family) was riddled with sorrow and weariness and, though still dignified, seemed to have lost all its shine and splendor.  He spoke like a man who no longer cared what he sounded like.

Seeing his beloved brother-in-law like this was almost as painful as watching his sister fade away.  Sebastian had always thought of Ches as a brother, not just an in-law.  Ches didn't have any family of his own, and his fierce, undying love for Sarah had brought him into theirs with great ease.

"I know it looks bad," Sebastian said, taking Ches's hand in his own.  "But she's going to be all right.  I'm going to get the money.  You can count on me to take care of it."

Ches only shook his head wearily, ran his hand through his short, messy black hair and scratched at his three day old whiskers, which were beginning to show some hints of grey.  Sebastian remembered a time when Ches wouldn't have been caught dead looking anything less than dapper: Stylish suits, slicked back hair, baby smooth cheeks, immaculate fingernails.  But he'd stopped caring about himself the day Sarah had become ill.  It was all he could do these days to kick up false assurances and a haunted smile when she worried about him.

"It isn't just the money," he said, his once delicate accent further marred with a curling lip.  "Even if we had every last bloody nickel, she's so far down the list that..." he trailed off, his eyes becoming slightly redder than their constant crimson maps, and only shook his head in silence.

Sebastian watched his shoulders slump, his head bow.  His thumb and forefinger pressed briefly, hard, at the inner corners of his eyes, and then he met Sebastian's gaze again, looking resigned and bitter.  He knew Ches was without hope, but Sebastian's certainty was stronger than it had perhaps ever been.  He'd worked so hard for so long, and it was all just around the corner.

"Don't worry about that," Sebastian said, letting his confidence show though he had no intention of explaining it.  "She'll get the heart.  I'll make sure of it."

Ches gave him the slightly confused, slightly suspicious look Sebastian was used to seeing at least once every time they met.  "What does that mean, Bastian?  Eh?  Seems like most of what you say anymore is in some kind of code I can't work out."

Sebastian only gave a little shrug, tight-lipped as usual about his activities regarding his sister's care.  He wanted to give his family some measure of relief and certainty, wanted them to know he'd take care of things, that they could count on him.  But he didn't want them involved, even indirectly, in the cloak-and-dagger activities and black market deals he was engaging in to make that which needed to happen happen.

Since the beginning, he'd done everything he could to improve his sister's situation.  Even before he'd found dishonest work that brought in the kind of money that could really help, every spare penny he'd had was being sent to the family to put toward her comfort.  Ever since the insurance company had cruelly dropped coverage, he'd been almost single-handedly keeping up her care.  His salary—‘payoffs’ was a more accurate word—from the elder Mr. Luthor was just enough to cover the ongoing medical bills.

Most of what was coming in under the table from the younger Mr. Luthor—the man he would have preferred be his only employer—was being used for Sebastian's own payoffs.  The black market was ubiquitous, but he had started his search with no contacts, and it had been challenging and expensive to work his way in.  Now he'd been at it long enough and with enough determination and good old-fashioned hardheadedness that it was just a matter of finding a matching donor and getting the last of the funds together.  Soon his sister would have her new heart, and when she began to live again, Sebastian and Ches and all of them would find their lives again, too.

In his view, the end more than justified the means.  Sebastian would have been hard-pressed to come up with anything he'd be above doing for his twin.

"Just wait," Sebastian said, and gave his brother-in-law's hand a solid shake before letting it go.  "You'll see."

Ches didn't brighten, though he did give a small nod, if just to acknowledge he'd heard.  They walked by one another, Ches to return to his wife's side, where he spent the majority of every day, and Sebastian to the exit and to do what needed done.

Two days ago, when Mr. Luthor had made the offer—one dangerous move for one huge payoff—Sebastian had demurred.  It had sounded too risky to him.  It was one thing to indirectly mislead Lionel Luthor, bringing him information set out for Sebastian which, if it should turn out to be inaccurate, could easily be blamed on what it truly was: His son setting a trap.  But it was quite another thing to steal an object from right under the man's nose.  There was no sloughing off the blame if he should get caught.  Saying he'd been paid to do it by the younger Luthor would only lose him all three of his jobs, and saying he'd done it just because he was greedy would still lose him two.  He wasn't so sure he wouldn't lose his job in the kitchens, too, in that instance—just for spite.

Despite the sizable financial incentive, he hadn't thought it was worth it.  If it didn't work, he was out of ways to make the money he needed in order to help his sister's situation.  He could make the same money given more time by taking no more risk than he was taking now.

But his sister's deteriorating condition had given him ample reason to reconsider.  Playing it safe had been all well and good up until now, but he couldn't afford that anymore—they couldn't afford that anymore.  His twin—the other half of himself—lay dying.  He couldn't just sit back and let it happen.

Sebastian would have done anything to give his sister her vitality again.  Something as simple as swiping a paperweight was sure as hell not going to stand in his way.


~


He felt like a fool.

He never would have thought that Shane, his own cousin, his business partner, the guy who had shared his dream of having their own garage since he'd started high school, the year before Brad, would have left him and his parents sitting there in front of the realtor, looking like a group of idiots.

Shane wouldn't answer his cell phone, his dad hadn't seen him, and every last one of Brad's increasingly pissed off texts were greeted with unbroken silence.  Truth be told, he was starting to get worried.  But if those worries turned out to be unfounded, Shane was going to get it.  And hard.

Brad yanked the door of the Talon open, the bells above it making an angry jangle that was only partly satisfying, because it was mainly embarrassing.  He had the attention of half the patrons.  He relaxed his grip and kept his gaze focussed on the floor, shaking his head at himself.

All he wanted right now was a large sweet coffee and his girlfriend's sympathetic ear.

He took two steps toward the counter, looked up, saw who Lana was talking to, and had to use every ounce of willpower in his body not to run over there and bash that bastard's face in.  At the last second, he was able to plant his feet into the floor, curl his hands into tight fists at his sides, and just barely keep his cool.

He was already losing his dream job, he wasn't about to throw away his dream girl while he was at it.

So he turned on his heel and walked right back out the door.  This time the loud, angry jangle was inadequate and he wished he could slam the door behind him, too.

He paused just outside, not sure where he wanted to go, not having made any kind of plan after seeing Lana, and started to turn right before deciding on left.  He hadn't taken two steps when there was a quieter jangle from behind him, and a small hand closed on his arm.

"Brad, are you okay?"

Brad closed his eyes on mixed emotions.  Twenty seconds ago, all he'd wanted was for her to ask him that very question and let him gripe about his missed opportunity, but right now, all he could see was her sidled up to Clark Kent, flirting her head off.

"I thought you were talking to your friend," he spat, and pulled his arm away.  "Don't let me interrupt the love-fest."  He shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked away, internally berating himself all the while.

Now, why the hell had he gone and said that?  He'd always had a very good plan when it came to Clark Kent: Don't let Lana see it bothers you, and make sure Clark knows he's on thin ice.  It had worked quite well up until now.  For the most part, Lana thought Brad was being cordial and Clark was jealous, and that was perfect.  Brad didn't want to have to have a physical confrontation with Clark—it wasn't that he couldn't take him, because he was sure that he could.  It was that he knew if he kicked Clark's ass, Lana would sympathize with him and turn on Brad, even though that little fucker had had it coming for quite a while now.

Lana just wasn't the kind of girl who got off on seeing her boyfriend beat the crap out of some douche who'd stepped over a line.  No, Lana was the kind of girl who picked up a baby bird with a broken wing and brought it home and made a cast for it and fed it little bits of boiled egg until it got better and flew away.  She'd only been eight then, as she recalled, but the sentiment had remained.

"Hey!"

Brad was surprised at the strong hand on his elbow and the powerful yank it gave, bringing him to a sudden stop.  It was very rarely at the forefront of his mind that Lana had some martial arts training and could get rough when she needed to, but that fact sure took this opportunity to make itself known.

"I'm considering letting that go because you're obviously upset about something, but you can't talk to me like that!"

Brad glanced at her, then quickly away as he bowed his head.  He'd already felt stupid about what he'd said; now he felt guilty, too.  He wasn't mad at Lana; it wasn't her fault that every guy with a pulse and half a brain wanted to get with her.  True, he was angry with Clark—he was always angry with Clark—but he knew his lapse of self-restraint was because of Shane, plain and simple.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, sincere but too embarrassed to speak up.  "I...  Shane never showed up."

Lana's expression of anger and confusion melted into sympathy and shock instead.  She gasped, and her warm and suddenly supportive palm found a home against his ribs, and Brad knew how the baby bird felt.  It was a good feeling.

"Oh my god."  She shook her head in disbelief.  "Well, why?  Did he call?"

"No," Brad shrugged, turning to face her more fully, basking without shame in her pity.  "He won't answer his cell, his dad hasn't seen him...  I think he just bailed on me.  I don't know if he got cold feet or what.  I mean, he said he had his share of the money... maybe he lied?"  He shook his head at his own guessing.  "I don't get it."

"Brad, I'm so sorry."  A little shiver went through the last word, and Brad suddenly realized she'd followed him out into a chilly March day without her coat.  He shrugged his off and laid it over her shoulders, grinding his teeth against the sudden chill.  She smiled shyly at him.  "Thanks."

"I didn't mean what I said before," he said, knowing a better apology was due.  "I'm just pissed off about—  I wanted to talk to you, and..." he trailed off and shrugged, looking down at a die-hard piece of ice he was toeing out of a crack in the sidewalk.

"It's okay," she said gently, and slid her hands along his ribs and around his side.  She took half a step closer.  "You must be so disappointed."

Brad's head fell back briefly.  "God, I'm furious!" he hissed, only because he didn't want to shout.  "I'm gonna kill that little—!" he broke off as a couple passed them by, staring at him with rounded eyes and giving them a wide berth.  He clenched his jaw, holding it in.

"Come on," Lana said, rubbing gently at his back.  "We'll go up and talk about it."

Brad threw a suspicious look at the door.

Lana rolled her eyes.  "He's picking up some drinks.  Don't look at him if he bothers you so much.  Let's just go."  She grabbed his clammy hand in her tiny one and tugged him behind her as she headed inside.

He took her advice and didn't look up, staring at the centre of her small, shapely back all the way through the Talon and up the stairs.  It was only as he stood there, idle, waiting for Lana to get the key out of the tight hip pocket of her jeans and unlock the door to the apartment that he couldn't resist looking over the banister to see if Clark was still waiting for his drinks.

He was, and he was scowling up at him, obviously not thrilled with Brad's current position.

Brad held Clark's angry gaze for a beat, then smirked as Lana pulled him into the apartment.

Yeah, okay.  That made him feel a little better.


~


"Hey.  Here you go," Clark said somewhat glumly as he handed Lex a tall dry capp.

Lex watched him with interest for a moment, then reached out slowly and took the cup.  "Thank you," he said cautiously.

Clark collapsed into one of the chairs in front of Lex's desk and sucked down a few long droughts of his still piping hot drink.  Copious amounts of steam billowed around the cup and out Clark's nostrils, which informed Lex that he had better not try it for a while.

He'd been meaning to ask Clark for some time now just how it was that he managed to use his alien speed to run coffee from the centre of town all the way out to the mansion, not spill a drop the entire way, and yet the generous breeze that must have been generated by his speed didn't cool down the hot drinks a jot.  Lex used to ask for an extra-hot coffee when Clark went out to pick some up for them, but he'd since learned his lesson.  At Clark's speeds, there was no need.

However, it was plain that now was not the time for such a facetious discussion.  Lex set his still too-hot cappuccino onto the desk and leaned back to study Clark's mood, which had plainly deteriorated since last Lex had seen him.

"So," he said when Clark finally pulled his drink away from his mouth, "you, uh... wanna talk about it?"

Clark didn't demure even a little.  "I just watched Brad Wilson storm around the Talon, bite Lana's head off, and then be gently led upstairs to what is apparently their apartment for his trouble.  God!" he let his head fall dramatically onto the back of the chair.  "Why does she waste her time with that guy?"

Lex didn't answer at first, two fingers moving idly over his desk as he mulled over how to answer that question, or if he even should.  "Well..." he started cautiously, "maybe she loves him."

After a pause, Clark lifted his head and fixed Lex with a dry look.  "Lex?"

"Mm."

"Stop helping."

Lex chuckled softly and started working the lid off his coffee.  "I know you worry about Lana, Clark, but she's a big girl.  She can handle it."

"Subject change, please."

Lex laughed and shook his head.  "All right," he said soothingly.  He purposefully bit back the urge to turn the subject to what he most wanted to discuss, because he knew Clark would not, by any stretch of the imagination, appreciate it.  "Have you been looking for housing in Metropolis?"

"Oh."  Clark paused, as if to reset his direction of attention.  "Yeah.  I'm thinking of looking for something in the cardboard box category."

"Come on, Clark, it can't be that bad."

Clark shot him a wry expression.  "You know, I'm surprised your elocution can be so good around that silver spoon in your mouth."

Lex blinked at him.  "Ouch."

A little smile struggled at the corners of Clark's mouth, and then he let his head fall back dramatically once again.  "It's like choosing between an arm and a leg, Lex.  Everything's so expensive, I just don't see how it's ever going to be possible.  I mean," he shrugged and met Lex's gaze again, "I'm keeping my mouth shut about how exactly my folks expect to pay for Met U at all.  They want to do it; they're telling me they're going to do it; I'm just leaving it alone."

Lex nodded at this wisdom.

"But I'm not stupid.  Math is my thing, and let me tell you, I can't think up a single formula that could be applied to my family's finances and not come out with a massive negative number at the other end of even a single year at Met U, much less four.  The only thing I can think of," he said, spreading his hands, "would be if my mom used her college education and legal experience to get a full-time job.  But the whole reason she doesn't work out of the house is because she's needed so desperately at the farm.  If I'm away at school, she'll just have that much more to do, so I don't see how she could ever be able to work a regular job.  Even if she brought down a salary that could pay for school all on its own, soon the farm would start to fail and we'd have a whole other problem."

"Maybe you should have some faith in them," Lex offered gently.  "They could have a few tricks up their sleeve you don't know about yet."

"Yeah?  Well, I'll keep my eye out for bank robberies, Lex."

Lex sighed and chanced a sip of his coffee.  It was still too hot, but the burn wasn't as scorching as it might have been.  "You know," he said casually, "I'd ask how things are going with Chloe, but I would guess you would say not that great.  And I'd ask how things are going with Pete, but I would guess you would say awkward.  And I'd ask how things are going with me... but, you know what?  I'm afraid to ask."

Clark snorted with laughter, and slumped down in his seat with melodramatic effect.  "Ugh," he groaned pathetically.  "My life is so hard."

"Yes," Lex said blandly.  "It is a tragedy."

Clark lifted his head just enough to shoot Lex a suspicious glare, but didn't say anything about his lack of sympathy.  "You know," he said when he'd sat up straight again, "I've been here for all of five minutes."

Lex raised an eyebrow.

Clark spread his hands.  "Well?"

"Well what?"

"I hesitate to be the one to bring it up, Lex, but aren't you going to ask me what I want to do about the Crystal?"

"Why?  Have you decided you want to do something about the Crystal?"

"No," Clark answered without hesitation.

"Then why discuss it?"

Clark scoffed.  "Uh, I don't know.  Because that's," he gestured circularly with a hand, "your thing?"

For a long moment, Lex just smiled at him affectionately, and then he came out from behind his desk to settle onto the floor on his knees beside Clark's legs.  Clark looked down at him with utter surprise, his eyebrows arched severely.  "I think you've got enough to worry about," Lex said gently, and rubbed at Clark's thigh.  "Why don't you just let me worry about the Element, okay?"

Clark's head cocked to the right curiously.  He stared at Lex for a beat.  "Wait, what does that mean?"

"Mr. Luthor?"

Lex leaned back a bit and looked to his right, toward the door, and Clark turned slightly in his seat to do the same.  As soon as he saw who it was, Lex got to his feet with an irritated sigh.  "What is it, Sebastian?"

"The files, sir.  They—"

"Then go back later.  Try in the evening if they're not in place yet."

"Yes, sir."  He started to turn back, then paused, looking thoughtful.  "Can I get you anything, sir?  From the kitchens?"

For a moment, Lex wanted to snap at the man, tell him if he wanted anything, he'd ask for it, and anyway, why the hell wasn't he figuring out how to get the Stone from Lionel if he had so much free time on his hands?  But it occurred to him that Clark's appetite was ubiquitous, and he just might want something brought in.

Lex tried to catch his gaze, but Clark was glaring in the direction of the door.  "Clark?"

Clark looked up and met his eyes.

"Want anything?"

Clark all but sneered and turned away from the door.  "Not from him."

Lex quirked an eyebrow, nodding slightly.  He looked back toward Sebastian, but said nothing.  Clark had spoken just loudly enough to be heard.

Sebastian gave a small nod, looking professional despite the chastisement, and left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

"Seriously, Lex," Clark asked as soon as the door was closed, "how much longer does he really have to work here?  I hate running into him.  He's always looking at me like he wants to win my favour or something."

"Hm," Lex hummed, a small frown pulling at his mouth.  He knew Clark didn't like the idea of Lex using Sebastian as a spy, and he knew Clark didn't particularly like the fact that Sebastian still worked in the manor and had access to Lex, Lex's staff, and Lex's food.  But he hadn't realized Sebastian's direct interactions with Clark were making him personally uncomfortable.

"I apologize for that," he said sincerely.  "I can order him to keep out of your sight if you like."

Clark squirmed uncomfortably.  "Don't ever tell my parents I said this, but..." he held his breath briefly, then let it out in a rush, "that would actually be really great."

Lex chuckled and shook his head, amused by Clark's incessant desire to display humility, even when he had every right to be in charge.  "I promise I won't tell them you asked me to give an order to my employee," Lex said drolly.

Clark looked up at him with a sardonic expression, then rolled his eyes.  "Ha ha."  For a moment, Clark watched him with nothing so much as a dry, caustic expression, but then it suddenly crumpled into honest anxiety.  "Really, though, Lex.  Don't mention it to them."

Lex laughed outright.


~


Sebastian turned the corner into the small office in which the tiny filing cabinet—the only purpose of which was to store planted files until Sebastian picked them up to deliver them to Lionel Luthor—was kept.  He was in a hurry as he was between duties at the moment, and he had been instructed to continue to act as a spy.  That is to say that other people on the staff were not aware that false information was provided for Sebastian to ‘steal,’ or that he was acting as a double agent.  Therefore, he had to find time during his daily duties to sneak off when no one was looking and get the files.

The only people he was certain knew of his predicament were the master of the house, Mr. Kent, and Marcia Mercy.  There were also two security guards who had been somewhat involved in the situation several times, but Sebastian didn't think they knew the details, and were only following orders.  Just the same, the rest of the staff seemed to understand that Sebastian had somehow become persona non grata around the mansion, despite keeping his job, and he was watched with suspicion even by those far out of the loop.  What that meant was that now that files were actually being provided for him which he was encouraged—nay, ordered—to take, it was more difficult to find a free moment in which to do so than it had been when he'd truly been a spy in the household—especially when he had to check more than once in a day.

He was in such a hurry as he came around the corner, in fact, that he nearly plowed right over the squatting form of Marcia Mercy, who was sliding a folder into the very filing cabinet that was Sebastian's goal.

Her head snapped up as he came to a stumbling stop, and she fixed him first with a look of shock, then narrow-eyed distaste.

"Excuse me," he said sincerely.  "I didn't realize anyone..." he trailed off as she continued to stare at him with suspicion and disgust, then finally closed the drawer.

"You're not supposed to see me here."

Sebastian blinked at her with incomprehension.  "Why?  What does it matter?  The files are from Mr. Luthor regardless of who puts them in the cabinet."

Marcia sighed harshly and, meeting his gaze rather defiantly, she locked the cabinet.

"Why—" he broke off his protest, knowing it would do no good.  He already had the key in hand anyway.

She stood up slowly, still fixing him with a look of suspicion.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he finally asked, tired of her icy stare.  "Tell him?"

Marcia's head tilted slightly upward, as if with defiance.  "I wouldn't put it above you to point the finger at another, Sebastian."

He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief.  "I don't see why Mr. Luthor would care who did the transporting.  The files come from his son.  If and when he discovers they're fakes, that's all that will matter to him."

She didn't respond.  She simply gave a dismissive roll of her eyes and brushed past him, headed for the hall.

He turned as she walked by.  "Marcia?"

At first he was sure she wasn't going to stop, but then she took hold of the jamb on her way out and looked back at him, her gaze sharp as daggers.

"I never got a chance to apologize to you... about before."  He paused, but she didn't acknowledge he'd spoken; she only continued to watch him.  "I panicked.  You caught me and I... well, I shouldn't have said some things.  It was unprofessional at the least."

Marcia scoffed with a liberal dose of scorn.

He gave a small shrug.  "I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry.  I've... always admired your work ethic."

"Just take the files, Sebastian.  I'm sure the chef is missing your charming company."

"Marcia, I truly—"

"Forgive me," she spat, "if I don't take the word of a rat as gospel."

That effectively cowed him, and Sebastian bowed his head, no longer able to withstand her pointed, icy stare.

"You'd better get moving.  I don't think Mr. Luthor will mind very much if the head chef decides to terminate your position."

He waited until her quiet steps disappeared down the hall, then crouched down to unlock the cabinet and retrieve the files she'd left for him.  If she was right about Mr. Luthor not caring to protect Sebastian's position on his staff—and he couldn't see any reason she might be wrong—then he had even more reason to hurry.  Working with food, engaging in the duties of a chef's assistant was the only job of the three he currently had that he really wanted to do.  He looked forward to the day when working his way up the culinary ladder was once again the closest he came to a cutthroat business.

He also looked forward to the day—perhaps with futility—when he could once again command respect from his employer.  Sebastian just wasn't cut out for this spy business.  He craved approval from his betters far too much to ever get by on mere cash, danger, and intrigue.


~


Clark was in the middle of changing out books in his locker, his back turned, and so he wasn't prepared to react.  Then, when he realized the person who had just attempted to push him against it was Brad Wilson, he didn't bother reacting.

He just turned his head and glared back at him over his shoulder.

He managed to catch the very end of a somewhat surprised, somewhat confused expression on Brad's face, but it quickly melded into general displeasure.  "Look, Kent," he spat, as if Clark's very name was a curse, "I don't know what the hell I've gotta do to get through that thick skull of yours, but I thought I made it clear that I want you to stay away from my girlfriend."

Clark held his stare for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and continuing what he was doing with his books.

Brad pushed his shoulder again, harder than before, and, despite his every inclination, this time Clark pretended to be shoved forward, into the edge of the locker.  It was one thing to show insolence.  It was another to do something stupid and risk exposure.

"I'm talking to you."

"Yeah, I can see that," Clark spat over his shoulder.  "But I'm not interested in anything you have to say, Brad.  So just f—...  Go away."

"Look, Clark, the next time I see you sidled up to Lana—I don't care where it is or who approached who and what lame excuse you've got—I'm gonna kick your ass.  You got me?"

Slowly, Clark turned more fully, until his entire right side faced Brad, and he glared.  "Know what?" he asked darkly.  "I'd like to see that someday.  I really would."

"Believe me," Brad snarled, baring his clenched teeth, "it's comin’."

"Uh, hey, guys."

Brad spun on his heel and Clark was able to see around him as he turned.  Lana was approaching them from behind, her thumbs tucked into her tiny hip pockets.  She looked troubled.

"Lana," Brad said with surprise, everything about his tone changing.  What was cruel had become kind, what was harsh had become soft, and what was bitter had become sweet.

Clark rolled his eyes and shook his head and turned back to his books.

"What's going on?" she asked him as she walked the rest of the way over to them.  "You guys... having a fight or something?"

"Uh," Clark glanced back to see Brad looking at him, then back at Lana.  "Yeah, I don't know, uh...  You know, I was just minding my own business when Clark...  I mean, you know he's got a problem with me."

Clark scoffed, not purposefully loud, though he was sure Lana heard him.  He'd lost his train of thought and realized he was putting books into his bag that he didn't need, and he started taking them back out.

There was a long pause behind him in the time when he'd expected to hear Lana's quiet agreement, and when it stretched, he looked back to see if they'd gone.  But instead of an empty spot where they had once been, he saw them turned askew and Lana peering at him curiously, her brow gently knit.

It was plain to Clark that something about Brad's on-the-fly explanation bothered her.  She was all but squirming, looking supremely uncomfortable.  "Okay," she said to Brad, tilting her head just slightly as if to suggest it really wasn't.  "But, um..." she hesitated, holding Clark's gaze a moment longer before looking back to her boyfriend.  "The thing is, Clark's the one standing at his locker, getting books.  You're... not.  So it kind of looks to me like... it was the other way around."  

For a long, awkward moment, Brad just stared at her, his lips parted in astonishment.  

Eyebrows arched, Clark watched them both with interest.  As far as he knew, Brad had never been put in this position before.

It had always appeared to be pretty easy for Brad to dodge this subject—probably because Lana wanted to believe him and so she easily took his word.  Clark was curious as to how he'd deal with it.  He was still waiting for the day Brad blew up at Lana about her friendship with Clark and tried to tell her she wasn't allowed to have friends he didn't like.  If Clark knew Lana half as well as he thought he knew Lana, that was going to be a very interesting day for one Bradley Wilson.

"W-Well," Brad finally said, stuttering slightly, but appearing at least partially recovered, "I was just walking by here and..."

As he trailed off lamely, Lana just continued to look at him, plainly expecting something better.  Then, when nothing was forthcoming, she said something Clark had honestly never expected.

"Brad, I think you should apologize."

"I'm sorry," he said automatically.

She laughed once, softly, lowering her eyes for a moment.  "No," she said, meeting his gaze again.  "I mean I think you should apologize to Clark."

Brad's jaw muscles jumped as he apparently ground his teeth against this request, and a few tense seconds went by.  Then he turned, plastered a shit-eating grin onto his face, and held out his hand.  "Sorry ’bout that, Clark," he said, his voice shot through with fake sincerity.

Clark looked at his outstretched hand, then at the hard glint of fury in his eyes.  He turned back to his locker.  "Hands are busy," he muttered.

"Clark," Lana said, her tone close to begging, so desperate was she to defuse this situation.  "Please."

Clark looked back and watched her for a long moment, weighing the b.s. he knew Brad's ‘apology’ was made of against the pleading in Lana's eyes and her obvious desire to end their antagonism.

The thing was, as much as Brad deserved to be told off, punched out, and everything else Clark could think of, if he turned his back right now, he wasn't turning it on Brad.  He was turning it on Lana.

No matter what Clark did here, Brad won.  But he at least won slightly less if Clark agreed to make peace.

So, for Lana, he grinned and bore it.  "Yeah, sure.  No hard feelings."  Holding his open bookbag against the open locker with one hand, he reached the other out for Brad to shake, intending to let it go at that.

But when Brad's dry, warm hand slid into his, and Clark noticed the slight difference in pressure between this handshake and others he'd participated in, he glanced down and saw Brad's fingers were white and bloodless.  He must have been squeezing with all his might.

All his best intentions gone to waste, Clark took the opportunity to teach him a lesson.  He squeezed back.  Just a little.  Just enough.

Brad winced, grunted, and pulled his hand away.  There was a flush rushing into his face, no doubt from the pain, but he didn't say anything about it.

Lana saw it, of course.  It was plain that she saw it.  She'd been staring at the handshake the entire time.  But it was just as plain when, after dropping her gaze for a considering beat, she looked back up with a defiant smile and purposefully decided to let it go.

"Good," she said cheerily.  "I'm glad that's over."

For the next minute or two, they all stood in the hall in a group, smiling and chatting with one another, and pretending for all they were worth that everything was just hunky-dory.  Lana did it out of a misguided hope that the rift between Clark and Brad could somehow be mended through positive thinking.

But Clark and Brad each did it simply because they both loved her, and all three of them knew it.


~


Marcia hurriedly took her place in line, finding herself embarrassingly near the head of staff.  All the girls she'd been hired with were considerably closer to the other end, standing shoulder to shoulder just where one would expect cleaning staff to be.  Marcia was proud, of course, to be one of Mr. Luthor's most trusted employees.  Her parents were thrilled about her promotions, and the extra money was nice.  She was just uncomfortable having to flaunt it.  At her last job, when staff lined up, they did it in order of duties: All the kitchen staff together, all the cleaning staff together, et cetera, and she thought she might have preferred it that way.  At the moment, she was standing right next to the head of security, which seemed to her to be vaguely ridiculous.

Mr. Luthor had called everyone together to make an important announcement that affected all staff, and the air was rife with tension.  Everyone wanted to know what the announcement was going to be, and rumours had been flying all day.  The optimists (mostly those whose duties involved food) thought everyone was getting a raise, while the pessimists (mostly those whose duties involved loaded weapons) were sure that everyone was getting fired.

Marcia had her own suspicions, perhaps better characterized as hopes.  She believed that Mr. Luthor was about to inform the staff that Mr. Kent was going to officially move into the mansion.  If so, she couldn't have been happier.

Mr. Luthor's friend already kept a wide variety of clothing at the manor, plus a toothbrush, hair ties, shaving cream, and razors in the nearest restroom to Mr. Luthor's chosen quarters (of all the bedrooms in all the mansion with attached restrooms, Mr. Luthor had chosen a bedroom set back from the rest of the mansion, which was located a good thirty feet from the nearest restroom; Marcia never had understood it).  That same restroom was also now stocked, at Mr. Luthor's request, with various brands of shampoo and conditioner, which he had in the past specifically requested be removed as, ‘It doesn't make a whole hell of a lot of sense, does it?’

The kitchens were chock full of dairy products—never a particular favourite of Mr. Luthor's—fizzy orange drinks, Coca-Cola, and organic produce and lunchmeats.  Mr. Luthor's personal shopper had even been instructed to buy regular mayonnaise and plain yellow mustard, neither of which, Marcia happened to know, ever came anywhere near Mr. Luthor's food.

When Mr. Luthor called the kitchens or housekeeping to order something brought to him, staff had long since learned to listen past the point they might have in the past, awaiting the ‘and’ that more often than not followed what was only one half of the order: ‘A cup of tea, please... and a glass of milk.’  ‘A fresh pillow, please... and a pint of chocolate chip ice cream.’  What followed the ‘and’ was almost always food-related.

Mr. Kent stayed overnight at the mansion at least three times a week, and the nights that Mr. Luthor did sleep alone, it was noted by staff that only one side of the bed was mussed in the mornings—always the side nearest the door, in fact.

The grocery bill had more than doubled, and was steadily approaching triple its 2001 rates, as Mr. Kent's appetite was exponentially larger than Mr. Luthor's.  It didn't escape the staff's notice that their employer also just so happened to enjoy a bit more food—something at least approaching a healthy amount of sustenance—on the days that Mr. Kent was present.  When left to his own devices, it wasn't unusual for Mr. Luthor to take in nothing but orange juice, tea, scotch, red wine, and a piece of toast in a twenty-four hour period.  Now, he had a modest breakfast a few times a week: A startling improvement.

All of these changes had happened over time, of course—slowly—but they were old hat for the staff by now.  In short, Mr. Kent's permanent move to Luthor Manor was long overdue, and Marcia was anxious to see it finally take place.  As it stood now, Mr. Kent was still considered a guest; but what the mansion really needed was a second master of the house.

Mr. Luthor, his timing impeccable, walked around the corner and into the kitchens where everyone stood in a line.  Marcia noticed he looked preoccupied, and he didn't waste any time getting started.  "Good morning, everyone."

"Good morning, Mr. Luthor," the staff murmured together.

"I won't take up too much of your time.  I wanted to inform you that sometime late this summer, I'll be moving my main residence back to Metropolis... for business reasons."

In a less highly trained staff, there might have been gasps, muttering, questions out of turn, but all that fell over the employees of Luthor Manor was a sudden silence as every last person was instantly holding their breath.

We're moving to Metropolis? Marcia thought, her mind already in a whirl of new duties and new challenges.  Inside the city or on the outskirts?  Will it be another large manor like this one, or maybe a few floors of a high-rise?  I imagine we'll be entertaining much more often.  Mr. Luthor will probably want to conduct business at the new residence on a regular basis.  I wonder if we'll have to take on new sta—

"I realize this comes as a shock, but I want you all to be assured that you are going to remain gainfully employed.  While no one will be living at the mansion, I will need a skeleton crew here to maintain order and general upkeep.  I'll still return here when I need to visit Smallville to conduct business at the plant, or..." he hesitated and cleared his throat, "visit friends."

No!  Mr. Luthor is moving away from Mr. Kent?  He intends to return only to visit?  This is a terrible idea.  Terrible!  Why would he be so foolish?  I thought things were going so well!

Most of the staff collectively began to breathe again at the promise of sustained employment, but Marcia continued to find her breath caught in her throat.

"As for the rest, you'll be redeployed in various capacities at various locations, and for some, I have friends in Metropolis who have positions for you where you will carry out much the same duties you do now, just for a different employer."

Different employer?  A skeleton crew at the mansion?  No.  No, sir.  Marcia had to physically stop herself from shaking her head.  I don't want to stay here and tend an empty house.  I don't work for the manor.  I work for Mr. Luthor.  If I'm not working for Mr. Luthor, then I have no reason to be in Smallville.  And if I'm going to need a new job, I'll choose one for myself, thank you very much.  She set her jaw stubbornly.

"I can promise that none of you will be left unemployed because of this change unless you so choose it."

That seemed to soothe the staff even further, their breathing returning to normal, the tension in the room lessening, but Marcia's shoulders continued to ratchet toward her ears.

"The relocation isn't happening immediately, as I still have many things to tend to here.  I'm in the process of moving my company's headquarters back to the city, as well.  It will take at least a few more months before I start moving into the penthouse, but I wanted to make you aware of it now.  In your next paycheck will be included instructions as to your new position and duties and, should you choose to carry them out, they will most likely start in late August."

He paused to smile somewhat paternally down the line of his dedicated employees.  "I want you all to know that it's been a pleasure working with you.  I wish I could take you all with me, but," he shrugged, "I'm afraid we just wouldn't be able to fit in the apartment."

A gentle roll of chuckles wafted across the line.

"Anyone who chooses to resign rather than continue through these changes can do so with the assurance of a shining letter of recommendation from my desk.  I understand that many of you have families here and that some of you whom I would like to send to various locations in Metropolis, New York, and Gotham might not wish to relocate.  It is, of course, at your discretion.  I do ask, however, that once you have your instructions, you let me know by the end of July whether or not you intend to go forward or to resign, so that I can make the appropriate new hires and any other changes that become necessary."

Marcia opened her mouth, impetuously, then closed it with a click.  I resign, Mr. Luthor.  I don't need my instructions to know that.  I resign right this minute.

"Thank you very much, all of you."  He let out a brief sigh, as if glad to have that over with.  "Well.  Back to work."  A nod was their sign of dismissal, and the line broke up, quiet but respectful conversations starting in all corners of the room before Mr. Luthor had even made it back out the door.

Marcia knew that she, too, should be moving, but her feet seemed to be glued to the floor.  She knew she needed to tender her resignation, and that she should do it now, right away; that it was the honest thing to do.  There was no point in pretending that she would even consider whatever instructions happened to be in her paycheck envelope next week.

"Mr. Luthor," she muttered, so quietly she barely heard herself.

Then, as she watched his back disappear around the doorjamb, she found herself spurred into action, and she hurried after him.

"Mr. Luthor!" she called, this time too loudly.

He turned, eyebrows arched in surprise at her volume, and she nearly ran right into him.

"Oh!"  He caught her by the arms just before they collided.  "I'm sorry, sir."

"That's all right, Marcia," he said gently, and let her go.

"Mr. Luthor, I—" resign, "—wonder if you won't be needing staff at the new apartment."

Marcia blinked, then promptly began to gape at herself.

"Oh."  Mr. Luthor's surprise faded into sympathy, and in the interim, Marcia remembered to shut her mouth.  "I'm sorry, but I won't be able to accommodate live-in help.  The penthouse is only big enough for—well, there simply won't be room for any live-in staff.  I intend to hire a domestic to come in a few times a week, keep the place tidy."

He patted her arm gently, as it along with the rest of her was standing so close to him, and turned to leave again.  Marcia, to her own horror, saw her hand jet out and close tightly on Mr. Luthor's forearm.  His surprise at her insistence was palpable.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Luthor," she said, trying very hard to speak in a tone that would temper her sudden stark lack of professionalism.  "But my family lives in Metropolis, you see.  I'd be happy to move back closer to home, and would probably do so anyway if my duties here are terminated."

Mr. Luthor watched her carefully, but didn't respond.

Marcia finally let go of his arm.  "I'm not sure, sir, what the salary would be," she blushed with embarrassment at brazen talk of money.  This was something to be negotiated with the head of staff, not with the master of the house, "but so long as it would be enough to cover living expenses in the city, I would certainly be interested in that domestic position."

"Marcia, it would only be part-time work."

"I understand, sir."

"The penthouse only consists of a few large rooms.  You'd be solely responsible for its upkeep."

"Yes, sir."

"It would likely require shopping, too, and some cooking, not just the duties you're used to."

She nodded eagerly.  "Yes, sir.  I understand, sir."

"The hours would be unpredictable."

"Yes, sir."

"The duties could vary widely."

"Of course, sir."

"Marcia?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You should start looking for an apartment in the city."  Slowly, he smiled, and Marcia broke into a very large and exceedingly unprofessional grin.  "I look forward to working with you," he said, and winked.

"Yes, sir!" Marcia exclaimed.

Mr. Luthor's back was to her as he headed down the hall again, so she foolishly took the opportunity to jump up and down in place twice and open her mouth in a quick, silent scream.

As soon as she'd recovered her dignity, she called after him.  "Mr. Luthor?"

He turned, his smile so knowing, so sly, that she wasn't sure he didn't have eyes in the back of his head and hadn't seen her little display.  "Perhaps less need for hazard pay in Metropolis, sir?"

Briefly, he smirked, all smooth charm.  "We can only hope."

She nodded once, crisply, and watched him continue down the hall and go around the far corner.

On the contrary: Marcia was sure she'd miss the action.


~


Yesterday, even taking fifteen minutes out to tell his staff what was going on had been a struggle.  All he'd wanted to do all day was hole up in his office and study Kryptonian artifacts until he fell asleep on a thousand year old scroll.  In fact, after he'd finished making his little speech, and he and Marcia had come to an understanding about her future, that was exactly what he had done.  He'd been up until the wee hours, poring over the documents again and again, and eventually had caught a few hours’ sleep—not on a scroll—but on the cramped, uncomfortable loveseat.  He simply hadn't wanted to leave the room to go to bed.

Morning had finally broken after a fitful rest, and at the moment, Lex was trying his best to focus on the manuscripts that spoke of the Crystal of Air—the one presumably lost somewhere in China, the only one of whose exact location he was unaware.  But, try as he might, he couldn't seem to think about anything but the Stone his father had.  He was sure if something could take his mind off of it, it would be something else Kryptonian, but his brain seemed to recognize that he was just trying to distract it from what was immediate and truly important.

He did notice, however, that being aware that the obsession was present seemed to give him a fighting chance.  In the past when something similar had happened to him, he wouldn't have even considered trying to take his mind off of it, made a slave to his own impulses simply because he didn't understand them.  Being cognizant of the preoccupation and the various reasons for that preoccupation—including the understanding that he was grasping only whispers of memories he could not fully access—was a great boon to his sanity.

It was also keeping him from doing something exceedingly stupid, and for this he was quite grateful.

Lex reached into his inner jacket pocket where he held his new Kryptonian key.

The original key—Clark's key—had been given to him as an anniversary present, as a symbol of Clark's trust and Lex's inclusion in all facets of his life.  While the trust remained, as he hoped it always would, in light of their realization in the caves as well as Lex being given his own key, Lex had given Clark's key back to him.  It had become clear to them that it would be dangerous for Lex to use Clark's key in the caves, and the thought that he might somehow confuse the two of them and use Clark's by accident had made them both quite nervous.  Lex assumed Clark had put his own key back in one of his rather unconventional hiding places, e.g. his father's toolbox, or buried in the dirt floor of the barn.

Lex scoffed lightly at the thought, rolling his eyes at Clark's charming guilelessness.  He'd said nothing about it, however.  It was Clark's choice how he wanted to protect himself from theft and curious eyes.  Besides, who was Lex to talk?  He kept his key on his person at all times.  His jacket pocket was hardly Fort Knox.

He gazed at the key, turning it until it achieved its proper orientation, and ran his thumb over the Kryptonian glyph for ‘The One.’  The thought of it was humbling to say the least.  Though, as he understood it, Jor-El had suggested (and probably hoped) that Clark should take many mates, not just one.  Clark, of course, had different ideas about love, and anyway had no intention of following his birth father's plans for mass reproduction and world domination.  But it did lead Lex to wonder how, exactly, Clark's next Chosen would have been referred to, if he chose another in addition to Lex rather than in place of Lex.  Would his key say, ‘Kal-El has chosen The Two’?

Lex snorted and shook his head at the thought.  Surely not.

"Hm..." he hummed consideringly.  "The Second, maybe."

The sound of a knock on his door made him jump sharply, almost comically, and he shoved the key back into his pocket with great haste, and a bit too much enthusiasm.  He didn't hit the opening quite right the first time and winced at the sound of tearing fabric.  He could see his tailor's irritated glare already.

"Yes," Lex said like a bark, then cleared his throat.  "Yes, come in."

"Mr. Luthor, sir."

Lex had to curl his toes in his shoes to stop from shooting to his feet.  It had become a common reaction to seeing Sebastian enter his line of sight.  He was constantly holding himself back from running up to the man and frantically inquiring if he'd figured out how to get the ‘paperweight’ from his father yet.  But his spy had agreed to the job less than a week ago.  Achieving it at all was unlikely, and it certainly wasn't going to happen that fast.

"Yes, Sebastian," Lex said tightly.  "What is it?  I trust the files are in their proper place."

"Yes, sir," he said as he walked into the room and closed the door silently behind him.  "That is, I assume so, sir.  I haven't been to check yet this morning."

Lex had tuned him out the moment he'd passed completely through the doorway.  He was carrying a plain paper bag, and Lex was eying it so intently that if he'd had vision like Clark's, it would probably have been on fire by now.

"I've only just arrived and am about to report for work now, sir.  Did you not sleep well, Mr. Luthor?  It's only six in the morning."

Nothing he'd said mattered.

"What's in that bag, Sebastian?"

Sebastian looked at the bag, then at Lex again.  "The paperweight, sir."

This time curling his toes did nothing.  Lex popped out of his seat so quickly that it rolled away, rocking loudly on its hinges, and yet he was around the desk and approaching Sebastian before the chair had managed to hit the wall.

Sebastian was opening the bag for him as he approached, but he was far too slow.  Lex snatched it out of his grip and plunged his hand into it.  He grasped onto the sharp edges of a cold box and yanked it free, tearing the bag in the process and letting it fall, ripped, to the floor.

He held in his hand a cube the size of a large jewelry box, as for a men's hefty watch.  It was shiny black and smooth, unmarked and elegant.  Its chilliness was surprising, as though Sebastian had stored it in the freezer all night and had just thought to take it out a few minutes before he'd delivered it.

Lex looked at Sebastian, knowing his hunger showed in his eyes, and Sebastian nodded once, swallowing with obvious discomfort.

The box had a hinged top, and Lex opened it slowly.

He let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for weeks.  It was there.  It was perfect.  And it was his—

No.  No, it was Clark's.

Lex snapped the lid shut, gripping the cube tightly in one hand, the corner cutting reassuringly into his palm.

He looked at Sebastian with some amazement.  This quickly?  It seemed impossible.  "Does my father know you took it?"

"No, sir.  He wasn't present."

He nodded, opened his mouth to ask how Sebastian had managed to get at it so fast, then shut it again when he realized he didn't care.  He had the stone.  His father didn't.  That was all he needed to know.

There was a great relief that flooded his veins the moment he'd realized it truly was the Crystal.  But it was already being replaced with a sense of uneasiness.  It was a school day.  Clark would leave to catch the bus soon, and Lex would have to wait until he got home before he could give him the Crystal.  He was going to be alone with it all day.

Already his left arm was trembling slightly with the thought of the power it held.  Already his heart was pounding, his mind rending sharply in two diametrically opposed directions.  He knew this feeling.  He'd felt it in the plane, all the way from Siwa to Smallville.  It was one feeling that was no more manageable just because he understood why he felt it.  In fact, knowing might have been making it slightly worse.

"Mr. Luthor, you promised a-a bonus, sir.  Upon delivery."

Lex was startled to hear him speak, having forgotten the man was in the room despite the fact that he was looking right at him.  As soon as his words penetrated the fog already building thickly around Lex's mind, however, he rolled his eyes at Sebastian's greed.  Maybe it was no wonder that he had managed to get hold of the Crystal so quickly; the promise of cold, hard cash had spurred him on.

But he was right: Lex had promised a sizable bonus upon delivery—a rather disgusting amount of money, in fact—and he was all too happy to deliver.  His spy was certainly not a trustworthy man, but he was at least good at what he did.

Lex crossed to his safe, wasting no time, though he didn't put down the box with the Element in it.  Checking over his shoulder to be certain Sebastian wasn't watching him enter his code, Lex opened the safe somewhat awkwardly with his non-dominant hand, reached into the back to open the secret compartment, and extracted one bundle of the cash he stored there.

Hands full, Lex closed the safe with the back of his wrist and tossed the $10,000 bundle to his spy.  He caught it easily and gazed down at it, but didn't count it.  "There you are, Sebastian," Lex said somewhat wearily.  "Well-earned, I must say."

Sebastian looked at him, the bundle clutched tightly in his hand, no discernible expression on his face.  "I do what's asked of me, sir," he said.

"Yes," Lex said, his tone wholly dismissive as he turned his full attention back to the box he held, opening it once more.  "That will be all."

The door immediately opened and Lex expected to be left alone.  But, to his surprise, a new voice called his name.

"Mr. Luthor?"

Lex had a ridiculous urge to hide the Crystal behind his back, and only just managed to not, snapping the box closed instead and looking up sharply.  Marcia was standing in the doorway, a paper in her hand, a barely contained smile making her eyes sparkle.  Sebastian was hurriedly shoving his bundle of cash into an inner pocket, turning his back slightly toward the door to hide his activity.

"Yes?" Lex asked, knowing his voice betrayed his irritation.  He wanted very much to be left alone to examine the Crystal.  He also didn't.

"Good morning, sir," she said, his tone doing nothing to dull her apparent good mood.  "Have you seen the paper yet this morning, sir?"

Brow furrowing, Lex glanced at the paper in her hand, having no interest in it whatsoever, then met her gaze again.  "No," he said simply.  "I haven't."

She approached him deferentially, sparing a suspicious glance for Sebastian, who still stood by the door and had finished tucking his payment away.  When she was close enough, she held the paper out to her employer.

Lex took it, holding Marcia's gaze and wondering only peripherally what had her looking so pleased with herself.  Any hint of curiosity he managed to kick up was solely for show.

Awkwardly holding the box in one hand again, Lex managed to unfold the paper and take a look at the headline.

Briefly, he gaped in astonishment.  He looked to Marcia, who was now grinning outright, then back to the paper.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

He had a reason to call Clark.


~


Like some of the world—though granted, not most of it—Jonathan was still withholding final judgment on Lex's oceanic activities.  Every week that passed by and improvements were reported by the media and the oceans didn't turn into a bubbling inferno of blood and brimstone, he did get just a little closer to believing it.  But in his heart of hearts, he was still waiting.

That was why, when one morning at breakfast, Clark spit his entire mouthful of milk all over the front page of the day's freshly arrived newspaper in an expression of shock, Jonathan shot to his feet thinking, ‘This is it!  It's happened!  This has all been some horrible mistake; the oceans are burning!’

Clark was coughing, stuttering, gasping, and sputtering.  But through it all, he grinned.  It was this last that allowed Jonathan's heart to slow down again.

"Lex—!  Lex—!" was all Clark managed to get out before the phone rang and he jumped to his feet, knocking over his chair and dropping his pancake-laden fork on the floor in his haste.  He flew to the phone in a blur of unreasonable speed.

"Lex!" he shouted into the receiver without even checking the display, stopping to say hello, or waiting to see if he was right about who was calling.  He paused for all of a second.  "Yeah, I saw it!  I can't believe it!  When does it happen?  Who decided?"

As he babbled on with short, clipped sentences that revealed nothing of what he was actually talking about, Jonathan and Martha hurriedly worked together to clean the milk from the paper so they could read what it said.  At the same moment, they made out the murky, soggy headline.  Their heads snapped up and they locked gazes.

It had to have been a joke.  Was it April first?

Jonathan checked the date on the wall calendar.  No, that wasn't it.

He met his wife's astonished gaze again and, together, they slowly looked back at the paper and reread the headline.

Presidential Medal of Freedom to be Awarded to Eco-Friendly Luthor

"Oh, my god, I'm so proud of you!"

"I don't believe it," Jonathan muttered.

"It's a really high honour, isn't it, Jon?"

"Yes!"

They glanced toward Clark, but he wasn't talking to them.

"Martha, this thing is the highest civilian honour in the country.  Mother Teresa... Jonas Salk..."

"Yes!  Okay!  Okay, I'll be—okay, bye!"

Clark hung up the phone noisily, then looked to his parents, his infectious grin filling the room to the brim with his joy.  Despite his astonishment, Jon couldn't help but smile crookedly back at him.

"Oh," Clark said, his grin faltering just briefly as he noticed the mess he'd made.  "I'll—here."  He grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser and rushed over, trying to pat at the paper, pick the fork off the floor, and shuffle toward the door all at the same time.

Martha tried to work with him at first, helping him dab at the spots of milk on the table, but finally she wrestled the paper towels from him and shooed him away.  "Oh, just go!" she said in exasperation, though she couldn't hold back a chuckle at his excitement.

"Okay!" Clark said readily and shoved the fork he'd finally managed to snatch from the floor into her hand along with the crumpled, damp paper towels.  He grabbed his backpack from where it was resting against the wall by the door.  "Thanks!  I can't believe it!"

"Clark!" Martha shouted after him, hands full.

He popped his head back around the door as he was pulling it closed behind him.  "Yeah?"

"Don't be late for school.  And," she shrugged, still stunned, "tell Lex we said congratulations."

"I won't!  I will!  Okay!"  He slammed the door and disappeared in a rush of speed.

Martha turned to Jonathan, gaping, eyes wide and round.  Trying not to laugh, he helped her empty her hands and clean up the last of the mess Clark had made.

"Can you believe this?" Jonathan said when they were done.  He held the soggy paper in his hands.

"It's amazing," Martha agreed.  "But I guess after the phytoplankton..." she trailed off and shrugged, "well, he deserves it."

Jonathan continued to shake his head at the paper, even as he read through the detail of the story.  It did, indeed, seem that the bulk of the reason for the medal was LuthorCorp's astonishing progress in the field of genetic manipulation of phytoplankton and the effect the improved species was having on the oceans and atmosphere.  It made sense—it really did—but Jonathan still couldn't believe it.

"I just can't believe," he mumbled, "this is the same guy who had our son investigated for the better part of a year."

Martha rolled her eyes and threw the paper towels in the garbage.  "Jonathan, that was years ago."

"No, I know," he said with irritation, waving off her disapproval.  "I'm just saying... it's hard to believe he's the same person."

"Hm," she said softly.  She approached him again and ran a warm hand over his forearm.  "What are you thinking, Jon?"

"Oh, I'm..." he trailed off and shook his head.  "I'm not really sure, Martha."

Slowly, he sat back down in his chair, finished the front page, and then carefully turned the damp, fragile sheets to where the story continued.

"Sometimes I'm not sure I know what to think about anything anymore."


~


Lex couldn't bring himself to put the box down, even as Clark burst into the den where Lex had relocated himself.  He just held it tightly in one hand and opened his arms to accept the massive hug he knew was coming.

Clark flew into his embrace as expected, forcing all his breath out of him in a whoosh on impact, then immediately began to blanket his neck in wet, happy kisses.

Despite his increasing panic over being in possession of the Crystal, Lex was brought to laughter at Clark's enthusiasm.  The medal was a great honour, it was true, though Lex wasn't in a state of mind to feel much about it at the moment.  But this: Clark in his arms, holding him tight, crowing his pride, showering him with affection and congratulations—this he could feel, and it made him wish he could get a presidential commendation every week.

"Easy, easy!" Lex strained through his laughter as Clark lifted him briefly off his feet in his excitement.  "I'm not as young as I u—"

Clark cut him off with a flurry of shallow kisses at his lips as if unaware Lex had been speaking, and Lex was reduced to muffled chuckles and a futile attempt to keep up with his pace.

"I can't—believe it!" Clark exulted between kisses.  "I'm so—proud of you!  You deserve it—so much.  I love you.  I love you."

Lex wanted to just enjoy it, just laugh with delight against Clark's hurried mouth until Clark wore himself out and paused to take a breath, but the box was cutting a reminder into his skin.  His palm was growing sweaty around the container's edges, despite its unchanging cold, and his grip had grown so tight that his muscles were beginning to cramp.

"Clark," Lex said somewhere among the onslaught.  "Clark, wait—a second—Clark—"

Finally Clark moved to the other side of Lex's neck, showering his affection there.  He'd run out of things to say, though his kisses were just as ardent as they had been.

"Clark," Lex said more quietly near his ear.  "I have something... uh, I have something I want to give you."  He was wary of making it sound like a gift, knowing Clark would not be thrilled to discuss the subject, but he needed to get the thing out of his hands before it drove him mad.

Clark leaned back, his eyes awash with unabashed adoration that made Lex's cheeks burn.  "I have everything I want," Clark breathed.  Before Lex could say another word, he was kissing him softly, sweetly, and with a great tenderness that seemed the antithesis to the crazed assault he'd so recently carried out.

Any other time, Lex would have melted into him, kissed him back deeply, slid a knee between his thighs, considered trying to convince him that no one really needed homeroom.  But now, all he felt was impatience, and he knew he yanked away from Clark's kiss long before he was finished.

Clark was plainly caught off guard by his sudden departure and he hovered there for a moment, lips softly parted, eyes closed, before finally straightening his head and blinking at Lex in confusion.  "Lex, are you okay?"

Lex did his best to offer a pleasant smile even as he backed out of Clark's grasp.  "Yeah," he said softly, guilt sitting in his stomach like a stone.  "But I... I have to..."

As he backed away, his hands came into view, and Clark finally noticed the box that Lex had held behind Clark's back all this time as they'd embraced.  He hadn't paid it any heed when he'd run to Lex at breakneck speed.  "What's that?"

Lex swallowed hard, dreading Clark's reaction, yet so desperate to be rid of the Crystal he was willing to take the brunt of any and all of his anger and disappointment.

He held the box at waist level, the opening end toward Clark, and pulled up the lid.

Clark's eyes widened as the Crystal came into view, and then he looked sharply at Lex in obvious astonishment.

"What?" he asked, utterly baffled.  "But... But how—?"

"I asked Sebastian to take it."

"What?"  His incredulity was unmistakable.  "Lex, we talked about—"

"I know.  But I did.  And he did.  And now we have it."  He took a step forward, holding the box out as far as his arm would reach, trying even as he held it in his grasp to distance himself from its temptation.  "Take it, Clark.  It's yours."

Clark took a step backward, shaking his head, and Lex's psyche screamed.

"Take it!"

"Why would you do that?" Clark asked, still dumbfounded at this unexpected development.  "We were going to wait.  We agreed to—"

"Clark, please," Lex begged.  His jaw was tightening against the tension crushing his spine, forcing him to spit his words through clenched teeth.  "I need you... to have this."

Then, frantic to get Clark to take it off his hands, to accept that which was meant for him, Lex made a tragic error in judgment.  He reached inside to grab the stone in his bare hand, and let the box tumble to the floor.

The moment his fingers closed on it, he knew it was a mistake.  But it was too late.  The feel of its cold, hard face on his skin caused a loud, painful snap in his mind, and as the box took an endless moment to fall, a half-formed memory flooded into his consciousness: More stark, more vivid, and more real than it had ever been.

Death.  Disaster.  Hell.  Hell on Earth.

War drums.  Shells drop.  Heat lightning streaks the sky.

And it's him.  It's him.

Rain.  Red.  Blood.  Bones.  Ashes.  Grinning, fleshless faces.

It's all him.

There was a dull, slow clatter as the box finally hit the floor.

"Take it," he said numbly, his vision blurred.

Clark didn't move, still looking at him with shock and confusion from where he stood.  He plainly didn't understand the reason for Lex's insistence.

"Please, just TAKE it!"  Lex took a few stumbling steps closer—all the while seeing his chance to run the other way, holding the Stone of Power close and safe and his—but Clark only backed up, continuing to stare at him, and then at the Crystal, just as uncertain as ever.

Lex was shaking with the feeling of having the powerful, dangerous, deadly thing in his hand.  He wanted to press it into Clark's chest, force it on him, but he couldn't stand to take another step.

With a great force of will, like that of ripping off a piece of his own body, Lex tossed the Crystal onto the desk beside them.  It clattered there heavily and landed with its glyph facing upward.

Wiping his suddenly empty, freezing cold hand on his jacket, he crossed to the nearest window and stared out, seeing nothing, his breath uneven, his limbs trembling.  It took everything he had in him not to pick it back up, claim it for his own, and never let it out of his sight again.  It took every last thread of his will to leave the thing where it was, to not even look at it.  He reached out and dug his fingertips into the window sill.

"Just pick it up, Clark," he said, his voice tight and thin and so close to begging it would have been disingenuous to say he wasn't.  "Please.  Take it."

Another endless pause went by before, finally, Lex heard him move toward the desk.  He was excruciatingly slow, but eventually there was a slight rustle, a slight scrape, and Clark sheepishly said, "Okay."

Lex turned his head and saw that Clark had the Crystal in his hand.  All at once, obsession leeched out of his mind and away, and a wave of relief flooded his body so rapidly, so completely, that his knees felt spongy and he found himself grateful he had such a grip on the window sill.  "Get it out of here," he pleaded, his voice breathy and uneven.  "Put it in the caves."

Clark watched him with round, concerned eyes for a beat, but then he gave a small nod of agreement.  "Yeah, okay."

There was only the sudden movement of his long, dark hair as he turned, and then he was gone in a blur.

One of Lex's knees gave out under him and he locked the other, falling partially forward against the window before he got his strength back.  He continued to stare at the place where Clark had been, waiting for him to reappear, knowing it would be only seconds.  As the time ticked by, his pulse began to race again, his temples to dampen with sweat.

He crushed his fingertips against the stone until they were white and aching, his heart counting out the seconds in double time, but still Clark did not appear.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he muttered aloud.

Clark's speed was incredible, though as yet unmeasured, and it had never taken him more than a couple of seconds to rush off somewhere and back.  All Lex could think was that something was going horribly wrong.

He was moments from a monumental panic attack when it belatedly occurred to him that Clark had said there was a room behind the cave wall, and that only he could access it.  As fast as Clark was, he still would have needed to go dig out his key from wherever he was storing it, wait for the cave's programmes to activate, navigate Jor-El's questions, and get him to open the wall before being able to place the Crystal inside where it would be safe.  Then he'd have to close it all back up again and return his key to its hiding place before coming back to the mansion.  It might take a few minutes.

It was just as Lex had thought these things, and the tension in his shoulders had begun to abate, when Clark reappeared, his hair blown back by the wind.

He was empty-handed and showed Lex his palms to illustrate this fact.  "Okay," he said gently, as if to calm a wild animal.  "It's on the pedestal.  It's gone."

Lex breathed a final sigh of relief and his heart finally began to return to its natural pace.  The sudden lack of stress was exquisite, a feeling of utter peace beginning to pervade his body.  He turned his head to gaze back out the window, and slowly smiled, his eyelids drooping.

"Lex..." Clark hesitated, "are you okay?"

Barely, Lex nodded.  His mind was finally calm, and he could think again.  He could think about the fact that it was a dreary day outside, and that he should get to the office soon, and that he'd been falling behind in his duties lately due to this obsession and should call the investors.  He could think about the fact that spring was in the air, that graduation wasn't that far off, and that Clark's parents had yet to unveil their magical plan to pay for Clark's tuition.  He could think about the fact that he was proud of the progress of Ceres Terra and honoured that the president of the nation was recognizing his contribution to society.  He could think about the fact that he loved the person who had just asked him that question, and that he, Lex, had come to develop a hell of a lot more integrity than he'd ever thought he could muster simply because that person loved him back.

Finally, he answered, "I am now."

"Okay.  Well, um, look," Clark said, shifting uncertainly on his feet.  "I have to get to school.  But... I wanted to let you know that, um, on Saturday?"

Lex turned to look at him over his shoulder, a small, relieved smile still sitting on his lips.  "Yeah?"

"Well, my parents are going to Metropolis.  There's a new organic restaurant they're trying to land.  So, um... well, they're leaving first thing in the morning and they'll be gone until about five, so I thought maybe..." he shrugged slowly, "you know, maybe we could spend some time together at my place?"

Lex's smile widened slightly, and he gave a small nod.  "That sounds nice, Clark."

Instantly, Clark's room-brightening grin returned, and he nodded once, crisply, his expression full of joy.  "Great!  Okay... well..."  He wiped his hands on the seat of his jeans, grabbed his bookbag, and backed toward the door.  "I gotta go.  But, um... see you Saturday?"

Lex watched him steadily, finding even more peace in the simple act of gazing upon him than he usually did.  "See you Saturday."

"Great.  Hey...  Congratulations, Lex.  Really.  I mean, the Crystal and all of that stuff," he shook his head, "whatever.  I don't care.  I'm really proud of you."

"I appreciate that, Clark," Lex said softly.  "Go on," he tossed his head toward the door, though he would have rather suggested Clark stay.  "You'll be late."

Clark nodded, smiled, and hurried out the door.  There was a beat of concern in his expression before he fully turned away, and though Lex noted it, he wasn't going to comment on it.

This time the obsession had not gotten as bad as before, but it had gotten bad enough.  He was relieved to have it over, grateful to be able to concentrate on other things once again.  Already, he was mentally constructing half a dozen to-do lists, not the least of which was to spend some time with Clark without bringing up the subject of how they were going to get the Crystal from his father even once.

He still had to concoct a trail for his father to follow so he wouldn't suspect Sebastian for the theft, which would be at the top of his list, but for the most part, the Crystal of Water was out of Lex's life.  Even though he knew where it was, knew that it was close, it didn't bother him at all now that it was in Clark's possession—or Jor-El's, as the case might have been.  It was where it was supposed to be, and that was enough.

He also knew, however, that there was one more Crystal out there, and that his office was inundated with scrolls and relics and myths and legends all waiting to point him toward it, and that when it became clear where it was, Lex would most likely have to deal with this feeling all over again.  He thought he might have been getting the hang of how to handle it, but he still wasn't looking forward to it.  In fact, he privately hoped it would be a while before the last Element was located.  He could use some time to catch up on other areas of his life—every other area, in fact.

Because if there was only one thing that the recurring Kryptonian obsessions took out of him, that thing was most definitely time.


~


Clark was passing the time by swinging gently in his hammock and reading a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories.  There had always been something about the fictional consulting detective that had struck Clark as a little...  Well.

He was chuckling over the silly contrivance of The Red-Headed League and so was surprised at the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to his loft, not having been paying enough attention to notice the sound of the car approaching or the door closing.  He knew immediately from the cadence of the steps that the person approaching was Lex, and he rolled himself out of his hammock and to his feet with a look of surprise and delight.

"Wow!" he said as he landed.  "You're up early."

Lex was fixing him with a steady gaze and a small smirk as he finished climbing the last few stairs.

"I expected you more... like... um."

Still and silent, Lex stood there, his hand resting lightly on the banister.  He wore muted colours, greys and blacks as usual, and carried his overcoat in the crook of his free arm.

He said nothing, and it was the quality of that nothing that slowed and eventually halted Clark's words.

Clark's smile calmed, his eyebrows arched in anticipation.  But when Lex continued to maintain his silence, still staring at Clark with those calm, steady eyes, Clark's special hearing engaged itself without any conscious input from him, and he found himself focussing on the sound of Lex's heartbeat.

It was fast.  It was very fast.

Clark's hearing came back to him and his own heart started to speed up as his blood began to trek south.  Without looking away, he tossed the book onto the hammock and it swung gently at the new weight.

For the briefest moment, Lex's smile widened, and then his gaze slid to his right, to Clark's sofa, and stayed there a beat.  He looked back at Clark and tossed his head minutely in the same direction.  Clark didn't need any further instruction.

With a shaky, almost nervous smile, Clark ran his hands quickly over the thighs of his jeans, then walked over to the sofa as had been silently requested.  Slowly, he sat down, hands held loosely between his knees, and looked up at Lex on the landing.

His heart was rising in his throat at the smoldering look Lex was directing his way, and it stuck there, pounding, as he waited for him to do something else, something startling.  But Lex only stood there, gazing and smirking as if he had all the time in the world and as if his heart wasn't pounding, too, though Clark knew it was.

Clark swallowed hard, twice in succession, trying to calm his pulse.  But then, finally, Lex laid his coat over the banister and began to move toward him, and Clark's heart rate doubled.

He didn't move quickly, he didn't rush, but neither was he casual or slow about his approach.  He walked in a straight line at a comfortable pace, certain of where he was going, certain of what he wanted, until he stood directly before Clark's bent knees.  Then his smile softened, and he reached down, took Clark's wrists in his hands, and gently pulled them from between his knees and apart.

Clark rested his arms on the cushions, his legs opening slightly as he looked up at Lex—not with nervousness, not now after so much time together—but rather with anticipation and anxiousness.

Still wearing his small, soft smile, Lex dropped gracefully to his knees and steadily began unfastening Clark's fly.  Clark took the initiative and pulled his own long-sleeved tee and undershirt over his head, tossing them inside out over the sofa's arm to his right.  Then he shifted his hips up to let Lex tug the jeans down, his underwear going with them as Lex didn't bother trying to separate the two.

The chilly mid-March air was welcome on his already engorged flesh, though Clark instinctively looked toward the stairs when he was exposed, briefly paranoid about being caught though he knew his parents had left over an hour ago.

The concern faded quickly, however, and he looked back down to where Lex was sliding his jeans ever further downward.  They caught around Clark's ankles at his boots, and he was ready to lift his feet, toe his shoes off or have them tugged, but Lex ignored his movement, sliding forward until his own knees were imprisoning Clark's feet against the side of the sofa.  He leaned over, his ribs resting against the cushion between Clark's spread knees, his forearms laying along the tops of Clark's legs, and laid his lips gently on Clark's inner right thigh.

Despite the gentleness of the touch, it caused a great spark of sensation on Clark's skin, and he gasped and jumped slightly where he sat.

Again, Clark swallowed hard, the silence buzzing in his ears, his hearing rushing back and forth between normalcy and whisper-sensitive.  He reached out to trail his fingertips softly over the curve of Lex's smooth head, and heard the slide of friction.

Lex looked up at him at the gentle touch, and smirked against Clark's thigh.  Clark couldn't help but to smile somewhat shyly back at him, even as his erection pulsed its own reaction to Lex's devious expression against his belly.  Lex's kisses were soft, pretending innocence, guilelessness, as they crept up Clark's thigh, heading for the crease of his groin, and Clark let his head fall back to the sofa, and he sighed.

His legs opened a little wider as Lex approached his goal, then tensed when instead of laying his mouth where Clark most wanted it, he skipped over Clark's loins with only a hot breath, and began to softly kiss down the other thigh.

"Lex..."

The sound of his name made Lex's lips stretch briefly against Clark's skin, but he continued his path downward, skimming along the inside of his thigh with the tip of his tongue and firm, open-mouthed kisses.  He was getting far too low, and Clark shifted on the cushion with frustration, fighting the urge to reach down and take his ignored but enthralled erection in his own hand.

Lex reached Clark's bent knee, and he darted a tongue underneath, into the crease, making Clark jump with a surprised laugh.  He reached down to rub the ticklish sensation away even as Lex, grinning and shaking his head, switched back to the other leg.

"I know, I know," Clark murmured.  "How can an invulnerable alien be ticklish."

Lex didn't respond, though there was a soft puff of breath against Clark's skin, as though he might have laughed.

With a deep sigh of contentment, Clark leaned back in his seat again, and closed his eyes.  Lex's kisses were wet and soft on his thigh, his regular breaths a tease of warmth over each damp spot he left in his wake.  Again, frustratingly, just as Lex was approaching the place where his thigh met his groin, he headed back down the other way with a wet, flicking tongue.

Clark arched, pushing his hips up as if to draw attention to his sizable problem.  "Leeex," he whined.  "Come oooon."

Lex only chuckled deep in his throat, causing a tiny thrill of vibration against Clark's skin.  He slid a hand up the other leg, massaging high and firm, his thumb sliding into the crease but managing to avoid anything more sensitive.

Clark widened his legs a little more, pressed his hips up a little more ostentatiously, and let out a little grunt of dissatisfaction when it garnered him nothing more than he was already getting.  He sighed sharply and rested his head on the back of the couch.

This time when Lex headed up his leg, Clark tried to hold down his excitement, saying nothing, only breathing more rapidly, his mouth falling open in anticipation.  He couldn't have claimed surprise when Lex bypassed his twitching cock yet again, and started swiping his flat, wet tongue over Clark's hip instead.

"Nnn," he groaned, more miffed than anything else.

Lex paused to flick his teasing tongue into Clark's navel, making him jump again before crossing to the other hip.  By the time it, too, was thoroughly wet, Clark was shifting side to side in his seat.  He opened an eye and glanced down, saw Lex was leaning over his crotch in order to reach his hip.  He pressed slowly upward, his cock tantalizingly close to brushing against Lex's left shoulder.

There was a loud pop! as Lex slapped him on the rump for his trouble.

Clark jerked and whined, but he settled his hips back on the couch.  His belly was slick with fluid where the tip of his erection rested and uselessly oozed its excitement.  He was glad for it, though, when the hand that had so recently gave him a corrective whack ghosted down to Clark's cock and, with a single digit, lifted it from his stomach.  Lex darted his tongue under it to lick away the small mess.

Clark groaned at the sight, and the teasing sensation that came with it.  His touch was maddeningly light, and rested halfway down the shaft on the upper side—Lex had surely purposefully chosen to touch the least sensitive place on Clark's cock in order to move it out of his way.

When Lex gently let it fall back to where it had been, and went back to his slow, wet exploration of Clark's thighs, Clark banged a heel on the floor in irritation.  He put his hands over his eyes, then raked his fingers through his hair, wishing he could pull some of it out.  His erection was so achingly swollen with the need to be touched—his tip reaching well beyond the horizon of his foreskin—that he thought he might come if he just sufficiently vividly imagined Lex's mouth on him.  And it was starting to feel like that was as close as he was going to get to the real thing.

He'd just let his hands fall helplessly to his sides and opened his eyes when Lex stopped his exquisite torture and instead leaned up over Clark's body to kiss him.  Clark kissed him back hard and insistently, cupping the back of his head in his hand to keep Lex tight to him for a few seconds.

When he finally let him go, Lex backed away only far enough to look at him, and smiled, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I love you," Clark breathed, and Lex's smile softened.  "But I would really appreciate it if you would put my dick in your mouth now."

At that, Lex laughed aloud, shaking his head and sliding back down to his former position.

Clark spread his legs just as far as they would go with his pants still binding his ankles, and scooted down an inch further to position himself directly underneath Lex's mouth.  Lex, of course, dodged him, and ducked underneath.  He was just about to protest when a hot, wet, teasing tongue started lapping at the curve of his balls.

Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, then let it out the same way.  The slight movement was a white hot sensation, all of Clark's focus instantly pinpointed on that one small strip of skin, then gratefully widening as Lex's tongue slowly expanded its search.

"T-That'll work, too," he moaned unevenly.

Lex chuckled, then breathed what sounded like a satisfied moan as he replaced his teasing tongue with soft, wet lips and the most wonderful sensation of suction as he pulled one entire testis into his mouth.  He bathed it in a back and forth undulating motion before letting it slip free and subjecting the other to the same treatment.

Clark's wordless moan was loud with enthusiastic approval—so loud that two short years ago he would have turned bright red with embarrassment at the sound of it, though now he only appreciated the way it made Lex hum back at him and put a touch more vigor into what he was doing.  He moaned loudly again, whispering Lex's name at the end of it, and felt Lex's sigh tease his sensitized skin.

When he'd released Clark's balls, he licked just once, quickly, at the strip of skin behind them, then rose more fully onto his knees.  For a moment, his heated gaze met Clark's half-open, glazed-over eyes, and the predatory expression in them went into Clark like a bolt, making his cock jerk with a pulse of excitement.  Moving so fast Clark could have missed it if he'd blinked, Lex shot downward and caught Clark's tip in his mouth before it was done twitching.

Clark cried out at the sudden sensation of heat and softness, and his erection twitched again, twice, as Lex held him firmly in his mouth but didn't move.