Alliance

by Lanning Cook

"You've been sniffing your printer cartridges." Pete swung himself into the nearest chair and propped his feet up on the desk next to Chloe's monitor, grateful that few people ever bothered to venture into the Torch office. "Seriously. I'm talking major inhaling, here."

Chloe shot him a narrow-eyed glower, the one she used on the freshmen. "You know I'm right."

Pete sighed. Chloe was not going to let this go until some other unnatural phenomenon distracted her, and there had been too few of those lately. Pete found himself wishing for a ten-foot flaming carrot or a talking meteor rock or something. "Look. Clark is weird. I've known him since he was four, and I'm telling you Clark is weird. There's no international conspiracy going on here, Chloe."

"Oh, no, the conspiracy is completely domestic, unless Lex Luthor has had himself declared a sovereign nation or something. Which I wouldn't put past him."

"So what are you saying? That Clark got your dad fired? That Clark got you and your dad evicted?"

Chloe scowled at him. "No."

"Good, because--"

"I'm saying there's something funny going on between Clark and the guy who did get my dad fired and us evicted."

"There's been something funny going on between those two since the day that asshole showed up in Smallville," Pete growled. "And it never bothered you before."

"Well, now it bothers me! Whose side are you on? You've been the president of the He-Man Luthor-Haters Club for years, and now you're going to wuss out on me?"

Pete bristled. "Who's wussing?"

"Clark hasn't wanted anything to do with us since December--"

"Chloe--"

"Which, coincidentally – not – was the same time all those guys in pickup trucks and black vans showed up all over town."

"Do we have to go over the whole list of weird again?"

"Then all of a sudden the Kent farm goes from teetering on the brink of bankruptcy to being completely refinanced and sitting pretty, while everyone else around here who isn't kissing the Luthors' collective asses are being foreclosed--"

"I guess we do." Pete swiped Chloe's Coke and took a sip, settling in with gloomy resignation for the recital.

"And I won't even mention Mrs. Kent blowing some guy's guts all over her barn."

Pete choked on the soda.

"Some guy who just happened to work for LuthorCorp."

"Do we have to talk about guts right before lunch?" Pete tried with little success to brush some of the Coke from his shirt.

"And then there's the amazing disappearing-reappearing Lex Luthor."

"Chloe, as a friend? I'm telling you you're coming off a little obsessive here. Just a little."

"First he's in Smallville, and whoops! Some guy just walks into Castle Anthrax and hits Asshole Junior over the head with a tire iron – give me a second while my heart breaks – and then he's in Metropolis, and then he's in Smallville, and then he's in Metropolis again. And according to some people, he's in two different places in Metropolis at the same time. But whenever he's in Smallville, he's even more bizarro than he used to be."

"They say he had brain damage."

"He had brain damage before he started. And then he fires my father, and what's his reason?"

"Here we go," Pete sighed.

"Ask Clark Kent."

"Brain damage."

"Oh, no. Not brain damage, because when we tell Mr. Kent about it, he gets on the phone, and in less than an hour Asshole Junior is apologizing to us."

"Let it go, Chloe."

"And when we ask Mr. Kent how he did it, all he'll say is that he talked to someone who knows A.J. very well. Asshole Senior, maybe?"

"And now we're back to the conspiracy again."

"We never left. If the Kents are cozy with Lionel Luthor--"

"Okay, Chloe? I'm telling you this theory is whacked. Mr. Kent hates Lionel Luthor almost as much as my dad does, and he's never made any secret about it."

"People change," Chloe said darkly.

"Plus? If the Kents are conspiring with Lionel Luthor, what was one of his employees doing prowling around their barn in the dead of night, attacking Mr. Kent and Clark?"

Chloe scowled, shifting in her chair. "I didn't say I had all the details worked out."

"Whacked," Pete repeated firmly, finishing off the Coke.

"Well, what's your theory, then?"

"My theory? My theory is that Clark is weird, and Clark is a jerk, and Clark has no time for us peasants because he's been having too much fun riding around in A.J.'s Porsche and eating pheasant-under-glass at Castle Anthrax."

Chloe shot him an exasperated look. "That doesn't even begin to cover all the facts!"

"Covers all the facts I'm interested in." Pete crumpled the Coke can and sent it flying into the wastebasket with more force than he'd intended.

"Hey," someone said softly.

Startled, Pete turned toward the door, then snorted and looked away again. "Well, look, Chloe. It's Lex Luthor's friend."

"And he's talking to us." Chloe's voice was waspish; she turned away from Clark to study her monitor, scowling.

Clark went red. "Look, I said I was sorry."

"That's right! Clark said he was sorry, Chloe."

"Well, that's all right, then," Chloe snapped. "Everything's peachy."

"I didn't mean to hurt you guys. I just-- There's been a lot going on at home, and--"

"Yes, tell us about what's been going on, Clark." Chloe whirled her chair around to face him. "Explain it to us."

Clark got even redder. "It's…it's family stuff."

"Whose family?" Chloe demanded harshly. "Yours or your friend Lex Luthor's? Collaborated in any other evictions lately?"

Pete winced in spite of himself. "Whoa. Chloe."

"The guy who tried to evict you isn't my friend," Clark said unevenly.

See, now this was the thing about Clark – he was a really bad liar, and a really good liar. Because he lied by not telling you anything, and he did it so well you forgot he hadn't answered your question or volunteered the same information that everybody else had. But he hardly ever told a lie by telling you something, and when he did he might as well have had a neon sign over his head flashing LIAR! LIAR!, it was so damn obvious. And this time there was no sign.

"The guy who tried to evict us is your best friend," Chloe retorted. "And you know why he did it. You know why and you won't tell me."

Clark looked at his feet. "My mom's doing a little birthday dinner thing for me tonight," he said quietly. "Just family and a couple friends. I'd really like you both to come."

"You have got to be kidding." Chloe turned her back on him; Pete could see tears in her eyes. Oh, man. "Sorry. Washing my hair. Sick dog. Dead grandmother."

Clark nodded without looking up, and Pete realized that he was waiting for his answer.

"Sorry, man," he heard himself saying. "I made other plans."

"Okay," Clark breathed. "See you." He disappeared from the doorway, leaving Pete feeling like he'd just kicked his Aunt Sophie's puppy.

"Shit," he muttered, trying not to notice that Chloe was crying. "Shit."

***

"There. Seventeen." Martha took a deep breath and stepped back to survey her creation, trying not to remember a time when Clark's cake had only five candles on it. "I suppose Clark is a little old for birthday cakes, but--"

"I never knew a boy who was too old for cake."

Pamela was smiling, but it didn't conceal her extreme pallor, her emaciated face. Martha had visited too many shut-ins not to know that look. Stifling a sigh, Martha slid onto a chair beside Pamela at the kitchen table. "Pamela, are you sure--"

"Yes."

Martha looked up, startled.

Pamela shot her a wry look. "Yes, I'm sure I don't want to go to a hospital. There's nothing they can do for me there that the nurse can't do for me at Alexander's house. My doctor agrees with my decision."

Martha nodded, turning the package of birthday candles over in her hands, wondering if she'd have half Pamela's grace when her own time came. "Lex and Eli say you should be able to move in tomorrow."

"They've been working hard."

"Lex wanted me to remind you that he won't be over tonight to read. He promises two chapters tomorrow night."

Pamela's smile deepened, but her gaze was sharp. "The big date."

Martha wryly considered the possibility that she was being sized up as a prospective in-law. "Yes. Although movies and homemade popcorn in a farmhouse are a far cry from dinner and dancing in Metropolis."

"I actually think Alexander prefers the former."

"And that surprises you."

"It's a pleasant surprise." Pamela glanced down at her hands. "There were times, when I heard the news accounts of his Metropolis days, when I wondered if he would survive them."

"I think Lex has outgrown those days."

"I think he's had some help to outgrow them." Pamela met her eyes.

Martha smiled. "He'd started to outgrow them long before we met him, I think. He would have found his own way without us."

"You underestimate Lionel Luthor." Pamela's voice went hard.

"Not anymore," Martha said grimly.

"When I think of what he's put Alexander through--"

"It'll come to back to him, Pamela." Martha said, believing it. "God willing, a hundred times over, and soon."

"Wouldn't you prefer to bring it back to him?"

Martha set the little box of candles on the table. "Violence is a line Jonathan and I are not prepared to cross."

"I'm not talking about violence. There's the matter of--"

Both women jumped as the phone rang.

Pamela's eyes narrowed, and Martha sighed. "Speak of the devil."

"Let me talk to him," Pamela said in a tone of low loathing. "I speak his language."

"No," Martha said firmly, rising from her chair to cross the kitchen, approaching the wall phone with something like dread. "That's just what he wants."

"He already knows I'm here, Martha. What difference--"

Martha picked up the phone, bracing herself. "Hello, Mr. Luthor."

Ragged laughter assaulted her ear. "I see I'm becoming predictable."

"You're becoming a stalker. This is harassment, Mr. Luthor. If you call again, my husband and I will have no choice but to take legal action."

"And if I were to notify the authorities that you were keeping my son from me--"

"They'd ask you who it was hitting the Metropolis clubs every night and illegally dumping toxic waste all over our county every day, and wouldn't that be an interesting question to answer."

A pause. "We can come to an understanding, Mrs. Kent. We can help each other."

"So you can blackmail us again." Martha maintained an even tone with difficulty. "Find someone else to help."

"For God's sake, Mrs. Kent, all I want is to talk to my son. I don't want to lose him; surely you must understand that."

"You didn't lose him," Martha snarled, finally losing control. "You threw him away. This conversation is over." Martha slammed the receiver into the hook with a satisfying reverberation of steel bells and leaned against the wall, drained.

"Well," Pamela said, after a moment of silence. "I guess you speak his language, too."

***

"They hate me."

Eli glanced up at the young man sitting on the steps to the school's main entrance, every line of his posture radiating adolescent rejection. Had he ever been so young as this? "They are angry. They are hurt. This is not hatred." He bent over his weeding, actually enjoying the feel of the spring earth in his hands. It was a good thing to touch the earth. It put one in his place in the greater scheme of things.

"Looks like hate to me. They won't talk to me. They won't have anything to do with me." Eli gave him a sharp look, and Clark blushed. "Yeah, I know, I did the same thing to them."

"You must give them time."

"Chloe thinks I had something to do with the eviction."

"You did," Eli reminded him, as gently as possible. "You cannot expect her to understand what kind of something it was when she has no information except that which the creature has given her."

"She's known me since we were twelve! She can't really think I'd have her put out in the street. She can't."

"An infatuated young woman rarely employs reason where the object of her affections is concerned."

A blank stare met this statement, and Eli glanced heavenward. The boy could move mountains, run like a cyclone, and, most amazingly, divine the heart and mind of the enigma that was Alexander Joseph Luthor, but to some facts of life he was as oblivious as a dead fish left on the dock for a week.

"The lady," Eli said in his most delicate tone, "entertains feelings of a romantic nature."

"For me?" The boy's voice rose to a squeak. "That's crazy!"

"She bought a gown for the spring formal months ago," Eli informed him blandly. He really should do something to curb these sadistic impulses. They were bad for his soul.

"You've only been working here for two days! You've barely laid eyes on Chloe. How could you know--"

"I know because I have eyes and ears," Eli snapped. "You would do well to start using yours."

"Aw, God," Clark moaned, leaning his head in his hands. "God, I thought things couldn't get any worse."

"Things can always get worse." Eli cheerfully tossed a weed into his basket. "This is what makes life interesting."

"I don't want life to be interesting. I want it to be normal."

Eli snorted. "Normality is a myth concocted by statisticians, damn their sorcerering souls."

Clark's head jerked up; his expression was anguished. "It is not! It's what everybody else in this school has and I don't."

"I think you would be surprised to find how many of your schoolmates long for the same mythic normality that you do," Eli said, gentling his tone.

"Maybe," Clark said glumly. "But they aren't as un-normal as I am."

Eli reminded himself for the hundredth time how very young a soldier the cricket was. "Come," he said softly. "Help me finish here, and I will drive you home. Your mother will have a very normal birthday cake waiting for you."

***

"No good deed goes unpunished, Jonathan."

Lex sounded indecently cheerful for a man who'd been painting all morning, and Jonathan snarled into the recalcitrant box spring, throwing his weight against it to no avail. "Stop quoting Twain to me and get that damn corner up!"

Lex grunted from above Jonathan on the staircase. "I am getting that damn corner up. It's your damn corner that isn't cooperating."

Jonathan suppressed some of the more colorful portions of his vocabulary as he found himself wedged between box spring and wall. "It just had to be a king-sized bed, didn't it?"

"And it just had to be a curved staircase." Lex heaved again, with no effect.

"You knew it was a curved staircase when you bought the damn bed!"

"My measurements were exact. It will fit."

"A king-sized bed," Jonathan growled. "Pretentious Luthor crap. You couldn't have just…gold-leafed the toilet bowl or something?"

Lex paused in his efforts. "That," he said in a horrifyingly admiring tone, "would be an absolutely stunning design touch, Jonathan."

"Shut up."

"Traditional, yet daring."

"You're a damn loon. No, pull it straight up."

"My measurements--"

"Screw your measurements! Pull it straight up, or I'm so help me I'm sawing it in half. No, wait. Wait." A sudden, sickening thought occurred to him. No good deed goes unpunished. "There isn't…anything up there that I don't want to see, is there?"

"Don't want to see?" Lex sounded genuinely confused.

"Yeah. You know…."

"All my criminal mastermind paraphernalia is in the storm cellar, Jonathan."

"No, I don't mean that. I mean…you know…. You…and Clark will be, uh, spending time up here, right?" This was amazingly hard to articulate for a guy as cool as he was.

"Oh!" Lex paused. "Well, there are my…toys."

Jonathan froze.

"And I suppose the mirrored ceiling is a bit suggestive."

Jonathan gripped the box spring in a stranglehold.

"And the mural on the wall beside my bed of Clark in the nude, striking a rather provocative pose--"

"Goddamn it to hell!"

"On red satin sheets."

Jonathan shoved the box spring wildly toward Lex, regardless of caution, and it finally gave way, shooting through the opening at the top of the stairs. Jonathan heard Lex's startled squawk and sprinted up to find the boy flat on his back with the damned box spring resting on top of him. The bastard was laughing.

"Kidding, kidding," Lex said breathlessly, shoving the box spring away.

"You'd better be!" Jonathan scanned the large, freshly painted room, but no evidence of Luthor debauchery was visible. In fact, it was a shockingly normal room. Sunlight poured in through the dormer windows and the newly-installed French doors that led to a small balcony. The walls were a respectable pale yellow, the carpet a respectable beige, and the unhung artwork stacked along the walls, or what Jonathan could see of it, was as far from avant-garde as Jonathan could imagine. The new wardrobe and chest of drawers stood where the delivery men had left them last night, as yet open and unused. A remarkably tame room for a Luthor.

Jonathan blew out a sigh. He fell for it every time. "Are you okay?"

"Never better." Lex reached over to grab a bottle of water from the six-pack lying on the floor; he tossed one to Jonathan. "Thanks for your help."

Jonathan grunted and swung himself down to sit cross-legged on the floor, opening the water. "Can't expect Dirty Harry to haul that monster up those stairs, and since you had to be up here this afternoon--"

"Clark is coming over tonight, after the party," Lex said, taking a water for himself. "I have a lot to do up here."

"Like Clark has never seen a mess before. You know what his room is like." It struck Jonathan that the color of Lex's walls was remarkably similar to those of Clark's bedroom. He scowled and took a long swig of water.

"I like Clark's room." Lex's voice was quiet.

Jonathan snorted, absently running a hand across his aching chest and left shoulder. It was a weird ache, but it came and went. "It's a swamp."

"By the way," Lex continued, abruptly changing the subject, "I wouldn't advise you to refer to your son's bodyguard as 'Dirty Harry'."

"Oh, yeah?"

"He's very sensitive, and something might go off accidentally."

"Look, if he can hum 'Old MacDonald' every time he sees me --"

"I'm sure that's a coincidence."

"Then I can call him Dirty Harry."

"I saw him shoot a button off a man's shirt once," Lex said in a warning tone. "At a hundred yards."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, took another long drink from the water bottle, and lay on his back on the new carpet. "Bring it on. I have spare buttons."

Lex snorted and lay back on the floor, too. "Your funeral."

"Lex." Jonathan scanned the ceiling, bemused. "There are stars on your ceiling."

"Um…yes. So there are." Lex slid the cool water bottle over his face, which probably accounted for the flush there.

"Glow-in-the-dark stars."

"Uh-huh."

"Why?"

"Why not? Don't you like stars?"

Jonathan grimaced. So the Luthor weirdness was just changing its style, is all. Going from tacky crystal chandeliers to dime store stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars. He should have known better than to think it would ever be completely cured. "I like 'em just fine."

"Good." Lex was silent for a moment, then spoke in a subdued tone. "Mrs. Kent told me that my father has been calling the house."

Damn. "She shouldn't have told you."

"I thought we agreed to no secrets."

"I don't want him anywhere near you. I don't want him talking to you. He's dangerous, Lex."

"No. Really?"

"Lex--"

"Jonathan, I think it should be my decision whether or not to speak to my father."

Jonathan shut his mouth, absurdly stung. Of course it was. It wasn't as if Lex were his son or anything.

"But I appreciate your concern."

"No problem," Jonathan replied stiffly.

"I'm not used to that," Lex continued in a strained voice. "People being concerned. Unless they're paid, of course."

Jonathan sighed. Christ Jesus, sometimes Lex was more of an alien than Clark would ever be. No, strike the sometimes. "I think some concern is warranted here. Because no offense, but your father is a psychotic son of a bitch--"

"No offense taken," Lex said drily.

"--and if you were my son, I'd blow his head off before he got within ten yards of you."

Lex fell silent for a moment. "Lines, Jonathan."

Jonathan stared up at the stars. Lines. It always came down to lines lately.

"But thanks."

Jonathan shrugged, avoiding Lex's steady gaze.

"What did my father say?"

"That we must know where you are. That he didn't believe that you'd returned to Europe with Pamela so ill. That he would find you. That all he wants is to help us."

Lex actually chuckled, but it was a grim sound. "All he wants? My father's motives haven't been that simple since he learned to crawl."

"He said that he has information about the science project that will help us."

"I don't doubt it. And the information wouldn't come cheap."

Jonathan nodded, relieved. Lex wasn't buying Lionel's bullshit. That was good. "He wanted to talk to Pamela, too."

"Over my dead body." Lex's tone was flat. "The sooner she and Eli move over here the better."

"What the hell is he up to?"

"I don't know. He hasn't been answering his email. He hasn't been to the office. He's cancelled some extremely important business meetings. That's highly unusual. Eli is working on getting his sources within LuthorCorp and the townhouse organized again, but it's much more difficult, now that he's no longer able to contact them in person."

"Hope Harry's enjoying his groundskeeping gig," Jonathan said, with no small amount of malicious satisfaction.

Lex raised an eyebrow. "Jonathan. You know Eli loves working in the great outdoors. It improves his aim."

Jonathan snorted and refrained from comment.

"Besides, it puts him on the school grounds and close to Clark."

"How convenient," Jonathan said grimly. "Do I want to know how he got that job?"

"Probably not."

"Tell me anyway."

Lex turned his head enough to look Jonathan straight in the eye. "My father got it for him."

Jonathan restrained himself as the foulest words in his vocabulary threatened to find voice. "Damn it, Lex. Who is Eli working for?"

"Eli is family." Lex spoke the words as if they were scripture.

Jonathan forced a gust of air from his lungs.

"I understand your misgivings. But there was no way in hell to get Eli on the school payroll without the recommendation of someone with my father's influence."

"So your father has done us this favor out of the goodness of his heart. Is that why you want to talk to him? What does he want in exchange?"

"It's impossible to know what he wants." Lex's voice was uneven. "I've spent my life trying to understand what he wants." Lex cleared his throat. "His immediate goal appears to be to regain his…proprietary interest."

It took Jonathan a moment to understand what the hell Lex was talking about; when he did, it made his stomach turn. "You mean you. His son."

"I am now a resource of inestimable value."

"Goddamn it, Lex!" Jonathan jerked himself up into a sitting position. "Don't ever--"

"Jonathan--"

"Don't ever talk about yourself that way! Don't even think about yourself that way."

Lex's gaze was fixed on the stars. "If I'm going to anticipate his actions--"

"Thinking like that is poison! You're not a 'proprietary interest.' You're not a 'resource.' You're Lex Luthor and you're a human being. You're part of my family."

Lex turned toward him; there was no mistaking the amazement in the boy's face. He hadn't understood, Jonathan realized. Despite everything, the boy hadn't understood.

"You're part of my family," Jonathan repeated more gently.

Lex tore his gaze away from Jonathan to stare at the stars again; he was breathing hard. "Jonathan, were you ever afraid of your father?"

Jonathan's throat tightened. Damn Lionel Luthor. Damn him to hell. "No, son. Never."

"Someday…I want to stop being afraid of mine."

Jonathan envisioned beating Lionel over the head with his tire iron. "You will. If I can do anything--"

"This is something I need to do myself." Lex glanced back again, smiling faintly. "But thanks."

Jonathan nodded and hauled himself to his feet. "I'd better get back to work. Will you be all right with the rest of this?"

Lex sat up, nodding. "No problem. Thanks for your help."

"Anytime." Jonathan started down the stairs, then stopped and turned toward Lex. "Lex. If you ever need to talk. You know where to find me."

Lex actually looked puzzled.

Jonathan drew on his limited supply of patience. "When Clark is in trouble, he talks to me."

"You want me to talk to you like Clark does?" Lex looked lost.

"Just like Clark."

"Okay," Lex whispered.

"I mean it."

"Okay. I… Okay."

"See you later, then." Jonathan started down the stairs.

"Jonathan. I'm…not good at this."

Jonathan snorted and glanced over his shoulder. "Tell me something I don't know."

Lex smiled faintly.

Jonathan grinned back. "It's like laundry, Lex. It takes practice."

Lex's smile broadened to a grin. "I'll bear that in mind."

Jonathan tossed Lex his water bottle and walked down the stairs, wondering resignedly what the conversational equivalent of pink boxers was likely to be.

***

"Absolutely not."

Eli sighed. He should have known there would be resistance from this quarter. "Mr. Kent--"

Clark activated the tazer with a huge grin on his face. "Cool."

Jonthan glowered at Eli. "I knew it. I knew you'd give him something completely inappropriate."

Pamela attempted to conceal her laughter with her napkin, and failed rather badly. Martha studied her son with a grave expression, slowly lowering her coffee cup to its saucer.

"I cannot imagine any gift more appropriate than one which could save his life," Eli replied, meeting Jonathan's gaze.

"Isn't that what you're supposed to be doing?"

"It is the responsibility of every bodyguard to be certain that his charge can protect himself long enough for him to arrive, or to protect himself entirely should the bodyguard be incapacitated or killed."

The grin faded from Clark's face.

"Eli," Pamela murmured, laying a hand on his arm, but Eli pressed on.

"Training in the martial arts requires time we do not have, and strength that Clark may not have at his disposal, should his attacker possess a meteorite. You would prefer a knife, perhaps? A firearm?"

Martha closed her eyes, and Jonathan sank into his chair, looking lost.

"The tazer is a weapon which incapacitates the attacker without killing, and requires minimal strength to operate."

"All right, all right," Jonathan growled. He looked at Martha.

Martha opened her eyes. "Clark, you understand that this isn't a toy." Jonathan sighed and leaned back in his chair.

Clark looked indignant. "Of course I do!"

"That thing is only to be used in a dire emergency." Jonathan scowled at the tazer as if it were a rattlesnake.

Clark was glaring now. "Geez, Dad, what do you think I'm going to do, go down to the football field and taze Whitney or something?"

Jonathan's eyes narrowed. "Why Whitney?"

Clark flushed. "No reason."

"Your father and I just want to be sure that you understand what a serious responsibility this is," Martha said quietly. "An adult responsibility, Clark. And one that no one can know about."

"Okay, okay," Clark sighed. "I can keep it in my backpack. No one will ever see it."

"In the front pocket," Eli said, relaxing. Reason would prevail, then, thanks to the lady of the house. "And keep the pocket unfastened."

"I think our present has been outclassed," Martha said wryly.

"No." Clark was around the kitchen table with his arms around his mother before Eli saw him leave his chair. "The jacket is great, Mom. It's the one I wanted, it's perfect."

Martha smiled at him, stroking his hair. "It's hard to know what to give a…a young man for his birthday." Her voice was unsteady.

"Martha," Jonathan muttered. "For God's sake, he's only seventeen."

Eli grimaced into his coffee. Kent refused to see what he did not wish to see; his wife could not afford that luxury. Martha Kent saw the young soldier before her; she sensed that her boy would remain under her protection for only a little while longer. Her heart was breaking, and the man would not see it, for fear his own heart would give way. Eli thought of his own mother, twenty years dead, and wondered when she had known, when her heart had broken. Women were the stronger sex. They needed to be.

Clark rolled his eyes at his father. "That's right. Listen to Dad, Mom. I'm an infant." He straightened, smiling, then froze. Eli recognized his expression, his posture, and hauled himself to his feet, silently cursing his sore muscles. "What? What do you hear?"

"There's a car coming up the drive," Clark said slowly. The rest of the adults at the table rose from their chairs.

"We're not expecting anyone else, are we? Pete and Chloe having second thoughts, maybe?" Jonathan sounded doubtful of his own suggestion, and Eli ignored it.

"The creature?"

Clark shook his head, frowning. "No. It's not one of Lex's cars."

Eli strode to the front windows and snatched up his binoculars, wondering as he did so why he was bothering. He knew perfectly well what he would see.

"Who is it?" Jonathan was standing at his side.

"Get your shotgun," Eli said harshly. "Clark, take Pamela and your mother upstairs."

"Oh, no," Pamela said, low and icy. "I'm staying right here." Eli heard Martha move to stand at Pamela's shoulder in some perverse display of feminine solidarity, and resisted the urge to indulge in vocabulary unfit for use in the presence of ladies.

Clark moved to the windows. "It's Mr. Luthor."

Eli spared him a glance, fascinated by the low loathing in the boy's tone. It had grown, slowly, in the months during which he had known the boy, and Eli could not help but wonder if Alexander had finally confided to his Hephaestion some private childhood horrors that he had told no one else. "It is. Your father and I will deal with this, Clark."

"He's coming down our lane like a bat out of hell." Jonathan was frowning. "Do you think he's drunk?"

"I think he is insane," Eli snapped, catching a glimpse of the driver's face through the open car window. Lionel Luthor was ash white and wide-eyed, his long hair flapping madly in the wind as if being beaten into a frenzy by the wings of demons. "I think he is mad dog. You will please fetch your shotgun, Mr. Kent."

Jonathan sighed and strode across the living room to the closet.

"He wasn't insane this afternoon." Martha peered into the twilight at the approaching car. "He sounded perfectly normal. For him," she added.

"Something's happened," Clark said.

Something had indeed happened; something to provoke impulsive and strategically dubious behavior from Lionel Luthor. It must be a very interesting something indeed. "Ladies, stand well back from the windows, if you please. Cricket, stay out of sight for now."

Clark nodded as Martha drew a clearly annoyed Pamela further into the living room; Eli overheard the muttered phrases "damned chauvinist" and "sexism in survival situations" even over the roar of the Mercedes' engine. Yanking the front door open, he strode out onto the front porch with Jonathan at his elbow.

The blue Mercedes came to a screeching halt in the drive, sending dust wafting over the driver as he struggled from the car with none of his usual grace. Eli's eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over the disheveled figure that staggered toward the two men standing on the porch.

"That's far enough," Jonathan said sharply.

Lionel lurched to a top, looking wildly from Jonathan to Eli and back again. "Let me in," he rasped.

Jonathan barked an unexpected laugh. "Not by the hair of my--"

"You profane this place," Eli snapped, cutting off Jonathan's bizarre and inappropriate silliness. "You will leave, Mr. Luthor. Get back in your car. If you continue to harass these people, you will find that I am not quite so devoid of resources and operatives as you imagine."

"You have to help me!"

"Where have I heard that before?" Jonathan's voice was a low snarl. "Get off my land."

Lionel dragged a shaking hand through his hair. "He was hanging there. He was hanging from the rafters in the foyer, bleeding all over the floor, hanging there like a piece of meat!"

Eli leveled his gaze. What new game was this? "You are babbling, Mr. Luthor. Who was hanging where, and what has it to do with us?"

"Atkins! He's hanging in the foyer of the mansion with big chunks shot out of him!"

Clark made a quickly muffled sound of dismay.

"Jesus," Jonathan muttered, going noticeably paler. "Did you call the police?"

Lionel stared at him.

Eli made no effort to restrain the chuckle that rose to his throat. "The police, well-bribed though they may be, may well begin to wonder at the abundance of corpses laid at Mr. Luthor's door. Yes?"

"You know I didn't do this!"

"If your evil has come home to roost, it is none of our affair. Take the matter up with the thing you made, the thing with your son's face."

Lionel licked his lips. "You have to help me. There's no staff at the house, he's sent them all to Metropolis."

"We're not your servants, and we're not doing your dirty work," Jonathan snapped, raising the shotgun. "Get back in your car."

"We can help each other," Lionel grated.

"Yes, I can just imagine." Jonathan closed one eye, aiming the weapon at Lionel's head.

Lionel backed away. "He's obsessed with your son. He's convinced that he's…different. That he has special abilities."

"Take the tales of your creature's madness to those who have time and inclination to listen to them." Eli pulled his pistol from the breast pocket of his jacket.

"He has a collection of evidence! He has files on your son, Mr. Kent. Photographs. Videotape. He's been excavating a field near here--"

Jonathan abruptly altered his aim and fired at Lionel's feet; Lionel leapt back against his car, eyes wide.

"Whoops," Jonathan said pleasantly. "Sorry. Finger slipped."

Eli heard the screen door open and slam, and ascertained with a quick glance that Martha, Clark and Pamela had left the safety of the house and were standing on the front porch.

"Pamela," Lionel said in a desperate tone. "You know what he's capable of. Tell these people--"

"These people know exactly what he's capable of," Pamela said, leaving Martha's restraining embrace to descend the stairs. "They also know exactly what you're capable of."

"Pamela, go back inside," Eli snapped. "All of you, inside at once." They were impossible, these people. How could one be expected to bodyguard such lunatics? He saw Clark step forward, watching Pamela with worried eyes.

"So I have nothing to tell them." Pamela strode slowly but steadily past Eli to stand in front of Lionel, fists clenched at her sides. "But I do have a message for you." In one fluid motion, she swung her knee up and drove it into Lionel's groin.

Lionel sank to his hands and knees with an open-mouthed groan, eyes wide with shock. Eli heard a quickly-suppressed laugh from Clark.

"From Alexander," Pamela continued coolly, turning back toward the porch. "And Lillian."

"Bitch," Lionel gasped, huddled over his affronted genitals. "You fucking bitch."

"It's a little late coming, but no less effective for the delay." Pamela stopped, one hand resting on the banister, to glance over her shoulder. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Lionel. Neither are these people. Get used to it."

"I could have destroyed any of you at any time," Lionel rasped. "Any of you. All of you. Your lives were all in my hands."

"Yeah, well, what goes around comes around." Jonathan glanced over his shoulder. "Clark, would you do Mr. Luthor a favor, and call the police?"

Clark smiled á La Jaconde and disappeared into the house.

"I'm…a Luthor, Mr. Kent." Lionel made a rather pitiful attempt to stand, and wound up leaning over the hood of his car. "If you're attempting to intimidate me--"

"No intimidation," Jonathan said pleasantly. "Just a favor."

Eli shot Jonathan a sharp glance, and saw, out of the corner of his eye, Martha hastily leaving the porch to ease Pamela to a sitting position on the steps. She sat beside the pale, shaking woman with an arm around her shoulders, whispering something into Pamela's ear.

"A favor," Lionel echoed grimly. For the first time, Lionel looked to Eli as if he understood how much trouble he'd found by coming to the Kent house. "They'll think I'm responsible!"

"You are responsible," Martha said, her voice strange and hard. "You're responsible for everything that's happened here."

"You'll regret this. I am your only hope of saving your son."

"That science experiment of yours doesn't dare lay a hand on our son," Martha retorted. "And you know it."

Lionel managed a grin. "It was a valiant attempt, Mrs. Kent. But you're a fool if you think those photographs will stop him indefinitely. The information he's collecting will capture the interest of too many individuals and organizations outside your control. They will see the evidence, and they will come for Clark."

Eli found himself lowering his weapon in spite of himself. Damn this demon to hell. "And you are here to save him, I suppose."

"I'm here because together we can take this monster down and save both our sons." Lionel forced himself into an upright and more dignified position.

"Your monster," Pamela said in a loathing tone. "Why haven't you taken him down?"

"You can't imagine I haven't tried."

"No," Pamela replied, contempt in her face. "I can't imagine."

"You are an efficient killer," Eli said in a bland tone. "Am I to understand that in the five months since its creation, this thing has given you no opportunity to dispose of it?"

"I haven't made such an attempt personally." Lionel's eyes kept shifting uneasily toward the house.

"Why not? You were closer to it than anyone else. You of all people were in the best position to destroy it."

"It wasn't that easy. He looks…sounds…just like my son." Lionel lowered his eyes.

Eli smiled, unsurprised, as Jonathan snorted and Pamela burst into laughter. "I understand." Lionel's head jerked up, clearly furious at the lack of an appropriately sympathetic reaction. "You did not have the manhood required for the business, so now you come to a farmer, an old man, a boy and some women to do it for you."

"He doesn't look anything like Lex," came in an angry voice from the porch. "He doesn't sound anything like him either. You don't know Lex at all."

"Clark, did you call the police?" Jonathan's voice was gentle.

"Yeah. I told them that Mr. Luthor found a dead body in his house, and that he got so scared he ran away and came here."

The mixture of adolescent malice and self-satisfied triumph in Clark's voice made Eli grin; he watched the crimson and impotent fury in Lionel Luthor's face with considerable satisfaction.

"You think I don't care about my son?" Luthor hissed. "You think killing someone that looks exactly like him--"

"I think the question is ludicrous past any attempt to answer it." Eli slipped his gun back into his breast pocket. "I suggest you get back in your car and go meet the police, unless you wish them to consider you their prime suspect more than they already do."

"I came here to try to help you people."

"We don't need your help." Clark's voice rang out, angry and defiant.

"You need it more than anyone." Lionel's tone was ice now. "Unless the prospect of being locked up in a government lab appeals to you."

"My finger is starting to slip again," Jonathan said in a deadly tone.

"He found some very interesting artifacts in that field, you know. One item in particular--"

"Leave now, Mr. Luthor." Martha rose to her feet.

"--was a little octagonal piece of metal with some peculiar characters imprinted on it. My sources tell me that the alloy is of non-terrestrial origin."

Eli felt the fear, heard the silence, and managed not to allow his expression to change. So. This was the inexplicable cricket explained. "Your sources are mad or drunk or both, and you are a fool."

"He's become obsessed with it. He keeps it on his desk during the day and takes it to his bedroom at night. He believes it's the key to controlling your son."

"Get in the damn car," Jonathan rasped. "Or so help me God, I'll blow your head off."

Lionel forced a smile, but Eli could see the fear in his eyes. "That is scarcely my idea of a fair exchange of information, Mr. Kent. Where is my son?"

"Have we not told you a thousand times that he returned to Europe?" Eli demanded, desperately trying to distract Lionel's cold blue eyes from Jonathan's white face.

"With his beloved nanny at death's door?"

Clark muttered "prick" in a voice that was clearly audible to Eli, but Pamela only raised an eyebrow. "In case you hadn't noticed, the dying nanny's knee is still very much in the land of the living."

Lionel ignored her. "He's here. Somewhere. Somewhere nearby. And I will find him."

"No, you won't," Clark said in a shaking voice. "You'll never find him. You'll never touch him again."

"Clark." Lionel gentled his voice, but the change was not soothing. "I'm on your side. Yours, your family's, Lex's. I want to help. The replicate is a danger to all of us now. We need to work together to stop him, before he finds a way to take you from your home. Before he finds Lex."

"He'll never find Lex!" Clark, visibly shaking, whirled and barreled through the door into the house. The back door slammed no more than a second later.

"Moves fast, doesn't he?" Lionel observed softly.

Eli had Lionel by his suit jacket so quickly that Lionel actually gasped. "So, as you may have noticed, do I." Opening the passenger-side door, he shoved Lionel inside. The devil could not be set free to follow Clark; it was all too obvious where the boy was headed. It crossed Eli's mind that Lionel might have operatives in the neighborhood of the house, waiting for just such an indiscretion, and prayed that Clark had presence of mind enough to chart a circuitous course to Lex's farmhouse.

"You and I are taking a little ride to that Scottish monstrosity of yours, where we will discuss with the police your alarming habit of attracting corpses." Eli slammed the door shut, but Lionel crossed his arms across his chest, glowering, and made no move to escape. So. The dog wished to speak to him privately. A good sign; it meant that Eli still had something that Lionel valued. Perhaps something that could be turned to the Kents' and Alexander's advantage.

"Eli." Jonathan laid a hand on his arm as Eli moved toward the driver's side door. "This is a bad idea."

"You will be lending me a wheelbarrow for all my bad ideas, I suppose." Eli slipped behind the wheel and closed the door. "Leave this to me. Stay here. And make certain that Clark stays wherever you find him."

Jonathan cast a black glance at Lionel and nodded in understanding. "I'll tell him to stay put. He's probably gone over to Pete's."

Ah. A nice touch. The farmer was becoming a much better liar. "I will call you after I have spoken with the police." Eli started the car and took off down the lane. The two men sat in silence for a few moments.

"Well?" Lionel snapped finally.

"Well." Eli shot him a look that had silenced far more courageous souls than Lionel Luthor; Lionel paled and said nothing more. "You will tell me everything the creature thinks he knows about Clark Kent, and in return I will perhaps consider not letting the authorities strap you into an electric chair. Does that sound like a fair exchange of information to you?"

***

"Oh, yeah." Pete's voice was so I-told-you-so that Chloe briefly considered doing to him what the redhead had done to Lionel Luthor. "The Kents are so tight with Mr. Luthor."

"Shut up," Chloe snapped, watching through the small gap in the hedge as the departing blue Mercedes turned onto the main road.

"Mr. Kent always fires his shotgun at his closest buds."

"Will you just be quiet a minute? I'm trying to think." Chloe turned the binoculars toward the house, but Mr. and Mrs. Kent and the strange woman had gone back inside.

"I can't believe you talked me into this." Pete's voice was low, now; low and angry. "Spying on the Kents."

"We aren't spying!" Chloe hastily lowered the binoculars. "We're investigating."

"Investigating what? Where's the crime, here, Chloe? You tell me what the Kents have done except be decent to everybody in this town."

"The eviction--"

"Hello! They stopped the eviction. They got your dad hired again. I don't know how they did it, but it wasn't by kissing Lionel Luthor's ass, that's for damn sure. And here you are, hiding behind their hedges with your damn binoculars, disrespecting their privacy. Nice, Chloe."

Chloe actually felt her face going red. Damn, she hated that. "Don't go all righteous wrath on me, you know that all the evidence--"

Pete held up a hand to stop her, looking as pissed as she'd ever seen him. "Oh, no. We're not going there again. You know why? Because I know what this is really about."

Chloe hastily put her sunglasses back on and groped for her car keys. "Come on, they have to be heading to Luthor's place. I'm going to find out who our new groundskeeper with the shiny little gun really is."

"This is about that dress hanging in your closet."

Chloe resisted the urge to bash Pete's face in with her binoculars. "Don't be stupid."

"This is about you being pissed that Clark dumped us and didn't ask you to the formal."

"And you aren't pissed?" Chloe's voice rose a little more than she'd intended, and she didn't care. "You aren't pissed that Clark's treated you like shit for almost five months? Or maybe you aren't. Maybe you're glad that Clark hasn't been around."

Pete's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

She was on dangerous ground, and she knew it, and she didn't care about that, either. "Maybe you're glad that Clark hasn't been there to see you sniffing around his precious Lana Lang."

Pete stared at her for two seconds, then rose to his feet, giving anyone who happened to be looking out the front windows of the Kent house a clear view of him.

"Get down!" Chloe hissed.

Pete looked down at her as if she were a stranger. "Mrs. Kent used to make me breakfast, you know," he said in a weirdly conversational tone. "Blueberry pancakes. And when I was sick and Mom was working, she used to stop at the house to check up on me. When Dad got behind with the mortgage when I was little, Mr. Kent went to bat for him with the Savings and Loan. And Clark…" Pete trailed off, staring at the house, then back at her, and Chloe knew she was screwed.

"You're on your own," Pete said coldly. He turned his back on her and strode quickly toward the road, taking no trouble to conceal himself.

Chloe watched him go for a few minutes, then wiped her face and scrambled away behind the hedges, heading for her car. She was going to the Luthor place.

Because this was not about the dress.

***

"Clark?"

The sound of Lex's voice steadied him, and Clark paused on the stairs to the third floor, trying to regulate his breathing. "Yeah, it's me."

Lex appeared at the top of the stairs, his cell phone in one hand. "Jonathan just told me."

Clark gulped. "I didn't run straight here. I zigzagged all over the county. There's no way anyone could have followed me."

"Clark. Breathe." Lex offered his free hand, one corner of his expressive mouth turning up.

Clark blew out a gust of air and climbed the remaining stairs to take Lex's hand. "I had to get here. I had to make sure--"

"Do you hear me complaining?" Lex tossed the phone away and pulled him close, grinning now.

Clark wrapped his arms around Lex's shoulders and held him tightly, closing his eyes. "He said he knew you were nearby. He said he'd find you. He said--"

"He won't find me," Lex murmured in his ear, drawing his arms around Clark's waist. "As a little cricket once told me--"

"Damn it, Lex--"

"'He's trying to freak you into making a mistake.' You didn't make it."

"He said he's on our side. He said--"

"I know. He's desperate." Lex drew him further into the room. "Karloff probably slipped a razor blade into his oatmeal this morning. Insert fiendish laughter here."

"That wasn't it. Atkins is dead. At your house."

"Your father told me."

"He's hanging--"

"Don't think about that."

"Do you think Karloff or…or Mercy--"

"Clark."

"If they find you, will they try…will they do--"

"None of them know where I am. The idea that I'm nearby is only wishful thinking on my father's part. Eli has this place wired so thoroughly only a cricket or a supersonic farmboy could get in without my knowing it." Lex's hands were moving soothingly on Clark's back.

Clark rested his cheek against Lex's. God, he wished he was as brave as Lex. "I don't know how you stay so calm," he muttered.

"Luthors are always--"

"Hardy-har-har."

Clark could feel Lex smile against his cheek, but he didn't answer right away. "You're here," Lex finally murmured in his ear.

Clark fell silent, letting Lex hold him in the fading sunlight, feeling the tension in his muscles fade away with it.

"Happy birthday." Lex's tone was not without irony.

Clark managed a rueful laugh. "Yeah. The whole day has sucked."

"Tell me."

"I invited Pete and Chloe to dinner. They blew me off."

"Ah."

"I've lost them," Clark said flatly.

"You have to give them time, Clark."

"Everybody keeps saying that."

"I am not everybody."

Lex's hauteur only made Clark roll his eyes. "You're a retard. Why should they forgive me? I was an asshole."

"I've been given to understand that this is what friends do."

"What? Be an asshole or forgive?"

Lex leaned away enough to regard Clark with raised eyebrows. "Both, as I recall. What do you think?" He gestured toward the room.

Clark stared around him. Geez, it looked so…normal. He had been sure, when Lex had decided to renovate the farmhouse for Pamela, that he would recreate the mansion in some way. But the house was starting to look more like the Kent house than a castle. "It's great, Lex. But it's not very, uh, millionairish, is it?"

Lex's mouth twitched. "Less is usually more. But do you like it?"

"Sure I like it. I feel like I'm at home."

Lex's smile turned triumphant. "I would have had it finished if you hadn't shown up early. But you can get the general idea."

Clark wandered across the room toward what, to his eyes, appeared to be the largest bed in existence, to look at the only piece of artwork that had been hung. He frowned. "I never liked this, though."

Lex joined him, slipping an arm around him to rest his hand on Clark's hip. "'The Unicorn in Captivity'? Why not?"

"He's a prisoner. And he's hurt. Look." Clark pointed to the red stains that marred the unicorn's white flank.

Lex pressed closer to speak in Clark's ear, in a voice that made Clark suddenly breathless. "Look closer. Follow the chain."

Clark swallowed and followed the glistening silver chain away from the intricately woven collar. "It's…not tied to anything."

"That's right."

"But the blood--"

"Look closer, Clark." Lex's breath was warm against Clark's ear. "Look at the fruit in the tree."

Clark peered at the fruit, intimately aware of Lex's body pressing against his. "They're the same color as--"

"Pomegranates. A medieval symbol of love and fertility." Lex's hand shifted to slide inside the waistband of Clark's jeans. "They're so ripe they're bursting."

"He has p-pomegranate juice on him?" Clark heard himself stammer.

"That's right. All the plants in the tapestry – wild orchid, bistort, thistle – are symbols of love and desire. They were used as aphrodisiacs and fertility aids in medieval times. Even the frog was famous for its noisy mating habits."

"Frog?"

"Yes. See? There on the bottom right, near the violets."

"Oh." Clark gathered himself for another effort at rational thought; he could hear himself breathing hard, feel the soft touch of Lex's fingers along the skin of his abdomen. "But the fence, Lex."

"Look. Closer." Lex touched his tongue to Clark's ear. "He's lying down. The fence is so low that if he stood up, he could jump over it easily."

"So what are you saying?" Clark demanded breathlessly. "He wants to wear the collar?"

Lex popped the button on Clark's jeans. "He wants to wear the collar."

Clark resisted for all of two seconds, then hoisted Lex into his arms and tossed him onto the bed. "I want to wear the collar," he said wildly. Crawling onto all fours over Lex, he ripped Lex's shirt open, sending buttons flying everywhere. "I want to wear the collar right now."

Lex was laughing so hard he could barely speak. "Oh, the…little known…benefits of a sound…education in the fine arts."

"Shut up!" Clark drew his t-shirt over his head, nearly ripping it in two in the process. "I want to be collared, and you're going to do it."

Lex only laughed harder. "You…you know, there are some neighborhoods in Metropolis…where that kind of talk…could get you into real trouble."

Clark undid Lex's fly feverishly, wondering what the hell Lex was talking about. "I want everything. I've wanted it so long and I can't take wanting it anymore and you are going to--"

Lex caught Clark's hands, held them, raised them to his mouth to receive a soft, wet kiss. "Shh. Shh." He pulled Clark down on top of him and kissed him. "I see I underestimated the erotic power of medieval botanical symbolism."

"Lex--"

"Slow down. We have all night."

All night. All night with Lex. Clark swallowed and tried to slow his breathing.

"Anyone would think I was trying to run away." Lex took Clark's face in his hands and kissed him again.

"Sorry," Clark breathed against Lex's cheek. He swallowed. "Lex. I was scared."

"I know," Lex whispered.

"He said I would wind up in a lab."

Lex drew a harsh breath. "That will not happen."

"He said Karloff had evidence about me. He said the government…he said people would come and take me away."

"Damn him." Lex's voice had gone harsh. "Clark. No one is going to take you away. I give you my word there won't be a shred of Karloff's evidence left by the time Eli and I are done with it."

"Eli and you and me." Clark started to breathe again. They had beaten Karloff before. They had even beaten Lionel before. They would do it again.

Lex's body relaxed as he began to chuckle. "Yes. Eli and you and me." He buried his hands in Clark's hair, stroking gently.

"Lex," Clark whispered, sliding a hand up to Lex's side so that he could touch warm skin. "Teach me to be brave."

"Teach you?"

Clark lifted his head at Lex's startled tone, and his rueful laugh. "What?"

"I thought you were teaching me." Lex looked up at him with a smile that Clark knew was only for him; he was the only one to ever see that smile. God, he loved that smile.

Clark started laughing weakly, touching Lex's cheek. "We are in so much trouble."

"Of course we are." Lex slid his long hands down Clark's torso to unbuckle Clark's belt, undo his fly. "Trouble is our destiny, Clark."

Clark rolled his eyes. "'Give me today, for once, the worst throw of your dice, destiny. Today I transmute everything into gold.'"

Lex yanked on the waistband of Clark's jeans with an exasperated expression. "You've been reading that idiot Nietzsche again. Just put that drivel out of your impressionable young mind. We're dealing with the forces of destiny, here."

"It's just…a run of bad luck, Lex." Clark swallowed as Lex lifted his hips, obligingly allowing Clark to pull down his jeans and boxer briefs. Lex was hard already. Hard for him. Pushing himself up on his knees, Clark pulled the jeans down Lex's legs with shaking hands, careful not to do it too fast. They had all night.

"Destiny, Clark. The one thing we can count on is trouble. It's a certainty. It's become our area of expertise, our raison d'etre." Lex was starting to look perversely pleased about it.

Clark couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, I hear there's a lot of money in trouble."

"You're right. I'll incorporate us," Lex breathed as Clark's hand brushed the inside of his thigh. "The tax advantages. The futures market. The novelty item empire. Destiny Unlimited. I'll get us listed on the Exchange. We need a logo."

Clark grinned and tossed Lex's pants aside to lean over him on all fours. "No, 'Man and Superman Unlimited.' Maybe a big red S on--"

"So help me God, one more Nietzsche reference from you and I'll--"

"You can be Superman." Clark started wriggling out of his pants.

Lex was glaring. "I have no interest whatsoever--"

"Quiet. I want to look at you." Clark bent down for a quick, wet kiss to Lex's throat.

"Looking is not what I had in mind tonight."

Clark leaned upward to look Lex up and down, working his pants down his legs and laughing inwardly as Lex scowled and his face went pink. "I like looking."

"I'm all amazement." Lex's expression softened to amusement. "Don't think I hadn't noticed."

Clark stopped looking, which was probably the whole idea, but something in Lex's face required his attention. "Noticed what?"

"That that telescope of yours was always pointed in the direction of Lana's house."

Clark felt his jaw drop.

Lex's expression was unreadable. "Hey, we all have our kinks. Do you want to hear mine? It's--"

"I didn't look at her when she was naked!" Clark burst out. God, he hadn't thought anybody knew about that. What if Mom and Dad had noticed, too? Jesus! "It wasn't like that! Geez, Lex, you think I'm some kind of pervert?"

"I think you're a red-blooded American male with an extraordinarily healthy libido," Lex said gently, stroking Clark's hair back. "And Lana is a very beautiful girl."

"I didn't--"

"Even with her clothes on."

Clark stared down at Lex for a second, breathing hard, thinking hard, which was hard to do with Lex's dick pressing against his stomach. "Lex, you're not jealous of Lana, are you?"

"Certainly not."

The answer came a little too fast, the voice was a little too cool, and Clark knew Lex a little too well. He lowered himself to nuzzle Lex gently, still trying desperately to work his pants off. "I don't love Lana," he whispered in Lex's ear. "I love you, Lex. Just you. That telescope has been pointed at the stars for a long time now."

Silence.

"I know," Lex muttered. "But she was your first--"

"Crush," Clark cut in emphatically. "My first crush."

"Oh," Lex breathed. He exhaled slowly. "Oh."

"Retard," Clark whispered.

Lex swallowed. "Voyeur."

"Dumbass."

"Pervert."

"Lex."

"What?"

Clark sighed. "My pants are caught on my shoes again."

Silence. Then loud, un-Luthorish laughter, the kind Clark had heard maybe three times since he'd known the man. Lex pushed Clark over onto his back, still laughing, and slid down to remove the offending footwear. "And…I'm retarded?"

"Aw, come on, Lex. You get me all hot and then you expect--"

"--you to take your shoes off before your pants?" Lex tossed the shoes aside, laughing until he was breathless. "What am I thinking? And what else should I expect of a devoté of that moron Nietzsche? His Superman probably makes love in his Nikes, too."

Clark glared at Lex through narrowed eyes as Lex pulled off Clark's jeans and boxers. "Y' know, some guys might take it as a compliment that I go for them and forget the shoes."

"And some guys might take it as a kink, but shoes don't do it for me."

"Because you're a socks man."

"Not tonight." Lex grinned and threw Clark's pants over his shoulder, then plucked off Clark's socks.

"Geez, Lex." Clark cleared his throat, watching his socks arc through the air after his pants. "You're, uh, ditching all my sex appeal there."

"Oh, no." Lex moved up to lean over Clark on all fours, eyes dark. "You have sex appeal that transcends socks, Clark."

"Yeah? Wow."

Chuckling, Lex guided Clark onto his stomach and slipped a pillow under him. Clark sighed at the relief. "Okay?" Lex murmured in his ear, licking it.

"I'm always okay with you," Clark whispered, wrapping his arms around the other pillow.

Lex dropped a soft kiss on Clark's shoulder. "Clark."

"Yeah?"

"I do. Take it as a compliment."

"Good," Clark breathed, tensing as Lex's slow, wet kisses descended the length of his back.

"Relax." Lex drew both hands down Clark's back, pressing his thumbs into just the right spots to make the muscles loosen.

Clark sighed and let himself go limp. "How do you do that?"

"Sorry, that's proprietary." Lex's mouth descended to Clark's skin again, licking its way down Clark's spine.

"Proprietary," Clark echoed faintly, clutching his pillow. "Is that like...I belong to you?"

"Oh, that's been sufficiently established." Lex's voice was raspy. "But this is more like I belong to you."

Clark took a breath. "You're wearing the collar, too?"

"I'm wearing it."

"Because you want to?"

"Because I want to." His hands were on Clark's ass, now, warm and strong, and Clark closed his eyes in eager anticipation of those gentle, teasing fingers, but what he got sent fire up his spine.

"Jesus!" Clark went up on his elbows, nearly tearing the pillow in two in his surprise, his eyes flying open. Soft and rough and wet and Jesus, Lex was--he was--

"I told you I had a kink."

Lex's voice was far away, and everything was hot, and red, and--

"I take it you approve."

The pillow made a dull, concussive sound as it burst into wild flames, and Clark choked out something that wasn't quite English as he pulled away from it, throwing a frantic glance over his shoulder toward Lex. Lex yanked himself up onto his knees, wide-eyed, as Clark's t-shirt, which had landed on the edge of the bed inches from Lex's leg, ignited into a small inferno as well. Lex kicked the shirt off the bed and dove for the pillow.

Clark got it, a little late, but he got it, and buried his face in his hands as he kicked the pillow onto the floor, hiding his eyes. He heard Lex strip the comforter from the bed, heard his harsh breathing as he pounded, smothering the flames from both pillow and shirt, and then the pounding stopped and there was nothing but the breathing.

"Clark."

"I'm sorry." God, what a lame thing to say. Freak. He couldn't even do this, he couldn't even just be with Lex, just belong to Lex. "Did I hurt you?"

"Did you...?" To Clark's confusion, he found Lex's arms around him and his steady voice in his ear. "Don't be ridiculous. Let me see your eyes."

"No!"

"Clark, we need to make sure--"

"What, that I set you on fire next?"

"--that you're not hurt." Lex tugged on Clark's forearm with no success.

"I'm not hurt. I can't be hurt. I'm the one that does the hurting." Clark cursed inwardly as his voice broke.

Lex fell silent, then drew his arms tightly around Clark's shoulders and guided Clark's head to his chest. Clark felt Lex's fingers combing his hair, felt his other hand moving soothingly over his lower back. "What kind of people do I come from?" Clark whispered in desperation. "What kind of monsters--"

"No," Lex snapped.

"--run around setting each other on fire?"

"We don't know that. We don't know anything about your people, except that they evolved some rather spectacular natural defenses. Which implies that they had some spectacular natural enemies."

"Defenses?" Defenses. "Who the hell was I defending myself from just now? Did your pillow go psycho on me or--"

"You couldn't control your vision when it came online either." Not a hint of doubt in Lex's voice. "Now you can."

"Lex--"

"You'll learn to control this, too. We'll practice. Every day, if we have to."

"It's too dangerous," Clark whispered.

"Right. I live for danger. Now. Let me see your eyes."

Oh, great, it was the I-am-a-Luthor-and-I-command-it voice. Why the hell Lex thought that worked on anybody was beyond Clark. "Stay to the side," he heard himself saying. "And I'm not looking at you."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

Jesus, did anything freak this guy out? Floating, x-rays on demand, meteorite allergies, supersonic jogging – none of it seemed to faze him. Maybe he really was retarded. Or crazy. Or the bravest man on the planet. Or all three. God, he loved this guy. He loved this guy more than anything. Clark wondered if, when it was the real thing, you just kept falling in love, over and over. Maybe his parents had just kept falling in love. Maybe he and Lex would, too.

"I'm waiting, Clark."

Trying to keep his hands from shaking, Clark lowered them from his face. He felt Lex's fingers brush his cheeks gently. "No burns." Lex's voice shook for the first time. "Good. Now open your eyes."

Clark swallowed. "If something else catches fire--"

"I'll bill you," Lex said impatiently. "Open your eyes."

Clark took a quick breath and opened his eyes, fixing his gaze on the blank wall in front of him. He could see Lex out of the corner of his eye, leaning around to look at him; everything seemed bathed in an orange glow.

"I can see the fire," Lex said in a soft, wondering kind of voice, and Clark instantly pinched his eyes shut again. "No." Lex turned Clark's face toward him. "It's all right, it's fading."

"Lex." Clark wished to God he didn't sound like a scared little kid, whispering in the dark.

"Open your eyes." Lex stroked Clark's hair back from his forehead. "It's all right, Clark."

Clark forced his eyes open, forced himself to look at Lex's face.

Lex was smiling. "It's beautiful," he said.

Beautiful. "I nearly roasted you alive!" The thought made Clark's stomach turn over. "For God's sake, will you please panic a little?"

Lex's smile deepened. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

Lex leaned close. "Parce-que j'adore cet homme avec le soleil dans les yeux," he murmured, pushing Clark onto his back and climbing on top of him.

"Aw, geez, Lex, again with the French dirty talk? What does that mean?"

"Roughly translated? It means, 'Where were we?'"

"No!" Clark clutched Lex's shoulder. "Lex. We can't. It's too--" Lex's mouth settled over Clark's, soft and warm, and Clark couldn't have resisted kissing him back if both their lives had depended on it. "Lex," he breathed as soon as Lex lifted his mouth. "Listen to me. I can't--"

"Do you still trust me?"

Clark groaned and wrapped his arms around Lex's neck, pulling him close.

"May I take that as a 'yes'?"

"This has nothing to do with trusting you!"

"And Lesson One of your tutelage in Lex Luthor's Depraved Den of Carnal Delights was?"

"Oh, for God's sake."

"No, it was, 'Lex will not let me hurt him.' Say it."

"This isn't the same," Clark snapped in exasperation. "What if fire starts coming out...other places?"

Lex's eyebrows rose. "Other places?"

"Yes."

"Are you suggesting you have a flaming asshole, Clark?"

Clark smacked Lex's chest, knowing his face was red. "You know that's not what I meant!"

"I do?"

"I meant...you know, my mouth, or...my ears or from under my fingernails or something. God, Lex, I shoot fire now, and we don't know what it's going to do."

"You're right," Lex said, outrageously unperturbed. "Science demands we investigate."

"Fuck science!"

"Language, Clark."

"It was you that set me off. Do you get it? You, doing that, uh, that--"

"It's called rimming, Jiminy." Lex bent low over him, smiling in a way that Clark knew his mother would never see. His voice dropped to a sultry register. "Did you like it?"

"You know I liked it!"

"Good. Always begin a campaign from a position of strength." Lex tried to turn Clark over again, but Clark caught Lex's wrists and held them, breathing hard.

"No. Please. Lex. I'll lose it, I'll--"

"Say it. 'Lex will not let me--'"

"Please." Clark heard his voice break again, saw Lex's eyes widen.

Lex lowered his head to rest it against Clark's, going very still, and Clark relaxed, releasing Lex's wrists to wrap his arms around Lex's waist. They stayed that way for a long time.

"You know," Lex whispered finally. "There's a very simple solution to this little problem."

"You find yourself a boyfriend who doesn't set your bed on fire?" Clark flinched as his voice wobbled.

"Well, there is that, of course, but since there's no damn point to my life without you, it's a pretty unpalatable option." Clark drew a breath to say something, anything, but Lex barreled on. "No, I was thinking more along the lines of you closing your eyes."

Clark swallowed. "What if...you know, if--"

"The flaming asshole scenario?"

"Will you please stop saying that? This is serious."

"Of course it is. And I could give you a dozen physiological reasons why I'm unlikely to have success toasting marshmallows with your asshole or your mouth or your fingertips, but in the end you'll have to close your eyes and trust me." Lex nuzzled him, his warm breath dancing across Clark's skin.

Clark pounded the mattress in frustration. "God, if I could be normal, just tonight."

"Normality is vastly overrated, and by definition relative." Lex spooned up behind him, sliding one hand down his belly.

"What does that mean?" Clark whispered, trying not to stiffen as Lex's long fingers slid toward his dick.

"It means that in Smallville, you and I are about as normal as it gets," Lex whispered.

"God help Smallville," Clark said glumly.

"Smallville doesn't need God's help. It has us."

Lex's smug arrogance made Clark laugh; he found himself relaxing against Lex's warm, firm body as that gentle hand stroked him. "So we're guardian angels, now?"

"With teeth." Lex raked his teeth across Clark's ear lobe for emphasis. Clark pinched his eyes shut tightly as he started to go hard again, and Lex licked the ear he had just bitten. "Tell me you still want everything, Jiminy."

"I...yes...just...." Clark barely recognized his own voice. "Just don't let me--"

"I will not let you hurt me."

"Don't let me hurt anybody, Lex."

"I won't." It was a whisper; Lex's touch was unspeakably gentle.

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Clark heard Lex fumbling with the lube one-handed and sighed, leaning his head back to rest against Lex's shoulder. Lex bent to whisper in Clark's ear. "Promise me something."

"Anything," Clark breathed as Lex's warm, slick finger slipped inside him. Nothing felt as good as this. Nothing had ever felt as good as this.

"If you don't like what I'm doing--"

"You have got to be kidding." Clark managed to stammer the words out, gasping as Lex's finger touched the place that turned his brains to goo.

"--you'll tell me. Promise me."

Lex sounded weird; this was probably another one of his things, like keeping Clark away from ugly stuff and forgetting to sort the laundry. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Fuck me." Lex's ragged laughter rewarded him. "I'm not kidding!"

"I know." Lex slipped another finger inside. He slowly drew his tongue across Clark's neck, and Clark, shivering, wondered where Lex had picked up this habit of licking things and how he could keep him doing it. "Relax." Lex drew his hand up Clark's dick so slowly that Clark wanted to scream. "Relax."

Clark took a deep breath and unclenched every muscle he was capable of unclenching, but before he could exhale, Lex moved. Clark exhaled sharply in surprise at the sensation of Lex slowly filling him. It was supposed to hurt, and burn, and it didn't; but then, he wasn't normal. It just felt...tight, and hot, and good, and Clark pinched his eyes shut as tightly as he could as the fire danced on the inside of his eyelids.

"Clark. Tell me you're all right." Lex's voice was thick, unsteady.

"God, yes." Clark didn't recognize his own voice. "So all right."

With a little sigh, Lex started to move, slowly. Too slowly. Too carefully. Clark wanted to really feel it; he wanted to be as human as an alien freak could be, and Lex was not cooperating. "Lex, fuck me," he managed to choke out, pounding the mattress with his fist.

Clark heard Lex draw a sharp, ragged little breath. "No front seat driving." Lex sounded breathless. "I debauch at my own pace."

"Fuck me right now! You can't hurt me. God, Lex, please, make me feel you, I want to feel you--" Before Clark had got the last word out he found himself on his belly with Lex on top of him, and Lex was pounding into him as if both their lives depended on it.

Clark felt him now; God, he felt him. That place Lex was touching inside him was turning his brain inside out with every thrust, and Clark heard himself yelling words he could barely understand. Lex seemed to understand them, though, and he kept doing what he was doing, which was all Clark cared about, until Lex leaned down to say in a husky, barely audible voice, "I want you to fuck me like this. I want you to make me feel you."

Clark did scream then, and muffled the scream in his pillow as he came, harder than he'd ever come. He came for a long time as Lex continued to fuck him, more gently now, rocking in and out of him easily, like they were two parts of the same person. It took a couple minutes before Clark could make his brain work again, and another minute before his brain made contact with his mouth. "Sorry," he panted. "Sorry, I couldn't last any--"

Lex kissed his shoulder. "It's a compliment," he rasped. He kept moving, his breath growing uneven and harsh, and Clark let lassitude and pleasure lull him into silence until Lex came, crying out Clark's name, and something incoherent about love.

Clark smiled into his pillow as Lex, breathing like he'd run a marathon, rested his forehead on Clark's back. "Are you all right?" Lex whispered finally.

Clark turned his head, resting his left cheek in the pillow, but kept his eyes firmly shut. Groping behind him, he found Lex's hand, and pulled it to his mouth to kiss it.

"Clark," Lex muttered. "Christ." He pressed his mouth to Clark's back in a soft kiss.

Clark felt him pulling away, slowly pulling out of him, and sighed at the separation.

"Did that hurt?" Lex asked sharply.

"No," Clark murmured. "I just didn't want it to be over."

"Neither do I," Lex said, his voice going uneven. "It isn't over. We have all night. We'll have a lot of nights, Clark."

All night with Lex. Clark smiled again and rolled over, keeping his eyes shut. "That was so good, Lex. I didn't think anything could feel that good."

Clark felt the jostle as Lex crawled up on all fours to straddle him, felt the moist heat of Lex's mouth on his, the touch of his tongue. "It didn't hurt?"

"Don't be retarded." Clark groped blindly up Lex's arm and shoulder to touch his face. "You'd never hurt me."

"Not if dying was an option." Lex's voice gave way; he rested his forehead on Clark's. He cleared his throat.

"It isn't," Clark breathed, shoving the thought away violently. "It isn't an option."

"I want to make you feel good. I'm highly motivated, Clark."

Clark grinned. "Me, too. Motivated."

Lex kissed him again.

Clark sighed his contentment. "I, uh, kind of made a mess of the sheets."

"No kidding. Move over." Clark squirmed toward the edge of the bed and felt Lex move to lie at his side. "How are your eyes? Let me see."

Clark cautiously opened one eye to stare into the darkened room through the weird orange filter. The sun had gone down. The dark room was lit only by the moonlight streaming through the French doors, and he hadn't even noticed the change. Nothing burst into flame, so he opened his other eye. "Are they still all weird?"

"They're beautiful." Lex was bending over him, smiling.

Clark swallowed. Lex thought this was beautiful. Lex was a retard. Tearing his gaze from that smile, his smile, Clark stared up at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, wondering if the fire had done something strange to his vision. "Lex?"

"Yes?"

"There are stars on your ceiling."

"Yeah."

"There are constellations on your ceiling."

"That's right." Lex lay on his back, staring up at the soft glow.

"There's Leo Minor, and Centaurus, and Canes Venatici--"

"Yes. All the constellations that were in the sky when you were born. Well. In Earth's sky, when you celebrate your birth."

"Lex." Clark scanned the high ceiling in amazement. "This must have taken you forever. What...why--?"

"Happy birthday," Lex said quietly.

"Oh," Clark breathed, his chest tightening. "Oh, wow." He tore his eyes from the ceiling to look at Lex, who looked back at him with an unreadable expression. Clark felt a stupidly wide grin cover his face, and knew he must look like a dork. "You're sure better at presents than you used to be, mastermind."

The tension in Lex's face disappeared; he exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath. His smile was back. "Tell me the rest, Jiminy."

"You already know them. You made them." Clark squirmed closer to rest his head on Lex's shoulder, and Lex draped his arm over Clark's shoulder, his hand resting on Clark's chest.

"I want to hear you say them."

Clark curled his fingers around Lex's hand. "Okay. There's Corvus, and Hydra, and Lynx...."

***

"It is no doubt the work of Mr. Luthor's business adversaries," Eli said in the matter-of-fact tone that was always effective with policemen. "There have been several similar incidents."

Sheriff Millar gave him a sharp look before turning back to watch the coroner and two deputies lower the mangled corpse to the bloody flagstone floor. "That's one hell of a business Mr. Luthor's in."

Eli glanced across the foyer, where Lionel was sitting, clutching a glass of scotch and staring at Atkins' body as if it were his own. "Powerful men frequently attract enemies, Sheriff. Obviously someone is attempting to intimidate Mr. Luthor."

"No kidding. And they're willing to shoot chunks out of a man to do it. How long did Mr. Atkins work for LuthorCorp?"

"Not long. No more than a year, I should think. You will have to consult with the new head of Luthorcorp security; he will have all the records."

Millar's eyebrows rose. "You're not working for Mr. Luthor anymore?"

"I am retired. I work part-time at the high school as a groundskeeper." Eli saw the question in the man's eyes. "I happened to be visiting the Kent family when Mr. Luthor arrived."

"This retirement. Was it voluntary?"

Ah. Seeking a motive. If the man only knew. Eli laughed softly. "Sheriff, if I were attempting to frighten Lionel Luthor, I assure you I have more effective means at my disposal than this." He waved contemptuously at the corpse. "Such a display is déclassé. I would not stoop to it."

Millar stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly before he recovered his composure. "Uh...okay. You said Mr. Luthor has enemies. Who are they?"

"Everyone with whom Mr. Luthor has done business is his enemy," Eli returned wryly. "The list is long, Sheriff. Very long. If there has been a recent addition to that list, Mr. Luthor can no doubt enlighten you."

"There have been rumors lately that Mr. Luthor and his son have had several violent arguments."

"Mr. Luthor and his son have been having violent arguments since the boy first learned to speak."

"Do you think Lex Luthor is capable of something like this?"

Eli cursed inwardly. He wanted to implicate the creature. He wanted to see it arrested, imprisoned, convicted, and hung. And yet he could not. If Alexander were ever to regain his name, that name must not be that of a convicted – or even suspected – murderer. To protect Alexander, he must protect Lionel Luthor's abomination. His stomach roiled. "I have known Alexander since he was born," he said firmly. "He could not do this, and would not. His disagreements with his father are those typical of any strong-willed young man."

"I see. Well, let me see if Mr. Luthor is making any more sense. I'll probably need to talk to you again later. I take it you're living in town?"

So. Millar was suspicious, but lacked cause to detain him. "I have purchased the Wilson property."

Millar looked surprised. "Oh. I'd heard somebody had moved in there. That old place must need a lot of work."

Gossip flies quickly in a small town. Eli briefly longed for the anonymity of the city. "Yes, it is a challenge. But I enjoy working with my hands."

"Got a phone in yet?"

Eli gave him the number, his eyes fixed on the bloody mess that had been Randy Atkins. A clumsy, crude business, however satisfying. What did the creature hope to accomplish by this campaign of terror? Was it simple sadism, or was he trying to pressure Lionel into a concession of some sort? More power? Money? Assistance in some pet project? "I will take a stroll in the garden while you speak to Mr. Luthor, if that is all right. The smell is unpleasant."

"Yeah," Millar said absently, scribbling the phone number into his book. "Thank you, Mr. Cohen. Go ahead."

Eli nodded politely and turned toward the door, ignoring Lionel's commanding stare and its implied summons. They had agreed on what was to be said; it was now time for Lionel to give his performance. Eli had never stood in the wings whispering Lionel's lines, and he was not about to start now; it was high time the great Lionel Luthor changed his underwear and pulled himself together.

The sun had set, casting spectacular shades of red, orange and purple across the sky as Eli made his way along a path into one of the formal gardens several yards from the house. Eli relaxed – as much as he ever allowed himself to – breathing in the early spring air and the scents of stirring life. There were some advantages to country living, although not nearly enough of them to compensate for its privations.

Lionel Luthor knew far more than he had told Eli so far. That the creature had been investigating Clark Kent and his family was not a surprise. That he had been successful in amassing incriminating photographs and video was. The cricket, in his misguided efforts to save every living creature that strayed across his path, had been shockingly indiscreet. The extraterrestrial artifact that the creature prized so highly, although it could not be linked directly to Clark, was another source of concern. As was the creature's impressive collection of meteorites.

Eli grimaced as he recalled Lionel's rapidly shifting eyes as the subject of meteorites arose. He had much more to tell on that score, and he would do it, even if Eli had to employ methods of which Alexander might not approve. Any threat to the cricket was a threat to Alexander. Any threat to Alexander was unacceptable.

Strolling among the empty flower beds, he became gradually aware of a rustle behind the meticulously manicured boxwood. So. The hunter was being hunted. A casual glance confirmed his suspicions. "I am so fascinating, Miss Sullivan?"

The rustling stopped suddenly.

"Your stalking technique needs work," Eli continued, stooping to touch a lovely purple crocus in the fading dusk light. Spring was a beautiful season. Rebirth. Renewal. Hope. "Conducting surveillance is an art, and should not be attempted by amateurs. You offend my muse, Miss Sullivan."

Chloe appeared in the gap of the hedge, her face full of fear and defiance. "How do you know my name?"

Eli seated himself on a rock and regarded the child thoughtfully. "I know the name and face of every student and employee of Smallville High School."

Chloe frowned. "Why?"

"It is a hobby."

"What are you doing in Smallville? Do you work for Mr. Luthor?"

"These are very personal questions, Miss Sullivan. May I ask how I have merited such interest?"

"I'm...doing a profile of all the teachers and staff at school. For the paper."

"Indeed."

Chloe glared. "You don't believe me?"

"Is my belief required?"

"I just want a little background information, a little bio."

"And for this you creep in the bushes. Your methods are eccentric."

Chloe flushed and continued her inquisition. "Why are the police here?"

"A man has been murdered."

"What man?" Chloe was breathless. "Was it Lex?"

"No. It was a former employee of Luthorcorp. Do you always ask so many questions?"

"It's a reporter's job to ask questions. And to report the truth. To serve the interests of the public."

Eli chuckled at her nonsense. "Truth rarely serves public interest. When you are older, you will understand this."

"Look, I just want to know who you are."

"You already know who I am. I am Eli Cohen, a retired gentleman who has taken up residence in your charming town, where he will spend the remainder of his golden years in peace and quiet, barring the presence of inquisitive young ladies, and keeping the grounds of the local school."

"And since when do groundskeepers carry guns?" Chloe snapped, clearly at the end of her patience.

Startled, Eli scanned the girl again, this time catching sight of her shoes. Wisps of hay covered them. He grimaced. He was a fool. How else would she have known he was here? "You have been to the Kent house."

Chloe's eyes widened in alarm; she saw her mistake too late.

"I am disillusioned. It seems that your interest in me is due only to my recent proximity to Clark Kent."

"I...I don't know what you mean."

"Then let me put it this way. Neither the public's interest nor yours will be served by the revelation of anything you might have seen while trespassing on the Kents' property."

"Are you threatening me?" Chloe held her ground.

The child had spirit. "I have found it unwise to spy on my friends, Miss Sullivan. It detracts so much from the time required to spy on my enemies."

"Is that what you're doing in Smallville? Spying on your enemies?"

If the girl had an ounce of discretion she might actually be dangerous. Eli rose slowly from his perch on the rock. "It is time for you to go home. The authorities will be removing the body from the house soon, and a dead body is no thing for a young lady to see."

Chloe swallowed visibly. "I'm going to find out, you know. I'm going to find out what you and Clark and Lionel Luthor are up to."

"Miss Sullivan," Eli said coldly. "Pray you do not."

Chloe took a deep breath and bolted back through the gap in the hedge; Eli could hear her running full pelt away from the house. Eli turned and strode toward the drive, yanking his cell phone from his breast pocket. Perhaps spring was not quite so hopeful as he had previously believed.

***

Jonathan stared across the kitchen table at Pamela. "You want us to what?"

"Please," Pamela said quietly.

"But...don't you have family?" Martha laid a hand on her arm, her face drawn with concern. "There must be someone--"

"No. There's nobody." Pamela swallowed, and Jonathan saw a long story in her eyes. "I know it's a tremendous thing to ask. But I want... I'm determined that Alexander be my heir."

"And if you will it all to 'Lex Luthor'..." Jonathan sighed. Jesus. Just what Black Lagoon boy needed – more money, more power to make other's people's lives miserable.

"If I transfer the stock and my other assets into a trust fund for Clark, with both of you as executors, then neither of those monsters will be able to touch it."

"Lionel would be livid," Martha said, her voice grim. "And I don't want to think about the clone's reaction."

"There's nothing either of them can do. You would be de facto shareholders of a large block of LuthorCorp stock. You would have a voice, a say in corporate decisions. Your voice may influence others. Do you see where I'm going here?"

"Nobody listened to your voice," Jonathan said skeptically. "Lionel Luthor runs that company like an empire."

Pamela smiled faintly. "Look closer, Jonathan. The emperor has no clothes. You saw his face today. He's running scared. And I...didn't use my voice." She shrugged, her expression rueful. "I was afraid for Alexander. And myself."

"I don't blame you. I'm afraid for us. And for Clark. This could make him more of a target than ever." Jonathan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, scowling.

"On the contrary. If anything happened to Clark, you would inherit those assets. That is the last thing the clone wants. You would have far greater latitude to disperse and conceal them once they were free of the restrictions of the trust fund."

"And when Clark turns twenty-one?" Martha asked.

"He will be a very wealthy young man. Until he and Eli can find a way to transfer the assets to Alexander. God willing, he'll have his life back by then."

"You're very trusting." Martha stirred her coffee absently, her eyes searching Pamela's face. "What's to stop Clark from keeping the money once he inherits it?"

Pamela laughed. "Clark. You. Jonathan. I'm not trusting, Martha. But I have eyes, and I see what you are. Alexander doesn't trust easily, and with good reason, but he's put his life in your hands when he could be safe and living in luxury on another continent. That speaks worlds to me. And then, of course, there's the matter of Clark and Alexander."

Jonathan raised his eyebrows. "Clark and Alexander?"

Pamela shot him an amused look. "As I said, I have eyes. Clark will keep Alexander's inheritance safe for him."

"You think it will last." Martha was barely audible.

"I think it will last." Pamela's voice dropped to a whisper. She cleared her throat. "I think this is best for all of us."

Best for all of us? Jonathan's stomach clenched at the idea of being a stockholder, however temporarily, of LuthorCorp. Didn't he have enough on his conscience? Jesus H. Christ.

Pamela leaned forward with an earnest expression. "You may be able to help people, Jonathan. You may be able to undo some of the damage that's been done to Smallville, to your neighbors."

Jonathan flinched. Damn, she would have to say that. She would have to put it that way. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Martha met his eyes, and he saw his answer. He sighed. "All right," he said wearily. "Where do we sign?"

***

"She kneed him in the nuts?" Lex stared at Clark for a moment, then laughed so hard that he nearly slipped from Clark's embrace to topple to the floor four feet beneath them.

Clark tightened his grip with a little gasp, his head nearly touching the ten-foot ceiling as he bobbed suddenly upward. "Careful! I don't have this vertical thing down yet." He glanced at the ceiling nervously as he lowered them both a couple of inches.

Lex rested his forehead on Clark's shoulder, still laughing. "Kneed him in the nuts. Oh, God, Clark, tell me your mother had her camera. Tell me this cataclysmic event was preserved for posterity."

"Sorry. But I'm sure she'd be glad to do it again."

Lex lifted his head, breathless. Clark was giving him a mischievous smile that was unsullied Kent innocence and affection, and Lex willingly lost himself in it. There was no war with Lionel Luthor there, no clones, no plans, plots or lines, nothing but Clark Kent in candlelight, looking at Lex as if he were better than his mother's blueberry pie. Debauchery, like bullets, bounced off.

Lex took Clark's face in his hands and pulled him into a kiss, and Clark kissed him back with enthusiasm and surprising skill. God, he'd learned fast. Lex felt himself going hard again, and, wrapping his arms around Clark's neck, pulled himself up to wrap his legs around Clark's waist, pressing his dick against Clark's stomach. Clark gasped and broke the kiss, wide-eyed.

"Uh, Lex..."

"Yes?" Lex bent down to kiss him again.

"I don't think, uh, I can concentrate on floating if you do that."

"I think you need to develop your multitasking skills, Jiminy."

Clark swallowed as Lex pressed closer. "You don't...you don't really think we can do anything up here, do you?"

"My mind boggles at the things we could do up here."

Clark rolled his eyes. "We'll fall on our asses, mastermind."

"I have absolute faith in your ability to keep us off our asses."

"Well, I don't."

"Fine. Take us outside, then." Lex slid down as provocatively as possible to resume his former position.

Clark's jaw dropped. "Outside? What for?"

"I believe a man can fly. Show me." Lex kissed him again. He felt drunk.

Clark came out of the kiss looking absolutely scandalized, and Lex nearly started laughing again. "You want to fly around the countryside naked?"

"Think skinnydipping with altitude, Clark."

"It is not the same. And you know perfectly well I can't fly. I just...float."

"It's all mind over matter, Clark."

"And I'm not too good with heights."

"Neither am I."

"Then why do you want to fly?"

"So I can stop being afraid." Lex flinched at his own frankness; Clark's ability to blunt his talent for obfuscation never ceased to amaze him.

Clark was suddenly sober, studying Lex's face, then nodded and leaned his forehead against Lex's, closing his eyes. "Tell me everything will be all right, Lex," he whispered.

Lex drew in a breath. "It will be. We'll--"

"No. Tell me how tomorrow. Tonight, just tell me we're going to be okay."

"We're going to be okay." Lex nuzzled him gently. "We're going to be okay, Clark."

"Okay," Clark breathed. "Lex."

"Yes?"

"Show me what we can do." Clark yanked him back into a kiss, but before Lex could put his mind-boggling ideas in order, a shrill keening startled them apart. With a startled squawk, Clark teetered wildly to one side and plummeted to the carpet below with Lex on top of him. Lex laughed softly against Clark’s warm skin as Clark swore under his breath, glaring at the phone. For one second, Lex thought he saw the fire. Installing a fire extinguisher up here would probably be a prudent measure. "I don't believe it!"

"I'm going to kill him," Lex informed him matter-of-factly. "With knives. I have knives, Clark."

"God, Lex. Does he have some sort of sex radar or something?" Clark managed to untangle his limbs from Lex’s, kissing him several times in the process. Lex pulled away from the caresses with difficulty. He admitted it to himself: he was a junkie, hopelessly addicted to this beautiful boy. God, he hoped he never went sober.

"Probably. Eli Cohen's dark arts are without number." Lex stalked across the room to snatch up the phone. He should have turned the damn thing off. He should have known he wouldn't be granted so much as one night's furlough from the fucking war. Lex pressed the call button. "This had better be good, Eli."

Lex blinked. This was new. "No problem. Clark was just showing me his stamp collection." Eli's snort communicated his opinion of the assertion. Clark grimaced as he wriggled into his boxers and pulled one of Lex's t-shirts over his head. "Tell me."

"Of course they are. They're never deactivated. What's happened?"

It took Lex a moment to realize that "your house" meant the mansion, not the farmhouse. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his head.

"Damn," Clark whispered.

Lex opened his eyes to see him sinking to the bed and sat down beside him, numb. "I see."

"Yes. That's Chloe."

Lex shook himself. "She'll come here, the alarms and lights will go off, and she'll run away. End of problem."

Lex smiled faintly. "Uncle?"

"I know."

"No," Lex said flatly.

"I'm not leaving Pamela here to die alone, and I'm not leaving the Kents alone to deal with my father and Karloff."

"No," Lex repeated, feeling Clark taking his hand.

"Lex." Clark's voice was uneven. "Do what you have to to be safe. We'll be all right."

Clark shot a dirty look at the phone.

"They drove me out of my home once, Eli. They're not doing it a second time." Lex's gaze locked on the vaulted ceiling of his room, on the stars glowing there. He felt Clark's warm hand tighten around his. Home. Yes. He understood now.

Eli was silent for a moment. "I see." His voice hardened. "In that case, certain measures may be required."

"Absolutely not," Lex snapped. "She's a kid, Eli." Clark's hand was going cold.

"You're making a hell of a lot of assumptions. She has no idea I exist. She has no way to discover my existence unless you turn off the security systems and invite her in for milk and cookies. And you may very well have frightened her enough that she'll drop the matter completely. I know what a scary son of a bitch you are, Eli."

"What can she tell them? That she saw Lionel Luthor run off the Kent place on the business end of Jonathan's shotgun? It's colorful, but not particularly enlightening."

"If anything happens to Chloe Sullivan there will be a lot of questions," Clark burst out, as if he could no longer contain himself.

Clark's expression twisted in horror, and Lex's throat tightened at the sight. "Eli. You're overreacting. You can't eliminate every possible security breach. We're going to have to learn to live with them. Do you understand? We blew total security long ago. Unless you've implemented 'measures' against Toby."

Eli snorted. "With such a worm, measures are unnecessary. The scoundrel knows what will happen to him should he breathe so much as a word. I have shown him pictures."

Lex briefly wondered if Eli actually had pictures of his handiwork, or if he were speaking metaphorically. "Measures are unnecessary in Chloe's case as well. She doesn't know anything, Eli. And everyone in Smallville knows better than to ask too many questions about Lionel Luthor. Let her talk. No one will listen."

Eli fell silent. "Perhaps. But I have already called Max to Smallville, Alexander. He will keep an eye on the girl."

Clark let loose with a shaky sigh. "You won't hurt Chloe?"

"Don't tell me," Clark snarled. "I don't want to know."

"As you wish." Eli's voice was quiet.

"Call the Kents and tell them everything that's happened, Eli," Lex cut in. "They need to know."

"Good night, Eli." Lex broke the connection and tossed away the phone, suddenly exhausted.

"He wouldn't...he wouldn't really--"

"He would. If he had to." Lex turned to Clark and caught his breath at that white face and shell-shocked expression. "Clark." Lex draped an arm around him. "It won't happen. He'll realize he overreacted in a minute, if he hasn't already. Come here." Lex drew him up to the head of the bed and pulled Clark up against his chest, between his legs, and pulled the covers over them. He felt Clark try to laugh and fail. "Breathe."

Clark drew in a shaky breath, letting his head fall to Lex's shoulder. "I won't let him hurt Chloe, Lex."

"Neither will I. Neither will he, once he calms down." Lex stroked Clark's hair. "This is all about Eli's freakish control issues when it comes to my safety, Clark. Once he--"

"No, it isn't." Clark's voice was very quiet. "It's about Joseph and his daughter."

Lex glanced down at him, startled. "Who?"

"His friend Joseph. Joseph died and his daughter was kidnapped because Joseph wouldn't let Eli kill the kidnapper when he had the chance."

Lex sat in silence, stunned.

"Joseph was your grandfather's name, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Lex said hollowly.

"Eli thinks it was his fault. He left you with your father because your mother asked him to, and your father hurt you. He thinks that's his fault. You were shot at the hospital, and he thinks that's his fault, too."

"They never told me," Lex whispered, unable to get past the thought of his mother, threatened, abducted, imprisoned. It was inconceivable. Pamela's remark about his mother marrying Lionel Luthor because he was powerful enough to protect her, which he had dismissed as preposterous, suddenly made sense. Everything made sense.

"He's on some kind of mission, Lex. He's not thinking straight. He might do something crazy."

Lex heard himself laughing weirdly. "She was...paranoid."

"What?" Clark looked up at him, clearly startled.

"Paranoid. My mother. She thought...she imagined--"

"Lex."

"--that I was a target for abduction and would be safe living in my father's house. She wouldn't let Eli hide me from him, even when she knew what my father was, all because--"

"She loved you. She was afraid for you."

"She was delusional." Lex heard the words coming out of his mouth and fairly expected Hell to open up to swallow him. Maybe it had.

Clark sat up, his face drawn in alarm. "Don't say that. She was afraid. She had a good reason to be afraid."

"She left me with my father," Lex snarled. "Because there were bogeymen in her closet."

Clark wrapped his arms around Lex. "She loved you," he whispered almost fiercely in Lex's ear. "She believed in you. Whatever her reasons were, they don't change that."

Lex had no answer that wasn't obscene.

"She couldn't possibly have known--"

"She knew. She knew that no one would be able to harm or abduct the son of the great Lionel Luthor, except, of course, the great Lionel Luthor himself."

"She thought Pamela and Eli would be there to protect you."

"There are some things that they couldn't have protected me from even if they'd been there." Lex tried to steady his breathing. It was absurd to dwell on this. It had no bearing on the situation at hand. It was irrelevant. He blinked to clear his vision, realizing that his face was wet.

"I know," Clark breathed, and Lex wondered for the hundredth time if he really did. "He'll never hurt you again, Lex. I will never let him touch you again."

Lex pulled back sharply to examine Clark's expression, and flinched. He knew. God only knew how. So much for keeping ugly away from Clark. "It only happened once," he heard himself saying.

"Once is too much." Clark's eyes were dark and his voice was shaking.

"He was drunk. He was drunk a lot right after Mom died."

"I don't care how drunk he was."

"I don't think he remembers."

"I don't care. I only care about you." Clark's arms tightened around him, and Lex let himself lean on him, resting his forehead on Clark's shoulder.

Pulling himself together would be the appropriate course of action right now. "I'll speak to Eli. His little campaign of personal redemption can end right now."

"Lex."

"Nothing will happen to Chloe, Clark. If I have to bodyguard her myself, I will."

"Lex, hush." Clark kissed his temple. "Hush. We'll talk to Eli. We'll protect Chloe."

We. Yes. "Yes," Lex murmured. Jesus. Happy birthday, Clark. Welcome to the dirty little secrets of the Luthor family. "I'm--"

"If you're thinking about saying you're sorry, shut up."

Lex laughed raggedly, his morbid fantasies of Clark recoiling from him in unholy horror evaporating under his friend's caresses.

"She loved you. More than anything. That's real. Don't let your father take that away from you."

Clark was a spellbinder when he was passionate. Lex nodded wordlessly.

"I love you more than anything, too." Clark curled around him, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Lex actually smiled. "Yeah. I noticed."

***

"And then I told him I was going to find out what they were up to, and he gives me this look like he's going to cook me on a stick, and he says, 'Pray you do not,' in this stone cold voice, and I swear to God he sounded just like Bela Lugosi." Chloe bit into her third chocolate chip cookie, scattering crumbs over Judge Ross' clean kitchen table.

Pete kept his head in his hands, listening to the drone of his mother's television on the kitchen counter with one ear and Chloe with the other. He really had to remember to let his mom know when he was pissed at someone, so she wouldn't let them in the house. Especially this someone. "Chloe, have you even noticed that I'm not talking to you?"

"Have you heard anything I've said?"

"Every damn word. A guy who used to work for LuthorCorp got whacked, somebody's living in the Wilson house, and Mr. Cohen is Bela Lugosi."

"He sounds like Bela Lugosi. He has an accent, and a gun."

"Okay, news flash, Chloe? It's not illegal to have either."

"He threatened me!"

"I don't blame him. I'd threaten you, too, if I thought it would work."

"Pete, don't you get it? This explains everything."

"Aw, God." Pete lowered his head to the table.

"Mr. Cohen is a criminal."

"Because he has an accent and a gun?"

"Because he threatened me! And Mr. Luthor. This is some kind of war between them, and somehow the Kents got in the middle. Don't you see? If he threatened me, maybe he's threatening the Kents, too. Maybe that's why Clark went all weird. He didn't want to get us involved. Maybe they're in trouble, Pete."

Pete lifted his head sharply. "In trouble?"

Chloe leaned forward with an earnest expression. "It would explain everything."

"How the hell would the Kents get in the middle of one of Lionel Luthor's wars?"

"I don't know. Maybe...maybe Cohen found out that Clark and Lex were friends, so he's using the Kents as hostages to pressure Mr. Luthor into something."

Pete rolled his eyes. "You should write for TV, Chloe." He turned away from her to glance at the television. Jesus. You couldn't get away from Luthors for any money – there was Asshole Junior grinning at him, his arm around the mayor of Metopolis' shoulders.

Chloe glared at him. "So I don't have all the facts yet! At least I'm trying. A few hours ago you were telling me about all the things the Kents have done for your family. If you really feel that way--"

Pete cut her off with a sigh. "So what are we supposed to do? Call in the marines?"

"Pete," Chloe said archly, "We are the marines."

"Oh, my God," Pete said in disgust. "Tell me this isn't some Scooby thing. Tell me we're not going to do something stupid."

"If we're going to help the Kents, we need to find out what Cohen is after."

"Why don't we just ask the Kents?"

"Hello! Hostages! Cohen probably has one of his goons at the Kent place. They won't be able to tell us anything."

"Cohen has goons now? Chloe, you're out of control here."

"Hey, you weren't the one Lugosi wanted to cook on a stick, okay? He's got these cold, beady little eyes--"

"It's not illegal to have beady little eyes either."

Chloe drew a deep breath. "We're going to check out the Wilson place."

Pete surveyed her with narrowed eyes. "Check out? What exactly does 'check out' mean?"

Chloe shifted in her chair. "You know. Have a look around. Maybe see if there's a window open or a door unlocked."

Pete exploded. "I knew it. I knew it! It's some dumbass Scooby thing--"

"That house has all our answers."

"That house is private property and we're going to get fucking arrested," Pete retorted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Clark's life could be in danger, and you're wussing over a misdemeanor?"

"We don't know that Clark's life is in danger. We don't know jack shit, okay?"

"Exactly. And that's why we're going to the Wilson place."

"I'm not going anywhere." Pete glared at her. "And unless you're tripping, neither will you."

Chloe stood up, jaw set, and Pete's heart sank. "Then I'll go alone. Tell your mom thanks for the cookies." She stalked across the kitchen and yanked open the back door, disappearing into the night.

Pete managed to stay where he was for exactly five seconds. Then he swore softly and bolted after her, snagging his jacket from its hook by the door. God, he was so screwed.

***

"You are very drunk, Mr. Luthor."

Lionel turned from the bar, his fifth whiskey in his hand. "I've never been drunk in my life. Luthors hold their liquor, Eli."

His speech was not slurred, or his steps unsteady, but Eli could see the unhealthy glitter of his eyes. "I should be keeping my wits about me if I were you," Eli said coolly, settling himself in a comfortable chair. The war room. How appropriate. "A hunted man cannot afford a lapse of attention."

Lionel sat down on the sofa across from Eli, moving with his usual grace. "The hunted frequently becomes the hunter."

"I think not this time. I think this thing you have made is better at your game than you are."

Lionel smiled, but it was unconvincing. "He has proven to be resourceful. I would expect nothing else, given his genetic advantage."

Eli leaned back in his chair. "He has attempted poison. He has attempted sabotage of your vehicles. He has attempted the corruption of your servants. He has attempted professional assassination by firearms. And yet he has failed every time."

Lionel's smile became strained. "I'm not without resources of my own."

Eli laughed at him. "Do not flatter yourself. He intended to fail. What does he want, Mr. Luthor?"

Lionel avoided his gaze. "The impossible."

"Specify the impossibility, if you would be so kind."

"He wants me to fix him." Lionel laughed harshly. "He wants his defective memory repaired, for God's sake. As if he were a broken watch."

"Can it be done?"

"I imagine, with the records of the original research, and an extraordinary expenditure of effort, time, and valuable corporate resources, that the genetic defect could be treated."

"You are right to refuse. Certainly your life is not worth such an expenditure."

Lionel flushed. "He's supposed to be dead. He probably will be in a matter of months."

Eli's eyes narrowed. "The memory problems and this preordained demise are connected?"

Lionel shifted uncomfortably. "Possibly."

"What else?"

"What?"

"What else does he want?"

"What makes you think--"

"Do not insult me. I have known you too long."

Lionel took long sip of his whiskey. "He wants control of the corporate supply of meteorite ore."

Good God. "The what?"

Lionel waved his hand dismissively. "We've conducted many experiments with that ore over the years. Most have been miserable failures. Some have promise."

"Why would he want this?"

Lionel shrugged. "I have no idea."

Eli contained himself with an effort. "You are lying, Mr. Luthor. You are trying my patience, and this is not in your best interest."

"And what exactly am I receiving in return for this information?"

"Your miserable life," Eli snarled.

Lionel clutched the arm of the sofa with his free hand. "I want to see my son."

"Over my dead body you will see your son."

"You want my help to destroy the replicate? That's the deal. I want to see my son."

"You have told me nothing that is of any use. It is plain to me that it is you who needs our help. You have nothing to offer."

Lionel licked his lips and took another sip of whiskey. "He thinks the ore counteracts his deterioration."

"Does it?" Eli asked sharply.

"I don't know."

Eli drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, fixing his eyes on Lionel's face.

"I don't know! It's...possible. The ore was used during the cloning process."

"What else does he want?"

Lionel's laughter had a vicious edge. "You know what else he wants. He wants the Kent boy. He seems to be under the impression that the ore has a, shall we say, pacifying effect on the object of his desires. I can't imagine how he came to be under that impression, can you?"

"Your creature is insane, and his impressions do not concern me."

"Oh, I thi