Common Ground

By Lanning Cook

Jonathan hated banks. He hated the feel of the cheap upholstery. He hated the smell of ink and the sound of rustling cash. He hated the sight of people worshipping money, and the thought of men like him going down on their knees in some suit's office to beg for some. Christ, he hated every damn thing about this place. But here he was, proverbial hat in hand, staring across a desk at the chief suit, smelling the ink and listening to the rustling and wondering where Jim Alexander kept his prayer mat. "Approved?"

Jim smiled placidly back at him. "That's right."

Jonathan shifted on the slippery upholstery, wondering if there was a hidden camera somewhere. "Approved for refinancing?"

"That's right."

Jonathan pulled himself together with an effort. "Jim, I expected to get the Spanish Inquisition treatment from the committee just to get another loan. You told me that refinancing was out of the question, remember?"

Jim kept right on smiling. "It's your lucky day, then. Congratulations, Jonathan."

Jonathan laughed weakly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, thanks, I guess."

"You guess?" Jim almost stopped smiling.

"No, no," Jonathan said hastily, "I mean ... thanks, really. It's just ...  This is the last thing I expected."

Jim beamed and laid a piece of legal-sized paper in front of Jonathan. "Good things come when you least expect them."

Jonathan shook himself and scanned the document incredulously. "This interest rate is less than half of what I'm paying now. And the term is almost double. This can't be right."

"Oh, it's right." Damn it, why was the guy smiling so much? It was beginning to give him the creeps. "Your luck is changing, Jonathan."

"Since when does applying for a loan have anything to do with luck?" Jonathan couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "Come on, Jim, level with me. What's going on?"

Jim glanced through the open door of his office toward the tellers at their counter, then leaned forward to whisper. "Don't overplay it."

The hair on the back of Jonathan's neck went up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Jim grimaced and scrambled out of his chair to shut his office door. "Jesus, Jonathan! What do you think you're doing?"

Jonathan rose to his feet, scowling. "What am I doing?"

"Are you trying to blow this thing? Your friend isn't going to be happy about it if you do. He went to a lot of trouble to arrange this."

Jonathan's first wild thought was Lex -- Lex throwing his weight around again, Lex trying to buy his friendship, or his approval, or whatever that twisted mind thought was necessary to continue hanging on to Clark -- and then he remembered that Lex had no weight to throw around anymore.

His friend?

"Jim, I want you to pretend that I have no idea what is going on here, and spell it out for me."

The scared look on the man's face spoke volumes. "Jesus Christ. Why are you doing this? Are you crazy? You don't back out of a deal with a guy like him."

There was only one person that could make one of the most powerful men in Smallville pee his pants. "Are we talking about Lionel Luthor, here?" Jonathan managed, with difficulty, to keep his voice down. "Is he my friend, Jim?"

"Look, I don't know what game you're playing--"

"I'm not playing any game, and there's no deal," Jonathan snarled.

"You are crazy." Jim snatched up the contract from the desk. "You are just this side of going under, Jonathan. Do you understand me? This is your life preserver. This will save your farm. Think about your family! Do you want Martha and Clark homeless?"

"What's the catch?" Jonathan found his voice stripped to a whisper at the image of Martha and Clark standing in the road.

"There's no catch! All that's required is a standard inspection of the property--"

"Inspection?" There it was. The catch. The explanation. The deal. Lionel inspects. Lionel finds Lex. Lionel drags Lex off to a mental hospital, where he very likely and very conveniently dies.

Jonathan Kent takes Lionel Luthor's blood money and lives happily ever after.

God Almighty.

"I need to talk to Martha about this," Jonathan said dully.

***

"Fuck."

Clark grinned into his book, not bothering to look up. "Lose your connection again?"

"No. I have all the connection I need," Lex muttered, stabbing at his laptop keyboard. "Son of a bitch."

Something in Lex's tone brought Clark's head up. Lex, dressed in one of Clark's t-shirts and a pair of Jonathan's sweatpants, was sitting cross-legged on Clark's bed, staring at the screen with his usual fierce concentration. There was a grim twist to his mouth that hadn't been there five minutes ago. "Lex? What?"

Lex snatched his cell phone off the nightstand and dialed. "Trouble."

Clark tossed his book up onto the bed and rose from the floor. "What kind of trouble?"

Clark sighed; Eli sounded even more foul-tempered than usual. Lex turned his laptop toward Clark as he slid off the bed. "Eli," he snapped. "Smallville Savings and Loan."

Clark sat on the bed and peered at the screen, trying to make sense of what he saw there. "You hacked into LuthorCorp?"

Lex cast Clark an exasperated look. "From my father's email."

Clark returned the glare. "So ... what is that, a felony or a misdemeanor?"

Lex briefly lifted his gaze heavenward and turned away. "I don't care what we have to do. Empty the trust fund if you have to. Either block the sale or buy the damn thing, I don't care which."

"Buy what damn thing?" Clark's gaze rested on the words "expedite acquisition of Smallville Savings and Loan" and felt his stomach drop. "Oh. God. Lex."

"It's not going to happen," Lex said quickly, turning back to him. "Breathe, Clark."

Clark took a quick, shaky breath.

Lex sighed. "I take it that the window of opportunity your message provided us is now closed."

Clark closed his eyes. Stupid. He was stupid. He should have seen this coming. All those nights up watching the van that had taken up permanent residence a few yards from the end of their lane had been wasted. Why should Lionel Luthor bother sending his thugs in when he could pressure his folks by perfectly legal means? Destroy them. Put them out in the road. And Lex ...

God. Everything had been going so well. Lex was back on his feet. He'd made up his mind to stay nearby. And Lionel Luthor and his son hadn't so much as said boo. Clark had almost convinced himself that Lionel had given up, that he was going to leave Lex and his folks alone. Stupid.

"Carrot?" Lex had gone very still.

"He isn't back yet." Lex glanced at his watch, his expression going grim. "His appointment was at three o'clock. It's nearly nine."

Clark opened his eyes. "He had some errands to run. My father will never hand you over, Lex. Carrot or stick, it doesn't matter." Lex flashed him a quick smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"This is more important than anything else right now."

"There is nothing more important than family." Eli's voice was sharp.

"Agreed." Lex's voice was even sharper. "The Kents are family. Please bear that in mind in the future."

Clark's chest tightened; he tried to say something and couldn't. He busied himself with scrolling down Lionel's email.

"Ah." Eli's tone gentled. "I see."

"You should have told me about this immediately."

Lex flushed unaccountably and turned to look out the window. "I assumed you understood. The Kents have been under my protection since I arrived here."

"Very well." Eli sounded oddly pleased, and Clark wondered exactly how weird this guy could get. "I understand."

"And if Paul is still hounding you, tell him again that I appreciate the offer, but I'm staying here."

In spite of everything, Clark could not restrain a grin.

"We are not discussing this again, Eli." Lex's tone was firm.

Lex sighed. "You said there were important matters to attend to?"

Eli snorted in patent disgust. "You still have the weapon I gave you, yes?"

Clark looked up sharply, but Lex avoided his gaze. "Of course I do. Why?"

"Eli."

"I trust you remember how to use it?"

"Your black shame notwithstanding. What's happened?"

Clark managed not to groan. Jimenez. The security guard who was supposed to have helped Lex escape, and instead had dumped him in the middle of nowhere. Lex turned away from the window, crossed the room, and sank onto the bed beside Clark. "What makes you think so? His car was abandoned at the airport and there was no record of him booking a flight. Surely my father--"

Lex drew in a quick breath. "My apartment."

"It would certainly explain why a man who double-crossed Lionel Luthor and Eli Cohen on the same day wasn't found dead within twenty-four hours," Lex said drily.

"Twelve." Eli's voice was a snarl. "If I killed him as slowly as he deserves, eighteen."

Clark swallowed, and Lex gave him a crooked smile. "Eli. You know Jiminy doesn't approve of blood sports. Say you're sorry."

Eli sighed in obvious exasperation. "That cricket can hear the devil whispering in hell."

"I prefer to think he hears the voices of angels." Lex was grinning now, and Clark relaxed in relief, knowing a big, dopey smile was spreading across his face and not caring. "Three things, Eli. First, the Savings and Loan. I want that taken care of immediately. Second, I'd like you to check into the status of the restricted projects at Cadmus."

"No doubt," Lex said quietly, darting a quick glance at Clark.

"Not going anywhere," Clark murmured, for the twentieth time in the past two weeks.

Lex drew a deep breath, one corner of his mouth twitching upward. "But I need to know if the project has been terminated or not. And the particle accelerator--"

"Except Dickinson."

Eli sighed audibly.

"He was the only one who had the access codes, Eli. And he's the only one who's missing."

"Discreetly."

From the spluttering and coughing, Clark concluded that Eli had spat out something he'd been drinking. "Discreetly? I am to be lectured about discretion--"

"And third, I want a status on the Wilson property."

"And the biotech relocation. The sooner I can start drawing his fire the better."

Clark winced at the expression. Lex had drawn more than enough fire as far as he was concerned.

"I thought I was a rabid squirrel."

"As soon as possible, Eli." Lex hung up and tossed the cell phone onto the nightstand. "Didn't I tell you to breathe?"

Clark realized he was holding his breath, and let loose a sigh. "Draw his fire?"

Lex chuckled and stretched out on the bed. "A figure of speech, Clark. Relax."

"Yeah, well. I never know with you." Clark returned his gaze to the screen. "Who's Renée Duval?"

Lex craned his neck to look at the screen. "An old friend of my father's."

"He emails her a lot."

"They have an extensive and mutually beneficial business relationship." Lex sounded strangely amused.

"Business relationship? What business is she in?"

"Renée runs the most exclusive escort service in Metropolis."

"Escort service?" Clark didn't get it for a second, but when he did, he felt his face go hot. "Oh. Um. I wouldn't have thought ...  I mean, that your father--"

"Would have to pay for it?" Lex looked up at him with an unfathomable expression. "Satisfying some of my father's more exotic tastes occasionally requires the services of a professional."

Clark felt himself go even hotter, but Lex didn't look like he minded talking about it at all. He wondered frantically if anything could shock Lex.

"He's also her silent partner. As I said, a mutually beneficial relationship." Lex glanced at the screen. "Ah. Party. 280 will be leather central tonight."

"280?"

"280 Parkview Drive. My father bought it for Renée years ago."

"Isn't he worried that someone will find out? Or that Ms. Duval will tell somebody?"

Lex shrugged. "I imagine Renée has enough to do worrying that my father will tell someone about her. Symbiosis, Clark. It's how these things are done."

"I don't think I'll ever understand this stuff."

Lex smiled up at him. "Good."

Clark looked away hastily, scanning the email again. That smile just did things to him. A familiar dull, reverberating sound brought his head up again, and he stared through the window, trying in vain to determine the source. "There it is again."

"Yeah." Lex rolled off the bed and sauntered over to the window to peer into the dark; the light from the full moon flooded his face.

"Lex, get away from there!" Clark frantically hit the button on his bedside lamp, darkening the room. "Geez, haven't you been shot enough for one lifetime?"

Lex turned his head to look over his shoulder, his amused little smile clearly visible in the moonlight. "Relax, Clark. If my father wanted me dead, he wouldn't go to the trouble of acquiring a barely profitable Savings and Loan to pressure your parents. He obviously wants me back able to talk."

"Thanks, Lex. That makes me feel so much better," Clark snapped.

"I thought it might. Have you been able to tell where it's coming from?" Lex leaned against the window frame.

Clark sighed. "No, and that's weird. I can usually zero in on sounds that close."

"It's not coming from our friends in the van, is it?"

"No, it feels closer than that. Could it be Eli's jamming thing?"

"The only people who should be hearing anything from that are the poor drones my father chose to occupy that van. I imagine the noise coming through those headphones is pretty unpleasant."

"It's starting to creep me out a little."

Lex chuckled and crossed the room to slide back onto the bed, and Clark turned the light back on. "Maybe things that go bump in the night are my father's idea of psychological warfare. It'll be unearthly shrieks and chain-rattling next."

"I don't get this. He can't really believe we'd just hand you over."

"Of course he does. What would your parents have to gain by allowing me to stay here?"

"Gain?" Clark repeated blankly.

Lex's smile deepened. "Yes, Jiminy. Gain. Believe it or not, it constitutes the bulk of the world's motivation."

"You have a weird view of the world, Lex."

"So I've been told."

"Lex. When Dad doesn't take the carrot--"

"Don't worry about it, Clark. Eli and I will deal with the stick."

Lex had never sounded more determined in all the time Clark had known him, and Clark grimaced. If there was anything about Lex that drove him crazy, it was his Invincible Luthor routine. "We should talk to my folks before you do anything."

"It might be better if your father doesn't know about this."

Clark sighed. "I can't lie to him, Lex."

"I'm not asking you to lie. But if some mystery banking consortium from Metropolis with a more enlightened loan policy just happens to acquire the Savings and Loan, you wouldn't feel compelled to reveal the identity of the owner, would you?"

Clark gave him an exasperated look. "We're skating close to the edge, here, mastermind."

Lex grinned up at him. "All in the name of the greater good. I only want to ensure that your father will be spared any further temptation to strangle me. That's a worthwhile cause, isn't it?"

Clark snorted. "My father doesn't want to strangle you. He just doesn't like wearing pink boxers."

Lex sighed wearily. "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

"A criminal mastermind who doesn't know enough to separate whites and colors? What do you think?"

"I think the dark art of sorting laundry lies outside the purview of the criminal mastermind."

"Only if he's retarded."

"You shouldn't mock the laundry-challenged, Clark."

The muffled sound hung in the air again, and they looked at each other in silence.

"Maybe it is psychological warfare," Clark said quietly.

Lex searched Clark's face. "Clark. I give you my word I'll take care of this."

"There's got to be some other way to stop this than bleeding yourself dry."

"Of course there is. I could drop by the mansion for a little chat with tall, dark and genetically redundant."

"Don't even think about it," Clark said sharply.

"Our options are limited at this juncture." Lex reached over, shut down the laptop, and picked up Clark's discarded book, yawning. "Watership Down?"

"I have to read it for English." Clark set the laptop gently on the floor. "Lex, I don't want you to do anything crazy. Neither do my folks."

Lex lifted his eyebrows with a crooked little smile. "Crazy? Me?"

"You can't take him on by yourself. And you can't spend every penny you have left trying to protect us."

"I can, actually," Lex said quietly. "How far have you gotten in this?"

Clark sighed, recognizing the diversionary tactic of an impossibly stubborn man. "Not very far. Rabbits don't do much for me."

"Give it a chance. It's actually quite interesting."

"Rabbits are interesting?"

Lex smiled. "It's not about rabbits, Clark. It's about survival and leadership, among other things. Not a bad little text on tactics, either."

"You're kidding."

"Luthors never kid." Lex yawned again.

Clark rolled his eyes. "Right. Tell me about it in the morning, mastermind." He slid behind Lex and drew him up against his chest, pulling the covers over them; Lex settled against him and rested his head on Clark's shoulder. Clark let one arm slip around Lex's waist. They'd never gotten out of this habit, somehow. Clark was glad. God, he was glad. He looked forward to this all day. He wanted to get as close to Lex as Lex would let him.

Closer.

Settling in, Clark picked up his book and started to read, ignoring Lex's drowsy chuckle.

***

"Martha." Martha's face remained buried in her hands. She'd expected this -- not this, exactly, but something like this, something low and mean and dangerous -- and it amazed her all over again that Jonathan hadn't. "Martha, for God's sake, say something." Because Jonathan's mind just didn't work that way.

"Damn it." His voice was hoarse. "Tell me what a loser I am. Tell me I've ruined your life. Tell me you wish you'd never met me."

Martha lifted her head and extended her arms. Jonathan stared at her for a second, for all the world as if he hadn't expected her welcome, then stumbled against the bed, onto it, and into her arms. "We'll find a way," Martha whispered, seeing none.

"We can't ... sell that boy."

"No."

"And we have nowhere to go if they foreclose."

"No, we don't."

"This place is part of me," Jonathan whispered. "I don't know if I'll still be me without it, Martha."

"You will. We'll find a way. Together."

Jonathan swallowed hard and buried his face in her hair. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I've let you and Clark down so far I can't see bottom. I really thought I could make it work."

"You have made it work." Damn Lionel Luthor for making him doubt that. "This has been a wonderful home for us, and for Clark. You gave us that, Jonathan." She kissed his cheek.

"And I've taken it away from you," Jonathan whispered.

"You've done no such thing," Martha said fiercely. "You're not responsible for Lionel Luthor's twisted behavior. Nothing he does can diminish what you've given your family. Don't think that for one second."

"I was a damned selfish bastard to drag you away from Metropolis, from everything and everyone you knew, from a good life ... for this."

Martha pulled away, furious. "Jonathan Kent, don't you dare say that to me."

"This place was a pipedream," Jonathan said raggedly. "You gave up your life for a pipedream, Martha."

Martha took his face in her hands. "I did not give up my life." God, she felt absolutely terrified, and terrifying. "I found it. I found it here, with you and our son." Jonathan drew breath to respond, but Martha kept going. "If we have to pack up and move in the morning, I will still have that. We all will."

He was crying now, but so was she, crying, crying so hard that she couldn't tell him to stop.

***

Lex started awake, certain he'd heard something. "Clark?"

Clark muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, or whatever passed for a curse with Clark Kent. His breathing was uneven. He was shaking.

"Clark." Lex sat up and touched Clark's face; it was wet. His heart rate spiked. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Clark wiped his face, mumbling something about maturity, and Lex grimaced. "Clark. Talk to me."

"Mom's talking about packing," Clark whispered.

Lex peered into his face. "Packing?"

"I told you the carrot wouldn't work." There was bitterness in that voice now.

"Your father's back?"

"He says he won't sell you to your father. Satisfied?"

Lex lowered his head. If he lived for another century, he would never understand these Kents. His face felt strangely hot. "Clark. I'm sor--"

"Dad's crying." Clark tried to draw a deep breath, but it hitched, and broke, and ended up sounding close to a sob.

Lex's caution evaporated; he put his arms around Clark and bent to speak urgently in his ear. "I won't let this happen."

"Lex, you can't--"

"I won't let anything happen to you or the people you love."

Clark's head jerked up. "You can't control this, Lex. God, can't you understand that? Being a Luthor doesn't mean you can control everything and everyone. Thinking that is what got you into this mess, remember?"

"I remember," Lex said stiffly, pulling away.

"You can't just fix this all by yourself, without asking how other people feel about it. That's not how it works when you're close to people."

Lex froze for a second, strangely disoriented. He'd felt this way the first time he'd seen the spaceship in the storm cellar, like his world was shifting in some fundamentally weird, Kentish way. "How does it work?" Lex asked finally.

"God, Lex." Clark quickly choked back a hysterical little laugh. "I don't know. I don't know how anything works right now." Clark's breath started to hitch, and he lowered his forehead to Lex's shoulder. Lex hesitantly ran his hand across Clark's back, and Clark let loose a deep breath. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just ...  I've never heard my dad cry like that before."

"It's going to be okay, Clark." It was going to be okay whether Clark liked it or not. It was going to be fixed whether Clark liked it or not.

Clark sighed wearily.

But it would be better if Clark liked it. "We'll find a way."

Clark raised his head. "We?"

"We," Lex said quietly. "All of us. Together." Lex pulled Clark against his chest and leaned back against the pillows, and Clark rested his head against Lex's shoulder again, every muscle in his body relaxing. "We'll talk to your parents first thing in the morning."

"Isn't that ... a violation of the criminal mastermind code or something?"

Lex could hear the smile in Clark's voice, and sternly repressed the resulting euphoric and absurd delusion that all was right with the world. "Don't worry about it," he said gruffly. "I'm rewriting the handbook."

***

They'd left the door ajar again.

Jonathan suppressed a surge of something between panic and irritation. Whose idea was that, anyway? Lex's, maybe -- trying to prove that his intentions were honorable. Nothing to see here, Mr. Kent. Move along. Or Clark's -- trying to rub his father's nose in the friendship that drove him crazy. Go on, Dad. Watch me snuggle with this guy you can't stand. Try to figure out how many ways you can't do anything about it. Or maybe both. Maybe the two of them were in on it together, a goddamn conspiracy to elevate his goddamn blood pressure until he had a goddamn coronary. God. Damn. It.

Jonathan grimaced. Martha had been right. He'd blown it bigtime. Now, on top of everything else, he had a sixteen year old in full-throttle revolt on his hands, and slamming the brakes on wasn't going to be easy. Clark could be as pigheaded as ... well, as Jonathan Kent, he supposed wryly, come by honestly. They hadn't been able to connect long enough to really talk to each other for two weeks, and Martha had refused to play peacemaker.

Of course, if Lionel Luthor put them all out in the road, Lex would probably take off for greener pastures, and Clark would come to his senses. Which only went to prove that any disaster had its platinum lining. It might almost be worth it.

Jonathan snorted and paused outside the door, listening, but there was no sound from Clark's room. That was rare, even at three in the morning. There was almost always something to hear -- lots of soft conversation, lots of Lex waking up from nightmares yelling. Jonathan's guts tightened at the memory of the first time he'd woken up to hear that. He didn't want to know what Lex was reliving, didn't want to imagine what Lex's dreams were like. He wouldn't wish what had happened to that boy on his worst enemy.

Which did not in any way alter the fact that Lex Luthor was a thorn in his side and a pain in his ass, and the sooner he was out of Jonathan's house the better Jonathan would like it. Lex had turned the whole Kent family upside-down; even their laundry wasn't safe. Hell, Clark probably hadn't had a decent night's sleep in the three weeks Lex had been there. That boy had spent every moment he wasn't in school or doing chores babysitting Lionel Luthor's son, and it was getting old about now. Very old. Clark seemed to have more to say to Lex than he did to his own father. What the hell could Clark talk to Lex about? They had nothing in common, absolutely nothing. To say nothing of the fact that the son of a bitch was about to cost Clark his home ...  Oh, hell.

This wasn't Lex's fault. It wasn't. Lex hadn't made the Kent family any more vulnerable than Jonathan himself had. Lionel Luthor would probably have come after the farm sooner or later, even if he and his family had never laid eyes on Lex.

Jonathan very gently pushed the door open another inch and peered into the dark room.

Jesus H. Christ.

There they were, asleep in Clark's bed. Together. Again. Lex lay on his back, propped up by every spare pillow in the house, and Clark was draped halfway across him, his head resting on Lex's chest. Lex's arm lay loosely around Clark's shoulders.

Goddamn it to hell. He and Clark were going to talk, whether Clark liked it or not. Clark was young. Clark was naïve. Clark had no idea how his innocent affection and concern -- to say nothing of his good-natured patience with being pawed -- might be misconstrued by someone like Lex Luthor.

Jonathan managed not to slam the door when he shut it. So much for going back to sleep. He couldn't even walk from his bathroom to his bedroom without being aggravated to the point of bursting a blood vessel. Jonathan trudged down the stairs. God. He needed some fresh air.

***

His skin is soft and warm. You wouldn't think so to look at him. To look at him, he's sculpted ice or marble -- strong, whip-hard, smooth and cool. But Lex's throat is warm and giving against Clark's mouth, his hips warm and moving in Clark's hands, and Clark wonders if Lex is warm for everyone, or just for him. He wants it to be just for him. He pushes Lex's jeans over his hips, the rough material sliding over the backs of his hands, as they tumble onto Lex's bed with Clark on top.

Lex laughs, but he sounds breathless, like he's been running too hard. Slow down, we have all night, he says, but Clark doesn't slow down, because sometimes nights end when you don't expect them to. He can feel Lex, hard and wet, pressing against his belly. Tell me what you want, Clark, Lex says, his hands drifting down Clark's chest. You can have anything you want.

And Clark tells him, I want everything, and Lex shows Clark a smile he's never shown him before and tells him he can have everything. And then Clark's mouth is on Lex again, licking and biting lower and lower, and Lex is saying his name over and over, like he's drowning and saying it is the only thing keeping him afloat, and Clark swallows Lex's cock down so hard that Lex says Eli, and that's not supposed to happen. Clark ignores it and runs his tongue carefully over Lex, because he wants to make it so good for him that Lex will never hurt again and then Lex says in a soft voice, Is he alive? which doesn't make any sense at all.

"Where?"

He was lying on his back, and that didn't make any sense either.

"I'm fine."

There was nothing in his mouth.

"They're certain it wasn't a homicide."

And his eyes were shut.

"I know who's responsible."

And he was so hard it hurt.

-

"Back in a second," Clark muttered, scrambling out of bed and moving as quickly as he could to the door. He caught sight of Lex turning toward him as he reached the door, the cell phone pressed to his ear and an expression on his face that meant trouble. But he couldn't stop. Fumbling with the door, he yanked it open, bolted down the hall and into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him.

God, Lex was ... . He was ... . Clark stroked his aching cock, pinching his eyes shut. Hot. Lex was hot, and he loved Lex, and he wanted to fuck Lex, and he wanted Lex to fuck him, and Lex couldn't be clueless enough not to know that, could he? No. He couldn't. "Fuck me," he whispered breathlessly, desperately, bending slightly to lean one-handed against the bathroom wall over the toilet. "God, Lex, fuck me hard, I want to feel it--" Really feel it, feel it like he'd felt things when he'd lost his gifts, like a normal guy feels things, with no freakish strength to protect him, oh God he wanted that, wanted Lex in him more than anything. Clark choked back a groan as he came, his vision going red behind his tightly closed eyelids. He stood there for a moment, gulping in air, then hastily flushed the toilet and staggered to the sink to wash his hands. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he saw that he was bright red. God. Even his ears were blushing.

"Could you be any more lame," Clark snapped at his reflection, and was relieved when it didn't answer. Ducking out of sight of the humiliating spectacle, he splashed cold water on his face.

And his ears.

This wasn't going to go away. He'd almost hoped it would, at first. So he and Lex could just be best friends. Just be normal. But everything normal in his life seemed to be slipping away. Even this. Not that what he was feeling was bad or anything, he knew that, it was just ... . Clark sighed, leaning on the sink, staring at his wet, rapidly cooling face in the mirror. Another weird thing about Clark Kent. Because being a top-secret alien with super-powers wasn't weird enough for him. Oh, no. He had to be a gay top-secret alien with super powers. Or bi. Or whatever he was, and what the hell difference did that make when he was in love with a guy who wasn't going to do anything about it?

Because Lex knew what Clark was feeling, he had to. And there was no way he didn't like it. They'd been sleeping in the same bed together for almost two weeks straight now, and Lex hadn't exactly been clawing at the sheets in a mad attempt to escape or anything. Okay, so most of that time he'd been suffering from blood loss and pneumonia. Still. Lex had definitely aided and abetted in ... well, whatever it was they'd been doing. Lex slept better when Clark was holding him. When he was awake, he'd still wanted Clark close. He'd even gotten hard once. They'd both pretended it hadn't happened.

Clark buried his face in his towel and took a deep breath. He was sure Lex had his reasons. Lex had his reasons for everything he did, even if they were totally retarded. But he obviously wasn't ready to talk about them. And that was making Clark crazy, too. Sooner or later, they were going to have to talk about this, and Lex was going to have to explain his retarded reasons, and Clark was going to have to tell him how retarded they were. And all this was going to have to happen very soon, or Clark was going to lose it and get ... fresh.

Clark felt his face getting hot again and rubbed it in the towel until it stung, then yanked the door open, wincing as it vibrated ominously in his hand. That's right, wake up Mom and Dad. Because they didn't have enough to worry about, and getting Dad even more pissed off at his delinquent son than he was already was just what he needed. Clark slipped past his parents' bedroom door, wishing he could move as silently as Eli. Now that was a gift he wouldn't mind having. He hesitated, then abruptly turned around, retraced his steps and headed down the stairs.

He wasn't quite up to facing Lex yet.

***

Jonathan slid the fence rail into the back of the pickup, knowing he was a little crazy. He knew he was a little crazy because only a lunatic would be working his ass off in a freezing cold barn in the dead of night when he could be in a soft, warm bed, sleeping next to the most beautiful woman on the planet. Not that Martha wasn't a little crazy, too. He'd brought her to wreck and ruin and she still loved him. Still believed in him. He didn't deserve her. Her, or his son.

Christ. His son.

Guess what, Clark? Your future's shot to hell. Because your old man's a loser who can't support his family worth a damn, can't protect them, can't treat them the way they deserved to be treated. A dreamer with nothing to show for his dreams but an eviction notice.

Jonathan shoved the next rail into the truck with more violence than required, and yelped as the far end hit the cab and bounced back slightly, skinning the back of his hand. "Goddamn it to hell!"

"Can I help?"

Jonathan whirled toward the quiet voice, then leaned against the truck in relief. "Clark. You scared the hell out of me, son."

Clark smiled faintly. "Sorry." He reached out with one finger and slid the recalcitrant fence rail into position. "Let me get the rest of these."

"You shouldn't be out of bed at this hour." Jonathan watched Clark lift two rails with one hand, wondering wearily just how guilty one man could feel without dropping dead from it.

Clark shrugged as he slid the rails into the pickup. "Couldn't sleep," he said quietly.

"Lex having a rough night?" Jonathan congratulated himself on his neutral tone.

"I think we all are." Clark looked at him, and Jonathan closed his eyes. He wasn't ready for this. "I heard what you told Mom."

"I'm sorry," Jonathan muttered, lowering his head. "Damn it, Clark, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Clark was close to him now. "Dad, don't. Please."

Panic in that voice; a boy shouldn't see his father break. Jonathan opened his eyes and tried to smile, but the fear in Clark's face almost did him in. "It'll be all right, Clark. I just need to come up with a plan."

"It's worse than you think."

"Worse?" Jonathan almost laughed.

"Mr. Luthor is buying the Savings and Loan. Lex just found out tonight."

"Son of a bitch," Jonathan whispered. The bastard left nothing to chance.

"Lex wants to help," Clark said with desperate earnestness. "He said--"

"I don't need Lex Luthor's help." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and the reaction was immediate, the closing of the doors behind Clark's eyes as palpable as his physical recoil. "Clark, I--"

"Fine," Clark said evenly, turning away.

Jonathan grabbed Clark's arm, wondering wildly if this was his last chance, if this were the last time Clark would turn to him. "No. Son. Just--"

"You talk about people working together to solve their problems," Clark snapped, yanking his arm away. "But it's all talk, isn't it? You don't want to work together. You want everything your own way, no matter who gets hurt."

Jonathan groped for speech. "I ...  He ... " He pulled himself together. "Lex isn't trying to work with us, Clark. He's throwing his money around, just like he always has. This family is not for sale."

"He's not trying to buy us. He thinks of money first because he believes that's all people want from him."

"I'm not a charity case!"

"He's not trying to give you charity!" Clark was shouting now. "He feels responsible, Dad. He's trying to do what's right. To be fair. Why don't you try it sometime?"

Jonathan took Clark by the shoulders and shook him slightly, choking back the furious response that he'd only regret later. Could anything make a man more angry than seeing his own pigheadedness in his child's face? Jonathan took a deep breath and stepped back. Yes. Something could. Seeing that his pigheaded child might be right. "Wait. Clark. Let's just ...  Let's just calm down, here."

Clark shoved his hands in his pockets, stony-jawed and simmering.

"I know you care about Lex. I know you think he's been a good friend to you."

"He has," Clark said flatly. "Always."

"That doesn't mean you have to agree with everything he says and does."

Clark stared at him for a second, then barked out a weird little laugh. "Is that what you think? He's brainwashed me?"

That was one word for it. "Of course not. But he seems to influence you a great deal, and--"

"Sure he does. I influence him, too. It's called being friends, Dad."

Jonathan reined in his temper with difficulty. "Did he influence you into sleeping in the same bed?"

Clark flushed a painful shade of red. "What's that got to do with--"

"Clark." God, what a thing to have to explain to your son. "Lex is older than you are. He's ... experienced. Very experienced."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, wishing he were anywhere but here at this moment. "There are rumors--"

"My father taught me never to listen to rumors."

"--that his experience isn't limited to girls." There. He'd said it.

Clark swallowed hard, his glare evaporating, his stance weakening. "Is that why you hate him?"

"I do not hate him." Jonathan realized in bewilderment that Clark was shaking. "I'm concerned that he may misinterpret--"

"He's not misinterpreting anything," Clark said in a strangled voice, his blush fading rapidly.

"I don't want him to take advantage of you," Jonathan grated desperately. "That's all. I don't want you to be hurt."

Clark's face was bone white now. "Dad. You don't--"

"He wasn't brought up with our values, son." Damn, this was harder than the birds and the bees talk by a country mile. Jonathan felt on solid ground with the birds and the bees; they did their thing, and Jonathan understood their thing, and the little bastards didn't throw him any curves when he had to describe their thing to his son. "Where Lex comes from, sex has nothing to do with love."

"Dad." Clark's cracking voice cut through the freezing air like a hot knife through butter; he was backing away. "If sex was all Lex wanted from me, he could have had it months ago."

There were times when being a parent was like clinging to the undercarriage of a Mack truck doing seventy miles per hour through a field of running chainsaws, and Jonathan was inclined to think that this qualified as one of those times. The ground beneath his feet shifted, and he sank to sit on the nearest hay bale, leaning over to rest his forearms on his thighs, staring blankly at the scattered bits of straw on the barn floor.

"He's never done anything. He's never said anything. I don't think he ever will, no matter how much I want him to."

"You want him to," Jonathan repeated blankly.

"Yes." Clark's voice wobbled. "I'm sorry."

Jonathan jerked his head up in time to realize that Clark was nearly to the door. "Whoa," he said unsteadily, pulling himself to his feet. "Get back over here."

"I know you think it's wrong." Clark was barely audible, but he'd stopped backing away. "But I can't help how I feel."

"I don't think it's wrong, Clark." And yet somehow he'd managed to convince his son he was a homophobic idiot; how the hell had that happened? Jonathan closed the distance between them carefully, as if Clark were some frightened, wild thing that would bolt when startled, and laid his hands gently on Clark's shoulders. Jesus. When had the boy gotten so tall? "There's nothing wrong about what you feel. It just ...  I wasn't expecting this."

"Me neither," Clark muttered, his gaze locked on Jonathan's boots. "I know you're not happy about it, Dad. You don't have to pretend to be cool."

"I am cool," Jonathan growled, absurdly stung. "I am the original cool guy, Clark." Clark almost smiled, and what was with that? Hell, he wasn't trying to be funny. "If I look a little freaked out, it's just ... just ... "

"Just that your son is even weirder than you thought he was," Clark said quietly.

"Just that your life was complicated enough without this." Jonathan tilted his head to look into Clark's pale face. "Just that it hurts me to see you carry such a heavy load."

Clark's voice dropped to a whisper. "I never wanted to disappoint you."

"You have never disappointed me," Jonathan rasped. Clark swallowed hard and leaned in, breathing hard; Jonathan stroked his hair away from his face. "You're a son any man would be proud of, and I am. I am. Do you hear me? I love you. That's not going to change."

Clark regarded Jonathan's boots so intensely that Jonathan wondered if the boy was x-raying his feet. "Even if I like guys?"

"Even if you like guys," Jonathan said firmly.

Clark drew a little breath. "Even if I'm in love with Lex?"

Jesus H. Christ, what a night. "Even if you're in love with Lex."

Clark cleared his throat. "Even if Lex wants to marry me and take me to Paris?"

For one sickening second, Jonathan groped for a coherent answer; then Clark lifted his head to reveal the wicked gleam in his eyes. "Not. Funny," Jonathan snapped, fighting hysterical laughter.

Clark flashed a grin and glanced back down at his feet again. "Just ... checking the coolness level here."

"Not funny at all."

"Dad--"

"You're sixteen, Clark." Nip this in the bud now, right now. "What you know about being in love wouldn't fill a bottle cap." Jonathan winced at his sharp tone, and gentled it. "Just give yourself time, son. Don't rush things."

Clark glanced up at him warily. "Dad, how old were you when you met Mom?"

Shit. Don't use logic on me or I'm finished. "Eighteen," Jonathan sighed.

"Did you know she was the one?"

"Clark--"

"Did you?"

"This is not the same."

"I'll be seventeen in two months."

"Are you telling me Lex is the one, Clark?"

Clark went red again. "Yes. No. I don't know. I just ... love him, that's all."

That said it all, and Christ Jesus, it never rains but it pours. Jonathan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lex Luthor. You don't make it easy for a father to be cool, Clark."

"You don't know him, Dad." Clark's voice was low, insistent.

"I know him, all right. He's spent the past month in my house, eating my groceries and committing felony assault on my laundry," Jonathan retorted.

"And you've never talked to him in all that time. You've never really talked to him at all. You just ... talk at him."

Jonathan scowled, unnerved. "What does that mean?"

Clark gestured helplessly. "You don't listen to him. You don't cut him any slack. It's like you're not talking to a person at all. You talk to him--" Clark hesitated. "--like his father does."

"I am not--" Jonathan drew a breath and cooled his temper. "I am not anything like Lionel Luthor."

"Neither is Lex," Clark said quietly. "But that's all you see when you look at him. His father. His company. His money."

Jonathan restrained a flinch. Too close to the mark. Sure, he saw those things. That's all anybody could see. Or ... all Lex showed anybody. Jonathan studied Clark's face. Yes. All Lex showed anybody. Anybody but Clark. Or maybe Clark was the only one who'd taken the time to look? Damn. The image of Lex shielding Clark with his own body taunted Jonathan's mind's eye. That wasn't the act of a self-absorbed snake, no matter what song and dance Lex had tried to hand him afterward.

"He isn't any of those things, Dad."

Jonathan found himself nodding in spite of himself. Lex wasn't any of those things. Damn it, what was it about Lex Luthor that pushed every button he had? He'd met lots of people who didn't share his values, but he hadn't felt an overwhelming desire to choke the shit out of them. Of course, most of those people hadn't come sniffing around his son, either.

"He's ... he's trying so hard." God, the look on Clark's face. All bright eyes and flushed cheeks and passionate earnestness; he'd never seen Clark like this before. "Trying to do the right thing. You don't ... you just can't understand how hard that is for him."

"Doing the right thing is hard?" Jonathan couldn't keep the disapproval out of his voice to save his life.

"Sometimes he can't tell what the right thing is. What the important stuff is. He doesn't feel it. He has to really think about it. There are lots of things he can't feel yet. It's like parts of him are broken. Or maybe just asleep." Clark sighed, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "And sometimes when he does feel it, he doesn't know how to show it so other people understand. Nobody ever showed him this stuff, Dad."

Jonathan sank to perch on the tailgate of the pickup, stunned, his gaze never leaving Clark's face. How long had Clark been thinking about this? Through all those sleepless nights nursing Lex through nightmare and pneumonia? Longer? Did he really understand the implications of what he was saying? Jonathan had leveled a lifetime's worth of charges against Lionel Luthor, but he'd never heard one more bitterly damning than Clark's.

"So sometimes his dad's game gets hold of him."

Jonathan could just imagine the sort of game Lionel Luthor could play, even with an impressionable young boy. Maybe ... especially with an impressionable young boy. He felt the short hairs on the back of his neck rise, his stomach clenching as his imagination took a dark leap. "And then what happens?"

Clark's smile was rueful. "Lex doesn't do anything small, Dad. His mistakes are spectacular. Like ... like hiring Hamilton."

"All part of the game."

"He thought he had to play it to survive." Clark rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Tactical advantage, he said."

"Clark." Jonathan drew a quick breath. "Are you sure he isn't still playing that game?" Clark stared at him, and Jonathan saw those doors starting to close again. "No. Son. Hear me out, please. After what Lex has been through--"

"He hates it," Clark cut in thickly. "He hates the game. He fights it every day. He's not playing it."

"He's desperate and alone, and that can--"

"He's not alone." Jonathan could see Clark's fists clenching. "He'll never be alone."

Jonathan closed his eyes for a second. This was so ... Clark. How much love did it take to stand between a man and his demons? No. He couldn't deal with that right now. "You can't save everyone, son. Even ... even if you love them. You'll ruin your life if you try."

Clark's little laugh made Jonathan's eyes snap open. "Lex told me that once. You know, you two are a lot alike that way."

Jonathan felt his jaw drop. "Alike?"

Clark sighed and swung around to sit on the tailgate beside him. "Yeah. You both get totally crazy trying to protect me. What is with that, Dad? I'm not exactly fragile."

"No," Jonathan said quietly. "Just ... irreplaceable." Clark's eyes widened. "Priceless." Jonathan swore silently as his voice broke, and he looked away hastily.

"Dad." Clark's hand was on his shoulder, his voice soft. "Dad, I love you, too."

Jonathan curled his hand around his son's and squeezed it, mute.

"And I'm not going anywhere."

Jonathan nodded, blinking hard.

"I'm not. Nothing's going to happen to me. You've got to ... you've got to stop seeing Lex as a danger to me."

"You're asking a lot," Jonathan rasped. "Damn it, Clark, he hired someone to spy on you."

Clark sighed. "He can't leave a mystery alone, Dad. He needs to understand things. That's part of who he is. He just went overboard this time."

"Was that part of the game, too?"

"No," Clark said wryly. "That was Lex, being his control-freak, obsessed self. I never said he was perfect."

"That's a long way from perfect where I come from."

"I think he was scared." Clark's voice dropped.

Jonathan turned to him, startled. "Scared?"

"That I was no different than anybody else. Anybody else who'd lied to him. Hurt him. A lot of people have done that." Clark rubbed his eyes again. God, the boy looked tired. "He called Roger off when I asked him to."

"Roger didn't listen very well," Jonathan growled.

"You can't hold Lex responsible for what other people do." Clark was starting to sound angry again. "It's not right, Dad."

Jonathan couldn't restrain himself. "Can I hold him responsible for what he does? Or did he shoot you because he was scared, too?" It was a low blow, and a stupid one, and Lex hadn't been in control of himself that night, and why the hell had he just said that? Shit.

Clark pulled away from him and slid off the tailgate. "Did you have a better reason?" he snarled, then drew in a shaking breath and turned quickly toward the door.

Jonathan stared after him, shocked into silence for a moment. "What?" Jonathan scrambled after him and grabbed him by the arm. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," Clark said in a strained tone, trying to pull away. "Forget it. I'd better get back to bed."

"Clark." Jonathan turned him around, his stomach knotting. "That wasn't nothing. You just said--"

"Nothing." Clark's breathing was erratic; he wouldn't meet Jonathan's eyes. "I was just mouthing off. I'm sorry."

Jonathan's mind flipped into overdrive. Martha's closed expression as she'd assured him that he hadn't hurt anyone. That shredded shirt of Clark's he'd found in the trash. The shotgun inexplicably found put away uncleaned. "Sweet Jesus." Jonathan felt like he might throw up.

"No. Don't. Dad. I'm sorry." Clark's arms were around him now, holding him up. "I didn't mean to ... you didn't know what you were doing. You were sick." Clark's voice was wild, frantic.

"The shirt," Jonathan muttered, barely knowing what he was saying. "The shotgun."

"It wasn't you. It was the infection. It wasn't you."

Jonathan pinched his eyes shut and wrapped his arms around Clark tightly. Trying not to imagine what kind of a crazy man he must have been to lift a hand to his son, let alone a gun, or the look on Clark's face when he'd fired, or what he would have lost if Clark had been human.

"Dad, I'm fine." Clark's voice was muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me. You would never hurt me."

Jonathan pulled back and rested his forehead against Clark's for a second.

"Mom knew you'd freak," Clark mumbled. "I'm sorry. I never meant to say anything. I just lost it for a second."

"The Kent temper," Jonathan breathed, lifting his head and opening his eyes. Clark looked into his face anxiously. "We've both got it in spades, Clark."

Clark nodded, pale and bright-eyed.

Jonathan wondered if he looked as godawful as he felt. He was jolted by the unexpected memory of Lex's face as he'd caught sight of that security video from the garage, and flinched. Sighing, he stroked Clark's hair away from his face. "I'm sorry, too, son."

Clark let loose a gust of air and straightened, as if a load had been lifted from his shoulders. "Does that mean you'll talk to Lex?"

He had his old man's stubbornness in spades, too. "About his help?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "That's a good place to start."

Jonathan gave Clark a sour look in spite of himself. Oh, wouldn't that be a little slice of heaven.

Clark's pleading gaze blasted the last shreds of Jonathan's resistance. "Talk to him, Dad. Please. He's getting a little crazy again. He'd do anything to protect us. I mean, anything." Clark's adam's apple bobbed ominously. "He makes these jokes about handing himself over to ... you know, him, and I'm starting to think he's serious. The news about the Savings and Loan has just made him worse."

"Jesus Christ," Jonathan growled, aggravated all over again. That was all he needed. Having completely failed to protect his family, he would now be forced to watch the man who couldn't feel the right thing throw himself in the path of another bullet to protect them, no doubt for the express purpose of showing Jonathan Kent up for the loser he was. The pain in the ass that was Lex Luthor knew no bounds. "Does he have a death wish or something?"

"Sometimes I think he does." Clark's voice shook. "Talk to him like you'd talk to me, Dad. Please. Listen to him. I know he's hard to understand, sometimes, but if you really listen, you'll see." God, Clark was a spellbinder when he was like this. "He'll listen to you, too."

"He will?" Jonathan snorted and glanced away, unable to deal with what he saw in Clark's eyes. "Does that mean he won't be mixing whites and colors again?"

Clark's face twisted in exasperation. "Dad, please. This is serious."

"Okay, okay."

"He told Eli that the Kents were family."

Jonathan blinked, startled. "Family?"

Clark gave him a strained little smile, nodding. "Yeah."

Jonathan tried to wrap his mind around that concept. "Does he understand what family is, Clark?"

"Yeah," Clark said quietly. "I think he gets that. Will you talk to him?"

Like he had a choice. Like saying no wouldn't make him an unreasonable, wrong-headed ass and a canting hypocrite.

Like he could deny Clark anything tonight.

"I'll talk to him at breakfast." Clark's face lit up, and Jonathan started breathing again. Damn, he was getting off easy; he would have talked to the devil himself to see that smile again. He put his arm around Clark's shoulders and steered him toward the door. "You go get some sleep, son. I'll be in in a few." Maybe things were looking up. After all, they couldn't get any worse.

***

"Lex?" Clark peered into the dark room, startled to see that Lex wasn't in bed.

"Here."

Clark's buoyant mood sank at the sound of that voice, and he circled the bed quickly. Lex was sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, staring blankly out the window. That was bad. There was nothing to see out the window from that angle; even the moon was out of sight. Lex was staring at empty black. "Lex. It's after two."

Lex nodded silently.

Clark sat cross-legged on the floor beside him. "What?"

"You've been gone a while." Lex's voice was dull, remote.

"Yeah. I was out in the barn talking to Dad."

Lex blinked and turned to him. "You two are talking?"

Clark nodded, smiling. "Yeah. We're talking."

"So you're okay now?"

"We're okay."

Lex smiled, but his eyes were full of shadows. "That's good. I'm glad, Clark." The voice was warm, but the shadows only darkened.

"Lex. Please. Just tell me."

"Dickinson is dead." Lex's voice went flat again, he turned away to look out the window.

Clark flinched. "The guy in charge of your particle accelerator."

"Yes."

"What happened? Did ... did your father--"

"It was suicide. He blew his brains out in a motel room outside Metropolis."

Clark managed not to shudder. "I'm sorry, Lex."

Lex shrugged. "We weren't close. But I admired his intellect. I told him I'd provide opportunities for research he couldn't dream of in a traditional academic setting. I told him there were magnificent discoveries waiting to be made by men who were determined enough to defy convention. I told him we would do great things together. He had the qualms about my methods that any man of conscience would have, but I managed to persuade him to disregard his ethical stance and work for me."

Clark laid his hand on Lex's shoulder, groping for something to say that wasn't stupid.

"He killed himself to keep those access codes safe. To keep my father from getting his hands on the accelerator research. My father's people must have been getting too close."

Clark bent closer, unable to stand the look on Lex's face. "You don't know that."

"No, but I believe it. He was a man of extraordinary conviction." Lex curled his hand over Clark's. "I've been thinking about what you said. About trying to control everything. Everyone."

"No," Clark said thickly. "No, Lex. This isn't--"

"Of course it is. The accelerator project was just another tactical ploy in the game. The possible consequences to the people who trusted me never once entered my mind. That would have been your first thought, wouldn't it, Clark? Who might get hurt?"

"Don't do this, Lex. Please."

"Tell me. I need to know."

Clark swallowed hard and nodded.

"I thought so." Lex nodded fractionally, his fingers moving gently over Clark's hand. "I've been thinking about Amanda, too."

Clark groaned inwardly. God, what else could go wrong tonight? "You've been thinking too much," he said gently, slipping an arm around Lex's shoulders. "Time for a break."

Lex leaned toward him until their heads touched. "She trusted me, too. She's dead now, of course."

"You're not thinking straight, Lex. You're too tired to figure this out now."

"I was so supremely confident that I could arrange her life better than she could. Fix it, without any regard for what she wanted. So I fixed it. Took her life completely out of her hands. For her own good, of course. My intentions were so ... noble." The word was a sneer.

"There's nothing wrong with noble intentions," Clark whispered. "Don't beat yourself up for wanting to help your friend."

Lex's tone sharpened. "You're not getting it--"

"I'm getting it fine," Clark snapped. "I'm all for taking responsibility, Lex, but you don't know where to stop. And I can't tell you what a huge surprise that isn't."

Silence. Soft, ragged laughter. "I hope you're not saying I have an overdeveloped conscience, Jiminy. Because that would blow my self-image to hell."

"I'm saying you have no clue how to do anything that isn't over the top," Clark retorted, breathing again. "You're responsible for what you do, Lex. Not what other people do. If you start taking all that on, you'll drive yourself crazy."

"These people are dead, Clark."

"They chose that." Clark winced at the idea and pressed on. "They probably chose a hundred things between the time you changed their lives and the time they ... decided they didn't want to live. You had no control over those hundred things. You had no control over the last one, either."

"I'm a Luthor. I set it all in motion."

"I hate to break it to you, Lex, but you don't have to be a Luthor to set things in motion. I pulled you out of the river, does that mean I'm responsible for everything you did afterwards?"

"God, I hope not," Lex muttered.

"I'm not. I'm not responsible for your lousy driving or your pathetic laundry skills or your weird taste in clothes--"

"Clark." Lex raised his head, and Clark flinched at the steel in his face. "I made thoughtless choices. People are dead. What are you telling me?"

Clark's voice went hoarse. "I'm telling you that you didn't kill them."

Lex swallowed and nodded, eyes too bright. "It's a fine line, Jiminy."

"You didn't cross it."

"Some people might think I did."

"Some people don't know you like I do."

Lex leaned in, his face going impossibly soft, his breathing slightly erratic. "Nobody knows me like you do."

Clark bent closer eagerly, certain for one wild, euphoric moment that Lex's mouth would actually touch his. It didn't. Lex shot wide and laid his forehead on Clark's shoulder a split second before a long, sustained blast of a car horn brought them both to their feet, clutching at each other for support.

"What the hell?" Lex breathed.

"It's the truck," Clark stammered, snapping out of his shock as the sound abruptly ended. "It's Dad. Something's wrong." He staggered to the window, bringing his vision to bear in the direction of the barn. He got the barest glimpse of three skeletal figures locked in a struggle before he swung for the door, but Lex grabbed him by the arm.

"Stay right where you are." Lex dove toward the bed, shoved his hand between the mattress and the box spring, and pulled out a pistol.

"Stay where I am? They've got Dad!" Clark yanked the door open in a panic and bolted out into the hall and down the stairs; Lex was at his heels, snatching at him wildly.

"God, Clark, stop! If my father's sent them in--" Clark clawed at the front door knob, but Lex threw himself in front of the door, panting. "Stop! Stay here. All we need is one clown out there with a camera and a meteorite and it's all over for you."

It was all Clark could do not to throw him across the room. "My dad--"

"Go upstairs, get my cell phone, and call the police. Then wake up your mother and stay with her." Lex pulled the door open, sprinted across the porch, and vaulted over the steps to hit the ground running.

The police.

Clark stumbled back up the steps and into his room. "Mom!" He fumbled frantically among the bedclothes for the cell phone. God. God. Dad. Lex. His fingers curled around the phone; he stabbed 911 as he whirled back into the hall on his way to his parents' room. "Mom!"

"This is ... this is Clark Kent, on Hickory Lane. Somebody's ... somebody's broken into our barn. They're attacking my father." Clark shouldered his way through his parents' bedroom door. "Mom?"

The room was empty. Empty. "I don't know, I don't know. Just tell them to hurry. Mom, where are you?"

"I can't find her." Clark staggered back out into the hall, past the bathroom, down the steps, through every room on the first floor. "I can't find her."

"I can't wait ten minutes." Clark hung up, threw the phone on the kitchen table, and barreled through the back door, leaving the screen door hanging limply on one twisted hinge.

***

By the time Jonathan had been punched in the face once, in the stomach twice, and sat on by a guy who easily weighed three hundred pounds, he was ready to concede that the evening could get worse after all.

"Stupid!" shouted the man on top of him, shoving his gun under Jonathan's chin, and Jonathan would have agreed with him if these thugs didn't have Lionel Luthor written all over them. They were here for Lex, or for Clark, or for both of them, and now that Clark knew there was trouble, they wouldn't get either of them.

"Don't shoot now, you fucking moron," hissed the man still on his feet. "You'll have Lionel's guys and junior on our necks."

Lionel's guys. They weren't Lionel's guys. They didn't want Clark out here?

"My son will have called the police by now," Jonathan rasped. "They'll be here in a few minutes. I suggest you get your sorry asses off my land."

His attacker shifted and glanced uneasily up at his companion. "Jimenez--"

"Relax, Atkins. Junior's not calling the cops and shit-kicker knows it." Jimenez squatted down beside him, grinning. "You really think Lionel's little boy is going to let him do that, Kent? He'd be a dead man inside twenty-four hours." He pulled a knife from his belt.

"My son," Jonathan repeated steadily, feeling his stomach twist, "is calling the police." His son wasn't calling the police, though. Because Lex would talk him out of it. And then what? Clark. Martha. If these animals got anywhere near them ...

"You told me this was a simple job," Atkins growled. "Switch 'em and clear out, you said."

"Who expected shit-kicker here to be kicking shit at two in the fucking morning? Just shut up and let me think."

"What's to think about?" Atkins leaned back slightly, the barrel of his gun still resting against Jonathan's neck. "He's seen us. We do the job, do him and then get the fuck out of here."

Jonathan took a shaky breath and propped himself up on his elbows, ignoring the discomfort. "What job?"

Jimenez regarded Jonathan with a cold glitter in his eyes that raised Jonathan's short hairs, then handed Atkins his knife. "Not necessarily in that order. He's right, you know." He rose to his feet and picked up the backpack he'd dropped, then strolled over to Lex's truck and popped the hood. "The boy's got a great work ethic."

Atkins glowered and shoved his gun into his jacket pocket, twirling the knife in his fingers. "Hurry up," he snarled. "Somebody had to hear that horn."

Jonathan stared at Jimenez as he rummaged in the backpack. They weren't here for Lex. Or for Clark. So what the hell-- "It's about a ten minute drive from the police station in town. If you don't want to wind up--"

Atkins dealt Jonathan a backhanded blow across the face that propelled the back of his head into the hard dirt floor. "Did anybody ever tell you you talk too much?"

Jonathan gasped. "You're just digging yourselves in deeper--"

"That's it." Atkins shoved the blade of the knife against Jonathan's throat. "Say goodnight."

Jonathan closed his eyes as the blade started to move, then flinched as an explosion and a howl assaulted his ears. The weight that had been pinning him down was yanked away, and Jonathan opened his eyes to see Atkins careen away to lean against the barn wall, clutching his arm and screaming. "Son of a bitch! Mother fucking son of a bitch!"

"You were right," someone said acidly. "Someone heard the horn." Jonathan glanced dazedly toward the door to see Lex walking barefoot across the barn floor, holding a gun as if he knew what to do with it. Lex locked eyes with him for a moment. "The police are on their way."

The police?

Jimenez froze, backpack still in his hands, then forced a laugh. "Look who it is. Reject Boy, all done up in his Goodwill best."

"Fuckin-A, he shot me, he shot me," Atkins babbled, sliding to sit on the floor, cradling his wounded arm.

Lex raised his eyebrows at Jimenez. "Still recruiting from the ranks of the intelligentsia, I see." Jonathan pulled himself up into a sitting position, wiping blood from his mouth and trying to see straight. The police? "Mr. Kent, are you all right?"

"Peachy," Jonathan said sourly, checking for loose teeth. He wasn't peachy. He was exhausted, his neck was bleeding, his head and his ribs hurt like hell, and to top it all off, Lex Luthor had just saved his life, which was about as far from peachy as Jonathan figured he could get without being dead. Hell, he was never going to live this down.

One side Lex's mouth twitched upward. "I think you'd better wait for the police outside."

Lex extended his free hand toward him, keeping his eyes locked on Jimenez, and Jonathan belatedly realized that Lex was offering him a hand up. The memory of all the times he'd refused to shake the boy's hand made the blood run to his face, and Jonathan reached out to take Lex's hand and haul himself to his feet. "Thanks," he muttered, swaying slightly.

Lex stepped closer to steady him. "Jimenez," he said sharply, and Jonathan turned to see Jimenez sidling toward the door, still clutching the backpack. "Drop the bag."

Jimenez licked his lips nervously. "Just calm down, Lex. Don't do anything stupid. I can help you out."

Lex's lip curled. "I can just imagine. You did it so well the last time the opportunity presented itself."

"I've got something here to show you."

"Jimenez," Atkins grated. "Don't dick around."

"Shut up," Jimenez snapped, fiddling with the top flap of the backpack.

Lex's eyes narrowed. "I said drop the bag, Jimenez."

Jonathan saw Jimenez's hand dip into the backpack, but before he could say anything found himself being shoved behind his truck and onto his stomach with Lex on top of him, gunfire echoing in his ears. "Jesus H. Christ!" he shouted over the din. "Do you know anybody who isn't a homicidal maniac?"

"Apparently not," Lex growled in his ear, rolling off him as the barn fell silent again. Lex peered around the right front tire of the truck, clutching his gun so tightly that his knuckles were white.

Jonathan lay where he was, catching his breath, and stared under the truck at the other side of the barn. He could see Atkins, still huddled on the floor, moaning over his bleeding arm, but there was no sign of Jimenez. "Where's--"

"He's behind my truck. I can see his feet." Lex spared him a glance. "We need to get you out of here."

"We need to get them out of here," Jonathan snapped. "If Clark tries to stop them--"

"I told him to stay with Mrs. Kent."

Jonathan glared.

Lex shot him back a wry look. "I didn't say it would work."

"If those bastards see him do anything--"

"I'm not going to let that happen. You need to get out of here and keep him in the house until the police get here."

The police. Jonathan studied Lex's face. "You called the police."

"I told Clark to call them. They must be nearly here by now."

Even Lex couldn't be that good a liar. "And you think he would do that."

Lex shot him a confused look. "What? Of course he--" Lex's face changed. Oh, he got it, now, and Jonathan knew for damn sure it was the first time Lex had entertained the notion that Clark wouldn't bring the police here. "He's called them," he said unsteadily. "He has. He wouldn't risk you--"

"Hey, Lex!" Jimenez's raised voice cut through their whispers. "I've got something else to show you. Wanna see?"

"Take your goddamn show and tell out of my barn!" Jonathan shouted, his hands itching for his shotgun, or at least his baseball bat.

"Lex Luthor told me to show you something if we ran into you," Jimenez continued. He was laughing, now. "He said you'd understand."

Jonathan grit his teeth. Not Lionel. Lex. No, not Lex. The other Lex. Goddamn it, it was getting so you needed a scorecard around here.

"See it?"

Jonathan peered across the barn to see a hand being thrust above the bed of Lex's truck, clutching something about the size of a baseball. Something that glinted dull green in the harsh work lights.

"Oh, God," Lex whispered. Jonathan turned to him, struggling to speak, and saw Lex pressing his forehead to the tire, eyes closed. "Oh, God."

They had a meteorite. How the hell could they have a meteorite? Why the hell would they have a meteorite?

"He knows." Lex's voice was thick. "Karloff knows."

God Almighty. "How much?" Jonathan hissed. "What does he know?"

"Hey, if you don't want to look at it, maybe your little friend does, huh?" Jimenez's tone turned ugly. "Mr. Luthor seems to think he'd find it real interesting."

Lex opened his eyes and turned to Jonathan, naked horror spreading across his face, and Jonathan snapped out of his paralysis, lunging to his feet. "You stay the hell away from my son, you sick son of a bitch--"

Lex yanked Jonathan down beside him, breathing hard.

"Yeah, maybe me and Atkins will go up to the house and visit with your pretty wife. I hear your boy's pretty, too, shit-kicker. I don't usually swing that way, but--"

"Fuck!" Lex clutched Jonathan's shoulder, bone-white and wide-eyed, shoving his gun into Jonathan's hand. "Stay down. Just stay down, no matter what." Lex tore away from Jonathan, scrambled to his feet and strode around the truck. "Fine. What do you want? What does he want? Let's do this."

Jonathan gasped and made a grab for him, but caught only the hem of his t-shirt, which slipped through his fingers, leaving him lying on his side on the floor staring helplessly at Lex and his death wish as they approached Lex's truck.

"Stop right there!" Jimenez's voice suddenly lost its jubilance; he sounded uncertain, as if Lex's reaction were unexpected. It had sure as shit been unexpected as far as Jonathan was concerned; he lay where he was, feeling as if someone had kicked him in the head one too many times.

Lex came to a halt. "Enough games," he said harshly. "If it's me he wants, let's go. Right now."

"What the fuck, Jimenez," Atkins rasped, staggering to his feet. "Let's get out of here."

"Throw Atkins your gun," Jimenez snapped.

Lex lifted his empty hands, and Jonathan choked back a groan. What the hell was the boy doing? There was no good way out of this now.

Jimenez emerged from behind Lex's truck, gun in one hand and meteorite in the other. "So what is it?" he asked, ignoring Atkins as he came to stand at his side. "What's the deal with the rock, Lex?"

"Who cares?" Atkins hissed in growing agitation. "This is a problem, Jimenez."

"Not a problem. An opportunity. What. Is. The. Rock."

Lex set his jaw. "Ask Karloff."

Jimenez's eyes narrowed. "I'm asking you."

"I don't have an answer. If you want to get out of here in one piece, I suggest we leave now."

"We're not going anywhere until I know what this is." Jimenez lifted the rock to eye level, examining it.

"Fuckin'A! Are you bugshit? If taking him to town will square things with Luthor, let's do it!" Atkins yanked the gun from his belt with his good hand. The look in these men's eyes scared Jonathan more than their guns and their knife, and he wondered, sickened, exactly what had happened to Lex for the three weeks he'd been locked up, if these were examples of the men who had guarded him.

Ignoring him, Lex shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. Then we'll just stand here and wait for the police to arrive."

"Yeah, right. Like that phone call ever happened. You'd be on your way to Daddy before you made it through booking, and you know it." Jimenez abruptly shoved the meteorite into his jacket pocket and stooped to pick up the knife Atkins had dropped. "Get on your knees."

Lex stood where he was, matching Jimenez stare for stare.

"Leave him alone," Jonathan snarled, unable to stand what he felt in his gut was coming. "I've got his gun. I'll use it." Jonathan wondered briefly if he could hit the broad side of his own barn with the thing in his hand.

Jimenez barked a laugh. "No, you won't." Atkins muttered something under his breath, and Jimenez shot him a deadly look. "Get Kent out here. Do it now."

Atkins swore softly and started strolling in Jonathan's general direction. Jonathan grimaced and shimmied backward, keeping the truck between them.

Lex's voice sharpened. "For God's sake, Jimenez, you've already screwed up whatever Karloff sent you here to do. Don't be stupid. This is your last chance to survive this. What do you care what the damn rock is?"

"I'm not some dumb-ass errand boy," Jimenez snapped. "You should know that by now. I'm a player, Lex."

"You're a loser," Lex retorted evenly. "You managed to betray two of the most formidable men on the continent in the space of twenty-four hours without any plan for escape whatsoever. People who betray my father tend to end up very dead, and I won't go into what happens to people who betray the other gentleman you screwed over."

Jimenez's grin faded; he played with the blade of his knife nervously. "They're not here, and unless you're planning to invite them--"

"And now you're going to screw Karloff as well? You're a fool." Lex turned his head to watch Atkins's progress. "Let Kent go and we can leave right now."

"Damn it, Lex, just shut up and run," Jonathan snapped, slipping around to the front of the truck, about four steps ahead of Atkins.

"If anything happens to this man there won't be any place you can hide." Jonathan could barely recognize Lex's voice. "Whether I'm alive or not. The Kents are under my friend's protection now. He's already looking for you, Jimenez, and trust me, he finds what he looks for. And when he does--"

Jimenez stepped close enough to Lex to lay a hand on his shoulder. "Let me explain something to you, little boy," he said softly. "You are dead. Kent is dead. Your friend couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a shovel. And the only thing we have to discuss is whether you die here or in Metropolis."

Silence.

"I vote for Metropolis," Lex said.

Jimenez flushed angrily. "Shut up!"

"All opposed?"

Jimenez shoved Lex onto his knees and pushed the knife under his chin. "You're going to tell me about the rock." Lex drew in a sharp breath and leaned back, away from the knife. "And the next time you move away," Jimenez continued softly, "Atkins will blow off shit-kicker's kneecaps." Lex closed his eyes and straightened, bringing his neck back to the blade.

Jonathan felt his world tilt, felt something in his chest give way. Hearing Atkins coming up from behind, he scurried around to the side of his truck, the side that offered no protection from Jimenez, and, hunkering down with his back to the cab, leveled Lex's gun in the man's general direction. "Let the boy go," he said unevenly. "Let him go right now."

Jimenez barely spared him a glance. "The rock, Lex." He drew his knife across Lex's throat, inflicting a long, shallow slice that sent trickles of blood rolling toward the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing.

Lex pinched his eyes shut, teeth clenched, and said nothing.

"I said let him go! So help me God, I'll--" Jonathan broke off as he felt the barrel of Atkins's gun nestling close to his ear. "I can shoot your friend before you pull the trigger," Jonathan said, knowing damn well he couldn't.

"Don't hurt him," Lex rasped.

Jonathan's insides twisted. Damn. Damn. Don't hurt him?

"Keep him there, Atkins. Lex is going to tell me about the rock now."

"There's nothing to tell," Lex breathed. "It's part of a research project."

"What kind of research?"

"It's nothing of any use to you. It's a radiation study."

"That fucking rock is radioactive?" Jonathan flinched as Atkins yelped out the words, driving the barrel of the gun against his temple. "We've been carrying around--"

"You're lying." Lex groaned through clenched teeth as Jimenez snarled the words, sliding the blade across his throat again. He didn't pull away. "Luthor has a room full of these damn things at his place. Are you telling me he's living with a pile of radioactive rocks? Huh? Are you telling me he's stupid?"

"Drop the knife." Jonathan managed to keep the gun steady. A room full. A room full of meteorites.

"I'm telling you he's insane," Lex grated, his hands balled tightly into fists.

"Then why the interest in the boy? What's the connection?"

"There's no connection."

Jimenez drew the knife across Lex's throat again; Lex's face twisted, his cry instantly choked back, his breathing erratic and shallow. The collar of his shirt was now drenched with blood.

"Stop it!" Jonathan shouted, fumbling for the trigger. He could do this. He could kill this man; he had to kill this man. "Drop the goddamn knife!"

"Luthor thinks there is. Maybe I'll just ask junior myself." Jimenez yanked Lex's chin up and shifted his grip on the knife; Lex opened his eyes to stare up at him. "Maybe Atkins and me will take turns asking him."

Jonathan pulled the trigger, but his shot went wide and ricocheted harmlessly off Lex's truck. Atkins knocked Jonathan to his hands and knees, sending Lex's gun flying, and somewhere in the heat and noise and impact of that moment, Jonathan heard Clark screaming Lex's name, saw Lex seize Jimenez's wrist and shove the knife wildly toward Jimenez's abdomen, saw Jimenez knock Lex onto his back, forcing the knife closer to Lex's bleeding neck.

"You want this?" Jimenez hissed to Lex. "Fine. You got it."

Lex grimaced, struggling to keep the knife away, and failing.

"Goddamn it, Jimenez, don't kill him!" Atkins's voice was a wild bellow. "Luthor will have us dead six different ways if we kill him!"

Thrusting his elbow back wildly, Jonathan managed to catch Atkins in the ribs and send him staggering back a couple steps -- just enough maneuvering room to turn, to see Clark falling to his hands and knees two feet short of Lex and Jimenez. Lex turned his head enough to look up into Clark's face with a horrified expression.

"Speak of the devil," Jimenez snarled. "Now we'll have some damn answers."

Lex thrust himself at Jimenez wildly, ignoring the proximity of the knife, but Jimenez dealt him a left hook that landed Lex flat on his back, stunned. Jonathan saw Clark huddle down next to Lex and lean over him, shielding him, breathing hard. Lex laid a hand on Clark's chest, his face drawn, shaking his head in mute urgency.

"Fuck!" Atkins screeched in Jonathan's ear. "Game over, Jimenez. This is out of control, man. I'm gone."

Jonathan felt a gun barrel club into the back of his head, and toppled to the floor on his stomach. He listened to Atkins's retreating footsteps, and watched, dazed, as Jimenez clambered to his feet and pulled his gun from his belt, dropping his knife. "Atkins! Get the fuck back here! Atkins!"

Lex struggled into a sitting position, managing, somehow, to wriggle between Clark and Jimenez. "So ... is it a problem now, Jimenez?"

Jimenez lowered his eyes from the door to stare at Lex.

Lex glared back at him, wrestling a rapidly weakening Clark behind him. "If you don't think it is, just listen."

Jonathan, propping himself up on one elbow, wondered if the boy had finally lost his mind -- when he began to hear it, too.

Sirens.

The sound was faint, but unmistakable. Jonathan locked eyes with Clark. His son had called the police.

"You stupid shit," Jimenez breathed. "You stupid shit. You're dead."

"Stay and join me," Lex sneered. Clark's smile of relief twisted into dismay; Jonathan could see cold, hard realization set in. Clark obviously hadn't given that call a second thought, but if the police found Lex, Clark would never forgive himself. Jonathan knew that much. He watched Clark lean against Lex's back, obviously too weak to move. Lex laid a hand on Clark's arm, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with his acid tone. "Come on, Jimenez. Make the most of your opportunity."

Jimenez's lip curled. "Fuck that," he said softly, raising the gun. "And fuck you."

"No," Jonathan wheezed helplessly, trying without success to stand.

Lex drew a weird little breath and closed his eyes, but the explosion that tore the air left him untouched, and sent Jimenez flying onto his back. Eyes wide and mouth open, he clawed at his mutilated chest for moments that lasted much too long, then subsided to stare sightlessly at the barn roof, his blood soaking into the earthen floor.

Jonathan turned his gaze to the door, expecting to see a uniform, and instead saw a bathrobe. He watched, numb, as Martha let his shotgun slip from her fingers and fall noiselessly to the floor.

***

Lex lay behind Clark's sofa in the loft, counting the knotholes in the barn ceiling, and listening to the police, the paramedics, the coroner, and the Kents play their respective roles in the situationally-mandated farce below. There was Jonathan, stammering out a hefty portion of lies among the truths, and Clark, adding a few embellishing fabrications of his own, and Martha, eerily calm and self-possessed, explaining exactly how and why she had blown a man's chest open with a shotgun.

If Lex had broken into a church and desecrated the Madonna, he could not have felt more soiled. Martha Clark Kent, daughter of Metropolis aristocracy, faithful wife, loving mother, a true lady, the woman whose compassion had made Clark Kent's heart what it was, had been forced to kill a man because Lex Luthor had been unable to find the strength to leave her house. Her son.

God only knew what this would do to her, to Clark, to Jonathan, and Lex couldn't fix it. He loved these people, and he couldn't fix it.

He loved these people.

And he couldn't fix it.

Evidently, all you needed wasn't love. All you needed was a backbone and a brain, and if he'd had either he'd have been out of here a week ago. The Kents could very well have died tonight. Or worse.

Maybe this was worse.

"Fuck," Lex hissed, then held his breath. There was no sound from below. The crowd had moved out onto the drive; he could hear voices and the slamming of car doors. He sat up and hauled Jimenez's backpack into his lap, raking through it with cold hands. A map of the farm. Another knife. A flashlight. Junk food. A small cardboard box. Lex pulled the cover off and dumped the contents into his palm: two small round disks, each about the size of a quarter. "Switch 'em," Lex muttered. "Fuck."

Clutching the disks in his hand, he scrambled out of his hiding place and down the stairs, only come to a skittering stop at the sight of the large, damp, vaguely red area of the barn floor. Lex felt the little disks slip from his numb hand, felt himself go hot, felt his stomach turn. There shouldn't be blood here. Not here, not a few steps from that beautiful little yellow house behind its perfectly maintained white picket fence. Not in clear sight of Clark's loft. Not where Jonathan or Clark or Martha could just walk in and see it, for God's sake, not after everything they'd been through tonight, after everything they'd been through for the last month. Looking around wildly, he seized the first likely tool he saw, a shovel, and started hacking at the hard earth, turning it over in a desperate attempt to conceal the blood. It had soaked in, soaked in deeply, but blood did that, didn't it? It got everywhere ... .

"Lex. Stop."

Jonathan.

Lex didn't stop. "Just cleaning up my mess, Mr. Kent."

"This isn't your mess. Sit down, you're still bleeding."

"Keep Mrs. Kent and Clark out of here until I'm through."

Jonathan's strong hands seized the handle of the shovel, forced it still. "Lex. Stop, son."

Lex tried to yank the shovel away, but Jonathan forced it out of his hands and tossed it aside. Lex stood still, staring at Jonathan's boots, breathing hard as Jonathan laid his hands on his shoulders. Lex knew he should apologize. Again. Try to make this man understand that he would never intentionally harm his family. Again. What the hell was the point? Lex doubted he would believe himself at this point. "I'm sorry," he said anyway, raising his eyes to Jonathan's.

Jonathan lifted his hand to Lex's face, and Lex flinched involuntarily. He saw Jonathan's eyes widen slightly, saw the shocked look on his face. "Lex." Jonathan put an arm around his shoulders and turned him slightly; Lex could see Clark and Martha standing just inside the door, watching them. They were both ice-white. Martha had a small tube and some gauze in her hands; Clark was carrying a bottle of water. "Come over here and sit down, son. Just breathe for a few minutes."

Lex let his legs go out from under him and sat stupidly on the first available bale of hay, staring as Martha knelt in front of him. "I'm sorry," he repeated helplessly. "Mrs. Kent, I'm sorry." How stupid and insipid was that, and how many times was he going to say it?

Martha looked up at him with a wondering expression, then stroked his cheek gently, and Lex vaguely considered the possibility that Jonathan hadn't intended to strike him, and that these people were all stark raving mad, a theory pretty much confirmed when Clark sat down beside him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"This wasn't your fault, Lex." Martha wet the gauze. "Now hold still."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lex saw Jonathan wince at the words, then go down on his haunches beside Martha as she started cleaning Lex's neck. Lex closed his eyes.

"Am I hurting you?"

"No. It doesn't hurt," Lex said dully.

Jonathan muttered something about shock.

Lex took a quick breath. "I have to go." Clark's grip around his shoulders tightened.

"You're not going anywhere," Jonathan said flatly. "You're going to let us patch you up and then you're going inside and back to bed. That other lunatic--"

"Atkins. Rick Atkins."

"Whoever. He's still out there, and--"

"Probably halfway to Metropolis by now. I have to go, Mr. Kent. This is ... this was ... completely unacceptable. I should have left as soon as I was able to walk."

"You can't go." Clark's voice was shaking. "Your place isn't ready yet, and even if it was, there's a van full of your father's people still sitting on the road, waiting for you to run."

"They won't catch me," Lex said flatly.

"You are not leaving my house in this condition," Martha said, in her Mother-Is-God voice, which Lex had learned to ignore at his peril. He was glad his eyes were shut.

"I think you've noticed that I heal quickly, Mrs. Kent."

"Let me rephrase. You are not leaving my house." Martha started to apply some ointment with excruciatingly gentle hands. "Clark, give me the tape." She taped some gauze across the wound as if she were taping Lex into his seat at her kitchen table.

Lex opened his eyes and turned to Jonathan, certain of an ally. "Mr. Kent, the risk to your family can no longer be just--"

"I agree," Jonathan said softly. "And in the morning, we'll discuss how to deal with the risk. To our family." Lex's spine couldn't quite support him then, and he found himself hunched over, with his head resting on Martha's shoulder, and Clark hunkering down to talk very soft and very fast about how right Dad was, and Jonathan awkwardly rubbing his shoulder. He remembered the day of the hostage situation at the plant, standing in his father's stiff publicity embrace, watching the Kents hold each other. Now they were holding him. And he couldn't let them.

Lex pressed a hurried, awkward kiss of apology to Martha's cheek and forced himself to his feet, breaking away from Clark's restraining arms. "I have to go. I have to go tonight."

"You're not thinking straight, Lex." Jonathan caught him by the arm and turned him around.

"I'm thinking you have to give Mr. Alexander an answer in the morning," Lex snapped. "I'm thinking you don't want Mrs. Kent and Clark standing in the road."

"Lex--"

"God, Mr. Kent, please, just listen to me, just once!" Lex caught himself, shocked at his lack of control, and shut his mouth, waiting grimly for the explosion.

Jonathan studied him for a second. "All right, son," he said in a strange, gentle voice. "I'm listening."

Lex blinked, then snatched up the two silver disks from the floor. "These are tracking devices. Jimenez had them in his backpack."

Jonathan took them, turned them over in his hand. "What are you saying? They were going to plant these--"

"In the trucks. It has to be the trucks."

"But why--"

"My father has anticipated every eventuality; he always does. If you take his offer, you deliver me. If you don't, he evicts you and takes me. If I run--"

"He follows you and catches you," Jonathan finished, with a disgusted expression. "Son of a bitch."

"But these men didn't work for Lionel." Martha rose to join them, taking one of the disks, examining it with impossibly steady hands. "They worked for ... ." She glanced up at Lex. "I don't know what to call him."

"I could think of a few things," Clark muttered as he joined them.

"Switch them." Jonathan turned toward his truck. "Atkins said something about switching them ... ."

"My father has probably had both trucks monitored for weeks now." Lex grimaced at his own stupidity. Where the hell had his brain been? Lex cut off the thought. He knew where it had been. "Our friends in the van have been tracking you every time you made a delivery or went grocery shopping. Clark, could you--"

"Yeah." Clark's face was already screwed into that strange little squint, going over Jonathan's truck from hood to tailpipe.

Lex briefly wondered how often Clark had examined him the same way, and what his conclusions had been. "It's probably identical to this one. Only the transmission frequency will be different."

Clark nodded as he pored over the truck, his jaw set. "He's not going to let your father have you. He wants you for himself."

Lex felt Martha's fingers curl around his arm and cursed silently, knowing he'd lost control of his expression again. God, he was pathetic. "He's going to be disappointed," he said, in a reasonable facsimile of his most flippant tone.

"Got it." Clark yanked open the truck door and crouched low to peer under the dashboard on the driver's side.

Jonathan swore softly. "Get it out of there. I'll smash the damn thing." Clark nodded and pulled the disk from its hiding place.

"No," Lex said sharply. "Don't destroy it. They'll know it's been found if you do."

"Fine." Jonathan took the disk from Clark. "We'll keep them here for now. See if you can find the one in Lex's truck, Clark." He turned to Lex as Clark scrambled to his feet. "This only proves how impossible it is for you to leave tonight, Lex. Your father's pack of dogs is watching this place, just waiting for you to run. And that ... person probably has a pack of his own."

"Got it," Clark said grimly. "It's in the same place."

"Good." Lex plucked Jimenez's disk from Jonathan's hand and tossed it to Clark. "Put that one in there, too."

Clark shot him a startled look, then sighed and glanced heavenward. "Aw, Lex. For crying out loud."

Lex raised an eyebrow. "What? Hey, you gave it back, remember?" He ignored Jonathan's snort.

Clark scowled at him. "You're not doing this, mastermind."

"You don't even know what 'this' is yet."

"Sure I do," Clark snapped. "It's the watch-Lex-Luthor-get-himself-killed show."

"Clark."

"The sackcloth and ashes episode."

Lex turned back to Jonathan, restraining a violent urge to smack Clark upside his beautiful albeit impervious alien head. "The dogs aren't a problem, Mr. Kent. They're an opportunity."

Clark came to his side, face drawn and fists clenched. "Lex, they'll be on you before you can make it to the highway."

"You are not handing yourself over to that ... to either of those bastards," Jonathan growled. "Just get that idea out of your head now."

"That's not the plan. I can draw them off and ditch the truck."

"And then what?"

"Then I walk," Lex said drily.

"And the dogs hunt you down," Martha said shakily. "No, Lex."

Clark glanced over his shoulder at the truck. "Dogs," he repeated.

Lex laid his hand on Martha's, still clenched around his upper arm. "They won't find me. I'll double back and get to my place. I'll be fine."

"This plan sounds a little half-assed to me, son." Jonathan rubbed his eyes. "Where do you plan to ditch the truck? If it's too far from your place, you might not make it before they catch you. If it's too close, they'll know just where to start looking."

"I know where we can ditch the truck," Clark said thoughtfully.

Lex sighed. Action adventure by committee was a fundamentally flawed concept. "We don't have a lot of time to discuss this. I'll have a much better chance while it's still dark."

Jonathan frowned, scanning Lex's face; Lex wondered what the hell the man was looking for. "Wouldn't it make more sense for me to draw them off while you head out?"

"No, it would not!" Lex reined himself in with difficulty. "Wherever that truck goes, there will be a vanload of heavily armed men ten minutes behind it. The whole point of this exercise is to keep you and your family out of harm's way."

Jonathan's color began to rise. "The point of this exercise is to keep all of us out of harm's way."

Lex met his eyes squarely. "I clean up my own messes, Mr. Kent."

"This isn't your mess," Martha said quietly. "We know whose it is."

"I know where to ditch the truck," Clark repeated, annoyance creeping into his tone.

"There are some messes so big that no one man can clean them up," Jonathan snapped. "Even a Luthor."

Clark edged a shoulder in front of Lex. "Dad. Lex. I know--"

"You might be surprised at what a Luthor can clean up," Lex snarled, deciding, suddenly, that he was sick of hearing his name spat from between clenched teeth like a dirty word.

Jonathan was glowering. "I'll handle this, Lex. I can protect my family--"

"Stop it, both of you," Martha said sharply.

"--and I don't need your help to do it."

Lex bit back an obscenity. "Really? And where were you--"

"Lex, stop," Clark hissed.

"--when Clark was being tied--"

"Lex."

Lex caught himself, breathing hard, staring at Jonathan's red face and the implacably truculent set of his jaw. Damn the man. If he didn't know better, he'd think Jonathan had studied Lex-baiting at the feet of the one and only master of the art. He turned away from Jonathan, avoiding Clark's glare. He could feel Jonathan's gaze boring into his back.

"Do you two think you could hold off killing each other long enough to hear what I have to say?" Clark's voice was brittle, and he didn't stop for an answer. "I know where to take the truck. And the dogs."

Lex drew a steadying breath and turned back to him. "Where?

Jonathan folded his arms across his chest, still scowling. "Where, Clark?"

Clark glanced from Jonathan to Lex and back again.

"Well?" Lex snapped impatiently. "Where?"

***

"Can you see them?" Clark struggled into his jacket, watching as Jonathan swung the telescope in the direction of the road.

"Got them." Jonathan adjusted the focus. "They're still parked in the grass by the crossroads."

"Good." Lex strode past Clark and threw Jimenez's backpack into the back of the Kent's truck. Clark stared at it. Everything Lex would be taking with him could fit into that small bag. It didn't seem possible. "Eli will meet you at 42^nd and Parkview."

He'd be fifteen miles away. Just fifteen miles. A twenty-minute ride in the truck, tops. Why did that seem so far?

"He'll handle everything from there. Do not take any action against our friends in the van." Lex was cold, now, methodical, precise, like he was issuing orders at the plant or in his office. "Stay well ahead of them. If they get too close, if you believe for one moment that they intend to intercept you, you will abandon the truck at the first opportunity and disappear. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." Clark couldn't keep the bitter edge out of his voice. "Clear, sir. Will that be all, sir?"

Lex didn't look at him, but turned toward Martha as she opened the passenger side door. "Mrs. Kent. I wish you wouldn't go."

"I know the way," Martha said evenly, sliding onto the seat. "Come here, Lex."

Lex moved toward her, strangely awkward and obviously reluctant. "You should stay here, where it's safe."

Martha had to take his hands to draw him closer. "We'll be perfectly all right." Clark grimaced at the steel in his mother's voice. She was doing her mom-is-strong thing. She hadn't even cried yet. That felt wrong. Scary.

"Will you?" Lex's voice dropped so low even Clark could barely hear it.

Martha nodded. "Yes."

"Even though I've forced you over your last line?" Lex's voice went harsh.

Clark had no idea what that meant, but he could see that his mother did. Martha's strong-face slipped for a moment. "I don't want you to blame yourself for that." She drew a breath and forged ahead. "I'll be fine. I want you to take care of yourself, Lex."

"I always do," Lex muttered.

"I've put a thermos of chicken noodle in your bag."

Lex's impassivity cracked slightly, one side of his mouth turning up. "Thank you. I was wondering how I'd get through the next twenty-four hours without my fix."

Martha smiled faintly. "Once your kitchen is put together, you can make your own. The last batch you made was perfect."

"It will never taste as good as yours does." Lex's face worked for a second. "Thank you, Mrs. Kent. For everything. I don't know how to repay--" He cut himself off. "I'll always be grateful."

Martha touched Lex's cheek. "We're going to miss having you here, Lex."

Lex shot her a look of unqualified amazement.

"We're going to miss you," Martha repeated firmly. "Now. Let's hear them, one more time."

Lex flashed a strained grin and looked down at his feet. "Don't drink from the milk bottle."

"And?"

"Put the toilet seat down."

"And?"

"Whites in hot, colors in warm." Lex's voice cracked, and Martha pulled him close. Lex wrapped both arms around her, burying his face in her hair, and Clark closed his eyes for a second.

"Martha." Jonathan's voice was gentle; Clark looked up to see his father standing at the edge of the loft, watching.

Lex pulled back hastily, and Martha raised her head to smile up at Jonathan.

Jonathan drew a deep breath. "Be careful."

"We will. Don't worry, Jonathan."

"Ask me not to breathe." Jonathan disappeared again, muttering under his breath.

Lex helped Martha inside the truck, thin-lipped and silent.

"They're not moving," Jonathan called from the loft.

Lex straightened, and to Clark's astonishment, kissed his mother's hand before he closed her door and turned to Clark, all icy poise again. "Then it's time we did. As fast as you can without being pulled over, Clark. This will work best if you can get there before dawn."

Thanks, Clark. I'll miss you, Clark. You're my best friend, Clark. Clark yanked open the cab door and climbed into driver's seat, managing not to punch Lex in the face. "I'll come over tomorrow and help you move in."

"No. I think you'd better stay away from my place," Lex said coolly.

Clark remembered all over again what it had felt like to be punched in the stomach without his powers to protect him. "Fine," he heard himself saying, slamming the door shut. "Whatever."

Lex circled the truck to stand at Clark's door, but he was looking everywhere but Clark's face. "Until things calm down. Once they believe I've left the country--"

Clark started the truck, his eyes fixed on the dark outside the open door. "We'd better get moving."

Lex paused. "Right." He stepped back. "Good luck."

His vision blurred, but Clark floored the gas pedal anyway. He hadn't gotten more than ten feet before he heard Lex shouting his name. Clark slammed on the brakes and turned to see Lex come to a halt at his window, breathing hard.

"Get out of the truck." Lex leaned against the door, white to the gills. "Get out of the damn truck now, both of you."

Clark peered at him, taken aback. "Why? What's the matter?"

"Lex, we'll be all right," Martha said gently. "We'll call you as soon as we get there."

Lex grabbed Clark's hand and pulled it away from the steering wheel, but Clark threaded his fingers through Lex's, pressing their palms together. Lex went still, his cold, shaking hand locked in Clark's. Then his fingers curled tightly around Clark's hand. "I don't ... want you to do this." Clark could barely hear him over the noise of the engine.

"Lex, it's no big--"

"If they see--"

"Lex." Clark squeezed Lex's hand gently, dim understanding taking shape at the sight of the panic in Lex's eyes. "It's the best ... choice. For all of us. We'll be back before lunchtime, I promise."

Lex did nothing but breathe for a few seconds, searching Clark's face with dark eyes. "This plan has too many possible points of failure, Clark. I haven't given it enough thought."

"Oh, come on. You're just pissed off because you didn't think of it."

Lex face went even tauter as he tightened his fingers. "If you indulge in any of those ridiculous heroics of yours--"

"Who, me?"

"--I will kick your ass."

Clark snorted. "In your dreams."

"The truck doesn't matter, the dogs don't matter, my father and Karloff don't matter; do you understand me?"

"You matter," Clark said quietly. "My folks matter. This will work, Lex."

Lex drew a shaky breath. "Call me."

Clark swallowed and nodded. "As soon as we hook up with Eli."

"And before you leave town."

"Okay."

"And when you get home."

Clark began to smile. "Okay."

"And before you go to bed." Lex gave him a ghost of a smile in return and released Clark's hand, his cold fingers sliding gently across Clark's skin as he eased it away.

"Yes, sir." Clark let him go with an effort. "Anything else, sir?"

"Just be careful." Lex stepped back from the truck, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "Please."

"You too. Talk to you later, Lex."

Lex nodded wordlessly as Clark put the truck in gear and moved out into the drive, glancing into his rear view mirror every few seconds. When he finally lost sight of the barn door, about halfway down the lane, Lex was still there.

***

"They haven't moved yet." Jonathan turned from the telescope. Lex was still staring after the truck, motionless, like a drowning shipwreck survivor watching a ship disappear over the horizon, and Jonathan straightened, clearing his throat. "Lex. They'll be all right."

"Too many variables," Lex responded tonelessly, not turning around. "We don't know what their orders are. We don't know what will happen when they figure out where the truck is headed. And once they get there--"

"Once they get there, Clark and Martha are out of the picture," Jonathan said sharply. "Right?"

"Right." Lex turned around and gazed up at Jonathan, expressionless. "As long as Clark does what he's told."

Jonathan snorted. "Why do you think Martha insisted on going?" He studied the boy below him. "You still don't like this plan."

Lex set his jaw as he climbed the steps to the loft. "I don't like anything about tonight, Mr. Kent." He passed Jonathan and pressed his eye to the telescope. "There's someone in the driver's seat, now. Clark must be getting close to the highway."

"Good." Jonathan swung around and abruptly decided to take Clark's advice. "Tied where?"

Lex straightened and shot him a startled look. "Excuse me?"

"Tied. You said Clark was--"

"I'm sorry." Lex recovered his composure instantly. "I misspoke." He bent to peer through the telescope again.

"You misspoke?" Jonathan crossed the loft to stand at Lex's elbow. "You mean you told the truth."

Lex was silent for a second. "I can't discuss this, Mr. Kent," he said finally. "You'll have to ask Clark about it."

"I'm asking you! If there's someone else out there who tried to hurt Clark, someone else you've told--"

"I haven't told anyone else. This has nothing to do with--"

"Then tell me."

"Clark asked me not to discuss it." Lex turned away from the telescope to pace the length of the loft. "I've never broken my word to him and I'm not going to start now." He glanced at Jonathan over his shoulder. "Believe me, Mr. Kent, there's no danger to Clark from that quarter. If there were, I would have done something about it long before now."

"I'm going to find out," Jonathan said, surprised at his own mild tone. "I'm not the sort of man who takes his child's safety lightly, Lex."

Lex snorted. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He looked past Jonathan and out the loft window into the night sky. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to accept the refinancing offer."

Jonathan stiffened. "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Clark told me."

"Jesus!" Jonathan nearly knocked the telescope out of alignment, and stepped quickly away. "Clark discusses all our private family business with you, now?"

"No." Lex returned Jonathan's glare. "He'd just overheard the news. He was upset. I think you should accept the offer, Mr. Kent."

"I didn't ask for your opinion! I'm not taking Lionel Luthor's damned money."

"It isn't--" Lex cut himself off and turned away. "It isn't any of my business."

"No, it isn't!" Jonathan flinched at the edge in his voice and sighed. All right. Maybe after tonight, it was Lex's business. Goddamn it to hell. "Why?"

"Why?" Lex looked and sounded distracted, and Jonathan wondered what the boy was coming up with now. Probably some new way to make Jonathan feel two feet tall.

"Why should I accept the refinancing offer?

Lex shrugged. "I was just thinking of Clark. And Mrs. Kent."

Jonathan bristled. "And I'm not, is that what you're saying?"

"No," Lex said quietly. "I'm saying refinancing your mortgage doesn't have anything to do with taking my father's money."

"He arranged the damn offer, Lex."

"That's his problem. Personally? I enjoy the irony of my father's attempt to ruin you ensuring your family's financial solvency. It appeals to the romantic in me."

"There's a principle involved here."

Lex turned to regard him with thinned lips and narrowed eyes. "And that principle is what, exactly? That there is absolutely nothing worse in this world than having anything to do with a Luthor?"

"No," Jonathan snapped defensively; the description was too damn accurate.

Lex's face was flushed. "Because I can think of worse things, Mr. Kent. I can think of much worse things than taking advantage of one of my father's rare strategic blunders in order to secure your wife and son's peace of mind and happiness. I can think of Clark living in some filthy homeless shelter in Metropolis, or worse, being taken from you and stuck in some goddamn foster home--"

It was all Jonathan could do not to punch him. "That isn't going to happen!"

"It can't happen if we work together on this." Lex drew an uneven breath. "I'll block my father's purchase of the Savings and Loan, or I'll buy it myself. He will not hold your mortgage."

"Buy it?" Jonathan's gaze swept over the odd combination of his and Clark's old clothes that Lex was wearing. "With what?"

"With the proceeds from my mother's estate."

"That's all you have left." Jonathan knew he sounded as appalled and incredulous as he felt, and didn't care. "That's all you have left of your life, Lex."

Lex gave him a weird look. "Clark is all I have left of my life." He abruptly brushed past Jonathan and bent to peer into the telescope. Jonathan turned to stare at him, speechless. "Think about it, Mr. Kent. If everything goes according to plan tonight, my father will be too busy looking for me in Metropolis to attend to matters in Smallville. If you're at the bank by nine, you can sign the contract and be long gone by the time he has a chance to recover."

"You're not ... responsible for this, Lex." Jonathan managed to get the words out, barely. Jesus, the boy was serious. Well, Lord knows Clark had tried to tell him. Maybe Clark was the Luthor expert after all. "Not for the mess with the mortgage or anything else."

Lex didn't lift his head. "Just tell me you'll think about it."

"I'll think about it," Jonathan said quietly, not knowing what the hell else to say.

"Good." Lex drew a sharp breath. "There they go. They just pulled onto Hickory Lane, and they're heading for the highway."

Jonathan nodded, trying not to think about everything that could go wrong. "It's up to Clark now."

"Yes." Lex straightened and glanced around the loft, as if he were committing every object to memory, then turned to Jonathan. "Time to go," he said flatly.

***

"Mom, are you all right?"

They kept asking that. Martha wondered if her appearance had altered in some way. Maybe she'd been standing close enough to Miguel Jimenez to be stained. With something. Or maybe she looked as transparent as she felt.

"Mom?"

"I'm fine." Martha resisted the temptation to examine her hands for any signs of the vague fading sensation she couldn't shake. She wondered if Clark could see through her. She started counting headlights. She knew she should be keeping an eye on Clark, but she c