Rating: R
Spoilers: Up through Prodigal, very lightly through the rest of season two
Author Notes: Yeah. Who knew I'd finish it? Most completed a while back; this was more assembly of the parts and cleaning transitions than anything else.
Archiving: No.

Prologue

Small town pride is the reason, he'll think later.

He steps over meteor rock pieces that glow strangely green in the cloudy light. He left Martha at home, a smile on her face, dreaming of the children she'll never have.

In the distance, Jonathan can see Ethan's car, skidding to an uncertain stop in the middle of the road. Ethan climbs out, the sharp, jerky motions of his body showing grief better than his face ever will. The passenger side door slides open, and a woman's low pump steps onto the dirt road, a puff of green-tinged dust hazing the air. He hadn't expected her, takes a step, ready to ask Ethan what he was thinking to bring a woman to see this, but the tear-streaked face that meets his gaze stops him in his tracks.

"My sister," she says, mouth trembling. A black paste of eyeliner and mascara has drawn deep circles around eyes reddened and dripping black tears down her cheek. He's never seen Nell less than flawless before today, and it hits him all anew, a pain that starts in his chest and radiates outward like spiderwebs, clinging to every inch of his mind.

"God, Nell--" He reaches for her without meaning to, and she's soft and familiar in his arms, smelling of soot and bone-deep grief. The soft dark hair's a tangled mess that shifts against his cheek, and he held her like this once before, a long-ago, dusty barn loft and she'd curled against him and cried out her pain at her mother's death.

Too familiar to be completely comfortable, even how she fits beneath his chin and melts into her body as if she was meant to be there.

"Jonathan." Ethan's mouth is tight, and Jonathan looks over the wave of dark hair, opening his mouth to ask, but he can't quite force the words. Over the soft whisper of the corn, he can hear the sound of cars, and when he looks, he can see them coming. He knows who Ethan called.

Riley's field is a mess of destroyed corn in neat lines. From here, he can see where some kid was hung up for Homecoming--Jonathan vaguely remembers the kid being brought in by paramedics, and there's a flush of shame that cuts across his cheeks when he remembers his own senior year, but the memories brush away like cobwebs with the first figures emerging from cars and trucks--tear-stained faces of men he's never seen weep before, and he swallows hard.

He hadn't lost anyone today.

"Where is it?" Ethan's voice is hard, and Jonathan swallows, freeing himself from Nell before stepping back. Black and red stains criss-cross the soft flannel of his shirt, and her perfume clings to him over the smell of burned corn and fresh earth. He turns toward the truck, feeling a vague sense of unreality.

Behind him, he can hear Ethan draw his gun.

The creature looks up at him with huge dark eyes, uncomprehending, but reaches up with thin arms as Jonathan wraps the blanket close. Something in his chest tightens at the trust in the tiny arms that curve around his neck, but one look at Nell straightens him, and he can feel her eyes on him, dark and hard.

Men form a loose semi-circle around him as Jonathan deposits the bundle of dark hair and warm body on a blanket on the ground. He catches himself straightening it when the little body tilts over, and it gives him a slow, toothy smile, free and innocent.

Jesus. It looks so much like a real child.

"Where did you find him?" Ethan says, and Jonathan straightens, turning around.

"In the field." Even to himself, his voice sounds strangled. "There was a ship."

The low murmurs flow around him like water, and Jonathan takes a step back.

"It looks almost human," he hears Nell say in a low voice. "It--it killed--" Her voice trickles off into silence, and Jonathan finds himself watching how her face crumples again, hands shaking as she clenches them in the tails of her shirt. He's not even sure what he's doing when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she leans into him, her bones as thin and fragile as a bird's beneath his hand.

"Dig a hole," Ethan whispers, and men are moving. Dick, one of Jonathan's oldest friends, owner of the Wild Coyote, had lost his wife today, and he's the first, grabbing a shovel from the burlap bundle at his feet, stamping forward without hesitation. The Ross brothers follow after only seconds, and Jonathan feels the air in his lungs seem to thicken. It's desperately fast work, the concentration of men escaping in physical labor, and then they step away and Jonathan watches the darkened sky start to break up, sunlight streaming around them.

This is almost acceptable in the green-grey aftermath of the most horrific day of their lives, but when Ethan raises the gun, Jonathan almost opens his mouth to protest.

"For Laura," Nell murmurs, and the choked grief shuts his teeth. Sunlight reflects off dark hair and the dust-tinged barrel of a gun, before the sharp sound of a bullet penetrates.

It slumps over, and Jonathan feels some kind of shock that it bleeds red onto the blanket, like a boy.

Ethan and Dick wrap it up, depositing it in the hole--only a glimpse of matted dark hair and sightless green eyes before the first shovel of dirt covers his face. Jonathan doesn't look away until it's completely covered.

"Jonathan." Ethan's voice in his ear brings him back to reality, and he turns to see the man watching him with worried eyes. "What will you tell Martha?"

A thousand answers flicker through his mind, but none she'll believe. He knows that. "I'll think of something."

Nodding, Ethan takes Nell's arm. "Come on, Nell. Let me drive you home." The tender croon of his voice jerks Jonathan's head up, but Nell only nods, letting him lead her gently to the car, inserting her inside. Three pairs of feet are stamping down the dry earth, making it look like less like the freshly dug grave it's become. Not that anyone would notice here, with all the damage surrounding them.

He won't say they're dancing on the grave, but if they were, could he blame them?

Turning away, he walks back to the truck and climbs inside, letting every reason run through his head one by one, and starts the truck.

He's the last to leave.

On the Evening They Had a Talk: (one year later)

Lex knows all the ways around the house, every place to hide if he wants to listen. Doctors talking to Dad about Mom, the old nanny who was fired last month, and now, he's crouched outside his dad's study, hidden by shadows and a potted plant.

Martha just started a few months ago, bringing her son into the house. Lex hadn't thought he'd like that, Julian still fresh in his mind, but Mom had said it would be good for him and gave him the suite beside Lex's. Clark's kind of hyper and spends a lot of time outside or in brightly-lit rooms--Lex is still working out why, but he always looks interested when people talk to him and never jumps on the furniture. He also likes to listen to Lex read Warrior Angel and never touches them unless Lex says he can.

It's actually pretty cool to have him around. Like a little brother, but better, because he's old enough to play with. The housekeeper thinks Martha and Clark should be in the servants quarters, but Lex doesn't quite see the point of that. Martha's more like Mom's friend, and she and Clark eat dinner with them every night.

"…and you're seriously trying to tell me it's normal for *any* child to break a *solid silver candlestick* by accident?"

Oh damn. Dad doesn't sound happy. Lex frowns, leaning into the wall, trying to get a better position to listen. He likes Martha. She makes cookies after the cook goes to bed and lets him eat them on the counter. Dad wouldn't like that if he found out, but then, he and Martha don't tell him. Mom always laughs when he tells her, and Martha always makes sure that he has some cookies to take up to Mom.

"I'll pay the expense from my salary, Mr. Luthor." Martha's voice is tight and hard, and Lex has never heard her sound like that before.

"That's not the point. I want to know what that child *is*. Was he affected by the meteor shower?" There's a pause and Lex's hand goes automatically to his head, still a little surprised by the feel of smooth skin. Clark too? "Martha, work with me here."

"That wasn't in the terms of our agreement."

Lex hears his dad snort something.

"In less than an hour, I can have that child under observation by the best scientists in the world."

"And that file I have goes straight to the Inquisitor and the Daily Planet, Mr. Luthor. My father has instructions from me if you think you can make either of us disappear, and I don't think even you can get inside my father's law firm and get rid of everything before it would be irrevocable. You accepted my desire for privacy when I took this position."

File. Lex grins a little. Dad's not used to people standing up to him. He tends to go for that better than groveling. Throws him off somehow.

"This isn't about privacy. This is about--" Lex hears his dad stop, obviously frustrated. Cornered. Lex snickers to himself. Take that, Dad. "That child is extraordinary. Martha, I've watched him since you both came here. Perhaps being a mother, you don't pay attention. I *do*."

"I have no idea--"

"Please. You and Lillian think you can keep this under wraps, but the fact is, Clark's different. Either affected by the meteors--" He stops, and Lex leans closer. He knows that tone. It's the paydirt one. Like the way he pretends not to know what you did wrong all along and then drops the knowledge on you like a bomb. "Or does it have something to do with the ship my people unearthed in Riley's field?"

Ship? Lex tenses, feeling a rush of shock that ends at his toes. Ship. *Ship*. That would be--oh wow.

Oh *wow*.

"Lex?"

Spinning on the balls of his feet, Lex sees Clark, small and rumpled in blue flannel footie pajamas, looking at him with wide, slightly dazed eyes, dark hair severely rumpled. Lex knows the signs by now of a bad night. Lex remembers waking up to hear Martha going into his room to stop his screaming more nights than he can count. Dark, he'd say, and other things that didn't sound like normal words. More like that Korean gardener they have, but Lex has picked up enough from him to know that Clark doesn't speak that, either. He couldn't even say 'Alexander' when he came, twisting it into 'Lex' like Dad does. Lex likes it when Clark says it.

Clark still doesn't talk much in front of people, but when he's with his mother or with Mom or with Lex, sometimes it's hard to get him to shut up. Very bad thing right now.

"Shh." Before Clark can make more noise, Lex reaches out, grabbing one little hand and jerking him behind the plant. Clark tenses instantly, and Lex belatedly remembers that Clark's claustrophobic. There's no help for it. Lex sits back on his heels and pulls Clark into his lap, stroking his hands down Clark's arms. "Shh. Everything's okay. Dad's talking to your Mom, so let me listen, 'kay?"

Clark's tension diminishes by degrees, small head nodding, and it's only a few seconds before the dark head's against his shoulder, drifting off. Nightmare again, Lex thinks, getting an arm around Clark's waist and shifting against the wall again.

"…he's my son! He's not going to be sold to the highest bidder for your--." Shit, he's missed part of the conversation. Shifting Clark, Lex presses an ear to the wall. Okay, bidder? Huh. She knows Dad *really* well.

"Jesus, Martha, you think I'd share *this* with anyone?" Dad sounds honestly shocked. "Waste that potential for the sake of--what? Science? The *government*? Have you lost your *mind*?"

Lex feels Clark getting heavy--falling asleep, no surprise--and warm, even breath against his neck. Another shift, and Lex can balance the weight and still keep close to the wall.

"What would you do?"

"Teach him." His dad's voice sounds almost eager. "Strength, speed, intelligence--who knows what else?"

"You want to use him." Martha's voice is very low and Lex rolls his eyes. Of course Dad wants to use him. Dad wants to use *everybody*.

"Do you think it would be in my best interests to hurt the child?" There's shifting--Dad's restless. "Do you have any idea what kind of potential he has?"

"I see what you do to Alexander." Martha's heels click loudly on the wood of Dad's floor. "I can't allow that."

So someone *does* notice how bizarre Dad's been acting.

"What else does he have, Martha? You can't hide him forever and he's going to know very soon how different he is. I can protect him. Prepare him."

"Train him." Her voice is low.

"Do you have a better option? Set him loose on the world where his gifts have to be hidden, where you have no resources to get him the things he needs to adjust? Among people who will never understand him and *will* sell him if they get the chance? You won't even send him to school because of his--unique abilities. I can give him what he needs--training, protection. Education."

There's a pause that seems to last forever.

"Ask Lillian," Dad says, like he's making a huge concession. "I'm quite aware of what you're capable of, Martha. I'm also aware that you have yet to tell your father exactly what Clark is and what he can do, despite requesting his assistance and mine when you formalized the adoption. You know as well as I do what would happen if anyone found out the truth."

Martha's voice drops suddenly, conversation becoming muffled, and Lex leans into the wall, trying to hear more. Damn. Damn--fuck. Fuck, yes. He can't hear, and damn, *Mom* knows and he didn't? It's not like Lex didn't see the weird things Clark could do, but--

Looking down, Lex studies the sleeping child. He looks like any other kid Lex has seen. Shifting his grip, he grins. This is the coolest thing ever. An alien--Clark's an *alien*, and Lex wants his comic books like, *now*. Aliens can do all kinds of cool things, and Lex wants to see if Clark can do anything else.

Man, does this explain Clark liking Warrior Angel so much. Clark's like a undergrown superhero. Lex is really tempted to wake him up and start asking questions. Except Clark doesn't wake up well, and Dad and Martha haven't stopped talking yet. Damn.

The door opens, and Lex freezes.

"What are my guarantees?"

"I'm aware that my wife is leaving you the entirety of her LuthorCorp stock." Lex freezes at the casual tone of his father's voice. Mom--Mom's just sick. Pushing it aside, Lex refocuses. Mom will be okay. "I suspect you could make life very difficult. And frankly, Martha, it's in my best interests to keep both of you happy."

That's true. Lex wonders if Mom has made any more arrangements for Martha and he thinks probably. Mom knows Dad, and Dad sure knows Mom. Pulling Clark closer so he won't be seen, Lex tries to get a glimpse of his dad in the dark hall.

"All right."

"I'll start searching for appropriate instructors." Dad sounds really pleased. "Both boys could benefit from some instruction at home."

"I want Lillian and I to have veto on everyone you hire, Lionel. Anyone who comes in contact with Clark for--this arrangement."

"Of course." There's a pause. "Is there anything else, Martha?"

"You'll hear from me if there is."

Lex feels Clark mumble something against his neck and he's vaguely aware the kid's drooling on his shoulder. Great. He can't move more without waking Clark, so Lex has to content himself with the view of Martha's low heels and his dad's expensive shoes.

With that, Martha walks off, heels clicking, and Lex waits breathlessly as his father stands silently, obviously thinking. Lex could have told Dad that Martha really isn't someone you want to get on the wrong side of.

Agonizingly long moments later, Dad goes back to the study, and Lex breathes again, looking down. Clark's knocked out, mouth open, definitely drooling.

Alien. And he can *do* stuff. Like Warrior Angel, or Spiderman. Sort of. Frowning, Lex tries to decide what to do. Clark wakes up badly and Lex really doesn't want to draw attention to them--Dad's got ears that can hear miles away, it seems like, so waking him up is so not an option. Shifting Clark, Lex gets an arm under him and balances on the floor for a second before pushing himself up. Luckily, Clark's not heavy, and the tiny arms twist around Lex's neck trustingly.

It's not easy, but not that hard either. Alien, he thinks as he navigates the house. He's going to buy more comics this week and take Clark with him. So what if the housekeeper freaks out--Mom likes him to play with Clark and even Dad doesn't make the usual speeches about being a grown-up and how it's beneath Luthors to play like kids.

Of course, now it makes sense. Dad's got plans for Clark.

Lex pauses at Clark's bedroom door, pushing it open with a foot and slipping inside. It's all in primary colors--bright yellows, reds, and blues. A bright room even in the dark, and yeah, that makes sense too. Carefully, Lex begins to deposit the little boy on the rumpled bed.

And tips over, since Clark apparently isn't quite ready to let go. Whoa.

"Clark." Reaching behind his neck, Lex tries to pull his hands loose. Not happening. Damn. "Clark, I've got to get to bed. Dad'll kill me if he finds out I was up this late."

Huge dark eyes open, staring into Lex's with an intensity that's vaguely frightening. Clark's scared--not just normal-scared, like Lex used to be of the dark when Dad first took away the nightlight, but real-scared. "Dark."

"It's night, Clark. Of course it's dark." Shifting into a sitting position, Lex stops fighting him and Clark relaxes into his lap again. Clark's very strong, and Lex thinks of the solid silver candlestick that Dad mentioned. Huh. Looking down at the dark head, he considers carefully. "What scares you about it?"

"I can't get out." The tiny face burrows against his shirt and Lex twitches, but Clark's so tactile that Lex is getting used to being touched. "Can't breathe. It--it tries to hold me down. I can't--" And he's shaking, just like that, sweat breaking out even through the flannel, and Lex soothes him with slow strokes down his back, like Martha does when Mom's coughing and can't seem to catch her breath. Clark shudders harder, like he'll fall apart if he's let go. "It won't let me *go* and I can't get out and I can't breathe and it's in my mouth and I can't--can't--"

"Shh." He catches himself rocking Clark, like he remembers Mom did Julian before he died. "It can't get you here."

Clark doesn't answer.

"Your mom won't let it." Thinking for a minute, Lex glances at the door. Martha just got to bed and he really, really doesn't want to wake her up. Then he'll have to explain why *he's* up, and that will--no. She might not tell Dad, but she'll tell Mom, and Mom will ask Questions that he's not quite ready to answer. Not until he's thought about it more. "I won't let it, either."

Clark tilts his head up, and Lex can see the tracks of tears on his cheeks. Jesus, what happened to him anyway? Martha never talks about anything before she came, and he's *asked* her and then when he asked Mom, she said not to ask any more at *all*, that he didn't need to know. Well, damn, yes he does. Brushing his fingers across the little cheek, Lex tightens his hold.

"You won't?" And the first thing Lex is going to tell Clark to not actually believe *anyone* who says that, especially Dad. Except Mom and Martha. And Lex, of course. Nodding, he waits as Clark begins to relax.

"Promise." Clark's hold isn't loosening, and Lex runs a few excuses through his head as he pushes the rumpled covers back further and lays down, Clark still attached like the biggest leach ever. He heard Clark crying and came to check on him and fell asleep with him. Mom will like that, Lex thinks drowsily, as he pulls up the covers around them. Clark burrows into his chest, falling dead asleep as if a few seconds ago, he *wasn't* scared to death. She'll say he's being responsible and a good influence and stuff like that. Like he would have been a good brother to Julian.

Clark makes a sleepy, satisfied sound against him, and Lex grins, closing his eyes. He might even tell her that he thinks that he likes doing it.

Tomorrow, though. Totally going to show Clark all his comic books and see what they can find out. A kind-of-little-brother-alien. The coolest thing *ever*.

On the Night He Fell in Love: (three years later)

Nell's laughter is like crystal--gorgeous to listen to, bright and sharp and blinding, and Jonathan grins because he can't help it.

It's been so long since he last heard her laugh like that.

"So are you keeping the farm?" she asks, giving him a look from beneath her lashes. Pulling his coat close, Jonathan shrugs.

"No reason to." He hasn't really lived in the house since Martha served him with divorce papers. Wrapping his arm around Nell's shoulders, he pulls her closer as a couple passes them on the sidewalk. He can see Nell looking around the skyscrapers of Metropolis with dark, interested eyes. "Since what happened with the Ross brothers, I just want to get out of Smallville."

She nods slowly, and he can see the tight line of her lips even in the semi-dark of the street. Jonathan will never forget the shock on Ethane's face when he had to arrest them two weeks ago. It'd been a bad year for everyone--Jonathan still winces when he looks at his dried-out fields--but the Rosses had taken it hard. Probably regretting that they hadn't sold to Luthor when he'd come through town three years ago.

"Think they'll get off?" Nell says softly, and Jonathan blinks hard.

"Not with what they found in the cellar, Nell." He stops the shudder before it can start. If they ever see sunlight again, Jonathan will be very surprised. The elder brother's wife is being investigated in her capacity as a judge, and considering what's come up, Jonathan doesn't rate her chances good before an inquiry.

Pulling her closer, he pushes the uncomfortable thoughts aside, glancing approvingly at the twilight. "I like the city."

Her grin is wry. "Do you know what you're going to do yet when you move?"

Jonathan nods slowly, easily dodging another couple, out for a walk in downtown Metropolis. It's a lover's night, he thinks, watching a man in front of him opening the door for a pretty woman in green who grins with an echo of Martha's smile. Something in him twists at the sight, smile fading, and he almost stops to look, but the eyes are all wrong, too close together and a snub nose above the stretched pink lips.

He doesn't even realize that he's stopped until Nell digs an elbow into his ribs. "Jonathan?"

Shrugging, he tightens his arm and glances down the street. "You like Metropolis, don't you?"

"Love it." Her voice is almost wistful, and he remembers how she put aside her plans to take over care of Lana, living as a smalltown florist in a place she hated for more reason than any of them.

He nods, feeling the tremble of her shoulders, remembering how much she's given up for her niece. "Think she'd like it here, too?"

Nell comes to a complete stop, almost throwing him off balance, and he tries not to grin, tries to look just interested, but beneath his skin, everything's pure excitement, twisting like lightning in his veins. Glancing around, he takes her shoulder, backing her up against the building, then fumbles in his pocket.

"Jonathan?"

The tiny velvet box seems impossible to get his fingers around, but he drags it out, dropping on one knee and regretting it. Football hadn't been kind to his joints and the years haven't helped. Looking up, he meets tear-filled brown eyes and red O of her mouth.

"I was thinking--I--" He'd had a speech ready. It's no where near his head now. Staring up at her, his breath catches. "Nell, will you marry me?"

She's in a pretty green dress that brings out her eyes, matching the necklace looped closer to her throat, and her best hose, but she goes down on the sidewalk with him, arms wrapping around him like a gift, and her shoulders shake, fragile and so breakable beneath his hands.

"God--Jonathan, yes. Yes." Tear-filled eyes hold his, and he wipes away black-tinged drops before they can ruin her make-up. "Yes. Lana will--Lana will love it. We both--" Her mouth trembles and breaks, and there's nothing to do but kiss it, smearing her lipstick between them, before he draws back, breathless and giddy like he hasn't been in what seems like forever.

The diamond fits like something meant to be, and Jonathan laces their fingers together. "There's a house I've been looking at here, and after I sell the farm--" He stares at her, watching her mouth work, pink tongue wetting her lips, and words fail him. "I love you."

She smiles back, trembling and soft and sweet, and he thinks he'll always be able to protect her now.

"I--"

The night is broken by sharp voices, and they both turn, watching as a small group emerges from the building they're kneeling beside. Jonathan blinks away the sight of suited men and too many people. "Alexander, I said--"

"Get over it, Dad." Jonathan frowns at the sight of a smaller figure emerge from the group, bald head a beacon for any eyes that care to see. Recognizable, too, and Jonathan frowns tightly. He hadn't realized where they were. "I'm not-- *Fuck*." It's almost funny--Jonathan watches as the kid goes down in a tangle of awkward limbs and expensive suit, a smaller, equally well-dressed figure on top of him, a fall of dark hair hiding his face. "You little--"

"Alexander! Language!"

"I didn't say anything!" Pre-teen angst and aggrievement wrapped up in a single long whine, and Jonathan feels a tightness in his chest as he imagines a son of his own. With Nell's eyes, maybe, and Jonathan's blond hair, and he wonders if Nell might be thinking the same thing.

"Boys!" The clear, sharp voice snaps his head around, and a woman emerges--a splash of dark silk and flashes of gold, but she kneels on the ground with them as if she doesn't even notice. Small, capable hands sort them out, pulling the smaller child carefully free and then reaching for the older boy's head, fingers gently tracking for injury. Jonathan feels his mouth go dry at the fast flash of her smile. "You're okay, sweetie."

The boy bats her hand away with a frown but Jonathan can see his mouth twitch. "Whatever."

"This is what I have to look forward to for the next seven years?" Her smile's brilliant, and Jonathan's heart stops as she turns her attention to the little boy, dusting him off with quick, practiced motions. "You know better, honey. Don't tackle your brother."

"Coulda held him." The child sounds endlessly smug, little arms crossed across his chest. The boy on the ground snickers softly, looking up at the kid with amused affection.

"Apologize." She shifts to an easy crouch, hand on his face. "Now."

A tiny hand extends out to the boy on the pavement. "Sorry, Lex."

"Right." But he takes the hand, letting the child pretend to pull him to his feet and cuffing the dark hair lightly with a grin that lights up his face. "Martha--"

Jonathan can feel Nell tense beside him, and he knows he should say something to her, push to his feet and pull her up, turn away, but it holds him.

He hasn't seen her since the day she left, up to the day her marriage made the front page of half the newspapers in the United States.

"No whining, boys. I have an exam in the morning and I'd like to *pass* the bar after I graduate." Straightening, she takes the little boy's hand, giving Alexander a long, careful look. "Make you a deal. Entertain Clark for the rest of the night and I'll take you to the museum this weekend. Just you, me, and the Etruscans."

Alexander's a negotiator, Jonathan thinks a little dully, but the smile's forcing itself out whether he wants it to or not. She has that effect on people, always has. Reaching over, he takes the child--Clark?--by the hand, pulling him over. "Fine. For the museum." Looking down, Alexander grins. "Want to read Warrior Angel #78? It's in the car."

"Are you three done yet? I'd like to get my dinner before midnight, if you don't mind." There's a sense of inevitability when Lionel emerges, huge and dark, a frown turning his mouth as he reaches for his wife's arm. "You coddle them, Martha."

She snickers and wraps a hand over Alexander's shoulder as the boy stiffens, drawing him against her. Even from here, Jonathan can see the bright flash of her wedding ring. "It's family, Lionel. Nothing's more important. Let's go before we miss our reservation." Straightening her skirt, she smiles down at both boys, and Jonathan watches numbly as a limo pulls up, graceful and sleek. The driver jumps out almost before the car stops, darting to the door. "Clark, don't pull at your tie and stay with Alexander. In, boys."

Nell's hand on his face brings him back to reality, cold sidewalk and her warm body, and he quickly stands up, helping her to her feet, turning to walk away. He can't quite look in her eyes, but she doesn't force it, walking quiet and sedate beside him back down the way they came.

When he glances back, he catches a bright wave of red hair and deep blue eyes that disappear inside the limo.

On the Night He Was Left Alone (five years later)

Lex has been gone for *hours*.

It was too dark again in his room, and Mom and Dad were out at a dinner party. Lex wasn't supposed to leave, but--well. He had. And *how* does he get out of the house anyway? Clark would swear he would have heard him sneak downstairs, but no. One second, studying in his room--the next, all gone when Clark stumbles in.

He and Dad fought about Excelsior again. It should have been kind of obvious that Lex would leave after that, but Clark had forgotten.

Lex's room is big--huge cases of books that Lex tells him not to touch until he's older, big dark furniture that Clark can barely climb on. It's Dad's taste, Clark doesn't need to be told that, but it's still kind of scary at night.

Curling up in the blankets, Clark stares hard at the clock, carefully telling the time. Three. Lex might not come home until six and--and Clark stifles an unhappy sound and curls up tighter. Dad says that his nurse is supposed to send him straight back to bed. Too old or something, but Clark hadn't paid much attention, even if nurse had. Nurse, who reports things to Dad, not Mom, and Clark really doesn't like that her all that much.

May be time to make this one go away, too. Clark would like to ask Lex about it, but that's sort of hard, 'cause Lex isn't *here*.

It's getting worse every time Lex comes home--Clark's not sure anymore if it's better when Lex is here or not. Dad and Lex fight *all the time*, and Mom can't make them stop, no matter what she does. He knows it upsets her, though she never says anything. Okay, never mind--even with the fighting, it's better when Lex is here. He lets Clark do fun things that Dad and his nurse never do, and he doesn't tell Dad about the bad nights. Doesn't ask about them either, which makes Clark glad, 'cause his nurse always does. What on earth is so scary about the dark, Clark, you're a big boy, Clark, you're almost eight now, Clark, stop being a baby, Clark, until he wonders how she'd look buried in the wall.

And that would be Bad. At least, that's what Mom says. Lex commented that she'd look very good buried in a wall. He's beginning to agree with Lex.

Reaching up, Clark pulls the extra pillow against his chest and closes his eyes. So Lex isn't here. That's okay. He likes Lex's room. Sometimes, when Lex is at school, Clark comes in and sleeps here anyway. Lex gave him a key and told him not to touch the comic books unless he's Very Very Careful, and Lex leaves him cool stuff like candy in his drawers, at least until the help comes in and cleans out the room.

There's nothing scary here. Lex leaves his clothes on the floor and Clark can see his special watch on the nightstand, the one his mother gave him. He even told Clark the story about Napoleon and his mother, but Clark hadn't really understood.

"You will when you're older," Lex had said, ruffling his hair.

Opening his eyes, Clark stares at the clock. Two minutes. Okay. A little while longer, then he'll be a big boy and go to his own bed. Because Dad will be so mad if Clark's not in his room in the morning when nurse tells him and she *always* tells, and okay, she's got to go already. Darn--dammit. Like Lex says.

Clark mouths the word silently. Mom would wash out his mouth with soap if she heard. And he doesn't entirely trust she can't, even wherever she is (Senator Kelley's birthday party?). And she said before she left that if he was good, she'd bring him cake back, and there's really not much Clark wouldn't do for cake.

Shifting again, Clark wonders when they're getting home.

The squeal of brakes makes Clark sit up straight. No, not the limo. That sounds sort of like--like--

Pushing the blankets off, Clark lowers himself down the side of the mattress, hissing a little at the cold floor beneath his feet, before running to the big window that faces the yard. It's Dad's BMW, and oh man, Dad is going to be *so* mad that Lex took one of his cars without permission.

Okay, Dad's going to be mad about the entire leaving thing anyway, so Clark guesses Lex probably doesn't really care that he's breaking even more rules.

The car's left carelessly in the driveway, and Clark watches Lex get out, leaning into the glossy side. From here, he looks--kind of odd. Straining to see, Clark leans into the cut glass, trying to get a clearer view, but then Lex is moving toward the door, and Clark backs up, trying to decide what to do.

He should probably go back to his room. Lex has been--gripey since he got home, and he may not like Clark in here, even if he does have persimm--permimm--*permission*, and second, last time Lex went out alone, he came back acting really, really weird. He kept saying stuff about colors even though the room had been totally dark and laughed at nothing in particular and then got really, really sick.

Dad and Mom had *both* been mad about that.

Okay, so--make the bed first. Clark pauses, trying to remember if the bed was made. Maybe? No? Clark frowns, rubbing at the back of his neck. Okay, so. If he just goes to his room, Lex won't notice anyway, so he just needs to get his key--

Where's his key?

Groping at his pajamas, which have only one little pocket, Clark looks around in panic. It's got to be here. It's got to be. Okay, maybe beside the bed, no, or did he kick it under the bed, or he left it in the sheets and oh man, this isn't fair. Climbing back up, Clark runs superfast, desperate hands over the sheets and winces as the fine material tears straight down into the mattress.

Ooh. Oh. Oh darn--dammit! He's not supposed to do that to stuff!

Clark's head turns just as the door opens, and he watches with a sense of doom as Lex walks in, whistling something softly, blue eyes coming up and fixing on the bed instantly. It's like he always knows where Clark is, and Clark can't quite figure that out yet.

"Clark?" Lex pauses, looking behind him, then shutting the door. "Martha and Dad still out?"

Numbly, Clark nods, feeling himself begin to shake and unable to help it. Lex is emptying his pockets on his dresser, so right now, he's not mad. Great. He wasn't going to be mad that Clark was in here, but he's going to be when he sees what Clark did to his bed.

Stupid bed.

"You know, I can get you a night light," Lex says over his shoulder. "We can hide it from Dad so you--" Turning around, Lex is undoing his sleeves, and freezes when he looks at him. "Clark? What's wrong?"

Lex can see it on his *face*. Swallowing hard, Clark wipes a hand across his eyes. Big boys don't cry, don't get scared of the dark, don't need to crawl into their brothers' beds at night because they gets scared, and they shouldn't, shouldn't *ever* mess up their things. Lex had said he had to be careful with things in here, and Clark had, except this time he hadn't, and--

"Shh." Instantly, Lex is sitting beside him, pulling him off the mattress and into his lap. "What happened? Did Madeleine do something?"

Madeleine? Oh, his nurse. Clark shakes his head quickly, though maybe he could blame her--no. That's wrong. Mom would definitely say that was wrong. Clark fights when Lex gets a hand under his chin, trying to make him lift his head.

"You know, you can break my fingers if you keep that up." Lex seems amused, but that--Clark looks up quickly, almost knocking into Lex's chin. Lex grins down at him, but the smile fades instantly. "What happened? She bitch at you again?"

Clark shakes his head, opening his mouth, but the words won't come out. Licking his lips, Clark tries to think of--something. Anything. Lex smells vaguely of smoke and something sharp and bitter. Alcohol? Maybe. Biting his lip, Clark just leans into him when Lex presses him, shutting his eyes. He won't cry. He won't cry. He's too old for that.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" He can feel Lex shifting on the mattress, and there's a moment of panic, because oh no, Lex is putting his hand down-- "Hmm. That's new."

Keeping his face buried in warm cotton, Clark doesn't so much as breathe.

"Any reason for misdemeanor assault on my bed, Clark?"

Lex is never, never going to let him come in here again. He's done something *so* bad and he knows better and why wasn't he more careful?

"Clark." Big hands settle on his shoulders. "Clark. Look at me. Now."

That voice. Clark knows he's shaking but he can't help it. Slowly, he lifts his head, staring up at the blue eyes, waiting for the moment Lex starts telling him how he can't--

"I'll fix it," Lex says. "Don't worry so much."

Clark blinks. "I--but--"

"Bad night?"

Clark nods mutely.

"And don't tell me, that bitch gave you the 'you're a big boy now' speech again." Wow. It's like Lex was there. "Mmm. I'll take care of this. Hold on and I'll get an extra blanket." Depositing him on the bed, Lex disappears, whistling again. Clark cranes his neck to watch Lex in the closet. Something--different about him tonight, but Clark can't tell for sure what it is. After a few seconds and something falling, Lex comes out with one of his old bedspreads and urges Clark onto the floor, pulling the comforter up. The rips in sheet and mattress are completely hidden now. Rearranging the pillows, Lex tilts his head in thought. "Jump up."

Clark takes hold of the mattress, but he can't quite make himself do it. "Maybe--maybe I should--go back to bed. My bed, I mean."

"Only if you want to." Lex's voice is very mild. "Though I doubt you'll sleep. What, did someone give you coffee or something before bedtime?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lex strips off his boots, giving them a thoughtful look before tossing them across the room. "What's wrong?"

What's *not*? "I--I wasn't careful." Clark hates that whiney sound in his voice, but he can't quite help it. "I'm sorry, I promised I'd be careful, but I--I was scared you'd be mad I was here and--"

Lex winces. "This is why I shouldn't come home high. Get in bed, Clark."

Lex's word is law. Swallowing hard, Clark climbs up, wondering if he'll feel the rips he made in the mattress, but it feels about the same as always. Lex covers him with the blanket, pulling one leg up on the bed, a thoughtful look on his face.

"One, you can come in here whenever you want." Reaching out, long fingers thread through his hair gently. "Two, accidents happen."

"Not--not if I were normal."

"You're extraordinary, and that's a good thing." Shifting his other leg onto the bed, Lex pulls them up to his chest, that thinking look on his face. "Accidents happen. Remember when I started the kitchen on fire last year?"

Clark tries not to grin but can't help it. "Yeah. Dad was *so* mad."

"Let's say Dad was even less amused by what I was trying to make." Clark wonders what Lex means, but he's already talking again. "Anyway. Everyone has accidents. It's not a big deal."

"Normal people--" Can't tear through sheets without even meaning to. Clark stares down at his hands, pale against the dark comforter. "I--it was--I was looking for my key and--it just happened. And I--I thought--"

"You think too much, little brother." More slow stroking, and Clark's vaguely surprised to realize he's getting sleepy. "Hold on, don't go to sleep. Let me change first."

Nodding, Clark makes his eyes go as wide as possible, and Lex laughs at him before going back to the closet. Clark tries to work out the difference again. Lex looks--older. Or something. It's hard--in the shiny black, it's like Lex isn't quite Lex tonight, and Clark can't quite work out what the difference is. But older? Yeah. Definitely.

Lex comes back out in his faded red pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. Still there, so no, not the clothes. Moving over, Clark watches Lex check the door, then lock it, before coming back over and settling beside him.

Instantly pulled close, which Clark likes, and he shuts his eyes, twisting his fingers in Lex's t-shirt.

"Now, there's nothing wrong with you." Lex's voice is low and very gentle. A soft ruffle of his hair. "And being normal, I can tell you, is highly overrated."

Clark shrugs a little.

"All right, put it this way. I'm not normal."

Instantly, Clark sits up. "Yes you are!"

Very solemn blue eyes meet his. "No, I'm not. Or didn't you notice the lack of hair?"

Clark blinks, trying to pull it together. "That's--you." What on earth does hair have to do with it?

"Mm. Exactly. And what you can do is you. A part of you."

That makes no sense. "But--"

"You do know normal kids aren't bald, right?"

Clark tries to work his mind around the problem. "I--but that's--" Different?

"You're probably a little young for this conversation. Take my word for it, not normal at all. Nor is being able to walk away from not a few--incidents." Lex grins. "Normal is boring. No one wants normal really. They just think they do because it's the path of least resistance. You don't want that, do you?"

Clark's not too sure about that. "Maybe?"

Lex snickers. "Yeah, okay, mea culpa. Just--extraordinary is good, Clark. We're going to change the world. Extraordinary people do that. Normal people don't do anything interesting really."

Well. Clark thinks about it. "I don't like being bored."

Lex laughs, rolling on his back to stare up at the ceiling with a strange smile on his face. "Exactly. And trust me, Clark, you'll never be boring, either. So stop worrying. This is nothing."

Clark swallows hard. "Could have been a--a person." Mom. You.

Lex rolls on his side, staring at Clark. "That's what you're worried about. Okay, more sense. It wasn't. It won't ever be."

"You don't know."

Lex grins. "Sure I do." Pulling him down, Lex settles Clark into the crook of his arm.

"Did you do anything interesting tonight?"

Lex laughs--okay, Lex is being weird, but not talking-about-colors-weird. "Yes, she was very interesting, Clark. And--" Lex laughs. "You're too young for this conversation. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we'll go riding, just you and me, okay?" Long fingers filter through his hair again, and Clark shuts his eyes, relaxing into the soothing touches, the cheerful promise. "Everything is fine. I'm here and nothing is going to happen to you. So sleep."

On the Evening When Dad Wasn't Home (seven years later)

Lex ducks just in time to enjoy the sight of Clark sailing over him with a completely shocked expression. The small body collides with the bed, but Lex only grins as he straightens, extending hand to help the boy to his feet. Tiny dark red pajamas with dinosaurs tonight. Lex expects to be lectured on archeology at any moment. Clark's been ordering so many books that Dad's been contemplating just turning one of the spare rooms upstairs into a second library.

"Good try."

Clark frowns, rubbing his head, though Lex knows it doesn't hurt. He fakes very well. "How'd you know I was coming?"

Lex snickers as he straightens his sweats. "Because I've lived with you since you first started doing that. Come on. Dad's gone and Martha's working on a case. Kitchen is open."

Clark lights up, and small, hard fingers curl around Lex's as they check the hall for possible servant interruptions. The help is nice, but they *enforce* the stay-in-bed after ten thing. Clark's fast, but also clumsy sometimes, so Lex doesn't trust him to just superspeed them downstairs.

From their parents' bedroom, Lex can hear Martha talking into a recorder, outlining some case that's been bothering her. Simatec again, he thinks. She can hear them *breathe*, though, and Lex catches himself holding his breath as they pass. Glancing down, he sees Clark doing the same thing, eyes wide and worried, fixed on Lex.

Once they're at the stairs, it's all good.

The kitchen's dark, but that's not a problem. Lex can walk blind here and Clark's night vision is even better than Lex's. Picking him up, Lex deposits the ten year old on the counter across from the refrigerator to keep him out of trouble and starts a methodical search of the cabinets. The new cook's sneaky and hides the cookies.

"Are you going away to school again?"

Right, the hard questions. Sighing, Lex turns around.

"Maybe. Martha and Dad are talking about it." Opening the refrigerator, Lex gets out a bottle of water, pushing himself on tip toes to get to the milk. God, can he get that next growth spurt already? The gallon container's placed in Clark's hands, and Lex lets the door shut, leaning into the cool metal. "Martha says no, Dad says yes."

"Mom will win."

"We can both hope." Excelsior sucked, and it was actually better than any other boarding school he's attended. Twisting off the lid of the water, Lex takes a drink, watching Clark swallow half the milk without taking a breath. "I think she'll win, too. I'm just wondering what she'll compromise on."

Clark tilts his head, and Lex wonders if it'll ever *not* be cute to see Clark's lip adorned with a thick milk mustache. "I heard them talking." Turning back around, Lex checks the next two cabinets, finally finding the cookies hidden behind the wheat germ. Typical. The new cook's obviously an amateur. For some reason, they all start off hiding the good stuff with the healthy stuff.

Opening it, Lex takes one and extends the bag far enough for Clark to reach. "What did you hear, big ears?"

Clark's eyes narrow. "My ears aren't big." Emptying the carton, Clark takes a cookie, chewing happily. "More milk?"

"No. I'll get you some water. I think a gallon a night is enough." The bottle's tucked under one arm. "Come on, let's go before someone catches us.

Clark extends both arms peremptorily. "Down."

"You can jump down yourself." Grinning, Lex gives Clark the cookies, turning around. "Piggy back ride?"

"Yes!" Slim little arms circle his neck trustingly--Dad got him some of the best people in the world to work with him, and Clark's control's like second nature. Holding Clark up with one hand, Lex crosses slowly to the door. "What I wouldn't do for you to have x-ray vision. Now tell me what you heard."

"Dad wants to open a research facility in Smallville," Clark confides, chin resting on the arm over Lex's shoulder. "Mom said no."

"She hates Smallville." Lex has been listening at doors since Martha first came and he has a pretty good idea by now why. Also, that he's never telling Clark, ever, but boy, does that explain his claustrophobia. "She won't go for it."

"She says you need to be home with your family, since being at school isn't doing anything but making you unhappy," Clark mumbles through a mouthful of cookies. "I think she's just making sure that Dad doesn't try to outmaneuver her. Besides, I saw brochures for Bringhams in their room."

Now that's interesting. "You're a smart boy. Good job." Clark's good at being unseen and seeing things he shouldn't. Very useful during parties and dinners. People say that the Luthors are so family-oriented they can't stand to keep their kids away. Lex laughs about that a lot.

"Besides," Clark continues blithely, "we miss you. Mom says it's not a good idea for you to be away from home, since you act out to make them expel you." Clark pauses. "I really hate it when you're gone." Lex hears the loneliness under the words and privately agrees. Clark's still stuck with tutors at home until he starts junior high and Martha and Lionel are very careful who they allow over for Clark to interact with. Mostly the servants' kids, which would be fine, except most of *them* are scared to death of Dad.

"Trust me, I don't like it either." Checking out the doorway, Lex slips into the foyer, the stairs dead ahead. "Don't worry about it. I can keep it up until I get kicked out of every school Dad can pay off. He'll have to give in eventually." Theoretically, anyway, but Lex has time and endless amounts of creativity on his side. Not to mention motivation. Lots and lots of motivation.

"Up late, boys?"

Busted. Oh--oh *fuck*.

His stepmother is waiting on the third to bottom step, leaning into the banister. It's too dark to see if she's smiling, but the fact she's simply waiting tells him that at very least, this isn't going to be a situation where Dad is going to be informed. A few thousand excuses chase themselves through Lex's head, but then he remembers he's got Clark and sighs. "We were thirsty."

"Uh huh." She crosses to them, robe swishing softly, and plucks the bag of cookies from Clark's hands. "I see that."

Man, he's going to be grounded *forever*, and he's still under restriction for the stuff he did at Excelsior.

"Mommmm…." Clark whines with his best charm. It's the Luthor in him that makes him sound that cute and still stay creatively manipulative. "It's Saturday. It's--"

"After ten." Handing back the cookies, Martha shakes her head, red hair falling forward, hand resting lightly on the edge of Lex's shoulder. "Take them and don't ever tell your father. Hurry along. I have a lot to do before Monday morning."

"Is the case going well?" Lex asks. She slows her pace so he can keep up easily, and God, Clark's getting big. Clark will be giving him piggy back rides soon, and that's enough to make him want to laugh.

"Pretty good. I'm going to win, if that's what you're asking" A gentle caress to the side of his head, and Lex lets himself lean into it. It's still--really cool. Mom had loved Martha so much and had made Lex promise to be good to her. Not exactly hard, but there'd been the nagging worry that she'd leave, like the other nurses, even if she did have a deal with Dad. Then Dad had married her. Lex supposes that should have surprised him more than it had, but even at that age, he'd known a good tactical move when it was in progress in front of him. He just sometimes wonders who thinks they got the better deal. "Since you're--rather at loose ends at the moment, do you want to come to court with me and watch? It's corporate, so your father's already approved. I'll give you my notes tomorrow and you can read over the case to see if it will interest you."

"Wow. Sure." That means leaving the house, something Lex hasn't been able to do in almost two weeks. As they ascend the steps, Lex considers his next question carefully. "Am I being sent back to Excelsior?"

"Nope." She sounds smug, and Lex glances up to see her smile. "Bringhams. Which I'm sure Clark told you already. So you'll be staying home, since the driver can take you to and from easily enough."

"See?" Clark's voice is pure crumbs and Lex sighs, knowing he'll be shaking out his pajamas before he goes to bed. "Told you."

"Why?"

Martha pauses at the top of the steps, then sighs, glancing down the hall. "Let's get you in bed first and then we'll talk, okay? Come here, Clark, you, too."

"Stay." The sudden tightening of the little arms remind Lex that his brother can bench press Dad's car without breaking a sweat. Martha frowns a little, looking between them.

"I don't care," Lex says, trying to shrug, not exactly easy with the death grip around his throat. Clark still hates to sleep alone, crawling into bed with Martha and Dad, his nanny, or Lex, whoever's handiest. Most recently Lex, since Lionel has 'issues' regarding children sleeping with their parents and his nanny's been on vacation for the last month. Lex's mind has long marked it up to Whatever Happened in Smallville. He's had questions on the tip of his tongue for years, but they tend to stay there. Not yet. Later, when he can ask the right ones. Or when he already has more answers. Martha still doesn't talk about it.

"All right." She leads the way to his room, and Lex deposits Clark on the blankets and takes the cookies away, taking one himself before stashing the bag in the bedside table. Clark makes a sleepy noise and leans against him, sliding inevitably downward until the dark head's resting on his leg. Clark sleeps like it's a religious experience. "I want you here, Lex. Especially since--" Martha stops, flushing a little, then meets his eyes. "I know how much you miss your mother still. I don't want you to feel alienated from us. From your father, me, from Clark."

"I don't." Taking a bite, Lex watches Martha watch him, seeing the lines of worry criss-crossing her forehead. "I--"

"I know, and you've always made me and Clark feel very welcome." Reaching out, she brushes stray crumbs from his pajama top. It reminds him achingly of Mom. "Like family."

"You are family."

She sits down on the bed beside him, arm circling his shoulders. "Lex, nothing, *nothing* is more important to me than my family. You and Clark--and your father, of course. You and Clark are friends right now, and I want it to stay that way, no matter what your father seems to think would be--motivating." Her mouth twitches, like it always does when Dad goes into lecture mode. Like she'd laugh if etiquette allowed it. A gentle hand strokes over his head, and he can feel the lightest trace of her manicured fingernails. "Besides, I miss you too much when you're gone, and so does Clark." Standing up, she shakes her head, checking the fall of her robe. "Now, both of you, bed. After church, we have a luncheon at the Stanleys' and there's a man there that your father needs Clark to check on. Future business partner. So you'll get out of the house for a few hours."

"Really?" Standing up, Lex pulls the covers back as Martha picks up Clark, cuddling him close and kissing his temple before settling him down on the pillow. "Who?"

"Sir Harry Hardwick."

"The one with the daughter with the big--" Oh yeah, Lex remembers her. Belatedly, he also remembers he's not talking with his friends.

Martha snickers. "That one. God, Lex, what am I going to do with you? A successful rebellion is more than being outrageous--it's also knowing when to apply the brakes. You won this time." Her gaze grows serious, focusing on him carefully, measuring her words. "Your father doesn't know how to handle you, Alexander. I do." Eyebrows arch, and Lex grins back, unrepentant. He gets the point, though.

"I'll be good."

"Now that you have what you want? I don't doubt it." She leans down and brushes a kiss against his forehead. "Get your brother dressed in the morning. His nanny is on vacation until next week and your father panics if we're late. Night." He's never telling her, or anyone (especially Dad), but this is one of his favorite things. Almost as good as the little boy curling up just close enough that Lex can feel warm air every time Clark breathes. "Love you both."

On the Morning the Paper Came (nine years later)

"Jonathan! I need you to sign--"

Lana's all knees and elbows at this age, too much raw energy in a newly-clumsy body. Jonathan catches her as she skids into the kitchen, arms akimbo, and looks up in time to see Nell pace in the door, rubbing absently at her back. She's two days from being overdue and exhaustion is written into every line of her body.

It never really leaves either of their minds that her pregnancy with the twins had ended up with her on bedrest and a constant stream of specialists.

"Here honey, hold on." Taking the paper, he glances over the permission slip, quickly signing his name. "There. Have fun at the museum, sweetie."

"Thanks. Bye Jonathan, Nell!" The bright glow of her smile catches at his heart, and she tucks the paper into her backpack, tripping out the kitchen door to make a run for the bus, dark hair flying behind her. Only belatedly is he aware that she isn't wearing her necklace anymore.

Making a note to ask Nell if Lana's finally moving on a little from her attachment to her dead parents, Jonathan tears his gaze away, reaching for his wife and gently inserting her into a chair. "How you feeling?"

"Like crap. I'm not doing this again, Jonathan,. Three's enough." Jonathan silently agrees as she shifts on the cushion. Pouring her a glass of juice, he hands it over, fighting not to smile at her moue of distaste.. "God, I miss coffee."

"The second you deliver? I'll put a cup in your hand personally."

She laughs a little, then frowns, reaching behind her to rub at the middle of her back, glancing at the clock. "You're going to be late."

"I'm allowed to coddle my wife." Rubbing her stomach gently, he leans over for a brief kiss, before reaching for the paper as Nell picks over the plate of fruit he made for her. Front page is the new research lab LuthorCorp opened in Smallville. Jonathan flips the page without even thinking, images of the lab superimposed on the house that once stood there in his mind. A mistake that he regrets when he hits society and Martha's face looks back at him from some high publicity charity function, her strong hand wrapped in the mayor's, Lionel Luthor's arm around her waist. Dark red hair is twisted back in some gold net, diamonds glittering on her ears, but the smile is the one he remembers every night when he closes his eyes.

Just made partner in her father's law firm, too, he thinks, spotting old Mr. Clark in the background with the two boys. He can't help a quick skim, the names of her husband and stepson and she and Lionel's adopted son jumping out, but closes it before it goes any farther. A tiny inch by inch space traces the discovery of mass corruption in the Smallville Police Department, headed by Ethan himself. He's looking at decades in prison at least. Jonathan had already gotten the news from Mike a few days before.

"Lana tells me that a Luthor just started school with her," Nell says as she butters a piece of toast. Jerking his head up, Jonathan folds the paper, setting it on the table beside him, a strange sliver of pain sliding through him, as fast and sharp as a razor. She always seems to guess when he's thinking about Martha.

"Public school? For a Luthor?" That sounds like Martha, though

Nell shrugs. "The younger boy, Clark. According to Marcy, he's been homeschooled up until now." She smiles at him over the toast. "Lana's got quite the little crush. Spent half of the evening last night on the phone with that friend of hers talking about him."

"She's a little girl!" It's the father in him. "And--" But there isn't any other objection to call up. Alexander Luthor, the elder boy, is strangely reserved for a spoiled rich kid, his name making the papers for his early acceptance at MetU a year and a half before, his work on various charities with his father and stepmother, very unlike most of his contemporaries. The worst Jonathan's heard of Clark Luthor was a Little League accident a few years back, but nothing had come of it but a report of another child's recovery from a concussion. A normal enough occurrence in the game. Jonathan glances up the stairs, where their children are being watched by Nell's cousin Erica. These last few months have been hard on everyone.

Nell snickers. "They're kids. Get over it." Grabbing the arms of her chair, Nell gets clumsily to her feet. "Lana has a sleepover tomorrow at the Sullivans'. Don't forget to send a permission note so she can go home with Chloe."

"Chloe?" Jonathan blinks, trying to pull up the mental list of Lana's friends. "She's new, isn't she?"

"They met when school started." Nell picks up the empty plates and Jonathan's empty coffee cup, taking a discreet sniff before sighing. "And before you freak out when she tells you, Chloe's dropped off by the LuthorCorp driver. Gabe's a vice president at LuthorCorp this year and he doesn't trust the bus system."

Jonathan's mouth tightens, eyes fixing briefly on the paper. "I guess it can't hurt her."

Nell pauses, and Jonathan can feel her gaze, cool and steady. "It's not as if you're going to run into Martha, Jonathan."

Damn. Looking up, Jonathan takes in the tight line of Nell's mouth. "It's not--" They've been married too long for that kind of bullshit. "It just feels weird."

Her expression softens. "I know. I don't worry about it. But we can't cut Lana off from half the city because you're uncomfortable seeing your ex-wife. That's not fair to Lana. Or Martha, for that matter. She's never been anything but gracious." Putting the dishes in the sink, Nell leans into the counter. "Betcha I can distract you."

A smile pulls at the edges of Jonathan's mouth and he stands up, brushing his suit free of crumbs. "Can you, now?"

"You remember that house we looked at? The one you thought we couldn't afford?" Nell's smile widens, eyes sparkling. "Down on Boston Avenue?"

Jonathan blinks. The house in question had been almost ridiculously outside their price range, even with Jonathan's latest promotion. A huge six bedroom, perfect for their growing family and Erica too, while she attended MetU. "What?"

"The owner looked at our application. It seems," Nell says with a grin, "that she has several children as well and understands the need for space. So. She took our bid. We'll be on a tight budget, but--" She trails off, laughing, and Jonathan can't blame her.

"I don't believe it."

"I didn't either, but the realtor's doing the paperwork now. When you get home, we go sign and then start planning the move." Nell squeals when he picks her up, head tilted back, long, dark hair falling over his arm. "Lana is going to be thrilled."

"Really? I thought she liked this house." That had been their number one worry, actually. Lana didn't like change.

"The new house is only a few blocks from Chloe," Nell says, grinning up at him. "Set me down, Mr. Man."

"A few blocks from Chloe?" Jonathan's careful as he sets Nell down, supporting her as she reaches for the counter, flushed and breathing happily. "That's--lucky, I guess."

"Very." Turning away, Nell rinses out their dishes while Jonathan looks for his coat. Lana had worried him, but if she's enthusiastic about the move, that's all to the good. Going into the living room, Jonathan absently pulls out the thick wool, running his hands over the rough material.

The sound of a breaking plate brings Jonathan straight, turning toward the kitchen.

"Oh. Damn." Nell's voice is shocked. "Jonathan!"

Coming in, Jonathan sees his wife collapsing into a chair, hand against her back, eyes wide. "Jonathan, I think--" Her eyes squeeze shut. "Never mind, I know. It's--"

"Time?"

Her smile is tight. "Thank you for the news. Go tell Erica that it's time and we'll call her to bring the kids by later. And get my bag from behind the closet door while I call my doctor. I think--ooohhh--I think this one won't wait."

On the Evening He Gets Really Bored (ten years later)

The poolhouse was added to the grounds years ago, but the addition of a breezethrough to connect it to the main house is more recent. Clark thinks Mom might have suggested it soon after she married Dad. He has faint memories of the workmen who came in, adding both the breezeway and the large room based over it, where Clark goes daily to practice his control. It's also where his tutor meets him every afternoon. Since he started public school, Mom doesn't want him falling behind in his education.

"Jesus, Alexander. You--oh!" Clark's careful as he kneels just out of sight behind the diving board and the huge palms Mom brought in to make the room look more open. If it was darker outside, the wide glass windows that look out onto the back lawn would show his reflection, which would be--well, embarrassing.

And would definitely stop the very interesting show going on.

Peering from the shrubbery, Clark watches Lex duck under the water, the dark-haired girl turning this way and that, trying to see where he went. She has a huge grin and her hair keeps getting in the way. Thoughtfully, Clark shifts to his stomach, giving him an unobstructed view of the pool and Lex come up behind her, pulling once at the string of her red bikini so it slips off, pooling at her waist.

"Alexander!" Her hands come up to cover herself, but she's giggling, head tilted enough for Lex to mouth the water from her neck, and in a few seconds, Lex moves her hands away altogether, cupping her breasts. She makes a sound like a sigh, turning her head, and Clark watches in interest as they kiss.

Lex--is weird about this part of his life, and Clark's not sure why. Dad set down the rule about overnight friends years ago, and more recently, Dad and Lex had a long talk that Clark carefully listened to just outside the office. Something about the children of the help and not to do something, but Lex had only snorted and left, saying he knew better than to play at home.

This, Clark thinks, is what Lex meant by play. Oh.

Mom gave Clark the sex-talk last year--he still blushes about that, and blushes even more when he remembers Lex grinning at him when he found out about it. Pointing out over dinner that practical experience really couldn't be substituted for, and Mom had tried to frown and Dad had read the paper and ignored them. He remembers staring at his dinner, trying to work out some connection between what his mom had said and what was, apparently, the main focus of Lex's attention and time.

Sex. Play. What Lex does when he goes out, and wow, does *this* clarify some things.

He seems to like it, saying things against her ear, and Clark blinks as she turns around against the side of the pool, bobbing a little as Lex's hands disappear. The dark head goes back on a gasp, and then there's--moving. Very, very strange looking moving, and she's locking her hands on the side of the pool, water's splashing a little, and--

--and *oh*. Oh.

Oh, Lex is going to *kill* him if he finds out Clark is watching.

Clark close his eyes briefly, pulling his mother's information together with what Lex has told him, what he's seeing trying to reconcile. This is sex. This is Lex *having* sex. With someone. Someone Clark doesn't know and who may be nice, but she's not family and she's not familiar.

It's--weird, actually. The low, pleased sound of Lex's voice brings his eyes open wide, and the girl is making weird, weird sounds, like she's hurt, but he just doesn't think she is. The dark hair makes him think of Lana Lang-Kent, who's always watching him in class and drawing hearts around his name on her notebook for Chloe to see. They both giggle a lot.

This is where it all goes to, though, what it means. Like when Mom and Dad kiss in the living room and then leave, saying they have work to do. What Lex does when he goes out all the time.

Clark shivers and dismisses thoughts of Mom and Dad, trying to focus on the pool, on Lex, who's looking at the girl like--like she's someone special, someone he likes, maybe someone--someone important. Important enough to do *that* with, and touch like that, and kiss like that. Clark frowns, shifting again, an unfamiliar knot forming in the pit of his stomach, knocking a hand into a leaf..

Damn--dammit! Pulling back, Clark freezes in place, but the sounds from the pool only become louder, ending with breathy, quiet sounds, like they're very, very tired. Clark lifts his head just enough to watch his brother and the girl disentangle themselves, the girl doing something under the water before pulling up her top and tying it clumsily.

A few minutes later, they get out, and Clark keeps perfectly still as they pick up robes only feet away, talking about some party or other, and then their footsteps and voices disappear out the door.

A few long seconds, and Clark pushes himself up, frowning at the pool. Lex's swim trunks are hung over the edge, which means Lex is wandering around the house *naked* in a robe. With that girl.

Whoever she was, Lex thought she was worth breaking all the rules of the house. Getting to his knees, Clark stares around the pool room blankly before climbing awkwardly to his feet.

Walking to the edge of the pool, Clark slowly sits down, glancing briefly at the abandoned swimming trunks before looking moodily at the water. Feet dipping in the pool, Clark considers calling over and having someone drain the water and clean the entire thing.

Lex had *sex* here, and there's this scary possibility that it wasn't the *first* time this has happened in the house. Eyes widening, Clark contemplates the idea that, just maybe, Lex has been having sex with a *lot* of people, maybe here, maybe *all around the house*.

Can they move anytime soon?

Kicking the water, Clark forces himself not to look at the corner where Lex and the girl had been. It's not--mature. Something.

"Clark? What are you doing in here?" Clark stiffens at the sound of his mom's voice from the doors, then stares down at the trunks. Oh damn. Mom might--she might notice that. Before he can think about it, he slides over, shivering at the bite of cold, wet material through his shorts and trying to look casual as he turns his head just enough to see her shutting the wide glass doors and crossing the cool white tile, giving the room a cool once-over before looking down at him.

"Just thinking."

Mom's not dumb--she knows when he's prevaricating, even if she doesn't say anything. The sound of shoes being kicked off make his gaze jerk up, but she's lowering herself down beside him, peeling off her hose and throwing them behind her before lowering her feet into the water.

That Lex had sex in.

Maybe he'd better not think about that for a while.

"Everything okay?" she asks, bracing both hands on the edge of the pool. Clark watches her feet draw idle circles in the water before kicking a little, and a glance at her face shows the beginnings of a little grin. "You've been quiet since you started school this year."

Staring at the water hard, Clark swallows. "It's just--" Weird. All those people. It's his second year in public school and it's still bizarre. Dad had wanted him to go to Bringhams like Lex had, but Mom had left it up to him, and--well, it had seemed a good idea at the time for a lot of reasons, several of them Mom didn't even know about.

But now….. "It's okay."

"They give you a hard time for your name?" She sounds a little worried, and wet fingers caress his hair. Leaning into it, Clark closes his eyes.

"Not usually. I mean, not openly. And you know, since Dad doesn't send the limo anymore, everyone sort of--forgets." The students, anyway. The teachers, not so much. Mom pulls and Clark lets his head rest on her shoulder, letting himself relax. She smells like outside, like freshly mown grass and late afternoon air and her perfume. She must have just got home. "It's okay. I mean, basketball makes it fun. I just have to be careful--"

"No--other problems?" The slow stroking's soothing, and Clark almost tells her. Lex has girls. Here. In our home. Where I could see, where *anyone* could see, but where I could see and he likes her and I don't like that.

Yeah, he's not sure how to frame this one in any way Mom will understand. "I wish I'd gone to Bringhams."

"Ah." It could mean anything at all. "You thought you'd see Lex more now that he lives at home?"

Clark frowns. "I see him every day, but--it's not the same. He has--friends with him all the time. It's just--" Frustrating. Lex's friends all look at him like he's annoying and dumb and doesn't understand when they're making fun of him. He's not sure Lex even notices he's there. "I'm being a brat, right? Selfish?"

"No more so than any younger sibling on earth. It's natural to feel left out, Clark. It probably would have been easier if there was another child near your age here--" Her voice trails off, and Clark looks up, seeing the blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. "I'll think on it. Would you like another brother?"

Clark lifts his head, staring at her in surprise. "Mom, are you--"

"No, no. I just became--aware--of some information that I'm sure Lionel would have preferred remain secret." Her grin makes him smile back--he likes to watch Mom outmaneuver Dad. "Lex has a half-brother about two years older than you."

"Really?" Wow. "Does Lex know?"

Mom nods. "Lionel told him a few weeks ago. The circumstances of his birth are unfortunate, but--I had him moved to a more appropriate environment. Considering Lex's feelings for his mother, it seemed cruel to bring him here, nor was he very interested, but--"

"No." More competition for Lex's attention, and someone with blood to bind them. Clark doesn't even realize he's pulling away until his mother's hand drops from his hair. Okay, this is getting silly. Growling to himself, Clark stares back at the water.

"Has Lex met him?" It seems important to know that.

"He's been allowed to visit with the permission of the foster parents I arranged, some trusted LuthorCorp employees. Lucas lives in Edge City. That's why Lex hasn't been home the last few weekends."

Oh, great. Competition in progress. No wonder Lex never has time for Clark anymore. He has a real brother to talk to and hang out with and-- "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Your father hasn't been all that enthusiastic about Lex visiting Lucas and doesn't want you to become involved." Mom sighs softly, leaning over to trail her fingers in the water. "It's been--difficult. Lex was angry that Lionel hid the information and that there was a child at all. And Lionel--doesn't like to admit he's made avoidable mistakes."

"Have you met Lucas?" Clark asks curiously. His mom's eyes flicker up, meeting his, and he sees something in them that makes him relax.

"Yes." A pause. "He reminds me of Lionel."

Clark blinks, resting his elbows on his knees. It's not hard to figure out what she means by that. "Does Lex like him?"

"I suppose he does," Mom answers neutrally. "It's--a very new thing to him, honey."

"He has a brother. He doesn't need another one." Certainly not one who isn't really family, wasn't raised here with them. Catching his mother's eyes, Clark thinks fast. "His studies will suffer if he keeps going out of town every weekend."

"Edge City's not that far away," his mom answers, fixing her gaze on the wall. "But come to think, they may not be staying in Edge City very long."

Clark takes a careful breath, trying not to grin. "Dad says that good employees need to have a wide variety of experience. That staying in one place makes them--lazy."

Clark catches his mother's slow smile. "You've been listening to his lectures."

"It's hard to ignore when he's sitting right beside you and expecting answers," Clark answers on a sigh, allowing himself to match his mother's smile. "Maybe I can ask Lex to go with me to shop for Dad's birthday present on Saturday. It'll probably take all day. And Sunday there's dad's birthday brunch, so--"

"He'll be very busy this weekend," Mom answers with a nod, pressing both palms to the tile. "Both of them. I think I'll make some calls." Pushing herself to her feet, Mom grins down at him. "You're very proactive for your age, Clark. I'm impressed. And you can get off of Lex's swim trunks now."

Clark feels the flush start in his cheeks and spread *everywhere*. "I--he--"

"Her names is Olivia." The smile widens, showing very white teeth. "She just went home--Lex did a very good impression of having no idea whose convertible tried to run me off the road, but let's say I keep up. He's upstairs, if you're curious."

"Getting ready to go out again?" Wow, he really does sound like a brat. Mom laughs again and runs her fingers through his hair. This day just sucks more and more by the *minute*. "Hope he has a good time."

"Maybe you should go distract him." Clark takes the extended hand, gingerly holding the slim fingers while getting himself to his feet. "Clark, it's just a girl. You don't need to worry about her. She's not--family. Lex knows where his loyalties belong."

Clark bites back mentioning Lucas again, half-brother to Clark's no-blood at all, nodding as his mother steps back. "I just--"

"Maybe you should talk to him," Mom says, picking up shoes and hose in one elegant hand. "And take his trunks to the laundry, would you? I'll see you at dinner. We have guests, so both of you need to dress."

"Really?" Picking up the trunks, Clark follows his mother to the door. "Anyone interesting?"

"Associates of your dad's that I'm representing. And the Sullivans. Your father's promoted Gabe recently. His daughter--Chloe? You go to school with her."

Clark nods, brightening a little. "She's pretty cool."

"Good. Run along." She leans up to brush a kiss across his cheek, and it's suddenly weird to realize, wow, he's taller than his *mom*. Grinning back, Clark takes the steps two at a time, declining to use superspeed in broad daylight with the servants about. Not that they'd ever ever say anything, but--well, better safe and all.

Lex's door isn't locked. Clark considers just dropping the trunks on the polished floor and leaving Lex to explain, but--Mom said talk. And Lex has a brother he's been seeing, and Clark--

Biting his lip, Clark raps sharply on the door, forcing himself to stay still, listening to the sound of bare feet padding over rugs and hardwood, before the door opens and Lex is standing there. Fresh from a shower, thank God, whatever (sex) he'd done with that girl (Olivia?) wiped away, and looking at him with a distracted smile.

"Clark." Lex steps back, which Clark supposes is something, and Clark walks in, dropping the trunks on the floor, crossing to the impeccably made bed to sit down, ignoring the desk chair he's never used. Lex bends over, picking up the wet material, then shuts the door carefully.

Clark stares at the wall and waits for Lex to start the conversation.

"Do I need to ask?"

"No." Pulling his knees up, Clark wonders what Lucas looks like. "Dad would kill you if he knew you were bringing--people to the house without permission."

Clark listens to Lex cross the room again, going into the bathroom before coming back out. Lex has a gaze with weight--something you can feel before you look, like he's checking under your skin for the truth. It can be unnerving, moreso when it's unfamiliar, and Clark's never felt Lex look at him like that before.

"Does it bother you?"

Yes, but I have no idea why. Clark tries to school his face to blankness--he's good at that with most people. Luthor thing, he thinks. But he's never had to do it with Lex and it's all new, feels wrong. Like trying to dance on your hands or play frisbee with a plank of wood. Unnatural.

"I didn't think you'd watch, either." Clark can feel Lex crossing the room. "Clark, she's just a girl. Not important."

"You never have time for me anymore." Oh great, and he's just doing super with the entire maturity thing. Biting his lip, Clark pulls his knees closer, heels pressed into the soft bedcover, trying to think of some way to save that. Nothing comes to mind.

The bed shifts--Lex is sitting beside him. Hand on his hair, like Mom's, but totally different, and Clark's body leans in without his mind having any choice. His head's still muttering rebellion when his body slips down and his head rests on a cashmere-covered thigh. It's all instinct. He's still mad. But he can stay mad while Lex pets his hair. There's no dichotomy there.

"I'm sorry, Clark." Lex sounds sorry. And something else, but Clark's not sure what it is, exactly. "I'm just--tense. I'm graduating this year."

"And you need to let off steam. I know the litany."

He gets a little tap on the head for that. "Don't be a brat. I know you're perfectly capable of making simple deductions. I'm graduating soon. Everything changes."

Rolling onto his back, Clark stares up at Lex. "What?"

Lex shrugs. "Metropolis watches me. I've been discreet so far, but it'll only get worse. I entered MetU at age seventeen. The press has been waiting for me to do something stupid in public ever since. So far, they haven't caught me, but Martha's as good as Dad is with publicity. She made me promise I'd be more--circumspect--when the new semester starts."

"Why?"

Lex grins down at him. "Image, little brother. It's all about image." Ruffling Clark's hair, Lex looks away, eyes distant. "We'll run LuthorCorp one day, and for that, having an unsavory reputation would be problematic. At least, with what I want to do. And I want--"

"Public office." They've talked about this before. Folding his hands on his stomach, Clark nods. "But that's years away."

"Years, but not forever. I want to do everything. And I can't do it if my name's smeared." The fingers slow, brushing against Clark's face on the downstroke, and Clark closes his eyes to feel it better. "Besides, it's safer for you if I don't. Martha's right about that. So. Consider this a developmental stage. Short term adolescent rebellion."

Clark nods, eyes still closed. "Are you going out tonight?"

The brush of fingers against his face is soothing, but something else, too, and Clark tries not to lean into it too much. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Mom says guests. But a friend of mine from school will be here, too. Chloe."

The fingers stop. "Chloe?" A completely different voice, and Clark can't identify that strange note at all.

"Yeah, her dad's been promoted or something. She's pretty cool."

The stroking starts again, but not with the same energy. "Hmm. A night with Martha and Dad and guests, or getting very very high and getting laid. This is a tough one."

Clark snickers softly. "I see your point." Developmental stage. Lex had lived at home all during MetU--Dad had been adamant about that. Something about not trusting Lex out of sight. Mom had just shrugged and said it was Dad and Lex's decision, which meant she agreed with Dad but didn't want to say so. Clark wonders now, with a little spark of pain, if this would ever have been Lex's choice. "I just--" Miss you. Sighing, Clark rolls onto his side, drawing his legs up again.

"I'll stay home tonight."

Clark sits up, turning instantly. "You don't have to." Okay, why did he just say that?

"After that performance?" Lex grins at him, turning a little to face him. The open collar of his shirt shifts a little, and Clark blinks, reaching out without thinking, brushing his fingers over the dark-red skin barely visible above the collar.

She--she *marked* him.

"Clark." Lex doesn't move his hand, and Clark flickers a gaze up before pushing the soft material down. It's--it's teethmarks and--and she did that to him and--

Jerking his hand away, Clark sits back, completely bewildered by his own reaction. Whatever's on his face, though, Lex reads--can always read him, and right now, he hates that.

"I gotta go." Getting to his feet, Clark stumbles a little when he hits the floor, grabbing for the bed, and the inevitable sound of tearing freezes him cold.

It's been a long time since he lost that much control.

"Clark, sit the fuck down. Now."

Exposure counts for a lot--but so does simple conditioning, and that voice is the one from his childhood, the one Lex uses so rarely and so effectively that it demands instant obedience. Taking a breath, Clark slips back up on the bed, fixing his gaze on the ruined comforter, down slipping through already to float to the rug. Tiny snow-like piles forming before his eyes.

Anything that isn't Lex right now.

"Clark, what's wrong with you? This can't be just about Olivia."

So her name *is* Olivia. Running his fingers over the comforter, Clark tries to dismiss the shadowy images of Lex and some guy, some family-that-really-isn't-family, some boy a little older than Clark. Someone like Dad, and Clark sees his mother's face again, cool and thoughtful.

A *brother*, like Clark isn't.

Looking up, Clark takes a breath. "It's--it was just weird, okay?" Clark thinks of his mother, taking a slow breath. She'll take care of this. She takes care of everything.

She alwasy does.

On the Day That He's Suspended (eleven years later)

"No."

Clark's pouting is hard to deal with even on days that Lex feels up to trying, but now--God, now he has to pull this when Lex is still exhausted from a too-late night. In a lab, for God's sake, not even anything interesting. Glancing up, Lex watches Clark drop cross-legged on the bed, eyes fixed on him.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were starting to believe your own press." Clark looks mutinous, eyes dark. "'*Oh no, I don't serial date, I'm just waiting for the right girl*' and I swear, someone quoted you saying you were saving yourself for marriage at that AIDS benefit in Hong Kong." The expression breaks then, and Lex laughs along. That really *is* funny. "Okay, never mind, but really. Explain again why I can't--"

"How many ways do you want me to say no? Or rather, how many languages?"

"You're being such a hypocrite." Leaning an elbow on his knee, Clark watches Lex go through his dresser. "Look, why--"

"She's not worth your time." Grabbing his watch, a gift for his eighteenth birthday from Martha, Lex turns around. "And why this sudden interest in sex anyway? Last year at this time you were still trying to get over your footie pajamas phase."

The smile's fast and dark, and Lex looks away quickly, busying himself searching through his drawer. "Wonder why that would be." Lex resigns himself to more cold showers in the future. "I met a girl."

"You meet a lot of girls. They fall at your feet everywhere you go." Clark's disturbingly close to looking far too old for his age. The faintest traces of baby fat are vanishing from the line of his jaw by the day, green eyes sharpening, narrowing more and more often in thought. Stunningly beautiful boy, Lex thinks, and then pushes the thought away. Also a dangerous boy, even if no one except Lex really knows just how much.

Clark drops lithely onto his stomach, stretching out on Lex's bed, head resting on folded arms. "You've got to change sheets. These still smell like her, and you know Mom will kill you if she finds out that you're having sex in the house. Bad precedent. And you're not interested in the name?"

Sighing, Lex gives up. Clark, playful and stubborn at once, is impossible to resist this early in the morning. Lex wonders why he even bothers to try. "What's her name?"

"Lana. Lang. Kent."

Lex almost drops his watch. "Kent? As in--"

"Yep. The one with the crush and the interesting family history." Clark looks unbelievably smug now, and Lex snickers, crossing back to the bed and moving too-long limbs out of his way to sit down, resting a hand casually on one jean-clad calf. The shift of muscle beneath is soothing, somehow. "We have a date on Friday. Hence, experience would be good here."

"You're not going to get to fuck her on the first date," Lex answers, shaking his head with a grin. "God, you've been around my friends too much."

Clark rolls on his back, grinning up at Lex. He's a huge puppy, Lex sometimes thinks, and shifts his legs onto the bed, bracing an arm behind him. "I know *that*. On both counts." Sitting up, Clark reaches for the watch and fastens it around Lex's wrist. "But. I need to be ready."

Catching the green eyes, Lex nods slowly. "Yeah. So why again do you want Stacey?"

"Because you've stayed with her the longest and that means, I guess, that she's pretty good. And that she's reasonably safe and discreet." That's a good point. Clark sighs softly and shifts closer. "Come on, Lex. She won't care. She likes me. And it's not like it bothers you."

"That's not why I'm objecting." Not exactly, anyway. Extending a wrist, Lex hands over the cufflinks. He has a presentation to work on today and Martha and Lionel both insist on the perfect image. Brilliant student, overachieving scholar, the ideal youth of America, not a scandal or misstep. Perception, Martha says, is everything. It will make things simple for them later. "It's just--"

"What?"

How to explain. "Clark, she's just--you can do better."

The green eyes meet Lex's. "I could. Unfortunately, you said sixteen. I don't want to wait that long." Dark lashes sweep down, hiding the green eyes. "You were, what, fourteen?"

"You'd know." It's hard to argue logic. And Stacey's good for this. Lex likes her, and she'll make Clark's first time easy and fun, and more importantly, if anything odd happens, she won't tell. Or she can be taken care of. "Right. Okay, I'll talk to Stacey. Unless you already did."

Clark is very careful in setting the cufflinks. "I might have mentioned something."

"I feel like a pimp."

Clark snickers as Lex extends his other wrist, fixing the cufflink quickly, then slips down behind him, warm, strong arms encircling his waist, chin against his shoulder. "I said all three of us, by the way. She's totally up for it."

This is *Stacey*. Of course she is. She'd be up for bestiality under the right circumstances. Lex turns enough to catch Clark watching him, trying not to smile. "You're pushing."

"I'm a Luthor. It's what I do best." Warm lips settle just below his ear, and Lex shivers at the trace of a soft tongue. "I want you--there. It's important to me."

Closing his eyes, Lex nods, letting Clark touch at his leisure, skimming fingertips that make him catch his breath. It doesn't count, not really, even when he turns his head just enough for Clark to kiss him. Perfect, warm and sweet, Clark, who can make a kiss more intimate that a fuck.

"Besides, Mom says we're supposed to share everything," Clark murmurs, nosing the open collar of Lex's shirt aside. "Remember? It's a fraternal thing."

"I won't even start explaining the wrongness of that statement in relation to what we've been discussing. Not to mention what your mother would say if she heard you using it right now." Reaching up, Lex threads his fingers through soft, thick hair, taking a slow breath. "Tell me about the Kent girl."

Clark snickers. "Pretty. Really really pretty. Smart. Kind of morbid about her birth parents if the subject comes up, which trust me, it does. A lot. She's got a huge crush on me. She hangs out with Gabe Sullivan's kid at school, Chloe. Really close."

Oh damn. Lex laughs softly. "That's too perfect. Did you tell Martha?"

Deft hands pull Lex's shirt free of his pants, fingers sliding underneath and Lex relaxes back into Clark with the slow, curious touches. "That I was seeing her? Not yet. I thought. Just you and me. We'd handle this ourselves."

Lex snickers softly, catching on a gasp when Clark bites down. "You have a plan?"

"Oh yeah." Clark edges back, and Lex lets himself be reclined on the bed. An enthusiastic weight of pretty boy drops on top of him with a flashing grin, and Lex breathes through the feeling as Clark settles over him. "A cool plan. Totally. You should stay home today. Skip class. Entertain me since I was suspended for the day. You know how bored I get with nothing to do."

Lex raises an eyebrow. These are the things he misses when he's in the lab too late every night. "Suspended for what?"

"Possession of narcotics on school grounds." Clark shrugs, bracing a big hand beside Lex's head. "Don't lecture."

"I'm sure Dad and Martha already did it for me, but I'm going to ask, why, especially considering you could drink battery acid and not even get a stomachache? Or do the words 'public image' no longer make sense to you?"

"Part of the plan." Lowering himself on his elbows, Clark licks a slow line up Lex's jaw. "To the parents, smart, ideal kid and all that stuff, to the other kids, rumors and dangerous reputation. You know how it works. Mom got the charges dismissed by the judge and Dad's having the principal over for dinner tomorrow. It'll be just rumor. No one even knows why I was suspended." Clark grins. "Remember what Dad said? If it doesn't make the papers, it never happened."

This is when having a police officer *and* a reporter on Dad's payroll comes in so damn handy. Not to mention a judge with a gambling problem.

"The principal has good self-preservation instincts. And probably an interesting past, if I know Dad. You should still be careful." Clark's always so warm. Lex slides his arms around the slim body, digging his fingers into Clark's back with the next slow kiss. He loves how Clark tastes, how he fits so perfectly that Lex could lose himself just doing this. Has, in fact, for hours. "What else?"

"I met Nell the other day when I dropped Lana off." Sitting back up, Clark's fingers start working on the buttons of Lex's shirt. He looks at Lex from underneath his lashes. "I remember her. Not like most of the others."

"You were a baby then," Lex murmurs, feeling Clark shiver, head dropping, wings of dark hair hiding his face. It makes Lex hurt and hate at the same time, faint images of the little boy he'd first met, curled up in a too-bright room because he was terrified of the dark.

"I remember the other--thing." Clark pauses. "And I remember *him*."

Lex bites down on his lip, running through a few dozen calculus equations before stroking slowly down Clark's back. Tense in the wrong way now. "I know." Bracing a foot on the mattress, Lex rolls them over on their sides, reaching for Clark's face. Smooth golden skin, the faintest hint of adult stubble. Jesus, he's growing up. "But your mom fixed everything, and even left this one for you."

"She might not like it."

No, Lex knows she wouldn't like it at *all*, but she probably wouldn't stop them either. Besides, she won't find out until they're done. Long range planning has its benefits. She won't notice if they're careful. "It doesn't matter. This is for you, okay? And you're right, I'm skipping class."

"You're graduating this year, right?" Clark's hand closes gently over Lex's hip, lining them up, and they breathe out together in surprise at the feeling. This they haven't done before.

"Summa cum laude, top of my class," Lex whispers, eyes closing, concentrating on Clark, rubbing awkwardly against him, learning as he goes. He can hear Clark's breathing catch quick and soft in his throat, hand tightening, and Lex leans in for another kiss. "MIT next year if Martha and Dad agree." He knows Clark's going to absolutely hate that, and frankly, he's not exactly thrilled himself. Safer though, at least for now, for both of them. "God, Clark--"

"I'm going to miss you." Clark's mouth is buried in his shoulder, seeking skin with sharp teeth. "This--this doesn't count, right? Before sixteen?" The fine line between hope and desperation is painfully clear in his voice, and Lex can't imagine refusing Clark anything at all when he sounds like that.

It feels too good to care, and it's not anything really, just this. Sliding his hand to the small of Clark's back, beneath the loose t-shirt, he strokes silky skin and pulls them more tightly together, leaning down enough to brush a kiss against a damp temple. Clark look up, green eyes dilated, an amazed expression on his face. Lex couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. "No. No, it doesn't."

On the Night of the Dance (twelve years later)

Jonathan stares at Nell over the length of the kitchen table, calmly drinking a cup of coffee. In the living room, he can hear the girls talking to their dates.

"We should be introduced," Jonathan grumbles softly. "Especially with that Luthor kid."

"What do you think he's going to do, rape her in front of her friends in our living room?" Nell's voice is indulgent. "I've *met* him. Give them a few minutes. Lana made me promise we'd wait until they got a little more comfortable."

Frowning, Jonathan take another sip of coffee, barely tasting it. If he's very still, he can hear the low male voices of the girls' dates, the rippling sound of Lana's laughter. It's been a long time since he's heard that. Lana suddenly jumps into typical teenage rebellion with both feet once she started high school, and Jonathan knows Nell is having problems handling her. Mood swings, sulking fits, breaking curfew and all. Dammit. Thank God it'll be another few years before they watch the male version in action with Ethan and Johnny.

"Stop looking like that."

Jonathan shakes his head, giving his wife a long look over the length of the table. "I can't believe you're letting her go, considering some of the stunts she's pulled recently."

Nell pushes a strand of dark hair behind one small ear. "She knows this is an exception to her grounding. It's a big dance at the school, Jonathan. Very well chaperoned. And I've got Clark's promise to have her home by eleven. He's a good influence on her. Since they've started seriously dating, Lana's been a lot more settled."

Jonathan snorts his opinion of that, but Nell's the one with the most interaction with the girl, so he holds his tongue. "I still don't know about Lana dating that Luthor boy."

Nell snickers softly. "You'd say that about anyone she was dating."

Busted. Taking another drink of coffee, Jonathan sighs and glances at the door. At the sharp sound of Lana's voice, however, he's on his feet before he knows it, pushing the door open.

"Jonathan!" Nell sounds more amused than anything, but Lana's smile fades, little frown lines crossing the smooth expanse of her forehead as she sees him come in over the shoulder of the boy in front of her, eyes going wide and worried. Jonathan focuses on the dark head bent toward her, before the tall boy turns around, green eyes meeting his.

There's a vague sense of vertigo--a strange rush in his ears, a feeling that he can't quite put his finger on as the boy studies him with a blank expression. Then, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, the boy grins, revealing even white teeth.

"Mr. Kent," he says, extending a hand. "We haven't met before. Clark Luthor."

"Clark." He takes a breath, staring at the young man before him. All unwitting, Martha's smile flashes across his mind before he can stop it. "It's nice to meet you, Clark. Lana's told us a lot about you." Every day, for that matter, since the kid started at her junior high. Clark this, Clark that, you'll like him, Jonathan, he's star quarterback for the Metropolis High School Tigers this year, and he's so sweet. He's the president of the student body and the Honor Society. He gets all A's and he could have gone anywhere but his mom wanted him to go to public school. Dear God, the kid's the scariest overachiever Jonathan's ever heard of. Making himself smile, Jonathan tries to wipe the image of Martha away. Somehow, she's in the sturdy handshake, the way the dark head tilts as Clark takes him in with unconcealed curiosity.

Jonathan wonders what his mother's told him.

"All good, I hope." Stepping back, Clark glances over Jonathan's shoulder with another smile. "Mrs. Kent. It's nice to see you again."

Nell smiles from the doorway, entering on silent feet, looking over Lana with maternal pride. "Spare us a few minutes for pictures, honey, before you go?" she asks, and Lana rolls her eyes, mouth tightening.

"All right, but our reservation's at seven, so it has to be fast. Clark got us into Le Fleur!" The awe in her voice is obvious, and Jonathan sees Clark duck his head with a flush. "He even got his dad to let us use the limo."

Behind her, Jonathan can see Chloe Sullivan grinning beside her date. "Just let Nell indulge herself, Lana."

"You and Clark by the stairs, honey?" Nell says, and true to her word, Nell makes it fast. Jonathan's dragged in at some point, Lana tucked against his chest for a round, and then the giggling four are off, leaving Jonathan to sigh a little as the last traces of the candy-pink skirt disappear into the limo.

"God, she's growing up fast."

"Yes," answered Nell softly, leaning into the doorway to watch the limo pull away. "She really is."

On the Night They Change Things (thirteen years later)

Clark shivers at the feeling of cool air brushing just beneath the loose tail of his shirt and grabs for a pillow, rolling onto his stomach and reaching vainly for the covers. Except--the covers aren't here, because--he's on top of them.

Because he came in and fell asleep on top of the blankets.

Oh damn. And so much energy would be required to get up and fix this. More than he wants to expend. The window's still open from when he came in--it'd been stuffy, Lex hasn't been home in far too long--but outside, Clark can hear the soft sounds of a cold front coming through. Early freeze this year, maybe.

Kind of stupid thing to do, come in here to sleep, but--it's his birthday. He deserves to treat himself. He hasn't seen his brother in four months, and he said he'd try to make it today, but midterms are coming up and Mom hadn't been sure he'd be able to get away.

So. He was damn well taking comfort in what he could have. Burrowing deeper, Clark breathes in the smell of cleanly laundered sheets and wishes he'd ignored Mom and Dad and just *run* to MIT.

The warmth of a hand just beneath his shirt brings him sharply upright.

"Lex?"

"Expecting someone else?"

Rolling over, Clark feels the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as Lex looks down at him. "You--I thought--" Wet wool over corporate casual, very Lex. All blacks and pale greys. Impossibly sexy, and Clark feels himself begin to tremble.

"Plane was late, luggage lost, and the weather sucks. But. I still have an hour before your birthday ends." Lex places a box between them. "Happy birthday, Clark."

Blinking, Clark looks down, then back up, trying to think of something to say. Lex stands up, stripping off the wet coat and throwing it over a chair. "Have a good birthday party?"

Clark licks his lips, watching the deliberate, graceful movements, mouth almost dry. "…great."

"Hmm?" Turning to look at him. His suit coat is wet, too. So is the shirt that Clark can see.

"Yeah. Mom and Dad gave me a car. Lana made me cookies." That makes Lex laugh. "I--we had a dinner party. Mom said you called and said you couldn't make it."

"I lied." Cheerful, even. Clark always thinks he remembers how much presence Lex has, but the memory has nothing on the reality of him. Lex, who belongs here and soon, wont' have to leave him again. Lex, who came-- "I wanted to surprise you."

Clark's surprised. And he's not cold anymore. "How long--"

"Through the weekend." He's unbuttoning his jacket, kicking off his shoes, and the maid will have a fit when she sees that. Clark finds himself sliding to the edge of the bed. "Storm's coming."

"Midterms?"

"I could pass them in my sleep." Lex cocks his head. "Aren't you going to open your present?"

Clark finds the floor with bare feet and crosses the few steps between them, and Lex doesn't move, even when Clark stops, so close Clark can smell the ozone from outside all over him. "Yeah. Right now."

Jacket first, silk beneath his hands when he pushes it away, and Lex stands perfectly still. His fingers catch awkwardly on the buttons of the shirt, and then Lex's hands cover his, freezing Clark in place. Looking up, Clark searches for something readable, but Lex isn't readable even at rest, not when he doesn't want to be.

"Lex." All his experience, all that practice, seems to mean nothing--he can't think, not this close, not when the only fantasy ever worth having is becoming reality. He can feel his hands begin to shake, almost pulls away, but Lex holds him with just a heated look. "Lex, I--"

"Undress for me."

It's a rush, a shock, relief. Yes. Finally. Lex--he's not pulling away, just stepping back, one step, then two, then his hand's turning the lock. Leaning back against the door with eyes dilated to a narrow blue band around hungry black.

Jesus.

"Lex." But he's already unbuttoning his shirt, careless, ripping things, but he doesn't care, throwing it aside and trying to catch his breath. Draw it out. Slower with the belt, arcing to the floor. "You--"

"Stop there."

Clark freezes, hands on the waist of his pants, and Lex pushes off the door, approaching slow and easy, looking him up and down as if he's never seen him before. Incredibly hot, he's never gotten this, not open like this, just flashes, but now, now--

Hard, cool hands on his face, and Lex kisses him. A real kiss, like the first time, warm and wet and soft and utterly familiar. Sweet. Reaching into him and drawing him out, making him reach and touch, sliding his hands beneath the silk to rest against smooth, bare skin.

And it's right, in some way Clark can't even wrap his mind around, just knows. Familiar hands tracing smoothing paths across his cheekbones, the same strong hands that held him when he was a kid and promised to protect him, the same body he's slept beside for most of his life. Tightening his grip, he pulls Lex against him, breathing out at the hard length pressed against his thigh, catching Lex's tongue between his teeth to suck on it, trying to get even closer.

So perfectly right, like no one else has ever been.

"How many?" Lex murmurs into his throat, hot breath tickling sensitive nerves, and Clark shudders as experienced hands skim his back, fingernails following, sharp and fast. God. God, yes.

"...what?"

Sharp teeth follow, biting down, and Lex can't mark him, but he doesn't need to. Clark's fingers are opening and closing helplessly on the cool silk of Lex's shirt, desperate for skin, contact.

"Since I left. After Stacey. How many?" Soft graze of teeth up his throat to his ear. "You never told me."

Tell Lex-- "I don't remember."

Lex chuckles softly, a bite sharp on the lobe of his ear, and Clark arches helplessly, gasping. "That many?"

"That forgettable."

Like Lex was comparable to them, to anyone. Clark arches up, hungry for more contact, starving, all this time and all this waiting, finally, God, finally over, and he's almost drunk with it. The fine shirt coming unbuttoned between his fingers, slipping off impossibly smooth skin, silky when he presses his lips to it. He can remember being a kid and going to sleep touching Lex, holding onto hand or arm or shirt, needing to ground himself in a way no one else let him.

"Lex," he murmurs, and a knee slips effortlessly between his legs, opening him up, and he spreads his thighs, pulling Lex between. Cock to cock through layers of stifling clothing, nothing better than this, nothing, not the hottest fuck he's ever had. He could come just from this.

And he just might, with Lex's hands on him, *touching* him, and Clark slides his hands up the smooth bare back and closes his eyes.

On the Evening Following His Graduation (fourteen years later)

Mr. And Mrs. Clark are profuse in their congratulations, Mrs. Clark pulling Lex into a hug that takes him by surprise, engulfing him in a cloud of musk and lavender. Martha's mother, unlike possibly anyone but Martha, ignores such trivialities like his age and brushes a lipstick-heavy kiss across his cheek before stepping back.

"Wonderful job, Alexander," she says, giving him that slightly fatuous look that always makes him smile. "Martha said that you really buckled down to finish your degree."

"Yes, ma'am." Across the room, Lex spots Clark studying the hors d'ouvres with an intense expression. He's always hungry. When the green gaze slides up--Clark always knows when Lex is watching him--Lex gives a little nod and Clark grabs a shrimp and comes over. Has he always been that tall? "Did Martha tell you Clark got elected Student Body president at his school for the second year running?"

Mrs. Clark beams as Clark joins them. "Martha was thrilled." The smile fades, replaced by worry, and one hand pats his shoulder in a fit of grandparently concern. "She also said that you've had a rough few months. I'm glad you're not letting it get you down."

Lex covers his smile with his champagne glass as Clark flushes attractively, looking at the floor. "It was hard to--well. Find out that stuff. At least Mom could keep her name out of the papers." Looking back up, Lex watches Clark's eyes fix on Mrs. Clark, mouth twisted into a carefully self-deprecating grin. "I should have known. I still--don't know how I missed it."

"You were her boyfriend, not her keeper." In a blink, Clark's the recipient of a huge hug, and Lex swallows sharply at the startled expression on Clark's face. He won't laugh. He just won't. "It's certainly not your fault, honey."

One of Dad's business partners wanders over with his wife, a prominent criminal lawyer, and Lex feels Clark's hand close over his shoulder as Clark excuses them from the group talking torte reform and some new Supreme Court decision.

Lionel's often complimented on his sons--both Clark and Lex aren't above careful surveillance of both their parents. It amuses Lex no end to hear Lionel accept the accolades of friends and colleagues-two extraordinary young men, one with his doctorate before his twenty-third birthday, the other graduating this year as valedictorian of his class, star basketball player, popular, brilliant, and social.

Completely breaking every stereotype of rich kids and bad seeds ever made.

The grip doesn't look tight, but Lex shoots Clark a look from under his lashes. Clark's tense. "What happened?"

"Someone's talking." Clark's voice drops as they approach the hors d'ouvres again, trying to make himself look busy choosing something, but Lex can see the tense line of his mouth. "When Lana was picked up the last time at that rave. Someone knows I was there with her."

"That's not possible." Phelan's paid very, very well to arrange things, and Lex had talked to him personally about this project. "Clark--who?"

"Someone said something to Jonathan. I'm not allowed to see her--Nell won't even take my phone calls anymore. They know something."

Lex snorts softly. "Lana probably said something, Clark. Her word won't be taken seriously by anyone else. God knows, she could barely remember what she *did*, much less who was there when she did it."

"Lana wouldn't." Clark raises his eyes, holding Lex's, and Lex can see the stark fear. "Someone talked to Jonathan and Nell and I need to find out who was there that wasn't ours."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Lex glances around. "Come on. They're all business now and won't notice if we disappear for a while." It's easy to slip out the servant's door, emerging into the kitchen, where the cook grins at Clark and hands over a pastry without being asked. Clark flashes her a grin so bright it seems to light up the kitchen.

In Lex's suite, Clark strips off the jacket, laying it carefully over a chair before sprawling no the bed and completely ruining the starch of his shirt, the lines of his pants. Very Clark. Removing his own, Lex hangs it carefully before finding the brandy and pouring them each a glass. Clark takes it without a word, drinking half down in a single swallow as Lex sits down. Very stressed. "Okay, start again. Tell me exactly what happened."

Clark frowns at the glass. "I--I called rehab to talk to her, since she's allowed visitors now. The second they got my name, they said no. So I went through a few channels and got in touch with the director, who said that I was specifically named, but wouldn't tell me anything else. No contact, nothing. He says he doesn't know why, but he was lying. I could tell over the phone."

"That's got to be Lana."

Clark snorts. "If I told Lana to jump off the Metropolis Plaza naked, she'd do it without even asking why." Another, smaller drink. "I know everyone who was there and all of them are mine. Phelan covered the arrest and Nixon covered the publicity, and hell if they'd do anything to piss you or Dad off, so it's got to be one of my friends and that scares me."

Lex takes a slow drink. "You have candidates?"

"Any and all at this point. I'm leaning toward Chloe Sullivan, though." Clark frowns. "I like her. I didn't want her involving herself in this."

Great, a LuthorCorp employee's daughter. Lex rubs the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "That will be difficult."

"She's--I like her." Clark looks up, eyes dark. "She's nice and she wasn't involved really. She wasn't even *there* that night, but she knew Lana was meeting me there. I took care of her. I mean--she doesn't *know* anything else, I made sure of that."

Lex nods slowly, running through various scenarios in his mind. None sound good. "Okay, so they might know something. So we just--speed things up a little. Before someone starts making the connections." Lex is endlessly surprised no one has yet. "I'll take care of little Miss Sullivan."

"They won't let me near Lana." Clark's mouth twists down unhappily. "I don't--I like Chloe."

Lex sighs a little. "Don't worry about her. Just going to have a little chat about loyalty. As for Lana, we'll find a way. Rehab fails fifty percent of the time." Reaching over, Lex brushes the tangle of dark hair from Clark's eyes, threading his fingers lightly through the soft strands. Clark's eyes close instantly, a little smile curling up one corner of his mouth. "I missed you."

Green eyes stare into Lex's, brilliant and hungry. "I missed you, too." A big hand anchors itself on the back of his neck, pulling him in, and Lex closes his eyes at the warm, wet insinuation of Clark's tongue. Clark pays attention to kissing, making it an art, entirely separate from sex, always has. Slow and soft or possessive and hard, whatever, whenever, Lex forgets everything else.

"You're not leaving me again." It's a statement of fact, and Lex smiles at the low, possessive quality of his voice. "I got--I talked to Mom. We can live at the penthouse. It's closer to MetU. We can--" Not hide, though they've rarely needed to take the trouble. People see what they want to see. What they expect to see.

Lex wonders how on earth Dad had been talked around, then shakes his head. If anyone could pull it off, Martha could. Grinning, he stares into the dark green eyes. "So. For Lana. What do you have in mind?"

Clark grins like a kid, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"The Kents will never see this coming...."

On the Worst Day of His Life (fifteen years later)

It's the third time they've searched, and Jonathan prays he's wrong, even as Nell turns from the dresser, staggering a little as she grabs for support.

Clutched in one hand is a bag of white powder and Jonathan feels something in his stomach drop.

"No."

He catches her as her legs give out, lowering her gently to the floor, disentangling the small plastic-wrapped parcel from her hand. Looking inside, he can't be sure what it is, but the tiny leather case that falls from Nell's other hand tells him the rest.

"Jesus," Nell whispers, arms crossing over her chest. Under his arm, she feels broken. "God, God, God, Jonathan. She--she's just a baby."

He's never felt so helpless, so powerless to protect her, and she cries in huge, gulping sobs, like the day her sister died. Cradling her close, he lets her bury her face in his chest and listens to her whisper. How they'd ignored all the signs, how they should have guessed Lana was having problems again, how her grades were a good indicator and why hadn't they noticed?

All the signs, Jonathan thinks numbly. They both knew them intimately. The temper tantrums and the running away and picking her up for being out after the city curfew a few days ago, but that'd been months ago and--and--. She had a counselor who said she was doing better, it had been *months*, ever since they'd changed her schools, gotten her away from that Luthor kid and his crowd.

Face darkening, Jonathan stares at the bag. Lana doesn't have the kind of money to buy stuff like this.

"Where is she tonight?" Jonathan asks sharply, and Nell lifts a tear streaked face to his, mouth shaking.

"Ch-Chloe's. To study. I called Gabe this afternoon and she was there. She--we're supposed to pick her up at seven." Shaking hands wipe the tears from her eyes, and Jonathan swallows hard, getting to his feet and pulling Nell up behind him.

"We'll go get her now and--" What? Talk to her? They'd done that, tried that, and it was rehab and counselors and watching her, always watching her. She hadn't been anywhere but Chloe's, and--

In the kitchen, Jonathan picks up the phone, calling the number from memory. It's five eternal rings before it picks up, and the voice that answers the phone is only vaguely familiar. "Sullivan residence."

"Becky?" Jonathan's only met Gabe's housekeeper a few times. " Where's Gabe?"

"Emergency at work, sir. Who is this?"

Jonathan reins in his temper with difficulty. They'd told Gabe--told him-- "Jonathan Kent. I need to speak to Lana."

The pause lasts too long, and Jonathan feels a hard twitch in his chest. "She isn't here, sir--"

"Where the hell *is* she? Let me talk to Chloe!" Jonathan can feel Nell coming up behind him, a shaking hand pressed to his shoulder, but he doesn't have the strength to turn around and look.

"Chloe hasn't been here since I arrived, Mr. Kent." Becky sounds unhappy. "I'm sorry--should I leave Mr. Sullivan a message--"

He's hung up before she's finished the sentence, already moving for the coat closet, Nell trailing behind him like a fragile ghost. Slamming the door open, he grabs the old, heavy wool and jerks it around himself with sharp movements.

"I'm going to go find her." He remembers the old places--the warehouse district, that illegal club on sixth that should have been shut down years ago and never was.

A knock at the door jerks him around, and behind him, he can hear Nell's sharp sound. He's moving before he knows what he's doing, pulling the door open with shaking hands.

Lana, leaning into the doorway, gives him a strangely sweet smile before collapsing into the floor.

She's stretched out in a room he doesn't recognize--a nice room, and one corner of the picture shows a tiny bit of the Metropolitan skyline, and a sliver of the moon. Stripped to her bra and underwear, there's a thin piece of latex wrapped around her upper arm that she's slowly untying, but her fingers are clumsy on the knots. The ultrafocus lets Jonathan see the fresh track marks on her inner arm, side by side with the ones that had almost healed. Giggling, she finally stops, kicking a heel weakly into the mattress.

Turning her head toward the camera, she smiles dreamily, glazed eyes pleading. "Help me?"

From behind the camera someone comes circling--long legs in jeans, the edge of a dark red shirt, before the figure's seated on the bed. The camera cuts off just above the shoulders, but Jonathan can guess who it is by the way Lana smiles. "Little out of it, aren't you, princess?" A flash of dark hair, long enough to just cover his features as the figure leans down, giving her a slow kiss, and Jonathan shudders as the knot's undone, the strip dropped to the floor.

It's just a movie, he tells himself, as the figure sits back up, and Jonathan watches Lana's eyes open slowly, a smile curving the blurred pink lips as she raises both arms languorously above her head, stretching with deliberate sensuality. "Missed you, Clark."

Yes, he knew it.

"I missed you, too. How's clean and sober been, anyway?" The boy's stroking her thigh idly, like he would a pet, and Lana giggles again.

"Sucks." Extending one hand, she slips her fingers through the boy's dark hair. "Boring. No one to play with. God. I wanted out--felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin." The full body shudder that punctuates the statement makes Jonathan ache, and then she giggles again. "Want more. Everything."

Nell's hand in his is freezing cold.

"Anything you want, baby." There's a vague sense of revulsion when Clark leans down, brushing a kiss across her forehead, before he turns toward the camera, flashing a grin that's almost mocking. "Bet I know someone else you've missed."

"Hmm?" She rolls her head again, blinking as if to focus her eyes. Thin circles of black eyeliner are smearing down, making her seem hollow-eyed, underfed. "Who--Alexander?"

"Lex," Clark corrects, eyes fixed somewhere to the left of the camera, smile widening. "Say hi, Lana."

"I thought--" Frowning, she blinks again. Tailored black pants enter the frame, and Jonathan feels Nell's hand clamp down on his arm like a vise as Alexander Luthor settles on the bed just above Lana's head, obviously careful to keep her completely exposed to the camera. "Weren't you--gone?"

"Clark wanted me to come home." The voice is low and oddly soft. A slim, pale hand pushes the hair away from Lana's forehead. "Pretty." He lifts his head, fixing Clark with a look that Jonathan can't interpret.

"You know we share everything," Clark murmurs, bending down, and Jonathan watches Clark draw a line with his tongue from just below her bra to her stomach. Lana arches, grabbing for Alexander's hands, squeezing until her nails cut into his skin. "That's my girl." Big hands slide to her waist, holding her down as he knees her thighs apart, bending down for a kiss. Alexander's fingers slide into Clark's hair briefly, and Jonathan watches Clark look up with a grin, leaning into the touch.

"I'll kill them," Jonathan hears himself whisper. Beside him, Nell is shaking. "I'll kill them both."

"I can't watch this," Nell whispers, but she doesn't move. "Jonathan--"

Clark slides back, sitting back on his heels, one hand stroking across her bare stomach. "What do you want, Lana?"

She stares up at him with wide, drugged eyes. "Everything. More." Leaning her head back, she looks up at Alexander, nakedly eager to please. "I missed you."

"Show me how much, princess."

Things--blur. Jonathan hears Nell stumble to her feet, darting for the bathroom, but Jonathan finds his body curiously numb, nothing responding except his eyes, that follow as Lana prostitutes herself on the bed for the two boys. This couldn't be his Lana, the little girl he watched grow up, unbuttoning Alexander Luthor's pants with feverishly fast fingers, staring up at him with wide, desperate eyes when she sucks him. Fucking him like a professional whore, thighs spread wide across his, all for a hit. Clark watches them, grinning at the camera every so often as if he couldn't imagine anything more fun. Lana, making debased, helpless noises, and Clark shifting behind her, expertly unfastening her bra to slide his hands over her breasts, mouth on her throat. Lifting his head, his eyes catch Alexander's before he leans forward, big hand wrapped around the slim, bare line of his head, pulling him into a slow deep kiss.

"Good girl," Clark breathes, pulling back, licking his lips, smile widening as he holds his brother's eyes. "Such a good girl, isn't she, Lex? You make us so hot. Say hi to your parents, baby? Right over there?" Big fingers twist in her hair, turning her toward the camera. The puffy red smear of her lips makes Jonathan sick.

"They're not--my parents." She shudders suddenly. "God, please, let me--"

"Say hi to your family, baby. Just for me."

"Hi--Jonathan, Nell." The blurred pink lips part again, but she's coming with a strangled moan, and Jonathan finds he can close his eyes, nausea rising hot and sweet in the back of his throat.

The television's blocked by Nell's body. She turns around, staring at him with wide, dark, shell-shocked eyes. Upstairs, Lana's unconscious, probably barely *remembers* this, and his hands shake as he remembers half-carrying her inside, stinking of God knows what, the video falling onto the floor at his feet as Nell fluttered around them both.

"Please, Clark, give me some, please, please, please…."

"I'm going to kill them," Jonathan says calmly, and he's sure he means it, sure of it. "Both of them."

Endings

Oddly, security simply stops him, stripping him of the gun as if they'd been expecting it all along. Luthors, Jonathan thought numbly, they knew. They're ready.

In a strange sort of daze, he's led through what seems like an endless number of rooms until he finds himself in some strangely normal living room. Clark's the first person he sees, stretched out on the couch, dark head in his brother's lap.

He looks asleep, but the green eyes open with vivid attention as the door closes behind Jonathan.

"Jonathan."

Her voice cuts through him, turning his gaze to the woman pouring brandy into fine crystal glasses.

It's fifteen years ago and he's going to sleep, feeling her tense beside him, and twelve years ago, on a sidewalk in Metropolis. The lightest silver cuts soft lines at her temples, but elegant, like she'd always been, on a university campus, a Smallville farm, a Metropolis charity dinner. She takes the few steps that separate them, extending the glass.

He finds himself taking it.

"They told me tonight," Martha says, and Jonathan watches her turn to look at them the boys narrowed eyes. Neither look terribly abashed, Alexander watching Jonathan with a kind of cool speculation that makes Jonathan want to ram his head in with the vase posed on the table beside him.

"They--"

"But perhaps you'd like to know why?" Turning away, she crosses to a chair, dropping gracefully into the cool black leather. "I--wasn't aware of the reason my son has been spending so much time on this--project."

"Project?" The rage is back, and he catches himself taking the steps separating him from both boys. Clark's mouth turns up in a slow smile. "You--you fucking--"

He doesn't know what he would have done--he doesn't have a gun and God knows, both boys are younger and stronger, but his fists are moving and hit--something solid. Something that closes over his knuckles, squeezing down hard enough to make Jonathan shudder, the sound of something cracking, and when he looks up, Clark's looking back at him with the same smile he'd used watching Alexander fuck Lana.

*Lana*--

"I'm going to kill you," Jonathan whispers, and the hand tightens again, and something *does* crack, but he doesn't care. How the fuck had this kid gotten so strong? Clark looks away, and Jonathan sees him shape words directed at Martha, before he effortlessly pushes back and Jonathan finds himself on the floor.

Like it's *nothing* to push a grown man that easily.

"What the fuck--"

"Why's important." Martha's voice is low. "I wouldn't have chosen this way, but--" She stops, and Jonathan watches in shock as she shrugs.

"What happened to you?" This can't be Martha, not the sweet girl he'd married, the woman he'd once thought he'd spend the rest of his life with, right up until the divorce papers, arranged by her father, that severed their marriage for good. "You--"

"Alexander's only supporting his brother," Martha says, glancing over at the couch. Clark sits down on the arm, leaning back, arms crossed over his chest. "I suppose I have to make allowances for that." Shaking her head, she stands up, walking over to the couch, picking up a faded blanket that he hadn't noticed before, shaking it out. "Recognize this, Jonathan?"

No. Blinking, he takes in the once dark red weave, the threadbare patches that he can almost see through. Head tilted, Martha carefully lays it on the arm of the couch. "I bought that when we were married.

Blinking, he looks at the blanket, trying to understand.

"He's not going to get it," Clark says, his voice bored. "I'll bet he forgot all about it."

"All about what?" There's too much going on, and Martha looks at the blanket for a second, then at him.

"I took it the day I left. I didn't take my clothes, my keys, or my wallet, but I took that. I told you--"

"That you were going out. That you wanted to see what we'd done. That--" Jonathan stops, taking a slow breath.

"That I needed to *know*." Martha looks down at the blanket, and Jonathan can't read her face at all. "I went into Riley's field with a shovel and dug up the grave, because he was just a baby. I--I don't know what I was thinking, Jonathan. I still don't. But--I got halfway down and the earth moved. And this little hand grabbed for mine and--"

Something's breaking in Jonathan.

"--I wrapped him in that blanket and brought him to Metropolis." Her hand strokes over the blanket. "He kept it on his bed every night since, but he let me borrow it tonight."

"Where--" He knows he should know this, but he can't quite look away. The alien's alive and here somewhere, Martha *found* it and it survived being shot and buried and she--

"I don't mind, Mom." The amused voice flows over Jonathan like water. Slowly, he turns his head, and very green eyes meet his--green eyes that flick into place, on a ship, in a field, surrounded by dying corn and the smell of burning metal and ozone and hot rock. "Hi, Jonathan. It's been a long time."

Clark. Jonathan flashes through every time he's seen Clark over the years, now retrospected, now seeing it when he didn't before.

"It was alive." He'd seen the blood, the shattered skull, brain fluid leaking onto Jonathan clothes when they buried him. The light weight of him, looking so human that Jonathan's stomach had turned over with the first shovel of dirt. "It--survived."

"Almost didn't," Clark says lightly, but Jonathan can see the way the green eyes darken. Alexander turns to look at him, one hand resting lightly on his thigh, and Clark looks down for a minute, holding the look before his gaze slips back up. "I can survive a lot of things now, but surprisingly, breathing solid dirt isn't one of them. At least, not then."

He feels himself begin to shake.

"All these years--you were alive. Here."

"Growing up," Clark says softly, and Jonathan shudders at the cool edge in his voice. "I couldn't remember being shot, but I remember waking up and not being able to breathe. I--wasn't strong enough then to get out. And Mom came and got me out. I couldn't even speak English, but she said she was my mother and I wouldn't ever be afraid again. I remember that."

Pieces are clickinginto place one at a time.

"Lana was revenge?"

"Mostly." Clark grins wide and pleased, and Jonathan watches as he laces his fingers through Alexander's, glancing over at Martha. "I thought--since Mom has some sentimental value attached--that this one should be mine."

"This one?" Ethan. The Ross Brothers. Dick. All those years and those people.

"You--"

And him. And Nell.

"Now you see," Clark says softly. "Two in one. Mom was sort of sentimentally attached to you, so I figured I'd make it easier on her and do it myself." The moment seems to freeze, and Jonathan sees the dead child in the grave, Martha's face when he came home, the divorce papers only weeks later. The boy in his house, watching them with cool eyes, and his daughter in their home, Nell sitting by her bed.

"You can leave now," Martha says, and Jonathan watches numbly as she walks to the door. Luthor security is waiting, and there's a second where Jonathan has a wild thought of leaping for them, grabbing the gun, but that--it--that kid....

"Just go home, Jonathan." Martha glances at her sons. "I think it's over." Clark's smirk makes it almost a lie, but Martha's eyebrows raise in warning. "I don't think I need to tell you not to try anything like this again. A gun won't help you." She pauses, an almost-smile curving up her mouth. "Clark, as you can see, can take care of himself."

Security lets him walk out, gun handed back like it's nothing, and he supposes it's not, not in this house. Glancing back, he sees Martha close the door with a single glance back, promise and warning both, before the door shuts between them.

the end