Fade

Title: Fade
Pairing(s): Clex.
Spoilers: up to Season 5 'Fade'
Category: episode-related, drama, romance
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A re-write of 'Fade.' Clark tries to reassure a doubting Lex about their relationship while his friends berate him for his secrecy. Meanwhile, Martha confronts Lionel about what he knows and the gratitude of a dark, rich stranger Clark saves from an oncoming van turns destructive.

Smallville had been a benefit to Lex in many ways—it had broken his downward spiral of childish rebellion and forced him into an astute, hardworking businessman; had given him new appreciation of the country and the joys of clean air; had even, indirectly, given Lex his current foothold in the company since the town, or rather one of its more prominent inhabitants, had, in part at least, been responsible for his father's coma which allowed Lex to step in and take control of LuthorCorp.

One of the more interesting and unexpected side effects of moving to the area, though, was the way Lex had, through constant chances at practice, developed the ability to spring instantly out of unconsciousness.

After the first dozen kidnappings, Lex soon realised re-gaining your wits as soon as possible after a black out was going to be key to his survival in the town and now he'd developed it to such a fine art he could often recall all previous events leading to incapacitation even before opening his eyes. If drugs were involved it might take a little longer, but that notwithstanding, Lex was privately, immensely proud of this accomplishment.

Until this morning.

This morning, as he drowsily shifted over unfamiliar sheets, his new skill kicked in with full force and he didn't even have the luxury of that moment of dreamy happiness which so often accompanied the morning afters of his youth, before he was remembering everything about yesterday in glorious technicolour—Martha and his father's kidnapping; Clark coming clean about Lex and his secret; his father and Mr. Kent's painful accusations; the Fortress; Clark; Clark naked; the implausible Grecian setting; the sex; oh god, the sex...

Lex opened his eyes gingerly and met a shining, but thankfully not blindingly so, white ceiling. Moving his gaze down brought two Greek pillars into view at the end of a burgundy coloured bed. Yup, all true then, he thought dully. Not that he'd really had any doubt. Or hope.

If he'd felt anything outside of breathtaking anxiety just then, his curiosity might have piqued—because the awkwardness of sleeping with a friend was something he'd known only in theory up till now; his usual partners being either previous strangers, or people he was actively pursuing. Never before had he woken up to the thought that a night of good sex might actually have been detrimental to a relationship.

Oh sure, Clark might have seemed willing enough yesterday, but Lex had faced too many looks of abject horror in the morning from men who'd cited love and begged for more during the night to trust any claims preceding sex. And besides, Clark had hardly been on top of his emotions any more than himself last night—his mom had just been kidnapped, one of the most devilish men in history revealed as knowing his deepest secret, and his parents had no doubt condemned him properly for confiding in a Luthor. Clark had clearly been seeking comfort as much as Lex had, and Lex had foolishly paved the way for more with that stupid kiss during Simone's hypnosis those few weeks ago. Events had spiralled out of control, but now the helter-skelter of emotions was over, and there was more than enough room for regret.

Clark's heartfelt voice floated temptingly through Lex's mind for a moment :: I realised who I wanted to be with. And it's not Lana, Lex. It's you :: but Lex shook it away sadly. No, as touching as Clark's protestations were, they were no guarantee he'd be okay with things this morning. Lex had always known that, and the fear that had pushed him away from the other man in those last few moments only seemed stronger in the light of day. Or at least, in what Lex assumed would be the light of day outside, considering the good night's sleep his relaxed body was insisting he'd had.

The best thing to do now, Lex theorised, was tread very carefully, try very hard to avoid his conventionally jittery friend's embarrassment and distance the two of them from last night as soon as possible. With a bit of luck, that would bring things back to how they were before. Plus, he'd have one amazing night to hold on to from now on. Yes, that was it, stick to the positives. He could fix this. He could.

Heartened by the plan, Lex moved his head to assess his situation better and made a few unexpected discoveries. Firstly, he was on his back, which he clearly hadn't been when drifting off to sleep last night—that was the lesser item of note. Secondly, the silky red covers he'd been on top of before had now been pulled over him—a pleasant revelation considering the fires in the pillars and fireplace were out now and the room was quite chilly.

This gave Lex pause for a moment since he knew he hadn't moved the material, which meant it must have been Clark who'd made the change. Considering the Kryptonian's imperviousness to all temperatures it certainly couldn't have been out of personal need, and the idea of Clark going out of his way to see to Lex's comfort like that, without even being asked, without it being expected, filled the older man with a warm, pleasant gratitude that was distinctly unhelpful for the maintenance of his 'distancing from the situation' plan.

It was the third and final discovery, though, made technically in unison with the second, that proved the most surprising—because as Lex looked down to the covers warming his legs, he realised they were pulled up not just over him but also over Clark's broad back and shoulders. His position on the older man's chest was so comfortable, fitted so easily, Lex hadn't even registered it. Clark just seemed to belong there. Part of him. Neither did Lex notice, without further concentration, the left arm he'd wrapped possessively around the younger man's shoulders.

Clark's head was pillowed neatly beneath Lex's collarbone, right arm tucked by his side, while his left spread leisurely over the other man's skin. His deep, regular breaths were a pleasing warmth and Lex felt he could have easily relaxed in the hold. If Clark's legs weren't unintentionally straddling his left thigh. Making the other man's current erection a particularly obvious pressure against the older man's hip.

While in many ways it was nice, and curious, to know that Kryptonian males, despite their superior physicality, suffered from the same early morning problem as most human men, Lex felt in no position to appreciate the fact just then. Especially not when his own cock, already hard itself as was its usual morning wont, began to ache with excitement at this latest development.

Lex did his best to ignore the sudden, inner desire to wake Clark up and set about repeating the events of last night, and then some, and tried instead to think about his position logically. Past reactions taught him that if there was anything worse for a confused man than waking up to find another man beside you, it was waking up with another man beneath you. Based on this premise, Lex suspected Clark would not be especially happy to wake up and find himself turned on above his equally aroused, male friend, so what he needed to do first was extract himself from Clark before the other man woke up.

Lex raised his right hand from the bedcover ineffectively for a moment as he realised the improbability of the task. But he was Lex Luthor and didn't let the odds intimidate him. So, after taking a deep, determined breath, he carefully lifted his left hand from Clark's shoulder.

This instantly proved a wrong move as Clark shuffled unhappily above him, rubbing his cock against Lex in a highly distracting manner. Despite that, it was the younger man's expression Lex found more affecting and he watched, fascinated, as Clark's once peaceful face scrunched up in a sorrowful pout.

Clark made a few weak, distressed noises for a moment then nuzzled further along Lex's chest, stretching out his left arm until his hand found the older man's side. Strong fingers curled against Lex's ribcage, careful and restrained even in sleep, and Clark clung to him tightly, face relaxing to its previous calm.

It was such a beautifully innocent, affectionate gesture, and Clark had looked quite frankly adorable while making it, Lex couldn't help the soft smile crossing his face.

Clark, it seemed, didn't want to let go. The fact revealed a truth Lex had been desperately trying to bury since waking - because acknowledging it would only make the potential fall-out later harder to deal with.

The truth was—Lex didn't want to let go either. Of Clark now; of the intimacy they'd shared last night; of the hope of a future together he'd seen in his dreams. Lex wanted to hold on to all of it, wanted to believe he'd woken up to a lover this morning and not just a friend.

Tentatively, Lex placed his hand back on Clark's shoulder. Five more minutes, he thought, closing his eyes again with a soft swallow, just five more minutes of this. Then I'll start planning for the worst again.

Five minutes, though, turned out to be just the thing Lex didn't have, as less than thirty seconds later a shrill beeping erupted from somewhere to the right of the bed. Lex snapped his eyes open again, expression part way between irritation and panic. Nothing looked untoward—which meant discovery and elimination of the noise would be impossible without further investigation, which meant waking Clark, which rather defeated the need to stop the sound anyway. The beeping persisted and Lex sighed, preparing himself as best he could for the inevitable.

The inevitable turned out to be rather less unpleasant than expected when Clark turned his head into the other man's chest with a heavy, lazy moan that vibrated through Lex agreeably. The hand on Lex's side then moved away and started feeling along the bedcover in what seemed to be a methodical, practiced gesture. Apparently Clark knew this alarm.

Lex wondered vaguely if the Kryptonian was about to activate, or perhaps de-active, another alien device like the one in the wall last night, but Clark's fingers only grabbed repeatedly at thin air, seeming to fail in their search. Clark finally raised his head with an irritable 'tut,' eyes fluttering open as he looked to where his hand was reaching.

Clark's return to consciousness proved decidedly slower than Lex's and there was at least half a minute of confused blinking before his green eyes sparked with recognition at the red fabric and stone pillar before him. Physical sensations came after, his arousal and the feel Lex's body amongst them, and he whipped his head round, arm still held awkwardly above the bedcover.

Initial excitement faded to a flush of embarrassment as Clark met Lex's already wide-awake and notably guarded gaze.

Waking up with Lana had been simple—she was easily satisfied and a smile had more than sufficed—but the bright, calculating flash in Lex's eyes now projected an air of expectancy and it seemed to Clark his actions from this point on were incredibly important. If he got them right everything would be fine. If not, everything he wanted might just be lost forever. Problematic, to be certain. But then, Lex had always been a challenge, that was part of the excitement.

Unfortunately, having Lex's warm, smooth skin pressing against him as it was, not to mention the waves of happiness said pressure was sending through his cock, made thinking especially difficult just then and all Clark could manage was a small smile.

This seemed to be enough to get him past the first hurdle at least because Lex smiled back, if a little tightly.

"Morning," he stated, voice still thick with sleep despite his physical alertness and Clark's smile widened at the sound—new and beautiful to him.

"Hi," he breathed back, embarrassment warming to delight.

Their glance became a lingering stare and for a while Clark forgot to be uncomfortable. Then the continuing beeping jumped up an octave and the change made Clark aware of an unpleasant sensation running up his arm in complaint of it being held so awkwardly for so long. It wasn't an ache exactly, Clark never ached, but every so often, if he was especially tired, or recovering from kryptonite exposure, he'd feel something rather like what he'd found pins and needles to be during the few times he'd been human. He rolled back and rubbed a palm along his elbow.

"Can't you turn that off?" he muttered to Lex.

The older man blinked. He'd been watching Clark tensely, still expecting a horrified rejection, and the absence of one was, paradoxically, making Lex wearier. As if he thought Clark was storing his repulsion up to release in one massive blow. Being suddenly, casually, addressed took him off guard. Especially when the topic of discussion was something Lex didn't think he had any control over.

"Clark, we're in a room that only came into existence when you touched a panel in a wall. I don't even know how to get out of it safely," he replied, somewhat defensive. "I'm not planning to try my luck at de-activating an alien alarm. Who knows what might happen."

Surprisingly, Clark relaxed into laughter at that, green eyes awash with easy amusement. Then he was leaning across Lex's stomach to grab at something on the floor.

Clark's reaching happened to bring their cocks together for a moment, and Lex bit back a moan. The Kryptonian spent a ridiculously long time in that position, searching the ground, and Lex was just beginning to suspect, with a sense of hopeful wonder, that the pause might be deliberate when Clark pulled up again, a mass of creamy fabric in his hands. The material turned out to be Clark's pants, and Clark pulled something from a pocket as he sat back on his haunches. Lex thought he saw the younger man sigh briefly as their cocks parted, but he might have imagined it.

Discarding the pants to the floor again, Clark waved the object he'd just acquired in front of himself with a grin. It was a cell phone. And it was beeping.

"Very alien, Lex," he mocked, finally ending the alarm by flipping the cell open and dramatically pressing a button.

Lex's brow furrowed in the newfound silence and he opened his mouth to question... well, everything really. Because Clark was joking and mocking and laughing, like he always did. Only they were in bed and naked and they'd had sex last night and, well, that was meant to change something, wasn't it? Even if Clark wasn't repulsed, or embarrassed, or regretful he should at least be nervous, anxious, in someway uncomfortable, surely? This was the same Clark Kent who'd been shifty and awkward talking to Lex about planned dates and innocent handholding, and now he was naked with a man, who was Lex and seemed, happy? at ease?

Either Lex was in bizarro world, or he'd just unearthed the fucking Holy Grail.

"Besides," Clark continued, distracted by the cell into forgetting his recent concerns. "You don't need to worry about leaving here. You can get out anytime you want, just press the other panel in the wall. We were touching when I activated it last night so it'll accept your DNA now as well."

He turned to slip the phone out of the way on the other side of the bed, calmly sliding his legs back under the covers, as if he hadn't just explained something implausible, and Lex pulled himself up to rest against the velvet covered headboard behind them. The bedcover slid down to his waist, only just covering his still hard cock, but Lex unusually didn't care about that now. Familiar curiosity and easy relaxation was starting to mask his own worry too and a real interest sparked in his eyes as Clark turned round again.

The younger man looked intrigued himself and turned his head in surprise.

"I have no idea how I know that," he admitted with a shrug.

"Really?" Lex queried.

Clark nodded seriously and for a second the moment felt just like any other conversation about alien related occurrences—like the ones they had often now in the mansion, or 33.1—and Lex almost forgot he was naked. And hard. And naked.

"That's been happening here a lot recently, me knowing stuff about this place..." the Kryptonian continued, thoughtful. "Like, I'll walk into a section and know it's supposed to be a dining room or something, without even having to think about it. It's like the Fortress is becoming part of me."

"Or you're becoming part of it..." Lex muttered distantly.

Clark moved his head a little to catch the other man's gaze and Lex saw a few strains of the nervousness he'd been expecting enter Clark's wide eyes—nervousness that bizarrely had nothing to do with their current situation.

"Is that good? Or just weird?" Clark asked, expression earnest, and suddenly this was just like any other conversation about an alien related occurrence, and more than that, it didn't seem odd to Lex at all. Clark had been a friend to him when no one else had, he'd chosen that friendship even after Lex ran him over, so maybe maintaining that friendship, in bed, after sex, wasn't such an unlikely thing for Clark to do after all.

"It's neither," Lex smiled, falling warmly into discussion now. "It's just fascinating... Is that how you found this room?"

Clark nodded, eyes softer now because of the older man's assurance.

"It was back when I'd just spilt with Lana," he explained, a little sheepish. "You know I spent a lot of time here in then and, well, anyway... One night it got later than I'd realised. I was tired, but I didn't want to go home and face more disappointed glances from my parents, so I ended up outside the wall. When I touched the panel—hey presto, bedroom. Kinda cool I guess."

"Kind of?" Lex repeated, shocked. Clark's humility when it came to his powers never ceased to amaze him. He shook his head in mild disbelief. "It's incredibly cool," he deadpanned, eyes sharpening with remembrance. "But didn't you say something last night about it being different before?"

"Oh, yeah," Clark nodded, voice lighting with similar recollection. "When I first came here, the bed was wooden, mahogany, and it was single. Plus the covers weren't silky like this..."

He ran a hand over the material at his waist in demonstration, reminding himself as well as Lex about their current positions. A small cough and smile acknowledged this, then Clark was continuing. There'd be time to dwell on all that later, right now they were talking. Not talking could happen later. Hopefully for longer.

"They were, ah, cotton with..." he paused again for a second, this time with a blush—a small, endearing one though, Lex noted gratefully, not a mortified one. "With footballs on," he finished eventually. "Like a set I used to have as a kid... The fireplace was the same though."

He gave Lex a lopsided smile, which the older man allowed himself the indulgence of grinning back at before letting his scientific tendencies take over and pull his gaze around the room. His eyes lingered over the pillars and he soon realised they weren't simply a design he recognised, as he'd thought last night, but a set of actual pillars he'd seen before—in Athens on a rare family holiday. On his mother's insistence, they'd stopped before the ancient structures to have lunch—Lex could even make out the chip one of them had had, level with what was then his height.

"It must be some kind of psychic projection..." he murmured, awed at the thought that he must have been at least partly responsible for the alien room's current interior.

It made sense, of course, because Clark always had seemed a bit like something from Greek myth to Lex and what better Grecian backdrop for his mind to come up with than one connected to happy past memories? The four-poster with burgundy sheets though... well, perhaps he and Clark both had something to do with that.

Lex turned to the pillar directly on his right in wonder and ran a hand down it. Cool, rough stone met his touch.

"It's so real though. Too real to be a hologram surely, but... solid matter can't just re-shape itself whenever. At least, not on Earth."

He turned back to Clark again, vaguely inquiring, only to find the other man beaming at him, eyes deep and dark. Lex wasn't sure what the look signified, but knew it certainly wasn't an interest in alien technology.

"What?" he asked, with a frankness that surprised himself.

Bed was usually a place for games, not honesty—wasn't sex itself really nothing but a set of elaborate games after all? But coupled with the poetic truths he'd been spouting last night, and Clark's sexual confession, this was shaping up to one of the most honest encounters Lex had ever had. Not that that was frightening, of course. No. Just a little... different.

"Nothing," Clark replied lightly. "You... you're all..." Really here. With me. In bed. And still you—talking about science and everything. Like nothing's changed, except everything. A waving hand tried in vain to convey these paradoxical thoughts. In the end, Clark opted to stick with something less abstract. "You look great in the morning."

Clark's eyes wondered all over Lex, unashamedly—a striking role reversal of what the older man had so frequently done to him over the past five years—and while Lex wasn't the blushing kind, his surprise at the passion behind Clark's attention felt more than strong enough to make him start.

"You've seen me in the morning before," he muttered back, assuring himself the warmth flooding his cheeks was the result of a fault in the room's air conditioning, nothing more.

"Yeah," Clark agreed brightly, shifting along 'till their waists were touching. "But not like this."

A rush of heat shot through Lex at their touch, accompanied by a tangle of emotions so knotted Lex couldn't separate the friendship from the love or even the lust. Everything was mixed up and confused and disordered, and it was scary, the lack of control that presented. But Clark was beside him—waiting, ready. Clark—who'd pulled him out of the chaos of water and darkness that day by the river; who'd saved him from death time and time again. So, maybe, he thought, it'd be safe to be just a little out of control with Clark.

Besides, Lex's brain was just catching up with the other part of his friend's explanation—the part about Lana—and he realised not only was he responsible for the décor of the room, he was the first human to have ever been here. The first Clark had ever brought here for... because not even Lana had... and that was quite frankly a hell of a turn on.

"So you were never here with Lana?" Lex queried, lack of higher brain function turning thought to immediate speech. Clark blinked.

"No, I..." he started, drifting into a more familiar Clark Kent like silence. "Actually, Lana and I never really... I mean, there was just one time, in the barn, but I was human and..."

He trailed off with a shrug. It was odd, but confessing his impromptu time as a rent boy last night seemed a lot less embarrassing than this. Lex tilted his head.

"Just one time?" he repeated, oddly taken, because while Clark was clearly no virgin the thought of him denying his erstwhile soul mate made him strangely fresh, like regular sex with Lana somehow claimed the boy in a way not even prostitution could. Clark looked down.

"I... I was scared I'd hurt her," he admitted quietly. "She's so fragile, I didn't want her to break."

Clark bit his lip, suddenly aware of the total lack of fear on this issue he'd had with Lex last night. How could he have overlooked something so important?

Lex nodded beside him in quiet understanding—although physical fears had never been a problem for him, he knew well enough what it was like to consider someone untouchable. Lex was vaguely proud to note the other man's obvious concern about this clearly hadn't been a problem with him, until now.

"You can hurt me," he stated, a perfect summary of Clark's fear that forced the younger man's head up again. Lex met the fretful gaze calmly, emboldened now. "I don't care."

Clark opened his mouth to protest, apologise, but a shift to navy in Lex's eyes made him stop.

It was a change he'd often seen, but never understood, never appreciated, and it accompanied a rise in temperature in the soft skin at his side. Lex wasn't saying he'd suffer the pain. He was saying he'd like it.

Clark's mouth flicked up at the corner, a flood of excitement washing through him as new, unexplored possibilities crossed his mind—flesh gripped tight in his fingers, pale skin between his teeth, bruised and marked. And Lex would take that, wouldn't he? Lex could handle it. He'd be firm and strong and fighting even. God! There'd be no need to hold back, he could take everything. Take and be taken.

The younger man fell deeper in the newly familiar gaze of his friend and felt his heart drum erratically. So often Lex had watched him like this and been denied, but this time Clark understood, this time Clark felt the same raw want inside himself and he definitely didn't plan to ignore it. He tilted his head for the expected kiss, fingertips already tingling at the thought of future caresses. This time, he could give Lex what he wanted, what they both wanted. This time he'd get it right. This time... time... time!

Clark pulled back abruptly just as Lex moved forward, lips forming the perfect 'o' of shock the older man had expected to see nearly ten minutes ago. Lex started at it now, too far passed his usual defences to properly shield his look of disappointment.

"God, Lex, what's the time?"

Lex blinked a little, attempted to reel in the emotions he'd just been on the verge of surrendering to, failed, then looked automatically for his watch. He didn't have it. Must have ripped it off with my gloves.

"I... don't you have a watch?" he muttered, a little irritably—anger was such an easy cover for so many things.

Clark missed the tone as he hurriedly turned to search his own wrists. Being an inexperienced lover, his watch was still attached and his eyes widened at the display.

"Lex, I've got to go," he stated bluntly, too overcome with the usual sense of panic accompanying imminent lateness to think of softening the comment.

Lex was still for moment. Then he licked and pursed his lips—an outward sigh of inner berating. Delayed reaction. I should have expected... the implied masochism probably didn't help either.

"Of course you..." he began; only to pause as a quick breeze left an empty space where Clark had once been. Lex whipped his head round, expecting to find Clark's clothes equally absent, but found the younger man in the process of pulling his pants on instead. He seemed to be struggling. "Do." Lex finished dryly.

"It's Chloe," Clark called over his shoulder as he turned to zip up his fly over his still straining erection. It was bad enough he had to leave without satisfying it, or Lex's, but he didn't want the older man to think even worse of him by looking like an uncontrolled horny teenager.

Behind his back, Lex looked decidedly unimpressed by Clark's cited explanation.

"She's got this, thing... at a courthouse," the younger man continued as he moved to pick up his shirt, walking with a hard on making thinking and talking especially difficult. "A trial..." Clark slipped the shirt on quickly, glad to see it was long enough to cover quite a lot, and turned with a vague expression of pride at finding the right word despite practically overpowering distractions. "It's a journalist thing," he persisted, entirely oblivious to how unconvincing his story was sounding. "I promised ages ago I'd go with her, that's what the alarm was for. Only, stupid, it was the wrong alarm cos I forgot to re-set it. I mean, we were kinda busy last night and... I can't not go. I've been spending a lot less time with her lately as it is, and I did promise."

Lex nodded slowly.

"I get it," he said. "You should go."

Clark's faced creased at the other man's sudden cool.

"Lex, I..." I love you. I want you. He shook his head. There just wasn't time to say it all properly! "I'll see you later?"

"Very likely," Lex nodded back calmly.

Clark gave a small, familiarly pained, smile.

"I'm sorry," he muttered before vanishing completely.

Lex stared blankly into the empty room for a moment, the image of Clark's face burnt into him—regretful and, finally, mortified. He sighed. Of course the friendly banter had come easily—it was because Clark was a friend and he was good at being one. Lex needn't have worried about sex changing that. He'd just been a fool to believe in anything else.

It's better this way, he assured himself as he fell back against the headboard, hands covering his face. Romance with Clark could only end badly...

And if he thought it for long enough maybe it would block out the fact he was still hard, and wanting, and alone.

The five minute buzz round the artic to dispel his arousal, coupled with the zip back home to change into a less soiled and more comfortable outfit of blue Tee, red jacket and jeans, put a further ten minute lateness on Clark's meeting with Chloe, so he was entirely unsurprised to find her tapping her foot impatiently outside the Daily Planet.

Her arms were crossed tightly over her brown and cream checked fabric overcoat and the expression beneath her partly tied back blonde hair was stormy. Clark paused a few feet away and approached her with caution.

"Hey, Chloe," he smiled, faltering when she whipped a pair of clouded and accusing blue eyes his way. "I'm really sorry I'm late, I was... I had to..."

"Oh your lack of punctuality is the last thing you should be worrying about right now, mister," she stated ominously, beginning a brisk walk in the direction of the courthouse. "Come on, let's get going. You can try and explain to me about you and Lex on the way."

Clark started at the comment, mind still on the bed at the Fortress, and his face creased with panic as he hurried after his fast moving friend.

"What?" he queried sharply.

"Oh, don't even try, Clark," Chloe shot back. "I know all about your secret partnership."

"You do?" Clark muttered, openly fretting now. "How?"

"Your parents called," Chloe stated over her shoulder. Clark stopped dead.

"My parents know?" he called, voice high pitched and desperate. Chloe's marching halted and she turned to him in confusion.

"It was probably your confession last night that tipped them off," she explained. "Or is telling the truth so traumatic now you've started to black it out completely?"

"My..." Clark's brow furrowed for a moment. Then the penny dropped with dramatic relief. "Oh you mean about me and Lex and..." The loss of panic sharpened his senses and he eyed the collection of passers by wearily.

"And you-know-what, yes," Chloe hissed, glancing at the crowd with similar caution. "Not to mention the covert branch of LuthorCorp you've been in joint ownership of for the past few weeks. What is it, 13 and a half?"

"33.1," Clark corrected automatically, moving closer to his friend to try and keep the conversation at least vaguely private. "And I'm not in joint ownership. Did my parents really call you about that?"

A touch of incredulity entered his tone, because when it came to what his friends did and didn't know about him, Martha and Jonathan were usually careful to keep out of things. They must consider the situation pretty dire if they were calling on others like that. Not that he blamed them too much for it—they'd carried the burden of his secret alone for so many years, it must be a relief for them to finally have people to discuss it with. Plus, Clark guessed they'd kind of done him a favour—at least he wouldn't have to break the news to the girls himself now.

"Actually, it was Lana they called," Chloe admitted, expression softening to something between sheepishness and annoyance. "I heard everything from her as soon as she hung up." Which Clark translated as - 'I was there for the call and badgered Lana until she told me.' "We were up practically all night talking about it. I mean, god Clark, Lex? What were you thinking?"

Clark fired up his own spark of irritation at that and sighed sharply.

"Oh come on, Chloe. You were saying just the other day he's not as bad as you thought," he protested.

"Not as bad as I thought doesn't mean he can be trusted with sensitive information," she countered, eyes blazing beneath their green eye shadow. "Have you even thought about what he could do? With his family's connections he could be in contact with the government in minutes, have you incarcerated within the hour. He could even contact the military, or the CIA, or—"

"Chloe, Chloe!" Clark called, waving a hand before her face to stop the frantic babble—partly for fear of others hearing and partly because it was making him queasy. He hadn't thought about any of that. Lex has though, he realised quickly, remembering the fearful look in his friend's eyes last night :: the things I could do with what I know... :: It was both scary and comforting to know Lex had already worked through and dismissed such terrifying possibilities. "Don't you think if he was going to do any of that he'd have already tried by now?"

"I don't know, Clark!" Chloe responded vehemently. "He's the CEO of LuthorCorp, being tricky and conniving is his business. Who knows what plans he's got up his sleeve."

Clark rolled his eyes, turning his head to try and push away the anger flooding his cheeks. Lex did tend to keep his feelings and motivations hidden, it was true—Clark had more than enough first hand experience of that—but 'tricky and conniving' seemed a bit much.

"No, don't you shrug this off like that, Clark," Chloe persisted. "You might be happy to risk a little danger, but you're not the only one involved here. Me, Lana, your parents, we're all part of the net of your life, and if you go down the chances are we'll be hurt too."

Clark's face clouded as he turned back to Chloe's flushed one, a painful sense of guilt providing just the excuse his anger needed to bubble to the surface.

"You know, this is exactly why I didn't tell anyone," he responded hotly. "Because I knew you'd react like this, that you wouldn't understand. And thanks, by the way, for implying my life's some kind of trap. I'm so sorry you got caught up in it!"

He turned abruptly and stomped away, only to pause, tense and uncertain, after a few steps. He was being unreasonable and he knew it, Chloe had a good point with her claim, but all he kept thinking was that he'd left a warm, safe, happy bed with Lex for this, and it just didn't seem worth it. Behind him, Chloe gave a long suffering sigh.

"Clark," she muttered, moving beside him, voice tight and exasperated. "I didn't mean it like that, I... you know this is because I care about you, right?" Clark glanced at her open, pleading face and looked down immediately, his own expression softening. "I'm just worried, we all are. And I'd like to understand, I really would. If you want to give an explanation for this I'm all ears, I swear."

Clark looked up again, slowly, and a small, grateful smile shaped his lips in response to his friend's consideration. But when he tried to talk his chest felt too tight. There was just too much to say, and how could he explain it to Chloe when he hadn't even explained it properly to Lex yet, when he hadn't even completely grasped it himself? After a few unsuccessful attempts he shook his head sadly.

"I can't... I can't explain Chloe, I'm sorry," he muttered. "It was stupid, not telling you, not telling anyone. You're right, you're part of this, you have a right to know. I was an idiot. But if you want to know why I told Lex in the first place, I honestly don't know what to tell you. You just... you can't know what it felt like after Lana's accident, the idea of losing everything... telling Lex was just something I had to do."

He looked to Chloe expectantly and her face creased with a heavy mix of confusion, sympathy and a still lingering anger.

"I guess I was hoping for something a little more coherent," she responded.

Clark grimaced.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said. "But just, try and trust me. It's not Lex you need to worry about. If there's a threat anywhere, it's from Lionel."

"Discounting your dad's father-son theory, of course," Chloe noted. Clark bit back another sigh.

"Believe me, hell would freeze over and start recruiting angels before Lex agrees to work with his father again," he muttered.

Chloe seemed about to say more when the clock of a near-by church started chiming. The budding reporter turned instinctively to her watch and let out a moan of frustration.

"God, we are gonna be so late," she exclaimed, looking up to Clark with new vigour. "Okay, so I'm still pretty pissed at you and I haven't even got to the reprimands yet, but can we just get going already before we miss the trial completely?"

"Haven't even got to the reprimands?" Clark repeated with a tremor of nervousness. "What do think you've been doing since I got here?"

"That? That was just for starters," Chloe stated, frighteningly serious. "Believe me, I can do worse."

Clark swallowed.

"I have no doubt," he nodded, half turning to start walking when an idea struck him. He turned back with a hopeful, slightly puppy-dog look. "If I promise to get us both there on time, can we maybe skip the main course?"

It was a risky move considering his friend's obviously persistent irritation, but a lot of the main issues were in the open now and Clark knew Chloe wanted the dispute between them over as much as he did really. She pondered for a moment then gave a flat smile.

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly. "But I reserve my right to dish out dessert whenever I see fit."

"Deal," Clark nodded, breathing a small sigh of relief as he moved to hold Chloe by the waist. A soft touch on his arm stopped an immediate burst into superspeed and he looked down, eyes questioning.

"You know what really bugs me about all this though?" she queried, not so much angry now as plaintive. "It's not that you told Lex, it's the that you didn't think you could talk to me about it. Our friendship means a lot to me, Clark. I mean, the only reason I even asked you to come with me today was because I thought it might help you. Get you some extra credit with that minor in journalism you're taking maybe." She swallowed a little but ploughed on stoically. "If I had a problem, or needed to talk to someone, I wouldn't hesitate to come to you, and I honestly thought you felt the same. But instead you've been spending your free time with Lex Luthor and leaving me in the dark. I thought we were better friends than that, Clark."

Chloe's face was brave and calm, but Clark saw the sorrow in her eyes and it cut through his imperviousness sharper than kryptonite ever had. Getter closer to Lex had been great, but he'd never intended it to take him away from the other people he loved.

"Chloe," he muttered, brow furrowing. "We are, we... you're one of the best friends I have in the whole world and I'd be lost without you. This was a one off, I promise, that's all."

Chloe smiled a little and her eyes brightened, but Clark read a persistent look of disbelief in her face. Considering what he still wasn't saying about him and Lex he couldn't really blame her either, but that was far too fresh and uncertain and quite frankly controversial to tell anyone yet. Another secret behind a secret. Clark was beginning to think he'd never be able to be himself. Hopefully the truth of his affection for her would be enough for his friend for now and when she finally did know everything, which Clark promised himself there and then that she would, maybe she'd even understand. He certainly hoped so.

"Now hold on," he instructed, smiling back.

Chloe grabbed tightly at his shoulders, a flash of panic crossing her face as she took in what they were about to do for the first time. A sudden rush of wind blew the fear away and in the next second they were standing in a completely different part of Metropolis.

"The courthouse, as promised," Clark stated, stepping aside so Chloe could see the building and the crowd of people milling around it for herself. It was just across the road from them and the clock above it showed the time as three minutes passed nine. "And if I remember your briefing correctly, the key witness isn't even due to testify until nine fifteen. Which means, from that point of view we're actually kind of early."

Chloe tottered slightly as she stepped out of Clark's hold.

"Wow, that's certainly something," she muttered, the vestige of grin playing about her lips. "But next time Clark, I think I'll stick to public transport, no matter how late I'm running."

Her eyes sparkled with a trace of her usual perkiness and Clark grinned back. It wasn't complete forgiveness, not yet, but it was an olive branch and he accepted it gladly.

His understanding of this meant that when Chloe suddenly tensed again, Clark knew it was more than a repeat of their former antagonism and he followed the gaze over his shoulder immediately.

Behind him, a man with short, black, tightly curled hair stood in the middle of the road, paralysed with panic as a red van approached him. Clark didn't even need to think. In less time than a blink he'd jumped over the bench at the edge of the sidewalk, and the taxi behind it, and was pushing the man forward roughly. They both fell heavily against the opposite sidewalk as the van hurtled passed, horn blaring.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, pulling at the arm of the guy's black jacket to help him up. It was a long jacket made of smooth expensive fabric. It reminded Clark of Lex.

The guy brushed vaguely at some gravel on his blue striped shirt, not quite understanding what had happened yet. When he finally cottoned on his head snapped up in complete astonishment.

"You saved my life," he breathed in instant gratitude, eyes fixing on Clark in wonder, as though the act of saving him was one he'd never have thought possible. "I don't know how to thank you."

"You don't have to," Clark smiled, more than a little taken with the man's intensity. "I did what anyone else would've done."

The man flashed a brief grin and seemed anxious to say more, but a quick turn of his head towards the courthouse clock put a more harried look on his face.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," he said. "But... thank you again, really."

He gave Clark a warm, firm handshake, then hurried away.

"Hey," Chloe congratulated, stepping off the road to join her friend. "Good to know your time with Lex hasn't dampened your heroic spirit."

Smile fading, Clark shot her a pained look.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Chloe responded, holding her hands up in apology. "I didn't mean to be glib, it just happens sometimes before I can stop it."

Clark his head a little at that, face softening - because he knew better than anyone how Chloe's cutting sense of humour could run away with her sometimes.

"It's okay," he relented, mood boosted by the pride of his save. "I can't expect you to believe in Lex straight away. Although, when it comes to heroic spirit you might even find he has more than me. I just saved one guy. Lex is helping, well, maybe hundreds through 33.1. That's more of a hero than I think I could ever be."

Chloe flattened her mouth thoughtfully for a second and Clark braced himself for another round of Lex defence. Surprisingly though, this time Chloe bit back her attack.

"I hardly think the guy you just saved would see it that way," she stated, encouraging. "Thanks to you he's got a new lease on life. He might be only one out of hundreds, but I'd say one is enough to be proud of."

She raised her eyebrows and Clark nodded back with a grin. Yeah, yeah it is, he thought, someone who would've been dead is alive today because of me. And not that long ago I was lying in bed with the man I love. That's not such a bad set of events to have happen before lunch.

When Miss Robinson raised her eyes from the LuthorCorp computer, tight, brown haired bun moving not even an inch from its established position on the top of her head, and saw a woman with loose red hair in a plaid blouse and patched up cream slacks standing before her, she was decidedly unimpressed. When the woman asked to speak to Lionel Luthor, her eyebrows shot up in disbelief.

"Do you have an appointment?" the secretary demanded. The woman stepped closer to the desk.

"Just tell him Martha Kent is waiting to see him," she stated calmly. Miss Robinson shrugged and pressed a button on the intercom.

"Mr Luthor, there's a Martha Kent asking to see you," she explained. "Should I send her away?"

A short pause followed, which Miss Robinson couldn't help thinking was rather uncharacteristic of her employer. Then Lionel's crisp, commanding tones floated coolly through the machine.

"Send her away? Don't be ridiculous Miss Robinson. Let her in at once."

If the stony secretary was in any way surprised by this response she didn't show it and simply pressed a button under her desk. The doors beside the two women slid open.

"Please go in now," Miss Robinson instructed and Martha gave her a polite nod before stepping inside.

Lionel was by her side in seconds.

"Martha, what a delightful surprise," he smiled, reaching a white shirted arm out to her shoulder. His jacket, Martha noted, was draped untidily over his office chair and she wondered if he'd actually been working like that or if he'd taken it off just a few seconds ago in an effort to appear less intimidating. "You look quite radiant," he continued, voice booming. "Fully recovered from yesterday's terrible experience. I'm so glad. Won't you sit down?"

He gestured towards the leather chair before his desk, hand sliding to Martha's back, ready to lead her. But Martha stepped neatly away from the hold.

"I would prefer to stand, Lionel," she muttered, averting her eyes. "This is... not a social call."

Lionel's smile faded.

"I understand."

"Jonathan told me everything," Martha continued, eyes hard as she looked back. "How you approached him. The blackmail..."

Lionel raised a hand in protest.

"Blackmail is a very loaded term, Martha," he insisted. "One I would be hesitant to apply to the recent, relationship, between your husband and myself. I have, after all, done nothing but offer him my assistance."

"Yes," Martha nodded, face creasing with unexpected shrewdness. "Which certainly isn't conventional blackmail, I agree. But you forget Lionel; my family was once quite a power in Metropolis themselves. I know how help and favours can be used to an advantage. How they can leave your opponent indebted and just as much in your control as any written contract. That's why helping Jonathan with the other blackmailer was so clever. It gave you a foothold in our lives without you seeming to initiate it. All of it hidden under the guise of helping us."

Lionel pursed his lips for a moment, glimmers of shock and subtle pride crossing his eyes.

"It was no guise, Martha," he tried eventually. "My sole aim in all this has been to help you, protect you and Clark. I knew Jonathan would never accept my help willingly, so I had to employ some rather, unorthodox, methods in order to provide it. If these have been distasteful to you, I am truly sorry."

"And I suppose associating LuthorCorp with a popular and successful new Senator was nothing more than a happy coincidence, then?" Martha responded. A moment of silence stretched between them, then Martha shook her head. "After everything you've kept from me Lionel, how can you expect me to believe our protection was your only goal? That there was nothing else you hoped to gain from this? Nothing else you..." She faltered. "You might have desired..."

Her eyes met his just briefly.

Then she was looking down—eyes on her scuffed brown shoes; teeth on her bottom lip. The sight seemed to affect Lionel and his face clouded as he watched.

"Martha..." he began, tone soft and oddly apologetic.

Martha closed her eyes for second, apparently to gain strength because when she looked up again her face was clear and determined.

"If it was up to me, I'd just give you what you want," she stated, strong and sincere enough to hold Lionel speechless. "Because blackmail, lies, Jonathan's position, none of it matters to me. My son's safety is more important and I would do anything to ensure that, Lionel, anything..."

She took the smallest of steps closer, eyes flashing desperately and Lionel leant forward to meet her. For a second his own gaze flicked over her intensely, lips parting, but then his brow furrowed and a look of uncertainty passed over him—so rare it seemed faintly ludicrous. He stood up straight again, apparently changing his mind about something and Martha let out a heavy breath, possibly of relief.

"But anyway, you know my husband," she continued faintly. "He's through accepting your help, your favours... he doesn't even want you on the farm anymore. If he knew I was here now..." She shuddered, threadbare farmyard clothing emphasising her fragility, and raised a pair of pleading eyes. "I'm not here to accuse, Lionel. I'm here to beg. Clark means the world to me and if anything happened to him, I..."

Her breath hitched for a second and she closed her eyes again, holding a hand to her mouth as though forcing back a sob.

Lionel crossed the distance between them in one swift stride, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket. Holding Martha's wrist delicately, he moved the hand from her mouth and pressed the cotton between her fingers.

"Martha, please," he said. "You have no need to beg or offer... offer me anything." Martha dabbed the tissue against her eyes and gazed over the top, while Lionel slid his hand down her arm. "I've always admired you, Martha. Your strength. Your passion. You truly are an incredible woman, and I assure you, your son's secret is safe with me. Like his mother, Clark is a remarkable individual, and I would gladly agree to rot in my own grave before the world hears the truth of him from my lips."

Martha took in a short breath and moved the handkerchief enough to reveal a small smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, resting her free hand briefly against Lionel's chest.

"I'm afraid I can't be as certain about Lex," Lionel added. "His motives are, not mine. I can't guarantee your safety from him."

A slight curiosity seemed to sparkle in Martha's eyes at that, but she hid it with a quick wipe of the handkerchief.

"I understand," she nodded and the two of them held each other's gaze for a second. Then Martha pulled her hand away and stepped abruptly back, wiping shakily at her cheeks. "I should go. Jonathan's expecting me..."

Lionel nodded, eyes dimming with disappointment.

"Thank you again... goodbye," Martha muttered, before running quickly out of the office, handkerchief still held to her face.

Lionel watched as the doors slid shut behind her, silent and strangely lost.

Once outside the building, Martha paused beside the nearest trashcan and stopped shaking instantly. She pulled the handkerchief slowly away to reveal a calm, unsmiling and entirely dry face. After taking a deep breath, she reached for the cell phone in her pocket. She pressed a speed dial button and held it to her ear.

"Jonathan, it's me, it's over," she said quietly, smiling at the cascade of tinny concern flowing out of the cell in response. "It's okay, I'm fine, nothing happened..." she assured, though her face clouded a little as she recalled Lionel's brief advance.

As far as Jonathan was concerned, if the other man had actually pursued such a course of action Martha would have left immediately and they'd have come up with another plan. But Martha knew differently and hadn't been lying when she said she'd do anything for Clark - whatever the cost. Fortunately, Lionel's weakness when it came to her had forced him to act honourably instead, as she and Jonathan had hoped.

"No, he won't be bothering us with any more LuthorCorp favours and I think we can be certain of his silence, for quite some time yet at least," she replied to her husband's urgent queries. "We were wrong about Lex though, they're not working together..." A short pause. "I could just tell, Jonathan, he's as confused about Lex's plans as we are -"

"Mom?"

Martha looked up at the familiar cry and saw Clark waving at her from outside the Daily Planet, painful anxiety masking his obvious desire for happiness at the meeting.

Martha knew Jonathan wanted a parental disapproval of Clark's recent actions to continue for at least another week, but Clark was her baby boy and he was hurting, so her motherly instincts took over.

"Honey, I've got to go, but I love you and I'll see you later," she said to her husband, before hanging up and masking her sombreness with an instantly glowing smile. She waved back at her son brightly and was rewarded with a beautiful beam in return.

"Hey mom," he greeted bounding over. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just completing an errand for your father," she smiled, dropping the handkerchief with its elaborately embroidered L.L neatly into the trashcan.

Clark's eyes shifted instinctively to the moving object and he noted the design with a frown, pausing to glance at the looming building before him and then back to his mother. He noticed a seriousness behind her smile that worried him, but something told him this was an issue better left alone.

"I, ah... I hope it went well," was all he said.

Martha nodded; smile fading just slightly at the corners.

"Yes it did," she stated, running a hand along her son's upper arm. "Now how about you?" she finished, face filling with brightness once more. Clark's answering smile was soft and slightly awe-struck.

"Oh, I was just helping Chloe cover a trial for the Planet," he shrugged, trying very hard to focus on the mundane again and not on the topic they were both not talking about. Difficult, when he was practically bursting with pride, gratitude, love and guilt at the no doubt incredibly risky confrontation his mom had just had with Lionel Luthor, all for him. "It was kind of a waste of time in the end actually," he continued, surprised at the collected tone of his voice. "It was cancelled after ten minutes due to unforeseen circumstances. We didn't even get to see the star witness."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," Martha consoled, slipping her arm into Clark's with a knowing smile. "How about you call me a cab and I make us some gingerbread when we get home?"

Clark gave a soft laugh.

Once, as a kid, he'd eaten an entire batch of gingerbread men Martha had specially prepared for her and Jonathan's anniversary. First she'd been mad at him, then she'd been upset, thinking the romantic picnic she'd planned would be ruined. It hadn't been of course—she and Jonathan had an amazing time under the big oak tree in the far field even without the gingerbread—but when they'd returned to the house it was to find a flour covered Clark trying his very best to cook a collection of buttered ginger lumps in the oven by way of apology. Somehow, making gingerbread had become a traditional method of apology and pardon ever since and by offering it now Clark knew his mom was implying forgiveness about him and Lex. His dad's disapproval wouldn't be nearly so easily swayed, of course, but this was a start and it was certainly a relief to be at ease with his mom again.

"Sure," he grinned.

However badly he wanted to get back to Lex, Martha was his mom and family was important. Making gingerbread with her was as necessary to Clark as saving that guy had been earlier. He'd just have to make up the time to Lex later.

When Clark and his mom finally stepped through the side entrance into the Kent Farm kitchen a few hours later, smiling in anticipation of the baking about to take place, their joy turned to immediate confusion as an enthusiastic cry of "Die! Die, soldier!" met their ears. The sound of electronic music accompanied the phrase and after sharing a look of surprise, they followed it into the living room.

Inside they found Lois, perched on the very edge of the sofa, face a mask of concentration above her red top and jeans, as she gazed at a large, wide screen, and distinctly unfamiliar, television set installed a few feet away. Onscreen some kind of animated battle seemed to be taking place and the deft tapping of Lois' fingers across a control pad indicated a computer games console had also been installed. After closer inspection, Clark saw it tucked neatly under the TV, above a state of the art DVD player.

"Take that!" Lois muttered, oblivious to her audience. "Hi-yah!" A figure on the screen spun round excitedly, knocking over several opponents.

Clark rolled his eyes.

"Lois," he called. No response. "Lois!"

Lois tuned round vaguely.

"Huh? What?" Behind her, the previously spinning figure was impaled by four different swords. A low, ominous noise filled the room and the word 'defeat' flashed up onscreen. Lois looked back at it with a sigh. "Ah, come on Smallville, you killed me." She frowned at Clark.

"Lois, where did all this come from?" Martha asked with a touch of impatience. Although she'd deny it if asked, Martha was actually very house proud, and coming home to find things changed so dramatically and unexpectedly was really quite unpleasant for her.

"Good question," Clark added dryly, tilting his head at Lois with disapproval. If he was very lucky, this stunt might even get her banned from the house...

"Um..." Lois grimaced, a little sheepish now. "I think there's a card somewhere," she shrugged, standing up and hurrying to search through a pile of papers hidden beneath the television. "Looks like Christmas came early this year," she babbled as she searched. "With high-def surround sound no less..." She pulled out an envelope with a flush of triumph. "The delivery guys were unloading it when I got here. You win a raffle or something, Smallville?"

"Not that I know of," Clark frowned. Lois shrugged.

"The card says 'Clark,'" she stated, handing it over.

Clark took the envelope in surprise, and a little disappointment. It did indeed have 'Clark' written on the front in neat, black lettering—which meant the high-tech invasion wasn't Lois' fault after all.

"Anyway, I'll, ah, just get back to work," Lois grinned, tone apologetic, as she picked up a clipboard full of notes from the sofa beside her and headed into the kitchen to study it.

Martha smiled at her as she passed, then turned to look over her son's shoulder as he pulled the card from its container. It was small and simple, with just a plain, glossy white cover. There was no signature inside, only a single word—'Thanks.'

"Thanks?" Clark read, puzzled. "Who'd want to thank me? And especially with all this?"

He waved a hand over the equipment with a shrug, while Martha frowned in thought beside him.

"Maybe it was Lionel," she muttered darkly, prompting a worried look from her son. "Because you saved his life yesterday," she added in explanation.

Clark shook his head, uncertain.

"If Lex is right, his life was never in danger, and neither was yours," he stated quietly. "Although I suppose he might have done this as part of the show..."

Even while his lips spoke of Lionel, the mention of Lex had Clark distracted and he trailed off as his mind drifted ahead. 'Thanks.' Thanks for a great time, maybe? Or a great night... When he looked up again, the glittering TV screen reminded him of diamonds and a sudden panic tightened his chest.

"I...err..." he started, handing his mom the card. "I'm gonna call Chloe; see if she can find out anything about this. Could you maybe call the delivery guys and have all this sent back? Thanks mom!"

He gave Martha a quick peck on the cheek then hurried through the kitchen and passed Lois as fast as humanly possible.

Martha watched him leave in surprise and not a little disappointment, before turning back to the TV with a bemused shrug.

Although Chloe had just been an excuse for Clark to get away, as he skidded to a halt nervously outside the Luthor mansion he decided to call her anyway—a delaying tactic as much as anything. His growing anxiety took its toll on his speech and the request came out rather garbled, but fortunately, over the years Chloe had become pretty much fluent in Clark Kent.

She deciphered enough to be impressed by the mystery gift, shocked at Clark's insistence on returning it and quickly promised to look into the sender—a testament to the strength of their friendship really, Clark thought as he slipped the phone away and looked fretfully up to the window of Lex's office, that Chloe was still so willing to help him even after their argument earlier. But as comforting as it was to know he had such a strong friend, friendship was not foremost in his mind just then and he crossed his fingers as he zipped inside, hoping fervently his suspicions were wrong and Chloe's findings would reveal another benefactor behind the thank you present.

Inside, Lex had given up all thoughts of work and discarded his suit jacket and tie on the sofa. He should have been in a meeting, but after going through the motions of getting home and getting changed and finding his mind still wouldn't be moved from the Arctic, he'd decided to give up on the day completely and cleared his schedule. He'd then moved restlessly to the upper bookshelf seeking distraction, for once not caring about the dust some of the older volumes might shed on his pristine white shirt. He was flicking through an old edition of To Kill a Mocking Bird when Clark whizzed into the room beneath him.

"Lex?" the younger man called urgently, tone sharp.

Lex, still unseen, closed the book with a small grimace. He'd figured Clark would be paying a visit with his explanations sometime today, but hadn't been expecting him so soon.

"Lex, are you here?" Clark continued and for a second Lex contemplated keeping quiet and waiting for his friend to go away again.

That quickly struck him as cowardly, though, and if Lex was sure of anything it was that he was no coward, so he moved purposefully to the edge of the balcony.

"Clark," he nodded, resting his hands over the polished, wooden banister, book still between them.

Clark started at the greeting and jumped round in surprise. Lex noted the younger man's tension and look of worry with sad resignation.

"Hey," Clark breathed, eyes widening in a familiar 'caught in the headlights' expression Lex had always found endearing. Before.

"Hey," Lex nodded back.

It was at this point Lex had planned to do the talking, hoping to make things easier for the other man. But now Clark was here, in front of him, beautiful and caring and everything Lex wanted, the words he needed seemed to stick in his throat.

Clark tried awkwardly to fill the silence instead.

"Lex I... do you...?" He cut off with a brief cough. After a breath he looked up again, more determined. "Did you send me a plasma TV with games console and DVD player?" he questioned in a rush, words running into each other with the speed.

Surprise broke Lex's anxiety for a second and his brow furrowed in bemusement.

"No," he replied. "Should I have done?"

"What? No, no!" Clark insisted quickly. "I just thought maybe... but you didn't..." His mind caught up with him then and the younger man let out a sigh of relief, shaking his head with a smile. "It wasn't you."

Lex tilted his head, curious, because this line of enquiry was certainly... unexpected.

"Clark, considering my track record with you and gifts, why would you think I'd even consider sending you something like that?" he asked, lips curving lightly with interest. "I know you'll only send it back."

"Yeah, of course," Clark agreed, still emanating relief. "I didn't think. It's just that somebody sent it, and I thought that maybe... ah..." He broke off quickly and looked down, tension resurfacing as he slipped his hands in his pockets. "I thought, maybe after last night you'd..." he began, faltering. "That maybe... because I'm not exactly eligible for diamond earrings."

Lex's smile faded and he licked his lips uncomfortably as Clark scuffed his boots against the floor. Playing the whole thing as a simple one-night stand was exactly his intention, of course, but seeing Clark so obviously embarrassed about the idea made the lie that much harder to give. It certainly couldn't be pleasant for guy, Lex supposed, seeing himself as just another link in a long chain of previous conquests and it felt like a terrible injustice to be inflicting, but Lex steeled himself up for it anyway. It'd be better in the long run. It would.

"You thought I was blowing you off," he nodded coolly. You were right, his mind added, just three words, easy. But his lips refused to form them.

Below, Clark nodded sheepishly to the ground.

"But you're not," he muttered, looking up again with a smile. "Are you?"

There was an interesting hope in those eyes that kept Lex silent for a moment. A silence that was actually in Clark's favour, although the Kryptonian didn't know it and so creased his face in worry at the hesitation.

"Are you?" Clark repeated, with a little more force.

Lex closed his eyes with a sigh.

"Cuff links," he muttered. A predictable silence met this cryptic response and he opened his eyes again to find Clark's head tilted in confusion. "Are the traditional alternative for a man," Lex continued more confidently. "But considering you're unlikely to even wear them, let alone accept them, I figured it might be easier to just not call."

Clark frowned for a moment, then his face cleared in a simple look of hurt.

Lex had expected that—even if you were embarrassed by a previous night of fun and games, being rejected could still be painful. But Clark wore the pain like he really meant it, not like the superficial wound it was, and the sight was too much. Stepping away from the banister, Lex turned to the bookshelf, the volume in his hands an easy excuse. He figured when he turned back again Clark might be gone anyway, which would certainly be helpful.

As he reached to place the book in its intended space though, a sudden breeze made the pages flutter wildly in his hands.

"Wait, so, you are blowing me off? Why?" Clark's curious voice questioned beside him.

Lex bit his lip. Of course things couldn't just be simple. This was Clark. He'd want a deeper explanation; make sure they sorted it out properly. God damn the man's wholesome upbringing.

"Clark," he began, keeping his eyes on the book in front of him, watching intently as it slipped into the empty space. "Last night was fun, and you're a good friend. Let's just leave it at that shall we?"

A soft sigh blew hot air against his neck but Lex didn't look up, just kept his gaze still and impassive on the bookcase.

"Is that really what you want?" Clark asked eventually, voice dull and quiet.

Lex took a breath and turned to the flush, questioning face beside him calmly. God, no.

"Yes, Clark. It's what I want," he lied.

A pregnant pause. Then Clark looked down, sagging his shoulders, and Lex nodded softly. Job done, he thought, heart pounding. With a small swallow, he moved past the other man towards the staircase behind—he'd done what he had to; Clark needed work through the aftermath alone.

Clark was, stupidly, fighting back actual tears as Lex brushed passed him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, his mind chorused, he's a billionaire, he's clever and sophisticated and he has casual sex all the time - did you really think it'd be any different with you? But that was the killer question, wasn't it? Because Clark had thought that, had expected more, and Lex had sounded so earnest to him last night. It was like finding the secret room all over again—could he really have let himself be misled so badly twice, by the same man?

Without Clark's usual control containing it, his super-hearing kicked in automatically as Lex's shoulder jostled his and amidst a chaotic collection of car engines, footsteps and background chatter, the Kryptonian made out a heartbeat—loud, close and hammering at incredible speed. He focused on it curiously. Lex.

Clark lifted his not quite tear-stained face up at once and turned to the retreating form behind him in surprise. Last time he'd suspected Lex of misleading him as much as this he'd been so keyed up, intimidated by the dark room's sense of claustrophobia, weakened by the kryptonite on the stand near by, mind full of 'Kara's' earlier warnings, he'd hadn't stopped to think clearly about the man before him, only channelling on his own pain. A serious oversight, he realised now as he listened to the small sounds of truth he could only assume he'd missed before—the heavy drumming of the other man's heart, the short, irregular breaths he was trying to hide, the nervous, unconscious movement of fingertips against the fabric of his pants. All subtle signs of a man ill at ease.

Clark smiled in sudden, incredible, understanding. Lex had always been as mysterious to him as Clark supposed he himself must seem to others, but in that moment something clicked and the older man was as readable as the books resting beside them.

"Liar," Clark said.

Lex stopped, a flash of shock crossing his face that Clark couldn't see. When he turned, his expression was tense and defensive.

"What?"

"This isn't what you want," Clark stated calmly. "You thought I was coming here to reject you, so you're just trying to get the blow in first to, I dunno, save face? Make it easier?" He shrugged, continuing to smile. "Am I right?"

A touch of pride pervaded the question and Lex didn't move. Didn't, quite honestly, know what to say.

"I am, aren't I?" Clark persisted, still slightly astonished by the deduction.

Lex shook his head in defeat, suddenly too tired to work through a denial.

"Congratulations, Clark," he muttered dully. "You've exposed my insecurity, I hope it was satisfying." He moved to lean his palms on the banister, as though for support. "Now if you don't mind, I've got a lot of work to do..."

"You're wrong, you know," Clark interrupted, still unnervingly cool. "That's not what I want to do at all."

Lex stared blankly at the desk below them as the words penetrated. Clark's voice was happy and encouraging, believable even. A surprise. But it didn't change Lex's original doubt—just altered the time scale a little.

"But you will, Clark," he replied, turning slowly. "Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day you will wake up and realise your mistake. I'm just trying to save us some time."

Clark's brow furrowed lightly over his still curved lips.

"What, are you a fortune-teller now?" he mocked. "How can you know what I will and won't do?"

"Because that's what everyone does," Lex answered, quicker and sharper than intended. Clark blinked at the intensity—smile fading to a soft, curious line. "I told you once all my relationships end badly. I don't know anymore if it's a curse, or if it's really just something about me, but either way it's a fact. And I don't want you to be another failure, to be just another person I push away..." Lex turned his head, voice softening. "Not you, Clark."

Something in Clark's chest fluttered like crazy at the other man's words, because they implied affection beyond anything he might have imagined, the crippling kind Clark was only too familiar with. They implied Lex wanted him so much he was too scared to take a chance in case he failed. Lex Luthor was scared, because of him.

Clark flashed back to the night of Lana's accident—Lex's fearful step away as he learnt the truth. Fear was the last thing Clark had ever wanted to inspire in his friend, and yet he seemed to keep doing it—a painful paradox, because it proved beyond doubt how much Lex understood him, at the price of Lex knowing the real threat Clark posed. A danger all others overlooked. Clark's expression clouded.

"Lex I... I won't be... you..." he stuttered, trying to encourage, whereas up till now it had always been the other man taking the lead. "We'll be different."

Lex shook his head sadly.

"No, Clark. We'll be worse," he countered.

"You don't know that," Clark insisted, trying for a smile again. "You don't know what -"

"Yes I do!" Lex snapped, angry now that Clark should be pushing this when he wasn't even serious, when he obviously didn't get it, didn't see the obstacles, the problems, everything. Clark's lips were already forming a confused 'how' and Lex continued without waiting for the sound. "I know because I've already seen it. It's a story I've played out a thousand times, entertained myself with on lonely nights or lazy afternoons. I've come at it from every angle, in a hundred different ways, and no matter what I do it always ends badly." Lex took a breath as this sad truth sank into both of them—even he hadn't realised how much his daydreaming mind had been dwelling on the subject till then. "Billionaire businessmen just don't end up with Kansas farmboys, Clark," he summarised dully. "That's not where we find our happy ending."

There was a pause as Lex's sudden rush of adrenaline cooled down and the older man turned away with a shaky laugh, finding the amount of truths he'd revealed recently vaguely ridiculous. Running a hand briefly across his temple, he moved towards the staircase again, wanting this over.

Clark watched him silently for a moment, heart burning at how little hope Lex had for himself, at how much his previous relationships had jaded him. The very idea that anyone could have had someone so complex, so amazing and so beautiful in their grasp and fail to appreciate it seemed nonsensical. Then Clark's lips curved up slightly, a newfound confidence flooding through him. It was time someone changed all that. Time someone gave the other man a spark of optimism again. Time he was there for Lex for a change.

Clark was at the top of the stairs before the older man's next blink.

"What about Kryptonian farmboys?" he suggested. "Do we stand a chance?"

Lex sighed, too depleted to show even the slightest surprise at Clark's lightening move, and shook his head wearily—as though in despair of the other man's persistence.

Clark rested a firm hand on his arm, ducking his head for a moment to grab Lex's gaze again.

"Lex," he continued, quiet and steady. "Happy ending?" He shrugged dismissively, eyes never leaving his friend's. "This isn't a story book, and we're not the stuff of fairy tales." An expectant pause covered the two of them and the silence seemed to lead Clark to a natural conclusion. He beamed at Lex. "Aren't we gonna be the stuff of legend?"

For a moment, Lex felt warm sunlight on his face and the sent of hay and freshly cut wood drifted passed him—tangy, sharp and incredibly real. :: trust me Clark, our friendship's going to be the stuff of legend :: He'd meant it as a joke more than anything. A poetic epithet to match the sunset. But Clark remembered. A fanciful, throwaway line from almost five years ago, and he'd remembered it, repeated it. With a tilt of his head and a questioning smile, Clark made it true.

Lex's tension and weariness faded to nothing, and the shadow of a smile warmed his lips.

"That was supposed to apply to our friendship," he stated cautiously—testing.

"I figure there's room to manoeuvre," Clark responded lightly, hand on the other man's shoulder squeezing just a little.

Lex let out a heavy breath, a confused mix of surprise and relief, and shook his head with a smile.

"You really mean it, don't you," he stated.

"More than I've ever meant anything," Clark confirmed, lips stilling.

There was another pause as Lex's still sluggish body registered the lack of doubt his mind had already discarded and began to tingle with new excitement, synapses sparking up again with vigour.

"And this doesn't seem sudden to you?" Lex queried, blue eyes coming to life with a flash of curiosity. "Considering less than a month ago you weren't even interested in guys."

The corner of Clark's mouth quirked in acceptance of the fact, head moving briefly to follow it.

"I'm still not interested in guys," he replied. "But I've always been interested in you. I just..." he shrugged with his free arm. "Didn't realise how much until now." His mouth flattened apologetically. "It's called Smallville for a reason, Lex. Something like this is still a pretty new-fangled idea in these parts."

Lex quirked an eyebrow.

"What changed?" he asked.

"You kissed me," Clark replied.

Lex's brow furrowed, mouth flicking up in a sardonic 'that's it?' expression.

"And it didn't bother you?" he persisted.

Clark sucked in his bottom lip with a grin and shook his head.

"Lex, I'm an alien. Crazy, improbable things happen to me all the time. There's been mutants, witches, computer AIs, even dinosaurs. Not to mention the different varieties of possession," he explained calmly. "Guys liking guys? It's not such a big deal. And you and me?" His lashes flicked down for a second as he looked over Lex from top to bottom and back again, as cool and gladly as he had that morning. "Well, that just makes sense, doesn't it?"

Lex felt himself fall into a wide, open smile, a short breath of laughter escaping his lips—because it shouldn't be that easy. He'd worked through a thousand scenarios that proved it wasn't that easy. But suddenly, implausibly, it was.

Clark's currently stilled lips curved upwards slowly in a perfect repetition of the smile he'd given before that sunset nearly five years ago and he stepped forward, head bending in what seemed to Lex a natural progression of their positions back then, like time had carried them there deliberately.

The thought sounded a lot like destiny, which troubled Lex. He rested a soft hand on Clark's chest, halting the other man's progress.

"Clark. Be damn sure this is what you want," he stated, serious again. "Because if we do this... I don't think I'll be able to let you go."

Clark's own expression sobered to match his friend's and for a second a pair of sharp emerald eyes chimed cautiously against two shards of icy blue. Then Clark beamed again happily, melting ice and gemstone together.

"I can live with that," he nodded, closing the distance between them with beautiful simplicity.

Lex smiled against Clark's lips, eyes closing as he kissed back.

He slid his hand from Clark's chest to his neck and held it there, not gripping or pulling, just resting. Because this wasn't a kiss of passion or a prelude to sex—this was a promise, a pledge for the future—and as lips caressed lips, pushing away fears and leaving hope in their place, Lex thought it might just be the best kiss he'd ever known.

Then Clark's cell phone rang.

Clark groaned, sending vibrations coursing down Lex's throat in a way the older man was hardly opposed to, before turning his head just enough to whisper "fuck" against Lex's cheek.

Lex opened his eyes with a quiet, heartfelt chuckle. That was Clark all over—master of the unexpected and unpredictable. It seemed less annoying and more appropriate that the moment should be broken this way. He moved back to raise a pair of still laughing eyes to the irritated Kryptonian's.

"They can wait," Clark insisted heavily, eyes darkening as he leant forward again, thoughts returning to all they'd left undone that morning and how to make up for it.

Lex stopped the advance with a shake of his head, eyes suddenly playful.

"Clark, I'm shocked," he muttered, moving his hand from Clark's neck to the younger man's vibrating jacket pocket. "How can you even think of being so rude?" Clark barely managed a blink of surprise before Lex removed the still ringing cell phone and held it between them. "The illustrious Miss Sullivan," he stated, reading the display. "And you were so keen to meet up with her this morning too," he seemed to berate, faintly accusing eyes gazing at Clark over the device.

There was a message there, the younger man realised, but he was too impatient now to try and read it.

"She'll just be calling about whoever sent the TV and stuff," he shrugged, reaching for the phone. "I'll call her back later."

Lex pulled back from Clark's searching fingers with a devilish grin.

"I think you should speak to her now," he stated, flipping the cell open and pressing a button.

"Lex wait, don't..."

But it was too late; Chloe's clear, inquisitive voice was already calling through the speaker. Lex held the phone out expectantly, eyes flashing with delicious amusement, and Clark thought about just hanging up. Then he thought about the earful Chloe would give him about it later and took the phone with a sigh.

"Chloe, hi..." he muttered, eyeing Lex thoughtfully as the older man leaned his back against the balcony banister, expression smug. "You found him? That's great, who..." He turned away from Lex with a frown, as if he thought the movement might somehow send the expression to the absent reporter. "Do I have to? I'm kinda busy, I... Chloe, if you want a favour, just name it, I'll be more than happy... Can't you just tell me on the phone?..." He closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. "Okay, okay. I'll be right over."

Clark closed the lid with a snap and turned back to Lex's wry smile. He narrowed his eyes.

"You know Chloe. You knew she'd want to meet in person, and you knew I'd cave," he stated, pointing the phone at Lex with each deduction as he tried to piece together what the other man was playing at.

He remembered Lex's crack about him leaving for Chloe; the abruptness of his exit that morning; the older man's total assurance of his lack of commitment earlier... His eyes rolled with understanding. Damn, I guess I was pretty heavy with the mixed signalling.

"This is some kind of revenge for bailing on you this morning, isn't it?" he concluded.

"You bailed on me this morning?" Lex shrugged with theatrically fake indifference. "I'd forgotten all about it."

Clark lowered his arm with a grin. It'd been touch and go for a while there, but it looked like things were shaping up pretty much perfectly.

"Fine," he shrugged back, voice light with matching mischief. "I'll just go then."

"Fine," Lex nodded, outwardly nonplussed, but Clark noticed the spark of curiosity in the other man's eyes—the earnest wonder about what would happen next. He didn't want to disappoint.

"Fine," Clark repeated, vanishing without another word.

Lex looked round uncertainly for a moment, brow furrowing. Then he gave a small shrug—the boy's flirting techniques would need brushing up a bit, but...

Existence stopped for a few seconds after that as Lex found himself pushed back against the banister, warm hands on his hips and Clark's soft, firm mouth once more against his own. The other man's tongue snaked inside and circled his—once, twice, three times—before Clark moved away, blowing hot breath over Lex's face as the older man opened his eyes. A satisfied smile floated before him.

"Bye," Clark whispered, giving Lex just enough time to curve a smile back before disappearing again.

Lex continued to stare dreamily into space for a while, then slid a little way down the polished wood behind him with a long, incredulous sigh. He'd started the day with visions of a broken friendship, and now it seemed he had a boyfriend. An actual boyfriend. Who was Clark. How the hell did that happen?

Delighted laughter drifted down the staircase and circled the office.

Still flushed from his goodbye kiss, Clark forgot to be annoyed with Chloe when she bounded over to the elevator door he'd just stepped through, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She'd pulled her hair loose now and it bobbed neatly above her low cut green chemise as she came to a stop.

"Clark, you made it!" she beamed. "Whatever you were up to, I promise what I have to tell you is way more interesting."

Clark sincerely doubted that, but he smiled indulgently.

"What?" he queried.

"You remember that trial that was cancelled due to 'unforeseen circumstances'? Well, I just found out the star witness was murdered in the basement of the courthouse," Chloe replied, barely containing her glee.

Chloe's excitement over a story, especially when death was involved, could be a little unnerving at times, but Clark had to admit this was definitely interesting news.

"The basement?" he repeated, intrigued in spite of himself. "Are there any leads?"

"Nothing," Chloe raised her arms dramatically. "And now the prosecution has no case. Moving my story from legal to lethal." She pronounced the last word with relish, eyes glowing.

"So, they're letting you keep the story?" Clark questioned, impressed.

Chloe's face clouded a little and she turned away.

"No," she muttered, leading Clark back to her desk. "Once it got juicy they gave it to someone higher up." She spun round again briefly as they passed one of the building's numerous coffee machines, light returning to her eyes. "But, since I did have it first they're giving me free reign to find any of my own leads and if I'm lucky I might just get to write a side-piece..." The light faded to a pout. "It's just a shame I can't actually find anything."

They'd reached the desk now and Chloe leant against it with a despondent shrug. Clark smiled in sympathy.

"Hey, you'll find something," he assured. "In fact, knowing you, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd tracked down the murderer by the end of the day." Chloe grinned back at him, grateful of the support. "Now, speaking of people you've tracked down...?"

"Right, yes, your mystery benefactor," she stated, lifting her head in quick understanding as she moved to her computer. In one slick motion she sat down and switched on the monitor. "I still can't believe, by the way, that you plan to send back a fifty inch plasma with all the bells and whistles." She tapped a few keys. "You know for most people, sane people, a gift like that isn't a problem, it's winning the trifecta."

Chloe shook her head in despair and Clark leant against the wooden surface beside her with a shrug.

"Chloe, I can't just accept something like that without knowing who it's from," he insisted. Chloe stopped tapping and looked up, eyes wide with hope.

"So... once I open this page and reveal the truth I can look forward to free movie nights at the Kent Farm from now on?" she asked. Clark raised his eyebrows, prompting a sigh. "Didn't think so," Chloe shrugged, turning back to the screen and pulling up a newspaper article.

It was small, obviously a by-line, and titled 'Charity party success.' At the side was a picture of a boisterous crowd milling around a lavish garden, drinks in hand. A banner reading 'Cancer Research' loomed above them, taking up much of the shot.

"Your guy was a slippery customer, I gotta admit," Chloe explained, sounding impressed. "He paid in cash so I couldn't track him through the Metroplaza system. Fortunately, I managed to sweet talk one of the employees into giving me a surname. I told him I was trying to track down a relative." She turned to Clark again briefly, eyebrows raised with pride, and he gave her a grin in congratulation. "Anyway, from that I got Garrett, which doesn't seem helpful considering there are over fifty Garretts in Metropolis. But, it turns out only five of them have the necessary bank balance to fund the kind of gratitude bestowed on you and only one of them is currently in town..."

She pointed to a small figure in the bottom right of the picture. He was surrounded by others and faintly blurred so Clark had to squint to get a good look. When he did he blinked in surprise.

"Wait, that's the guy I saved outside the courthouse," he stated, Chloe nodding enthusiastically beside him.

"His name's Graham," she elaborated. "And Clark, I know you don't do this saving thing for the reward, but if you did you really couldn't have made a better choice. The guy's one of the top ten most eligible bachelors, rumoured as having almost as much money as Lex."

"Wow. I did think his jacket looked expensive..." Clark muttered, brow creasing. "But, wait, if he's really all that, how come I've never heard of him?"

Chloe spun on her chair to face him and dropped her hands in her lap in a serious, 'about to impart confidential information' kind of manner.

"Because he's an infamous recluse," she explained. "The press have been trying to snap him for years but he has a sneaky habit of disappearing whenever a camera gets too close. Believe it or not, that picture I showed you is actually the best available. He's like the Scarlet Pimpernel of the modern world—everyone who knows about him is fascinated, but no one knows who he really is." She bit her lip then, suddenly coy. "And you know, an interview with him would be a pretty amazing exclusive."

Clark rolled his eyes. So that's why she wanted me here so badly.

"Chloe," he responded, shaking his head. "I can't just go up to a guy I met once, for what, less than two minutes? And ask if he'll let himself be interviewed for a friend. And besides, if everyone else has such a hard time finding him, how am I going to?"

Chloe grinned, the glow of an inner plan filling her eyes.

"You don't have to. Because I already did." Considering her earlier stress on Graham's reclusiveness this seemed unlikely and Clark gave a suitably disbelieving frown. Chloe bobbed her head a few times in understanding. "Okay, so I didn't find him exactly. But I did find a party in uptown Metropolis with his name listed as one of the proprietors. Eyewitness accounts say he likes a good shindig, so it's pretty likely he'll be there and I thought, you could maybe go? Put in a word for me?" She batted her lashes at Clark eagerly.

"Uptown?" Clark repeated, tone trying for scepticism, face betraying fear. "I dunno, Chloe, it doesn't really sound like my kind of thing..." He shifted from the desk uncomfortably, the very thought of formal wear making him uneasy. "Aren't things like that usually VIP only anyway?"

"Who's more VIP than the guy who saved your life?" Chloe countered. "Come on Clark, at least think about it? Pleeease? Please, please, please, please?"

She bounced a little in her chair and Clark sighed into a smile.

"Okay, okay," he relented. "I'll think about it. But that's all I'm promising."

He tried to look stern, but having a warm, happy blonde jump up and wrap excited arms about your neck apparently negated such things and Clark found himself slipping back into a smile instead.

"Thank you, thank you!" Chloe grinned in his ear and Clark returned his friend's embrace by resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

When it came to relationships, it seemed to Clark things had never looked brighter. Apparently the hard truths Lionel's exploits had revealed yesterday came with an abundance of silver linings.

After accepting another round of 'thank yous' and some carefully detailed instructions about where and when the party that night was taking place, Clark suddenly remembered his mom and his thoughtless desertion of her, prompting an immediate whiz back home.

Outside the farm he found a Metroplaza truck loaded with all Graham's gifts, while inside Martha was chatting quite happily with a group of delivery men over a cup of coffee. The pleasantness of the scene assuaged Clark's guilt somewhat and his mom's easy dismissal of his apology managed to dispel it completely. He joined in the small talk for a bit, until the need to get back to work finally forced the men away, and then updated his mom on the whole situation—minus Lex—as they organised the ingredients for the promised gingerbread session.

Martha was of course delighted to hear about Clark's heroism that morning and promised to tell Jonathan as soon as he got back from his function in Metropolis, hinting that it might even ease some of the older man's anger. Clark blushed a little at that, concerned about using what he'd considered a voluntary act for personal gain, but Martha shot his thinking down by calling it 'practical' as opposed to 'personal.'

The gingerbread was then made to its usual Kent perfection, loving shaped into little men by Clark—who secretly thought gingerbread tasted nicer that way, although he'd never admit it—and the finished confectionery was placed on a cooling rack just in time for Martha to get changed and leave for her afternoon shift at the Talon.

Clark was supposed to be keeping an eye on the sugary characters in her absence, but he'd figured locking Shelby out of the kitchen was care enough and moved into the barn loft instead, where he'd scattered a collection of old photo frames across the table before his tatty, brown sofa.

He was positioned on said sofa, red jacket—still a little floury—flung on the arm beside him, and staring thoughtfully at the photo of him and Lex at the older man's first wedding when a strong, warm voice floated up the wooden staircase.

"It's been so long since I've been here I expected it to be different somehow..."

Clark beamed as Lex himself came into view, the black jacket now over his shirt practically identical to the one Graham had been wearing, giving the younger man a final, clarified understanding of why he'd associated it with Lex that morning. In his right hand Lex held a coat hanger containing something large and bulky, obscured by dry cleaning plastic—odd, but unimportant compared to the man holding it, so Clark put it out of his mind.

"Really, though," Lex continued, looking round with quiet satisfaction as he stepped between the sofa and the desk holding Clark's laptop. "Aside from the superficial, the place hasn't changed at all since the first time I came here, complaining there was no place to knock."

The older man's eyes warmed with recollection and Clark mirrored the expression. It really has been a long time since Lex was here hasn't it? he thought, glad to have the other man back in his domain. It felt good—right—to see him standing amid the farmyard backdrop, like it proved he was really part of Clark's life again.

For his part, Lex was quietly tingling inside at being in the familiar setting once more. The Fortress in the Artic might be about what Clark was, but the barn had quickly come to symbolise who he was and stepping inside it now, after such a long absence, felt almost as intimate as the sex they'd shared last night. A return and a new beginning all at once.

Clark rested the photo gently on the table and stood up with a grin. He felt a little like rushing over and wrapping his arms round the other man in imitation of some sappy, Hollywood romance, but considering they hadn't properly established the limits of their new relationship yet he didn't want to risk it.

"Well, I could whiz round and redecorate, if you'd prefer," he suggested, moving beside the other man with a coolness he couldn't help feeling proud of.

Lex smiled—open and easy.

"No, I like it this way," he insisted. "It's like I never left."

A gush of warmth as their eyes met, smiles softening to something more but just as comfortable.

"I guess in way you never did," Clark responded, eyes flicking to the image on the table.

His smile flattened quickly and spots of red dotted his cheeks—because Lex wasn't the type of guy who went in for too much sentiment, maybe displaying a photo of them would seem silly to him, or at least too soon.

Lex followed the gaze and tilted his head in surprise at the image.

"Chloe told me I had the only copy of that picture," he stated mildly, looking back to Clark with exactly the kind of understanding the younger man loved him for. "The cad."

Clark relaxed at the amusing, yet oddly appropriate, description of the budding reporter, and raised a shoulder in a 'what can you do' type gesture.

"I'm thinking about framing it," he explained, no longer embarrassed. "But I couldn't find a frame that seemed good enough."

Lex looked back over the collection of perfectly adequate frames on the table, eyes curious, chest tightening in a rare physical reaction to emotion. It still seemed vaguely impossible that this was happening; that Clark was standing there assuming more than friendship and being okay about it.

"I can't help with that," Lex responded, inwardly listing all stores he was familiar with that stocked photo frames in an effort to correct this problem. "But I did bring you a present."

He held out the coat hanger and its hidden outfit and Clark took it looking bemused.

"Um, thanks?" the younger man muttered, uncertain, while Lex just smiled, waiting as Clark pulled off the shining plastic and revealed the clothing beneath. His face creased in adorable confusion. "An evening suit?"

Clark raised a pair of clouded eyes, warring between polite gratitude and complete bafflement, and Lex had to bite his lip to stop from laughing. His own eyes sparkled with mischief and Lex was surprised to see Clark relax a little at the change—when exactly had the farmboy become so good at reading him?

"You can't go to a party in uptown Metropolis in jeans and plaid, Clark," he stated, moving towards the window to rest a hand fondly on the telescope set up in its centre.

Clark made an understanding noise behind him.

"You found out about Graham," he stated. Lex quirked his lips in half a grin, hand still on the telescope as he turned round.

"It's a small world. And there aren't that many millionaires," he offered as explanation. "Tell me, what did you do for the mystery man between this morning and lunch to earn such gratitude?"

"Saved his life," Clark shrugged, folding the suit over a chair by the desk. "He was about to get run over and I pushed him out of the way."

Lex's eyes flashed with something Clark couldn't determine.

"Huh..." he muttered. "Just like that?"

"Well, I might have been across the street at the time," Clark admitted, lifting his hands up in hasty assurance. "But it's okay, he didn't see anything, it happened too fast."

Lex sucked his bottom lip.

"Well, I guess you can find out for sure when you see him tonight."

Clark rolled his eyes a little.

"Or I could, you know, not," he replied. Lex raised an eyebrow. "Lex, honestly, he was too preoccupied to notice anything beyond the van heading straight for him and I'd pretty much decided not to go tonight anyway. Uptown parties are really not my thing and chances are I probably wouldn't even get in." Clark shrugged. "But, ah, thanks for the suit."

He flashed a smile of apology as he thought of how much trouble Lex must of gone to getting the clothes and the older man's lips quirked at the corners in response, although the unidentified flash in his eyes remained.

"I wouldn't have bought it if I didn't think you could use it," he stated coolly. "Getting in won't be a problem. Not now you're on the guest list."

Clark dropped his jaw in surprise.

"You... you got me on the guest list?" he clarified, receiving a slightly smug head tilt by way of reply. "Okay. Chloe wants an interview, I can understand her pressure, but why do you want me to see this guy? As far as he knows he's given me his thank you present. As far as I know, he's happy about that. Case closed."

Lex shook his head with faux disappointment.

"Clark," he muttered, releasing the telescope. "Have you learnt nothing of the ways of the wealthy?" He stepped before the other man with smooth, even strides—stopping at kissing distance, Clark noticed with delight. "Garrett will know you've sent his gift back, which makes your relationship far from over. People with money don't understand the concept of returning something on principle, so he'll assume you just didn't like it. That makes you a challenge and unless you tell him to stop he'll just keep offering you more until he finds something that works. Which means he'll be a significant presence for the foreseeable future, possibly forever, so you have to speak to him tonight and... why are you smiling?"

A furrowed brow accompanied this last comment and the beaming smile Clark had developed during the older man's speech seemed to gain even more shine at the sight of it—because he'd finally cottoned on to the obvious parallel and worked out the meaning of that flash.

"You're cute when you're jealous," Clark grinned.

Lex paused for a second, then looked away sharply, fighting the small smile of surprise tugging his lips—Clark reading him was one thing, but figuring things out before he himself was aware of them was quite another.

"I'm not jealous," he stated to the discarded suit beside them, the words ringing untrue even to him. Clark didn't call him though, just accepted the statement with a tilt of his head and paradoxically this made Lex more insistent about the point. He looked back with a cool shrug. "Why would I be when there's no competition?"

Clark's eyebrows shot up above his smile, eyes glinting with something dark and undeniably sexy.

"You know, maybe I will go the party tonight," he stated, leaning across Lex to finger the cotton shirt above the chair thoughtfully. "I mean, I could be on to a good thing here. Good-looking guy, ready to lavish me with expensive gifts... Maybe I'll let him. After all, he is my type..." He looked up to Lex, eyes glowing with a challenge and the older man narrowed his eyes. "Rich, sexy, and oh hey, bonus—" Clark raised the hand from the shirt to over Lex's head. "Graham has hair."

He lowered his hand with a grin—part seduction, part joking schoolboy—and Lex laughed, eyes warm with affection. Flirting with Clark was completely different to anything he'd tried before because the farmboy seemed to have the unfailing ability to destroy all forms of tension in the blink of an eye, sexual or otherwise. It made the process a lot less complex, perhaps, but it also made it a lot more fun.

"Okay," Lex grinned; moving passed the other man with a nod. "I hope you enjoy yourself."

Clark crinkled his nose as Lex moved away.

"Hey, no," he insisted, turning round. "You're supposed to change my mind."

Lex raised his eyebrows as he looked back.

"I wouldn't presume to tell you what to do, Clark," he stated, lips still curved at the corners. "Although..." he took a few steps forward. "You should know—"

Lex lifted his head as he reached Clark, hands following to grab the collar of the younger man's blue top as Lex did what he'd been wanting to for years and pulled Clark into a deep, simple, reciprocated kiss. No questions. No worries. No lies. Just the two of them kissing because they could, because they wanted to.

Lex teased Clark's mouth open for a moment then pulled back in imitation of the Kryptonian's act earlier. Clark looked flushed, smile replaced by a wet, open mouth, taking air in shallow breaths. Lex stared calmly into the other man's dilated eyes.

"I'll be waiting for you at the mansion, once the party's over."

Lex slid his hands, very slowly, from the blue acrylic, gazed down and up the other man for a second, then turned away, counting the steps across the loft—one, two, three, four... he reached the stop of the staircase, then—

"Okay," Clark breathed behind him, voice low, rich and fully seduced—and completely happy about it.

Looking straight ahead, Lex broke into a slow, wide grin, mirroring the unseen but obvious one on the man behind him. This was better than any seduction he'd imagined, because Clark had welcomed it, asked for it, initiated it even. In fact, Lex wasn't even sure who was seducing who anymore. But then, it hardly seemed to matter because, for the first time in what felt like forever, Lex realised he was happy.

He gave a soft nod before moving down the stairs.

Evenings in the 33.1 games room were quiet affairs usually—most inhabitants having better things to do with their time than spend nights lounging around secret facilities. This evening though, three figures still occupied the otherwise empty room and sat avidly before one of the wide screen televisions on the right.

Sitting was, perhaps, a rather inaccurate term for Raptor, whose tail prevented conventional relaxation. Perching might be a better description for the way the young dinosaur-mutant was positioned on the arm of the black leather sofa, amber eyes gazing curiously at the flickering screen before her. To her left, Bobster, in pin-striped lilac shirt and black slacks, gave the moving image—currently displaying two attractive brunettes, one in some kind of purple uniform, the other in a type of velvet body suit—rather more attention, but it was the woman in the yellow top beside him who was clearly the most entranced of the three. Resting black, fingerless gloved hands across her jeans, Phoenix stared ardently at the fictional scene unfolding before her, mouth bent at the corner in an unmistakable expression of delight.

This was the scene Mikhail walked in on a few minutes later and he stepped up behind Raptor in confusion. He watched the screen silently for a few seconds as it cut from the young women to a shot of a boyish, blonde haired young man in beige with what looked like a stick of celery stuck to his collar.

"What is this?" he asked, puzzled. "Star Trek?"

Bobster and Raptor looked up in surprise, smiling a greeting, but Phoenix rolled her eyes, face unmoved from the screen.

"Star Trek..." she muttered, seemingly in disgust. "America's corrupted you Mikhail."

Mikhail raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't mean to offend," he stated mildly. "All I know is, it is obviously some kind of science fiction—"

"Exactly," Phoenix replied, raising a hand without turning round. "This is science fiction, real science fiction, British science fiction. None of this American crap."

Mikhail turned to the others and they gave him a pair of equally sympathetic looks.

"It's Doctor Who," Raptor explained as Bobster's eyes flicked back to the screen again.

"Ah," Mikhail nodded, confident again. "The one where the spaceship is a telephone box."

Phoenix closed her eyes briefly, looking pained.

"It's not a spaceship, it's a TARDIS, a time machine," she stated. "And it's not a telephone box, it's a police box. It's a... a British thing. Except it's not really, it's just a disguise."

Mikhail smirked.

"It is not a very good disguise," he bated. "A small, blue rectangle is not very impressive transport for a alien."

"Well it's better than a dinner plate with two toilet rolls sticking out of it!" Phoenix snapped back, turning her head just slightly, but not enough to take her gaze from the television. Mikhail gave a short laugh.

"Bit harsh on the Enterprise, don't you think?" Bobster muttered, lips curving. "Considering some of the early effects in this show."

"It's not about the effects, it's the design and the story that matter," Phoenix replied, turning to her friend earnestly. "Most of the ships in Star Trek just look silly—the TARDIS is simple, sturdy..."

"Please can we just watch the show?" Raptor interrupted. "I don't want this to turn into another football-soccer debate."

Phoenix frowned a little then turned back to the TV with a shrug.

"That wasn't even a debate anyway," she muttered. "There is no soccer, only football, and I don't care what they think they play in this country..."

Mikhail shook his head, looking almost fond, while Bobster and Raptor exchanged a grin.

Quiet settled in again for a while, then the door behind them opened, letting a soft humming breeze into the room. The sound was soon followed by a distracted Lex, clipboard in hand. His eyes lifted briefly to the figures at the television before moving back to the selection of notes he was holding.

"Mikhail, I've been looking for you," he said, stepping over. "I want to set up another military test for you tomorrow. The ones yesterday were a lot better than before, I think we might be on to something this time."

Lex looked up to a pair of intense, dark eyes. Intimidating to most, but Lex had spent enough time with the man to know such a look expressed excitement as much as danger. Out of everyone in the facility, Mikhail was probably the one who valued the experiments the most, willing to do anything to get back the power he'd loved, and news of potential success was something Lex knew the other man would be secretly thrilled about.

"Alright," the Russian nodded.

"Oh, and have you seen Molly?" Lex added. Mikhail looked away, face impassive.

"She was tired of the constant testing," he related. "So she left."

Lex frowned.

"Left?" he repeated, staring at the other man darkly. "Where to?"

"I do not know," Mikhail replied, flat and unconvincing.

A rush of excited voices from the TV distracted from the tension threatening to form and Lex's face cleared into a shrug.

"Is she coming back?" he asked, more concerned than condemning.

Mikhail looked back to the surprisingly open face beside him uncertainly.

"This... is her home now," he answered eventually. "I doubt she wishes to remain gone forever."

Lex nodded, not unkindly.

"Well, when you next contact her, in that way you obviously don't know how to do, let her know that if she wants a break she's welcome to spend it somewhere with free food and shelter. We can reschedule her tests for next month."

The other man's brow furrowed lightly at the suggestion, but he seemed to acknowledge its truth because he accepted the statement with a quiet nod.

Lex smiled back and returned to the notes on his clipboard—he still had a lot of other tests to check up on before heading home. He could delegate, of course, get the scientists to fax him individual reports; he'd done it enough times before. But today was different. Today he wanted to check on his people in person, make sure they were okay. Clearly a necessary precaution if the news about Molly was anything to go by—he'd had no idea the inhabitants were being pushed so hard. That he was pushing them so hard. He'd need to pay more attention to that in the future.

Lex wasn't fool enough to think his newfound consideration had sprung out of thin air. The continuing joy from his meeting with Clark earlier was quite obviously an underlying factor here. But Mikhail's small, grateful nod at the concern for his girlfriend had been satisfying in a way all Lex's scientific discoveries about him and Molly's powers had never been, and so what if it was Clark who'd prompted that? It was a good thing and Lex was glad of it. He suspected, in fact, that there might be a lot more good things to look forward to from now on.

A quiet humming once again pushed past his smile and Lex tapped his fingers lightly against the side of the clipboard in time with it. Di-dum-dum, di-dum-dum-di-dum-dum-di-di-dum-dum...

The others, even Mikhail now, seemed too absorbed in the show to notice, although Phoenix broke into a wide grin, head bobbing a little in time with the tune. After a second of this, she suddenly started, lips curving quickly to a frown as she whipped her head round.

Behind her, an old man with a long, white beard stared out of the screen, eyes darkening with menace. An odd, flickering effect washed over him and he morphed into a tall, dark haired man with a black goatee.

"Ha!" Bobster called smugly, tapping Raptor on the arm. "I told you it was the Master."

"Fucking bastard," Phoenix said sharply as the credits started to roll, psychedelic colour and music filling the room. The others turned to her in surprise.

"But I thought you liked..." Bobster began, then realised, along with the others, that Phoenix was no longer staring at the screen but at Lex.

As the credits finished, Lex registered the continuing silence with surprise and looked up to find four pairs of eyes focused entirely on him—the most prominent being Phoenix's, which were narrow and suspicious. He sighed.

"What have I done now?" he muttered, a familiar weariness filling his tone.

"You got laid last night," Phoenix accused, leaving Lex utterly speechless.

What?

While Mikhail raised an eyebrow with interest, Bobster whipped his head round excitedly.

"Not that it really matters, of course," Phoenix continued, voice still icy. "But it's been a while for some of us you know. It's a little inconsiderate to have you flaunting your success under our noses."

"I wasn't flaunting," Lex protested without thinking, forcing him to bite his lip as he realised the confession this implied. "Because there's nothing to flaunt," he added by way of cover.

Phoenix rolled her eyes.

"Oh please," she responded. "It's not been so long I don't recognise the after effects when I feel them. And besides you were humming."

"I was not humming," Lex deadpanned. He was happy, sure, but humming was ridiculous. What did they think he was, some love-struck schoolgirl?

"Actually, yeah you were," Raptor shrugged, picking idly at one of her claws. "Build me up, buttercup, ever since you came in."

Lex opened his mouth to protest again, but stopped as a few lyrics ran with unnatural ease through his mind. 'I need you (I need you) more than anyone, darling, you know that I have from the start...'

Shit.

"God, you really did, didn't you?" Bobster grinned. "Who was it, anyone we know?"

Lex shut his mouth quickly and shot Bobster a withering look.

"No, forget it," he stated coldly. "We're not having this conversation."

He moved to leave while all other eyes turned expectantly to Phoenix. She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"Oh come on," she protested. "I'm an empath not a mind reader."

"It is the best we have," Mikhail argued.

"Yeah, come on Phoenix, we know you can work it out," Bobster pushed. "Or are you just holding back cos you know you're wrong?"

Lex stopped his pacing at that and turned round again, curious.

"Wrong about what?" he asked slowly.

Phoenix looked from Bobster's face to his then down to the sofa, apparently embarrassed, although by who Lex couldn't say.

"Okay, fine," she muttered, looking up again and giving Lex an intense one over, lips pursed in concentration. "So... all of him's practically surrounded in this massive balloon of happiness," she explained after a moment, circling a hand toward Lex as if to physically display his emotions. " Which means it was a very good night,"

Lex shifted slightly, thinking that leaving would be a pretty good idea now. Phoenix was good at what she did and he suspected staying would be particularly bad for his authority. But as often happened when it came to the kryptonite infected, he found himself incapable of moving away—too curious to see how far their powers stretched.

"There's a little touch of excitement hidden away too, along with expectation," the empath continued, lips quirking up slightly. "Suggests he's expecting more, and soon, and..." Her eyes flicked to his for a second and Lex didn't like the confidence he saw there. "He's all edgy now too, he's hiding something..."

Lex broke the spell by looking away. This was ridiculous, he owned this facility, he didn't have to stand here like some exhibit. Besides, if there was anything in his life that justified secrecy, him and Clark was most certainly it, there was no question of that—his mouth felt dry at just the thought of Jonathan, and his shotgun, finding out, and he was positive Clark was behind him on this one.

"You know I'm busy, I really don't have time for this," he muttered, turning back to the door and trying very hard to hold on to the image of Jonathan. Blocking Phoenix wasn't easy, especially lately with her powers growing as they were, but if he just focused on his fear and worry he might just be able to mask everything else, cover up the bundle of emotions currently connected to Clark, especially the one Phoenix had obviously picked up on already, the one he'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to quash for so long...

A heavy gasp from the sofa.

Shit.

"What?" three voices asked in almost unison.

"But... you..." Phoenix stuttered, as breathless as Lex felt. Naturally. "There's only one person who..."

Lex felt oddly trapped and exposed—because he was good at keeping secrets usually. Sure, he'd been found out many times, but not so soon, not so suddenly, not without prior preparation. Not since he was a kid at least. He wondered if this was how Clark felt all the time and felt a strong wave of sympathy for his friend—lover? No, that was the influence of the people behind him. It was far to soon to consider him a lover. He'd better get a hold of himself and sort this out.

Lex turned to find everyone leaning excitedly towards Phoenix—Mikhail resting folded arms across the back of the sofa, Raptor digging pointed talons into the leather to push herself forward, while Bobster was all but bouncing in his position next to the girl, eyes shining hopefully. Suspiciously so. Lex got the distinct impression something was going on here he was yet to understand.

"Who? Who?" Bobster prompted impatiently, but Phoenix ignored him and continued to stare, faintly awe struck, at the object of her assessment.

Lex schooled his face to an indifferent expression, daring her to voice her discovery so he could shoot it down. Phoenix shook her head in disbelief.

"He's not even gay..." she muttered, voice tainted with shock and also... disappointment?

"He?" Raptor repeated, surprised. "It's a guy?"

Bobster bit his lip, but failed to hide the grin crossing his face, while Phoenix looked away, raising a gloved hand in a gesture of defeat.

"And, god, talk about left field. It was only, what? Less than a month ago he was engaged for fuck's sake," she finished unhappily, cementing Lex's 'found out' status, but before he could shape a denial Bobster jumped to his feet with a triumphant "Yes!"

"I knew it! I knew it!" he sang in delight, making Lex frown in confusion. Phoenix gave a derogative sigh.

"Oh, what are you talking about, you knew it? Till now he's been straighter than the stars and stripes, how could anyone...?" Her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Oh you... you..." she started angrily. "You changed your bet to Clark you little sneak! He was talking to you before, what did he say?"

"He just wanted some advice, which I provided," Bobster answered, radiating smugness. "Information from primary sources isn't against the rules."

Phoenix wrinkled her nose as though tasting something sour while Lex stepped over again purposefully. The thought of Bobster giving Clark advice was... interesting—he'd have to look into that later. Right now, though, there was another issue that needed addressing.

"What bet?" he asked, suddenly imposing, as he rested the clipboard on the back of the sofa next to Mikhail.

Phoenix and Bobster stopped their argument immediately and glanced up at the pair of piercing blue eyes looking over them. They looked away again quickly. Beside Lex, Mikhail shrugged, indifferent.

"The bet on your latest sexual partner," he explained casually.

Phoenix and Bobster looked shocked, while Raptor raised a clawed hand to her face to hide a chuckle.

Lex turned to the other man slowly, face blank, eyes cold.

"You've been betting on my love life?" he queried.

Mikhail quirked his lips.

"No, your sex life," he clarified. "A much more engaging affair. Although it seems the waiting is now over. Bobster is owed."

"Hey, wait a sec!" Phoenix interrupted before Lex could respond, uncertainty dissolving to her previous contrariness. "I want proof before any money changes hands. Show me Bobster's name next to Clark."

Mikhail raised his eyes with a small, irritated sigh.

"I do not lie about gambling," he replied. "But if you insist..." He reached in the pocket of his baggy jeans and pulled out a small, tattered A5 notebook held together with several elastic bands. Stripping them off carefully, he thumbed to about three quarters of the way through. "There," he said, holding the open book out to Phoenix.

A gloved hand reached out to it but Lex was faster.

"Gimme that," he muttered, snatching it from the other man's hands. Mikhail and Phoenix both gave a small 'tut' but didn't complain. Lex thumbed back through a shockingly long list of names until he found a title page. "Lex Luthor's Partner—Sweepstake number eleven," he read, mouth opening as he finished in a mix of surprise, annoyance and amusement. "There's been ten of these already?"

His head snapped up to the others, questioning, and Raptor circled her neck uncomfortably as the gaze reached her.

"Hey, don't look at me, I just got here," she protested.

Lex raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, and calmly flicked back to a later entry he remembered from his thumbing.

"Your name's on the list," he stated, eyes flicking down to read the name Mikhail had printed neatly beside the young mutant's. "Betting on Lois Lane?" He looked up again rather disdainfully and Raptor shrugged, embarrassed.

"So, I don't know many people connected to you yet," she replied, seemingly in defence. "And the odds weren't bad."

"The odds?" Lex repeated, turning to Mikhail. The other man flashed a cool smile.

"I calculated some odds. They are listed at the back," he explained.

Lex shook his head, torn between enragement and awe at the time and effort these people had clearly put into this venture. He looked back at the book in his hands, intending to look up these 'odds' for himself when another entry caught his eye.

"You let Clara bet on this?" he questioned, disapproving.

"What?" Bobster and Phoenix called together, gaze moving from Lex to Mikhail. The Russian tilted his head in a 'why not' gesture.

"She wanted to bet. I turn no one away," he answered.

"Who did she bet on?" Bobster asked, curiosity quickly dispelling disapproval.

"Lana Lang," Lex muttered distractedly as his eyes skimmed over some of the other predictions. They were actually quite amusing. "I have to say, Mikhail," he added, looking up again. "That does rather strike me as unlawful theft from a minor. You must have known I'd have never been interested. And Phoenix..." He turned to the empath curiously, lips curving at the corner as he looked her over. Her eyes widened in sudden understanding and she looked down quickly, clasping gloved hands together in uncharacteristic embarrassment. "Nice try, but I don't like to mix business with pleasure."

Bobster and Raptor burst into laughter.

"You didn't," Bobster grinned at his friend.

"Oh, shut up," Phoenix muttered, a few black locks escaping her ponytail to fall across her bent and rapidly reddening face. "Everyone knows you bet on yourself first too."

Bobster tilted his head in unashamed acknowledgement.

"But I saw the error of my ways..."

The proud exclamation reminded Lex of his previous intention and he quickly flicked to the back of the book and looked over Mikhail's list of odds. Based on 'compatibility' and 'likelihood' apparently.

"Clark Kent, ninety-eight to one against," he read, and couldn't help smirking a little, oddly proud.

"Shame it's just a sweepstake and the odds don't matter," Bobster mused. "I could've made a fortune with that... oh well, taking everyone else's money will just have to do."

Lex flattened his mouth at the other man in mock apology.

"Actually Robert, even if this was in anyway true and valid, you'd have to make do with just half of the winnings," he stated, face clouding with fake sorrow.

"What?" Bobster frowned. "But..."

"Mikhail's been betting on Clark from the beginning," Lex explained, flicking through the book again to the first page of the sweepstake. Bobster leant over the sofa and took the yellowing pages in disbelief. A neat 'Clark Kent' beside Mikhail's name stared back at him.

"No way... how could..." He looked up to Mikhail accusingly. "Is that even legal? I mean, you're the one organising this, it can't be fair that you can take part." Mikhail shook his head.

"It is a sweepstake, I take no cut from the moneys given," he answered. "I have as much right as any to bet."

Bobster sighed in extravagant defeat.

"Damn it!" he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "How did you know?"

Mikhail smirked.

"I learnt a long time ago it is always... profitable, to bet on Clark Kent," he replied, tilting his head just slightly to Lex.

The other man let out a small breath of laughter, remembering his first encounter with the man beside him and how he'd offered Lex a bet on one of the Smallville high football games. Despite Mikhail's assurance he'd rig the game in the opponents' favour, Lex had bet on Smallville anyway—'betting on Clark Kent' he'd called it. He shook his head, irritation slowly fading.

What was the point in being angry? This was all harmless fun and nothing more... or at least, that's how it was meant. With Clark involved, though, everything had a sharper edge and if word of their relationship got out and brought Clark into the limelight because of a foolish game Lex would never forgive himself. He schooled his face into something more serious.

"Well, I hate to disappoint you all, but this sweepstake isn't as over as you think," he said—not too sombre, light-heartedness would be more believable here. "Your supposed discovery is pure fantasy, I was at home last night spending a tedious five hours working on spreadsheets and sadly bedding no one. Least of all Clark Kent."

The others looked at him curiously—Raptor twisting her head, Mikhail merely shrugging, Phoenix nodding, while Bobster gave a small, flat smile. They seemed, not disbelieving but... understanding?

"Whatever you say, Boss," Bobster nodded. "We believe you."

Lex's brow furrowed as he looked them over—expecting frustration, finding warmth. He shook his head, Clark's kindness had clearly got to him more than expected and he was seeing it everywhere.

"Good," he replied. "I'll... see you later then."

A set of unnerving smiles met this response and Lex picked his clipboard up again quickly and headed outside—his authority seemed intact but something else had obviously changed and Lex wasn't sure yet if he approved of the development.

As the door shut behind him, Raptor clicked her neck in a strikingly inhuman fashion by way of confusion.

"Why deny it?" she asked. Phoenix shrugged on the sofa beside her.

"Clark's always been about secrecy," she explained. "I guess it's just an extension of that... I sure would like to know would it is about that guy that makes him so special..."

"Isn't he just another meteor mutant, like us?" Raptor persisted. "It's why he's involved here, isn't it?"

Mikhail shook his head.

"It is more than that," he said, pushing a lock of mousy hair behind his ear. "If it was as simple as a meteor power or magic we would know what his talent is by now, but Mister Kent... his powers are more, exceptional."

"Well, I for one don't care about his supernatural skills right now," Bobster grinned, closing the notebook still in his hands and holding it at his side. "All I care about is the jackpot he's just scored me. Mikhail?" He leant across the sofa and held out his free hand expectantly, palm up.

The other man rolled his eyes and reached into his jeans' pocket again, this time pulling out a wad of cash.

"You keep the money on you?" Phoenix questioned, tone high with shock.

"I do not trust it to be safe anywhere else," Mikhail replied, calmly counting out half of the notes into Bobster's hand. When he was done Bobster closed his fist over the winnings with a flourish.

"Excellent!" he beamed, throwing the notebook casually onto the sofa and heading straight for the door.

"You're gonna spend it already, huh?" Raptor called after him with a grin. Bobster twirled round at the doorway, hand on the handle.

"Well, I thought I'd at least get a few kegs of beer in and maybe some vodka..." he explained. "Chips and dip might be a good idea too..."

Phoenix laughed.

"Well, when you wake up with the mother of all hangovers, don't come crying to us," she grinned.

"Hey, it's not all for me! Obviously," Bobster protested, raising his eyes in irritation at the blank, questioning expressions that met the response. "Come on, it's the Boss and Clark. We're having a party, right?"

A pause as the others looked at each other. Then Phoenix broke into a smile.

"Don't forget the Malibu."

As the mutants began excitedly planning their party, Clark was stepping nervously into one of his own. He'd struck what he considered a rebellious compromise when it came to the suit and decided to wear it without the tie—something he was quickly grateful for as it allowed him to undo his top buttons and let in a welcome cool air as he traversed the throng of people lining the maze of rooms in the elaborately furnished labyrinth masquerading as a house. If he'd thought Lex's place was big and confusing it was nothing compared to this—at least the mansion had specific rooms for specific things so even if you got lost you had a vague idea of where you might be. Here all the rooms looked the same—upstairs and downstairs—and were filled with rows of identically bejewelled women in evening gowns, usually, but not always, accompanied by a selection of smartly dressed men.

The benefit of the crowd was that Clark had absolutely nothing to fear from his usual clumsiness—the sheer number of people gave him a thankful sense of anonymity and he was pretty sure that even if he fell flat on his face in a plate of jello the guests would barely notice. The downfall was that it made finding the elusive Graham practically impossible. He tried x-ray, but didn't know the guy well enough to recognise a skeleton, and super-hearing proved equally unhelpful, as Clark couldn't remember the sound of Graham's voice.

After what seemed like an eternity of made up faces and artistic hallways that only made Clark feel more and more out of place, the young farmboy entered a room that could only be the centre of the festivities. He knew this because unlike the others, it did not have creamy wallpaper and rich, black carpet, but a polished wooden floor, currently utilised for dancing beneath a collection of flashing blue lights, and more importantly—it had a bar.

Other than a few sips of scotch at Lex's and champagne at Christmas and Thanksgiving, Clark wasn't really the drinking kind, but after the formal nightmare he'd just waded through the counter of drinks seemed like an oasis and he headed to it gratefully. Unlike the, very, few frat parties he'd been to in the past, this bar was no 'help yourself' kind but properly attended with waiters and barmaids taking orders and Clark's awe at this brought him to a halt a few steps away.

This really was no place he should have come to alone and he wished fervently that he hadn't been so stubborn with his flirting in the barn and had thought to bring Lex with him now instead of saucily agreeing to meet him afterwards. The older man might even have tied the bowtie for him, like he had the night Clark took Chloe to the spring formal, which Clark had to admit would have been very very cool indeed, despite the restriction the fabric would have imposed. That had been a particularly cherished intimacy, even back then, making it stupid, really, that he'd never seen...

"Hey, looks like the chicken finally left the coop."

A heavy hand touched his shoulder and Clark turned in surprise.

A man with familiar, tightly curled hair and black jacket beamed beside him. The white shirt was rather less pristine than Lex kept his though, with small, repetitive patterns sewed into the fabric.

"Graham Garrett," Clark nodded, relieved—with luck he might be able to leave soon.

"Clark Kent," Graham grinned back, leading the younger man to the bar. "Saw you'd got your name on the list—resourceful, I like that. Fortunate to, I wanted to see you anyway since it turns out you're a tough man to please. What's the problem, you don't watch TV?"

He leant against the bar's marble counter and Clark copied him, looking apologetic, and a little impressed—Lex had been right.

"You found out I sent the stuff back," he stated. "I'm sorry, it was all great, but honestly, your 'thank you' was fine. You don't owe me anything."

Graham raised a hand, protesting.

"Hey, you saved my life," he insisted. "If it wasn't for Clark Kent I'd be in a morgue right now with tyre tracks across my forehead. There must be some way I can repay you. Come on, if the big screen's not your thing what is? Help me out here."

Clark shuffled uncertainly. He didn't like taking advantage, but he had promised Chloe he'd try for an interview and if Lex was right, Graham would only be pacified by an accepted favour. So, if it was gonna get him out of here...

"Um... well, there is maybe this one thing," he started, examining a stain on the counter while Graham nodded encouragingly. He didn't even know this guy, this did not seem fair. "See, I have this friend, a reporter..."

"Graham, there you are, I've been looking everywhere," an unpleasantly familiar voice cut in.

Clark snapped his head up in time to see a bare arm lean across him to rest on Graham's—a silky red dress, smooth back and carefully styled ponytail blocked his view of the other man.

"Sorry hon," Graham stated, charmingly contrite. "I got caught up with another crowd." He touched the woman's free arm gently and pulled her to his side. "Clark, I'd like you to meet my date."

The woman turned to him for the first time—dazzling smile dropping in shock.

"Lois?" Clark questioned, incredulous.

"Smallville," Lois blinked, trying to quirk her lips again politely while her eyes flashed with annoyance.

Graham chuckled.

"We met out at your house this afternoon," he explained. "When I dropped by to see how the surround sound was working. You can imagine my surprise when I found both you and my thank you were absent. Lois more than made up for it though I have to say, and I couldn't just leave without seeing her again."

Lois faux-demurred a little beside him.

"I must have been in class," Clark muttered, grimacing more in annoyance than sorrow. If he'd only been there for Graham's visit, this whole evening might have been avoided and he could have been with Lex right now... Although, it was almost worth it just for the mind-blowing kiss the older man had given before leaving. That had certainly distracted from lectures that afternoon. "Um... how did you find me anyway? I never told you my name," Clark finished, trying to will his mind away from fantasies for at least the next five minutes.

"I noticed the sassy blonde running up behind you had a press pass," Graham nodded, raising a hand to a passing barmaid. "Once I'd found her, you weren't far behind. You have double thanks from me actually—being in Smallville again was, pleasantly nostalgic. I passed through on a business trip last year and the place left quite an impression."

Beside him, Lois scoffed and Clark frowned at her. Before he could comment though, the barmaid stepped over—all smile and shining teeth.

"So what can I get for my two favourite guests?" Graham grinned. "I assure you there's quite an extensive collection, name your poison and it's yours."

"Scotch on the rocks?" Lois ventured.

"Coming right up," the other man nodded. "Clark?"

"Um, I don't really..."

Graham tilted his head, disbelieving, and Lois rolled her eyes. Despite his excessive gratitude it seemed Clark Kent wasn't really good enough for this millionaire and, well, he'd never been especially impressive to Lois.

"A beer would be great," Clark conceded, for the sake of peace.

Graham nodded to the barmaid who immediately busied herself with bottles and glasses.

"So, Lois," he started, brushing his hand down her arm. "Since the farmboy here isn't talking, maybe you could give me some hints about what he likes."

Lois shrugged, clearly unimpressed at Clark's continuing involvement in her night out.

"Hey, like I said at the farm, Clark's not the kind of guy who accepts things for free. He's just not wired like the rest of us," she responded. "What he really needs is a good social life, but I don't think anyone can help with that. He's been extra quiet and secretive ever since he split with Lana." The drinks arrived then and Lois picked hers up quickly, shooting Clark a serious look as she raised the glass to her lips. "I'm telling you Smallville, you need to get out more. Do something fun, on your own."

Her eyes narrowed suggestively and Clark sighed. Believe me Lois, I want out of here just as much as you want me to be.

"Thanks Lois," he muttered back. "Your advice is sage, as always."

Lois gave a wry smile as she sipped and Clark reached for his beer, carefully and expertly poured in a pint glass.

"So... Lana?" Graham cut in as the younger man gulped.

"Ah..." Clark said, lowering the glass and wiping froth from his mouth. "She's a friend. She was my fiancée, but, err, we're just friend's now."

He shook his head a little—it sounded so mundane, so stupid like that, but he could hardly go into the ins and outs of his life and loves here.

Graham nodded, eyes glinting suddenly.

"Right," he nodded, quirking his lips as he looked passed the younger man for a second. "You know what, I'm just going to step out for moment," he continued, patting Lois' hand as he moved away. "You two enjoy your drinks, I'll be right back."

A quick grin and he was gone. Lois shot daggers at the man before her.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

Clark put his pint down and raised two palms in defence.

"I'm beginning to wonder the same thing," he responded. "I only came here to try and score Chloe an interview. I didn't think it would be this... big..." He frowned suddenly, eyes sharpening. "And hey, wait a minute, why am I getting all the disapproval? You barely even know this guy and you're letting him take you to a fancy party, alone?"

Lois lifted her hand dismissively, tinkling the ice in her glass.

"It's the twenty-first century, Smallville, get with it," she replied. "I'm a single girl out with a single guy, who I really happen to like by the way, and I'm hoping to have a little fun. I know the concept may seem kind of foreign to you and your mild-mannered ways, but some of us like to have a little life with our life from time to time. So, do you think you could just do what you have to and leave me to enjoy myself in peace for one night?"

Her tone was sharp, but Clark saw real pleading in her eyes and he softened slightly. In the short time he'd know her, Lois never had had much luck with guys and the last thing the young man wanted to do was rain on her parade.

"Okay, I'll try," he promised.

"Well... good," Lois nodded back.

A short, awkward silence between them, then Graham returned, grinning triumphantly as he placed a hand on Clark's shoulder.

"Hey, pal," he stated, leaning over. "There's some people I want Lois to meet. Why don't you go check out the view on the balcony and I'll see you later."

Clark shifted uneasily—Graham had a knowing look he didn't understand and seeing more of the place was quite frankly the last thing he was interested in.

"Um... ah, you know, I'm not exactly crazy about heights..." he stalled—it was truthful enough anyway.

"Trust me," Graham nodded. "It's worth it."

Clark thought about arguing further but Lois was raising her eyebrows in a not so subtle show of encouragement and the Kryptonian gave a flat smile. Chloe, you better appreciate this...

Lois and Graham beamed behind him as he stepped across the bar and through the open French doors at the far side.

The stone balcony was lined with trimmed, cylindrical trees circled by fairy lights and was actually quite a relief—Clark was the only one out there and the buzz inside turned to a calming hum as he stepped into the breeze. He moved cautiously up to the banister, seeking the 'view' Graham had promised, and a sky of neon and cityscape constellations met his gaze. It reminded him, just a little, of the incredible night sky he'd seen in his near-death vision of Krypton and he paused for a moment, awe-struck.

He'd seen Metropolis many times, of course, but never like this—so calm and serene and full of hidden promise. The seedier places he'd spent most of his time in couldn't hold a candle to the whole landscape, and besides, Clark was a born and bred farmer—although he'd never consciously been aware of it, he'd always held a vague distrust and disapproval of the city as the enemy of his countryside home. He'd never supposed it might actually be beautiful, in its own way. But it was undeniably so now. Maybe this was why Lex and Chloe always had a kind of lingering respect in their tone when they spoke of the place.

"Beautiful night, huh?" a sultry voice purred behind him.

Clark turned to find a black dressed woman stepping slowly through the doorway, dark hair tumbling down her neck, black heels clicking the stone. Clark smiled, oddly at ease.

"Yeah, it is," he nodded, turning back to the view and trying to keep ignoring the fifty foot drop just below his vision—more difficult now the distraction had made him aware of it.

The woman smiled, strangely amused at his look away.

"I'm Geya," she introduced, holding a hand out business-like.

Clark blinked round in surprise. It seemed an oddly formal greeting, even for here, but he knew his manners and took the hand gently.

"Hi, Geya," he started, pausing as she grabbed his hand with her other one and stepped closer. "Um... I'm Clark."

"I know," she grinned with a warm, throaty giggle. "A guy like you..." She looked up and down him, lowering the hand and pulling him close. Clark was too speechless to stop her. "You must have a girlfriend, huh?"

She bit her red-coated lip in elaborate disappointment—the lipstick shone in the moonlight, rich and vivid. Clark swallowed. Okay, like I thought, really not my kind of party...

"No, I... I don't," he stammered.

Geya smiled.

"Do you wanna take a tour?" she suggested, reaching manicured hands to the collar of Clark's jacket. A heavy ring glistened on her right hand. "I hear the view from the bedroom is even better than the one from the balcony."

Clark widened his eyes at the implication, but before he could refute it she was kissing him—slow and careful, on the lips. Clark broke away with a disbelieving laugh.

"Mmmm, what's wrong?" Geya muttered, red lips still curved, eyes dark.

"I don't even know you," Clark replied.

Wow, is this really what it's like being rich? Is this what Lex grew up with? The way he'd fallen prey to that girl with diamond earrings suddenly seemed a lot more understandable. Clark had always been pretty condemning of Lex for being such a player, but if the girls really were throwing themselves at you like this... And Lois was right, it was the twenty-first century, having sex was hardly a crime. But then, of course, it had been Lex. Perhaps it hadn't been disapproval so much as jealousy...
"That's alright," Geya was continuing, breaking his thoughts. She slid her arms over Clark's shoulders, laughing lightly. "Graham said you might be shy..."

"Graham?" Clark repeated, confused.

"He wants you to have a good time," Geya insisted, smiling warmly.

Clark grinned back for a second, searching for a punch line. When he found it, his lips instantly stilled.

"Oh..." he blinked. "Um... Look, I'm sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding..."

Geya's eyes dimmed above her smile and she shook her head.

"No..." she tried, but Clark extracted himself from her gently.

"I should go," he muttered, turning quickly from her hurt expression and heading back inside.

The sudden heat did little to hide his blushes and Clark kept his head down as he moved through the crowd. A quick hand on his chest made him pause and Graham's troubled voice called down to him.

"Whoa, whoa. What happened?" he asked as Clark looked up, looking between him and the balcony with a frown. "Where you going?"

"Look, you wanna do me a favour? Just consider us even, okay? I've gotta go," Clark replied. Chloe had Lois to ask for an interview now anyway—he'd embarrassed himself enough tonight. He stepped away but Graham grabbed his arm.

"Hey Clark, I apologise," he said, pulling the younger man back. "I thought Geya was just what the doctor ordered, but I guess I was wrong... You're a lot deeper than I gave you credit for." Clark relaxed a little at the other man's sincerity and slipped his hands in his jacket pockets. "You must have really loved your ex," Graham concluded, sounding impressed.

Clark looked down, uncertain.

"I, err, I thought I did," he answered.

"What happened?" Graham persisted, faced creased with genuine interest.

"Um..." Clark looked up again, brow furrowing. No one had asked him that so directly before—too scared or embarrassed he supposed, which was fair. It meant he'd yet to consider it himself though and he realised that he probably should do—to sort himself out as much as anything else. "We just..." he tried, but that seemed the wrong way to start. "It was my fault," he admitted eventually, eyes clear as they reached Graham's. "I didn't see... what was in front of me the whole time. And by the time I did the wedding was already arranged, flowers paid for, everything. Then I had to return it all, which was a nightmare in itself... it was all kind of a mess, really."

He sighed—he really had put Lana through an unforgivable amount of hardship. Graham nodded his sympathy.

"What didn't you see?" he asked, curious.

"Lex," Clark replied without thinking, too lost in himself to realise what he was admitting.

"Luthor?" Graham persisted. Clark focused his eyes again, suddenly fretful.

"Wait, no, I mean..." He grimaced. "I didn't mean..."

Graham laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," he assured, eyes oddly dark. "I get it."

"You do?" Clark asked, nervous. Graham nodded slowly.

"Don't worry, Clark," he said. "Girls and gadgets aren't what you need, I understand. There'll be no more unwanted gifts from me, I promise."

"Um... okay," Clark replied, trying for a smile. Graham gave his shoulder a small pat before lowering his arm.

"Please at least stay for another drink though," he added, waving an arm back to the bar where Lois was chatting with a group of girls in equally revealing clothes. "You can keep Lois company while I complete an errand." Clark tilted his head uncertainly, suspecting his company was the last thing Lois would want, but Graham eyed him beseechingly. "Come on, please? It'll just be for a few hours, and you might even have fun."

Clark sighed.

"Sure," he smiled, masking frustration as best he could.

Later, at the Luthor mansion, Lex's humming progressed to a happy whistle, echoing round the airy halls as he stepped down them. The inner music was far too blatant to deny now and Lex had given up trying, choosing to embrace it instead—he figured love-struck bopping couldn't be too disastrous, providing he kept it to himself.

A shrill and decidedly un-tuneful ring from his jacket shattered the mood and Lex frowned at the tone, stopping dead just outside his office. He'd reserved this particular ringtone for a very specific purpose—one he'd not yet had to face.

He pulled the phone out slowly and held it up for a few seconds, face darkening. Then he flipped it open and moved it calmly to his ear.

"Fine," he greeted, nodding at the cool but sharp enquires filtering down to him. "Yes, you're right, we are nearing the deadline, I've been expecting your call..." A pause. "No, no problems. Rest assured. We're close. The viruses are being genetically spliced as we speak."

Lex opened his mouth to say more but stopped as the line went dead. He blinked into the distance for a moment then slipped the phone back in his pocket with a sigh.

Beside him, one of the fading Scottish tapestries started to swing out of place. He halted it with a frown. The sigh had been heart-felt, sure, but those things weighed a ton, a small burst of breath shouldn't have been enough to disturb it.

Turning suspiciously, Lex scanned the empty corridor behind him with narrow eyes. Fine had cut off quite briskly, perhaps the alien was intending to visit in person... the thought made Lex tense, but nothing further transpired so he turned cautiously back to the doorway.

That's when the blow came. Oddly predictable in its unexpectedness.

Lex chocked against the rope about his neck, but didn't panic. His body was already keyed up for defence, so it wasn't too hard for him to gather strength enough to push back against his unseen attacker and force them against the far wall, expression flooding with anger—Lex was damned if he was going to let this happen now. He had plans for tonight. He'd hoped the push would distract long enough for him to loosen the makeshift noose, but his strangler was clearly a pro and didn't let it stop them for a second. Instead, they used the wood behind them as a springboard and propelled Lex through the doors into the office.

The rope tightened, blurring Lex's vision, and he fell to his knees, hands dropping uselessly as brain function started to slip. He had a vague impression of the side door opening but wasn't focused enough to be sure, not just because of the physical pressure but because of the sudden, overwhelming sense of fear. I can't die today. Please, not today...

"Lex..." The voice was feminine—cold, but just for a second. Then awareness came with a gasp. "Lex!"

The pressure vanished instantly, and Lex slipped down to oblivion.

One hospital trip, twelve hours and at least two doses of morphine later, Lex didn't even register the other attacks, as his mind played through the original, blow by blow in his dreams.

The white-shirted figure by his bedside did though.

He felt the pain of every flinch across the older man's face and his own expression clouded. Raising a hand to the one already nestled in his right palm, Clark cupped Lex's pale, slender fingers gently.

"It's okay... it's okay..." he whispered, stroking soft circles into the other man's skin.

Lex relaxed at the touch, face slowly clearing, just as he had all the other times that night and Clark gave a small smile.

He'd had nightmares enough of his own over the years, woken up screaming more times than he cared to count, and while he didn't know the mental visions plaguing his friend, he knew too well the terror they could provoke and was glad to see them allayed. It'd been bright colours and tight spaces for Clark as a kid, but these days it was vast open countryside, dark skies and gravestones. Always the same end result, though—loneliness. Whatever the setting, he was always alone.

Until he woke up.

Clark couldn't think of a time when he hadn't awoken to a pair of comforting arms or ears—usually his parents, most often his mom, though Chloe had once offered a heartfelt embrace too during a sleepover many years ago.

It tore the Kryptonian's heart to think how many sleepless nights Lex must have suffered without the same care. How many, he wondered, had there been after the first meteor shower? Having the sky fall down on you at nine years old must have left more scars than the physical. Clark supposed Lillian might have been a welcome presence at that time, of course, but what about later in the months after her death? He could hardly see Lionel offering soothing words to a frightened boy he made no secret of disapproving of whenever he got the chance, in fact the very idea made Clark shiver, repulsed. It was all he could do not to slip under the course, off-white hospital covers beside the other man and draw Lex into him—physically dispel the years of neglect.

The hospital and Lex's injuries held him back though, because the last thing he wanted to do was risk hurting Lex further, and with the number of nurses scurrying about on a regular basis, the chance of two men curled up in bed together going unnoticed was slim to none. Clark had only a vague idea of how far the secrecy about them was supposed to reach, but he was fully behind the policy of silence for at least the foreseeable future and knew instinctively that alerting the staff of Smallville Medical Centre would be going too far.

He'd wavered over holding hands, even, but once Lex's first nightmare started Clark knew he couldn't possibly hold back on that. It doesn't really mean anything, he reasoned, friends hold hands all the time; no one would think it suspicious. But even so, as the latch on the door behind him turned he still moved his hands away guiltily, sudden panic soon overriding his logic. He felt like a complete bastard afterwards and turned irritably towards the nurse who'd disrupted them, the doctor's previous instruction about no disturbances flying to his lips.

Were it just as quickly died.

Because the figure in the doorway wasn't a nurse.

It was Lana.

She looked especially smart in a dark grey jacket, navy jeans and heels with her hair neatly pinned from her face and curling over her shoulders. It was a style formal enough for a job interview and seemed intended to impress—or intimidate. Clark wondered which, and for whom.

"Clark," she observed, face creasing in surprise, perhaps disapproval.

Clark stood up instinctively—the result of some half-formed need for respect. He didn't know why, Lana wasn't a queen or anything, but he always had felt the need to go all out for her and splitting up had done nothing to change that. He was starting to see the absurdity of it for the first time though. He stepped away from the bed, uncertain.

"Lana..." he started, looking nervously between her and Lex.

Even though Lana had no idea what he and the older man had been up to the other night, all Clark could think about was how he was standing in a room with both his current lover and his ex—and that spelt: awkward.

"What are you doing here?" Lana asked, stealing Clark's question in the silence.

"I... err... I was supposed to meet Lex at the mansion last night, security said he'd been attacked," Clark explained, hoping to god Lana wasn't going to ask what he was meeting Lex for. "I came to see how he was doing."

Lana nodded quietly, expression unreadable as she flicked her eyes over the crumpled black jacket Clark had discarded over the chair, and the selection of empty coffee cups on the bedside table.

"You stayed with him all night," she noted, dark eyes returning to Clark's, deep with curiosity. Clark shrugged, dismissive. Yeah, okay, so maybe I kept a vigil beside a bald, rich guy's bedside when I fell asleep and later left yours, but it doesn't mean anything... really... "You're a good friend, to do that for him," Lana concluded.

Clark shifted his gaze.

"Someone should be there when he wakes up," he offered.

"Yes, of course," Lana seemed to agree, turning to the man on the bed thoughtfully, shaking the three-stone drop earrings dangling above her collar. "How is he?"

Clark turned back, face clouded.

"The doctors say he's lucky his trachea didn't collapse," he explained, heart twisting again, as painful as when they'd first told him. "They've sedated him for the pain."

Lana nodded—not coldly, but not exactly warm either.

"Where's Lionel?"

Clark rolled his eyes.

"Business meeting in Singapore," he muttered. "He's getting back 'as soon as he can'..." A disapproving sigh, then Clark turned thoughtful himself. "What are you doing here?" he asked, finally voicing his original confusion.

Lana tensed and hooked her thumbs awkwardly in her jeans' pockets.

"Same as you," she replied, looking down. "And to see if they caught the guy. I gave a full description, the police should have something by now."

Lana's tension proved the awkwardness stretched further than Clark's mind and that was interesting, but Clark's sole focus was on Lex at the moment so he bypassed her dubious reply and latched onto the more important fact instead.

"You were there when it happened?" he asked, tone bright with interest—because the police hadn't caught the guy yet and even Lex's security had nothing. If Lex hadn't still been unconscious, Clark would've been out there searching himself, but as it was he'd resorted to grabbing information wherever he could instead.

Lana nodded.

"I walked in on the attack," she clarified.

Clark waited for more but Lana wasn't forthcoming and in the following silence an unpleasant suspicion entered his mind.

"Lana..." he started, slowly. "What were you doing at the mansion anyway?"

Lana looked away for a moment, biting her lip, then turned back again, determined.

"Actually I was hoping to talk to Lex," she stated, matter-of-fact. "About you."

Clark sighed a little beneath the now piercing gaze but didn't seem surprised.

"Lana, you shouldn't—" he cut off abruptly—after everything he'd put the woman through, what right did he have to tell her what she should and shouldn't do? "I was the one who wanted to keep what Lex knew a secret, okay? It's not him you want to be yelling at, it's me." He looked to Lex anxiously for a second, then moved closer to the door. "But if you're going to, we should probably take it outside."

Lana's gaze hardened, acknowledging the assessment of her want, perhaps.

"I'm not going to yell at you, Clark," she insisted, voice lowering to a hiss in respect of Lex's condition. "I'm assuming Chloe did that enough for both of us. I don't think you need me to tell you how hurtful and just... humiliating your secrecy about this was for me." She flicked her head away with a sharp sigh, hidden emotions flooding to the surface. "I mean, God, Clark," she muttered, turning back with a frown. "All this time I was trying to protect you from him and all the time you knew that he..."

She cut off with a shake of her head; scrunching green shadowed eyes together as she reeled herself in. Clark accepted the tirade with nod. He'd been stupid. He deserved it. Oddly though, he felt no regret, and the crippling guilt Lana's anger usually provoked was also absent, leaving him sorry for Lana's distress but not enough to doubt himself over. Life really wasn't about Lana Lang anymore, he realised. It felt strange... good.

"Okay..." she muttered, opening her eyes, tone heavy with annoyance, face bright with hurt. "I'm really angry at you right now. Really. But I talked to Chloe and we decided I probably wasn't the best person for you to discuss this with. So, the truth is I've actually been trying to avoid you..."

Clark tilted his head, lips quirking to the side in a small, humourless smile.

"That's fair," he conceded. "I deserve that... but Lex—"

"We talked about Lex too," Lana cut him off. "And we decided one of us needed to see him. Just to know where he stands with everything."

"Lana, you don't have to do that," Clark added quickly, wondering how Lana had come to bear the burden of confronting his friend—had they drawn lots, or did she volunteer? "My dad already spoke to him and..."

"Clark, your dad wasn't working on a secret, alien project with him," Lana interrupted, leaning closer, voice low, as if she thought Lex might overhear, despite being unconscious. Her eyes widened seriously. "If you really did tell Lex everything, then he's known the truth about Fine's ship for months now, but still pretended to be investigating it with me. He played me, Clark, and that's not the act of someone who can be trusted."

Clark shook his head violently, shocked at the extent of Lana's misunderstanding.

"Lana, it wasn't like that..." he insisted, grabbing her shoulders and moving them both to the end of the bed—also afraid of Lex overhearing, though more from respect for the guy's feelings than anything else. "I told you, I was the one who made him keep what was going on a secret. He wasn't playing you, he was just trying to do right by me."

"By fabricating an investigation on an abandoned project?" Lana countered, unimpressed. "He could have just told me he'd stopped it, he didn't have to lie."

"But he didn't, he..." Clark took a breath, face sobering. "Lana, the project was never abandoned. Lex is still investigating the ship, we... we both are."

Lana pulled back a little, face darkening in a war between anger and bafflement.

"What?" she queried.

Clark bit his lip.

"There's something you need to know. Something you all need to know. About Milton Fine," he explained, glancing to Lex again unhappily as he remembered the dangerous game they were playing with the Kryptonian Computer. He wondered if Lex had heard anything new about that... maybe that was why he was attacked... He turned back to Lana seriously. "I will tell you everything, I promise. But we should wait until Lex wakes up first. He's part of this now, and I trust him." Lana, unsurprisingly, didn't seem convinced and Clark continued. "I know you don't, and I get why, I do. I felt the same for a long time. But things are different now. Better. And it's going to work out, I swear. So just, please try not to be too mad at him, at least until he's recovered, okay? For me?"

Lana grimaced a little as an inner battle raged. Affection finally seemed to come out the victor, and she lowered her eyes in defeat.

"Okay..." she whispered, albeit reluctantly.

Clark lowered his arms with a grateful nod and the two of them were silent for a second, breathing out their separate tensions and wrestling separate fears. Then Lana lifted her head again in a faux-casual shrug.

"So... did they catch the guy?" she asked, valiantly trying to change the subject. Clark shook his head.

"The police don't even have any leads," he stated, addressing the new conversation with gusto. "They think there's something wrong with the mansion's security footage too, cos the only camera to register the intruder was the one in the office and even that wasn't clear enough for a positive ID."

Lana's previous anxiety dissolved to a thoughtful crease between her eyebrows and her eyes turned distant, curious.

"I don't think it was the security footage..." she muttered. Clark looked to her questioningly. Her eyes focused again. "When I walked in and saw the guy it was just for a second. Then he disappeared. Literally into thin air."

Clark tilted his head, curious. Someone with superspeed might seem to do that... but Lana would probably have recognised Fine. Something else then...

"Invisibility?" he theorised. Lana shrugged.

"It certainly wouldn't be the first time a Kryptofreak has tried to hurt Lex," she replied.

Clark deflated a little at that, because it was true. Lex had suffered more than anyone at the hands of the kryptonite infected because he was a rich and obvious target. Another unhappy side affect of Clark's arrival on Earth, and how could he have been so callous about the other man's sometimes-cold demeanour when really it was at least partly his fault Lex was like that? Clark's falling spaceship and the resultant debris had pushed the older man into an isolated and dangerous existence, was it any wonder he'd hardened himself in order to cope?

"I should have been there," Clark lamented—he couldn't change the past, but he should at least be able to protect Lex's present. "If only I hadn't gone to that stupid party. I could have stopped this, I should have thought..."

"You're right, Clark," a scratchy voice coughed from the bed. Clark and Lana turned quickly to find Lex blinking his eyes open and trying to pull himself up. An unfocused gaze locked onto the two of them. "I am terribly disappointed at your inability to predict the future. I may never forgive you for it..."

He managed to push himself up against the headboard, looking especially fragile in the thin, sterile blue hospital garb, and smiled weakly. Clark's lips flickered back, though his eyes dulled with worry.

"Hey," he said softly, hurrying back to the bedside. Bypassing the chair, he raised a hand to the other man's shoulder, paused, then rested it on the metal headboard instead. "You're not supposed to talk."

Lex tried to laugh—it sounded like a choke.

"I'm not supposed to do a lot of things," he responded, gingerly feeling the red-raw mark on his neck. Clark watched the movement with a frown and Lex caught his eye, reassuring. "Don't worry. I'll probably be fine by this evening. You're not the only one with a few tricks up your sleeve, remember?"

Clark was halfway to relaxing at that when Lana stepped beside him and reminded the Kryptonian how much things had changed. Lex's comment included her too and was probably the first of many. The older man might even start talking to the others about alien related issues now, alone, without him, and Clark felt a pang of anger at that, like something precious had been stolen from him. He was suddenly very glad to have kept quiet about the other change between him and Lex—that was still wholly his at least—and he felt newly determined to keep it that way for some time yet.

It took less than a second for Lex to read Clark's tension and what it meant about Lana. It was hardly unexpected, he'd known the two of them would have to talk about recent events eventually, but he was surprised by the violent flip his stomach underwent at the knowledge. He'd been more afraid of the idea than he realised—because if there was anyone who could claim control over Clark, history dictated Lana was it. One word from her, Lex had thought, could have Clark against him again in an instant. Months ago, before Clark's revelation, he'd even briefly considered seducing the girl just to try and bring the boy closer again. Now he thought about it, perhaps recruiting her into the alien project had been an unconscious first step in that plan.

While Clark's tension might have easily confirmed the young Luthor's fears, though, Lex knew better than anyone not to take it at face value. Because Lex knew tension—he'd eaten, drunk and slept it for twenty-five years; yes his dad had certainly been a good teacher there. And what Clark revealed now wasn't antagonism—the gentle arm just beside his head was more than enough to confirm that—it was uncertainly, anticipation.

He remembered Clark's distress yesterday when he'd tried to push the younger man away. The way he'd pinned him to the balcony banister, snaking a warm, searching tongue down his throat.

Lex smiled.

"Lana," he greeted, flinching as stabs of not-quite-pain shot through his neck when he tried to nod. He noticed the morphine drip trailing from his left hand gratefully. "I wasn't quite as focused as normal last night, but I think I owe you some thanks."

Clark seemed to hold his breath by the headboard, and Lana glanced at him briefly.

"You're welcome," was her only reply.

Clark's mouth lifted slightly at the corners.

"So," Lex continued, relaxing into the fading apprehension. "I won't bother asking if they've caught the guy, I suspect I'll only be disappointed..."

A dry, wheezing cough caught him off guard, and Clark lifted his hand from the headboard to the table he was leaning over. Behind the empty vending machine cups stood a jug of water and he poured some into one of the plastic tumblers, apparently picked at random. Lex eyed it dubiously as Clark held it out and the younger man smirked a little.

"It's clean," he insisted, eyebrows raised in exaggerated offence. "I bought extra."

Lex ran his eyes up Clark slowly, registering the white shirt for the first time. He noticed the discarded black jacket soon after and realised the cups scattered beside him were far too many to have collected during visiting hours.

The last time someone had stayed up with him all night she'd been there to chase away closet monsters and he'd been five.

Lex's face softened and he took the cup without complaint, taking a small sip before continuing.

"There is one thing I want to know," he stated. Clark and Lana waited expectantly as Lex quirked his lips, focused on the circle of water in front of him. He raised an eyebrow at Clark as he looked up. "How was the party?"

Clark gave a faint, nervous smile and looked away, hands clasping behind him—in all the recent excitement he'd almost forgotten about that, and Graham... and Geya.

"What party?" Lana queried.

Lex lowered the cup a little to grin at her, already re-focused blue eyes holding her gaze.

"Clark's been unfaithful," he deadpanned in a low, conspiring whisper. Clark jerked his head round in shock and Lex breathed a soft, unperceivable chuckle at the gesture. "He's been rescuing other millionaires," the older man finished, making Clark circle his head slightly—torn between relief and embarrassment.

Lana turned to the younger man, confused, and Clark shrugged.

"I stopped a guy getting run over outside the courthouse yesterday," he explained. "Which should have been the end of it, except it turned out the guy was Graham Garrett, who secretly has more money than God or something..."

"I wouldn't go that far, Clark," Lex murmured, defensive. "In the millionaire pecking order he's still considered pretty low. And if you listen to speculation, half of what he earns isn't even legit."

Clark raised an eyebrow at that while Lana looked down, lips flattening.

"I didn't realise that was unusual for the rich," she muttered quietly.

A pause.

Coming from Lana, the baseness of the blow sounded shocking and Clark frowned, suitably distressed. Lex remembered a girl lying boldly to a drug dealer though and found himself unsurprised. Lana had been desperate then and stolen his Porsche, now she was angry and insulting him, but neither act was personal—just a result of frustrated affection. Because it was painfully obvious she still loved Clark. Deeply. And wouldn't he have been just the same if the farmboy had spurned him instead of her? If he'd found the one man he trusted above everyone had been sharing secrets with someone else? Bitter comments would probably have been the least of his crimes.

Lex stilled his lips above the plastic cup and gave a brief nod.

"He hides it worse than the rest of us," he continued lightly, sparing Lana further attention by accepting the criticism. "He's supposedly a head hunter—finds talent for other businesses and passes it along. But his income is far in excess of what the job usually pays. Most people think he's got some less than legal investments stashed away, making up the numbers."

"And you went to a party with this guy?" Lana questioned, raising soft, rather shameful eyes to Clark and avoiding Lex completely. The faint redness in her cheeks discounted a shunning though. If anything, she seemed grateful for the other man's tact.

"Um..." Clark muttered, still a little thrown. Seeing the moment had passed, he quickly fell back to explanations. "Look, I only went to set things straight okay? The guy thought he owed me or something. He even sent a surround sound TV and games console to the farm..."

Lana blinked, losing her tension to astonishment.

"Wow! Really?" she breathed, face brightening. "So you..." She stopped mid-smile and nodded, understanding. "You sent it back, didn't you?"

Clark lifted a hand from his back in exasperation.

"Of course I sent it back," he insisted. "Why does no one understand that?"

He looked between Lex and Lana in genuine confusion and the two of them shook their heads with equally fond smiles. This did nothing to satisfy Clark, but it did lighten the atmosphere.

"So you went to tell this Graham 'no more gifts,' I get it," Lana nodded, eyes warmer with amusement now.

"How'd he take it?" Lex added, eyeing Clark curiously as he took another sip of water.

"Well, ah... Let's just say he got the message and leave it at that shall we?" he suggested.

Lex swallowed quickly.

"Oh, let's not," he insisted. "Let's elaborate."

A quick flash of mischief crossed his still sickly face and something inside Clark jumped in response. A few dozen replies involving temptation and prostitutes sprang to mind and if Lana hadn't been there Clark felt sure he'd have used them, just to see Lex's response. He suspected it might be physical... But Lana was there, looking wide-eyed and questioning, making the whole thing just... embarrassing.

"Okay, okay..." Clark muttered, eyes shifting away. "He wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't want anything so he... he went off with Lois for a bit and sent me to the balcony..."

"Wait, Lois?" Lana interrupted.

"Lane?" Lex added.

"Oh yeah," Clark nodded, looking back, grateful for the distraction. "She was his date. They met at my house apparently."

Lex smirked.

"Say what you will about Lois, the one thing she isn't is slow," he noted, sounding impressed. Another quick sip of water, then his eyes were on Clark again. "But please, continue."

Clark rolled his eyes, lips quirking.

"Okay. So I was on this balcony when this... woman, turned up..." He ran a hand behind his neck self-consciously. "So, we were talking... and then she... well... it turned out Graham had sent her to... to..."

Water splashed on the floor as Lex jerked forward, free hand yanked to his face to cover what looked like a coughing fit. The tube of morphine hung precariously from his knuckles and Clark moved forward in alarm.

"Lex..." he called, taking the cup away quickly to prevent further spillage.

This freed the older man's face somewhat and the 'coughing' turned out to be heavy, whole-hearted laughter.

The younger man moved back again instantly, resting the cup on the table with a loud sigh—mostly relief, part irritation.

"What?" Lana shrugged, looking between them with a gentle, bemused frown.

Beside her, Lex kept chuckling and Clark shook his head.

"It's not funny, Lex," he insisted over the din. "She seemed really upset when I... when I turned her down."

"Clark," Lex breathed, laughter subsiding. He looked to the other man brightly and Clark had to admit embarrassment had it uses—the rich flush now soaking Lex's face made him look a lot healthier. "She was probably just worried she wouldn't get paid."

Clark gave a wry smile at that, raising eyebrows in a 'well, maybe' kind of gesture.

"Oh god," Lana muttered beside him, flashing a grin she quickly tried to smother. "You mean she was...?"

Clark tilted his head in the affirmative.

"Oh..." Lana nodded a little too much. "Right."

"Of all the things he could have tried..." Lex added, raising a fist to his mouth to hold back another chuckle.

Clark raised a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes in despair.

"Okay, okay, are you two done now?" he queried, tentatively lifting his lids again.

Two warm, smiling faces met his gaze.

Clark gave a grin of his own, lighting the room, and lowered his hand in relief. If only bringing friends together could always be so easy, he thought. Being mocked seemed a small price to pay.

"Why..." Lana tried, biting her lip as she smothered a snigger of her own. "Why on earth did he think you'd be interested in something like that?"

"It was completely Lois' fault," Clark replied quickly. "She's was telling him how lonely and pathetic I am, and how I'd just got out of a serious relationship..." A small, sympathetic smile at Lana, which she returned with a nod. "I guess he thought I needed some non-committal fun... or something..." He shrugged.

"What did you do afterwards?" Lex asked, curious again.

"I told him thanks but no thanks," Clark answered.

"And that was enough?" the older man prodded, disbelieving.

"Not exactly," Clark admitted. "He wanted to know all about why Lana and I broke up and stuff. Figure out what he'd got wrong I suppose."

Lex nodded thoughtfully while Lana looked down.

"What, um... What did you tell him?" she asked, voice quiet.

Clark turned to her with new guilt. Despite the brave face she put on, it was clear their break up was still a sore point for Lana and he hadn't meant to drudge up old pain. Especially today, when Lana was angry and hurting enough already because of him.

"Oh, I just said..." he started, searching for something tactful. That I realised I loved Lex and not you didn't quite seem it... but then, that wasn't even what he'd said, was it? He'd never have been that blunt. What he'd actually told Graham was...

Clark stopped dead, face and body stilling completely.

:: "What didn't you see?" "Lex" ::
That kind of implied Lex was an obstacle, didn't it? And now Clark thought about it, it was possible the other man might have misinterpreted. Assumed Lex as the cause of the break up and...

"Clark?" Lex queried, sharply. Clark blinked back to focus and turned to Lana.

"The guy last night, what did he look like?" he asked.

"Err..." Lana responded, moving her head back in surprise. "Dark hair, dark eyes, about six foot tall," she listed with police statement accuracy. "Wearing a black trench coat."

Clark grimaced, scrunching his eyes tight. When he snapped them open again they were swimming in condemnation.

"I've, err... I've gotta go... I..." he muttered, hurrying to the door. He pointed at the two of them seriously. "Stay here, both of you, okay. I'll be back. And call security, get someone outside..."

"Clark, wait, what's going on?" Lex asked, eyes clouding with concern.

"I'll explain later," Clark insisted, gaze flicking quickly round the room. Good, no cameras. "Please, just stay here? It'll be safer."

"But, Clark—" Lana cut off mid-sentence. Clark was gone.

A quick breeze tipped over some cups on the table and one of them rolled to the floor, clattering quietly.

Lex bit his lip with a sigh. As great as Clark's powers were, he was quickly coming to realise that, sometimes, even the miraculous got old.

"I hate it when he does that," he muttered. Lana turned back to him, surprised.

When their eyes met, they didn't hold companionship, not yet, but they did share understanding.

"Yeah," she smiled.

Having absolutely no idea where to find Graham, Clark went to the only place he could think of—the house from last night. His heart felt like lead as he ran—dampening his superspeed till he was sure people could see—because if he was right, Lex's attack was his fault. And Lex could have died last night. Was he really doomed to hurt everyone he loved?

He stopped outside the place gratefully, ending his fears of being spotted, and pushed all thought away as he moved into action. A few hefty security guards milled about the entrance, chatting to what seemed to be a collection of cleaners, all carrying overfull black bags. As Clark watched, another bagman stepped through the elaborate double doors and it was the work of a few seconds to zip passed him into the open space beyond.

The difference to last night was almost physical. No longer did the rooms have a dull, samey look, but instead each displayed varying touches of homeliness—one with intricate paintings, one with ornate mirrors, several with chairs lining the walls. The place had changed from 'party' to 'inhabitable' over night, with a slickness that only came with practice. Clark wondered how many times the house had been transformed in this way and how the owner could stand it.

That, of course, led to speculation on the owner, who Clark had previously assumed to be several corporations agreeing to a shared space for functions. Now the place was obviously private residence, Clark wondered if Graham might himself be the inhabitant. It would certainly make things easier.

Switching to x-ray proved distinctly more helpful than it had last night due to the lack of a crowd and by stopping just before he hit skeleton-mode Clark was able to find the object of his search with thankful ease. He hurried to the relevant floor and found himself stepping into what had been the central hub of things last night. The change made the place almost unrecognisable. For one thing, the bar from last night had vanished and the dance floor now sported a thick cream-coloured rug topped with art deco white chairs and table. Beside it, an uncovered fireplace took centre stage, while two small pillars flanked the French windows, both holding thick metal sculptures—silver rods just shorter than a man's arm curving round a small steel ball.

Clark walked uneasily up to the window, recalling what had happened behind it last night and wondering where the figure he'd seen here just a second ago had got to.

"'Fraid the party's over," a grinning and now all too familiar voice called from behind him. Clark turned, tense, and saw Graham step through a side door he hadn't noticed. His trench coat was absent today and he wore a chocolate shirt beneath smart black jacket. If he was surprised at Clark's presence in the house he didn't show it. "Clark..." he muttered, moving to rest an arm on one of the pillars, apparently lost in thought. "You know Lois pretty well, is she a candy or flowers kind of girl?"

Considering his suspicions, Clark didn't like the other man's fixation on Lois one bit and the idea of Graham hurting another of his friends pushed the younger man straight to the point.

"You tried to kill Lex," he stated, voice cold, almost trembling.

Graham blinked and gave a short laugh.

"Me?" he said with quiet incredulity. "Why would I do that?"

"You have some sick idea you'd be doing me a favour," Clark responded, stepping closer, standing taller. Despite the array of creases in his shirt, the stance was undeniably intimidating and Graham lifted his arm from the pillar nervously.

"Well, hey," he replied, palms raised defensively. "You do have to admit, if Lex was out of the picture, Lana would be free as a bird."

Clark shook his head, appalled.

"I can't believe you. What do you think gives you the right...?" He breathed out heavily, looking away. No matter how hard he tried, it seemed there were some things he'd just never understand. "What I said about Lex, I didn't even mean it like that..." he added, voice full of contrition—because to his mind, his faulty explanation yesterday made this his crime as much as Graham's.

Graham frowned for a second, tilting his head. Then his face cleared with amused understanding.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry!" he grinned, shaking his head at himself in mild reproach. "I had no idea it was like that. Please, let me make it up to you."

He took a step forward, holding out a hand—a gesture of friendship. Clark flinched away.

"No!" he stated, voice sharp. Graham stilled, instantly cold. "You're not gonna make it up to me. I'm taking you to the police..."

As Clark moved forward, determined, Graham stepped back to the pillar. Raising his other arm, he gripped the metal sculpture on top with both hands and swung the whole thing at Clark in a strong, unhesitant, practiced motion.

Clark raised an arm instinctively. The metal smashed against it.

Broken shards flew everywhere and Graham, tottering a little from the momentum, dropped his jaw in surprise, hands still clutching the remains.

A flash of fear crossed Clark's face for a second, but then he remembered Lex—pale and flinching at the hospital—and alien powers no longer seemed a weakness but a strength. He lowered his unhurt arm slowly, raising a pair of dark, threatening eyes.

Graham stepped back, swallowing, and moved the broken metal pole to one hand. He looked over it vaguely, as though he might have been mistaken about what had happened. When he realised he wasn't, a quick chuckle pushed his fear away. He looked back to Clark, suddenly cocky.

"I guess I'm not the only one with a secret," he smirked, before fading, quite literally, away.

The only sign of his presence was the metal pole, which hovered in mid-air exactly where the other man's hand had been. Clark was shocked into stillness for a second and could only watch as the pole fell to the floor, leaving no outward sign of Graham at all.

The Kryptonian's senses kicked in again quickly and he switched straight to x-ray. There hadn't been anywhere near enough time for the guy to leave the room yet, so his skeleton should easily be spotted. Except it wasn't.

Clark switched his scope to the entire house and did a quick head count. There was a body missing.

What the hell?

Clark watched, unseeing, as Chloe tapped on the keyboard—thin, blue hairband securing her locks, eyes focused onscreen

At a loss for what to do after Graham's unusual disappearance and frankly too guilt-ridden to talk to Lex just yet, Clark had whizzed down to his other closest friend instead and poured out the whole story before she'd even said 'hello.' It was the kind of heart-felt release he'd known in that moment he'd never have managed with Lana and he felt a new wave of shock at how badly he'd misjudged himself all this time.

Chloe proved her worth instantly by sitting her anxious friend beside her and turning straight to the computer, no questions asked. Clark had no idea what she was doing, but was immensely grateful nonetheless—the vibe of busyness satisfied his need for action and the silence gave him time to compose himself. He rested his hands in his lap as he watched, tracing the pattern of shine on Chloe's blouse—silky lavender dimming to lilac in the overhead lights.

"Okay," she muttered, calling several windows to existence. "I figure if your meteor challenged friend tried to kill Lex to repay a favour, it's probably not the first time he's murdered someone, and from what you said of his powers, I'm thinking he might just be the Chameleon."

She turned to him then, face sombre. Clark frowned.

"Who's the Chameleon?" he asked.

"Hitman for hire," she explained, waving a hand at a list of names in one of the windows. An FBI logo blinked at the top. "Number eight on the FBI's top forty and climbing the charts..." She clicked a link and read through a file with interest. "He also happens to be the prime suspect for the courthouse murder..." Her brow furrowed.

"Which happened right after I saved Graham's life," Clark added dully, fitting the pieces. Chloe nodded.

"Well, you did say I'd figure out the murderer," she shrugged, flashing a humourless grin. "Unfortunately, finding him is another matter..." She turned to the screen again. "The Chameleon's trademark is getting to his victims in highly secure locations," she read. "He leaves no prints, no images on surveillance cameras and no clues. Certainly explains how Graham's been dodging the paparazzi for so long. A meteor power would be the logical conclusion, but how did he get exposed?"

"He said he'd been in Smallville before. That it left an impression," Clark recalled with a sigh.

Chloe clicked another window—a database. Home made. She typed in 'camouflage' and 'Graham Garrett.' Both returned no results.

"Well, there's no record of camouflage power on the digital Wall of Weird and the name Graham Garrett's getting no hits," she stated. "If he did stop by, there's no record."

Clark shrugged, lifting a white-shirted arm to the desk.

"Well, if he's so good at disappearing I guess there wouldn't be," he muttered, drumming the unpolished wood with his fingers. "Besides, I don't think his power's camouflage anyway. Clara has that and it wasn't the same. I still see her in x-ray, even when she's hidden, and it can't stop fingerprints. What Graham can do is more of an overall fade..." He shook his head unhappily—lots of discoveries, none of them helpful.

"Clara?" Chloe repeated, confused.

Clark caught her eye and realised he'd been thinking aloud. He looked down a little sheepishly.

"She's um... she's a girl at 33.1," he explained haltingly. More tension about his dealings with Lex was the last thing he needed right now. "Look, Chloe it's not important. What matters is finding this guy. If I hadn't pulled him out of traffic that witness would still be alive and Lex wouldn't be in hospital. I need to do something."

Chloe frowned, annoyance and sympathy creasing her face.

"Well sure, but that's easier said than done. When you're a wanted man, invisibility really comes in handy and..." She spun round in her chair, hands clasping dramatically. "When you say 'girl'...?"

Clark raised his eyes skyward for a second.

"She turns thirteen this month. Lex found her in a mental institution. No family," he listed quickly. "He must have other addresses, places he needs to go. There has to be some way of tracking him."

"A mental institution at thirteen?" Chloe queried, shocked. "How did...?" Clark raised his eyebrows beseechingly and Chloe sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll save it for later. But Clark, I'm no miracle worker. I understand you want to find this guy, but every major newspaper and law enforcement agency has been after him for the last year with no dice. What makes you think we'll be any different?"

"I'm not your typical law enforcement agency," Clark replied, leaning over, voice low.

Chloe bit her lip, worried.

"Hey, don't get too cocky," she warned, matching Clark's crouch. "Not only does this guy know about your powers, there's every chance he could find out your weakness too. He is the ultimate fly on the wall."

Clark moved back again, sceptical.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But it's not like we make a habit of announcing my meteor rock allergies in daily conversation."

"Well, perhaps not," Chloe shrugged, lifting her head. "But you never know what casual banter might let slip and... oh my god!" She grabbed Clark's hand tightly. "Clark, there is one place we know Graham might be."

Clark gripped her palm carefully, eyes bright.

"Where?"

"At the Talon. With Lois." Her eyes widened. "They have a date tonight, she's been going on and on about it, and if Graham's as compulsive with her as he was with you..."

"There's no chance he's gonna cancel," Clark nodded, releasing her hand and standing up quickly. "I'll run over there and warn her."

"And I'll give her a call in case she's popped out somewhere," Chloe added, grabbing the desk phone. "She can go overboard with the cosmetics sometimes..."

Clark gave her shoulder a quick squeeze as he left, full of thanks as much as comfort—at least he had a game plan now.

Neither of them noticed the figure lurking in the busy office crowd behind them, smirking under tightly curled hair. Pretty soon, no one else noticed either.

Lois wasn't at the Talon when Clark stopped by, and a quick text from Chloe proved her cell set to voice mail.

As morning and afternoon passed by with still no sign of her, Clark began fearing the worst—maybe Graham had met her before the date, taken her away so she couldn't be used to find him, maybe she was dead already, strangled like the man in the courthouse, maybe...

"Clark, honey, there you are!"

Martha waved to him from the Talon counter.

It was Clark's tenth visit that day, second to his ten visits to Metropolis hospital where he'd watched from afar as Lex had security posted outside his room—the one time he had plucked up courage to step back in and apologise for everything Lex had been sleeping, peacefully this time, and the Kryptonian had been loathe to disturb him.

Martha had fussed over her son plenty during earlier visits to the coffee shop—enough to make him change his bedraggled shirt and slacks to a cleaner blue sweatshirt and jeans, at least—so Clark didn't pay much attention to her call now.

"Are you still looking for Lois? She got in about an hour ago, said she was going to take a shower."

Clark nodded distractedly, sucking his lower lip as he walked over.

"Thanks mom, I..." Troubled eyes snapped up to her. "What?"

Martha blinked at her son's intensity.

"Lois," she repeated slowly. "She came in just over an hour ago, decked in a mountain of shopping bags, and went straight up stairs to have a shower."

Clark practically collapsed with relief.

"Thanks mom!" He beamed, rushing to the stairs.

He gave a confused Martha one last, grateful wave before dashing up to Lois' apartment.

The door was unlocked. And partly open.

Clark stepped cautiously inside, ready for another tussle. A rather untidy apartment came into view, with a collection of at least ten brightly coloured shopping bags surrounded by scattered coat and clothes beside the door. The sound of running water came from the bathroom.

After a suspicious look round, Clark headed to the bathroom door, where he stopped uncertainly. If everything was actually okay here, going any further would likely be a regrettable error—there'd been enough embarrassment with him, Lois and showers already—but then it had been over an hour since his mom heard Lois go upstairs, surely she wouldn't really still be in there? And hadn't he read somewhere that showers were good places to hide murders, make it look like an accident?

The door opened just then and thought scurried quickly away—to cower at the back of Clark's mind.

Behind the door stood Lois, with a showerhead. And nothing else.

The two of them just stood for a second—Lois holding the shining steel threateningly; water dripping down her fully exposed skin; long, dark hair stuck to her back. Then, two pairs of eyes widened in shocked realisation.

Lois gave a short, embarrassed cough and slammed the door shut again.

Clark blinked at the blue-painted wood for a second, then took a sharp step away, face flushed. Seeing Lois naked was mortifying enough, although admittedly kinda fair considering she had already seen him, but there was a voice in his head making it ten times worse. The voice was saying: wow! Lana's were nowhere near that—

He closed his eyes for a second. Let's think of Lex now, please?

The door clicked open again behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Lois snapped, stepping beside him, thick navy towel now carefully wrapped round her body.

She still held the showerhead and waved it at Clark in irritation, but moved away before he could respond.

She started searching the bedroom intently.

"Lois, I've been looking for you everywhere. Chloe's been calling," he insisted to her back. "What happened to your phone and how long have you been in there?"

Lois shrugged, moving to the living area.

"My phone's been off. I had important date shopping to do and didn't want to be disturbed," she replied. "And I haven't been in there that long. An hour and a half maybe?"

"What?" Clark questioned, eyes widening again.

"Hey!" Lois spun round defensively, pointing the showerhead again. A new thought seemed to strike her as she looked him over, eyes narrowing. "You weren't just in my bathroom were you?"

"Lois!" Clark responded, offended by the accusation. "I just walked in the apartment."

Lois lowered the shower, abashed but not pacified.

"Well, that's weird," she muttered. "Because I could have sworn someone was in there watching me..."

Clark frowned.

"Graham," he stated with certainty, eyes darkening.

Lois shook her head, disbelieving.

"You're blaming Graham? That's pathetic..."

"Lois, if you see him you have to stay away," Clark told her seriously. "He—"

"Why is it you feel the need to lob a grenade at every guy I decide to date?" Lois interrupted, eyes flashing with anger.

Clark made to explain when a soft sound passed by him. A drumming. A heartbeat. Of course!

"Quiet!" he said quickly, raising a hand. Concentrating hard, he focused all his hearing on the heartbeats in the room. There were three. "He's here."

Through the still open door, a purple curtain brushed one of the corridor's stain glass windows. Clark hurried outside while a confused and angry Lois shrugged behind him.

Clark paused on the balcony to stare at the throng of customers below. How could he find a single heartbeat in that? He ran down the staircase desperately, head turning everywhere for any kind of clue.

A waitress by the counter suddenly fell against the wall, the large cup and saucer in her hands crashing to the floor.

"Hey!" she yelled, turning to the empty space beside her. Anger quickly changed to confusion when she found no one there.

As Martha and some others moved to help her, Clark saw the door to the kitchen swing open. He hurried passed, following the invisible body through the back door and into the alley beyond.

The glaring neon lights from the building behind him revealed his mom's blue truck, loaded with posters, several traffic cones marking spaces for deliveries, a large area of dug up earth soon to be an extension of the kitchen and Graham, standing against the alley's dead-end brick wall. In his black and brown ensemble he seemed to fade against the brick even without his power. He stood quietly, staring.

Part of Clark found that strange, ominous even, but it wasn't enough to fight the part wanting to hit the other man very hard, so he could drag him to the sheriff's office unconscious. Not bothering with pretence, Clark zipped over and gripped Graham's jacket.

The younger man's curling fingers instantly weakened and slipped from the fabric.

"It's amazing what you can learn when you're a fly on the wall," Graham smirked, eyes flashing triumph as he held up a glowing lump of kryptonite in his left hand. He held it to Clark's face, watching in obvious fascination as the Kryptonian struggled to stay upright beneath the rush of radiation. "These meteors that fell from the sky the day I drove through town might hurt you..." He thrust the stone forward and Clark finally collapsed, curling up at Graham's feet to try and curb the pain. "But they gave me the greatest life I could ever ask for."

"You, were in Smallville the day of the meteor shower..." Clark muttered, gazing up weakly as he tried to buy time for... well, anything really.

"Luckiest day of my life," Graham grinned. "Think using your powers to be a hero's a rush? Nothing beats using them to kill."

His eyes flashed—dark and delighted—and Clark knew the other man was enjoying every minute of this torture.

"I... I saved your life..." he tried, not that he thought to reach Graham's conscience—he was starting to suspect the hitman might not have one—but he did hope to appeal to his obvious sense of fair play. Technically Graham still owed him for the save, maybe that would be enough to stop this...

Graham knelt beside him, lips quirking as he shook his head.

"You should have taken the plasma," he lamented. "But now my identity's in jeopardy. I have no choice. I have to get rid of you, and Lana. And Lex."

"No!" Clark yelled, as much as the pain and pressure from the kryptonite would let him.

"The girl saw who I was, Clark. And I know Luthor; he'll have worked it out by now. In my line of work you don't leave loose ends."

"You'll never... get away with it..." Clark muttered, not even sure what he was saying anymore as he blinked against the white spots clouding his vision. Graham leant closer, holding the kryptonite to the younger man's cheek.

"I always do," Graham whispered, tone silky soft.

He switched the rock to his right hand and pulled Clark up roughly. A glowing green fist was the last thing Clark saw.

Just over two hours later, Lex was awake again and decidedly annoyed.

This was partly due to the removal of the morphine drip, which gave extra venom to the continuing pangs of recovery in his neck, but mostly due to the e-mail he was reading off the shiny silver laptop he'd had security transport from the mansion. Staff at the Smallville Medical centre hadn't been impressed at his demand for unlimited internet access, but considering LuthorCorp donations made up nearly ninety percent of their funding there was little they could do but comply. Even money had its limitations though, and a separate desk and chair for someone needing bed-rest had crossed the line, forcing Lex to balance the machine on his knees, back propped up by no less than three extra pillows.

On the slide across bed-table to his left, a thick cotton handkerchief hid a second item from the mansion that the medical staff would most certainly have objected to—if Lex had thought to mention he was smuggling it in—while a folder holding various LuthorCorp spreadsheets and notes lay open beside it. The e-mail causing Lex's current concern had nothing to do with LuthorCorp, however, and claimed to be from one allisonmack@watchtower.com. It read as follows:

'OK. How the hell did you track this address back to me? This is not from your standard issue mail server. I created it myself with a triple set of encryptions. Either your people are way better than I thought or I've been completely underestimating your hacking skills.

Anyway, never mind. God, I'm even babbling in text, and you're not even in front of me. Issues of illegal infiltration aside, I guess you have the right to ask these kind of things now, what with, you know... So, basically, yes, Clark buzzed off to track down your mystery attacker and as you so rightly surmised it was the other mystery man himself—Mr Graham Garrett. Trouble is, he's not your usual hitman. Somehow Smallville's brand of meteor weirdness got to him and he has the power to literally vanish into thin air.

Clark and I are working on finding him right now, so I advise you do the sensible thing and just sit tight. Getting involved is guaranteed to hamper your recovery. Or is it? I admit a hefty scepticism when it comes to altruism and I'm guessing no one sets up a meteor power testing facility without some personal motive—is there something about your own infection you've perhaps been neglecting to tell us? I only ask because, considering what you know, it seems only fair we get your full story too, just to even the playing field and all. As you probably know already, Lana and I don't exactly approve of this new development and I swear, if you ever do anything to hurt Clark you won't even be able to count the number of ways you'll regret it.

Oh, and on that topic, Graham is now another member of the non-approved people 'in the know,' so if you are thinking of ignoring my advice, remember that discretion is in Clark's best interest here.

C.

Ps. Please don't contact me at this address again'

Lex ran a finger over his bottom lip as he considered the message. Chloe's hostility didn't trouble him—in fact, he felt she was taking the whole thing rather well—but Graham's knowledge and Clark's silence did, and just then he couldn't tell which angered him more. Because, god damn it, why hadn't Clark just told him what was going on? Especially considering everything happening between them lately. He could have helped, he could have done something—the Kryptonian needn't have dashed off to face this new threat alone, eyes blazing like they had. Or rather shining with that not-so-hidden sorrow the other man was so attached to and, oh... That probably meant another self-imposed guilt trip, didn't it? Damn, Clark was such a silly, frustrating, kind-hearted, beautiful boy.

Lex shook his head, eyes turning distant as anger changed to fondness.

A quiet 'ding' distracted him and he turned back to find an instant message window now covering the top right of the screen. It read:

MiltonFine
Is the compound virus ready?

Lex frowned. Weeks with no personal contact and now two in as many days? Fine certainly knew how to unnerve his opponents. It seemed they were finally reaching the endgame and the timing couldn't have been more inconvenient. Lex's face hardened and he lowered his hand to the keyboard, solemnly typing a reply:

LexLuthor
YES

The door handle turned seconds later and Lex reached straight for the handkerchief, uncovering the hidden pistol beneath it. If the intruder was Fine, of course, the weapon was futile, but up until two seconds ago Graham had been the immediate threat and the gun had seemed a prudent precaution.

Lex gave an audible sigh when the grey-jacketed figure of Lana Lang stepped through the doorway, a cup of steaming liquid in her hands.

"Hey," she nodded, significantly less stiffly than earlier. Her brow furrowed as she noted Lex's tension. "Is everything okay?"

Lex folded the handkerchief back over the gun with a small grin and lowered the laptop screen.

"Yeah," he breathed. "At the moment..."

He wondered how to play this. Clark hadn't told him about Graham so... should he tell Lana? And did the younger man intend to come clean about the Fine situation now too? What did Clark and the others do when facing a supernatural event—did they work through it as a team, or face situations separately as they occurred? Lana hadn't known the truth that long herself, of course, and Pete and Chloe had never known at the same time, so presumably the concept of 'team' had never entered the equation. God this needed better organisation.

"What are you doing back here?" Lex asked eventually, avoiding the other issues altogether.

Lana stepped over to the side table on the right with a shrug.

"Actually, I kinda never left," she admitted, placing her cup on the table's now empty surface and perching on the edge. "I moved to the cafeteria when you were setting up security, and when I got back you were sleeping, so I've just been hanging around."

"For the whole day?" Lex pressed, curious. Lana looked down, embarrassed.

"I got a book from the shop downstairs," she added, pulling a slim volume from her jeans' pocket. The title read Selected works of John Donne. A short pause as she placed it on the table, then she looked up seriously. "Clark did say I should stay..." she finished, face creasing slightly in apology.

Lex quirked his lips in understanding and nodded a little. It was astounding really, the loyalty the small town farmboy inspired, bordering on ridiculous, obsessive. But he couldn't criticise. He might not go as far as obeying commands word for word, but Lex knew he'd go all out for the other man nonetheless.

It was... strange, being with Lana now. In many ways they were very similar—they'd both lost parents they loved at a very young age, they'd both had experience of the shadier sides of running a business, and ever since her kryptonite drug spree Lex could tell they both shared an unshakable determination to go all the way with their projects, no matter the costs.

In another lifetime perhaps these similarities would have developed attraction, but the truth was, in spite of all of that, the defining quality of their relationship had always been their rivalry. It was unknown on Lana's side of course, but ever since he'd crashed into Smallville Lex had been acutely aware of the paragon of perfection he'd been held up against in Clark's eyes. To an extent he supposed everyone had been—Pete and Chloe included. Only now that paragon had shattered, and Lex was the imperfect mortal who'd gained Clark's attention.

It was intoxicating really, the idea that he'd beaten what had in effect been a god to the other man—worship of golden idol Lana was his for the taking now and part of Lex wanted to gloat uncontrollably. The other part, though, felt nothing but a deep, heartfelt sympathy. Because Lex had always seen what Clark couldn't—the woman behind the image. And that woman was hurting now, still mostly lost, and the sameness Lex shared with her made him understand that pain all the stronger. It made him feel almost ashamed. He'd gained the treasure she'd lost through no fault of hers, no act of his, but through simple luck of chance. And what was worse—she didn't even know it yet.

Considering what he'd gained, Lex couldn't bring himself to regret how things had turned out, but he did feel an unusual amount of discomfort being alone with Lana now.

It came as somewhat of a relief then, when the soft thump of a security-guard-like body falling to the floor came from outside. Both of them turned to the door cautiously and watched it open of its own accord.

Lana frowned in confusion, while Lex tensed again instantly.

Grabbing the gun with no hesitation this time, Lex slipped from the off-white covers, sudden adrenaline pumping away any lingering pain. Leaving the laptop tangled untidily amongst the sheets, he stepped quickly between Lana and the door.

"Lana, get behind me," he instructed, using his free hand to tug her from the table and into the room's right-hand corner.

"What's happening?" she muttered, fearful, as Lex held the gun out before him, aiming it across the room in long, methodical sweeps.

A cabinet beside the door jostled slightly as though struck and Lex fired above it, approximating the height of a man's head. Lana flinched at the explosion then outright gasped as the bullet whizzed through a vase on top. Tepid water and broken glass fell to the ground with a tinkling splash, followed by a selection of mediocre, wilting flowers—a belated 'get well' gift from Lionel.

Lex was oddly satisfied at the sight, but didn't dwell. There was no blood so he'd obviously missed. He shot off another five rounds in quick succession, aiming for anywhere a man just by the door may have moved to—the right-hand corner, the left, the second visiting chair by the doorframe.

Expectant silence met the two of them as he stopped and Lex pulled Lana slowly to the door, swinging the gun continuously. Lana followed silently, eyeing the room with equal caution.

As they reached the doorway, a soft dripping started at the left of it and Lex saw a pool of blood begin to form across the hospital's black and white tiles. Before he could react though, a sharp pair of knuckles smashed against the side of his head. Lana screamed as he fell to the floor, gun flying from his hand and skipping away.

As she grabbed Lex's shoulder to help him up, a splash of blood roughly the shape of a hand reached down and curved around the weapon.

Over at the Talon, Lois had finally completed her beautification and stood admiring herself in the full-length mirror on the apartment's front door.

She pulled the crinkled, low cut yellow top a little further down her tight, black jeans, giving the line of her breasts greater display. She smiled at the result, flicking loose, slightly curled brown hair over her shoulder to better examine her face.

She was just touching a forefinger to her right eye and contemplating a bluer eye shadow when the still unlocked door suddenly opened and her reflection changed to an obviously distressed Chloe in a badly buttoned brown overcoat.

"Lois!" she yelled, stopping short when she found her cousin right in front of her. Lois held up her arms in surprise and Chloe laid a grateful hand on her elbow. "Hey, thank god you're still here. I had to stay overtime at the Planet. Clark never got back to me about finding you, did he find you, where is he?"

She looked round breathlessly and Lois shrugged, bemused at the other woman's intensity.

"I have no clue where Clark is," she muttered, annoyed. "He busted in here a few hours ago, warned me about Graham then took off without another word."

Chloe frowned.

"Do you have any idea where he went?" she persisted, tone sharper now.

"No. I wasn't exactly paying attention," Lois answered dismissively, moving to grab a sleek blue jacket from an armchair a few paces away. "And you know what?" she continued heatedly as she slipped the item on. "To be perfectly honest, I'm starting to get a little tired of him thinking I need his approval just to go on a simple date." She flicked her hair over the jacket collar in frustration. "Can you please tell me why Clark Kent is so obsessed with my love life?"

"Lois..." Chloe started, face creasing in pre-emptive sympathy as she stepped over. "Graham's a killer. A professional hitman."

Lois just stared for a second. Then her face fell.

"Of course he is," she sighed, shaking her head.

Chloe grimaced, well aware of her cousin's track record with men and her tendency to bad boys. Arthur Curry had been a step up from that and Chloe had actually been hopeful for a while, until the guy's terrorist tactics and less than human biology got in the way. Ice cream and general men bashing would definitely be on the cards tonight, but right now there were more serious issues at hand.

"Clark was suppose to have told you that. Something must have happened to him," Chloe stated, voice strong with anxiety. "We have to find him, come on..."

Less than five minutes later, Chloe was hurrying out the Talon's back entrance, a concerned Lois and Martha in tow.

"Clark! Clark!" she yelled, looking the empty alleyway up and down.

"Liz definitely said he ran out here," Martha insisted, eyes turning fearful as she looked around.

"Well, he didn't have a car. So he can't have gone too far, right?" Lois reasoned.

Chloe and Martha shared a look.

"You'd be surprised," Chloe muttered, pulling out her cell and punching in Clark's speed-dial.

"Hey, Smallville!" Lois yelled as Chloe waited for an answer.

A muffled ringing filtered down the end of the alley.

The three of them frowned.

"Clark?" Martha called, following the sound.

Chloe hurried after her, while Lois trailed behind.

"Clark?" Chloe repeated, more urgent now.

They reached the loose soil behind Martha's truck and saw the luminous flash of Clark's cell half buried beneath it. Beside it, a small piece of blue fabric peeked out through the dirt.

"Oh my god!" Martha breathed, holding two hands to her face.

Lois and Chloe took action instantly, jumping in the hole for the extension's foundation and digging soil out by the handful. Slowly, a blue sweatshirt was revealed, along with its apparently unconscious wearer.

"Chloe..." Martha muttered behind them.

Looking up briefly, Chloe followed the older woman's nod to a glowing green rock hidden in the soil by Clark's neck. Chloe grabbed it quickly and threw it away, while Lois brushed dirt from Clark's face.

"Come on, Clark," Lois yelled, slapping the unconscious man's face. "Wake up! Wake up!"

Silence for a moment. Then Clark gave a heavy cough and twitched his head sharply. Chloe put a hand behind his neck to steady him as he opened his eyes.

It took a while for him to focus, but after several deep breaths, echoed by equal ones of relief from the girls, Clark had strength enough to speak.

"He's going after Lex and Lana," he said quickly, struggling to get up. Lois patted his shoulder a little awkwardly.

"Okay, Smallville," she nodded. "Well, you just take it easy alright? We'll get on to the police right away."

Clark's face creased in frustration and his eyes moved desperately to Martha and Chloe.

"Police, right," Chloe nodded, standing up quickly and pulling at Lois. "Lois come on, let's do that right now. Mrs. Kent, you'll stay here with Clark right?"

"Oh, of course, yes," Martha nodded hurriedly, catching on.

"Well, okay..." Lois muttered, looking over Clark in concern as she stood up. "Wait..." she protested as Chloe started leading her back to the Talon. "Didn't you have your cell just now?"

"Um... low battery..." Chloe muttered, practically pushing Lois through the door.

Martha waited till they'd gone, then moved quickly to her son's side. Grabbing his arm, she helped him get back on his feet.

"Clark, are you sure you're up to this?" she asked, squeezing his shoulder. She didn't even know what 'this' was exactly, but knew it had to be dangerous.

"I have to be mom," Clark answered. "He's gonna kill them, I have to go."

He gave her hand a quick pat then sped away.

Martha bit her lip as she looked over the troubled soil her son had just been buried in for over two hours. A miracle and nightmare all at once.

"Please, be careful..." she whispered to the wind.

For a second, Lex just watched in simple fascination as the bloody shape developed into human skin, the image of Graham Garrett washing into visibility from the wrist up, like a flesh and fabric coloured wave splashing against a human shaped container.

Graham's left hand covered a dripping wound in his side and his face darkened with anger as he pulled himself up, gripping the gun tighter.

Thoughts of science fled away and Lex jumped up, pushing Lana through the doorway.

"Lana run... Run, go!" he yelled, hurrying after her as Graham advanced.

They passed the body of a prone security guard in the corridor and Lex cursed himself for not insisting the hospital let him have more. Lana's heels echoed painfully on the tiles, but it was the sharp, familiar click of a trigger being pulled that offended Lex more. Not now, not like this, not now.

He grabbed Lana's shoulders and pushed her down instinctively, covering her kneeling body with his own, broader back. If he was getting shot, he might as well make some use of himself before he went—Graham was hurt pretty bad, Lex figured the guy couldn't last beyond a couple of shots at most. With Lex in the way, Lana, at least, was guaranteed survival.

The two of them held their breath as they waited for the bullet.

It didn't come.

Lex turned in time to see Graham fall, gun slipping from nerveless hands, eyes turning glassy, and the other man's lips curved in brief, unbidden relief as he stood up, a soft hand on Lana's forearm bringing her with him.

A few years ago this would have been a miracle. A lucky escape. A misheard gunshot. But Lex knew differently now. In Smallville miracles had a name. So it was no surprise to hear the corridor door open behind them, followed by Lana's quick gasp of joy.

"Clark!"

She took a step away, out of his hold, and Lex turned from a vision of death to the picture of life.

Clark had one hand deep in his jeans pocket, the other held up in apology. His face and clothes were oddly darkened, dirty.

"Are you guys okay? I'm so sorry," he said. The phrase could be a life summary, Lex thought wryly.

Lana hurried over and wrapped a pair of grateful arms about his chest, burying her face against him with a small, high-pitched noise of relief.

Clark blinked at the embrace, lowering his outstretched arm to her shoulders uncertainly, before raising grateful, anxious, guilty eyes to Lex.

Lex swallowed. The man had saved his life, everything was owed to him, but he looked every inch like he was the one in danger. Silly, frustrating, beautiful boy.

"It's not your fault," Lex stated softly, meeting Clark's gaze and staying there.

Clark stared in wonder at the man in hospital blue, the cruel, red circle he'd put round the older man's neck especially vivid in the corridor's sterile lighting. He'd almost got Lex killed, twice in two days, and the man was exonerating him?

A flash of pictures crossed Clark's mind then—Lex on the riverbank, Lex in a straightjacket, Lex bound to a chair. Saved. Saved. Saved. Today was one of so many dangers they'd already been through. And there were so many still to come. But Clark knew then, with sudden, irrefutable clarity, whatever else happened, they'd face it together.

His arm tightened round Lana's shoulders and while the young girl smiled in response, the two men currently lost in each other knew, with an insight verging on telepathy, that it wasn't really her Clark was holding at all.

The summer sun seemed a lot brighter to Clark the next day and he lapped it up gladly as he bounced over to the Daily Planet, a freshly bought paper under his arm and a small Tupperware container in his hands. All traces of kryptonite poisoning had faded long ago, but Clark felt it didn't hurt to be thorough and lingered a little in the rays outside the elaborate wooden entrance, red top and blue jacket mimicking the sky.

When he finally did step inside and down to the basement, he didn't spot Chloe straight away and it took a minute or two of random head turning before he realised she was in the copying room.

He beamed at the blonde-haired face bent across the copy machine and hurried over, moving the Tupperware to his right hand and tapping the glass excitedly to get her attention. Chloe looked up in surprise, grinned when she saw it was Clark and bit her lip in muted pride as he held the folded paper up to the window. A headline on a column to the right read 'Chameleon hitman killed: LuthorCorp CEO safe' and in smaller letters beneath 'Reported by Chloe Sullivan.'

After a few seconds of silent praise, Clark opened the glass door on the right and popped his head inside.

"Congratulations on your first front page by-line," he smiled, stepping in and resting the paper on the now dismissed photocopier for emphasis. "And here, I bring celebratory gingerbread."

He pulled the blue plastic lid from the container and Chloe clapped at the contents.

"Oh, wow!" she exclaimed, dipping a hand in immediately and pulling out a palm sized, smiling gingerbread man, careful not to let her kimono-style jacket sleeves trail over the others. She held it up to her face and pouted. "But it's so cute, how am I supposed to eat it when it's so cute?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Clark assured her, breathing out a silent laugh at the serious expression his friend subsequently adopted.

After a moment of contemplation, Chloe carefully turned the gingerbread man round so the face was to Clark, pulled off an arm and popped it in her mouth.

"Mmmm," she murmured, closing her eyes in glee. "Delicious." Her eyes danced at Clark when they opened again. "Although this could be considered ill-gotten spoils. It's really you who deserve all the credit for my success."

Clark's smile turned flat.

"Or the blame," he shrugged, looking down a little shamefully as he resealed the container. "If saving strangers ends up getting other people killed I'm not sure it's really a business I want to be in."

Chloe lowered the gingerbread and tilted her head sympathetically.

"Do you really have a choice?" she insisted as Clark looked up again, curious. "I mean, I'm nowhere near super, but if I see someone drowning I'm gonna throw them a rope."

Clark nodded, thoughtful.

"But what if that person's a killer, Chloe?" he asked. "What if the world would actually be better off without them?"

Chloe shook her head, diving into the sudden philosophy wholeheartedly in a manner that spoke of serious practice and interest.

"Still, that's not your choice to make," she insisted. "I mean, ask a doctor, or a fire-fighter or anyone in the hero business. You save first and you ask questions later."

Clark's eyes turned distant for a second, then he nodded his assent.

"You're right, of course," he said, leaning against the copier. "I just always thought it'd be simpler. You save a guy and that's a good deed right there. End scene. But there's so much more to it that." He shook his head. "If Lex and Lana had died because of my interference..."

"Hey," Chloe interrupted, touching his arm lightly with the hand still holding the gingerbread. A few crumbs tumbled down Clark's sleeve. "They didn't. And to be perfectly honest, they've both been in much worse situations. That's the risk you take living in Smallville. These things happen. They know it wasn't your fault."

A halting smile returned as Clark looked up.

"Yeah..." he muttered, distant eyes clearing with remembrance. "And hey, I wasn't the only hero in all this. Thanks for the save. I'd have been lost if you and Lois hadn't found me."

Chloe shrugged.

"No problem. I'm always ready to provide support, you know that."

Clark shook his head, brow furrowing.

"You're more than just support, Chloe," he insisted quietly. "You're a good friend and a confidant and you're not afraid to yell at me when I need it." He lifted a hand from the copier and touched Chloe's wrist. "I know I treat you like a sidekick sometimes and I'm sorry. You help me so much and I don't thank you enough for it."

Chloe blushed, a proud, grateful smile filling her face.

"Well..." She turned away sharply, sending a bob of blonde hair over her face. "You're welcome."

Clark smiled fondly in the silence that followed.

It was early afternoon by the time Clark hurried into the Luthor mansion in Smallville, the remaining gingerbread still in his hands. He'd been staying away from Lex deliberately that morning to give the older man some much needed sleep after yesterday's trauma and it had come as a shock to learn Lex had actually been discharged from hospital at nine.

When he stepped in the office, Clark found the man in question in front of his desk, idly flicking through a LuthorCorp folder laying open on the wood. He wore a casual black sweater over cream coloured slacks - pleasantly easy attire compared to his usual clothes and Clark was glad to see it. It meant his friend was at least trying to take it easy. The folder definitely had to go, however.

"Working again already?" he berated as he walked over.

Lex turned in surprise and the twist of his neck inflamed the still present red mark encircling it, now tinted with faint, purple bruises. It looked much crueller than yesterday, but Clark knew enough about bruises - in theory at least - to realise this was a good thing. It meant the wound was healing.

"Hey," Lex smiled, dropping his hand from the folder and leaning against the desk instead.

Clark stopped a little way from him and returned the smile.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, concerned.

"Better. Thanks," Lex nodded.

A short pause. Not from embarrassment or nothing to say, just because talking seemed less important than simply being together. Sharing space. Sharing life.

It was no exaggeration to say Lex had been thinking about Clark all morning. Today was literally the start of a new life and he'd thought it appropriate to wait for his rescuer to begin it for them. Partnerships were two-way relationships after all and the mentorship role Lex had so often tried to place himself in no longer seemed valid. He relaxed against the desk as he waited for Clark to continue, eyes full of muted excitement. He'd forgotten how joyful putting hope in another person could be.

"Um, this is for you," Clark stated eventually, holding out the Tupperware as he stepped over. He made sure to place himself carefully before the still open folder so Lex could no longer see it.

Lex raised his eyebrows curiously as he took the container, opening the lid with all the care of a man holding a priceless antique.

"Gingerbread," he nodded, lips quirking at the corner as he slipped the plastic lid neatly beneath the tub. A new beginning marked by homemade confectionary. Sugar and spice. Well, why not?

Clark shrugged, a slight flush of embarrassment clouding him now, because the gift seemed a lot less impressive than an evening suit.

"Mom and I made some and these were left over so I thought you might -" He closed his eyes for a second, berating stupidity. "Damn. Your throat's probably too sore for anything that solid right now, I didn't think. I'm sorry. You don't have to... I mean..."

Lex was almost too delighted with Clark's heart-felt protestations to stop the banter. So much worry and thought over him, it was adorable. But Clark looking upset definitely wasn't, so the older man stepped in quickly before things went too far.

"Clark," he interrupted. Clark's eyes snapped up to him, adorably nervous. "It's great. Thank you. Just what I need to wash away the taste of that dull sludge they call food over at the hospital."

He slipped the open tub on the desk behind him, smiling warmly, and Clark relaxed.

"I looked for you at the hospital," Clark noted, a hard edge of disapproval touching his tone. "I can't believe they discharged you already, after everything that happened yesterday. Especially considering who you are, you'd think they'd be desperate for you to stay and..."

He trailed off as Lex looked away, a knowing look in his eyes.

"They didn't discharge you at all, did they?" Clark concluded.

Lex pursed his lips for a second, not quite guilty, but certainly abashed.

"Actually, they kept me in above the call of duty," he admitted, avoiding Clark's frown by staring across the room. "I wanted to discharge myself last night but they point blank refused. Something about stress levels. I had to wait till this morning."

"Lex..." Clark lamented, shaking his head. "You almost died. Twice. It's okay to take a few days to get over that."

Lex gave a one-shouldered shrug.

"As cliché as it sounds, time does mean money, Clark," he replied, turning an overly cool face to the other man. Clark looked sceptical. And also worried. And also very very fond. Lex's cool melted and his eyes lost their confidence - leaving him softer, vulnerable. "Besides, I don't need a few days," he continued, looking down. Not so much defensive now as thoughtful. "I've had more than enough near-death experiences to consider. After a while it just gets boring."

His mouth flattened and Clark's heart twisted as he watched the older man raise his eyebrows in a painful dismissal. He looked so young, suddenly, not that much older than Clark really - a young man desperately playing adult cool. Shrugging off assassinations like nothing, when really they hit so much harder. Clark had to hide so much of what he felt, but at least he'd always had his parents to talk to when things got too much. Lex had no one he could do that with. No means of release. So much of him buried. Two hours underground had been more than enough for Clark; he couldn't even imagine the heavy suffocation Lex had been facing all his life.

He stepped forward quickly and ran two hands down Lex's arms, brushing away invisible soil.

"I don't think it's boring," he said, voice soft but thick with hidden weight.

Lex looked up, eyes bright, and leant away from the desk, tensing instinctively, as though to move away. Then he stopped and relaxed with a sigh, resting his elbows deeper in Clark's hold. His mouth flicked in a broken smile and he raised his hands to Clark's forearms, gripping softly.

"I must admit..." he muttered, eyes turning to their folded arms in quiet fascination - black on blue, like the bruises round his neck. An image of healing. "After years of indifference, it would have been pretty ironic. Dying on the one day I finally had something to live for."

Clark smiled sadly, face torn between affection and sorrow.

"Hey." He placed a hand on the other man's cheek, feather light fingertips brushing the bruises on the way. "You have plenty to live for. You didn't need me to show you that."

Lex closed his eyes at the touch, not moving into it, just accepting. This was no time for snatching and pushing - Lex wanted to know exactly what Clark was offering. How much of this was real and how much wilful speculation. The gentle care of the caress was more than enough confirmation.

"Maybe not..." Lex whispered, lips curving. When he opened his eyes again they matched the smile. "But you help," he added. A joke and a truth together.

Clark nodded :: your friendship helps keep it at bay :: He stroked a thumb beneath the other man's eye. He'd thought Lex wanted a guide, a moral compass - an idol Clark could never be. But all he needed was someone to be there. Someone to listen. Someone to care. Everything Clark took so much for granted he hadn't even imagined there might be people who went without.

Lex raised his free hand to Clark's and curved his fingers round the ones on his cheek.

"Besides," he started, less calm, much easier. "Without you I wouldn't even have a life to live for. You've saved me ten times over. I'll never thank you enough for that."

Clark breathed out a small laugh.

"Believe me, I've had more than enough gratitude the last few days," he insisted.

Lex grinned and a happy silence encircled them.

In it, Lex slowly moved the hand from his face and looked over it, curious. There were so many details about the other man he'd longed to explore, and now here they all were, his for the taking.

Thick, farmyard tanned fingers lay calmly in his own pale, slender ones and Lex had to wonder at the contrast - such vibrant opposition fitting together so easily. Although, no, farmyard tanned was the wrong description. Clark couldn't tan, presumably. This was a natural colour - not too dark or light, just perfectly warm. Hands strong enough to kill, yet softer than silk. And wasn't this the one Clark had had in his pocket yesterday?

Clark watched the pique of interest sharpening Lex's face with a smile.

"How do you do it?" the older man muttered, still scanning Clark's hand. Clark wondered if it was him or it Lex expected to answer. "Do you just let them hit you or do you actually catch them?"

Ah. Bullets, the Kryptonian thought, face clearing.

He closed his hand round Lex's and pulled their arms down, breaking the spell and forcing Lex to look up.

"It depends," Clark nodded, lowering their other arms and turning away. He pulled Lex carefully towards the black leather sofa by the fireplace, hoping that if he continued explaining as they walked, Lex wouldn't realise this was just a ruse to get the older man sitting down. "If there's a lot of them I just take it. It's quicker that way. But just one or two I can usually catch. That's the easiest way to do it, really. Then I don't have to go back afterwards and collect them."

They reached the sofa and Clark pulled them both down. Lex accepted this without resistance; too distracted by the way his friend was calmly explaining the differing ways to be hit by gunfire. This was not the kind of thing an under twenty year old should have had to worry about.

"Collect them?" he repeated, wide eyes betraying his wonder.

Clark shrugged.

"Can't leave flattened bullets lying around," he explained. "I figured that out early on." Lex nodded, recalling his own collection. They'd never given him the truth about Clark, but they'd been more than enough to suggest something unusual. Clark gave a sheepish grin. "I use to keep all of them in an old cigar box in the barn. Souvenirs, you know? Until I realised how incredibly stupid that was." He shook his head; cheeks once again turning that adorable shade of red Lex was really starting to love. "These days I melt them all and bury them in the back field."

Lex tilted his head, acknowledging the sense of this plan. Then he turned away in fake disinterest.

"So, that's what happened to yesterday's?" he queried.

Clark gave a knowing smile.

"Actually, I've still got that one," he admitted, pulling the cartridge in question from his jeans' pocket in demonstration. "I figured you'd wanna see it," he added, holding it out.

Lex narrowed his eyes.

"You're getting to know me altogether too well, farmboy," he muttered, but took the bullet anyway.

Clark beamed as the other man examined it, feeling triumphant.

"I caught this one," he offered brightly. "Not the first I've caught for you."

Lex sobered at the words and he looked over the small, squashed piece of metal in his fingers intently. This should have killed me, he thought, running his thumb along the smooth area Clark had flattened. Not even a brick wall was strong enough to stop a bullet so completely. So much power... and Clark had used it for him.

"You are amazing," he noted, lifting his eyes. "You know that right?"

Clark looked down. He never had understood why people were always so keen to praise him and, considering the danger he'd put others in yesterday, accepting the compliment now seemed particularly hypocritical.

"No I'm not," he replied, equally serious. "I didn't earn what I can do, I was born this way. That's no more amazing than..." He looked up again with a shrug. "Than having blue eyes," he finished, catching sight of the pair Lex was currently fixing on him. A bad comparison, he decided immediately, because Lex's eyes really were pretty amazing.

Lex shook his head.

"No, Clark, it's different," he pressed with certainty. "The things you can do, the power you have... You could rule the world...." He bit his lip. "Or destroy it..." Clark shifted a little under the intensity. He'd always known this of course; it was exactly the kind of thing Jor-El seemed to expect of him. But until now he'd never really known it. It was a vague, unlikely possibility at best. But if Lex believed it, it had to be true. It was a relief when the older man continued. "But you don't even think about that, do you?" Blue eyes lightened with astonishment. "You live out your life in the smallest town on Earth, and you help people." He looked Clark over, warm smile touched with something more - admiration perhaps? "That's amazing, Clark. If I was in your position, I don't think I'd be able to do the same."

Clark curved his lips in a wry smile.

"No. You'd probably do better," he responded. Lex frowned, curious, and Clark continued. "I mean, even without my abilities you're doing so much. Helping people at 33.1. Trying to save the world. And you'd still be trying, wouldn't you? Even if I hadn't told you the truth. So many people call me a hero these days, but I'm not. I'd do more if I was, but I just... I can't Lex, I don't know how..."

Lex placed his free hand on the other man's sagging shoulder.

"Hey, don't worry," he said, voice quiet and assuring. "You don't have to save the world to be a hero. That's just... a hell of a lot of egoism on my part. As one of your rescuees, believe me when I say everything you're doing now is impressive enough." Clark looked down, disbelieving, and Lex stroked his shoulder softly. "Maybe you will do more. One day. But there's no point taking on responsibility before you can handle it. Even Jesus Christ didn't fulfil his calling until he was thirty."

Clark relaxed a little, eyes glowing more playfully as he looked up.

"Are you saying I'm a god?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Lex grinned.

"Well, five years ago I did find you on a cross," he noted.

Clark chuckled.

"Yeah, well. Whatever I end up doing, I somehow doubt I'll be quite as symbolic..."

He shook his head, making him miss the curious glint in his in friend's eyes, the crease of uncertainty.

Lifting his hand from Clark's shoulder, Lex turned from the younger man nervously - thoughts of the future suddenly daunting.

"So..." he started, resting against the leather and holding up the bullet in both hands. "Are you wanting this back, or can I hold on to it? I appreciate souvenirs too and I promise I have safer holding facilities than a cigar box."

Clark's eyes turned thoughtful as he raised them to Lex.

"Sure, you can keep it," he shrugged, resting an elbow on the back of the sofa. "But..." A vague smile. "You're not gonna put it in another secret room are you? Cos I think it'd look kinda stupid under a spotlight..."

He'd meant it as a joke, but Clark knew the instant the words passed his lips it was anything but. There weren't many things left between them now - almost all past antagonisms explained. All but that room and its meaning.

Lex's face blanked at the mention of it and Clark almost wished he hadn't brought it up. But if they wanted any future together at all, he knew they'd have to get over it some time and better sooner than later.

Lex curled his left hand into a fist, holding the bullet inside it, and placed his right one on top. He held the fingers to his lips for a second, thinking.

Nothing ever had been the same between them after that room. Goddamn his father for giving Clark that key... but then, it had had its benefits too. Given him some home truths to think about. Dismantling it had been an impressive gesture but he'd always known it wouldn't be enough. The real problem had never been the room itself.

"I've lied to you about a lot of things, Clark," he stated eventually, resting his hands in his lap. He turned his head, blue eyes navy deep and pleading. "But that room wasn't one of them. It was no investigation, it was just..." He sighed sharply, defeated already. There was a time he'd welcomed the chance to bare his soul to Clark. Now... well... he was already starting to feel like he'd left himself too open... He thought of Clark's body against his on the balcony, the breathless joy in the barn - no, it seemed unlikely the younger man would use an emotional display against him now. He continued. "Most people, normal people, have scrapbooks or photo albums to record their life in. Me, I wanted to be more... eccentric." He gave a dry smile and looked away. "I never meant it to go quite so far. But the worse thing is, I didn't even see just how crazy it was. Not until I saw you standing there. Lights flicking all over you like some kind of horror cliché..."

He swallowed lightly, eyes turning distant. Remembering.

Clark moved his arm from the sofa and leant closer. This sounded a lot like what Lex had tried to tell him before, but it still seemed unlikely - if the room was just about Lex, how come it all fit together so well? Every element pointing to Clark.

"I knew you'd be mad, but it's only now I realise quite how damning it must have seemed to you," Lex continued, almost reading Clark's mind with the way he followed the younger man's thoughts. "Because, although I knew a lot of things in there were connected, I had no idea they were all the same. That it was all about..." He gave a short laugh. "You asked if I think you're god. Well. It does seem like I made you a shrine. Albeit unintentionally."

Lex leant forward, right hand gripping his fist so tight the knuckles turned pale. Fuck, this is hard. He'd shown Helen the room as an easy way of implying intimacy without the hassle of offering it - external internality, keeping her safely at a distance - but Clark needed more, of course. Clark needed in. And Lex wanted him there, so badly it hurt, but it was years now since he'd let anyone get that close and Clark had shut him down so thoroughly last time he'd tried with his youthful, biting anger and mistrust, Lex wasn't even sure if he knew how to be that open anymore.

Clark's brow furrowed at the other man's tension, eyes clouding. Not many things rattled Lex this badly, so there was no doubt he meant every word, and every word cost him. The millionaire never had done emotion too well. And it was then Clark realised he didn't even need to hear the final explanation because, suddenly, it didn't matter - all that did was making sure the man beside him was never so tense and unhappy ever again.

"Anything about you in that room," Lex was saying quietly. "The pictures, the writing, even that damn simulation, it wasn't some great plan to figure you out. It was because I thought you were important and I wanted to remember. What you looked like, how we met, I..." He took a breath. "It wasn't even about understanding, Clark, you were there because..." Just one more truth left - gnawing his heart like a tiger in a cage. No, he couldn't let that go. Its beauty might vanish if he set it free. Or it might turn on him, claws bared. "Because you mattered to me," he finished. "You still matter to me."

He raised his eyes to some distant point Clark couldn't see and the younger man sighed softly. That room had been Lex's heart and soul and in his anger, misplaced anger at that, he'd ripped it apart, forced Lex to pack it away piece by piece. God, he was as bad a Lionel.

"Stupid," Clark hissed, grimacing. Lex looked back to him, face raw, and Clark shook his head quickly. "Not you," he amended hurriedly. "That, everything you've said, it... it's not so crazy." He thought of his own frantic search for a reminder of his and Lex's friendship the other week. "I'm stupid... I thought it meant the opposite. That I was nothing to you. Just an interesting experiment you'd solve and discard." Lex closed his eyes for second at that, face flinching like it had at the hospital and Clark wanted so much to grab hold of him, ease the pain away like he had the other night, but he had to keep going, had to explain. "That's why I was so mad, not cos I thought you'd lied. Lying I understand, better than anyone, but the thought that you didn't care, that you'd never cared? That hurt, Lex. It hurt a lot. Because the truth is I..." Clark paused, looking over the other man's open, clouded, hopeful face. I love you might be true, but it was too much for now, too soon. For both of them. "The truth is... you matter to me. You always have."

A moment of tension as their eyes sparked against each other, two rapid heartbeats frantically merging.

Then common truth won out and both of them sighed, breaths meeting in mingled relief.

Clark gave a small smile and Lex quirked his lips in response, shaking his head.

"God, Clark," he breathed. "We've been on the edge of each other so long, never quite crossing the distance... Imagine where we'd be now if you'd never told me -"

"Don't." Clark grabbed the other man's still clasped hands quickly, eyes flashing. "I don't even want to think about it. Telling you was the best decision I've ever made and I don't regret it for a second." Clark paused, letting the words stand. "This is where we are now. That's what matters, right?"

Lex was silent for a moment, searching Clark's face, tracing every crease of sincerity. After a lifetime built on the past - his father's legacy, countless Greek and Roman anecdotes - what Clark was saying seemed the exact opposite of sense. It was also the most beautiful thing Lex had ever heard.

He pulled his right hand from Clark's and curled it slowly round the younger man's fingers.

"That's what matters."

Clark tried to smile again and faltered, overcome. After a breath he tried again and managed a full beam. Lex grinned back.

They held each other for a few seconds, then the sudden energy they'd built up seemed to snap, leaving simple warmth. They both looked way then, still smiling, faintly embarrassed at the amount of emotion they'd just waded through.

"Um... there is one thing I don't get though," Clark muttered.

Lex laughed, more from relief than anything else.

"Just one?" he teased.

Clark chuckled too as he looked back, glad of the easy tone. Even gladder of the hand still gripping his.

"The other night," he started earnestly. "You said..." A small blush. "You said you'd wanted me since the beginning."

The older man ducked his head, lips pursing round his smile.

"You know, Clark, you should never mock a man for words spoken in a moment of passion. It's very bad form," he noted lightly.

Clark grinned. If Lex was lecturing again things really were back to normal.

"I'm not. I mean, that's not why I brought it up," Clark insisted. "I just don't get it. If you wanted me all this time, why'd you never do anything about it?"

Lex paused for a moment.

"What could I do?" he shrugged eventually, meeting the other man's gaze. "You were a small town, wholesome, salt of the earth farmer, in love with the girl next door." He gave a flat grin. "You were the fucking American Dream, Clark, I couldn't touch you."

Clark shook his head.

"That's not true," he argued. "Back in high school I..." Another blush. "Well, it was no secret I pretty much worshipped you. If you'd made a move I probably would have responded, you must have known that."

The eyes that met Lex's were open and honest, full of frank questioning and the older man nodded.

"Yes. You're right. I knew," he stated, so matter-of-fact Clark blinked.

"Then, why-?"

"I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of in the past, Clark," Lex interrupted, voice steady again, face calm. "Things to get me what I wanted, or who I wanted. And relationships like that don't last. That's kind of the whole point. But you were always different. You turned down my truck but still came to see me, still wanted to see me. And no one did that. Not without wanting something in return. You were so... so natural with me, it was almost unreal. A beautiful paradox. I didn't want to break the spell." His brow furrowed lightly, eyes deepening. "I didn't want to take you, Clark. I wanted to have you."

Clark nodded slowly and untangled his hand from Lex's so he could take the older man's into both of his, mangled bullet with them.

"You've got me," he said, squeezing gently. "Sorry I took so long..."

Lex smiled, parting his lips to show a row of teeth, face softening to something so open, warm and bright Clark thought sunshine might never be good enough again.

Tugging his right hand from Clark's, Lex moved to brush a loose hair from the younger man's forehead.

"You were worth the wait," he admitted as he lowered his hand again, resting back in Clark's fingers like he'd always belonged there. "Although, if I'd known all I had to do was kiss you, I might have started things off a bit sooner."

Clark looked down, lips quirking to the side.

"Yeah..." he muttered.

Green eyes darkened as Lex watched and Clark was soon turning back, sucking his bottom lip in thought.

"So, really, since the beginning?" he questioned brightly.

Lex rolled his eyes.

"Don't make me regret that," he teased.

"I wouldn't," Clark insisted, lips curving, eyes sparking with mischief. "I just thought... I guess... we've got a lot of time to make up for..."

He raised his eyebrows, quietly hopeful, and Lex gave him a sidelong glance. The older man wasn't opposed to moving quickly, but he wasn't used to the kind of intensity the last few days had put him through. Just before sex seemed an odd place to slow down, but then nothing about this was exactly normal.

"Will you keep your eyes open this time?" he queried, an honest curiosity as well as a delay. Apparently this was a greater issue than anticipated though, because Clark took a sudden breath, face turning serious.

"Yeah, actually, about that. There's something you should probably know..." he started. "See, the thing is..."

"Forget it. Tell me later," Lex cut in, because Clark was rosy red again and that was just too much. There'd been more than simple, emotional energy building up all this time and the older man was pretty sure they'd both welcome a release about now.

Clark smiled at the interruption and they met the kiss together.

Hands followed soon after - stroking neck, arms and face in wild, wonderful confusion and in the rush, the flattened bullet fell unnoticed to the Persian rug beneath them.

Heartbeats grew frantic, breathing shallow, and suddenly both men vanished. A loud exclamation came from upstairs, followed by affectionate laughter.

As the office air settled into silence once more, a smooth, pale hand bent down and retrieved the fallen bullet. An arm covered in a faded brown jacket lifted it to the light and an attractive, thin-faced man with brown hair examined it closely. After a minute, he slipped it into the front pocket of his navy shirt and raised a pair of clear, blue eyes to the ceiling. For a few seconds he just stood there, absorbed. Then he shook his head.

"Fascinating..." he muttered.

Seconds later, Milton Fine was gone, leaving nothing but a soft breeze in his wake.

——end credits——