Title: Lessons in Compassion
Author: Dylan
Archiving: You want it, you got it
Disclaimers: I made use of them without permission. Spoilers : Pilot, Metamorphosis, tiny hint of Hotshot Rating: R, Clark/Lex
Author's Notes: There might be a sequel. I was completely inspired by mako's trilogy "Stone by Stone" "Star After Star" and "Night and Day" ; particularly by the line [ "God, you're young," Closer still, and Lex breathed against Clark's mouth, making him shiver with desire. "And I should know better."]

Beta thanks go to Reesa.

Comments accepted at Stanleysgirl21@yahoo.com

He traced his fingers over the new metal guardrail. The damage Lex's car had done to the bridge could be seen in the stretch of new metal barricade gleaming, taking the place of the wooden slats that formerly safeguarded the bridge. Clark briefly wished the damage done to himself was as noticeable.

One moment, he had been simply different from his friends. A little faster, a little stronger, okay a lot faster and stronger but nothing that couldn't be explained away to evolution and great genes, at least that's what he'd thought. He'd gone from gifted human being to being not even human at all. As lonely as being an awkward kid in high school had been, as hard as it was to hide the abilities he found within himself, it was nothing compared to his new status as exterritorial freak.

Awkwardness could be outgrown. Shyness faded with experience. The world would have taken care of the transition from boy to man. How did one outgrow being alien? Clark Kent, geek, at least had a chance to become, Clark Kent, man. Now, Clark Kent, freak, had only the chance to become Clark Kent Bigger Freak.

He wrapped his hand around the rail, and warped its too new, too perfect shape into something that blended in with the old, battered metal supports. There was a quiet satisfaction in leaving dents and dimples behind with his fingertips, blotting out the gleam with dirt.

"We're going to have to stop meeting like this Clark." A quiet voice spoke just behind him. Gravel crunched under Lex's foot, as he approached the teen on the bridge.

"People will talk."

An amused smile flitted across Lex's features. "It's nothing I'm not used to." He brushed his baldhead ruefully, "there's something about my face that makes people stop and stare." He placed his hand over Clark's, stilling the destructive progress against the rail, "The Highway association will not be pleased if they have to replace this twice in one week."

Clark swallowed the jump of nerves welling within him, and carefully pulled his hand away from Lex's gloved one. "Yeah well, I'm getting used to the staring too."

"The price of fame, you saved two lives on the road. What else does Smallville have to talk about?"

"Besides the villainous Luthors?"

Lex chuckled, "Besides that." He turned and studied Clark, "personally, the story would have better had the paper included your stint as crow-repellant in the middle of the cornfield. 'Scarecrow Shows Heart Not Brain, Saves All-American Asshole'."

"And then I saved Whitney," Clark finished weakly.

"Touch, my friend." He tilted his head toward the sky, "Nice night isn't it?" The air had a sharpness to it, leaving that which it touched with an edge of cold. Cold or clarity.

He could hear the curiosity in Lex's voice. Under the smooth surface, Clark sensed that his new unlikely friend was dying to know the outcome of Lana and her necklace. Briefly he wondered if Lex would consider his actions cowardly. He could break into burning or sinking cars, but yet speaking to a sixteen-year-old girl was beyond his mastery?

He bent down, considering the flat stones at his feet. He could have had her heart like Lex had planned, but instead he had given her the chance to forgive Whitney. He hadn't pressed his advantage at the time, and the gift-wrapped move Lex had given was laid unused and wasted.

Clark flung a bit of stone down the river, counting the skips across the slow-moving surface. Six jumps and then a hollow splash. "Yeah, good night for a walk."

Lex glanced wryly over his shoulder at his car, and shrugged. He palmed his own stone before winging it in the direction of Clark's. His merely splashed down, instead of dancing the way Clark's had. A belly flop compared to a swan dive, he gritted his teeth at the imperfection.

"That's not how you do it, you know."

"I know," he shot back feeling ten, instead of over twenty. He picked up another stone to throw; this time his rock managed a single hop before disappearing under the surface of the river. He turned to Clark, expecting a smirk.

Clark considered him closely, a conclusion slowly dawning on him. "You don't know how to skip a stone, do you? Lex Luthor can't skip a rock?"

There wasn't any meanness in his voice, but Lex couldn't stop the defensiveness. "Don't tell anyone okay? I'll never live it down if it got out I couldn't skip a piece of concrete over water. The shareholders would dump even more Luthor stock if they knew I failed that boyhood rite of passage."

He winced at the bitterness, and replied helplessly, "My father taught me."

"Yeah, well, my father taught me how to fire people without having to pay severance or unemployment. He taught me a man's place in the company was only as permanent as his performance. He taught me not to fuck the subordinates, literally, how to avoid a hostile take-over, and how to get out of paying most federal and state taxes." Lex twisted his mouth into a semblance of a smile, "wonder how I missed the skipping rocks lesson in all that."

Clark flushed, damning his tongue. Each comment he had to make would only succeed in further angering Lex. He discarded the sympathy, sensing Lex would resent that just as much, and finally picked up another rock. "When I was taught, I swore an oath to never to pass on this sacred knowledge to anyone, except another guy. Not even Chloe could get me to show her this." Hoping he was doing the right thing, he stepped behind Lex and placed his hand on Lex's arm. "You okay with me showing you?"

Goosebumps washed over the hairless pores at Clark's nearness, "Yeah, save my masculinity from being superceded by Chloe's..."

"Okay, hold the rock between your middle finger and index..." Clark bit his lower lip in concentration, "glide your arm back, and then flick your wrist and shoulder, like this..." He let go, watching the stone sail over the rail and skip twice across the water.

Lex smiled broadly, "And again, I fall further into your debt."

He swallowed, and flushed slightly at the note in Lex's voice. "There's no debt. Not everyone is out to get something, Lex."

Lex turned around, invading Clark's space. "Everyone wants something, Clark. If someone tells you different, he is either lying or he hasn't decided what he wants yet."

He took a step back at the intensity in Lex's dark blue eyes, "Is that why you're my friend? You want something?"

"Guilty as charged." He tilted his head; "I like having you around, Clark. You're handy whenever I face near-death situations. Things are never boring with you."

"I'm entertainment value?"

"Yeah." Lex shrugged, missing the hollow note in Clark's voice. "So what about you, Clark? You want something from me, or are you lying? Money? Power? It can't be making you popular with your parents or your friends to be seen with a Luthor."

Clark ignored the flicker in his heart, "I don't want anything from you, Lex. Being a friend is not a transaction. Being a human being doesn't require keeping an account sheet of favors and debts. The sooner you see the world for its possibilities, and not its profitability, the sooner you'll get that."

Lex threw back his head and laughed, "You are a boy scout, aren't you Clark?" He scuffed his shoe against the pillar of the railing, "Is that the angle? You're my friend because it's the right thing to do? Is there a merit badge in redeeming a Luthor?"

"You found me tonight, Lex!" Clark shook his head, angrily; "You said you weren't your father, Lex, so why are you sounding like him?" He grabbed a final stone and flung it with a fury at the river. Two pieces of the rock scattered across the river's surface on impact, skipping in opposite directions.

He looked up at the sound of the shattering rock, and laughed again. They were each prickly tonight it seemed. "You didn't give the necklace to Lana, did you?" he asked, guessing at the cause.

Clark glared for a moment, thrown by the subject change. "No, I did."

"You did," Lex echoed, "but you didn't tell her it was from you... so the lovely Lana has gone back to Whitney and you didn't even try to stop her."

He bristled at the implication, "I could have done it, Lex. I could have used the necklace the way you wanted me to, like some sort of tool or lever. I could have done that, but I didn't."

"I don't get you, Clark. Why? Why do you play by these archaic rules that no one else uses? What is there to gain?"

"I didn't want to win like that. I didn't want Lana if it was going to be that way." A sad smile drifted across his lips, "You want to fly right, Lex? How are you going to make that happen if you have all that crap hanging around your neck? The debts, the favors, the wins, the losses? Doesn't it get heavy?"

Lex didn't speak for a moment, and studied Clark. Every once and a while someone tripped under his composure, wrinkling it, and it seemed damningly like Clark was that someone. "Winning, it's not as heavy as the obligations you carry around." He shrugged, "So what's life like on your planet?"

He stiffened in surprise at Lex's uncanny comment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you look like you're from this planet, but your ideas- they are not of this world."

Clark shook his head, and turned down the road toward his farm. "Life is probably a hell of a lot more satisfying on my planet, than on yours. But you let me know, okay?"

"Know what?"

"Let me know when you want to leave your planet, and visit mine for more than just entertainment value." Clark called over his shoulder, and threw back Lex's words, "Decide what you want."

"Please try and relax, Mr. Luthor."

It was regrettable the white tunnel of MRI imagining equipment blocked the technician's view of the glare Lex sent her way. Try and relax, while a large heavy piece of equipment hovered over his body, swallowing him in its grip, he thought. Easier said then done. Even though it wasn't his first trip to the hospital, he still couldn't let go of the lingering feeling of claustrophobia.

"I'll be right back, please don't move."

Morons. He really wasn't in the situation where he could do anything but blink his eyes. He focused another glare at the now-departing technician. This was supposed to help him, yet the people who operated the equipment had to disappear behind a white wall of protection?

He was feeling ever so much better.

The lights flickered, and the camera above him clicked away. The turning motion of the slides filled his ears, almost drowning out the beat of his heart. A few more minutes, and this month's tests would be complete, hopefully showing no sign of abnormality. No more shadows on his films, he prayed.

Since the meteor shower, the diagnostic lab at Luthor Corp had a lease on his life. It was a precaution, he was told, part of an ongoing series of check-ups that would track the effects of the radiation on his body. When he lost his hair, he'd also lost the sense of health that every child was born with, and only lost at the first major health crisis. For some individuals, that crisis took the form of a broken bone, or a bout of mononucleosis. He had the lurking danger of cancer prowling through his body.

The hard white bed began to shift backwards, freeing him at last from the tests. He had a minute or two to compose himself, before this week's parade of doctors and specialists descended.

Luthor Corp could turn corn into fuel, but still couldn't improve upon the let-your-ass-hang-out hospital gowns.

He jumped down from the table, and padded across the cold floor to where his clothes were located. The faint scent of his sun block filled his nose, as he pulled on a black sweater and slacks. Another concession to the meteor, he now tried not to be caught outside without some sort of sun block to protect his skin.

What Luthor Corp couldn't do with a hospital gown, they could however tackle the problem of sun block. Instead of walking around reeking of the coconuts, which in Kansas was only slightly stranger than walking around completely hairless, he now smelled faintly of expensive aftershave.

His physician, Dr Malkin, shoved open the doors, "You know, Mr. Luthor, you really shouldn't dress until we know the films are useable."

"I was cold. If you want to poke at me some more, you're going to have to find a heater for that machine." He reattached his Rolex to his wrist without looking up, and claimed the small basket of keys, wallet, and asthma inhaler from a plastic chair.

Dr. Malkin looked faintly reproving, as he revisited an old argument. "You know the heat would throw off the machines."

"And remind me why I care?"

"I'm only doing the job your father pays me to do."

"Yes, I do recall turning his son into a science project was a part of your job description, along with genetic engineering of corn, bees, and produce." Lex pushed the door open, and stepped out into the white corridor of Luthor Laboratory. "So what's the verdict? Do I live another month, Doctor?"

Dr Malkin juggled the clipboard to catch the closing door, and followed him out to the hallway. "Your blood tests came back as being normal, although you're a little anemic. I enclosed some more supplements to be taken in conjunction with breakfast. I'll let you know about the films, but so far, we haven't found any reoccurrence of a tumor." He pushed up his glasses, "How's your asthma?"

"It still takes my breath away." Lex glanced at his watch, and quickened his stride toward the wall of elevators, eager to escape the sterile environment. "Send a report to my secretary."

Dr. Malkin protested, waving his clipboard. "We're not finished yet, Lex."

"I think we are." He pressed the call button, and met the doctor's eyes with level of irritation. "I upheld the bargain, you had precisely two hours to poke and prod, that's all I have time for, now, if you want something else, make an appointment with Rose." The elevator doors closed with a chime, ending the discussion.

He sighed and leaned back against the paneled walls. He wanted to cry 'Free At Last' but as the elevator lifted him out of the underground labs of Luthor Corp, and up to the plant, he knew he wasn't free. In another month, there would be another dance, another set of tests, and another 'am I sick or not' terror.

Lex walked straight-backed out of the plant, giving cool nods to anyone who had the nerve to approach him today. Most didn't, knowing the visit down below had soured his temperament for the day, making him even more dangerous to rouse. He was ten minutes away in his new Porsche, before he was able to let the tension fade and turn his mind to other things. Other people.

A Luthor was never going to be a slice of American apple pie, the way Clark Kent was. It was a conclusion he'd come to when he was five, on a busy street in Metropolis. A blonde hair boy passed him by, his father's hand tight in a sticky grasp of melted ice cream and little boy dirt. Lex had glanced at his own smudged hands from the newspaper he clutched so importantly, and had wondered briefly if he'd ever seen his father in such a grip. At five, he was still testing out those dashes of 'why' or 'how' his mind came up with, so he had reached up to hold his father's hand as they crossed a street, and received only a shove in response. His mother, gone, wasn't there to catch him when he fell.

He tightened his gloved grip on the steering wheel, blocking out the rest of the scene of tears, 'Straighten-up-boy's and threats to give him something to really cry over.

As he passed the bridge where his last strange talk with Clark had taken place, he came to the conclusion he wasn't just fascinated in the man who'd saved his life (and how) but perhaps obsessed with as well.

What did he want?

When he had visited Lana Lang's farm, and watched her ride her paint-marked horse, he had only wanted to satisfy his curiosity over the cornfield incident, and perhaps repay Clark a favor in opening Lana's eyes to Whitney. The 'transaction' had changed when he had actually met the girl who had Clark captivated.

At first he had attributed his initial flash of hate to the girl's dismissal of his advice. Just he was a Luthor, didn't mean he didn't know when a horse was coming up lame. Five minutes into his mental ravings over how stupid the girl was to tie the horse by his bridle, ignoring safer measures, he realized he didn't just hate her incompetence he hated, but he hated her. He hated her for wanting Whitney, in the face of Clark. He hated her for taking pride in her show ribbons and her trophy boyfriend-football player, her life as a cheerleader, and ignoring the first breath of fresh honesty that Clark had.

He hated her, because she had Clark's fascination, and he didn't.

Still. He had given the necklace to Clark, left Clark with a foolproof way of snaring Lana, and walked away with the knowledge he had indeed paid Clark a favor. Another black mark, in a sea of red debts.

After the amount of study he'd given the situation, not unlike the methodology of a Luthor Corp scientist, he hadn't thought it possible Clark would act in the way he did. Idiot. Noble, self-sacrificing, humble, idiot who managed to inflame both his passions and his ire.

He watched the needle of the speedometer approach one hundred miles per hour effortlessly, before taking his foot off the accelerator. All he needed was another car accident, another debt to Clark.

What did he want? He wanted strangely, the same thing Clark wanted. Someone, who was there, not because of past ingratitude, or present 'rethinking' but because it was the part of the natural transgression of life. Clark didn't want Lana that way, not because of gratitude, or because he didn't lie the way Whitney had, or treated her differently. He wanted Lana in the way that was natural, un-orchestrated, pure, human attraction.

The same way Lex wanted Clark.

He parked his car in front of the castle with foolish thoughts on how to make it happen.

"Bottled water, Pellegrino if you have it, and shelled peanuts please."

The bored, gum smacking concession attendant stared at Lex. "This isn't the country club, we have popcorn and pop. So what do you want?"

He wrinkled his nose, as the aroma of a 'redneck shower' wafted over him. Four sprays of Stetson didn't take the place of a hot, clean shower, no matter what the guys standing behind him thought. The teaming press of hungry Crows football fans was violating his bubble of personal space. "Uh, coke and um... popcorn it is then."

"Do you have anything smaller than a fifty?"

Lex peered into his wallet, counted out three different currencies, but not a single bill less than a fifty. "That would be a no."

"Hey Kelly, I got it, okay?" Clark shoved a five at the girl, and collected the popcorn and soda. He gave her a shy smile, which made Kelly's gum-smacking cease for a moment, before she turned her eyes to the next customer.

"Thanks Clark..." Lex began.

"If your next words are 'I owe you one' I'm going to dump this popcorn on your nice sweater, and keep your coke for my own." Clark warned, walking back toward the stands where at least a hundred or more screaming Smallville Crows fans gathered.

He laughed, "No, just, thanks." He dodged a mud puddle, saving his Italian leather shoes from an unfortunate dunking, and skipped to catch up with Clark's long stride. "So this is a football game. Wow. I think I understand what I have missed."

"Awe, the famous Lex Luthor wit, so are you going to deride this as well?"

"Deride. Nice word, very country club." Lex looked around, "to answer your question, no, I'm not. I'm here to take in what everyone refers to as Smallville's only legal past time. Football." He turned to Clark, "I thought I might visit your planet."

"You might regret that." He tilted his head toward the stands, "I'm sitting with my parents, Pete, and Chloe." Martha Kent waved at her son, while Jonathon glared suspiciously at Lex.

Lex shifted his Crows ball cap on his head, and slipped on his sunglasses. "Sounds as lovely as a firing squad. Lead the way."

He tried not to think about the chewing gum that was now stuck to the bottom of his shoe as he followed Clark up the crowded, and rickety metal stands. Already he was regretting not wearing boots as he waded through split soda and popcorn to the section where the Kents were waiting.

"Mom, Dad, you know Lex... Lex, you've met Pete Ross and Chloe Sullivan right?" Clark handed his popcorn to his mother, and sat down next to his father. Pete scooted over for Lex; all the while shooting his friend very curious glances.

"A pleasure." He brushed off the still warm metal, and sat down, vaguely wondering if the lines would be engraved permanently on his ass if he were there longer than an hour. "So who is winning?"

"The Barton Chiefs. 27-17" Jonathan pointed to the chalk scoreboard at the end of the field. He glanced at his son, before passing the popcorn to his wife. "You missed it, we got caught off-sides, and lost ten yards."

Pete grumbled from Lex's other side, "We're losing to the nursemaids, it's pathetic."

Clark read the confusion in his eyes, "That's Clara Barton High School, you know, the founder of the Red Cross."

"And they said there wasn't anyone famous in Kansas." Lex mused, and watched as uniformed men jumped on each other, in no reasonable pattern. He jumped up belatedly as the crowd surged to their feet in cheers. Again, he turned and smiled at Clark, clapping along with the same enthusiasm, even if he didn't quite understand what was going on, or why it was good.

"Fordman has quite the arm." Martha mused, leaning around her husband to talk to Lex. "I'm not really too familiar with this game either, but I understand completing a pass is a good thing. It's amazing, to think he almost died a week ago."

Whitney Fordman. Corn-fed heartthrob of Smallville. He noticed that Whitney looked no worse for wear, under the black grease paint and grass stains. "Thanks to Clark, he didn't."

"He has a way at being at the right place at the right time." Chloe added, her reporter's mind taking down all the details.

"Most of the time." Jonathan grunted, not bothering to hide his dislike of Lex. Clark's reply was lost in the screams of TOUCHDOWN! "Come on! Run out the clock! Oh don't send Abbott in to kick, he's cross-eyed."

He thought back to the few college football games he'd glimpsed on his way in and out of the university. Did it really mean anything that he didn't know the finer points of this game, but could name each original position in fencing correctly in French? He made a mental note to ask his secretary, Rose, to put together a profile on the game. If this was Clark's world, then he wanted to be familiar with it.

Clark tugged on his elbow, and spoke into his ear, "You're not really having any fun, are you?"

Lex shrugged, "That kicker doesn't look cross-eyed to me." He squinted behind his sunglasses, and caught sight of Lana Lang doing a cartwheel in a scandalously short skirt. "You know, I can see why you like this game though."

Clark followed his eyes to the cheerleaders, and blushed. "I'm thinking about trying out for the team."

"No, you aren't." Jonathan put in, without turning his gaze from the field. "We already talked about it."

Lex looked back and forth between the father and son, and replied for Clark's benefit, "Will you get a chance to rub dirt in Whitney's face?"

The argument that was spoiling within him went unsaid, as he grinned. "Only if I play for the other team."

"There's nothing stopping you from letting a two hundred pound linebacker through to tackle his ass." Pete joked.

"Now that wouldn't be good sportsmanship," Lex protested, a tinge of mocking in his voice. He almost choked on his mouthful of popcorn at the look that Clark sent his way. "It would be fun, but it wouldn't be good sportsmanship." He caught the skeptical look Clark's father sent his way, silently reading his doubts about whether a Luthor would know anything about good sportsmanship.

"Touchdown Crows!"

The crowd surged to its feet, cheering heartily as the local boys took the field. The game was blessedly over, and Lex had survived the experience intact. He was mildly disappointed that no one had crushed Fordman into the dirt, he might consider attending another game if there was a promise of that.

"So really, why did you come to the game?" Clark asked curiously, as they walked back to the parking lot.

"I had a rotten day, and I thought watching high school boys wearing tight pants chase each other around the field in order to score would make it better." Lex tossed his drink away, and turned with a mischievous glint in his eye, "So Clark, is that what you want to happen? A guy to grab you by the waist and pull you to the ground? Are you going to be a tight end, or a wide receiver?"

He blushed, and glanced back to make sure his parents were still out of earshot, "Oh, and like prancing around in a tight white jump suit with a stick in your hand is so much more macho."

"Hey, I never said I was a knuckle-dragging manly man. I mean, look at me, I'm a skinny bald freak." He shrugged, "I do my battles in a board room, it's not as impressive as a football field I grant you, but a seven figure income is really nothing to sniff at."

Clark ignored the 'freak' comment, even though it bothered him. "What about in high school? Were you closing mergers and firing people even then?"

His eyes shadowed at Clark's question, "I didn't really attend high school like you. My father just shipped me off to boarding schools, whoever would take me. I was on the rifle team, really quite good with the clay pigeons and small arms."

"No track and field? What's that sport rich kids play, lacrosse? Or field hockey?"

"My asthma was a lot worse in high school than it is now, so," he shrugged as he walked up to his car. "Least I'm a good shot, which comes in handy at Luthor Corp."

Clark smiled, "I never know when you're joking."

"I never joke." Lex replied seriously, before breaking off in a laugh. He spent the drive back to the castle thinking that it was a good thing Clark couldn't read him as well as he'd like.

"There's been three accidents in the last month. The safety gages on the Alpha 236 are shot and need to be fixed, or better yet, replaced... There's a reason why production is down in Smallville, the equipment is ten years too old." Lex frowned into the phone, leaning back in his soft leather chair, "If I cut positions again, move full-time to part-time, I'm still facing a loss of production... You sent me here to turn the plant around; I need capital to make capital... The union will strike, do you understand that?"

No longer able to take the dial tone anymore, he hung up the phone, ending his rehearsal to his father. Next time, he'd say all that and more when he actually dialed the phone. He pressed the call button to his secretary, rubbing his eyes. "Rose- I need to see the report on last month's soil samples."

Rose Phillips knocked softly on the oak door, before stepping inside. "I left it on your desk yesterday. It's up to you, to find it."

He rubbed his temples, sighing. "You could push the button, and tell me that through the intercom, you know. That's why I spent money on the system." He'd reminded her of that at least twice a week since arriving in Smallville, but he was slowly figuring out that Rose was her own character, where rules didn't seem to touch her. That quality had resulted in many terminations of LuthorCorp employees, but not Rose. She had been his mother's personal assistant, and for unknown reasons, Lionel had kept her on the staff ever since.

If Lex were the sentimental type, he might have thought his father didn't want to give up another connection to his mother, but he hadn't indulged in sentimentality in years. It was unlikely that Lionel even knew how to practice it. Rose was the last connection, she had known his mother, and she had known the boy he'd been before the accident.

Both were long buried in the past.

"Yes, but I like seeing your face once in a while." She lifted her glasses from the bridge of her nose, and gave him a smile that never failed to remind him of a mother's patience. Lex killed the fledgling feeling with a skill born of practice, and started searching the stacks of paper on his desk for the damned report.

She continued, her smile turned slightly disapproving in response to the play of emotions or lack there of over his face. "A Mr. Kent came by earlier today, with the produce. He asked to see you."

He looked up from his search for the soil samples, "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"You were consulting with Dr. Malkin, and I recall you left explicit instructions on not being disturbed."

She had a point. Lex tore open a drawer, and snapped back at her, "Well my explicit instructions do not include Kent, okay? Next time, find me." He slammed shut the drawer, narrowing missing his fingers, "Where the fuck is that report?"

Rose stepped around to his desk, and brushed aside his hands. Serenely she lifted the report from in front of Lex, and handed it to him. "This report?"

He snatched it, "Yeah." He flipped open the file, and began to study the figures, dismissal evident in his actions.

She was immune to that action as well, "He seems young."

"Who?" Lex asked, knowing, but feigning his ignorance. She was fishing, and he knew it.

"Clark Kent. He can't be older than sixteen."

"He's fifteen." Now Lex looked up, reading her expression. "I don't know what you're implying, but Clark is just a friend." Just a nice, somewhat clumsy, oddly secretive, trouble-finding, beautiful friend who Lex desperately wanted to possess.

"Even if he isn't 'just a friend' he has parents, and there are laws, Lex. Your father's example aside, Luthors aren't above the law."

"Now you insult me." He stood up and faced her, the soil report forgotten. "I haven't touched him in any way outside of friendship." Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Yes, friendship. I know what I've said, and I'm wrong. Even I like having a friend, and I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm here because I'm being punished. Clark saved my life, for some unknown reason, and he seems not to care that I'm a Luthor."

The list of people who didn't care he was a Luthor could be counted on one hand, with fingers left over.

"I'm sorry." She reached out, and touched his shoulder. "I'm not on your father's side, I never liked Lionel Luthor, and he knows that. I've never liked what happened after your mother died, and he knows that too. I also only want what's best for you, Lex. If you say you are just friends with Clark Kent, then I believe you."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence." He brushed her hand away, shutting out her efforts to 'bond' with him. He hated it when she brought up his mother, and he hated even more when she played the sympathy card. Poor Lex, his mother is dead and his father never loved him, boo hoo, bullshit. "Let's keep these discussion of my private life limited to just this one instance. Now, excuse me, but I have a lot of work I need to do."

His eyes coolly returned to his desk, and this time he was pleased to hear the door close behind her. At first he thought Rose had been his father's spy, now he realized just what she was, his punishment.

She showed little respect to him, and it made him crazy. Her unsolicited advice, her constant 'You're better than that' attitude, he had fired her a thousand times, and meant it each time. Each time she returned to work, with the blessing of Lionel Luthor.

He kicked his desk with an explosion of fury. The wave of pain enveloping his leg didn't improve his temperament. Control, Lex, control. He gripped the corner of his desk, two too deep breaths, and felt the sanity slowly return.

He hated it when she was right.

Clark, beautiful Clark, was what was jokingly referred to as 'jailbait'.

Forbidden fruit, which he told himself, was half the reason why he wanted Clark. Lex Luthor wasn't used to being told what he could and could not have. Results in the past had resulted in a sort of reverse psychology, with disastrous results. However, he did know better.

His father, in a rare moment of tolerance, had set him down for a talk, "Lex, I've seen juries acquit killers and bank robbers. Embezzlement, insurance fraud, tax evasion, killing a cheating lover, or stealing money to make the bills, those are crimes that Joe Ordinary understands. Sexual harassment and statutory rape are a whole lot harder to sell as 'understanding'. Don't embarrass me."

It boiled down to two lessons 'make sure she's of age' and 'make sure she isn't the help'. His father had imparted them with such fierceness, Lex actually obeyed them.

Of course, now his father knew to amend the rules to include 'he' along with she.

He glanced at his watch, and gave up the completion of paperwork as a lost cause. Friends, he could handle it as just friends. He didn't have much of a choice, considering how the Kents felt about him, they would go after him and test the law which dictated the age of consent being fourteen. Small-minded courts would be what his father called a 'hard sell'. Small-minded courts in farm country involving a gay relationship, he could save himself the call to the lawyers, he was screwed.

Clark shuddered, the feeling of nausea rising in him. He was close to the Creekside Foundry, the last place he had seen Greg Arkin alive. The building was silent, except for the chattering of crickets.

Normally, the sound wouldn't have disturbed him in the least, but his last glimpse of Greg dissolving into a carpet of insects, left him nervous around anything that had more than four legs. He pushed the sliding metal door aside, and stepped into the abandoned building.

At night, he couldn't sleep. During the day, he couldn't concentrate. His conscience wouldn't let him rest, and he knew exactly why. Greg Arkin's death was his fault. He could have acted, saved Greg the way he had saved his father, Whitney, and Lex in the past.

He could have tried harder.

A wave of dizziness overcame him; he grabbed the wall for support. It was a familiar feeling from his childhood, playing with Paul and Greg. Falling down in a game, missing catches, nearly toppling out of a tree once, he was Clark the Klutz. He had a vague suspicion that the cause was not simply poor coordination, but something more biological. Something connected to his arrival on Earth, like Lana's crystal, or the minerals the Foundry used.

Clark had grown used to the teasing from his friends. As socially inept as Greg was, he still outclassed him around Lana Lang. Good old Clark, always good for a laugh or another embarrassing moment. Good old Clark, always a source of entertainment.

That was why his conscience was bothering him.

He didn't try harder to save Greg, because he was angry. Angry that Greg had hurt Lana, angry that his father had been threatened, and angry that once again he was put in a place of action, of responsibility. If he didn't stop Greg, then no one would and that rankled him. So perhaps he was unconsciously resentful. Resentful that Greg had made him the judge, jury and executioner.

What could the courts have done? Lock him up? What type of prison was there that could hold something like Greg? In the meantime, people were going to die, unless he stopped Greg. The only way to stop him was to kill him. At fifteen, he never dreamed he would ever be placed in that role. Clark had spent his life rescuing lost calves, raising infant chicks, and nurturing the land so life could flourish.

He wasn't a killer.

He also wasn't going to be Greg's savior. It was easier to let Greg die, than commit the crime himself. At least, he thought it was going to be easier. His nightmares spoke otherwise, explaining in detail to his subconscious that active or inactive, he had caused Greg's death. He was a murderer. Two weeks of sleepless nights later, that truth was yammering at his soul.

Again, what choice did Greg leave him? There lay the root of his anger. He had no choice, and then, he had no one there to tell him that he did the right thing. No one was there to judge him guilty for his part. No one was there to make him feel better.

He had power, and it he could use it to save a life, or in Greg's case, let a life die. Now he learned, he was capable of something darker.

Clark lifted pieces of scaffolding, and began a methodical search for Greg's remains. He needed something to bury with his guilt. The headstone could read 'Here Lies The Last of Clark Kent's Childhood Innocence'. Lex would find that funny, he thought.

Lex would laugh, explain to him that the greater good was served and that didn't make Clark a bad guy, and then tease him with the knowledge that he could be bad. Lex would understand, call him foolish, and then tell him to visit another planet, his planet.

Suddenly, that was all he wanted to do, see Lex, and have him show him around 'Lex's Planet' where winning was what mattered, and not how you won.

He leaned against the hot spray of the shower, groaning at the sensation. Eight jets pounded into his tense shoulders and back, surrounding him in heat. Lex could conceivably spend the rest of his life in this shower, and die a happy man.

He had an intense dislike of cold, due to what Dr. Malkin thought was the fact he lacked hair on his body. Ancient man depended on his hair for warmth, and modern man now depended on the shivering mechanism that the hair shafts provided in order to build nominal heat. He couldn't remember being cold as much before the meteor shower, so he was willing to buy that explanation. He wasn't willing to sit through a battery of tests at the hands of LuthorCorp doctors in order to prove it as fact.

The thick steam obscured his freakish image in the mirror. Slowly he turned the taps down, and stepped completely out of the shower stall. He draped a thick cotton towel over his shoulder, and walked out to the dressing area of his bedroom suite.

A politely cleared throat shocked him out of his musings about which black sweater to wear. He whirled around, and met the reddening face of Clark.

"Um... Ms. Rose said to go right up, I ...uh," Clark quickly turned away from Lex, giving him some privacy, and spoke with a stammer toward the wall. The mirrored wall. "I'm really sorry, I thought...Um..."

"Rose said it was okay, then it was okay." She had a strange sense of humor, and Lex was tempted to throttle her at the moment. "Just give me a minute to dress..." He grabbed the top pair of slacks and a sweater, and retreated back into the bath alcove. Friends... friends could catch each other without clothes on, right? It didn't mean anything.

"Take your time..." Clark debated on whether he wanted to wait until Lex came back, or disappear while he'd only minorly embarrassed himself, versus his usual major humiliation. Thoughts of how pale Lex was, how even undressed, he seemed completely composed, about how his hairlessness extended below the waist all began to interrupt his internal debate. He had his hand on the doorknob, when he heard the bathroom door open again.

"Leaving so soon? I guess I really did horrify you."

He frowned briefly at the trace of self-deprecating humor in Lex's voice. He never joked, he'd claimed. Indeed. "No! No, you didn't horrify me... and no, I'm not leaving."

Lex smiled, and stepped into the spacious room. "Good, on both counts." He glanced at the ornate grandfather clock and studied the hands of the gold inlay face. "Isn't it a school night?"

"Yeah... actually, I couldn't sleep."

The dark circles under Clark's blue eyes were testimony to that. What could be weighing on such an innocent? The fatigue wasn't the only thing that had left Clark looking bruised, and he was curious to know what it was. "I read somewhere, a glass of warm milk is good for that. Want to go see what's left in the kitchen?"

"My mom swears by that." Clark offered, following Lex down the wide expansive hallways, to the bottom floor kitchen.

"My mother did too." He smiled sadly, before pulling open the wholesale size refrigerator.

Unsure of whether it was a sensitive subject, Clark turned to the contents of the refrigerator. "Jeez, Lex, there's enough food in here to feed the Third World. How many people live here?"

"Four. Myself, my maid Louise, my gardener, and the head of security." He reached into the fridge, and pulled out a carton of milk, and two pairs of turkey legs. "I haven't had dinner yet, you don't mind if I eat, do you?" "No," Clark looked at the clock, puzzled, "it's close to midnight, and you haven't had dinner?"

"When you run things, you don't get the luxury of punching a time-clock." He punched in a heating code for the hormone-pumped, vitamin rich turkey legs, and gestured to the long table at the edge of the kitchen, "Have a seat, please."

Once the milk was poured, and the turkey divided, a comfortable silence descended on them. Lex ate with a hunger he didn't know he had, watching with interest as bits of turkey disappeared into Clark's sweet mouth. "You don't like it, do you?" He asked, noting a strained expression.

Ever polite, Clark struggled to swallow before speaking. "It's ... uh... different, from what I have at home." The milk didn't help it go down any easier, but then, he could hardly expect Lex to have fresh "squeezed" milk, like his parents did.

"Science can improve the nutrition, but it can't improve the taste." Lex wiped his mouth, "I guess I have just gotten used to it."

"You should come over for Thanksgiving, if you want to taste the difference. You'll probably never touch this stuff again." Clark finally gave up his fight with hiding his dislike of the bland, and strangely plastic tasting meat. He pushed his plate toward Lex's now-empty one, "have the rest of mine."

"Thanksgiving?" He forked the rest of Clark's turkey, and chewed thoughtfully. "Do you mean that?"

He froze, almost choking on the last swallow of milk. Did he? His father would have a litter of kittens, and his mother.. well, his mother would smile and try to feed Lex, so he wouldn't be so skinny. "Unless you have something better to do... uh, yeah, Thanksgiving would be cool."

Lex finished his glass, and leaned back in his chair. "I'll check with my secretary." He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, "so, we're friends, right Clark?"

"Of course." Clark frowned, uncomprehendingly. "Why do you ask?"

"That's just it... I don't know if I can ask..." In a rare show of vulnerability, he continued shyly, "Not sure exactly how this friend thing works, villains like myself don't get a lot of practice at it. So I don't know if I'm allowed to ask..."

"Geez, Lex, are you asking me out or something?"

Lex glared, ignoring the flicker of 'other' that flared in his chest. "No, smartass. I was trying to ask you what's wrong."

Clark stilled, and then studied the grain of the wooden table. It was probably top-of-the-line solid mahogany eclipsing what his parents had spent on furniture for the whole house. What was he doing here, in this environment so foreign to what he was used to? "Well, if I tell you, you have to promise me something. You won't tell the police, okay?"

Lex's heartbeat picked up in tempo. Innocent farm boy had done something criminal? He leaned forward, "The police? You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Clark blinked his eyes rapidly at the sudden burn of emotion, the crush of guilt and grief seizing his throat. Slowly he nodded his head, not meeting Lex's eyes.

Abruptly Lex stood up, and walked over to the drink bar, and lifted a bottle of vodka out. He briefly considered the rum, but he thought the coke mixture would probably upset his stomach more than vodka cut with orange juice. He grabbed two glasses, and sat back down in front of Clark, pushing the bottle to him. "Tell me."

And so Clark did, between swallows of orange-juice laced vodka. He talked about Greg Arkin, and growing up with him as a friend. He told Lex about the tree fort, and how Greg's mother would demand removal of their shoes, even in the middle of a muddy winter, before entering the house. He recounted the story of finding Greg's mother boiling water for the dishes, after she had washed them twice and scrubbed them.

Somewhere in the midst of his story, he told Lex about how Greg, the strangest kid in school, was still ten times suaver than he was around Lana. Stories of Greg's obsession with insects trickled out, then the change from butterflies and larvae, to Lana Lang and girls. It took two glasses of the biting orange juice for Clark to explain what had happened to Greg, and how he died.

"I couldn't juss let him go, he would have hurt Lana... and whass I supposed to do, tell the cops he spins a web and drained his mom? I had to do somethin, and ... then I didn't... I saw that metal falling on him, and I didn't do anything." He wiped at his face, "What kind of person does that make me, Less?"

Lex frowned, and tipped his own glass down his throat. Of all the stories he expected to come out of Clark's mouth, this was the furthest from his imagination. Yet, it made a strange sort of sense, and he knew without a doubt, Clark was telling the truth. Smallville bred its own bug guy, he wasn't really that surprised. If a man could re-grow a thumb, then what stopped him from changing into two-legged spider?

The oddity had its own moment, and he knew now was not the time to discuss it. Clark's boy scout nature was clearly hounding him. "Was Greg going to hurt you?"

"Well...yeah, he was but-

"No buts, if your life was in danger, then it's self-defense. Throw in Lana's condition, and you have a justifiable reason to act, especially in light of there was no justice system that could handle Greg."

That was the thing. He really didn't think his life was in danger. He didn't know if he could die. Not even the alcohol could make him confess to Lex the whys and wherefores of his power. His origin.

"I guess... I wish there had been another way."

Lex shrugged, "let's say you tried to shove Greg out of the way, I mean, how far away was he? Could you have dodged the danger yourself? I know you're a little quick on your feet, but no one is that fast. Was risking yourself for a killer worth it?" He screwed the top back onto the vodka, and sighed. "I can just tell you how I feel. I think it would have been a huge loss to the world if you had died, instead of Greg." Lex chewed on his lower lip, hesitating, "It would have been a huge loss to me."

The flash of fear in Lex's eyes almost made Clark reveal the one bit of information he'd left out of the story. Lex didn't have to worry, he was close to indestructible. Externally, at least. His heart, on the other hand, was all too fragile. If he spoke, and Lex rejected him, then he wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle it. So instead, he stayed quiet about himself, hating the omission. "So you think I did the right thing?"

"Clark, I think you did the only thing you could do. Actually, I think you did the only thing you should do in a situation like that- you got yourself out alive, and no one innocent was hurt in the process. That's a victory, in my world." Lex smiled wryly, "Of course, I'm a Luthor. My world is skewed, remember?"

"For someone who doesn't have a lot of practice at this, you're really good at being a friend." Clark smiled openly, enjoying the warm haze of the orange juice-vodka. He came for comfort, and Lex hadn't let him down. He was beginning to think Lex wasn't ever going to let him down.

The smile was heartbreakingly sweet, and Lex thought only of its brilliance as he reached across the table to lift a lock of black silky hair that fell into Clark's eyes. As wonderful as his hair was, nothing should obscure those blue orbs. "Thanks, Clark. I think that's quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Clark shivered at the smooth touch of Lex's fingers. For once, he didn't think, he just acted, catching his hand, and holding it against his face. He could almost detect the minute jump in Lex's pulse, as he let his cheek press against Lex's palm. The usual look of control was gone in his friend's eyes, and he wondered at why his skin grew tight under callous less touch. He half expected to see his veins ripple with green as a feeling of helplessness gripped him.

The moment stretched, until Clark could bear it no more. Lex was just staring at him, frozen in stillness. Was he the only one feeling this? "Lex..."

He swallowed hard at the wonder in Clark's voice. He hated himself as he gently stroked Clark's flushed face. Such passion was held behind the seemingly innocent eyes, and he wanted with such a fire to explore it. "You should go..."

A moment of courage came from somewhere, as he held onto Lex's hand. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," Lex breathed, and then reluctantly pulled his hand away. "That's probably why you should." As strong as the desire was, he was not a slave. His body had wanted before, and although he usually indulged in the want, it didn't mean he had to. He couldn't, not without risk, not without revealing more than just skin to Clark. "This isn't a good idea . . . your parents, and it's late."

"This is the good idea." Clark stepped closer to Lex, until his uneven breath tickled Clark's hyper-aware skin.

Lex closed his eyes, fighting his baser instincts. All the rationalizations about why this was not a good idea were tangled in the feeling that good or bad, he wanted it. "I'm rusty at this Clark." He warned softly, before closing the distance to Clark's mouth. Heat, the tang of citrus, and sweet taste that was Clark filled his senses.

He met the tentative touches of Lex's lips, with his own awkward advances. His experience with kissing was limited to family members, and a few sloppy middle school exchanges with Chloe. He suspected, even with experience, nothing would have prepared him for the softness of Lex's skin. The erratic rhythm of the pulse under his fingertips. The rasp of expensive cashmere sleeves against well-worn flannel. The strain of muscles that were completely unrelated to kissing (why were his toes bunching together?) The dizziness that he previously thought only came from climbing the grain silo. It all overwhelmed him until finally he let go and just stopped thinking.

Clark sighed in pleasure, as Lex broke away. "That was rusty? I find that hard to believe."

"I didn't mean kissing." He was rusty at trusting, at feeling, at wanting and innocence. He was rusty at everything but the mechanics of sex. It was hard to dismiss the faint feeling of dread, the notion he was going to screw this up so spectacularly, that Clark would end up regretting that he even knew Lex.

Luthors didn't love another, his father taught him, Luthors possessed someone. Luthors owned, and then sold, figuratively, bed partners. Catch and release, Luthors being the release-ers, not the release-ees, of course.

"Show me what you mean, then."
Lex held Clark's too-attractive eyes, and then nodded. "Stay here." He backed away, and walked away with reluctance. He would show Clark just what he meant, giving him the chance that countless others before him never had. He would show Clark the dangers of being more than just friends with him, even if it killed him. It was the most compassionate thing he could do, to teach as his father taught him.

Clark waited for a few minutes before restlessness claimed him. He moved to the kitchen door, to look for Lex, when the knob turned in his hand.

A plain-featured man in a dark suit stood there instead of Lex. "Mr. Kent? Mr. Luthor sent me with his regrets. He was called away by unforeseen business. He asked me to drive you home." His dispassionate voice didn't seem to carry any note of surprise at the request, considering the late hour.

"What?" Clark asked in bewilderment.

"If you wish to pick up your appointment with Mr. Luthor, I have a card you can fill out. His secretary will get back to you with the details."

The confusion gave way to real anger. "No," he replied in a clipped voice. He looked back at the door that Lex had disappeared behind, before following the driver out of the kitchen toward the front hall. "That won't be necessary. I know my way out, and home." Briefly he considered smashing something in the priceless array of furniture before he left. Destroy something in return. Repay the favor. He settled for pulling the heavy oak door shut behind him with enough force to shatter the crystal sidelights that straddled the entrance.

No one came to inspect the damage as he stood there in the cold fall night. Clark studied the windows, and thought he'd noticed a shadow behind Lex's window. "Damn you, Lex," he shouted, knowing he was not far away.

Lex kept his back pressed against the wall, feeling the shudder of Clark's exit. "Yes, damn me," he murmured, "damn me, long as I don't damn you."

No one told Lex that doing the right thing would feel so wrong.