Title: Lessons in Cruelty
Author: Lori
Series : Sequel to Lessons in Compassion Archive : You like? You keep.
Spoilers: Up to and including "Hotshot" Rating: R, Clark/Lex
Author's notes: This is exists because of the kind feedback from the first story, and the marvelous efforts of my betas- Fade the Cat, makolane, Karen Nicholas, Fabriesse and Indy. All quotes are taken without permission from Ralph Waldo Emerson's "Self-Reliance", except for one, (the swimmer in the lake of drowning men) which is from "Experience". This story takes place a little before "Hotshot", some during (I lifted the last scene with Lana and Clark, mea culpa), and a bit afterward.

Disclaimer: Manipulated by me, but alas, no one signed off on this.

Comments to: Stanleysgirl21@yahoo.com

Summary: Foolish games are played, and not just football.

"'To be great is to be misunderstood'." Mr. Robbins paused for a moment, with a half-smile. "I must be great, considering how many of you misunderstood the last test on Hawthorne." A few students cracked smiles, while the rest of Clark's freshmen English class continued to stare at the ceiling, out the windows or nothing in particular, hoping time would pass quicker.

"What does Emerson mean by that?" He looked around at the comatose class, and sighed. The last class before school let out for Halloween was always a loss, most of the kids were mapping out their routes to various parties at this point. He gave Chloe a grateful smile for her attention, as he walked around the room. "Does anyone other than Ms Sullivan know the answer?"

The silence rivaled that of a space vacuum. "Anyone? Anyone?" Mr. Robbins snatched a heavy dictionary from his desk and scanned the class for victims.

Clark, unlike the rest of the class, was not musing over his Halloween plans, but reflecting that he hadn't seen Lex in a week now. One week, ten hours and forty-three minutes. Not that he was counting. He hadn't been trying to run into him either. That's not why he was volunteering to make all the deliveries, running into town whenever his mother needed something from the store, and deliberately walking by the Luthor Corp Plant when he knew Lex was there. Not at all. He didn't care where Lex was, or what he was up to, or why--Okay, so he did care.

Now he was trying to stop.

A slam of a book next to his head startled Clark out of his woolgathering. He looked up at Mr. Robbins guiltily; he'd missed some sort of question again. Judging from his teacher's mood, he was going to pay for it. "I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?"

"I asked you if you were misunderstood in life, Mr. Kent."

Clark blinked his eyes searching for something to say. "Um... no?"

This time the class laughed outright. Emerson and "Self-Reliance" didn't even register on their attention spans, but whenever someone was singled out, Mr. Robbins had their undivided attention. "You are no Socrates, that's for sure."

He walked to the board, and wrote with sharp stabs of chalk, "Where else does Emerson talk about staying true?" He turned back and noticed he'd lost the class again. "Come on people, stay with me. I know it's the last class before dismissal, but unless you really want a five-page essay on Emerson's "Self-Reliance," I suggest you all stop counting the ceiling tiles and participate. So, where else does this come up?"

"Everywhere," Pete called out, from the back of the class.

"Mr. Ross, I guess I should be happy with any participation, even yours. Explain, 'everywhere'."

Pete cocked his head, "Well, the whole essay is about only doing what you think is right, and not listening to someone else. Like that part about if you are a man, then you have your own style. You have to be true, or you're imitating something else."

"Yes... who can read the full quote?" Mr. Robbins nodded encouragingly. "Ms. Daniels?"

Soft-spoken Lisa Daniels read aloud to the class, "Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist."

"Now if I said laws are superfluous, what part of Emerson am I paraphrasing?"

Under the threat of homework, the class began flipping through their literature books. Some were turning pages for the sake of turning pages, while others were hoping that a right answer might cut them a night of no homework.

Clark raised his hand, trying to make up for his earlier inattention.

"Ah, Mr. Kent wants to join the discussion. Go ahead..."

He cleared his throat, and read, "No law can be sacred to me but that of my nature. Good and bad are but names very readily transferable to that or this; the only right is what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is against it."

Mr. Robbins nodded. "Exactly. 'On my saying, What have I to do with the sacredness of traditions, if I live wholly from within? my friend suggested, - "But these impulses may be from below, not from above." I replied, "They do not seem to me to be such; but if I am the Devil's child, I will live then from the Devil."' That's a pretty interesting remark for a former minister make. Emerson is saying you don't follow the tenets of the Bible, because the word came from God, you do it because it is the rational, natural impulse. We can apply that idea to laws, tell me how, Chloe?"

She beamed at finally participating. "It's not the prison term or the law that keeps me from going out and killing someone. I'm following my set of principles, the ones part of my nature. The law just happens to be obeyed at the same time."

One of the twin DeMattiess boys, Jason, spoke up. "So what happens if your nature says killing is okay? Do you just go out and kill?"

The class laughed as Mr. Robbins fielded the question. "Well, for one thing, for you to believe it is okay to kill, you must be comfortable with the idea that someone can kill you, and not commit a sin. See, that's where your morals come into play. Practice what you preach--if you don't want someone to kill you, don't kill people. If you don't want something to be stolen from you, then don't practice stealing. There are some individuals in society who have warped morals, the ones who think as long as they can get away with it, then it's okay. Well, that's why laws exist. In Emerson's perfect world, everyone has a moral conscience based on their fundamental nature, there are no socio or psychopaths."

"Probably no Luthors, either," Pete put in wryly.

Mr. Robbins focused on Pete. "Mr. Ross, what does Emerson say about family and judgment?"

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree?" he offered weakly, as he flipped pages.

"Try the exact opposite."

"'Why should we assume the faults of our friend, or wife, or father, or child, because they sit around our hearth, or are said to have the same blood? All men have my blood, and I have all men's. Not for that will I adopt their petulance or folly, even to the extent of being ashamed of it,'" Jeff DeMattiess read off, and then looked over at his twin, Jason. "Just because I look like Jason, I'm not him. I shouldn't be punished for the stupid stuff he does."

"To Emerson, there was no such thing as 'guilt by association'. Don't believe in something, just because that's the way it's always been. Question everything, make your own judgment based on your observations, and not anything you read in a book or hear from the pulpit," Mr. Robbins continued, nodding with approval to Jeff DeMattiess.

"So I don't have to take your word for it when you say my answer is wrong?" Pete asked slyly. "I mean, if the way I read Hawthorne is different from the way you do, then grades are meaningless too."

"You raise a good point. However, Emerson doesn't say trash all traditions, he asks all of us to replace what we did before with something that also works. So if you can tell me another way to test your knowledge of literature without tests, essays or grades, then please enlighten me."

"Can't we just tell you that we know it, and that's it?"

"Oral projects... I like it." Mr. Robbins nodded. "Midterms will be oral. One on one presentations." The class collectively moaned. "Please, congratulate Mr. Ross for this after class." The bell rang, ending the class for the day. "Go, and celebrate All Hallows Eve. We'll pick up Emerson's 'Self-Reliance' tomorrow."

Clark gathered his books, and sighed. "Thanks Pete, I was nervous enough about the test, now I'm going to fail for sure."

Pete lifted his hands in defense, slinging his backpack on his shoulder. "He tricked me! I was trying to get us out of tests and grades completely." He groaned. "I should have known better, trying to trick a literature and philosophy teacher."

Chloe laughed. "Mr. Robbins had you twice." She opened the door for her friends, walking toward the lockers. The hallways were filled with sounds of freedom and holiday plans.

Clark rubbed his forehead. "At least you didn't get a book dropped by your head." He leaned against the lockers, waiting for Pete to switch out his books for the day. "The class was cool though, don't you think? I didn't think anyone could get so passionate about a dead nineteenth century tree hugger."

"It is ironic though, he's teaching us about a guy who said don't quote anyone but yourself." Chloe glanced at her watch, and cursed. "I've got to run, I wanted to get to the copiers for tomorrow's edition of the Torch. I'll see you guys tonight, right?"

"Tonight?" Clark echoed, blankly.

"You didn't forget, did you Clark? The Peterson's haunted house? You volunteered to take tickets." Chloe sighed, and rolled her eyes. "You did forget. Great. Did you forget you also had to wear a costume?"

"No, I didn't forget." Clark looked sheepish. "I just didn't remember that was tonight."

"Well, it is Halloween," Pete deadpanned. "When else would you have a haunted house? Are you okay, Clark? You seem flakier than usual."

Had he really been that distracted by Lex? He tried to remember what he'd done yesterday, or even the day before, but couldn't. All he knew was he hadn't seen Lex; nothing else registered.

"He's probably been thinking about Lana in her Princess Leia costume," Chloe teased. "If we have any luck, Whitney will go as Chewbacca."

Pete shook his head. "Nah, he's going to be Han Solo, said something about being Luke only in Arkansas. Brother-sister incest is probably not as strange there as it is in Kansas." He grinned, and turned to Clark. "Hey, you still hanging out with Lex Luthor? Maybe you can get him to come as Darth Vader."

"I don't--"

Chloe broke in before Clark could continue. "Listen, I'm going to be late. Pete, make sure R2 here remembers to show up, okay?" She waved over her shoulder as she dashed for the newspaper office.

"R2?" Pete laughed, slapping Clark's shoulder. "I like that. So anyway, you were saying?"

Clark blinked. "What?" Oh..." He shrugged, remembering he was going to say something about how Lex wasn't that bad. He wasn't like his father. Except, Clark wasn't sure after what had happened. It was a pretty cold thing to do, to send an employee out to make his apologies. He equated it to being dumped over an answering machine. It was puzzling to him; Lex didn't strike him as someone who avoided confrontation, certainly not someone who was afraid of it.

"Earth to Clark... boy, you really aren't with it today. What gives, man? You really that gaga over Lana in gold sequins?"

"Why am I R2D2? I don't even rate a Jedi standing? I could be Obi Wan."

Pete burst out laughing. "You? Obi Wan? In your dreams, Clark. Be glad Chloe didn't call you C3PO."

Clark struggled not to grimace as another child handed over a candy-sticky dollar bill. He discreetly wiped his hands on his blue-overalls, before dispensing a ticket. At least he didn't have to worry about ruining his costume, considering he was wearing his father's blue denim overalls, and a straw hat. With bits of straw sticking out from his red-checkered gingham shirt, he had decided to accept fate and dress as the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz.

He had hidden a smile at the uncomfortable look Whitney had given him at the door, as Lana shot dagger glances at her boyfriend at the visual reminder of his past cruelty to Clark. Whitney had sent him a pure look of hate when he had casually mentioned Han Solo didn't carry a light saber.

It made the itchy straw he was covered in worth it.

Screams and howls came from the haunted house the Petersons had designed behind him. It wasn't really a house; it was more like a huge barn converted into various dungeon and horror scenes. Mr. Peterson, the head of the Smallville Better Business Bureau, was dressed as a chain-saw killer, and was prowling the barn looking for victims. Mrs. Peterson was handing out candied eyeballs and shrunken heads made from dehydrated apples.

There was even a path through a graveyard and six-foot rows of corn set up for further spooks. The younger kids loved it, and the older kids came for the after-hours party that had ended up in more than one embarrassing front-page story in the Smallville Ledger.

"Which way to the Wizard, Scarecrow?"

Clark turned around and caught himself before he could smile at Lex. He was not going to smile. He wasn't. Lex didn't deserve it. Smooth lines and faked charm were not going to work on him. Not surprisingly, Lex was dressed in a suit as his costume. "What are you supposed to be?"

"I came as a Wall Street asshole." He turned around, and gestured to the knife hilt affixed to his gray suit jacket. There was a large blood stain around the hilt that completed the look.

"That's not a stretch for you, is it?" Clark observed coolly.

Lex lost his smile at Clark's tone. "You're still mad at me. Okay, I deserve no less."

Clark glanced over his shoulder and judged it was a good time to take a break. He stepped away from the ticket booth. "Actually, on second thought, I'm not mad. I'm not anything, Lex." If Lex wanted to play like nothing happened, then he could do that. Hell, he wasn't sure if anything had happened, other than a rude departure on Lex's behalf.

He was curious to see if the smooth Lex Luthor would enjoy having the same cool attitude returned to him. At first, the anger feeding him had felt blessedly good compared to the rejection that had been tormenting him. He'd spent the week wondering if there was some label of "loser" on his forehead.

Then it occurred to him, why should he suffer? Clark Kent wasn't going to hold his breath just because Lex rejected him. If he couldn't put a name to what was going on between them, then he certainly wasn't going to let it bother him.

"Clark..." Lex began.

"Don't. I made the mistake. Let's just forget about it, and move on." He offered his hand, giving Lex the same I'm-happy-for-you smile that he gave Lana. "So, friends?"

Lex blinked, caught off guard by the let-bygones-be-bygones approach. "Uhh... sure. Always. You saved my life."

"And you kept me from making a bigger mistake." His parents from the beginning had taught him the importance of blending in; whatever was going on with Lex was not the way to blend in. Shaking those thoughts away, Clark reached out, and touched the knife in Lex's back. "So how is this staying in?"

"It's attached to a belt that goes around my chest." He replied carefully, watching Clark and hiding his puzzlement. "I had my doctor attach it so it would be accurately at heart level." He waited a beat before adding, "If I had one, that is."

Clark refrained from agreeing with Lex, and smiled casually. "So would you like a ticket to the haunted house?"

"Sure." He dug into his wallet, and handed over a dollar bill. "I've taken to carrying smaller denominations. I'll still never forget that concession stand attendant's face when I asked for change for a fifty."

Clark noticed the fading hint of expectation in Lex's face. Did he really think it was going to be that easy, a few jokes and all's forgiven? Private jokes were hardly the way to keep things cool and on the level. He ignored the disappointment in Lex's eyes as he simply handed him a ticket.

"Have fun." Clark looked over Lex's shoulder, and greeted the pair of kids that stood in line behind him. "Next!"

He was dressed as the Scarecrow, but he felt like the Tin Man as he watched Lex disappear into the darkness. Lex wouldn't have made a very good Darth Vader, Clark decided; he was made for the role of the Cowardly Lion.

"I'm doing the right thing."

Lex stared hard at his reflection, and tried again. "I'm doing the right thing," he stated firmly, but feeling less than sure.

"Yes, you are. Cutting jobs will only hurt the plant in the long run."

He glared into the mirror at Rose Phillips standing behind him. "I don't remember your knocking."

"Dominic is on line one," she informed him, unapologetically. "He says it's important."

"If it's about the meeting again, it's still canceled," Lex grumbled, walking away from the mirror and back to his desk. He looked at the door in dismissal, before picking up the phone. Rose was still standing there when he addressed Dominic. "Sorry to keep you waiting, I was busy doing my job."

His job at the moment was looking for a balance between his father's demands for layoffs, and the very real need to cut down on expenses. A few weeks ago, he might have let his father have his way, and cut positions. A few weeks ago, he hadn't thought much about who was working for him, other than in the general sense. Now, to his dismay, the names had faces, and families.

In Metropolis, only the very top positions had faces he knew. There was Dr. Hubert R. Grossman, the managing director and former president of NovAgra, and Carl Jenkins, Chief Technology Officer, who saw land in terms of money the same way his father did. Former farmer or not, Carl happily watched the seizure of farms by Luthor Corp, as long as his stock options increased and the market boomed. Last but not least, Johnson Jameson, Consultant to the CEO and former FDA official, who knew every loophole in the EPA, IRS, and FDA that existed. Those faces were fellow sharks, and Lex didn't really feel that responsible for them and their family's well being. Those sharks didn't feel responsible for their own families to begin with, not when it came to profit.

Now, in Smallville, it wasn't just names. These were neighbors, and cousins of neighbors, and parents of friends. Everyone knew someone at the plant in Smallville. Layoffs of any sort would spell doom here, both in public opinion, and his own social life, such as it was. He might not be beloved here, but he wasn't out-and-out hated, at least not by everyone.

Dominic and his drones would change that. They were demanding a further restructuring of the factory, starting with the position of plant manager. Mr. Sullivan.

Chloe's father.

There would be a public lynching, and Clark would probably lead the mob.

The strange thing was Lex would let him.

He frowned into the phone, vaguely realizing that Dominic was still talking, and had yet to come to a point. "There's no need to meet. Now if you'll allow me to go back to repairing the mess you created here before my father had the good sense to reassign you back to the corporate office..." He hung up without waiting for a reply other than the sputtered indignation.

He really had to wonder why his father still kept Dominic in his employ. Other than the benefits of a mindless drone, he'd cost the company money with his incompetence, and Lionel Luthor was less tolerant of that than he was of being defied. Lionel probably felt guilty about Dominic's sister.

Who knew such a nice girl like that would end up a paranoid schizophrenic with violent tendencies from cosmetics that Luthor Corp had engineered in the lab? Who knew her brother would steal the samples for his glamour girl sister? Who knew that she'd take a knife to her boyfriend's face, and end up in a private hospital?

Lex fingered the scar on his lip, absently. It had been quite a sight before the plastic surgeons had repaired the damage.

She had wanted him to swallow the knife she held against him. He quite enjoyed using a replica of the knife in his Halloween costume; the original was still locked up in evidence control in Metropolis. Dr. Malkin hadn't thought it was funny attaching the hilt to his back, but then he didn't have much of a sense of humor.

Clark would have laughed had he known. Apparently he didn't care enough to express any curiosity in Lex's effort at a costume.

His fingers worried at the scar, tracing his own lips, as he tried to recall the too-short kiss he'd shared with Clark. The bitter bite of vodka, the lingering tinge of citrus, those perfect white teeth welcoming the deepening of the kiss; he reviewed each freeze-frame from that night. Clark had smelled like sweet grain and the late fall night. The slight blush afterward, telling Lex wordlessly that the kisses were new to him.

His gaze flickered to the model of the city of Troy. In a lifetime of bad ideas, that one was sure to be a standout. Bad idea, letting himself kiss Clark. Bad idea, letting Clark go with only a kiss and nothing more. Bad idea, torturing himself this way.

"I'm doing the right thing."

Who was he trying to fool?

Lex left a small trail of water down the hall, as he dropped the rain-soaked clothing for Louise, his maid. His fingers were blue by the time he had finished unbuttoning his shirt, and his skin had turned to gooseflesh.

Only an idiot--or a really passionate football fan--would have stayed out in that downpour to watch the Smallville Crows beat out the Saline Saints with one last touchdown. Lex wasn't a passionate football fan. He hadn't missed a game since the Barton game with Clark. Granted, he'd been to the last three games.

He knew at this point that because of Clark Kent he was earning gold stars in the idiot category.

He hated being cold and wet, but he hadn't moved from the slick bleachers when the rain began to fall in earnest. A lot of the fans had vacated, leaving only the truly die hard supporters to cheer Smallville on. Die hard supporters, and Lex Luthor. Rain melted only witches and sugar.

So he stuck it out to watch Whitney Fordman mud wrestle with the Saline defense. As satisfying as that was, it wasn't the reason why he stayed. His reason was the same as the millions of non-sports fans who watched the Olympics, there was greatness in action out on that field, and he couldn't not stay. He couldn't not watch.

It was the last play of the game that drove it home for him. The visibility was zero on the field; Whitney Fordman couldn't have known his teammate was out there in the in zone. There could have been a conga line of naked Vegas girls in the in zone, and the entire offensive line of the Crows would have been ignorant of it. So, blind from the dark and the rain, Fordman had thrown a perfect spiral into the waiting arms of his receiver for the touchdown.

He'd thrown it on pure faith.

Lex admired that sort of faith. With the clock running out, the team down, the last pass could have easily been an incomplete, and a mistake in which to blame the loss on. Whitney Fordman had that type of faith in his team and coach, and it was more than Lex had in his entire being for anything, anyone.

He had stayed at the game for one reason, to watch faith in action. Fencing, sharp-shooting, even horseback riding: they were all individual sports in which the only faith one needed was in oneself. The beautiful precision of fencing had kept him intoxicated for the past three years. As wonderful as defeating an opponent felt to him, he was beginning to think it paled in comparison to what happened when a team pulled together and won.

Lex stood under the hot spray, as the shivers finally died away. It was stupid that it took a game like football to show him that for all his efforts to the contrary, he was turning into his father. A man who didn't trust anyone. A man who had no faith in his subordinates, in the market, and most importantly, in his son.

Smallville was a test of Lex's abilities; that was no secret. It was also a test of Lex's loyalty, priorities, and faith. When it came to the difficult decisions, was he loyal to the orders his father set down, or was he proactive? The good of the company balanced against the good of the town, and weighed against his own self-protection instinct.

Self-protection. Cover thy ass syndrome.

God help him, he'd really shown his true colors with Clark. How much of his rationalization of protecting Clark had really been about protecting himself? More than half, he was sobered to realize. He had frozen with Clark. He hadn't thrown the ball on faith; he'd just held onto what he knew, and in doing so, lost the game. Lost Clark. Lost his chance.

Friendship, like football, was not a solitary game. He had to trust that when it was rough, there would be someone to catch him if he toppled. The water was running cold before he dragged himself out of the shower with a glimmer of an idea of what to do next.

Clark had a whole speech prepared for his father about football. Coach Arnold's words about destiny and honor aside, he felt it was important to join the football team for himself. How better to blend in as a small-town no one special, than warming the bench the way Pete did game after game?

He could be normal, and demonstrate school spirit all at once.

Actually playing the game hadn't been important to him at all, until his father started in about how he could hurt someone. As if the previous twelve years of social isolation hadn't driven into his head that he couldn't risk losing control, his father had to take on the semblance of a public service announcement. "Don't get close to someone, Clark, you might kill them."

Typically, once his father showed him that he didn't trust him to be careful, all Clark wanted to do was play. Football stopped being a great camouflage and a way to spend time with Lana; it was now about Bigger Things. It was about trust, it was about faith, and it was ultimately about how well Clark could handle responsibility.

So the guys on the team suited up thinking about not dropping passes or fumbling the ball, while Clark had those thoughts, plus images of helmet head being a literal danger, or critical internal injuries. Clark could do this. He knew he could.

His speech had been abandoned for the brilliant words of 'I'm going to do it, and you can't stop me, nyah-nyah.'

Very mature. Very in control, Clark.

For the record, he had not walked into the barn thinking he was going to whine and throw a tantrum with his father. He was going to appeal to his father through the 'don't you want me to fit in' tactic. Put on a jersey, date a girl, and not get caught out as a freakishly strong alien-being that he was; it was a simple plan.

Maybe if he told his dad that he had kissed Lex Luthor, he'd relent about the no-football thing.

On second thought, his father would probably test the invulnerability theory. Clark hid a grin behind his hand, he wasn't sure which would freak his father out more, that his son had kissed a guy, or that his son had kissed a Luthor. Clark himself wasn't sure which freaked him out more, the guy thing, or the Lex thing.

It's not that he had something against it; he just never thought about it. The early years, his only social stimulation came from his parents, who after almost twenty years of marriage, still flirted with each other. Cows were mated with bulls, and calves resulted, was his crude education about reproduction.

He thought hard about what he'd heard his father say about homosexuality in the past. It wasn't that his father went out of his way to crack jokes, or make comments; no, his dad was the type that would laugh at a gay joke, but probably not repeat one. Smallville, while not the next Bay Area, did have its share of unconventional pairings. There was the guy who taught piano to some of the kids, that Pete's dad had said was "funny" like that. A few pairs of "spinster" aunts were scattered about the countryside. Even the stereotypical Kevin, his mother's hair dresser, was said to be 'that way'.

Carefully he wiped a soft cloth over his telescope lens, mulling his life over. He pressed his eye against the view finder, and focused on Lana's house. He was too far away for the earth-roiling feeling he usually had around Lana to affect him. Still, he held his breath as he watched her through the kitchen window wash the dinner dishes.

He wasn't completely "that way", he reasoned, if he still could feel his blood pumping in his ears at the sight of a beautiful girl. There was a girl that his parents would be proud to take pictures of with him. There was a girl that his mother could gossip with, and his dad could tease. Even if his mother didn't like Nell Lang, Lana would still be welcome at the table for meals.

Lex, on the other hand, he couldn't see bringing home for introductions. He couldn't see his father clapping him on the back and telling Clark that he was proud. He couldn't see his mother remark over how fast he was growing up, while Lex waited out in his car. He couldn't see his parents ever being comfortable with the idea that a Luthor was a friend, let alone anything more.

So yeah, Clark, Lex really let you off the hook with that whole rejection thing. Now, he could put the foolish thoughts of him down to temporary insanity and teenage loneliness, and concentrate on getting through the next three years of high school. It was hard enough being what he was; did he really need any extra complications?

He turned the telescope toward the sky, and started getting ready for bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered why he wasn't comforted by thoughts of Lana.

"How was your lesson with Heike?"

Lex looked up briefly from his desk. "Unimportant." Heike had disarmed him four times in ten minutes, before Lex gave up on actually focusing on the lesson. "Are the three Stooges gone?" As amusing as it was to deal with Dominic, he was going to have to move fast with his plans for restructuring.

Rose half-smiled at the description of Lionel's men. "Security signed them out ten minutes ago."

"Good. Get me John McGuinness on the line."

"The editor of the business section of the Ledger?"

"The very same."

He spent the drive into Smallville trying to imagine the look on his father's face once the drones had finished reporting word for word the exchange. "Archaic business practices" should get quite the reaction, a slight directed at both Lionel's style and his sensitivity over his age.

Lionel Luthor didn't like admitting to the fact he was mortal, and one day would die, leaving Lex in control.

Some days Lex counted the days till the inevitable, and then there were other days he was uncomfortable the idea having no second chances with his father. What boy didn't want his father's approval and love? He didn't want to be his father's age, and still have "Daddy" issues. According to his mother, the old man Lincoln Luthor had already accomplished that with Lionel. Cursing his son in one breath, asking for forgiveness in the next, and then dying without having closure with either.

He parked in front of the coffee house, and activated his alarm for his car. Two pedestrians looked over at the electronic chime. Population 45,000 and still people kept their doors unlocked, their keys in their cars like it was the fifties all over again. Well, Lex didn't have their easy trust.

John K. McGuinness was already seated in a corner table with two cups of coffee. "I took the pleasure of ordering for you. It's Jamaican Blue."

Lex took a seat across from him, and pushed his cup of coffee away. "Thanks, but I've already had my two cup allowance today."

McGuinness had started out as a Walter Cronkite disciple in his youth, dreaming of a life in a big city with a major paper. Instead of the Wall Street Journal, he was Smallville's business editor at the Ledger. He was hardly the material of Pulitzers, and he well knew it, lending a slightly cynical bent to all his articles. "I take it you're not here about my last article."

"The one that implicated me as the reason why Luthor Corp's earnings are down?" Lex lifted his brow, and leaned back in his chair. Two weeks ago the article had caused a fair amount of trouble, rattling both the investors in Metropolis and Smallville's local union at the plant. Lex had spent a goodly amount of time both reassuring his supervisors and his backers that the plant wasn't going to close and that there weren't going to be layoffs.

Scarcely a week after the article, and his father was demanding cutbacks, which could only really be met with layoffs. Lex would look worse than weak, he would look incompetent.

John smiled. "That's the one. My unnamed source was your father; you do know that, right?"

"Of course. He let you smear my name in order to give the stock a short-term boost. That week the price was close to forty-dollars a share. Three holders sold out; coincidentally, my father bought their shares. So it was a double coup for him; he made money and he put the focus on Smallville, instead of Metropolis." Lex smiled slightly, letting a shade of humility enter his voice. "I wield a lot of power, but we both know the financial struggles of Luthor Corp started well before I came here. But I do thank you for the compliment."

John laughed. "Have the Luthors ever looked into treatment for that narcissism you all seem to have?" He picked up his coffee cup, and blew on the steam. "So if you're not here about that, and this isn't social, what's up?"

Lex waited until the waitress had moved out of earshot, and lowered his voice. "I'm here about your next article."

A spark entered the editor's eyes. "What's the story? Who's being laid off?"

"No one. I'm increasing the workforce by 20%." In his eyes this was a win-win situation. McGuinness had a shot at an exclusive that was sure to be picked up by the wires, and he had a chance to mold public opinion. Once the announcement about the new jobs at Plant 3 hit Metropolis, his father would be hard-pressed to make any cuts without looking weak himself.

It was the perfect revenge for Lionel's earlier stunt. If there was one thing Lex's father understood, it was that payback was always a bitch.

"I know I didn't get a degree from the London School of Economics, but how is hiring more workers going to lift the fertilizer plants out of the...well, shit hole that it's in?" McGuinness pulled out his notebook, and tape recorder to start making notes.

"All profit requires ventured capital. Here's your quote: 'We have to spend money in order to make money. Just because the market as a whole is suffering, it doesn't mean I'm going to succumb to the drastic measures of my competitors: slashing workforces, cutting corners. The last thing I want to do is alienate the honest hardworking people of Smallville, my valued neighbors. On the contrary, I'm here to say that I plan to lift them up, and with them the local economy, to heights not seen since Smallville was the envy of all the heartland.'" Lex followed the pen marks that McGuinness was making with his eyes, and smiled. His father was not going to be happy, or as the locals put it, Lionel was going to shit a brick over this.

"You sound like a politician. Who you trying to sell?"

"That's the problem today, with all the bad press the economy is getting, people aren't confident in the future. They aren't spending. Treading lightly isn't going to turn around the economy. Now is the time for bold actions, now is the time to put our trust in the American workforce, in the American consumers. That trust will be repaid tenfold by next year."

McGuinness closed his notebook with a snap. "How soon can I get a quote from Lionel about this?"

"I doubt he'll be able to be reached for comment until after the story goes to press." Lex leaned forward, stressing his next words. "He's peculiar about who he talks to in the press, and after your publishing of the poor third quarter earnings, he's not likely to talk to you. The Daily Planet, now there's a paper he's quite chatty with."

The business editor narrowed his eyes at the mention of his competitor, the larger, far-reaching Metropolis Daily Planet. Most the editors at that paper thought the Smallville Ledger was 'cute' but hardly worthy of journalistic respect.

Lex well knew that, and was counting on the rivalry to keep McGuinness from contacting his father. The plan wouldn't work if Lionel had a chance to quash the article before it ever was published. Since there was more than just Sullivan's job at stake and that of other factory works, Lex couldn't afford failure.

"Thanks for this, Lex. I won't forget it."

He waved off McGuinness's attempts at thanks. "Just tell Dorothy Miller to back off about Prairie Meadows, and I'll call it even."

McGuinness laughed, dropping a few bills down to cover the two coffees. "Easier said than done. She really hates anything with name Luthor. If she could pin Kennedy's assassination on your family she would. Of course, I don't blame her, considering your father bought out her family's mortgage from the bank and then had them evicted."

"Can't blame me for trying, can you?"

"Nope." He held out his hand for Lex. "I'll send you an advance copy of the article, okay? Thanks again."

"No, thank you." With that piece in motion, there were now only just a few more moves left to make before he had the game sewn up. Perhaps tomorrow he'd plan a trip to the Kent Farm.

"You sure you want to do this, Clark?" Chloe asked, doubtfully.

"It's high school football, it's not the Super Bowl." He managed to hide the uncertain tremor in his throat. Truthfully, he wasn't sure. Being at odds with his father made him uncomfortable; this issue over trust was just another it was becoming an all too frequent pattern.

"I admire your security in your heterosexuality, as you're about to go forth into a locker room where twenty, hormone-spewing, adrenaline-pumping, naked guys are waiting for you, so you can undress, put on tight white pants, and then allow them to jump on you out on the field."

Pete groaned. "How am I supposed to look at those guys now?"

Clark lifted his eyebrow, "You were looking, Pete?" Of all the reasons to be nervous about football, walking into a locker room with scantily clad guys was not at the top of his list. Last night's musings were proof of that, he thought. He shifted under Chloe's gaze, thinking of the kiss with Lex. Should he be nervous?

"NO!"

Chloe tucked a stray stand of hair behind her ear,."You protest an awful lot, Pete." She ducked at the mimed punch in her direction. "I've heard more than a few people comment that sports give men their homosexual tendencies a clean outlet. Put on a uniform, and you can grab yourself, or pat another guy on the ass, and it's all okay."

"I thought you were watching your caffeine intake, Chloe." Clark shifted his backpack to his other shoulder, and rubbed at the back of his neck.

"That was before this cheating scandal. I'm working on a source." She smiled mysteriously. "Keep your ears open for me, Clark. I could use someone on the inside. If you have to get close to one of the players, well, it's okay by me."

"Chloe, you're not suggesting that Clark sleep his way through the team so you get a good story?"

Clark choked. That was an image.

"No, not at all. I have journalistic integrity." Chloe paused, watching Clark turn even redder. "Well, only if he wants to, and only as a last resort."

He shifted again. "Chloe, I'm going to be late for practice." He grabbed Pete's sleeve, and tugged him toward the gym and away from Chloe's vaguely gay insinuations.

"Catch up with you guys tonight!" she called merrily, as the two fled into the locker room.

Clark stood in front of his locker, and rubbed at his face, hoping the mortification was over. Chloe was certainly a unique person with odd ideas. Odd ideas and a sharp eye, he thought, giving his reflection another inspection.

Could she see that he'd kissed Lex? Could she see that he liked it?

He was aware of the other guys laughing and joking as they pulled off school clothes and started strapping on pads and gear to play. There was typical locker room banter about girls, about bench-pressing weights, and bitching about parents. It was normal according to the few television shows he'd watched as a kid. Normal.

He wanted to be normal, but was normal playing football so knotted up in worry that he might hurt someone? Was normal locking down every feeling he had so he was under control for practice? Was normal standing in a locker room thinking about how Lex had smelled right after he'd finished his fencing lesson?

Bad move, Clark. The first day of practice will not go well if you walk out there with a hard-on, and besides you don't like Lex anymore, he scolded silently. He suited up, and took a deep breath. It was time to think about normal 15-year-old guy thoughts, like Lana Lang in a short cheerleader skirt, and making a game-winning touchdown with his parents, school, and Lana watching.

Clark squinted in the bright sun as he jogged out of the locker room, and into the sun, holding onto 'normal'.

"No, Clark isn't here." Mrs. Kent peered through the screen door, looking at Lex curiously.

He put his hands in his pockets, flashing his charm-soaked smile. "Don't tell me he has detention?"

Martha laughed. "No, nothing as bad as that. He's at football practice."

"Football practice? Wow, I let a few days go by, and he's gone and joined the Crows. How did this happen?"

She opened the door. "Come in, I'll tell you what I know." She moved back to the dough on the counter top, as Lex followed her into the kitchen. "I've got to finish this batch of cookies for the SCA--for the homeowners meeting."

He caught her slip, and pounced on it. "SCALD? Smallville Citizens Against Luthor Development?" He well knew that the Kents were members of that group; his father had left a member roster in his 'Welcome to Smallville' file. "Seems they have an acronym for everything now. DARE, MADD, I think the high school has a SADD and a PETA club, worthy clubs. I'm on the same scale as drugs, drunk drivers, and puppy killers."

"I'm sorry... it's really nothing personal," she began, taking on the role of mother and comforter with ease.

Lex lifted his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I read the papers, I know what most of the town thinks about the Luthor name. It is just a name though, it's not me." He leaned against the counter with a sheepish half-smile. "My father has a lot of enemies, and I have grown used to being judged because of him. For the record, I haven't bribed any judges or swindled any farmers."

She paused from making small round dough balls on a greased sheet, and looked up at Lex . "Want a cookie?"

Clark definitely had his mother's offbeat sense of humor. He laughed. "Raw?"

"Sure." Martha handed him a soft bite of chocolate chip cookie dough. "I have to make these when Clark is at school, otherwise there ends up being only two or three cookies actually baked."

He nibbled on the soft dough doubtfully. This couldn't be healthy, uncooked dough, but surprisingly it tasted heavenly. "Your husband played football for Smallville didn't he?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, he did."

Lex continued, with calculation, "He even tried out for the Metropolis Sharks."

"You seem to know a lot about my family, Mr. Luthor." Now there was suspicion in her glance.

"There's not a file on you, I just remember reading it in the paper. They're talking about Coach Walt's 200th victory being this Friday night, and there was a write up about Jonathan Kent, All-American Hopeful. If he'd gone to college, I'm sure he would have been picked up for the Sharks."

Her expression lightened at his reasonable explanation. "Jonathan would appreciate that compliment, but it's ancient history, considering Clark's grandfather died and my husband stayed home to work."

"Is that why Clark wants to play football?"

"I think Clark wants to play football because Lana Lang is a cheerleader. Head cheerleaders date football players." She opened the oven, and slid the cookie sheet onto the baking rack. "Her aunt was the same way."

"What football player did Nell date?" Lex asked curiously, even though he knew.

"Just because a football player dates a cheerleader, doesn't mean they end up together. Clark will figure this out for himself." Martha wiped the countertop down briskly.

Lex finished, "The same way his father did."

"That's not what you ordered, is it?"

Lex looked down at the plume of whipped cream that hovered over a mug of hot chocolate. If he squinted, it might look like a cappuccino, but it would probably never taste like it. "Not even close."

Clark grinned, and then gestured to his own lips, "Um... you left a bit there."

He wiggled his lips, feeling the touch of leftover froth on his skin. The easy conversation, the smiles Clark was giving him, it was hard to believe this was same person who had handed him a ticket a week or so ago at the Peterson's party. Lex lowered his voice to test the waters. "You could help me out here."

Like a switch was flipped, the grin vanished. Clark drew back into the chair, emotionally and physically withdrawing from Lex. "I can get you a napkin," he offered expressionlessly.

Lex swallowed, and pulled out a handkerchief. "No need." He wiped at his mouth. "How long?" he asked conversationally, looking down at the bundle of personnel files on the coffee table.

"How long until what?"

"Until you start smiling at me like you were before." Lex glanced over to see if Lana was close, before continuing, "I miss that, Clark. We used to joke more. Now you're looking at me like the rest of this town does."

"Wasn't that your aim? You showed me how a Luthor operates, and I get it, Lex. I really get it." Clark shifted, his eyes flashing with anger. "I maybe a farm boy, but even I am not that stupid."

"I'm saying I made a mistake that night in the kitchen. I shouldn't have let you leave. I definitely shouldn't have sent Johnson in to drive you home. I'm asking you to forgive me..."

Clark hissed, leaning closer, "No... you don't get to do this. You don't get to change your mind, and expect me to just jump back to you. I don't appreciate being jerked around."

"I'm not.. I won't..." Lex noticed Lana on her way back to the table, and sighed. "Listen, this isn't the place to discuss this."

Clark considered that for a moment, and then finally shrugged. "Where then?"

"I wouldn't miss watching you play. Maybe we could talk after the game?" He waited until Clark gave him a grudging nod of agreement before going to the counter to pay for his mixed-up drink orders.

Clark watched him leave, and turned his smile to Lana. "So what time to do you get off tonight?"

"Not until ten." She sighed. "I think that's three wrong orders and two broken dishes away from now." Lana placed her order pad in her back pocket, and then frowned slightly as she looked closer at the coffee table. "Lex forgot his papers; do you think he's still here?"

He peered toward the front of the coffee house. "I think he's gone. I go by the plant on my way to school anyway, I can give it to him." Clark scooped up the folders to place in his backpack. He paused before zipping the satchel, his eyes picking up a familiar name on the folders. Mr. Sullivan, Chloe's dad.

Lex was considering laying off Chloe's dad?

Instead of lingering for Lana's shift to end, Clark grabbed his bag, and started for the door. Somehow Lana's pretty face didn't seem as important to him tonight.

"Have you seen Clark?"

Chloe winced at the shout Lex used to cut through the cheering din. "No... he's supposed to play tonight."

Damn. He looked down at the textual page Rose had sent him with indecision. If he left now, he was going to blow the very small chance he had with Clark tonight. If he didn't leave now, he risked bringing his father's attention away from the plant, and onto his personal life.

Lionel was close according to Rose, and probably furious with the acts taken at the plant. The more time he wasted at the football field, the less time he had to be in place when his father blew into town.

Lex looked at the bench again, willing Clark to appear so he could explain. Finally he turned to Chloe with resignation. "If you see him, could you give him a message for me? Tell him... I was called away by business."

Chloe frowned suspiciously. "I'm not a secretary."

"Please, Chloe." He could have bitten his tongue in half for using that word, but he ended up repeating it. "Please, it's important." Clark inspired the unlikeliest phrases from him, from admitting mistakes to apologizing.

She finally sighed, and shrugged. "I'll try."

"Thanks." Lex glanced at his watch, and hoped the two state troopers that were in this area weren't lurking on the roads back to the castle.

"You missed the game, Clark."

Clark paused at the foot of the bleachers. "I know..." The game was over, the crowds were dispersing, and there was no sign of him. Actions speak louder than words, his father had said to him once, and this was proof of it. Promises really did mean nothing to the guy. He stifled his disappointment, and gave himself permission to feel angry.

Chloe was perched on the top of the empty bleachers with her notebook. She didn't look up as she jotted down her notes for her next Torch article. "If you're looking for Lex Luthor, he's not here."

Clark blinked, surprised. "What? How do you know?"

"He left a message for you... he said something about unforeseen business. What'd he want?" She closed her notebook, and started walking down the metal staircase to Clark's level.

To fuck with my mind, Clark thought darkly. "Nothing..." She lifted her eyebrow, and Clark got the impression she didn't believe him. The departing firefighters and the demise of Coach Walt was probably the only thing saving him from an interrogation.

"Listen, my parents are here. You want a ride home?"

"No..." He automatically declined, still hoping Lex was going to show up. "Wait, how's your dad?" he asked, thinking about the layoffs that Lionel was demanding from the plant.

"My dad?" Chloe's forehead furrowed in confusion at the subject change. "He's fine. Why do you ask?"

"I heard a rumor about layoffs," he replied offhandedly.

"Not in Smallville. In fact, they're hiring at the plant."

Clark didn't bother hiding his surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah. It was in the paper, Clark." Chloe shrugged again. "The Ledger gave your friend Lex some good publicity about it. I don't know; maybe he is different from the other Luthors."

"Maybe." Maybe he just played different games than his father did, Clark thought cynically.

"So, want the ride?"

"Nah, that's okay... I thought I might hang out here for a bit. Savor my brush with football greatness." He flashed his smile at Chloe, wondering at that moment if she wasn't surprised he didn't play. She never did take his trying out for the football team seriously.

"That brush missed you by a mile, Clark. Goodnight then." Chloe waved in her usual hurried style, and headed toward the parking lot, completely missing the brief flash of hurt on Clark's face.

"Peaceful isn't it?"

He turned around quashing his disappointment. Of course, it wasn't that long ago that he would have been pleased to see Lana, instead of wishing she was someone else. "Hey, I thought you were working."

"I got let go." She gave him a chagrined look. "Apparently I'm not waitress material."

"Sorry. How'd your aunt take it?" he asked sympathetically.

"She said that it was a sign that I should seriously reconsider cheerleading." Lana laughed hollowly, looking over briefly at where she used to cheer.

"Parents. What are you going to do?" Clark wondered, considering that perhaps they were both trying roles that were out of their elements. Chloe was right, the world was bizarre enough without Clark the football player and Lana the waitress.

"I heard about the coach," Lana commented, falling instep next to Clark. "Pretty weird."

Weird was one way of putting it. Personally Clark thought it was rather sad, all considered. "Won his 200th game, and didn't even see it."

"You going to play next season?"

"I don't know if football is for me." Clark continued with a small smile, "My dad played. My granddad played. I think it's time to break the vicious cycle."

"Pretty short career. Why the change of heart?"

"I don't know. I guess I got out on the field and realized my reason for playing was gone." As many faults as the coach had, at least he was passionate about what he was doing. Clark couldn't say the same for his own efforts; the only real enjoyment he had from playing was surprising everyone with his decision. After shaking up everyone's view of him, he'd had very little left.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Who said life was fair?" he asked, thinking of the irony. The only time he really felt normal was when he was displaying all the qualities that made him different, his strength, his ability to protect or save someone. If life had been fair, he wouldn't have felt so empty out on the field.

"You going to be okay?" Lana asked in her soft voice, sensing that there was more going on behind Clark's blue eyes and shy smiles.

He thought briefly of the coach, a man his father had respected, too caught up in his own need for victory, at any cost, to save himself. He looked over at Lana, the girl that most fools were in love with, who thought being her own person started with quitting something she was good at, and trying something she wasn't. He thought about his own disastrous attempts at being something he wasn't and considered the question, was he going to be okay?

He was thinking of Lex when he replied, "Sometimes I just want to scream."

The night was cool with the sweet kiss of fall as Clark walked back home from Lana's doorstep. He'd screamed with her on the football field, and then escorted her from the darkened school grounds to their farms. Somewhere between the county road and her aunt's drive, she had found his hand with hers, and then hadn't let go. Clark Kent had held Lana Lang's hand, and the world hadn't ended. He hadn't tripped, or embarrassed himself.

He would have been proud of how cool he'd acted around her, except for one thing.

It had been so easy. Too easy. He almost missed the affects of her necklace, now that he knew that was what it was, because at least then he'd felt something, even if it was like the room was spinning. Walking her home, he felt admiration for her nice figure and exotic slanted dark eyes, but that as close to the extent of it. He missed that feeling of 'other'. It was something other than being bored.

Clark stopped at the last turn to his farm's drive, and felt himself smile. Lex's car was pulled the side of the road, the lights off, and he could make out the pale of Lex's face as he leaned against the door.

Lex never bored him.

"So, more unforeseen business?"

He turned around at Clark's approach, and pushed off away from the Porsche. "It was real this time."

"Why should I believe you, Lex?" He'd been burned once, and now all the admonishments of his father were speaking louder than before about trusting a Luthor.

"Call Rose, my secretary, she'll tell you. She's the one that paged me tonight. She found out my father was heading back to Smallville, and I had to be there when he arrived." Lex kept his palms flat and open. "I swear, I'm not lying."

"I don't want to have to call Rose and check up on your story, Lex." Clark stayed a few feet away from Lex, fighting the urge to be closer. He wanted to just forgive, he just wanted to close his eyes and wake up in a world where this, as right as it felt, was also normal. "I want to be able to believe you."

"You can," Lex urged quietly.

"Why?"

"Because ...because..." Lex broke off frustrated, and then sighed. "I've only lied once to you. Once. Are you going to damn me forever for that?"

"I could." Clark looked down, and then over to Lex, studying his face. He could nurse his hurt, hold onto that rejection he felt when a stranger had appeared to escorted him to the door, and then what? Wrapping himself in that anger wouldn't keep him warm, it wouldn't make him smile, and it didn't feel anywhere as good as that one, dangerous kiss he had with Lex.

He could damn Lex for a week, even two, but he didn't know about forever. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he hadn't even been that great at staying away and angry for the short amount of time that had passed. "I won't though." Clark watched as something relaxed in Lex's face. "So... what happened with your father?"

Lex tilted his head up, toward the sky, and exhaled a short burst of air. "He was a little emotional because I went ahead and hired people. I don't think I slept much last night, but I managed to cut down some expenses, so the layoffs weren't necessary."

"So you didn't fire Chloe's dad."

Lex blinked, surprised. "How'd you know about that?"

"You left some of your papers at the coffee shop." Clark caught the brief wash of worry over Lex's face. "Don't worry, I dropped them off with your secretary this morning before school."

"Oh... Thank you."

He got the impression that Lex didn't say those words often, especially not so soon after seeing his father. "That was a good thing you did; you didn't have too." Clark commented, leaning against the warm hood of the Porsche.

"Yes I did. I didn't do it because of Chloe, or you...." Lex shrugged. "It was just another one of my father's tests."

If Lex wanted to rationalize it that way, Clark didn't know what else to say. He closed his eyes trying to call up a few words from his Literature class that seemed oddly appropriate, "'Men do what is called a good action, as some piece of courage or charity, much as they would pay a fine in expiation of daily non-appearance on parade.'"

Lex smiled, impressed, and he finished the quotation for Clark. "'Their works are done as an apology or extenuation of their living in the world, - as invalids and the insane pay a high board. Their virtues are penances. I do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is not an apology, but a life. It is for itself and not for a spectacle.'"

"I'm not surprised you know that for some reason." Clark shook his head in wonder, belying his words.

"Emerson should be required reading for anyone who wants to run a business. I particularly like 'A sympathetic person is placed in the dilemma of a swimmer among drowning men, who all catch at him, and if he give so much as a leg or a finger, they will drown him. They wish to be saved from the mischiefs of their vices, but not from their vices.'"

Clark again wasn't surprised by that. He vaguely remembered Mr. Robbins teaching that line, and then following up with what Clark treated as a rhetorical statement: "You can't save everyone, so why save anyone?"

"You're asking me that?"

"My teacher asked that," he clarified for Lex.

"What did you say?"

"Every once and a while, the person you save, ends up being someone special, someone important. Makes it all worthwhile." Clark raked his hand through his hair, feeling the slight grease of smoke and ashes. He ached to feel clean again. He was beginning to wonder if that was ever going to happen in Smallville.

Unlikely. He wanted to talk about Coach Arnold with Lex, the way he had about Greg Arkin. He hadn't felt satisfied when Greg died, not like he did when the insanity in the coach's eyes had turned to fear as the fire turned to consume him. He hadn't felt scared watching the stretcher lift the body out of the school, not like he had at the foundry when he wanted some sign that Greg was gone. He wanted to talk about the coach, but he didn't think he could convincingly pull off regret in front of Lex.

Smallville was filled with drowning men and women, waiting to grab a hold onto Clark's hand and pull him down. When Lex was watching him, he wanted to save them all, and when it was just himself, Clark wanted to swim away.

"Clark?"

He shook off his thoughts and turned to Lex, curiously. "What would you do? If you were the only one who could save anyone? Would you pick one or two? Or try and save them all?"

"I'd save myself, Clark," Lex replied pragmatically. "And whoever was closest to shore, but only if I knew I was going to make it. You knew that before you even asked me that question though."

"Yeah, I did," Clark agreed. As easy as Lex's answer sounded, he could hear his father's voice saying to him, "You're meant for greater things than winning football games." He was meant to be a Kent, a man everyone could count on. Lex was a Luthor, and that was really how things were always going to be.

He moved closer to Lex, and fearlessly placed his hand under Lex's smooth chin. So smooth, he knew instinctively that no razor had ever touched that face and none ever would. Slowly he rubbed his thumb against his chin, and watched as the friendly, slightly smug look on Lex's face turned to something decidedly hungrier. "Lex..." he began with regret.

The look vanished under a wave of control over his face, as Lex stepped even closer to Clark, till only centimeters separated their lips. "Yes... I know."

"It's just ..." Clark breathed, "my father and ... we..."

"We could get caught." Lex lifted his brow in question, "that is what you're worried about? I ... I like you, Clark. I'm usually a lot more subtle about this..."

Clark swallowed, his vision doubling for a moment. Lex was asking him if this was what he wanted. "I can't get caught." Yes, this is what he wanted. It looked like he was going to have one more secret to keep. Did it make it any easier that this time he was keeping it from his parents and friends, instead of Lex and his friends?

"I didn't know you smoked, Clark," he whispered, his lips slowly closing the distance.

Clark didn't answer, he let Lex taste the truth. While he reeked of smoke and charcoal, there wasn't a linger of nicotine in his kiss. They both shivered in the night air, but not from the cold, as Lex worked to push Clark's jacket off his shoulders, while a second pair of hands were pulling out his own shirt tail. Closer, his body urged him under the brilliant assault of Lex's lips. Lex made a soft sound of frustration as Clark pulled away, with a decidedly satisfied expression.

"What happens now?" he asked, as Lex watched him with dilated eyes.

"I don't have a script, Clark. I don't," Lex laughed harshly, with a tinge of fear, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. I had all these plans. I had this vision of what Smallville was going to be like." Clark could see he was working without a net at this moment, and Lex was scared. Lex didn't wear fear well on his face. "I didn't see this happening. I didn't see being a utter fool for a fifteen year old high school student."

Clark could feel his stomach tightening with terror. Was this where Lex called some stranger in to escort him home?

"If I had seen this happening with you, I wouldn't have fought coming to Smallville for as long as I did."

Then the earth returned beneath Clark's feet with those words. The fear, the uncertainty he heard, he didn't want to understand it. He didn't want to know there was something more terrible than rejection lurking in Lex's thoughts. Perversely, he couldn't help asking, "I'm not the only one who has something to lose, am I?"

"No... you just have to ask yourself the question, is the risk worth the gains?"

It wasn't until the sun began to break the horizon that Clark had an answer to that question. He watched silently from the loft's window, as Lex crept past the sleeping Kent farm back toward his car. His lips were raw from their earlier passion as he whispered, "That's what you're trying to tell me, isn't it? You're not afraid of getting it wrong, you're afraid of getting it right."

Lex paused at the gate, and turned around to squint in the slow rising sun back toward the barn. Clark couldn't be sure, but it was as if Lex had heard him. Impossible. He closed his eyes, straining his senses until the faint rumble of a car engine convinced him it was safe to look again.

"'The only right is what is after my constitution, the only wrong what is against it.'"