*Crazy what you are then/Give me an hour and I'll give you your dreams.../Don't make a sound/Shh and listen/Keep your head down/We're not safe yet/Don't make a sound/And be good for me/'Cause I know the way to somewhere out here * -- Frou Frou, "Shh"

Concentrating on the little things was important. Daddy... no, Father has always told him it was important. Little things could slip away, skip off, and come back with a razor for his neck.

Little things. Like forgetting that dead men had friends. Friends that came back to avenge him. Friends. Would anyone come avenge him? He would've preferred a rescue, but maybe he'd enjoy revenge, post mortem. Maybe. Maybe he wasn't sure and couldn't think straight anymore. Little things. Little... things.

Breathing hadn't hurt so badly since he'd been running in that cornfield, running from an imaginary nightmare and into a real one. Running... He felt his legs give an involuntary twitch at the concept -- running would get him home, right? Running would get him to a warm bed and a long, fucking long shower, and -- and he whimpered.

Little things. Small pleasures. Breathe carefully, and think of the little things.

He had cold toes. They felt disconnected, not part of him, until he twitched them and they touched and curled together. Cold skin on cold skin, a little thing that didn't hurt too much. There was the oddest wonder to feel, too, that one minute his toes felt there, cold but there, and the next they didn't. His fingers might have felt that way, if he'd had the morbid strength to touch them together.

Something was whining, panting in his ear. It sounded like a broken child, maybe a hurt dog? He couldn't think except that he was cold, and he smelled vomit, and that the concrete under his cheek was cold and sticky with sweat. Maybe not. Maybe it was water. Water had been thrown at him earlier. That was it. It was water.

Not sweat. He wasn't scared. He wasn't sick, and he certainly wasn't going to cry, or close his eyes and just die. It wouldn't be very Luthor of him. Daddy... Dad wouldn't like that. Dad had just smiled at him in that meeting, smiled like he'd meant it.

Proud that he'd... insulted him in a board meeting. Something. Something that had brought on a flash of anger and then a broad, frightening genuine smile. Real. Real like Dad never was. Real like Clark, but not the same real. The urge to find something Real was strong, but not so strong that he wanted to try moving.

The big breaths hurt, seared cramps through his arms that wouldn't move for him. That he couldn't move. Arms weren't meant to bend that way, and how was he ever supposed to know that he'd get a little taste of some of the things that had fascinated him best about the Spanish inquisition. Lofty thoughts of The Rack, smirking references, god, he'd do anything to take those threats back if he could get his shoulders back into his body and make them stop hurting.

Fix everything. It wouldn't fix anything. Phelan was dead, and if they wanted money... No, not so simple. It wasn't a simple thought, and breathing was harder again, and it hurt. Simple things. Simple... cold feet, cold body, cold head, unpleasant smells. If he wobbled a little from his side, the pain stabbed through him again and he could half hear the funniest howling scream. It used to be sharper, louder, only now it sounded scraped raw, poured through rusty grating.

Like his throat. Swallowing didn't soothe that, because there wasn't much to swallow in his mouth. Dry and cold, like dry ice. Liquid nitrogen. Was that why he was so damn cold? If it was, he shouldn't keep moving his toes. They'd fall off, and then what would he do? Something. Think about little things, and Dad would be proud and real again, and it'd stop hurting and it'd all be real...

Those two, they weren't Phelan. Phelan was the smart one, and Phelan had died by his brothers' guns. They'd slip up, and he'd be paid free. Because it wasn't Smallville, and Clark couldn't find him miraculously. Only maybe it was Smallville again. Maybe Metropolis was the dream, the nightmare, and it wasn't real. Maybe there was a meteor mutant under those men's skin, and that was why he was still there.

Maybe Clark needed to be there right away. Clark always found the mutants. Clark was special, Clark was a... a something. A reporter. A friend? Did he have those? No... yes. Yes, he - no, Dad said he didn't and Dad... Fuck Dad. Fuck him, fuck the Luthors, fuck...

"FUCK!"

The rasp howl slithered free again, one twitch too many unbalancing him. Back onto arms that shouldn't have bent that way, onto things that felt detached, the hurt-sick, all of it. None of the little, simple, almost enjoyable things. He jerked the other way, but it was no better, ending up flattened on the cement with no leverage to move. But it was almost like laying down, and maybe he could breathe a little more. Big breaths, yes... big breaths didn't hurt as much. Back hurt, all of it, arms still screaming pain at him. He twitched cold feet together, making sure they were still there. His dick was still there, crushed between the cement and his pelvis. That was almost a good surprise. Still there. Still there. He was still all there, despite it all.

Maybe his friends needed to be as good to him as Phelan's friends. Maybe they would be, but Dad said...

Friday mornings were a ritual for Lois. She arrived in the office before Clark, because Clark was invariably running almost-late because of his infamous Thursday night antics. Sometimes he'd come in looking just a little plastered, ruffled like he got dressed in a taxi while it was weaving in and out of traffic; sometimes, he was mellow and all smiles; sometimes he was frustrated or angry. But it didn't matter. There was always a little change in Clark, a little difference in the farm boy dork from Smallville after a Thursday night. He laughed more, he smiled less shyly and more slyly, and he tripped over his feet less.

He'd been doing it since sometime in his first month of working at the Daily Planet, as best as Lois could tell. Smallville had just hung up his phone, grinning a little to himself, and of course, she hadn't been able to stop herself from asking him what he was so smug about. It worked as good as a slap to wipe the worst of the excess from his face, but it still lingered.

"I'm going out on the town with a friend I knew in school."

Partying on a Thursday night? she'd asked herself. Whatever. Couldn't be much of a party, but to a guy like Clark a real Friday or Saturday night party might have scared him. But it was Friday morning that she met this... new Clark. A little cocky, more confident, at least a little more relaxed. And retrospectively, it made sense for him to do his relaxing on Thursdays, since most of his articles were in the Saturday and Sunday papers. A fling of energy before throwing himself into a deadline.

Or before Lois dragged him halfway around the city and into danger where only Superman didn't fear to tread. Clark always got lost, out of her sight and then it was so much for his confidence and ease on Friday mornings.

It was a pity she couldn't find a way to bottle that Clark and replace the usual one with him.

Sometimes Thursday nights didn't happen, and then Clark would come in and sulk. His buddy had something else to do, or his buddy had to catch a plane. Lois would always find herself feeling sympathy for him, but hey, at least his partying buddy called and told him, right? And yeah, she was right. The guy probably had more of a life than Clark did. Probably an older frat brother or something from Met U.

And it was maybe once a month, on those days where Smallville looked like he was still oozing whatever he'd drank the night before, that she'd pry a confession from him of what he'd done. She always felt a spark of delight hearing him whisper that he got dragged to a rave -- mr. thick glasses, big hands and goofy smile, at a rave? Or the way he turned as red as his tie when he told her that they went to a strip club. She'd teased him about being a 'wild one' for weeks afterwards.

Every few months or so, he came back furious, and though Lois never could find out why, she could guess. Even buddies fight from time to time. Probably over some pretty girl who had to be more attracted to the other guy.

His Buddy didn't get a name, which had always made Lois particularly curious. Maybe it was some obscure guy thing to not bother naming each other, or maybe Clark guessed that Lois didn't have much genuine interest in his itty bitty social life. Because she certainly didn't, she reminded herself, all but squirming in anticipation of what she might be able to pry from Clark's goofy grin and tease him with for weeks.

He was so backwoods and country that it was cute.

Smallville did show up to work late, but not the way Lois expected of him. He walked towards their side by side desks, shoved together at least a year ago to make talking easier, threw his coat onto the coat rack, missed, and fumbled in picking it up. Then he slumped down in his chair, looking dejected and eyeing his empty coffee mug with what Lois thought was a gaze that could signal the end of the world.

Goofy Farm boy looked heartbroken. Lois decided that she had to be losing her ice-bitch tendencies if Smallville's dejected sulk struck her as heartrending. She picked up his empty coffee mug when she stood, effectively snaring his attention, and tapped the ceramic against the wood for a moment. "You didn't get to go out last night? Plane to catch, or...?"

"Huh?" The blank look he turned on her seemed to be a direct slap in the face. Sometimes, Lois wondered if he thought she was stupid. Clark couldn't lie for shit. "Um. No. Was busy." He didn't say who was busy, him or his friend, but it was more than obvious.

Clark was never busy. Maybe he could be called busy if, by chance, he got his fingers stuck in his shoelaces, and then fell downstairs while tangled in with himself. Or maybe he could be called busy if he locked himself in his bathroom by accident.

"Come on, Smallville. Remember who you're talking to."

"Sure, Lois. How could I forget?" The look on his face was one of tension, and it was one that he couldn't hide. "Look. I'm just worried. It's nothing."

"That's good. Because I'd hate to have you zone out on me all day," she chided, wincing as she heard her own voice gentle towards him. Soft. She had to be going soft. "We've got a press conference to go to in half an hour, and it's a doozy, Clark. Headline news, just me, and maybe you sharing that byline."

"Yeah?" The faint knit of dark brows showed that she'd managed to spark some small bit of curiosity in him. That was obviously good for him, since he was all mopey. Maybe she'd even badger him out somewhere good to eat when they were done so that she could make him relax.

Yeah. She was definitely going soft.

"So, what's up?" he asked her, the black rims of his glasses making him seem even more of a nerd than usual.

It must've been because she'd been expecting that little spark of confidence he usually had Friday mornings. The press conference would've been hundreds of times more bearable if Clark hadn't been down in the ditches about his pathetic excuse for wild fun.

"Lionel Luthor is holding a press conference, but our leak with the cops say it's because his firstborn son has been missing since sometime yesterday." Lois was waiting to see the excitement that had to show up on his face. It was probably one of the biggest stories they'd had in weeks, and Perry White had given it to them. To her.

The distinct pallor that washed over his face sure as hell wasn't what she'd been expecting. "Since when?" Clark bit out, promptly standing up from his desk. "What happened? When's the conference?"

"It's in half an hour, so if we want to be up front and asking questions, you're going to have to do without coffee this morning." Clark ought to have known by then that he just didn't pitch questions at her and not expect them pitched back just as fast. "Now, what bug's crawled up your ass and suddenly made you wake up?"

The way Smallville reached up and pushed messy hair back out of his face made him seem startlingly familiar for just a moment, those green eyes gleaming thoughtfully. "It explains a lot, that's all. My... friend, he probably would have been working late last night, then." God, he did suck as a liar.

Usually she'd tease him for his lies, but it was too blatantly pathetic to bother teasing him. "He would've? Come on, Clark, get your jacket and a tape recorder. I'll drive us there. You can explain to me why you turned as white as paper once we're in the car."

The quick snatch of Clark's fingers gained them a recorder, and he grabbed his jacket up off of the floor. "Look, Lois," he began as they headed for the door. "I really don't want to talk about it..."

"I'm just pressing at an obvious question, Clark. I mention that the heir to most of Metropolis is rumored missing or dead, and you freak." Lois grabbed her own jacket, and slipped it back on, and her purse that carried all of the essentials she might need in day to day researching. Boy scouts thought they had it all covered, but she had those wimps beat in preparedness.

"Well, it's not exactly something you expect to hear every day, is it? That the infamous Lex Luthor has gone missing. Plus, it's nothing like him to just disappear, so it's bound to be serious trouble..." Clark hedged. "Plus... Well, look, I don't want to talk about it." There was a stubborn set to his mouth that declared she'd be in for a fight if she tried to drag it out of him.

But since when did Lois not try to drag things from Clark? She set off down the hallway with determination in her stride, knowing Clark would trail after her. "Come on, Clark. What don't you want to talk about?"

"I'm allowed to have a private life, aren't I?" he defended. "Plus, you never seemed so interested before..." Clark was very much like a duckling; give him something to follow, and he toddled right along.

Some days, Lois was tempted to put a bow around his neck -- or maybe on the bridge of his glasses -- and pull him around with a string. Not that he wasn't dependable and quick thinking, honest and just packed full of farm boy integrity, all of which balanced out his weaknesses and geekiness, but it was still an entertaining idea for her. "I've never seen you jump out of your seat like that before, either. I thought someone had stuck a tack on your chair."

The way he let out a slow, heavy sigh wasn't really what she was expecting. "I knew him. Lex Luthor. Back in Smallville." That was more than enough to pique her curiosity to the extreme, wasn't it? "Saved his life a time or two. He saved mine. Busy place, Smallville. He was..." The fact that Clark seemed busy searching for the appropriate word was absolutely fascinating. "He was great."

"He was great?" Lois shoved down the urge to swallow her tongue. Clark -- geek who barely had a pulse some days -- Kent knew Lex -- evasive, charming, cunningly cutthroat -- Luthor.

The epitome of Smallville knew the epitome of Metropolis. It was mind bogglingly odd.

"He was great? You knew a guy like that, and all you can say is that he was great?"

"Well!" It seemed a little defensive to her even as they headed down the hall with quick, hurried steps. "He was. He is. I mean, Lex is... Lex is all the things you wouldn't think he could be. He tries hard. He wants to succeed. He knows how to have a good time and he knows when to stop and be serious..."

'Lex' was probably a smear on some grimy wall who knew where, Lois's wickedly morbid intuition reminded her, but with Clark spouting off about the guy, it was hard to let that remark rise up to her mouth. She listened as they got into the elevator, then raked Clark's face with a surveying eye. "Smallville, you're talking about him like you're in regular contact with him. You wouldn't hide a contact like that from me, would you?"

The way those green eyes shifted away behind thick lenses said a lot. "Well..." Clark eluded again, fiddling with the recorder. "It's not like I hid it. I mean, you never asked, and besides. It's not like that. He's not a contact. He's a friend."

Lois let the words, and various slips of thought catch up with her, and when it all did, they left her reeling. "Thursday night. Right. He's the guy you go drinking with? That you go to clubs with?" Talk about a war of the worlds. She shifted, eyeing the face behind the thick glasses. Having a friend as awkward as Clark anywhere near him must have cost Lex Luthor a lot of his public 'cool' points.

A faint shrug of Clark's shoulders gave much by way of answers. "...Yes," he admitted. "My dad's probably rolling over in his grave every time Lex calls. He didn't like him much." That was the understatement of the year, wasn't it? Lex had won and lost respect from Jonathan Kent so often it had become almost a force of habit between them to dance that particular little tango. "I hope he's okay."

It was too much information, too fast, and Lois found herself juggling politeness with curiosity, and then... then there was the subject of the conference they were going to. "Well, Clark, you've got to be realistic here. Kidnapping or murder doesn't equal 'okay'."

"Yeah, well. Getting knocked in the head every third Sunday doesn't, either, but he survived that." The words seemed to come out before Clark was even aware he'd said them, but he didn't take them back. "Lots of folks didn't like Lex. Local folks, you know. They knew his dad, knew things he'd done. They expected the same thing out of Lex."

"But doesn't Smallville have all of those strange genetic mutations because of the LuthorCor-- I mean, LeXCorp plant there?" Lois led the way out of the elevator, and started towards the parking lot and where she'd parked her car. "I don't think you can look at this topic with the right detachment, Clark."

"Maybe not," he admitted quietly. "But maybe I've never been able to look at it with the right detachment. Most of that stuff came before Lex ever arrived at that plant." It was something of a lie, but Lois would never know. He could cover the old lies so well by now that sometimes Clark himself thought he couldn't tell the difference.

"Clark, don't you think that maybe you're a lot too close to this story to be covering it?" Lois glanced back over her shoulder at Smallville, pressing down a sigh.

"At the very least, I want to know what's going on." The puppy dog look on his face was really irresistible, wasn't it? "You wouldn't deny me that, would you, Lois? I promise I won't get in your way about anything..."

Particularly since he looked like a kicked puppy dog. Some days, Lois was sure Clark did it on purpose. "Fine. But if Lionel Luthor declares him dead or something, I'm not going to whip out a handkerchief for you to cry into."

If Lionel Luthor declared him dead...

Just the sound of the words made those green eyes widen. "I hope he's not," Clark said slowly. "I really hope he's not."

It was probably for the best that she did carry tissues, Lois decided as she led the way to her car in silence after that. It wasn't as if she could dredge up some soothing words that would put her partner at ease. Clark couldn't be normal, could he, and have a real loser of a drunk for a buddy, no, not Clark. Smallville had to be special and be friends with the local billionaire and mope over not meeting someplace with him, and then demand to go to that press conference.

The mere idea of Clark knowing a Luthor, any Luthor -- even the Luthor house pets, if people like that could actually stand to own animals -- was still sinking into her head. And Clark just mowed ahead like it had never been, if not a secret, a well hidden bit of knowledge before he'd accidentally showed his hand of cards.

"Get in the passenger side," she instructed him as she unlocked her car door. "Because you drive like an old woman."

"I don't drive like an old woman," Clark protested. He got into the passenger side, anyway, obedient as always. "At least not like any of the old ladies I know. They tend to take hills with stoplights at the bottom going seventy where I come from."

"Then maybe you should drive like an old woman," she teased him as she buckled her seat belt. It was all autopilot for her hands, key in the ignition, backing out of her parking space, and guiding it out to the busy road. Lois's mind was too busy processing through what Clark had told her, what it implied -- how could he not tap such a boundless source of information? Or maybe he had been tapping it, and just failing to tell her.

"I didn't tell you because I wasn't going to use him. Lex is my friend," Clark told her, almost as if he could read her mind. "I would never use him for information."

He'd obviously been working for her for too long, too closely, if he could read her so well. Lex Luthor, a friend. A kidnapped friend at the most, a dead friend at the least. New concepts for Lois to twist her brain around. "Never? Come on, Smallville, you can't say you've never even once picked up a bit of a story from him."

"Leads, maybe. Stuff he's suggested," Clark admitted slowly. "But never anything directly. Lex... Lex is better than that."

"Better than that?" She didn't look at him, but her raised eyebrows were in her voice as she took a left-hand turn the moment the light went green. "Better than what, exactly, Clark?"

The eyes that Smallville turned on her were disturbingly reminiscent of the light they passed under, gleaming in the sun. "Better than anyone thinks he is," Clark explained. "Better than his father. Better than people pretend they want him to be."

"I don't see how that relates to him giving you story leads," Lois countered, pushing down the tinge of offense in her voice. "You know, I think I liked it better before I knew who your drinking buddy was, Smallville. I haven't been hurling accusations at a missing man -- you're awful touchy."

"Well, I'm a little nervous. You'd be jittery if someone had kidnapped your best friend, right?" The earnest sound of that question was maddening. It was no wonder people opened up to Clark like kitties waiting for a tin of cat food.

If she had a best friend, sure she would've. "Of course I would. Which is why I wanted you to stay back at the Planet, and I can't see how you coming with me is going to do anything." But maybe that was what Clark was. Best friend to people who just couldn't have friends.

"I need to know what's going on, though," Clark argued, frowning. "I mean, you could have told me, but..." But that wouldn't have been enough for him, and his face said as much.

"But you'll be more convinced hearing it from Lionel Luthor's mouth?" She barely stopped at the stoplight, and leaned back in her seat to glance at Clark.

Clark seemed to want to shy away from saying anything, but he knew she would push. She always did. "Then I'll be convinced whether he was part of it or not," he said quietly.

A subtle idea that hadn't previously entered Lois's mind. That was why she kept Clark around, to feed her those odd ideas that seemed out of place, but so right. "You think he's capable of kidnapping his own son?"

"You'd be amazed at what he's capable of," Clark informed, shaking his head. "I've seen him threaten Lex with all kinds of things, disinherit him, throw him away as if he was nothing. This might just be another of those plots."

"You say that like it's an everyday event," Lois murmured. She had to slow down as they neared the LuthorCorp tower. Cops had areas cordoned off, and there were cars parked everywhere. It looked like they were going to have to take the first available spot and walk.

The shrug of those slumped shoulders seemed somehow to say that it might as well be. "It's just something they do. Power play games, really. Lionel likes to come out on top, and Lex is desperate to beat him at it."

Lois sidled a glance to Clark as she coasted into parking space and turned off her car. "You're not joking, are you? Come on, Clark. Lex Luthor is a thirty year old man, you can't tell me that he'd let himself be at that sort of risk."

"He'd do almost anything for his father's approval." The expression on Clark's face told her that it was true. "Almost anything."

"That, ah..." Was a pretty creepy thought, and she only refrained from saying it aloud because she slipped out of her car as mindful of traffic as possible. Her press pass was in her purse, and hopefully Clark hadn't forgotten his. "Doesn't say much for his strength of character."

"Actually it says a lot." Disagreement coming from Clark was... unusual. "After all, there are a lot of things that he won't do. Anything that hurts people. Loses jobs." Other things that went unmentioned.

"But that's different from 'almost anything', Clark," Lois pointed out softly, as they started down the sidewalk towards where the press was gathered. She stayed close to Clark's side; he was goofy and awkward, but he was tall and that was always an advantage in a crowd. "'Almost anything' implies everything up to but not excluding sexual favors."

The fact of the matter was that sexual favors had probably never been excluded so far as Lex went, but Clark didn't say that. He simply shook his head again. "That's why I said 'almost'."

"So I can add 'murder' onto the list of things he wouldn't do for his father?" There was almost a story in that, but... not quite. It was missing meat, and more importantly a reason to be published at all. She filed it away, and stayed quiet as she let Clark get them to their places before the currently empty podium.

"I wonder when he'll come out." Clark paused, his mouth pursing slightly, black frames of his glasses rising as his nose shifted. "Probably not until we're all chomping at the bit. He likes to time things that way, Lionel Luthor."

"Well, nothing screams convenience more than a ten AM press conference," Lois whispered to him, taking the tape recorder he'd brought, and checking to see that there were batteries in it. "We'll probably be waiting until noon."

"Considering he's been missing since last night, at least? Yeah. It's all about convenience." Because that was the way Lionel liked it, and the frustration on Clark's face nearly sang. "If he'd just tell us something..."

"Actually, rumor is that he went missing yesterday morning. But it's all rumor until we get word from the horse's mouth."

Yesterday morning. The look on Clark's face told her that she really should have left him at the Planet, one that somehow managed to mingle murderous and concerned and utterly afraid all into one. What was it about that farm boy?

Naivete. They had to be bottling Naivete at the source there in Smallville. "It could just be a business bluff, Clark..."

Or so it seemed until the crowd of reporters fell quiet, and Lois's eyes snapped up to the platform and podium. Lionel Luthor looked... worn. It wasn't a look many people had seen on him, and it wasn't one that looked good on him. Even Clark seemed to realize that, tensing beside her as the man began to speak.

"As of eleven thirty yesterday morning, my son, Lex Luthor, has been kidnapped." The statement brought a buzz of sound in reaction, and a raised hand halted it sharply.

Even with his worn, weary expression, he could still conduct the populous like a symphony, Lois thought to herself darkly. Maybe more of a Hitler than a conductor. After all, Metropolis was unquestionably Luthor's city.

"The kidnappers have contacted us, but not with any demands or requests. The Luthor Family, LuthorCorp, and LeXCorp, do not barter with common criminals."

"So what are you going to do to get him back?" Clark called out over all of the other questions being asked. Lionel's eyes turned on him, nearly cutting as they sliced past his glasses.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to hope that Superman saves him, won't we?" Lionel answered flatly. There was a faint hint of edged purr beneath that voice that was enough to make Lois draw in a breath.

It seemed too serious for Lionel's usually flippant cool. The situation was well and truly out of his control, it had to be for him to say such a thing publicly, Lois decided.

He looked up towards the cameras in the back again, and spoke to them, just for them. Maybe to and for the kidnappers. "LuthorCorp's every resource is intent on finding my son, along with the Metropolis police. He had better be unharmed." A pause, and he seemed finished. There was a finality to the unspoken threat that hung in the air, but he pressed on. "If you can hear me, Lex, stay strong. Whoever it is will face the full fury of the law."

And of LuthorCorp, though that went unspoken as the man turned and marched away from the podium, ignoring the shouted questions that fell tunelessly upon his ears, against his back. Beside Lois, Clark was entirely pale, a ghastly and almost frightening green tinge to his face. "I think it's time for us to go," he told her weakly.

She wrapped fingers around his forearm, and tugged as she turned off the tape recorder that she'd only absently turned on in the first place. "Come on. We'll stop and get a coffee, and..." And there wasn't anything she could think of, as the media pressed after Luthor, to comfort her co-worker.

"I think I..." Clark paused, raised a shaking hand to his face. "You go back to the office, Lois. It's important. The write-up, it's important. I think I'll go back home..." It was obvious that Clark wouldn't get anything done that day, nothing real at any rate.

"Do you want me to... to talk with White for you?" He wouldn't be happy that Clark took a day off, but if she explained why he was taking a day off, Clark wouldn't get any grief about it.

His grateful expression nearly swamped her. "Would you? I just..." Clark was so sweet, so naive, so... Well, he really just wasn't cut out for anything hard hitting, was he? No, not Clark.

"Yes, I'll do it." She held up her free hand slightly to stop him from thanking her or just going on in his cute, but decidedly country-boy way. "Do you want a ride back to your apartment?"

"I think maybe I could use the walk." The abandoned way his eyes swept to his feet made her sigh slightly. He was so... Well. Clark. "It'll do me good."

"Okay. You have your cell phone on you, don't you? Promise to call me if you double-think my offer of driving you home." She let go of his arm, touch gentling off as she took a step away from him. Like he was a puppy who'd follow her home if she didn't leave soon...

"Yeah," Clark told her, giving her a faint smile. He still looked sickly green to her eyes. "I will. But I'm pretty sure I can make it back on my own."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then, Clark." Maybe she'd see him tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow they'd have a corpse to report about, macabre findings of a gruesome death, and another tired press conference. Perry White was a frightening man on the best of days, but Lois knew that he'd forgive Clark under the circumstances.

It was with only a little twinge of guilt that she walked away from him, and hurried back to her car.

Dad wouldn't be proud, because he couldn't concentrate on the little things. Clark would've patted him on the back, might have told him it was or would be all right, but Clark was a bad liar, a bad bad liar and that would've been a telling lie. It wasn't going to be all right. It wasn't going to be all right because he'd been told that it wasn't.

It hadn't been so far. Big breaths hurt, arms screamed at him, his knee whispered blood, and the hurt-sick from being kicked wouldn't go away. His wrists and ankles ached, because maybe when the tape had been taken off it had peeled the flesh back. Raw trenches of red, that nothing could wash away, not even the pelting water that he was sitting under.

Water was supposed to clean, wasn't it? He remembered that from when he was little, when his mom would perch on a chair in a gilded bathroom, and supervise minor Napoleonic sea battles. Water was fun, and cleansing, and it gave life, and just maybe it was taking it from him again. He'd already died once in water, did that mean Clark would be there soon? Daddy wasn't going to save him, so Clark had to and he saved so many other people every day, couldn't he help? But maybe the two who had him were right. About it all.

Fingers were caressing over his scalp, smoothing down to the trenches of ache at his wrists, dragging a scream when they moved his arms for him. Intimate pain, fingers crawling over his skin like insects, crawling into him and violating what pride was left. He could hear the distant mewling noises, and wanted to laugh at the weakness that couldn't be, wasn't his. His weakness had been a saw-rasp of his voice, a calm plea for help that had slipped into a scream that only curdled his blood when he realized that the phone had been hung up.

Dad's voice, they'd been holding a cell phone to his ear and he'd heard his dad's voice. Dad had sounded scared, worried, and it was so good to hear. To hear familiar, to hear family, to think that maybe he was missed, missing, to know what he was known missing and missed. Words had rolled out of his mouth, that he needed to pay, pay whatever, or find him, save him, please...

And then they'd given him a stab to the balls with a stun baton. His genitals had threatened to crawl up into his body, but that wasn't to be had. It was too much like choice, and he wasn't facing any choices at the hands of his kidnappers. And when he'd found motion and lost pain for a brief moment, they'd let him babble at the dial tone.

He was a survivor. Daddy had promised him, no, told him that before. Only it had just been tape, a chair and an axe, simpler times, littler things to think of. One crazy woman that he hadn't been able to escape. Luthors didn't bargain with kidnappers. Luthors were strong, Luthors didn't cry or scream, or sob ragged hurting big breaths when thumbs pressed at the joint of his jaw and forced his mouth open. He got a drink, and started to retch when he realized what it was.

Maybe he was adopted. Maybe Dad overestimated him. He wasn't a survivor, and they didn't want money, they wanted him to hurt. Hadn't... hadn't the one told him that it didn't matter what he was, what he'd been and done in the past was coming back to him. He was an upstanding businessman, true philanthropist, tired, overworked, brilliant, lonely... didn't matter he'd been mostly on the straight and narrow since Smallville, since he made a friend. He'd been a rich little shit, a druggie, a sex fiend, a murderer, a manipulative criminal, and it was coming back, wasn't it?

He couldn't remember having ever felt dirtier than he did with water slipping over his skin, half-aware of the pain of being rhythmically jostled. One, two, one, two... If they thought they could get him that way, they were wrong. He was dirty, no one would bother to attend his funeral, no one was his friend or would help him, but he wouldn't give them the pleasure of reacting anymore. Oh no, not anymore.

And it'd be easier when he could move his arms to strangle whoever was crying.

It hadn't been easy for Clark; not at first. At first, he'd gone about doing things the way he'd done them in Smallville, saving people from others, from themselves. In Metropolis, though, that made him a suspect. That made people wary of him.

That made people think he was bad.

Okay, so Clark could deal with that on a personal level. He could. The problems came, though, when it began affecting his scholarships. His movements became limited because others were watching him constantly, hoping he'd screw everything up, tip his hand and reveal himself to be just what they all thought he was.

Guilty.

Criminal.

It had taken a great deal of fast talking to his mother to convince her that his idea would work. He'd slick back his hair, he'd learn to speak more deeply and with more authority. She sewed him a ridiculous looking costume from material they'd found lodged in his ship, a blue suit that fit him like a glove and what looked like red underwear to go with it. He'd laughed the first time he'd seen it, and tried the underwear on beneath the blue.

Martha had laughed at him.

He'd gotten accustomed to all of it, though, and it fit close enough that he could wear the better part of it beneath his own clothing. It was easy enough to slip the cape and utility belt out of his briefcase, replace them with his own work clothing. It was even easier to find somewhere high and out of the way to hide everything so that no one would be able to find it, and then he was off.

Superman.

It was hokey, sure. Kind of juvenile, even. It made him think of Lex's Warrior Angel comics, the ones that Clark knew he kept beneath his bed in Rubbermaid boxes so that he could read them before he slept, not the ones he kept firmly bound in plastic that had never been truly touched. Maybe that was half the reason that Clark did what he did -- because, really, Lex would expect it of him if he knew everything, wouldn't he? And Lex certainly knew enough.

Clark paused above LuthorCorp, hovering in thin air for a moment. He could remember the run from the Daily Planet, the one that had him smashing through thick plate glass. He had been terrified of heights then, but he'd still tried to save Lionel Luthor and his mother.

He hoped to God and the sun that he wouldn't be too late to save Lex.

As Superman, he had unchecked, unfettered access to the skies. In the early morning hours it was refreshing, soothing after a long patrol. But he didn't feel soothed as he scanned the city from above. There was little chance that Lex had been transported out of Metropolis. A city that size, he could be anywhere. More than flight would be needed to find him, more than intuition.

More, even, than super hearing or x-ray vision, and that was a tough one. He'd have to listen in and try to find out what Lionel Luthor knew.

Lionel was a real puzzle; he'd seemed devastated that Lex was missing, and maybe he was. Maybe he wasn't. God alone knew what was on that man's mind, and Clark had never been able to figure out any of it on his own. There was nothing for it but to listen in, though, and the best way to do that was to scan the LuthorCorp building until he found the man and then sneak close enough to listen to him. Even if he wasn't responsible, he surely knew details that hadn't been revealed.

It wasn't like Lionel Luthor to play all of his cards. He'd been in contact with the kidnappers, seemed confident that Lex was still alive; hell, that press conference was probably only one card out of the whole deck. Lionel was always more than he seemed on the surface.

On the surface, he was a man going through the motions of the day. It had taken concentration, but Clark had found him walking into the almost-penthouse office, settling down with a tense look of frustration, and the man who organized his security detail at his side.

"They took his Ferrari, I can't see how it's so hard to find a blue Ferrari -- what do I pay you for?"

The voice on the other end of the line was indistinct at best, giving half-hearted excuses. Clark's heart sped up at the knowledge, though; he could pick that car out of half a dozen just like it with ease. "Mr. Luthor, it could be hidden anywhere," the tinny little voice continued. "We're working on it, just give us time..."

"There isn't time, and I will have your head if you fail me, Reeves. You told me that you cleaned up Phelan's friends, and you were obviously wrong. Fail me in this, and you'll never work again." There were no more tinny excuses for Clark to overhear, because Lionel slammed the phone down on his desk.

Time to go into action, then.

Time to be Superman.

He floated in closer to the balcony and landed, tapping calmly enough at the door to catch Lionel's attention. Clark knew he wouldn't startle the man too badly; after all, you had to have a heart to have an attack, didn't you? And he knew he looked different enough dressed as he was, the blue of his suit masking the green of his eyes, wild hair slicked firmly back from his face.

For a moment, Lionel pivoted in his desk chair to peer at the figure looming in his window. Only Superman could have gotten up there on his private balcony, only Superman would have the imperiousness to knock despite his obvious intrusion.

"Come in, Superman," he invited without bothering to get up. Heavily lined eyes danced for a moment, sparking. "You were just the man I was hoping to see."

"So I hear, Luthor." Funny, how much deeper Superman's voice was than Clark Kent's. Funny that there seemed no connections between them at all. "You've lost your son."

"He seems to have misplaced himself, yes." There was almost sadness under the flat wry tones of Lionel's steady voice. His fingers curled over the arms of his chair, moving with the restlessness that the rest of his body refused to betray. "Are you here to offer your assistance?"

Superman gave the impression that he couldn't care less even as Clark's heart began to beat more quickly. "You implied that you found my help needful. I wouldn't let anyone just die... even a Luthor." He'd certainly spent time foiling a few Luthor plans, though, and they both knew it.

"And what do you want in return, Superman?" Lionel spread his hands as if he were a helpless man, and started to stand as if it had been cued. "I want my son found, before those barbarians kill him."

"Certain concessions, I think. You're driving him towards more definite morally bankrupt decisions. I want you to back off of that and let him try being a good man instead of a carbon copy of yourself." That didn't sound as if he knew him, did it? Surely not. All of that could be gleaned from the average newspaper, and Superman didn't have to tell Lionel that he'd find Lex no matter what.

"I force my son into nothing," Lionel drawled the very moment he was standing. "He's a philanthropist, isn't he? Scholarships and museums, and wild-life refuges. You wouldn't disappoint all of the people who leech off of him by letting him die, would you?"

"I wouldn't count on my help so much if you don't agree to stop pushing him. He's your son. You should be proud of him for what he is, not for what you want him to be." Kent stubbornness was unfailing in Clark. He had a little time, if Lionel felt he could stand to barter for Lex's life with him.

"Family values, taught by someone who isn't even human." Lionel lifted one arrogant brow, but his tired smile softened it exponentially. Even that was probably calculated. "Bring him home for me, Superman, and I'll stop pushing the boy. My men won't be able to find him in time, and the police are useless -- in fact, the police are at fault. There was once a rogue, dead policeman, who had two friends that allowed a hatred to brew in them for... oh, almost a decade now. And they have my son, somewhere in this city."

Lionel walked towards the balcony, and its still slightly open door. He was king of all the land that he could see, miles and miles of city that was his alone. "And if you can't find him... there isn't any way to redeem a corpse, is there?"

The faint sound of air pushed past him, and for a moment, the rich man thought that it must be some form of cross breeze sliding through the doors. For a moment, he thought Superman would tell him no.

Superman was gone, though, and that was all the answer that Lionel Luthor needed.

It was almost nice to be sitting down again. In a chair. Like real people did, only he didn't think anything was real. It would've been nicer if he wasn't cold, if he could've curled cold feet together without the whisper of blood and agony from his knee when he moved it.

All of his blood had to be draining out of that wound, pulled out by scrabbling fingers that had slipped under the flap of skin and caressed him to the bone. That was why he was so cold. And shivering. It wasn't fear. He wasn't scared anymore, not when there was a canyon of words looming out in front of him, a canyon of truth.

The gun against his head almost felt good. The flash of a camera, catching his humiliation, pictures printed out to show him what a worm he was, didn't feel good. But the gun held a warm promise. Daddy wasn't going to help him, Clark didn't care, and he was paying up in blood and agony for all of his crimes. When it clinked against his teeth, he opened his mouth, worshipped it with a shaky moan that made the not-Phelans laugh.

They'd laughed harder when they'd showed him the press conference. It was looped in the background now, his father telling him to be strong, and Clark's voice, fuck, Clark wasn't going to help him. Superman? Hah. Nietzsche taken too far.

Fuck Dad, and fuck Clark, and fuck Metropolis's savior. Fuck them all, and fuck being a strong Luthor. They hated him, polite hatred and only polite because of his money and influence.

"Let's finish him off soon, Conley," the one was saying, and maybe he'd said more, but Lex wasn't paying attention. "Before Luthor's dogs find us."

"They ain't gonna find us," Conley sneered. "Luthor ain't got the resources. You seen all of his men scrabbling all over the city, an' that flyin' freak ain't been heard from yet. Hey, rich boy. You think anybody's comin' to save you?" The shove of metal against teeth made Lex whimper, or at least, he thought it was him. Had he been the one screaming, too? Rich, red taste in his mouth, all salt and thick and metallic.

He mumbled something around the barrel, swallowing blood before he sagged back against the back of the chair, pulling away from the gun. Words sounded funny from his mouth, slurred with pain and detachment. It was his mouth, moving, wasn't it? His teeth biting out short words. "No. Said..." They'd said no one was coming for him, Lionel had said no one was coming for him.

"Said he don't deal with kidnappers," Conley said smugly, nodding to his partner. Friend. Something. "Sez you ain't worth it to him, in other words."

Bradley. Branled. Something. Something. He couldn't remember the man's name because there wasn't much to him, a creature of less substance than the gun near his head, than the man who'd held it. He just wished the guy's cock had held less substance.

"S... so?" So shoot him. So stop playing the game of misery, and bleeding him shivering and twisting his arms and making him hurt. No one cared, Daddy wasn't going to help, Clark was too special to help, and all he wanted was the hurting to stop.

He wanted to fly again. Just for a few moments, and if that was the last thing he ever felt it'd be wonderful. Before his soul got sucked down to the void where he was sure it was going to go.

"You know," a low deep voice interrupted, making the man with the gun in Lex's mouth jump. It hurt, jamming against the roof of his mouth again. "It's really not nice to hurt someone's kid just to get at his father."

"Oh, oh, SHIT!"

He barely slitted open his eyes, to see the screen that the press conference was looping on, and that other fellow running past it. Or trying to. But he closed his eyes, sagging back in the chair. His stomach had growled a few hours ago, and given up. It was probably a bad, bad lie, a waking dream. Everything else was, wasn't it?

Panic on the faces of his captors couldn't be real.

Couldn't be possible.

Someone was going to pull the trigger. Any. Minute.

Any minute, except for the noises and the screams and Lex was almost certain that they were made of the purest agony, and that he wasn't the one making them.

"I'll have you free in a minute, Lex. Just be still. Oh, God, you're bleeding so much..."

He didn't think he was making them. His mouth was closed, but he'd been confused about noises before. There was no question that he wasn't going to move, no matter who was giving the order; his arms hung down at his side when untied, the drag of unsocketed bone making him whine in the back of his throat again. "...'lark?"

"It's me. It's me. Shhh, Lex. Shhh. Just relax, relax... I'm going to be careful with you. Your muscles are too tense to get the balls back in the sockets, so I'm going to be really careful." It was Clark, it had to be Clark, those green eyes damp and so close and so pretty and Clark still had those gorgeous cocksucker's lips.

Clark was Real. Not even a dream could get that mouth so right, even when seeing it twist and frown felt wrong. "My... God." It was the two most coherent words he'd said in hours and hours and maybe days and days. He slumped a little on the bare chair, feeling aches and pains shock back to life with movement. Little things. He could concentrate enough to think of little things. Green eyes and a mouth made for smiles, and someone caring. Helping. And cold toes, what he wouldn't give to be warm again...

"It's okay. It's okay, Lex. I need for you to stay awake for me." Clark was pleading so prettily. So sweetly. "If you'll stay awake for me, I'll know you're all right." Hands wrapped him up in something warm, something red. What did that remind him of again? Oh, right. The riverbank. Why did it remind him of the riverbank?

Because it was warm, and red, and Clark had just had it over his shoulders and back; on the riverbank, like it was a cape. And now it was wrapped warm around him, only Clark didn't have one, too. He couldn't move his arms despite a half-hearted try, so he merely leaned into Clark, still sitting on that hard chair, taking deep breaths. It still hurt, but Clark smelled clean and maybe if he breathed enough clean he'd be clean again, too. "'m awake."

"Come on. I know you aren't really awake, or coherent, but you can stay with me." Why did it sound as if Clark was pleading with him? "I can get you somewhere fast, Lex, somewhere that everything can be fixed. Can you hang on for me? Can you bear it if it hurts? I don't want to hurt you, Lex..." No, Clark wouldn't want to hurt him. Clark was his friend.

Clark... was his friend, but he didn't have friends. Two unquestionable facts that faced off against each other in the battlefield of his brain. Clark lied, too, so maybe that was what made it possible for both of them to be facts. It was a good thing that Clark lied, because if he didn't have Clark... "It... it... 'sall right." Lies for a liar, because Clark would hurt him even though he didn't want to.

But Clark was going to try to fix him, and that was what mattered.

Even the easy, gentle motions of being gathered into Clark's arms hurt him, made him cry out in agony. It seemed to hurt Clark, too, or maybe Lex was just imagining that it was so, that Clark was making soft, quiet sounds to accompany his own pained gasps. It hurt so much. So much.

"We'll be going somewhere cold, Lex. Just hang on for me. I won't let you fall."

Cold. Cold, and he wanted so badly to be warm again. He tucked his head down, against the warm, odd fabric that Clark was wearing, had wrapped him in, and concentrated on every little thing that he could. Touch hurt, cold hurt, everything hurt. If Clark would just move and get whatever it was over with...

"Close your eyes," Clark whispered to him soothingly, and then Lex could have sworn that they were flying, soaring up into the air and through clouds. He knew that he had to be dead, then, that it was the only explanation. He'd asked Clark once if he thought a man could fly without wings, without anything between him and the ground, and Clark had said no.

But Clark had always lied and lied and lied.

It didn't change the reality that he was sure that he was flying. It wasn't the same as it had been in Smallville, soaring under his own control through the clouds, seeing things, seeing himself and the back of Clark's head in the moments before he'd gone back into himself. It was cold, and he could almost feel puffs of cloud bursting against his scalp, clinging like wet cotton candy before evaporating.

"Fly..."

"Everything will be all right," Clark told him over the whistle of the wind, making sure that he was tucked firmly, closely against his body. "Everything will be all right, Lex."

Strong arms wrapped tight, too tight, around him, not jostling him as they soared, even as it got colder and nipped at his limbs, at what he could feel of his limbs. His eyes slitted open, but it was cold and grey-white. Purgatory?

No. No, not quite purgatory, but something else, a looming creation of ice and fog and cloud, and God, if Clark was here, then maybe it was heaven. Maybe it was some bizarre form of hell where Clark would always be Innocent Mr. Smallville, going out on the town with him to goggle at things that were second nature to Lex. Who could tell?

No. Wasn't that reality? Heaven would be his every wish, his best wishes played out for him. Heaven would be if Dad had a heart, and if every day was a day in the president's office in the middle of a fall day in Smallville. When the fields lay almost barren and the sun was just warm enough to ward back the wind. But Hell would be all right, even if it was Innocence against Reality and cocksucker lips laughing at an odd joke over a few drinks.

Lex started to laugh, or maybe it was crying, and he closed his eyes to the thing he couldn't explain the existence of, closed his ears to the soft sounds of shush and soothing nonsense noises. He didn't even notice when he wasn't surrounded by clouds anymore, but ice, and tender white flakes.

"It won't take long," Clark promised him, stroking him tenderly, as if he was something worthwhile. Something necessary.

"C-cold." He tried to move into tender pain, wondering what wouldn't take long. The hurting was only growing worse from movement, and the cold was worse despite being pressed against warm warm Clark.

"I'll take care of you," Clark promised him, and then there was nothing but cold, cold and ice and a hard table beneath his back, and parts of him hurting that he wasn't even sure he knew he had before.

His back was forced straight as a board, shoulders down with it, and Lex decided that as soon as he could move his hands properly, he really was going to strangle whatever it was that was yowling. It was matched perfectly to the thrumming that was building in his skull, but didn't distract him well enough from the cold that was crawling over him.

Like fingers, like blood, creeping and slinking wherever he didn't want it to be, god, Clark had said he was going to help. And then just like that, it all started to slide off the table, or at least off of Lex's mind. It was like falling, only warmer, and hazier; the crawling sensation faded into nothing, and Lex was glad to go with it.

Waking was warmth and comfort and a cold nose, which sounded completely fucking insane. Maybe he was mad, Lex thought, but when his eyes opened, he realized that he couldn't quite be crazy yet. Not yet.

He was wrapped in furs and blankets, tightly packed feathers in the tick beneath him. His head was warm, and exploring fingers discovered that this was due to the fur cap snugly brought down around his ears and tied beneath his chin. That just left his nose and cheeks, and even those didn't feel so bad as they'd felt before.

Fingers.

Oh, fuck, he could move his hands. The realization was almost a giddy one, as he stroked over his nose and cheeks half to warm them, and half to wonder at being able to move again. Maybe it had been a bad bout of something. Drink, or food poisoning, or...

Or maybe neither idea -- not even hard drugs could explain furs and blankets, and an icily chilled nose. He twisted a little, spreading one palm out on smooth fur just for the sensation before he started to shift deeper into the warmth of it.

Hell must've frozen over. But being dead didn't seem so bad.

"I see you're awake now," a steady deep voice announced, one that made his head swim just a little more than it was already doing. His entire body almost swivelled in response to get a good look at the speaker.

"Clar..."

Black hair that was partially slicked back, but falling free of gel and styling, was the first thing to catch his eyes. Then green eyes, gorgeous jawline, high cheeks, and a tan that gleamed in the cold and crystal of the place.

And blue spandex, with an S emblazoned on the chest. Not Clark. Not, not Clark, but fuck, it was. If Lex had steadier footing in his own mind, he would've been quick to leap with accusations and triumph, anger over years of lies lashing out at his only friend. But he wasn't, and if he pretended he was in grasp of that much control, he'd only be kidding himself.

"I think I am," he finally answered warily.

"They worked you over pretty thoroughly." The Clark-yet-not-Clark moved closer to him, making him shift nervously amongst the piles of silk and cotton and fur. "I didn't want to take you to a hospital in the shape you were in. I'm not sure they could have done enough for you." Not soon enough to suit him, anyway, as was obvious from the expression on Superman's (Clark's?) face.

If he chanced what seemed suddenly so obvious, Lex was sure that he'd have a boldfaced lie tossed back at him. Lex couldn't risk that, not rationally. But highmindedness wasn't quite within his mind's grasp at that moment, so he let his tongue say what it wanted. "What happened, Clark?"

The faint pause almost hurt him, and then Clark's hand was on him, gently stroking bare flesh, the wide length of his shoulders. "A couple of Phelan's old friends kidnapped you. Your father asked for help. There was only one way I could give it. I..." Those green eyes darted away for a moment. "I always sort of figured if you knew, about this, that it would be the end of things. Our friendship." A strained moment of silence lingered between them. "Is it?"

Warm fingers on Lex's shoulders, shifting furs and blankets away from him. He didn't shift back again, but let himself draw a few deep breaths of the cold air. Little things were important to remember; like how the urge to choke on his own lungs was gone at last, and how Clark always had possessed warm skin. "After you came to Metropolis, Clark, I stopped asking you. If I hit you that day on the bridge. If I really did shoot you. Hundreds of questions... stopped. Because I was tired of lies..."

His smile, tense on his mouth, felt crooked. "I was really expecting another boldfaced lie."

"What would you have done, then? If I'd told the truth. If I'd said, yeah, you hit me with that car?"

"Let it go." Lex still felt tired, and the warmth was inviting even though he assumed that he'd be going back to Metropolis soon. "Maybe asked a few more questions. I don't know. I stopped pushing you for an answer, didn't I? Even when someone so... so very like you shows up wearing Alexander the Great's breastplate." Fingers he still felt giddy to move lifted, traced over the S on Clark's chest before dropping down to burrow under blankets again.

"Mom designed it. The material was in the... The ship." Everyone knew about Kal-El now. Superman. The symbol was as much a symbol representative of Lex and the things he'd told Clark as it was the house of El. "I think she made some sort of connection there somehow. Maybe after all of the problems with Phelan..." Phelan, who he'd wanted to kill. Phelan, who had deserved to die. Phelan, who could hurt Lex even now, a decade later.

Lex closed his eyes a little at the mention of his ex-protector's name. "It's a little comic-bookish, Clark. But effective..."

"It reminded me of you," Clark admitted, hands roaming. There was a slow purpose to the motion -- checking to be sure that his vision didn't lie, that Lex was all right. He knew what had been healed and what couldn't be, after all.

"Warrior Angel?" Lex settled back down, unprotesting and generally unresponsive to Clark's no doubt purely innocent petting. He was too tired to do anything even if it wasn't innocent... which it was, if he were still breathing. The fur behind his head tickled against the nape of his neck. Little things. He could process it all again, even if it wasn't as subconscious as it had been before. But how long before? "Clark... what day is it?"

The way green eyes cut away from him was a warning. "Wednesday." Clark looked back at him, carefully making sure that he was well-covered. "I've let your father know that you're alive, and that I brought you here so that you could recover. He was quite concerned."

Almost a week. "I'll bet he was." A lot could happen in a week, in a day or two; the world had ended and then rebuilt itself in that less than a week. "What happened to... them?" He wasn't going to bother giving them the names he could only half recall. "The pictures...?"

"Everything's been taken care of." It was a promise from Clark, and for all of Clark's lies, he kept his promises. "I made sure of it." He didn't tell him that he'd killed the two men with quick, vicious motions of his hands. Maybe he didn't have to say it.

It was the first thing Lex assumed, after all. That was his way of dealing with things, so it was the first possibility that came into his mind -- and was followed by realizing how hard that had to have been for Clark. Clark wasn't a murderer, Clark wasn't made for mop-up jobs... "Then I can't thank you enough, Clark. Thanks." He swallowed, half concentrating on the cool air and Clark's eyes.

"You'll be all right." That wasn't a promise; it was spoken hopefully instead, the faint glimmer in Clark's eyes obvious. "You're my friend, Lex. I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

But something -- not anything, anything probably would've been more gentle -- had happened. Only Clark hadn't let it happen. His father and that fucking press conference had let it happen, had drilled into his mind thoughts that he thought he'd gotten past in his youth. "I'm lucky to have a friend like you, Clark." Lex curled fingers into the fur under his hand, testing it. "Don't tell me... That you've been here the entire time? The Daily Planet..."

"Lois is covering for me. Sort of," Clark scrambled to say. She'd covered for him that first day, it was true, and he'd called in sick the days after. Thank God it was flu season. Perry White didn't want to see him, or even hear from him, until the air he breathed was germ-free.

"Good. I know you love your job." The idea of being able to move without pain was finally filtering through his head, and he daringly shifted the leg that he knew had been ruined with pain and thick fingers touching down to the bone. No problem with it at all. "Are you sure we're not dead, Clark? Because I feel pretty fucking good right now, for having slept for a few days."

The smile was one he remembered, brilliant and sweet and relieved. "I'm sure. You've been in the Fortress's Matrix. It fixed everything." It hadn't given him back his hair, hadn't healed the little scar on his mouth that made Clark want to lick it, but that was all right. Those were all things he believed to be firmly Lex, and maybe that was half of the reason that Jor-El and Lara hadn't healed them.

"Amazing." It should've taken weeks and more drugs than he'd had in his system in a long time, to get him to the point he was at -- testing joints and checking that everything still worked. His groin had stopped aching randomly, so they must have fixed the damage the electric prod had done. "I... am just going to keep thanking you if we continue talking about this. You've saved my life again."

"Lex..." The faint lingering traces of worry remained on the edge of Clark's voice as he leaned down, kissed Lex's forehead. "I need you to promise me you won't tell anyone. About this. About me." About Superman.

"I promise, Clark." He'd suspected for years now, and it was only in those first few, too-eager to prove himself years that he'd slipped up and hinted to others what he knew. When Clark had gone to college, he'd stopped. And watched Clark become more careful, less notable until Clark seemed like an ordinary joe.

Clark would never be an ordinary joe. Ordinary joes didn't press kisses to their best friend's head, beneath the edge of a fur-hat that Lex was fleetingly sure looked idiotic.

At least his head was warm.

"I trust you." He'd waited years to hear those words from Clark, forever, since Clark had thought that Lex had shot his own father. It was enough to make him shake a little, which brought on concerned questions, the tucking of furs closer once again. "Are you cold? Now that you're awake, I can take you home..."

Trust and touch and warmth were overwhelming him, and Clark would never think such supposedly normal things would bring out that reaction. Home... when he went home, he'd have to hit the ground running, back to intrigue and games with his father and slog through the daily grind. And the Media would still be all over his disappearance, and whatever Clark had done about the kidnappers. Was he cold? Yes. Did he want to go home? No. Would it be selfish and weak to not lie? Yes.

"I suppose... that I've been away long enough," he drawled. "And Clark Kent can't call in sick to work forever, can he?"

"Sadly, no," Clark informed him with a wry smile. "But you can stay here as long as you want. It won't be a problem for me to go back and forth during the day." The Fortress wouldn't let Lex get up to anything too dangerous, after all.

Clark hoped.

"You know, there've been days where I get off the phone with you and expect to turn around and find you standing behind me." The twist of Clark's lips was encouraging for Lex, as was the offer of letting him stay. Just a little longer, just long enough to try to get his thoughts to work again. Little things, he had to note all of the little things; foremost was that the inside of his head felt like a filing cabinet that had been let loose in a centrifugal fugue. It wasn't such a little thing.

"I think... that I need a day or so to think."

"It's yours." Clark gave time as freely as he gave everything else, and never mind that he was dressed in that silly Superman outfit, never mind the shield on his chest that marked him as Alexander's. Marked him? No, maybe not. If only Lex could think!

"Thanks." He shifted, palm to fur for a moment, and pulled himself slowly up sitting. Clark was still close and warm, contrast of cold air settling against his skin. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, suck the heat out of him and have it for himself, always... "Are there... is there any way I can get some clothes?"

"I'll bring you some of anything you want when I come back," Clark promised him. The clothes Lex had been wearing had been covered in blood and piss and God only knew what else. He wouldn't show those to him.

"Just a shirt and pants would do." Anything he wanted was amusing, a little warm thought to add to the pile he was gathering in his mind, like hot coals. He was getting a crick in his neck from looking up at Clark's eyes. "Are you going to sit down, Clark, or is looming really that comfortable?"

The way those green eyes moved away shyly, blue-shadowed by the suit Clark wore, said a great deal. "Do you want me to sit beside you?" he asked. It was almost as if Clark expected him to reject him because of what he was -- Superman.

"Yes," he answered patiently enough. "This is your... house. I'm not going to ask you to sit on the floor." The floor that glistened like the ice-sheened walls. The island of blankets, sheets and furs was a hundred times more inviting, but needed the color that Clark would bring to it.

"I don't get cold," Clark told him gently. "I've never really been naturally cold in my life. Sweaty, sure, hot. Suffering, even, that once, and any time that Kryptonite was near, but... Never cold." He settled down gingerly upon the bed that he'd brought in just for Lex. Everything for Lex. "When you didn't call, I got worried."

"I'm sorry I worried you." He'd been pretty fucking worried about himself at the time, Lex noted with a spark of amusement as he slumped comfortably into the bedding. And leaned, just a little, towards Clark. "Believe me, I would've preferred that I could've called."

Slowly, tentatively, an arm slid around his bare shoulders. "I won't let you be hurt, Lex. You're my friend." Friend and more, really, because Clark loved him, loved their Thursday nights, loved everything about him.

Or at least, Lex thought he did. But he couldn't quite trust thoughts that conflicted with reality, with things he'd always accepted as facts. That didn't stop him from twisting a little, resting his chin on the slick fabric of Clark's costume, the hard muscle of his shoulder. Clark was a white hat, he was a grey hat, his father was a black hat, and someday there'd be another big shoot-out at the O-K Corral...

"I think I'm going to... to go back to sleep again."

"All right. I'll stay here with you for a while," Clark promised him, and the faint rush of breath rustling against his hat and cheek was soothing. It was familiar. It was something that he knew and maybe wanted, not cold. Not like before.

Sleep came to him slowly, creeping up behind his eyes as the world tipped and tilted and pivoted despite being anchored tightly and warmly against his only friend. Little things kept him drifting on the edge of it, until he'd thought through them to his contentment and let Clark's presence seep into background music for his slumber.

It had been early morning when Clark slipped out of the nest of furs he'd created for Lex, pulling them warmly around the still-sleeping man as he stood and stretched. He'd made sure to place the Fortress in roughly the same time zone as Metropolis. It worked -- more or less -- and never mind what day it really was there. Metropolis was more important, and if he didn't make it there within the next hour, he was fairly certain Perry White was going to have his head.

On a plate.

He'd called in sick too many days, and Lex... Lex would probably sleep more. And even when Lex woke up, the Fortress's AI could probably keep him... not entertained, but fascinated.

It wasn't so hard for Superman to fly into his city, and then become Clark Kent again. A raising of the voice, ruffling of the hair, cheap glasses and an off the rack suit, and it was done.

Clark had always wondered how completely stupid someone would have to be to miss the fact that he was Superman. He didn't question luck, though; better to just be glad that they didn't notice and let it go at that.

When he entered the floor of the Planet that he worked on, it was an afterthought that he should pretend to still be a little sick. It might have kept Lois away for just a moment longer, instead of launching her out of her desk with a flurry of questions.

"I dropped by your apartment and you weren't there! Just where have you been, Smallville?!"

"My Mom came and decided I wasn't well enough to be alone," he rasped out, brows rising slightly in surprise. "She took me back home to recuperate."

"Jesus. You had me worried, disappearing like that! Tell me you watched the news while you were ill, Clark." She turned away, apparently satisfied with his answer, and was already walking towards their desks with clear expectation of him following her. "Luthor's been found, but no one knows where he actually is. You wouldn't happen to know, would you...?" Since he was obviously part of the man's inner circle, but Lois only let that lay implied between them.

He hated it when Lois ambushed him, but he followed along all the same. "Got a call saying he was found and that he was safe," Clark grated. "We kept the news off, mostly. I was feverish a lot, so."

"You look pretty healthy, but you sound like hell." Boy, if those words were supposed to make him feel better, he was glad that Lois thought of him like a friend. "So you don't know anything of what happened?" She perched herself in her chair, picking up a spoon to drag through her favorite coffee cup.

"Just that he's safe. That's all anyone would say. I don't even know who called," he admitted, shaking his head. Mmm, coffee would be good. Humans liked coffee when their throats were sore, didn't they? Right. So, he'd just have some, and smile at Lois. That always seemed to work, especially if he seemed a little nervous. It made her happy.

It was the goofy smile that Lex teased him about, that had made Lana and Chloe smile back at him. And it always softened some of Lois's edges, cut back at her quick words. "Then let me fill you in on reality, Smallville. Lionel Luthor had a short press conference Saturday declaring that while his son was safe and had been found, he'd been moved to an undisclosed location by his rescuer, and was presumably recuperating. Then he gave Superman a backhanded thank you. But the odd part..."

Lois lifted her spoon to her mouth, absently clinking it against her top teeth when she licked it clean. "The kidnappers were never brought to any of the police stations. And then there's that fire last Friday night in the industrial area. Two bodies recovered, a lot of electronic equipment."

"Wow," Clark murmured. "Sounds like somebody's covering something up." And somebody had been -- HE had been, covering up whatever they had done to Lex, because no one deserved to know. Lex didn't deserve to have pictures and videotapes strung all over the news channels the way they surely would have been.

But Lois didn't know that, and would probably never suspect that he could possibly be capable of such a thing. Let alone that Superman could do that, for a Luthor. "I've been investigating that, but all the leads I find go right into a black-hole. Someone is out there tidying up a messy cover-up, and I think it's Daddy Luthor. The police reported that some of the media on the equipment was recoverable for evidence, and then just hours later, it wasn't, and what equipment? There'd never been any equipment found, that was just apparently a misreport."

She rolled her eyes -- so at least one person wasn't buying it.

"So, you're thinking if you go in and do a little prowling, you might turn up something useful?" Sometimes, Lois was way too much like Chloe for Clark's own good. "Lois..."

"And I was thinking," she went on, ploughing right over his the common sense that he'd been about to share with her, "that you could interview Lex when he gets back. Sort of a straight from the horse's mouth about what happened. Because Superman supposedly rescued him, but somewhere in there, the kidnappers were killed, burnt to a crisp, and all the evidence of what was going on disappeared."

"I'm not going to ask him questions about this, Lois. I mean..." Maybe that was a little strong for Clark-Kent-reporter. "He's my friend," Clark finished weakly. "And I'm sure this has been traumatic for him..."

"Trauma can be talked out," Lois countered, after she took pause at the strength of Clark's reaction. In the fight of moral issues versus being a good reporter, Clark always did take the higher road, but not usually with that snap in his voice. "Clark, he's the only witness to whatever happened. You know as well as I do how valuable a news source that makes him..."

"Kent! Over here, in my office, now!"

Today was so not going to be his day.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded at Lois before walking away from her. He could talk to Lex, make a few conclusions of his own, scrape together a story that held no resemblance to what had actually happened. That would be all right, he supposed. For now, he had to face Perry White, and that was enough to put the fear of God in anyone, wasn't it?

"Yes, sir?" he asked at the door to the editor's office.

"If you take another sick day in the next two months, Clark, you'll be walking into the unemployment line. Do you know how much work you left hanging while you were out? You've got a computer at home, you could try to use it!" Sharp words, threats, but the editor just liked to put the fear of god in his reporters. And a fear of run-on sentences. Clark reminding himself that it was just for show didn't help when White, still half-snarling, launched himself out of his seat. "I expect a full day's work from you, Kent, and for you to steer Lane back to the land of sane, rational reporting!"

There was just something about Perry White when he was looking at you like that was enough to put the fear of God (or at least, the Editor) in even a man as strong as Clark. "Yes, sir!" he snapped out quickly, faking a hefty cough just behind it.

Perry knew he was faking it. Just from the tilt of his far from neat eyebrows when they crawled downwards towards the bridge of his nose. "I expect your human interest story before the day is over, and then keep Lois in line. Go on, get a cup of coffee and get going!"

Right, then. When God... er, Perry spoke, Clark jumped. The man might as well have said 'frog'. "Yes, sir!" Who knew how he'd manage to straighten out Lois. That was like asking a normal man to stop a speeding train! Still, it was part of his job, he supposed, or at least everyone else seemed to think so. Some days he thought he'd only been hired because he seemed so staid -- was he expected to be Lois's voice of reason?

She must've thought it was amusing, because she was smirking into her palm when he came towards their desks. "You're not in too deep trouble, are you?"

"I am to have everything in before deadline, and... Keep you from going wild looking for Lex." Well, honesty didn't hurt when you could give it. Plus, it'd give her something else to fret over, and that was all right.

Her eyes flared for just a moment before they narrowed in accusation. "Did you tell White that I was going wild? I'm just innocently sitting here and sifting through my research, Smallville..." There was an offended note in her voice, probably there in play, but she did turn back to her computer.

"I said four words," Clark asserted, "and they were all 'yes, sir'."

"That's two words. Didn't they teach you math at Met U?" Clark could feel the weight of her questions and curiosity lift from him as she placed fingers on the keyboard and started to call up her research.

"I knew I was forgetting something," he sighed blandly. "Let sleeping dogs lie, Lois. Leave Lex alone for a while. I don't think he's ready to be welcomed back by questions yet, just at a guess."

"But you will tell me when he comes back to town? And interview him, Clark? I'd like to be there... but I promise I could keep quiet." She took a sip of her coffee, looking at Clark from the corner of her eye, gaze predatory.

"I'll let you know when I know something." Right. Sure he would. He wasn't letting anyone near Lex until the other man was ready for that, and just at the moment, Clark really wasn't quite sure when that would be. "And you'd better, because if you upset him, I... WILL whine to Perry."

"That's playing dirty, Smallville. It's taken you long enough to learn how to play dirty..."

"Yeah, well," Clark replied as he began to work on a story about several little old ladies and a house in the crumbling historic district, "I've learned from the best." The best. That was Lex, not Lois as implied, and he'd see him again tonight.

Tonight...

He had cold toes.

Lex twitched them, and they felt colder, pressing down with more weight on the glossy floor. He expected it to be slippery, but standing proved his expectations were false. It was smooth like marble, and his dry feet gripped it well as he took his first steps away from the nest of bedding that he'd been lounging in for hours.

Clark's leaving had woken him up, but for the longest time he'd been unable to do more than curl up on himself, and lay there. Not thinking, not moving, merely existing and savoring warmth and comfort. Hunger had finally started to chew at him, and that was what had driven Lex to move. He selected the largest fur on the bed, then wrapped himself up in it like some explorer with a cape.

A voice from out of nowhere startled him nearly right out of that fur. "You are the one known as Lex-Luthor." It was a female voice, fairly unimpassioned. "You are human. Food will be desired."

The fucking ice had a voice, he thought, and felt a tingling sense of wonder crawling up his spine. Alien technology, no doubt a thousand times more powerful than the most imaginative movies and science fiction books could dredge up. And it spoke better English than a lot of the people he knew. Lex pulled the fur tight around himself again, and walked towards an archway that he assumed would take him to another high ceilinged cavern of a room.

"Who are you?"

"I am the memory of Lara, the mother of Kal-El," he was told pleasantly enough. "I have been programmed to protect and help Kal-El in accomplishing all that he wishes." All sounded like an awful lot, didn't it? "Food is available for you."

"Thank you." He found himself glancing up at the walls for a speaker, or a possible source of the voice, hoping that its idle resonance wasn't merely in his head. "Where should I go?"

"There will be seating available directly before you, Lex-Luthor." He could almost hear the dash in his name, the strange pause that seemed to make him someone other than just Lex or just a Luthor. "Kal-El will return in approximately seven point three five hours."

How the voice knew that, Lex wasn't going to ask. He returned his eyes to looking straight ahead, and there was a laughably glossy table straight ahead of him. And food on it, food that smelled inviting and home-cooked. Not mansion cooked, or cooked by some overpaid chef, but the smells he had associated with the Kent's kitchen. A thought skittered across his mind as he walked towards the table: laughter and smiles smelled like warm food that verged on burnt.

"Could you just call me Lex?"

"I will do as you ask. Kal-El has placed me at your disposal for the extent of your time in the Fortress." The Fortress... That was the second time Lex had heard the ice palace that seemed to surround him referred to by that name.

Fortress, Fortress... it tickled at his mind, a half-memory from years ago. It seemed familiar, and was without question linked to something about Clark, but he couldn't place just what. There were days that Smallville seemed centuries away, and that was one of those days.

"Can you tell me about Kal-El?" He knew Clark, but Kal-El was a facet he wasn't familiar enough with, Lex reminded himself as he slipped into one of the metal chairs at the table. It was as an afterthought that he brought his legs up into the chair with him, close to his chest, and wrapped the fur tighter to keep warm.

"Kal-El is known to the human world as Clark Kent. Kal-El is a refugee from the planet Krypton. The sun in that system exhausted its supply of nuclear fuel. Its core collapsed, destroying our planet and all of the others in the system. His father, Jor-El, and his mother, Lara Lor-Van, could not bear to see their child die. As a result, Jor-El searched for a compatible planet to host their son. Earth was located, and decided best despite its yellow sun. His vessel came to rest approximately twenty-two years, four months, three days, and six point nine five hours ago in the place known as Smallville." The AI paused as if considering the matter. "Is this the information which you require?"

So many questions answered in one fell swoop. After he'd eaten, he'd have to rest and work on reorganizing his thoughts so there'd be someplace to put those tidy tidbits of thought. "Yes, and thank you. If I can think of anything else, I'll ask you." He snuck a hand out of his cocoon of fur, and picked up a piece of bread from the nearest plate. "How is this food still warm, since it's so cold here?"

"It is the nature of the Fortress to see that the wishes and needs of Kal-El are met in all ways." All ways, which must mean that Clark had told the thing to take care of him at some point.

But since when had taking care of him been a 'need'? Did Clark need to protect him, the way he needed Clark to believe in him?

Lex chewed his bread -- warm, moist in the way that only oven fresh things were -- and reached for what looked suspiciously like lunch meat. Simple food, true, but he wasn't sure his stomach could handle anything fancy, and the pie off to one side was a hundred times more tempting than champagne or pate. Where had his thoughts been...?

Right. Clark. Well, that wasn't hard to figure out, but being hit between the eyes with so much information after having received so little for so long made it difficult to sort things out immediately.

"Is the food acceptable?" Lara asked him. "It is a poor imitation of Kal-El's memories. Martha-Kent has more acceptable apple pies." The fact that Clark's 'mother' -- AI, whatever -- didn't seem peeved by this was vaguely amusing.

"It's quite good," Lex complimented the voice, swallowing the bread and meat. He let that settle in his stomach for a moment before he reached for the pie. "If it's a poor imitation, a good imitation would be very impressive."

The pause that rang for a moment seemed audible. "Kal-El has found you trustworthy," he was told finally, as if this was some statement of great significance.

After almost ten years of lying, it was significant. Clark trusted him to keep the secret that he'd been keeping for years, trusted him with the truth and not evasive lies, and trusted him in his Fortress. How many people would think of trusting a Luthor alone in a ramshackle apartment, let along a top secret lair that could put Warrior Angel's to shame?

He cut himself a piece of the apple pie, and there was a satisfying burst of cinnamon and apple in the air. "I'm glad that he has."

"It would be well to have your assurances that you will continue to be trustworthy." The words were, as always, flat, distant, and yet Lex knew there was a dark edge behind them, a threat. The Fortress, the AI... It was all about protecting Clark.

Christ, he had to defend himself to everything, didn't he? Everything Lex did had to be justified, and in that moment it hung like a sword over his head. Any of the justifications he could give for why he could be trusted would be as hollow to the AI as they were to real people. "I have every plan of continuing to be trustworthy."

"We believe that this will be the case, Lex-Luthor." Back to the funny paused double name. "We are grateful that you will be Kal-El's trusted one." Whatever that meant.

More thoughts to mull over. He'd always half-fancied his mind like an hourglass. Measured, steady, predictable. It ticked off the seconds of eternity for him, organized and dependable. Only now it had leaked all over the place, and the damnable AI was throwing new an unexpected grains of sand onto the pile he was trying to sweep together.

Lex took his time eating, drinking water, chewing at the pie. Imitation food indeed. He guessed he would've paid six dollars for a piece of pie that was so perfectly balanced between sweet and spice, the tang of barely ripe apples. Good food and idle thoughts distracted him until, in his own time, he returned to the half-thought he'd had.

"What did you mean by 'trusted one'?"

The word that spilled from nonexistent lips was one that he did not recognize immediately, and it seemed obvious that the AI was contemplating a better explanation. Finally, it settled on saying, "There is no Earth comparison."

"None at all?" he asked with a little surprise. Lex had eaten his fill, and was half-contemplating either heading back to bed or exploring. "Really? That's a bit hard for me to grasp."

"My knowledge of this world is a reflection of Kal-El's knowledge. He considers you his trusted one." Again, the vague word sounded, teasing at the edges of Lex's mind. "Our belief is that he does not yet understand this."

"Then I'm not in the dark all by myself." Lex's voice gave away a little of the internal satisfaction he felt as he stood up, feet on the cold floor again. He let the curious scientist in him run on autopilot, just like he let his legs carry him back towards the warmth of the bed. "Can you describe the concept in Earth terms at all?"

"Not within the confines of Kal-El's conceptions," the AI admitted. "If you would permit me to scrutinize your own mind, perhaps an explanation could be made more easily."

He'd been comfortable with the disembodied voice, but at the first mention of scrutinizing his mind, all comfort with it slipped away. "If you're looking for a particular word, you should try a dictionary instead," Lex murmured as he knelt on the bed for a fleeting moment and then shifted back furs and blankets. There was no need for him to panic, was there? The AI had asked for permission. Surely if he didn't grant it, it would leave him alone.

No amount of curiosity was worth having his mind violated or 'scrutinized'. Particularly after the past few days.

"No dictionary will provide the appropriate concept." The AI spoke as if it knew for certain, and it probably did, with Lex's luck. "We would be careful not to harm you, Lex-Luthor. Lex." It seemed to remember his request of name change.

All in all, he couldn't shake the feeling of acute discomfort that was crawling at the back of his neck. The AI didn't get a response until Lex had shifted down into the bedding, fur and blankets pulled up to his neck.

"Go on, then. Do it."

There was no immediate discomfort; only light, spilling vaguely over him almost as if it might be considered natural sunlight. It was too bright to be natural since Lex had seen no sign of sun yet, but it was not painful, either.

"Ahhh," the AI sighed slowly as the light faded away, leaving Lex in the vaguely lit twilight. "The Earth concept is the same as Krypton; the words are more limited, however. We see."

"And what do you see?" It was almost like Clark's usual evasiveness, answering without actually answering him. Could machines, technological creations, talk circles just as well as humans? Lex supposed he was finding out.

"The concept is similar to that of lovers; beloved ones, adored ones, trusted ones. Kal-El lacks the understanding of this concept due to the nature of his upbringing."

"Oh." That made Lex wonder how he had an understanding of the concept, but he wasn't going to ask how the AI had sorted that out of the mess inside his head. "I'm honestly not surprised that he didn't have words for it." And he oddly wasn't shocked that Clark thought of him that way.

It went a long way to explaining why Clark had reacted the way he had to the kidnappers, and then his nervousness at being close to Lex that... morning, or the previous evening. Time was still busily blending itself together without Lex's permission.

"Kal-El's raising was more conventional than that of Lex-Luthor," the AI said with an almost delicate precision that seemed to imply that Lex knew things that the average person would not. That was probably true, as well, but he still couldn't imagine that homosexuality or the implication thereof could have honestly been missed by Clark for twenty-five years.

Then again, Jonathan Kent had raised him.

"Obviously," he murmured, half to himself and half to the AI. Did that mean that the burden of control fell to him by default? It was hard to believe that Clark had been oblivious to years of flirting, and half-outrageous suggestions. But Clark was... something. Something else, special and a level above other humans. Not even human, but that hadn't quite registered with Lex's mind; it was going to take some time to adjust to. Clark was more human than most of the people Lex met in the board rooms.

But it was still ludicrous for Clark to have never realized that he was the only person Lex let into his personal space; hadn't he ever wondered why? Anyone else would've put a hand on Lex's chest and drawn their arm back with a nub, whether he was disoriented or not.

Well, Clark was Superman, so maybe he didn't ever worry about drawing back bloody stumps, even from irritable Luthors.

"May I assist you in any other way, Lex-...?" The pause was still there, but it was now merely amusing.

"Based on what you've learned from me, would you say that Clark is 'closeted', or merely unaware?" A lot of things were amusing. Pauses in his one syllable name, talking to the air, home-made pies that came from thin air and being warm and disgustingly safe. It was the antithesis of Luthor, to lay and sleep and doze if there wasn't an ulterior motive behind it. Some seduction for money, or ground to be gained by being alluring.

"Kal-El lacks awareness of the nature of the relationship," the AI decided. "Kal-El understands that things are different between Lex-Luthor and Kal-El, but he does not understand the difference."

"All right." Words for himself that time, as he closed his eyes to the twilight brightness of the cavernous room. "I can handle that." Slowly, and however he liked. It gave him control by default, and there was no denying that control, even the illusion of controlling and guiding something again, made him feel better. Not that Clark had ever been controllable. But with his ignorance, the... 'relationship' lay in Lex's hands to guide. "Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Lex-Luthor. Do you desire rest?"

"Mm." A noncommittal answer, because despite closed eyes and comfort, Lex's mind was racing. If he wasn't careful, it was easy to slip back to thinking of little things, of everything that had been said to him by those two...

It was even easier for the AI to nudge him into light sleep, dreamless and easy. "Sleep well, Lex son of Lionel, House of Luthor," the woman's voice whispered lightly, and then it was gone.

Done. Thank God, he was DONE, and Clark was sure that if he didn't hand in his article and leave, he'd implode from the sheer irritation. One more speculation on where Lex might be, and he'd shriek like a girl afraid of a mouse.

He'd have to deal with that bridge when he crossed it, or she set it on fire, though. There wasn't any way to preemptively warn her off. Or maybe there was; he'd have to think about it.

Lois had been oblivious to his building annoyance. She chattered through lunch about the warehouse fire, and then after lunch blathered endlessly about where billionaires went on retreat for fine medical care. Switzerland? The Bahamas? There'd been enough jokes about the things that money could buy to last Clark a lifetime, even if she had been trying to be polite about it.

After all, she'd never even tried to hide her dislike of all things Luthor; but it went from vehement muttering to probing speculation as she realized her partner was as close to one of the Luthor family as an outsider human could be. There were tons of reports that she'd read through, about the Luthors and Kents, marvelling about how fate just kept smashing the families together.

Poor family, rich family, and of course, more what money could buy jokes and teases.

She was very very lucky that he had managed to learn some restraint of the incredibly heated Kent temper over the years. He was starting to fret, though; if she kept on, she was going to find out about all of his various rescues and perhaps even find pictures of him from his younger years. That was a bit worrisome, considering the fact that she idolized Superman so.

What money couldn't buy Lex was the obvious state of peace that he was in, lounging in the bed very much like Clark had left him early that morning. He'd pulled the hat off at some point, and had it fisted in one sleep-loose hand. It was enough to make Clark breathe a sigh and smile, shaking his head slightly. Lex looked so comfortable, so happy. Not at all like he'd been days before, and that was a sobering enough thought.

He settled upon the edge of the bed and reached out a hand slowly. "Lex," he said, hoping that would be enough to wake him. "I've brought you clothes."

"Thanks." Lex sounded too awake for someone who'd just been sleeping, and his eyes opened too easily. He hadn't been sleeping at all, but just laying there; the smile on his face, not his 'people are watching' smile, didn't yet fade as he started to sit up. "You look tired, Clark."

"It was a long day," Clark told him, wrinkling his nose. "Lois knows that I know you. She's been digging up interesting tidbits and talking about how odd it is ever since."

"Would an interview shut her up?" Lex shifted in the bed, sitting upright with smooth grace. He slipped fingers towards Clark, as if it were the most natural, comfortable thing in the world to be doing, smile tipping towards self-amused. "It worked with Chloe. I'm loathe to reward obnoxiousness in reporters, but..."

"But I don't want you to," Clark told him solemnly, enjoying the touch against his thigh. "You shouldn't have to relive the details just to satisfy Lois, Lex. It won't shut her up, it will just make her louder when she wants something else."

Lex sensually rubbed one finger over the line of a muscle, repeating the motion over and over. "Actually, I was thinking that I could just be obnoxiously evasive. My father's worn her down to the point where she doesn't even bother to get anything in depth out of him."

"Takes a lot for Lois to reach that point." God, Lex was touching him, and it felt better than anything had ever felt before now. "You shouldn't do anything you don't want to do, Lex."

The idle fingers on Clark's leg never paused."Since when do I do things that I don't want to, Clark?" Lex's mouth was wry as he gave Clark a candid expression -- but in blue eyes and in Lex's voice, there were layers of meaning. He definitely wasn't just talking about Lois and being interviewed.

"Since never," Clark admitted, mouth curving upwards in a definite smile. He looked good, even in that silly suit. Why on earth would he have worn it? Oh, right. Because of the flying thing. "You're too stubborn for your own good."

Gleaming blue, red and gold. Naturally unnatural colors that tainted the brilliant green of Clark's eyes towards blue. "My stubbornness has served the both of us well." Lex's hand flattened, palm down against the muscles of Clark's leg. "When we get to Metropolis, you and I need to talk."

"A... bout this?" Clark said uncertainly, hand moving to press against his chest. He sighed deeply. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Lex. I didn't think you'd want to know."

Lex's eyes faltered a moment, and he glanced up at some point past Clark for too long a moment. "Clark, I'm not even going to pretend I just followed what you said. You're my best friend -- why wouldn't I want to know?"

"Pete knows," Clark said slowly. "Knew. It tore him apart, dragged him down, made him old before he should have been. Made him serious." He gave a deep, heavy sigh. "Dad worried about it every day. Hypertension. Blood pressure medication. Heart attack. Why would I burden you with something like that?"

Clark was talking about what he understood; at least Lex had been able to decide what page Clark had been on. His fingers on his friend's thigh tapped for a moment, and then withdrew as he moved to stand. It was impossible to seduce a man when there was a gulf of a thousand lies and betrayals between them.

The floor was still cold under his toes. "Because I was fifty up here," an idle gesture to one temple, as he reached with his other hand for the clothes that Clark had brought him, "before I turned twenty. For Pete, for your father, this place and what you are and do are too extraordinary; they knew you when you were 'normal'. I've never held expectations of your normalcy."

"I would never want to do anything that could hurt you, Lex," Clark said seriously. "I know you've been curious. I know you've done research. I know..." He paused, took a deep breath. "That you knew about the key. Wondered about the caves. Wondered about me." He had known all of those things and yet he had kept quiet and not given away his secret. "You're so serious sometimes..."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing." Lex slipped a pair of his boxers on -- and they were unquestionably his own. They didn't get worn unless it was particularly cold, but he knew from the feel of them that they'd come from his top dresser drawer. Well, Clark had never needed keys. He picked up his shirt and slipped into it with ease, the light purple material comfortable. "Before you went to Met U, Clark, I realized that if I kept probing at your secrets, you'd end up dead because of it. And as curious as I was, I didn't want you to die for my curiosity."

"And I didn't want you to die for it, either," Clark told him frankly. He watched Lex dress himself with a certain ease, a grace and style of motion that could only belong to the affluent bald man. "You aren't the only Luthor who's been curious about me, Lex."

"I know." There was a mournful note in Lex's voice, merely a quiet undercurrent to his words as he pulled his trousers on. It felt odd to wear clothes again, as it always did after an extended convalescence. "But when I 'lost interest' in investigating you, so did Dad. And maybe he knows and suspects what you are. It benefits him to have you in Metropolis."

"Why do you say that?" Clark asked, honestly curious. He would have thought that having him in Metropolis would have been a pain in Lionel's ass, at least as far as most of his schemes were concerned.

"Think..." Hard, concentrate steadily, and Lex hoped the words that next came out of his mouth made sense. "It's in Dad's best interests for the city to seem like a safe place to live, to be alive. You help that, Clark -- as Superman, and at the paper."

"Because he can con more people that way." Of course. Well, Metropolis was safer most of the time, it didn't just seem that way to him. Still, the feeling that he might be helping Lionel in any way was irritating. He'd probably never forgive the man for some of the things he'd done, including his investigation into the Kent family.

"You could put it that way," Lex agreed, tucking his shirt neatly into his pants. "It's part of his game. So... are we heading back to Metropolis tonight?"

A nod of Clark's head came in answer. "As soon as you want to," he promised, and his eyes lingered faintly upon Lex, upon his hands and arms and the way that he moved.

But he didn't, and that was the crux of it. The bland gleam of the walls was soothing, Clark was soothing... It was unfamiliar, and there in laid the promise of its comfort. The familiar was a world of threats and looming grand schemes, and he could barely think past adjusting the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning the top button, and noting that he should put shoes on before cold toes went any colder.

"Whenever's convenient for you, Clark."

His friend looked at him calmly, those eyes reflecting back blue and ice. "That's not what I said, Lex. I said, whenever you want to."

"He does not yet desire to return, Kal-El." Damnable AI. Lex decided to kick it at first opportunity, never mind that he couldn't see it. "He will not tell you this, however, believing such a desire selfish."

Lex's mouth twisted bitterly at having been caught, but forced it towards wry as he walked to the bed to slip socks and shoes on. "I want to go back to Metropolis tonight," he lied in the face of the AI's words. Clark needed to go back, and he'd already been there too long.

It was like his time at the Kent farm all over again. If he'd been allowed to take the easy way, he would've stayed there as a farmhand for all eternity, talking with Clark and pretending that he had a real family.

Luthors weren't meant for the easy way.

"Would you settle for going back to my apartment, then?" Clark asked him seriously. It was obvious that Clark didn't believe him, and it was equally apparent that he wasn't going to directly contradict whatever Lex told him.

Damn him.

The first argument Lex had against that was 'security'. Only Lionel's exquisite security had failed him badly, hadn't it? And his own hadn't been able to find him. "That's a workable plan," Lex murmured, leaning back on his palms casually. If he was going to lose an argument, he might as well seem like he'd won.

An acceptable compromise, then, from the look on Clark's face as he stood. "I'm going to wrap you up," he said seriously, dragging the larger furs off of the bed. "It's cold out there, and colder in the air."

"I vaguely recall," Lex smiled faintly. "Clark, did you have any idea how generally gracious your AI is?"

The brilliant grin Clark gave him said quite a lot. "Lara makes a mean apple pie," he agreed with a nod. "I hope you were well-treated." He knew Lex had been.

"Yeah." Lex stood, helping Clark pull the fur tight around him. Real intellectual, very convincing of his ability to function in the shark pond of Metropolis. 'Yeah' indeed. "You... I can see that you take after what she must have been like."

Dark brows knitted slowly, Clark's head tilting to the side. It was an expression he could almost put to the AI somehow. "You know, I never would have thought about it like that." He gave a grin that Lex loved. "After all, the only other person who knows about Superman would say I'm just like Dad."

"That, too. A person can take after more than one parent, can't they?" Lex's cool eyebrow twitch was a poor response to that smile, but he coupled it with moving closer to Clark. "Come on, let's go back to Metropolis. Before my backbone gives up on me."

With a nod and a quick motion, Lex found himself wrapped tightly in furs and steel-bound arms, the foofy little fur hat settled back atop his head. "Hang on tight," Superman told him, and then they were airbound.

Sleeplessness had been an easy claim for Lex to make. It was partially true, and partially a lie, but there was no AI to rat him out. He could've slept more, but he wanted to think more than sleep again, and he'd done quite enough dozing and sleeping.

There was media to catch up on, financial news to watch and read with desperate fascination at everything he could miss in a week. LeXCorp still stood, the stock having taken no more than a pot-hole's worth of motion downwards on the day he'd gone missing.

Twenty four hour news was a wonderful thing at four am. His dad really had to love him somewhere under the games they played, to have left his company intact.

Then again, maybe it was a bizarre ruse to keep him from realizing that Lionel himself was behind the kidnapping. Lex didn't think that was true, but he secretly feared that it might be. It was worrisome, fretful, and too possible to ignore.

"Lex." Clark's voice from the bedroom seemed drowsy, full of lingering sleep. "Come to bed. I don't mind sharing."

But there was a perfectly hideous... no, no, functional sofa that he was seated on already. Lounging as he was, remote in hand, with only the glow of the set to light the room, was comfortable. "Soon," he called back to Clark, voice a bare whisper in the darkness. He'd wait until it was almost time for Clark to get out of bed before he got into it. Delaying was the best way to deal with things for the moment.

The faint sound of a groan was too pleasant for him, so much so that he almost didn't notice the pad of bare feet. "I'm going to have to drag you away from the television, aren't I?"

"I've missed a week, Clark. If it's keeping you up, I'll put it on mute and read the tickers." Closing stock prices on the top ticker, news headlines on the bottom. Lex didn't even bother to look up at the sound of Clark's approach; he still had enough of an ear for Clark's walk to know that he was just a foot or so to the left.

"It's keeping you up, and you still need to rest. Another eight hours of sleep won't make you that much further behind." It was gentle prodding, more like Martha Kent than Jonathan, but it had the force behind it that implied there would be a less gentle push for him to rest shortly.

"I'm a natural night owl. I'll sleep while you're at work -- because I need to be caught up on things before I go to tell my father that I've come back." Lex laid the remote down on his lap, and lifted his left hand towards Clark, snaring into the fabric of his loose sleepwear.

The motion alone seemed enough to make Clark soften, and one glance revealed that it had done exactly that. "There's a set in the bedroom," Clark tempted him. It was almost too much to believe that he had never considered Lex as a possible lover, at least in that moment.

"I don't know, Clark -- Armani makes for poor pajamas." The teasing, the way Clark tempted him and had always tempted him, it was impossible to think that... Fuck. To think. To think at all. Like a house of cards, Lex could feel things crumbling to base level again with little warning. He'd had a perfectly coherent thought flee him. "Maybe I should borrow yours."

"They'll be a little long, and a little loose, but they do tie at the waist." It was an offer made so easily that Lex almost sighed. "Come on. You can watch tv in comfort and if you fall asleep, you won't wake up with your neck bothering you."

"If you were human, you'd see that phrase for the lie it is." A tap to the remote shot the room into relative darkness and silence except for relaxed breathing. Fingers still on Clark's pants, Lex uncurled himself from the sofa and stood. "Necks are tricky that way. They'll bother you when you least expect it."

"So I'm told," Clark agreed, taking his elbow almost gently. It was sweet, gentlemanly, weirdly Clark. "Can you see well enough to get to the bedroom?" There was always that strange adjustment between darkness and light, and Clark made it more quickly than others. Than humans.

"I can." If he couldn't, did Clark honestly expect him to say 'no, I have no night vision at all?' But it wasn't an issue. Lex was an experienced clubber, and used to dim uneven lighting. And being touched. And having his fingers in another man's pants.

Those were the Good Ol' Days.

"You know, your AI had some interesting things to tell me, Clark."

"Really?" Curiosity, definite interest in what Lara might have had to tell him. Knowing Lex, it had probably been something involving an elaborate plot to take over the world. Or maybe not. You could never really tell with Lex.

"Really. I found out that for all of my best attempts, I never have quite managed to bring the city to the wide pastures of your mind." He leaned into Clark as they went through the door. Clark's bedroom had a window, inexpertly curtained closed, so there was more than enough light to move about without walking into things.

"I suppose I've always been in Smallville at heart," Clark agreed. He almost felt a twinge at that; it was akin to being called provincial, he supposed, but he didn't mind. It was Lex, after all.

"Your AI had trouble with a concept I asked about. It had to pry into my mind to find it." He could do it. Run on autopilot, let his mouth run itself as smoothly as it pleased. It was frightening to Lex to observe how little conscious thought went into the words he said, the actions he took with Clark. Lex twisted to stand in front of Clark, his right hand settling on Clark's shoulder. "Do you know what it was?"

"No. Lara didn't mention anything." There was a vague suggestion of consideration in his voice, the way that his own hands moved to lightly support Lex. "Are you all right?"

"No."

Lex smothered his truth with a motion, lifting his chin and leaning in a little closer to Clark. It brought him near enough to feel the younger man's breath against his face, the smell of sleep and toothpaste mellowing to his senses. A tiny tip more, and he pressed his mouth gently to Clark's.

For a moment, it seemed that nothing would happen; that Clark would simply be still and allow him to do as he wished, lips pressed to lips with nothing more between them. The faint motion of an arm wrapping around his waist and the vaguest parting of Clark's mouth indicated otherwise after several seconds. "Lex..." God, and his name was a breath, a sigh, a fucking benediction!

Clark was a warm, pliable mouth against his as he pressed his advantage, tipping his head to one side for the added benefit of friction between their mouths. Lex let his body run on autopilot, hands only moving a little as he slipped his tongue briefly between the crisp smoothness of Clark's bottom teeth and the wet fullness of his lower lip.

The faint quickening of Clark's breath felt good to him, just as the slight tug of strong arms drawing him close made him feel safe. "Lex..." His name again, and had he ever wanted to hear anything from Clark as much as he'd wanted to hear that? Not that he could remember. "Lex, Lex..." He could feel Clark trembling somewhat beneath his hands, and that was better than anything. He could do that. He could do that to Clark, to Superman, to this beautiful creature.

He owned Superman.

"Fuck, Clark..." The low moan that rumbled between them was foreign to Lex's ears, but he was sure that it was his. Breathing was suddenly a crushing waste of time, every faint breath he pulled in through his nose somehow becoming a lost opportunity to the press and friction of Clark's mouth and mumbled prayer. Slowly, almost patiently, Lex pulled back from the kiss, leaning his forehead against Clark's.

"Lex..." The hoarse sound of that voice seemed almost unreal. "Lex. You kissed me." Obvious statement, no confusion in it. It sounded as if Clark knew it was right, just right -- perfect.

"I did, didn't I?" There was satisfaction in the smile of Lex's voice as he leaned into Clark with a little more weight. "I've wanted to do it for years. You're beautiful."

The soft press of that full mouth came against Lex's again, teasing, slow. "I've wished you would." Kal-El might not have made the connection of what 'trusted one' meant, but he sure had the idea of kissing down pat.

"Then why didn't you do it first?" Lex pulled at his friend, who was glaringly one of the few people on the world that trusted him. There was irony, bittersweet to his mind, in what the AI had referred to him -- 'trusted one' meant more to Lex than it would've meant to most people. Trust was a commodity more precious than the rarest ores, almost impossible to buy back after having sold it.

The tug at Clark brought them both closer to the bed, and the way that Clark wrapped him up tightly in his arms and then floated them closer to the mattress was... interesting, to say the least. "I didn't think I should. Kissing other men has never been high on my list of priorities." On the other hand, kissing Lex was obviously something he had considered. Hm.

"I suppose I won't be offended that you've made this four a.m. exception." Lex was careful to not move away from Clark, sliding a hand against his back to twist fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He stifled a yawn with a muffled noise. It was odd how proximity to a bed made sleep more tempting.

"If I've offended you, all you have to do is tell me not to kiss you again," Clark murmured. That sound was accompanied by soft kisses to Lex's temple, the place just above his ear.

On other people, it would've been an almost-nuzzle into hair, but with Lex it was just sleek smooth skin, and a shiver at the tender warmth of Clark's mouth. "I'm offended you waited for me to make the first move," he chuckled, shifting back just a little, as if to lay down on the bed in his ruffled business attire. "Didn't you say you were up to sharing the bed until your alarm goes off?"

"Maybe." Clark sounded almost flirtatious, nearly teasing. "You have to promise me you'll get rid of the shirt and pants, though. You'll be more comfortable in underwear or pajama bottoms."

"You're a tough negotiator, Clark." With a little space between them, his arms falling from Clark's back to his own sides, and then rising to unbutton his shirt, Lex felt empowered. "I'm not even going to turn the news on." At least until Clark went to work.

"That's kind of you," Clark decided, helping him to undress by starting on Lex's pants. "I'd feel obliged to watch with you if you did, and then I might have to go rescue someone, and I'd really rather stay here with you."

Watching Clark's hands in day to day motion, while he ate and talked, hadn't ever given Lex enough information to expect the way that Clark touched him. Maybe it was the recent circumstances that made the fingers at his buttons so exceedingly gentle and light; or maybe Clark was being a cocktease.

Lex shrugged out of his shirt, arms twisting behind his back and stuck in the sleeves for a moment before he let it drop to the floor. "You walk to work, don't you?"

Clark nodded, allowing Lex's pants to fall to the floor, leaving him in nothing more than the soft boxers that he'd put on before they'd left the Fortress. "Every morning," he agreed, leaning down slightly to press his mouth to Lex's again. It didn't seem forbidden so much as something he hadn't seriously considered before now. He wondered why, momentarily, but shook his head slightly at that thought. Probably because it had never been presented as an option. Lex was an option, though, a beautiful distraction that had always teased at the edges of his mind.

Comfortable, slow kisses, and Lex was almost glad of the circumstances that had temporarily tamped down his natural urge to go for the gusto. He pressed against Clark again, the fabric of their sleepwear rubbing when he pressed hip against hip almost more arousing than skin to skin would be. There was a simmering heat building in Lex, and it probably wouldn't be given a chance to boil for at least a few days.

"I think I'm finally tired enough to sleep -- come on, Clark."

It was easy enough for them to find the covers and slide beneath them, Clark tugging Lex close and warm against his side. "You want an extra pillow?" he asked, solicitous, easy.

"I think you've got it covered," Lex smirked a little, a smirk that transmuted into a disgustingly relaxed smile. Clark wasn't expecting... anything more than him to be there. And he was certainly comfortable with having another man sleep against him, in a way that was far from innocent. The luxurious drape of Lex's relaxed body couldn't be taken as anything other than an invitation.

"Good," Clark whispered, and Lex felt the brush of his mouth once again, lightly pressing against his head. "Sleep, now," Clark soothed him, almost as if he was a child, and he didn't fight that. It felt too good when accompanied by the slow stroke of fingers down his spine, the easy touch so similar to those they'd always shared.

Only it wasn't pats and hands on shoulders, no... Ah, he'd help muddle Clark through it later. For the moment, Lex laid there, feeling and concentrating on that stroke of strong fingers, on the roughness of Clark's sheets, on the pace of the other man's breath. He didn't sleep, but instead dozed like that, dancing on the edge of consciousness until Clark's alarm clock started to beep angrily.

He was distantly glad to be in Clark's small, tidy little apartment instead of his own expansive penthouse.

The speed with which the clock was turned off was phenomenal, and the fact that the bed didn't even jar beneath him was even more so. Clark probably knew he wasn't really sleeping, but he still snuck out of the bed so gently that Lex barely knew he was gone. Covers tucked up under his chin with ease, and then he heard Clark move towards the bathroom.

When he heard the shower-head click on, Lex realized that he needed to both a) take a long shower and b) use the facilities. In no particular order, but the sudden urge to be under hot water -- with Clark -- made him twist on the mattress, laying on his back. There were shadows on the ceiling, dawnlight ghosts flitting through the curtains.

He'd have to make a few calls while Clark was gone. Get another set of clothes, and one of his less attention catching cars.

Hopefully that wouldn't lead to anyone finding him. Lex didn't want to be found yet. He didn't want anyone flashing pictures of him or begging him for interviews or touching him or anything else. He just wanted Clark. Clark was reliable. Clark was safety. Clark could protect him from all of those things, even if Clark had lied to him.

The lies... were lies, and he still didn't take well to the fact that they'd occurred, but Clark had done it with good intentions. Lex only wished half of the truths he gave had intentions that good to back them up.

There really was no way for a bald billionaire to not be found. But he... could say he was on vacation. Didn't want to talk to the press, didn't... Fuck, could he trust himself to hold that much control and not lash out at them? Lex shifted, pushing the sheets down from his chest. Shower, he really had to shower.

He was a little surprised when the bathroom door swung open, letting out a faint rush of steam and a weak light. Clark was there, towel draped around his hips, another in his hand, and he was... Wow.

"Hey, you're supposed to be sleeping," Clark told him with a smile.

"How could I sleep with a wake-up call like this waiting for me?"

Lex let his eyes linger from Clark's damp calves to his knees, to his thighs, to the damnable towel, then up to his stomach. It almost took an act of Congress to get him to look Clark in the eyes, his own gaze starkly open.

"I'll be home by five thirty," Clark promised him, moving closer to the bed. The towel working at drying his hair ended up on the floor, and he leaned over, allowing the one covering him to gap. He only pulled the covers up over Lex again, giving him an indulgent smile that said he knew his friend would be up before he could turn around. "We can go out for pizza."

"I can pick you up, then," Lex suggested, leaning back on his elbows. "There's a few things I need to do today." Like plan on how 'normal' he should act when he stepped outside of Clark's apartment. Evasive normal, or oblivious normal?

"Sure," Clark agreed, and it was obvious that he was fully willing to let Lex do whatever he was comfortable with doing. "Just... If you feel the need to come back to the apartment early or something, I'll give you a key." Clark's way of saying not to do too much.

"Thanks." Lex's eyes stayed steady on Clark as he finished drying himself off. "A key is probably a better idea than letting me just shoot the lock off or something rash."

"Well, the superintendent would probably be a bit peeved if you did that," Clark had to agree, abandoning the other towel altogether as he began to root through the dresser beside the bed. He wasn't shy; but then, Clark had never been, not with Lex, anyway. "I'll leave it on the table by the door. You can just call me if you need anything."

A simple offer that struck Lex as oddly sentimental. Of course, everything that made him feel like he was worthy of humanity was striking him as oddly sentimental. He looked unabashedly at Clark's body, back, hips, cock and ass, making a subtle shift so he wouldn't tent the bedding. "And perhaps later you and I can talk about... things?"

Fuck, that hadn't been meant to be a question.

"We can talk about anything you want." It didn't have to be a question, really. Clark gave what he expected to receive, and that was whatever was requested. Lex remembered him in Smallville, asking for impossible favors, unwilling to answer questions about his strangeness, but giving other things in so many ways. "We can even get the pizza to go if you'd rather talk about it here."

Lex could feel the small, idle smile on his face twitching broader by the second. "That sounds like a damn good idea, Clark. Because the erection that was pressed against my leg all morning probably isn't good restaurant conversation."

The sheer flood of heat that rushed into Clark's face was nothing new. If anything, it was still remarkably charming after ten years of acquaintance. "Lex," he got out, swallowing hard. "I... I didn't mean..." To press like that. "You aren't upset, are you?"

It had been a bit vicious to word it just like that, but Clark should've learned by then that very little offended Lex, and unless Clark had changed his name to Lionel, probably wasn't going to upset him. "No, not at all -- I'm flattered, Clark. Sincerely flattered. In fact, if you hadn't noticed, I had a similar affliction that is entirely your fault."

The way those green eyes shied away from him said that it had definitely been noticed, and that it hadn't been minded. "Well, if it's my fault, do I at least get a kiss before I leave?" Clark asked, pulling on a shirt.

A quick kiss, a quick fuck, whatever Clark was comfortable with... Obliviousness, Lex decided, made for a better tease than even the most studious of cockteases. He sat up a little more, expression quirked with amusement. "Thought you'd never ask, Clark."

Clark sat on the edge of the bed and leaned close to him. "Kissing you is better than anything," he whispered, nudging his lips against Lex's.

Clark's hair was going to be particularly mussed if he didn't stop and check it before he stepped outside, because Lex's left hand stroked into it the moment he leaned into the kiss. Warm nudging kisses, innocent to start, but someone, somewhere along the line had taught Clark what do to with his tongue.

It was enough to make a man jealous, at least a man like Lex, and when the kiss deepened, he didn't want to let Clark go. "If I don't get up and go to work, Perry is going to fire me," Clark said huskily, pulling away from him slowly.

"Want a job at the Inquisitor?" Lex countered, as he let his hand fall to the bed. "Good luck today, Clark -- I'll see you later."

The sigh Clark gave was so definitely one of longing, even though he rose and began to slide on pants. "Right, because as much fun as it would be to write about Lex Luthor pregnant with Superman's alien baby, I think my mom will be a little more proud if I stick with the Planet."

"White won't fire you as long as you're contrite." Lex folded his hands in his lap, resting back on the pillows and half-watching Clark. He didn't like the transformation between Clark (Kal-El?) and this... Clark that was the exaggeration of every bit of geekery Clark had in him. "And you, my friend, are nothing if not sincere and contrite."

The slip of thick black frames behind Clark's ears could almost be heard. Yes, Lex definitely hated it. "This morning, I don't think I could be sincere and contrite if I tried... at least, not if I crawled back into the bed." For more kissing, probably, because Lex doubted that Jonathan had ever explained the intricacies of anal sex to his son.

There were certain days that Lex wished that his own father had never explained it to him.

"You'd feel sorry for letting your mother down, Clark, and disappointing four years worth of college professors by working for a rag that isn't worth toilet paper -- now go on, get to work before I do something to get you fired."

"Lex." One more easy kiss, even though it was from that strange pseudo-pseudo-Clark. "I'll see you when you come. Five sharp?"

"Five sharp, Clark." Noon sounded like a reasonable time to stop lounging in bed, and a faint yawn caught him off guard just after finishing that kiss that left him slightly breathless.

It wasn't long before he drifted to sleep. H