Superheroes tend towards insanity. It must be the tights, or the need to keep secrets, or the struggle to be different, or the necessity of seeing the world in black and white. It was hard to be a superhero, so they needed to be forgiven all their little quirks. Still, Clark thought himself lucky to have escaped the insanity. It must be that he had such a well-adjusted childhood.

Still, something was not quite right. He had saved the world many times over. He had saved every kitten from every tree, every girl screaming in distress, every terrified world leader, but something was wrong. There were voices screaming in his head that there was something that needed fixing. It was a good thing he wasn't crazy or the voices would be difficult to deal with.

And in all honestly, it wasn't many voices. It was one voice. It must be better that it was only one. And it was such a distinctive voice that it was really no surprise at all that he heard it echoed inside his head, questioning his every move, his every thought. The voice itself was beautiful, seductive; calling out to him the way the sirens must have called to sailors. But he knew the truth; that no matter how beautiful the voice, how beautiful the outside looked, the inside was rotten and evil. He knew the story.

And that's where things got weird because Lex had told him that story. He had been trying to teach him something, to warn him about something, but why would Lex warn Clark about himself? Lex had been his friend, his best friend, his everything. But Lex was also the voice, the voice that never shut up, and he was the siren luring him close. It was a good thing Clark wasn't insane because it would have been difficult to deal with all these Lexes.

He still comes when Lex calls. Only now Lex calls him with explosions, threats, and guns. And it is not the lure of good conversation, a game of pool, the feeling of warmth he gets when Lex looks at him like he is the most fascinating person in the world; it is the kryptonite that makes him stay, breaking through all defenses, slicing through his skin, causing him to scream out in pain, and deep down with a little bit of pleasure.

The pleasure must be some weird chemical reaction, because he is a superhero, and superheroes don't get off on pain. But things are getting strange again because the voice in his head is now outside and Lex is looking down on him with sadness in his eyes. No one else could see the sadness in those cold, blue eyes, but Clark can. And the sadness causes more pain than the kryptonite ever could. How dare he? How dare Lex be sad for Clark. Clark is the superhero. He is the one that feels sadness and pity, not Lex.

And the voice in his head, or is it outside, he's starting to get confused, is screaming at him. He can fix things now. He can make things better. He can quiet the voice. He can make all the pain and that small bit of pleasure that is so much worse go away. There is something he needs to say.

And he says it, screams it, and suddenly the world freezes. He is panting, gasping for air, and Lex is suddenly close to him, too close. He can hear Lex's heart beating, racing. He can see the bruise on his face and he longs to reach out and touch it. Clark wants to laugh because Lex has a bruise on his cheek, a dark smudge of dirt on his forehead, his lip is bleeding sending blood in slow moving trickle down his chin, yet Lex's suit is perfect, not a wrinkle in sight. Clark wants to laugh. He wants to rip the suit. He wants to lick Lex's lip and kiss away all the pain. He wants to break Lex's neck. He wants this all to stop because it just hurts too much.

And he is still saying it over and over again, not screaming, muttering almost to himself: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

And Lex's hand is on his arm. And it feels good, somehow cool and warm at the same time. And Lex's voice is hoarse and barely above a whisper when he asks Clark what he's sorry for.

And this is a moment, Clark know it, a defining a moment in his life as a superhero. He seems himself tied down, weakened by the kryptonite. He sees Lex looking down at him with something like hope.

Clark knows what he has to do because these voices, this voice, is not really suitable for a superhero and something must be done.

"I'm sorry I ever saved you. I'm sorry I pulled you out of the car."

Silence. Finally there is silence in his head. And he marvels at his mistake because suddenly everything is clear. He had been wrong about the voice and can't help but laugh a bit at his own foolishness to think that Lex had somehow gotten inside his head. There was only Clark inside his head and now he had gotten rid of that boy and was finally at peace.

As he flew away, having escaped again from the clutches of the evil Lex Luthor, Superman tried to figure out why he once again had let Luthor go free. Something had happened, something that did not sit quite right with him, but he pushed the thoughts away because they were certainly not the right thoughts for a superhero to be having.

It was a good thing he was so sane, it was hard to be a superhero, and he was afraid he wouldn't get it quite right if he ever let things slip.