Keys jingled in his hands as Clark took a deep breath. “I am not,” he said for the tenth time, “a secretary!” He glared at Pete, and unlocked his door, feeling a little thrill at the idea of ‘his door,’ – the door that led into ‘his apartment,’ with ‘his refrigerator,’ ‘his bedroom,’ and ‘his Playstation 2.’

Pete laughed and set his box down with a shrug. “All I’m sayin’, man, is that you’re spending your summer in an office taking phone calls, filing things, and scheduling appointments. Do you prefer the term ‘receptionist’ or ‘office assistant’?”

“Neither! I’m working as a paid intern, okay? And besides, when you’re poor next November and asking me to spot you some cash, ‘intern’ will be looking pretty sweet to you.” Clark just barely resisted the urge to stick his tongue out and say ‘so there.’

Pete opened his mouth to say something, but Clark rolled his eyes. “I thought we agreed earlier today that we were above the Monica Lewinsky jokes.”

“Hey! I didn’t say anything!”

Clark grinned. “But you were going to.”

“Kent, sometimes you’re just spooky,” Pete told him, collapsing on a faded green couch and staring up at the ceiling. “There’s something funky up there,” he informed Clark. “A stain kinda shaped like a cactus. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, but it’s *my* cactus shaped stain,” Clark said, moving a box to sit next to him. “On *my* ceiling. God, I can’t believe this. I have an *apartment*, Pete. And a job. And I’m going to go buy my own food later and then cook it and probably burn it. Whoa. That’s so cool.”

Pete laughed, and hit his shoulder. “Don’t worry about being all grown up just yet. So, Chloe’s just about foaming at the mouth at the idea that she’s not the one who’s getting to spend all summer hovering over Lex Luthor’s shoulder.”

“I bet,” Clark responded with a quick grin, looking up at the water stain on his ceiling. “But I’m *not* going to interrogate or interview him, or anything like that. He signs my paychecks, so I don’t really want to get on his bad side. I kind of get the feeling that the questions Chloe would want me to ask would lead to one of those awkward silences. You know, the kind that could end up getting me fired.”

“I hear that,” Pete agreed, squinting upward. “Doesn’t really look that much like a cactus, does it?”

“Not really,” Clark said easily. “I was trying to see the resemblance, but there kinda isn’t one.”

There was a pause and Pete sighed heavily. “We’re going to miss you this summer, Kent.”

“I’ll miss you guys, too, but this gives you more of a chance to try and get Chloe naked,” Clark teased.

Pete snorted. “I think I’d probably have a better chance if you were in the room. Seriously, man, you could still come home. You know, maybe being around Lana again’ll get those old feelings going and things’ll work themselves out, or something.”

“They wouldn’t, Pete,” he said firmly, eyes closing briefly. “And that’s probably for the best. The only reason I’m staying this summer is the apartment. If I’m going to live anywhere next year, this apartment’s going to kind of be key, you know? I’d like to be able to afford it.”

“Good ol’ Met U,” Pete snickered. “Gotta love the ‘no guaranteed housing,’ thing.”

Clark shrugged. “Yeah, but if I’d gotten a dorm for next year I’d be packing up boxes and taking them back to Smallville, and then taking them back to Metropolis. It’s like musical rooms or something. At least this way I get to stay put, and, y’know…behold! My own private apartment!”

He grinned at Pete, who raised an eyebrow and looked around skeptically. It was a one-bedroom apartment with a cramped kitchen and an even more cramped living room. Clark could stand in the middle of any room and extend both arms and almost lay his palms flat against the walls. The sink in the bathroom was dripping, and there was the matter of the stain on the ceiling. But there was a television that got cable, and the refrigerator was big enough to fit quite a few six packs and at least two pizzas, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

“Yeah. Your own private apartment,” Pete said, starting to grin back as an idea occurred to him. “Off campus. Where we can throw parties without worrying about campus security shutting us down.”

Clark’s own smile faltered. “Pete, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. No campus security, but…you know…cops?”

Pete just grinned wider. “It could be a fiesta…we could get paper cactuses to go with your stain. Man, this’ll be awesome!”

“I thought we agreed it didn’t look like cactus,” Clark muttered, looking up at the ceiling again. “Maybe more like a…fork. Or someone flipping me the bird, but not a cactus.”

“Details, my man, details,” Pete said, waving the inaccuracy away breezily.

Clark frowned. “C’mon, Pete. No parties here. I don’t want to lose the lease.”

Pete shook his head. “You have *got* to loosen up and learn how to have a good time. You could learn a little something from your new boss-to-be, Mr. Intern. How’d you land a job in Lex Luthor’s private office anyway?”

“Chloe’s dad pulled some strings for me. He’s been managing the plant in Smallville for years and years, and LexCorp owns it. I’m lucky to have gotten it, I guess…it’s a pretty cushy job.”

“Yeah, but I bet your dad’s giving you a rough time over it.”

Clark sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t even know the half of it. Even after I pointed out that I’m mostly going to be filing for Mr. Luthor’s *administrative assistant*, he was acting like I was taking over the plant in Smallville or something. Mom had to work her mojo on him before he even agreed that it was the best pay I could hope for.”

“Just filing for the other secretary, huh? So that makes you, what? An under-secretary?” Pete asked, eyes twinkling with devilment.

“I am not a secretary! I am an intern! In. Tern.” Clark said, probably louder than necessary because Pete shook his head, a hand clapped over his ear.

“Whatever, man. Anyway, from what Chloe says, Lex Luthor’s a man who likes to have a good time, and you my man, are in desperate need of that knowledge. Maybe he’ll teach you how to party or something, because the man’s a party animal. Or he used to be, anyway.”

“How would Chloe know?” Clark’s eyes narrowed with confusion as he turned to Pete. “Have they met or something?”

“Nah, nothing like that,” Pete said with a shrug. “But she’s been reading The Inquisitor overtime. Lex Luthor seems to make it every week. She was gonna cut all of the stories out and send them to you, but she got distracted by some kind of Bat Boy thing going on in Gotham. But Luthor’s always in the hippest clubs and stuff…maybe he could get you and some of your friends in, too?” Pete turned hopeful eyes toward Clark.

Clark shook his head. “Pete, man, I seriously doubt I will be spending any time with Lex Luthor that doesn’t involve him telling me how much sugar to put in his coffee or when he wants to schedule meetings, if that.”

“Told ya you were a secretary,” Pete said, grin back in place.

********************

Pete was right, Clark reflected, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was a secretary.

And a very bad one at that.

In the past three days he had not only managed to break the coffee machine in the staff kitchen, spill water on not one, but *two* different important files, give out wrong information and freeze his computer at least twice daily, but he’d also put Lionel Luthor through to the plant in Smallville instead patching him to his son. Ten minutes ago.

After realizing what he’d just done, Clark had quietly flipped out at his desk for a full three minutes before deciding that he’d probably be better off if he left the scene of the crime. He’d briefly toyed with the idea of running off to a cave in Fiji and living off the land for the rest of his natural life, but had decided on going to the men’s room instead. Seven minutes later, he was still in the men’s room, hiding.

“You,” he said to his reflection in the mirror, “are such a twelve year old girl. You’re hiding in the bathroom, Clark! The bathroom! Nobody hides in the bathroom unless they’ve got a double ‘x’ chromosome!

“So what if you suck at your job and you’re going to get fired?” Clark continued, pointing at his image. “You should at least go out there and take it like a man. No more of this bathroom bullshit, and Fiji is out too. Sure, the cave sounds like a good idea now, but wait until the monsoon season when you get flooded. Then you’ll *really* miss the apartment you aren’t going to be able to afford when Lex Luthor fires your sorry ass for putting his dad through to the crap factory….”

Clark shook his head at himself. “And could you be any lamer? Now you’re standing here in the bathroom, talking to yourself. Yeah, you’ve completely lost it, Kent. So you’re going to go out there, and you’re going to sit at that desk, and you’re going to…I don’t know. But you’re going to go back out there. And that’s all there is to it.”

“Pretty rudimentary plan,” a smooth, amused voice commented. “Me, I’d pick Fiji any day.”

Clark whirled quickly, almost *too* quickly, and mentally chalked that slip up to yet another way in which he’d messed up today. Lex Luthor stood by the door, arms crossed and a smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t look pissed off. Or maybe he did. Clark couldn’t tell.

Either way, Clark’s desire to leave the bathroom had just escalated to *need*. He could feel the wash of crimson rising over his throat, up into his cheeks and did he really *have* to blush so noticeably? “Mr. Luthor, I didn’t know you were here, I…I’m just going to, uhm –”

“Go back out to your desk,” Lex finished, giving into the impulse to smile. “And then I’m supposed to go out there, and fire you, am I right?”

“Uhm…I…that’s up to you, sir,” he said, drawing himself up straighter.

Lex nodded, leaning against the sink with his hands in his pockets, and thought for a moment. “Should I humiliate you when I fire you?”

His teeth were very white. They looked sharp. Clark wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “I would prefer it if you didn’t?” he managed.

“Fair enough,” Lex replied. “Now, tell me, Clark Kent…why am I firing you?”

Because I’m incompetent? Clark thought, but wisely bit the words back. “The…incident. With your father. On the phone. With the…fertilizer plant.”

“Ahh, yes. You put him through to the plant in Smallville.” Lex looked down at his shoes.

Clark held his breath, readying himself for some kind of stinging set down. He’d heard that Lex Luthor could cut someone to bits with a well-worded sentence, and Clark was sure he was about to experience it first hand. That is, he was sure until he noticed Lex’s shoulders shaking.

“You put him through to the plant…‘the crap factory’…” Lex repeated, and Clark realized he was laughing. Rather hard, actually. And Clark began to breathe again.

“God,” Lex threw his head back, laughing out loud. “I’m going to start insisting that every time the old bastard calls to yank my chain he’s connected to the ‘crap factory.’”

“Mr. Luthor?” Clark asked, hesitant.

“Please, you’re the first person in weeks who’s made me laugh this hard. Call me Lex.” His cool blue eyes danced with merriment as he studied Clark. “Don’t worry, Clark, I’m not going to fire you. You make life interesting.”

Clark could feel his eyes widening and his jaw beginning to drop. He managed to stop it before it dropped all the way open, because that would be very uncool. “Thank you, sir…Lex, I mean. Thanks, Lex.”

“Don’t mention it,” Lex said, opening the door to the bathroom, before pausing and turning back to Clark. “I hope you don’t run off to Fiji any time soon. Or if you do, let me know. Fiji’s fun this time of year.”

********************

“I met Lex Luthor today,” Clark told Chloe over the phone, as he fanned smoke out the kitchen window, grimacing.

“Really?” He could practically hear her leaning forward and raising an eyebrow. “What’s he like?”

“He’s, uhm, very…” Clark frowned as he thought. “He’s very…smooth.”

Chloe was rolling her eyes. He just knew it. “Smooth?”

He nodded, and took a bite of his blackened grilled cheese. “Yeah, smooth. I mean, like…slick. He really is bald, you know. But it’s not like, weird, or anything. It’s kinda cool actually. It looks pretty good on him.”

“Really, Clark?” Chloe said dryly, but her tone was lost on him.

“Yeah. It’s probably because of the whole confidence thing. It’s not like he comes off as arrogant or anything, but, he’s definitely got a *presence*, you know?” Clark paused for a second, swallowing. “He’s funny, too. Lex is just a really cool guy, not at all like you’d think he’d be.”

“Geez, sounds like you’re ready to ask him out on a date.” Chloe snickered. “And since when were you on a first name basis with Lex Luthor?”

“Since today,” Clark answered, defensively. “And I’m not going to ask him out on a date.”

“All right, all right, so how did you meet Lex, the really cool guy?”

“See, that’s an interesting story,” he began.

“An interesting story?” Chloe asked, voice sharpening. “What happened, Kent?”

Clark winced, and haltingly, told Chloe everything. From the coffee machine, to Lionel and the crap factory, to Fiji. By the end, she was giggling almost hysterically and Clark was blushing furiously.

“Shut up, Chloe,” he muttered, looking out the window at the fire escape.

“Man, Clark, sounds like Lex wants to ask you out, too,” Chloe said, still giggling. “A match made in heaven. ‘Smallville Boy Strikes Gold; Clark Kent Becomes Billionaire’s Boy Toy.’”

He blushed harder, and was glad she couldn’t see him. “What? No! He didn’t mean it like that at all.”

“I knew you were in for trouble when you told me you were becoming an intern. Maybe I’ll let Pete send you that blue dress after all,” Chloe teased.

“So, about Pete…” Clark said, jumping at the chance to change the subject. “How are things going? You guys having fun?”

“Yeah, we’re having a great time,” she responded, too quickly.

“Oh really? A great time? Or a really great time?” he pressed, letting his voice carry the hint of a leer.

She sighed. “We’re having a great time, Clark. Really.”

“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Clark asked, voice softening with concern.

“Nothing, Clark,” she told him, sounding tired. “Nothing’s wrong. Listen, I’m going to go. I’ll catch you later, okay? Have fun with *Lex*.”

“I will, Chlo,” he said quietly. “And hey? I’m here. You know, if you need me.”

“Yeah, I know,” she responded after a beat. “Bye.”

Clark barely waited for the dial tone to sound before he called Pete. “What’s going on with Chloe?” he demanded without preamble.

“Clark, man, how am I supposed to know what’s going on with her?” Pete responded irritably. “The only person that knows what goes on in the mind of Chloe Sullivan is Chloe Sullivan, and she’s not about to share that information with mere mortals like us.”

“Pete, are you two fighting or something?”

“No,” Pete answered shortly. “Listen, I’m really busy. I’ll call you back later, okay? Oh, and I saw Lana yesterday. She says hi.”

“Oh,” Clark said, looking down. “I...tell her I said hi back,” he told Pete, voice carefully neutral. He recognized the deflection for what it was easily, but still felt a kind of stilted sadness at the mention of Lana’s name.

“Yeah, I will. Catch you later,” Pete said and hung up.

Clark frowned at the phone. For the first time since they’d broken up, he wished he could call Lana, just to ask about Chloe and Pete, but Clark knew better than that. Any phone call between the two of them would be…polite and as awkward as was humanly possible.

He didn’t miss her as much as he’d expected to, and Clark wasn’t sure if that was good, or if it was bad, or if it just was. He was leaning toward the ‘just was’ option. Time and distance conspired to heal all wounds, right?

If time could get him through breaking up with Lana Lang, time would be able to fix whatever was up with Chloe and Pete. He was sure of it.

Chewing on the last of his grilled cheese, Clark stared up at his ceiling. The stain, he decided, looked more like some kind of post-modern Pegasus, rearing up on one leg. He thought about that for a moment, and then shook his head. He’d definitely gone to one too many art shows with Lana. Post-modern Pegasus? That was ridiculous. About as ridiculous as Chloe’s ‘Lex wants to date Clark’ theory.

Because, after all, in all of the tabloids that Clark had ever read, Lex Luthor was always linked with a woman. Usually a very attractive woman who had some kind of scandal up her sleeve, but still, it was always very much someone female. And Clark was most definitely not female, and therefore was not someone with whom Lex would want to flirt. End of story, QED.

Satisfied that the stain on his ceiling was *not* a cactus and that Lex Luthor had no sexual interest in him *whatsoever* and that Chloe and Pete would figure out… whatever needed figuring out, Clark turned on the television, and kicked his feet up.

He channel surfed for a bit before falling asleep to the sound of an infomercial, safe in the knowledge that all was right and sane in his world.

********************

Clark woke hours later to the far off sound of a woman screaming. She sounded terrified, and before it registered that he was making the decision, Clark was out the door, and running toward the screams at top speed. It was late, so there weren’t many people out, but he blurred past everyone in his path – nothing more than a breath of wind against their skins.

It was an alley, and it was dark and crowded. The woman wasn’t screaming anymore because her mouth had been covered by a black-gloved hand. Three men were crowded around her, and the air was thick -- filled with violence.

Clark could see the woman’s eyes. They were wide, and brown, and filled with tears. Her beige skirt was pushed up to her waist, and one of them was trying to wrench her thighs apart. She whimpered, and Clark stepped into the alley.

“Let her go,” he ordered, and was surprised by the calm, confidence of his voice. It didn’t betray any of the rage that had his hands shaking slightly. “Let her go now.”

One man stepped forward and laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound, and moonlight glinted off his knife as he jumped Clark. The fight was over quickly, leaving no one in the alleyway conscious but Clark and the woman he’d saved. He tied the men up before turning to her, careful to keep to the shadows.

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, rubbing her arms. “I…wh-who are you?” She stepped toward him, trying to make out his features in the dark, and Clark was suddenly afraid of being seen. His father’s voice pounded through his head with a million warnings, and he shrank back.

“No one,” he whispered gruffly. “Just go home. You’re safe.”

She watched as he breezed past her. When he was near home he called in an anonymous tip to the police.

He didn’t sleep again that night, but lay in his bed, eyes open and staring as he listened to the sounds of Metropolis in the night – the motors of cars, the voices of people walking down the street, music from the night club two buildings down. The usual sounds of a city at night, and he was relieved to hear them.

Clark had thought that the last of his powers had manifested when he was eighteen and had learned how to fly when he was awake, but for the past few months his hearing had been phasing in and out of normal levels. Sometimes he could hear just like anyone else – any human – but sometimes, sometimes his hearing was so sensitive that he could hear whispered conversations blocks away.

Usually his hearing wasn’t sensitive unless something terrible was happening, and a part of Clark was pissed off that it couldn’t be sensitive when someone was saying something good about him. Like that he had a cute butt, or something. But no, Clark, the luckiest alien this side of Marvin the Martian, got to hear catastrophes in the distance.

And he could stop them all, easily. Or if not easily, he could at least still *try* to stop these things from happening. So didn’t that mean that he had to? That’s what his father had always said, back in Smallville.

But his father had also told him to hide his abilities, to keep from drawing attention to himself. In Smallville that’d been hard enough, if only because Chloe’s eyes were always stubbornly wide-open. Lana’s, too, for that matter, even if she didn’t make a show of it, like Chloe did. But back in Smallville, people had a way of looking past the big, obvious bouts of weirdness.

In Metropolis, that didn’t happen. Clark couldn’t rely on one of his stock “adrenaline” answers and blow off something like lifting a car with one hand to save a frightened little girl. People would want to know how he’d been able to do it, and that would lead to all kinds of problems.

Problems like labs, and dissections, and cages. And Clark really wanted to avoid those problems because those were the problems that gave him nightmares.

And so he’d let a woman get beaten, badly, by her husband and he let an old man’s leg get broken when he wandered into the wrong part of town and was mugged. The old man lost four hundred dollars and his fifty-year-old wedding ring, and the woman had lost feeling in her left hand.

He wasn’t sure that he would have saved the woman tonight if he’d stopped to think about it, and that made him feel sick. If he hadn’t shown up in time…he didn’t want that on his conscience. No more than he wanted the old man and beaten wife, and Clark wished like hell that he could go back and save them, because he had these gifts, and he could help these people and he wanted to, wanted to *so much*.

She’d seen him, tonight. Seen him moving faster than any human could have, and maybe she’d seen his face, too. He wondered if she’d recognize him if they ever ran into one another, and if anyone would believe her if she told them what had happened.

Clark blinked, and looked out the window. He tried very hard not to think about cages, or meteor rocks, noticing instead the way orange light from the street lamps landed on the windows of the skyscraper down the street. It wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t threatening either, and Clark was willing to accept the ease that gave him without asking for more.

*********************************************************

The sun came up slowly, light slipping into the apartment in stages. Clark did sit-ups in the living room, because he was tired of staring out the window and he didn’t want to watch the news. By the time he’d reached fifty, it was seven o’clock and his phone was ringing.

“So what did you do last night?” Chloe asked him by way of greeting.

Clark ran a hand through his hair. “Uhm…watched t.v.?” he offered, frowning.

“Did you know that the Daily Planet gets delivered to my house every day? I get it around six in the morning. It’s kind of a cool system.”

“That’s cool,” Clark said, confused.

“I read this article in it this morning. I thought it was pretty interesting.”

He frowned harder, started pacing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Chloe cleared her throat, and adopted an instructive tone of voice. “‘I called for help, not because I expected it, but because it’s what people do when they’re afraid. This time, though, it came. He appeared out of the shadows and saved my life,’” she read before pausing, and he could just see her eyebrow raising. “Sounds like something that could have happened in Smallville when we were in high school.”

“Really? What do you mean?” He did his best to sound confused and tired and interested, really he did, but he couldn’t quite stop an edge of hysteria from creeping into his voice.

“Lois Lane, the newest star reporter in the Daily Planet’s orbit, got assaulted last night. She says she would have been raped if mystery man hadn’t shown up out of nowhere and saved her life. Look at the editorial section of today’s newspaper. The article’s called, ‘The Masked Samaritan’. You should check it out, Clark.”

“I will, Chloe,” he said evenly. “But I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

She sighed heavily. “It’s got you written all over it, Kent. This mystery guy was at the right place, at the right time. Much like a certain farm boy we both know and love tended to be.”

“Chloe, Metropolis is a very big city. I have no idea why you would assume that this masked Samaritan or whatever is me. I watched adult swim on the Cartoon Network, and fell asleep last night.” Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache of epic proportions.

“Call it a hunch, or woman’s intuition, or whatever you want,” Chloe told him, pausing for a moment. “It’s…it’s more than just you being in the ‘right place at the right time,’ or whatever that means. You help people, Clark, it’s what you do. I mean, it’s like a law of nature. Birds fly south in the winter, and you’re there when people need helping.”

He glared at the wall, trying to shake off her observations. “No, Chloe, what I do is file. I file and I make phone calls and I get to work on time, which is why I’m going to hang up now, okay? Because I have to get dressed and get out the door in the next half hour, and I really think that the ‘crackpot theory’ portion of my morning needs to be over.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I’m just saying that it’s part of who you are,” Chloe protested.

“Who I am is a man who needs to get off the phone now,” Clark said, doing his best not to growl.

“Fine. But I’m not letting this go,” she warned him.

“Chloe, why don’t you go talk to Pete instead of obsessing over the Daily Planet, okay?” he snapped back.

There was a hurt pause. “Fine, Clark. Go to work.”

“Damn, Chloe, I –” he started, running a hand through his hair again. The headache pounded at the back of his head, as if trying to gain access.

“Just go, okay? I’ll talk to you later.” She took an audible breath, and he could picture the brave but pissed off smile on her face. “Flirt with Lex Luthor for me, okay?”

“I don’t flirt with boys, Chloe,” Clark said, relieved by her teasing tone. If she was teasing him already, he hadn’t messed up too badly.

Chloe laughed. “Clark, Lex Luthor isn’t a boy.”

“Oh? What is he then? A mandroid?”

“Lex Luthor is neither boy nor mandroid,” she informed him. “Lex Luthor is a man.”

********************

When he’d lived at home, Clark had always found his father’s negative attitude toward machines to be rather backward. He’d tried to convince his father technology was good, and should be used more often around the farm, and failing that, he’d made fun of his father for being a luddite, although he hadn’t known the word until he’d started studying for his SATs. But when he’d learned it, he’d used it, and frequently.

And now, he was beginning to regret all of that mocking. Because his father really did have a point.

Technology was bad. Machines were bad. Especially if they were photocopiers.

Because photocopiers, Clark was finding, were just plain evil. Eating kittens and killing babies type evil.

“It starts,” he muttered, glaring at the photocopier that simply refused to work. “At first you and your kind just toy with us mortals, making our lives more difficult by crashing and taunting us instead of performing your function. Next thing you know, the T-1000 is herding humans into small rooms for extinction. I know what you’re up to. I’m a sci-fi geek. This is the first step in the classic ‘machines try to rule world’ gambit. But it won’t work, do you hear me?”

He glared at it, but no copies were made. “You and your kind will never rule the earth. Not while I can still smash you.”

“You seem to have a habit of talking to yourself,” Lex observed from the doorway.

Clark jumped, and looked over his shoulder. “And you have a habit of sneaking up on me,” he shot back, before realizing that he was talking to his *boss*. Really, his boss’ boss, but in the end, his money came from Lex Luthor, and he’d just snapped at Lex without thinking about it.

Lex didn’t seem to mind though. He just shrugged and smiled. “Well, your back seems to always be turned to the door. I don’t seem to have many options. May I ask that you don’t smash the Xerox machine?”

“Uhm, I wasn’t really going to,” Clark said, flushing, and looking down. “Just, you know…aggravated.”

“And you thought threatening the machine would make it function properly?” Lex asked, brow quirking upward and eyes gleaming with humor. “Interesting theory. I’ll use it on my laptop next time it decides not to work.”

Clark shrugged, looking at the still non-functional photocopier. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t made much of a difference here. I’m starting to think about transcribing twenty copies of this by hand. It would probably get done faster.”

“Use black ink,” Lex advised solemnly.

“Will do,” Clark promised. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, no.” Lex waved him away, turning to look through the piles of newspapers stacked on a desk pushed against the far wall of the small room. He shot Clark a look over his shoulder. “Would you believe me if I said I was trying to hide?”

“From what?” Clark asked, pushing a new set of keys on the photocopier and hoping for a different outcome. The machine remained inert.

“The huge piles of paperwork on my desk and the conference call I’m supposed to make in about ten minutes?” Lex shrugged, one shoulder moving quickly up and down in a fluid gesture, and then grinned – all white teeth, and arching eyebrows as he leaned in toward Clark. “Or maybe I’m just looking for today’s Daily Planet.”

Clark studied his eyes for a moment. They were a cool blue, but somehow not…cold, like chips of glass in the sun. “Which one is it?”

Lex’s grin widened. “I don’t really know.”

He reached past Clark to the photocopier, his cheek almost brushing against Clark’s as he pressed some buttons on the keypad, seemingly at random. Lex smelled like something expensive. Maybe it was aftershave, maybe it was body wash, but Clark could tell just by the scent that there was no way he’d ever be able to afford it.

A strange noise issued from the photocopier. Something between a whine and a creak, and it started to finally make copies. “How did you do that?” Clark demanded, eyes wide.

“Haven’t you heard?” Lex asked, smirking. “I’m a genius.”

“Must be,” Clark said, smiling back. The hum of the photocopier filled the room. After a long moment, Lex picked up the newspaper, and left with a small wave. As Clark waited for all of his copies to print, he wondered if he’d just flirted with Lex.

He wasn’t able to come up with an answer.

********************

This was something Clark could do, he realized toward the end of the week. He wasn’t in love with waking up early in the morning, and his telephone voice needed work. But, for the most part, working in Lex’s office was…fun?

No, that was very much so the wrong word. It wasn’t fun, but it was okay. Better than okay. Fun-ish?

While he was getting a hang of the filing system, although his computer remained possessed by some unholy demon that was bent on making his life hell, but Clark could live with that. Mostly, he liked the people he worked with. The PR people were friendly, Lex’s receptionist fussed over Clark and his boss was a nice guy, if a bit anal-retentive. Lex’s body guards were…well, a little creepy, but he got the feeling that if they warmed up to him, they’d be okay. Maybe.

Lex, though, was definitely the coolest person in the office. Having lived an entire life under the impression that all things Luthor were most likely tainted by corruption, if not out and out E-vil, Clark had expected…horns?

Probably not actually horns, but at least some kind of bitchiness or something. Possibly temper tantrums and knife throwing. But Lex was…friendly. In a snarky, funny kind of way.

Clark liked him. Really liked him.

Lex made a point of coming by to see how Clark was doing every day, and even though he usually managed to show up when Clark was doing something wrong, Clark looked forward to it. Even *if* Lex was just trying to make Clark feel more comfortable on his first week of work, which was probably the case.

And besides the whole ‘Lex kind of rocks’ issue, it was neat to just shoot the breeze with *the* Lex Luthor.

The weekend passed by relatively uneventfully, despite Chloe’s continued, desperately annoying, attempt to pry something out of him about the Lois Lane rescue. He kept deflecting her, and she kept on poking at him. But that’s the way Chloe always was, and Clark was used to it, so he just hunkered down, and waited for it to blow over.

Monday morning was too bright, too early, and too lacking in coffee, Clark decided as he sat at his desk. His eyelids felt heavy with exhaustion, and kept falling closed every so often. He entered information into his computer mechanically, acting on autopilot more than any kind of meaningful cerebral functions, and the morning slid by.

“Dreaming about Fiji?” Lex asked from behind him, startling Clark. His eyes drifted to the clock, which read 12:30 p.m.

“Yeah, I was thinking about the pet Komodo dragon I’m going to have when I finally move there,” Clark joked, turning. “What can I do for you?”

Lex sat on the corner of his desk, arms crossed and a small smile on his face. The ice blue of his eyes warmed as the smile widened. “A dragon, Clark? Does this dragon have a name?”

“I was thinking about ‘Puff’ but I decided that wasn’t too original. So I guess I’ll settle for Dale.”

Lex laughed. “Why Dale?”

“Why not? I like the name Dale.”

“Fair enough. Dale,” he repeated to himself with a small shake of his head. “Well, it’s your pet. So, you hungry, Clark?”

Clark grinned. “I could eat a horse.”

“I was planning on eating at the deli on the corner, and I’m not sure that horse is on the menu, but you’re welcome to join me anyway,” Lex invited.

Clark nodded, and stood, following Lex out of the office, and wondered what Chloe would say if she were there.

“So you’re from Smallville?” Lex asked as they left the building, although it was really more of a statement of fact masquerading as a question. At his nod, Lex continued. “You like it there?”

“It’s home,” Clark told him with a shrug. “You know, it’s…pretty claustrophobic and boring, and kind of weird – in that small-town way,” he hastened to add, “but, it’s where I grew up, so…yeah, I guess I like it.”

Lex slanted him a glance. “Then why didn’t you go home for the summer? Not that aren’t glad to have you at LexCorp.”

Clark snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause I do so much for LexCorp.”

Lex shrugged. “You’re the most interesting person in the office by far.”

Clark flushed, and smiled bashfully before stopping himself when he realized he was half a heartbeat away from saying ‘Aw, shucks.’

“So why stay in Metropolis, Clark?” Lex asked again as they neared the deli.

“My own apartment, a strong desire not to live with my parents again, a messy break up with a girl from back home…pick a reason,” Clark said without thinking. He blinked, and looked over at Lex. “Whoa, that was probably way more information than you really wanted.”

Lex’s teeth were even whiter than his skin when he smiled. “Clark,” he promised, “so far as I’m concerned, there’s no such thing as too much information.”

He opened the door to the deli and ushered Clark through.

“No such thing?” Clark challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Lex confirmed, lips twitching. “And I really do mean it.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Lex’s lips twitched again. “Try me.”

Clark looked around the deli, focusing on the man working on the cash register for a long moment, before turning back to Lex. “What if I told you that guy was wearing some kind of strappy lingerie underneath his work clothes?”

“I’d tell you that he probably couldn’t have gotten it at Frederick’s of Hollywood because they don’t make anything in his size,” Lex dead panned, and Clark snickered.

“Okay, what if I said that there was dog in their bratwurst?”

Lex shrugged fluidly. “I’d say that dog must taste even better than I always assumed it would.”

“Are you serious?” Clark asked, turning to face Lex. “That would really be your reaction to eating dog? Without knowing it?”

“Most likely, yes,” Lex returned. “I’ve wanted to try dog.”

“You’re weird,” Clark said fervently. “Like, really weird.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said, turning blue-grey eyes toward Clark again. They ran over his face for a long moment, and Clark found it oddly hard to breathe. He decided that he would also not examine what Chloe would say about this particular moment in time.

“Hey, Lex, why did you ask me to lunch?” Clark asked again, eyes locked with Lex’s. The blue in his eyes flared again, and Lex raised both brows.

“I told you, Clark. You’re the most interesting one in the office. Besides,” he added slyly, “I like you. Eating with someone you like or at least tolerate really does help digestion.”

Both of Clark’s brows lifted. “So I’m here as preemptive Pepto Bismol?”

Lex laughed. “No, you’re here because you can say things like that with a straight face. Like I said, you make life interesting.” His eyes locked with Clark’s again. “I like life to be interesting.”

It only occurred to Clark later that it might have been a bit strange for Lex’s voice to make him shiver, but at the time it seemed perfectly normal. “Thanks,” he said, voice lower than usual.

He only got a smile in response as Lex checked his watch. “We’ve only got about a half hour. I have a meeting with my father across the street.” Lex grimaced. “I may want to invest in some actual Pepto Bismol. Extended periods of time in the company of Lionel Luthor give me heartburn.”

Clark laughed helplessly. “But…he’s your *dad*!”

“Yes, he is,” Lex said, tone of voice conveying his confusion clearly. “And your point?”

“You’re like this new species or something that I totally don’t understand.” Clark shook his head. “I mean, you’re having lunch with your intern and taking Pepto Bismol to get through a meeting with your dad. You’re just…weird.”

“You said that already,” Lex pointed out. “And I’m not the one who was threatening a Xerox machine with certain death.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Clark flushed. “Maybe I am the weird one.”

“Interesting, Clark,” he corrected with a sideways smile, before turning to Clark. His eyes sought out Clark’s and seemed to warm even further as the corner of his lips turned up into a small smile. “Go with interesting instead of weird. It suits you better.”

CHAPTER TWO

“Okay…twenty minutes on ‘low’,” Clark read out loud to himself, studying the rice box carefully. He put the lid on the pot and stepped away, eyeing it carefully.

Clark was aware of the fact that he was not a good cook. But, he thought that it was one of those things about himself that he could improve on. It wasn’t like being too tall to be a professional jockey or anything; cooking could be learned. So, he was doing his best to learn how, because even *he* could only eat pizza so many times before having sudden urges to incinerate anything involving pepperoni.

He flopped down onto the couch, leaning his head against the wall and idly flipped through the television channels. The egg timer in the kitchen clicked happily as he settled in to watch Iron Chef. It seemed appropriate, he mused to himself.

The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Kent, you have *got* to come home. I’m dying out here! Dying!” Pete said plaintively. “Do you know what I did last Saturday night? I was a chaperone, Clark. A *chaperone*. I had to go to the movies with my littlest sister and watch her pimply boyfriend keep his hands very carefully to himself.”

“I bet Andrea *loved* that,” Clark chuckled.

“Yeah, well, she better. She’s fourteen, and she’s my baby sister, and I’m not going to watch her get felt up.” Pete snorted. “Hell no, I’m not. So, anyway, tell me that your life is more interesting than mine? I’ve got to do some of that vicarious living.”

Clark shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. Just work, and stuff.”

“Even on the weekend? I don’t believe that. You’ve *got* to be doing some interesting things. Something. Anything. Lie to me,” Pete begged. “I don’t care.”

“Uhm…on Saturday night I went out to a club and came home with four or five supermodels?” Clark tried, running a hand through his hair.

There was a windy sigh. “Pathetic, Kent. So what did you do last weekend?”

“Not much. Watched cartoons, unpacked. Saved a *reporter*,” he said, shaking his head.

“Oooh…so you *are* the Masked Samaritan, huh?” Pete laughed again. “Chloe’s been going on and on about that for the past couple of days. It’s like all she can think about or something.”

“Yeah, she called me about it, too.” Clark frowned. “She isn’t going to let this one go any time soon, is she?”

“I don’t think so. You know Chloe – she gets her teeth into something and she just holds on.” Pete said, frustrated.

“So there’s still weirdness,” Clark observed. “What’s the deal with you two, anyway?”

A long pause, and then another sigh. Clark’s brow knitted with concern, and just as he opened his mouth to ask again, Pete answered softly, “I don’t know. When I do, I’ll get back to you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all right,” Pete assured him. “What are you gonna do about Chloe and the Masked Samaritan thing?”

Clark shrugged. “Ignore it? I mean, she’ll forget in a few weeks, right?”

“We *are* talking about the same Chloe Sullivan? You think she’ll forget this?! You take any head blows lately? Nothing freaky going on in Smallville right now, so this thing is getting all of her ‘Wall of Weird’ type attention.”

“Damn,” Clark said.

“Not much she can do from here, though,” Pete said, encouragingly. “So don’t lose too much sleep over it. Besides, next week there’ll probably be some kind of man eating sunflowers or something and she’ll be all over that.”

“Like white on rice,” Clark agreed easily, before sitting bolt upright. “Rice! Hang on, Pete.” He lay the receiver down on its side and hurried to the kitchen. Thin tendrils of smoke twirled up from the bottom of the pot. Turning off the heat on the stove, Clark took the pot and put it in the sink and hoped the food inside would be at least somewhat salvageable.

It wasn’t. The rice was burned to the bottom of the pot. Clark had serious doubts about whether or not he’d ever be able to use the pot again. He shook his head, and ran water into the ruined meal.

“I suck,” he told Pete when he picked the receiver back up. “I can’t even make rice.”

“Why make anything? Get Chinese,” Pete advised. “There’s not a decent bowl of egg drop soup anywhere in Smallville. Enjoy one for me.”

“More of this vicarious living thing?” Clark asked, smiling.

“Definitely,” Pete answered. “And while you’re at it, go out and have fun. Meet a pretty girl. Do something.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, scraping at the rice stuck to the bottom of the pot. “I’ll get on that.”

Pete laughed. “You do that. So, I heard you and Lex Luthor are tight now.”

“Tight?” Clark grinned. “Nah. He’s being really nice, though. Trying to make me more comfortable or something. I’ve got to tell you, he’s got a real gift for finding me doing stupid things.”

“How stupid?”

“Pretty stupid,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But, yeah. Nice guy.”

“Good to know that he’s not a total monster,” Pete said with an edge.

“Hey, you’ve never even met him,” Clark protested. “I’m not saying I know him really well or anything, but he’s been nice to me, and I like him. I think you would, too. He’s just…fun, okay?”

“Fun, huh? Then get him to take you out and do something worth living vicariously through!” Pete joked, but then continued, “I know I’ve never met him, but…some things are hard to just put in the past. The Luthors took our farm away from us, Clark.”

“I know, but it wasn’t him, it was his dad. And it was a long time ago,” Clark argued.

“Yeah, it was.” Pete took a deep breath, and changed subjects. “So…Lana’s been asking about you, man.”

Clark made a noncommittal sound.

“She really wants to hear from you. Says she misses you,” Pete went on. “I think…I mean, she’s staying at Chloe’s. You have the number.”

Clark looked out the window, and shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

The eye-roll that accompanied the snort was almost audible. “What I’m saying is that you should use that number and call her.”

“Why, Pete? Nothing’s changed. Lana misses me? Great. I miss her, too. But everything’s still the exact same as it was when we broke up, and I’m not going to do that again,” Clark said slowly. “And I’m not really ready to just be friends right now. I don’t think she is, either.”

“She seems to think so.”

“Fine, then it’s just me. Whatever,” he ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I just can’t see it working out well.”

“Your call. Just thought I’d let you know…” Pete’s voice trailed off. “Anyway, gotta run. Andrea needs a ride somewhere, and guess who gets to be chauffeur?”

“I’m going with you as my guess. Have fun, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, later,” Pete said, hanging up.

Clark placed the phone down very gently and blew out a long breath, squeezing his eyes shut and felt the same slow slide of hurt that he was getting used to feeling when he heard Lana’s name.

He hadn’t been lying; he did miss her. He missed her a lot, but Clark knew that if he got back in touch with Lana…. Neither one of them was up for another round of the whole ‘couple’ business.

The problem was that Lana needed more than Clark could give her. He was pretty sure she needed more than *anyone* could give her, and as much as he’d tried to make her feel safe and loved and secure, she’d still watched him like he was about to run out the door any second. Plus, Clark had been fairly insecure himself. That he was actually *dating* Lana Lang was sometimes hard for him to believe.

Then there had been the whole ‘secrets’ issue, and how many times could he be late or disappear without explaining himself before Lana was bound to think he was cheating on her? Quite a few. Unfortunately, he’d reached that number and surpassed it, and when Lana had transferred out of Metropolis University second semester, things had only gotten worse; Lana’s suspicions had multiplied, and Clark found himself groping for explanations for missing phone calls.

He didn’t blame her. He didn’t even really blame himself. Not that much.

It still hurt, though. Maybe because there *wasn’t* anyone to blame. Clark really had loved her. He’d wanted to take care of her, and put a smile on her face, but…after two years of trying and not being able to be what she needed, there reached a point where that love faded into something softer and sadder, and every time he looked into her eyes he felt like he was just one more tragedy waiting to happen.

Clark knew what would happen if he called her. Lana was lonely, and he was lonely, and it was inevitable. He only hoped that Chloe would understand if he didn’t call her as often, because he really didn’t want to have a surprise Lana encounter.

God. Chloe. Why did she have to pay such attention to editorials? And why did she have to connect dots so well? And why couldn’t she just let well enough alone? Worrying about the Lois Lane situation was hard enough without her questions.

Just his luck to save a reporter who wanted everyone to know about it. Why couldn’t it have been some nice, blind old lady or something?

Clark was worried, and sad, and very, very hungry. He opened his eyes and glared at his sink, and the pot of burnt rice in it. A deep sigh escaped, and he picked up the Chinese menu by the phone.

********************

Two things happened the next morning, and both of them were the direct result of that day’s issue of the Daily Planet.

The first thing was that Clark’s phone rang at six o’clock in the morning. The shrill sound startled him, and he sat up quickly, banging his head against the wall in the process. It left a big dent, and Clark winced when he thought about the home improvement lecture he was going to get from his father when he asked how to fix it.

The phone trilled again, and he fished through the papers on the floor to find it, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Lo?” he mumbled into the phone.

“Son, do you have this morning’s paper?” Jonathan Kent’s worried voice rumbled into his ear.

“Uhm…I think so,” Clark replied, blinking owlishly at the clock beside his bed. “Why?”

“That woman you saved last weekend is looking for you, Clark,” his mother told him, her voice still thick with sleep. “And she found someone who’s seen you before.”

“This is a big problem,” Jonathan added. “I thought you said you were being careful.”

“If by ‘careful’ you mean am I trying to avoid being seen using my powers, then, yeah, I am,” Clark answered, irritated. “I don’t go around asking people to take pictures of me lifting cars with one hand or watch me running really fast, Dad. She was in trouble.”

“I know that, Clark, but you’ve got to –” Jonathan broke off. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“We’re worried about you,” Martha clarified. “Honey, we love you.”

“I know, Mom,” he said tiredly. “Is it bad? The article, I mean?”

There was a strained silence. “It’s pretty bad,” his father admitted. “The man this Lane woman found saw you lifting a slab of concrete off one of the workers trapped last month in the explosion downtown.”

Clark blew out a long breath. “Do they know what I look like?”

“Tall and dark haired is all they’ve said,” Martha told him. “But, Clark, just –”

“I *am* careful. I’m as careful as I can be, okay?” Clark pushed himself up off the bed and started pacing. “I don’t want anyone to figure it out either, okay? I don’t know how else to do this, though.”

Jonathan sighed. “We know, Clark. Listen, why don’t you come out to the farm this weekend? We’ll talk about it here.”

“No, I’ve still got unpacking to do.” He glanced at the clock, and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry too much, all right? I’ve got to get ready for work.”

“Okay, Clark,” his mother said. “But come home soon. We’re not too far away, and we miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said, with a slight smile. “I love you.”

“Love you too, son,” Jonathan told him. “Good bye.”

“Bye Mom, Dad,” he said, hanging up the phone quickly and hurrying to the door to pick up his copy of the Daily Planet.

They were right to worry, he thought, as he read over the article. Lois Lane was a good writer, and she did an excellent job of describing how he’d saved the trapped men. Her reporting was fair and accurate, and did nothing short of communicate how clearly impossible it would be for a man to lift a concrete slab as thick as he had without breaking a sweat. Humanly impossible, that is.

And she did say ‘tall and dark haired,’ dammit. Chloe was going to be all over that detail. There was no way this was going to blow over. Clark was going to be the investigative interest of the summer. Lucky him.

He got dressed and walked to work. Clark felt like everyone on the street was looking at him differently, like they knew that he was a super strong, super fast alien or maybe they were assessing his adherence to the description ‘tall and dark haired.’

When he went into the office, he forcibly encountered the second thing that the Daily Planet had caused: total and utter chaos.

Almost everyone in the office was on a phone, either answering a call or making one. Faxes were going, printers were printing, and he was pretty sure that he could hear the accursed photocopier in the background. There was an air of hysteria permeating the entirety of the building.

Cautiously, he sat his seat and leaned over to the desk beside him. “What’s going on, Jenna?” he asked the woman who worked there. The small, friendly public relations representative looked completely harried.

“A nightmare,” she informed him succinctly. “We got named in the Phalen trial.”

“The Phalen trial?” Clark asked, confused. “What do you mean we got named?”

“Sam Phalen? The cop who got caught breaking into the Internal Affairs office a few months ago? His defense is that he was afraid that ‘actually corrupt’ cops were doctoring his files or something like that. Says LuthorCorp probably bought them off, and then went on to describe, in detail, the things *he’d* been asked to do for LuthorCorp.” Jenna frowned harder, picking up the receiver of her phone. “All of it included Lex. Somehow the Daily Planet got ahold of the transcript, even though it’s a closed hearing.”

He thought for a second, then nodded. “So what are we doing?”

Jenna’s mouth thinned into a line. “Putting out fires.”

‘Putting out fires’ meant, it seemed, assuring reporters that there would be no comment until Lex was prepared to make a public statement, and telling clients and other businesses that Lex was not, in fact, the raving criminal lunatic that Phelan made him out to be.

Phelan’s testimony really was damning. Clark read the article while on hold, and couldn’t quite believe it. Phelan accused Lex of doing just about every drug on the planet, and manufacturing most of them, too. There were also clear charges of obstruction of justice, assault and battery…basically, according to Phelan, Lex had done everything but commit rape and murder. And Lionel had arranged for all of it to be covered up. According to Phelan, all of this had happened without his consent or cooperation. He was just a poor, innocent bystander who had known too much. Clearly his only option was to break into Internal Affairs and steal his file. Right.

Clark was sure that very few people would actually give Phelan any credence.

Then he saw the ticker tape. LexCorp stock was down…way down. Maybe more people thought Phelan was on the level than he’d anticipated. LuthorCorp was taking a pretty solid hit, too.

He took another phone call, this one from Lex’s publicist. “Is he available?” the man asked.

Clark glanced over at Lex’s office where Lex sat at his desk, face calm. “I don’t know, I’ll go ask,” he replied. “Can I put you on hold?”

The publicist cursed. “Shit, okay. Just tell him to call my cell phone. He already knows it’s important.”

“I will,” Clark promised, hanging up the phone. He stood, and walked over to Lex’s office, knocking lightly on the door.

“Come in.”

Lex was staring at his computer intently when Clark entered, reading. In his hands was a small square of paper, which Lex folded distractedly. “What do you need?” Lex asked.

“Your publicist called. He says he’s on his cell phone, you can reach him there. He said that you have the number?”

Lex nodded without turning to him. Even in profile, he looked tired. “I do, thank you. Is there anything else?”

Clark struggled with himself for a minute, and then blurted out, “Are you okay?”

A quick turn of Lex’s head, and Clark was being studied like an insect or some newly discovered chemical element. Lex’s eyes were narrowed, and the blue was sharp as they flickered over his features before Lex relaxed back into his seat. He shrugged and tossed the paper he’d been folding onto his desk. At a second glance, Clark realized it was an origami crane.

“I’m fine. This is merely…a setback. I’m not worried, Clark,” Lex assured him, drawing a breath to continue before he was interrupted.

“You should be, Alexander. LexCorp is losing money quickly, very quickly. Your investors are getting ready to pull out, and you’re going to have to put all of those plans for pharmaceutical research on the side table,” a sardonic voice observed as a man strode past Clark and into Lex’s office to stand before the desk.

Lex raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t exactly say that LuthorCorp is having a banner day either, *Dad*.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Lionel Luthor said, noticing Clark. “Dismiss your friend and we’ll discuss it.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. I have work to do, if you don’t mind. I’m sure you’re very busy also,” Lex said, with a wave toward his computer. “I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Lionel’s lips thinned into a tight line of displeasure. “Consider your actions very carefully, Lex. Very carefully. I wouldn’t want you to be under the *illusion* that if you make any mistakes I’ll bail you out.”

“Nice pun, and don’t worry, I haven’t been under that illusion for a very long time,” Lex told his father. Their eyes locked briefly, and Clark was torn between wanting to climb out the window and fly away, and hoping the lushly carpeted floor of the office would mercifully open up and swallow him. He edged cautiously toward the door, not wanting to attract any attention.

The plan backfired, though, and Clark quickly found himself the recipient of Lionel Luthor’s keen gaze. “Who are you?”

“Clark Kent,” he said, hoping he sounded confident. Or something. “I work here.”

“Do you now?” Lionel stared at him a moment longer and Clark tried very hard not to fidget. He turned back to Lex, an ugly smile on his face. “You have always favored brunettes, haven’t you?”

“If you’re having difficulty locating the door, Dad, it’s right there. I could call Mercy or Hope to help you find it, if you’d like,” Lex offered, voice smooth with quiet malice.

“Temper, temper,” Lionel chided as he left. He stopped in the doorway, and turned to deliver his parting shot. “*LuthorCorp* will survive this.”

“And so will LexCorp,” Lex returned. Lionel’s half-smile looked doubtful, and mean.

Silence settled in Lionel’s wake, until Clark broke it with an unsure laugh. “I see what you mean about the Pepto Bismal.”

“He is…an experience,” Lex agreed. “The Lionel Luthor experience. I prefer Jimi Hendrix, personally.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clark said, nodding his head, vigorously. He watched as Lex picked up another square of paper, and started folding, as though he wasn’t even aware of performing the action. “Why do you do that?” Clark asked, curious.

Lex shrugged. “Keeps my hands busy. I fidgeted a lot as a child and my mother thought it would be better if I did something constructive.”

Clark picked up the crane on Lex’s desk. It was a bright blue, with a delicate neck, and perfectly creased wings, and it looked like it was resting. “It’s kind of cool.”

“Thanks,” Lex said with a smile. “You can have it. I’ve got a drawer filled with them. Was there anything else?”

“I was going to get lunch in a little while. Wanna come?” Clark grinned invitingly at Lex. “Maybe we can get some dog or something.”

Lex blinked, and then laughed out right. “Dog would be great, but I’d have to order it in. I’m sorry, Clark, there’s just too much for me to do right now.”

“Okay,” Clark nodded. “You want me to bring you something?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Lex assured him. “I’m sure someone’s already ordered something.”

“All right. Just thought I’d ask,” Clark said with a small shrug.

“Hey, Clark,” Lex called after him. Clark half turned, and Lex was smiling at him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Clark promised, smiling back. Light streamed in through the window, and played across Lex’s face, and his eyes seemed to sparkle for a long moment.

Clark turned away, and closed the door softly behind him.

********************

It was hot outside, but Clark preferred that to the cold. He leaned back against the worn wood of the bench, and took in the sunlight, loving the feel of it against the skin of his closed eyelids. The afternoon was heavy with humidity. Moisture shimmered in the air, and pressed in against the tall buildings of the financial district.

He opened his eyes, and watched the well tailored men and women of the Metropolis business elite hurry past him as he enjoyed his lunch hour. On the cement by his feet, he noticed a newspaper, and bent to pick it up. A picture of Sam Phelan was set side by side a picture of Lex, and the headline read ‘Luthor Heir A Drug Fiend?’

Clark shook his head, rolled his eyes. Right. Whatever. He let the paper fall to the ground and drank the last of his soda, frowning.

Lex wasn’t worried about his publicity problems. Clark, on the other hand, wasn’t quite ready to start getting press. Good press, bad press, it didn’t matter – he didn’t want to make the paper. Hell, he didn’t want to make waves at all. Which is why it was such a *funny* cosmic joke that Lois Lane was now looking for him.

God. He’d saved her from some pretty nasty guys. Couldn’t she just let it be?

Clearly, the answer to that was a big, resounding ‘No.’

He closed his eyes again, listening to the clipping of high heeled shoes against asphalt. Clark drifted into reverie, smiling softly into the noon time sky until his hearing suddenly became much clearer, much more enhanced.

“No! Please!” A woman’s voice protested. “Help!”

“Shut up and give me the purse,” growled a man’s voice. There was the sound of a scuffle, and every muscle in Clark’s body was poised to *move*, to get there, to help her, but at his feet lay the Daily Planet and it was *broad daylight* and even as he stood, deciding what he was going to do, it was over. Clark heard retreating foot steps, and the woman’s soft sobbing.

His hearing faded back to normal. Forcing his fingers to unclench, Clark sat back down on the bench, breathing hard. She’d be okay. She was okay. Probably bruised, and out some cash, but it happened all the time, right?

The woman would be fine.

It was too risky for him to speed down crowded streets in broad daylight, and even more so for him to fly. No one would really be able to miss a man shaped blob zipping around in the air, would they? There was nothing he could have done, not unless he wanted to get caught.

And when did it become his problem, anyway, he wondered, suddenly angry. Why did he suddenly have the responsibility to take care of every single person in Metropolis? He was nineteen years old. He couldn’t make *rice* for God’s sake. How was he supposed to take care of the well being of a million people when he couldn’t even make rice?

It wasn’t that anyone was really *telling* him that he had to. Not outright, anyway – if only because his parents were too afraid for him. It was just this feeling that Clark had.

But at the same time it wasn’t fair. Wasn’t even a little bit fair. No one else had to worry about *everyone*. Literally *everyone*. But, Clark? He had hit the worry jackpot. If he wasn’t invulnerable, he’d already have a huge ulcer from worrying about the entire population of Smallville. Now he had Metropolis on his back, too, and why couldn’t he just live his life already? Go to work, go home, go out, whatever, without worrying about massive catastrophes and mutants of some kind.

Okay, he’d traded mutants for criminals. So far. But now he was saving faceless people who he’d never see again. At home, at least it was Lana and Pete and Chloe and his mom and dad. They mattered to him, which managed to make the whole ‘savior’ thing kind of cool. It definitely gave him a little more lee way to screw up, anyway.

He was done with it, though. Clark didn’t want to be a savior, or a hero, or anything. He wanted to be *Clark*.

But as he stood up, Clark frowned, sighed, and tried to unravel the hard knot of guilt that sat, heavy, in his chest.

The woman would be fine.

**
And of course it was raining, Clark thought to himself sourly, looking through the glass doors of the lobby.

He really didn’t want to go out there. It was wet out there. Water would get all over him, down into his dress shoes and it would soak his socks. They’d slush in his shoes all the way back to his apartment. God, he *hated* wet socks.

Clark sighed heavily, watching rain fall in sheets. It was eight o’clock, and he was so hungry that he was pretty sure that *he’d* eat dog if the opportunity presented itself.
His stomach rumbled loudly. Hungry, hungry, hungry but he *really* didn’t want to go out there. He sighed again. Could this day get any worse?

The Phelan crisis had demanded that he stay on late, and being an intern meant he was lowest on the totem pole and had to stay later than most. When he left he’d been the only one still in the office, except, of course, for Lex.

It occurred to him that, as bad as his day had been, Lex’s had been infinitely worse. And it was still ongoing, whereas Clark’s was close to being over. Would be over, really, as soon as he could convince himself to go leave the safety of the lobby.

Clark wondered what his father would say if he could see how hard Lex worked. It might change a couple of his preconceived notions about Luthors. Then again, he reflected, it might not. His dad was the only person Clark knew who could be more stubborn than Chloe.

The water was thick against the glass, dripping down the surface like syrup. It wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

He was going to have to do it. Clark was going to have walk in the rain. Maybe he could fly – would that be better or worse? He’d never tried to fly in a heavy downpour. Squinting up at the clouds, he tried to see if there was any lightening or thunder in the offing.

“Waiting for someone?” Lex asked from behind Clark, startling him.

Clark turned, and even in the shadows, the circles under Lex’s eyes were evident. “Not really,” he answered. “I was hoping the rain would lighten up a little so I could walk home.”

“I’ll give you a ride home, if you’d like,” Lex offered.

“I’d really appreciate that,” Clark said gratefully, a huge grin on his face. No walking in the rain. Life was good.

Lex smiled back, reflexively. “No problem. I was just leaving myself.”

When they reached the parking garage, Clark almost bounced up and down with glee because Lex’s car was the hottest thing ever. A light blue Porsche that he wasn’t even entirely sure he’d be able to fit his whole body into, it was so small, but that didn’t matter because it just screamed ‘sexy.’ Sleek lines, shiny paint, and he hadn’t heard it yet but he’d just bet that the engine purred like a kitten.

Maybe less like a kitten and more like a beautiful woman. A sex kitten.

“Like it?” Lex asked, amused.

“Uhm, *yes* isn’t strong enough of a word,” Clark told him, not even trying to mask his drop-jawed awe. “Wow, Lex. I guess it’s good to be a twenty five year old billionaire.”

Lex laughed outright, “You have no idea. Come on, get in.”

“Will I fit?” he asked, dubiously.

Raising an eyebrow, Lex gave him a once over. “Like a glove. Let’s go.”

Clark did, indeed, fit in the car. He ran his fingers over the buttery leather, and grinned when Lex peeled out of the garage. “This is so cool,” he said over the loud music that had turned on with the car.

“Yeah?” Lex asked, voice rich with laughter. “Glad you like it. Where do you live?”

“Five blocks over. The intersection of Summers and Logan.” Clark gripped onto the dashboard, holding tightly as Lex turned, going fast. Like, way too fast. He frowned, swallowing hard when the Lex ran a yellow light.

He must have made some kind of noise when Lex made another sharp turn, because Lex turned toward him, concerned. “You okay, Clark?”

“Doing great,” Clark managed. “You, know, maybe…it’s raining too hard to be going this fast? Maybe we should slow down, a little?”

Lex snorted. “It’s a *Porsche*, Clark. What would be the point of slowing down?”

“Right, right, sorry,” he mumbled, trying ignore Lex’s driving and focus on how goddamned cool the car was. Because it *was* cool.

“I was surprised to see you still in the building,” Lex commented. “I thought everyone had left long ago.”

“I got caught up in a couple of snarls,” Clark told him, staring hard at the dashboard and purposefully ignoring the way Lex slammed on the breaks at the red light. “Figured it would be better to get everything all taken care of tonight.”

Lex smiled, slanting him a sideways glance. “Very enterprising.”

“Thanks, I try.” Clark grinned tiredly. “It was a long day, though.”

“For everyone, I think,” Lex replied, looking out the windshield. His voice was neutral, but his face tightened.

Clark fidgeted, trying to think of something to say and tapped his toe to the rhythm of the music. The beat was frantic, hurried. He wondered idly if it affected Lex’s driving.

“So what are you doing tonight, Clark?” Lex asked, trying to dispel the strain as they waited for the light to change colors.

“Probably just ordering a pizza and watching Space Ghost.” Clark shrugged. “What about you?”

The light turned green, and Lex hit the accelerator, hard. Clark lurched in his seat and missed part of Lex’s answer.

“…papers with me for after dinner. No rest for the wicked,” he said, lips twisting a little at the phrase. He was upset and probably incredibly tired, and maybe more than a little lonely? It was a hunch, and it could have been a totally false one, but Clark got the feeling that Lex probably didn’t have very many friends.

Clark couldn’t help everyone, but maybe he could help Lex. Besides, Clark didn’t have very many friends either.

“Hey, you want to slum it?” he suggested brightly.

“Excuse me?” Lex asked, raising a thin eyebrow.

“Slum it,” Clark repeated, grinning. “I’m getting a pepperoni, cheese and mushroom pizza. You want some?”

Lex thought for a few seconds, looking over at Clark as though he was confused. “You’re inviting me over for dinner?”

“You’ve got this habit of answering questions with questions,” Clark observed. “Yeah, I’m asking if you want to have dinner with me instead of going home with your paperwork. Eat some pizza, play some video games. C’mon, it sure beats spreadsheets!”

“Video games?” Lex echoed, a smile beginning to curl his lips upward. “That would certainly beat spreadsheets.”

Clark beamed. “Cool! You like mushrooms and pepperoni, right?”

“We’re going to have negotiate the mushroom issue.” Lex’s smile grew, becoming predatory. “How would you feel about trading olives and green peppers for mushrooms?”

“Man, maybe I *should* eat alone,” Clark teased. “I’ll give you olives, but green peppers are a no-go. It’s that building there.” He pointed, and frowned. “I don’t know if there’s any parking around here. I never even thought to ask.”

“Don’t worry about it, Clark.” Lex pulled up to the curb and parked, eyes alight with mischief. “I think I can handle a parking ticket.”

They rushed through the rain into the cramped lobby of Clark’s building, and up the small staircase to his apartment. “It’s kind of…small,” Clark said apologetically as he unlocked the door, and held it open. “But, it’s dry. So, you know, not that bad.”

“It’s your first apartment, right?” Lex asked, stepping and looking around. “I think you’re doing pretty well.”

“Thanks.” Clark blushed, closing the door and shrugging off his wet coat. He waved to the couch. “Sit down. Would you like something to drink?”

“What do you have?” Lex asked, removing his jacket and folding it on the arm of the couch before sitting down and kicking his feet up on a half unpacked cardboard box.

“Uhm, water, lemonade, orange juice, milk, pepsi...,” Clark listed, blushing harder. “I, uhm, don’t have a beer or anything. I’m sorry.”

Lex laughed. “Lemonade sounds great.” He looked out of place, lounging on the faded green of Clark’s couch with his well tailored suit and expensive watch. Water beaded on the pale skin of his scalp, and the grey fabric of his shirt clung to his chest and shoulders, damp. He looked like he’d been covered with a light brushing of silver, Clark thought with a small smile when he noticed light catching on water in Lex’s lashes.

Lex’s eyes were really distinctive. A really different shade of blue than he’d ever seen before, with long, pale lashes. They really caught his attention.

Clark blinked, putting the lemonade back into the refrigerator. Was it weird to notice people’s eyes like that? Male people’s eyes?

He shook the thought away, sending droplets of water flying across the room. Clark handed Lex the lemonade, and called the pizza place.

When he got back, Lex was on the floor looking through his video games. “I don’t know any of these,” Lex muttered, frowning. “What’s this?”

“That’s Grand Theft Auto: Vice City,” Clark told him. “It’s a really cool game.”

Lex looked up, eyes narrowed. “You don’t have Zelda?”

“Nope.” Clark shrugged. “I don’t.”

Lex made a disgusted noise. “That’s ridiculous. Zelda’s the best game ever.”

“Trust me, you’ll like GTA,” Clark told Lex, putting the game in.

Thirty minutes later, when the pizza arrived, Clark was struggling to hold back laughter and Lex was fuming, but determined.

“Let’s play again,” he insisted, picking up a slice of pizza. “I think I understand the probabilities better now.”

“Hey, Lex?” Clark asked, unable to smother his grin. “You only like Zelda because you can beat it, don’t you?”

Lex didn’t answer him. Instead he started a new single player game. Clark watched as Lex, inevitably, didn’t make it past more than ten minutes before the game ended.

Lex threw the controller down, disgusted. “Next time,” he informed Clark, “we’re playing chess.”

Clark just laughed.

CHAPTER THREE

It wouldn’t have been right to say that Metropolis was hotter than Smallville in summer, because it wasn’t really, but the air seemed heavier, denser in the city. The heat crawled along the tall, gleaming sides of buildings that reached up toward the sun, and shimmered on the sidewalks. In Smallville it was probably the same temperature, but it played along the greenery, mingled with the wind and it felt, somehow, cleaner at home than it did here, Clark thought, as he stood in his kitchen drinking juice.

After a year of college, he wasn’t as used to waking up when it was still dark out as he used to be. He’d forgotten how much he liked the quiet parts of the morning. Birds landed on the fire escape, the fluttering of their wings loud in the still alley.

He never would have pictured this, if he’d been asked to guess where he’d be a year after graduation. Clark probably would have guessed that he’d be back at the farm. Maybe living in his loft, and definitely still with Lana. Probably hanging out with Pete and Chloe and doing chores every day.

This was…better. Maybe a little lonely sometimes, but it was better. Clark needed time to be *Clark* without being expected to be…whatever it was that people at home expected of him. It differed from person to person, and he wasn’t up to it. Really wasn’t up to it.

And lonely wasn’t so much a problem. He’d always spent a lot of time on his own, even in Smallville, because, well…*alien*. Besides, there was Lex, who was turning out to be an even cooler guy than Clark had originally thought, which made him pretty much the coolest person Clark knew. By *a lot*.

And not even because Clark didn’t know many cool people. Although, he really didn’t, come to think of it.

Sweat trickled down his spine, pooling on the flat of his back, and Clark opened the window further, hoping for a breeze. He was really going to have to look into getting fans or something because it was just too hot for clothing, and walking around naked wasn’t really an option if he was going to have people over.

Tonight he and Lex were going head to head in a game of no holds barred Zelda. They both knew all the same codes, and if Lex thought he had an edge just because he’d been playing the game longer than Clark, then he was about to learn the error of that kind of assumption. Clark grinned.

Maybe it wasn’t that lonely after all, he thought, finishing his juice and running his hands under the cold water as he rinsed out his glass. He splashed some on his face, and ran his hands through his hair.

Putting on his work clothes really didn’t sound like it could have any possible positive outcome. It was too *hot* to wear a tie. Too hot to wear a jacket, and really, too hot to wear pants.

Would wearing boxers to work be acceptable?

Probably not.

Clark sighed, and eyed his suit jacket unhappily. Maybe he’d fly to work, because walking was definitely not going to be any fun at all. Thank God the office was air conditioned, Clark thought, otherwise *everyone* would be stripping down to their skivvies.

And that should have been a funny thought, but somehow, the idea of Lex in boxers didn’t make Clark want to laugh. At all.

He reached into his refrigerator and pulled out some milk, desperate to ease his suddenly dry mouth.

It really was *way* too hot in his apartment.

**


Filing, filing, filing and look, more filing. For a change.

The filing gods had clearly decided that Clark was their chosen one, and that only *he* was capable of serving them properly, because he had a small forest’s worth of papers on his desk demanding his attention. He was going to spend the rest of his life sorting through the piles that sat before him. Clark was sure of it.

He’d never imagined that his doom would look so much like a stack of computer printouts. He’d always sort of thought that meteor rocks would be involved. Or at least the photocopier.

Slowly, he started sorting the documents into separate piles. A for ankle biter, B for blowfish, and so on and so forth. Clark was really starting to enjoy his personalized organizational system when Lex, predictably, came up behind him and startled the crap out of him.

“Are you just shuffling papers, or is there a method to your madness?” Lex asked, leaning over Clark’s shoulder to look at his desk.

He considered asking Lex to wear a bell or something, because really, this sneaking up thing had to stop. “I’m sorting,” Clark explained. “Alphabetizing.”

“Alphabetizing. Sounds taxing,” Lex teased. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve got it covered. All those years watching Sesame Street weren’t for nothing, you know.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lex laughed. He perched on the corner of Clark’s desk, careful not to upset anything. “Did you know that Sesame Street has given kids around the world New York accents?”

“What?” Clark asked, brows climbing toward his hairline with disbelief. “How does that work?”

“The actors who do the voices of the puppets are all from New York. Kids watch Sesame Street instead of spending time with their parents, and they pick up the speech patterns of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch instead of their family,” Lex told him. “You don’t have a New York accent, so you probably didn’t watch too often.”

“Or maybe I was just close with my parents,” Clark countered, leaning back in his chair.

Lex nodded. “There is that possibility.” He tilted his head to study Clark. “Were you? Are you?”

Clark shrugged. “Yeah, I am, I guess.”

“Well, that would explain it then,” Lex said, sounding somewhat thoughtful.

“So what are you up to?” Clark asked after a quiet moment. “Looking for something?”

“Looking for a reason not to be at my desk so I don’t receive the three or four phone calls from well wishers, reporters and board members,” Lex told Clark, eyes darkening with frustration. “I just needed a breather.”

“Okay,” Clark said agreeably. “Breathe.”

“Thanks, Clark,” Lex said dryly, a slight smile curling the corner of his mouth up.

“Anytime. Wouldn’t want you to be too stressed out to enjoy tonight’s extravaganza.” Clark grinned. “You know, can’t have you at anything less than peak performance.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Zelda match. “You’re awfully cocky.”

“Hey, I’m just confident. I know what I’m doing,” Clark’s grin widened. “Maybe I haven’t been at it as long as you have, but I think I might know a few tricks that you don’t.”

“Clark, trust me, no matter how many tricks you think you know? I’ve done them all, and found better ways of using than their original intent,” Lex boasted, smirking.

“I might surprise you,” Clark challenged. Was the AC working right in the office? He felt uncomfortably hot. “Try me.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Lex promised. “My performance will not only be at its peak, but at its zenith and you won’t know what hit you.”

“All right then, let the games begin.”

Lex grinned. “What time?”

“Whenever, I guess. I mean, I know you have work and all, but my air conditioner is kind of, uhm, nonexistent. And…it’s kind of hot.”

“Kind of hot? Yes, I think that perhaps ninety-five degrees and high humidity would qualify as ‘kind of hot,’” Lex laughed. “You have a gift for understatement. My place it is. Around eight o’clock?”

“You’re on,” Clark agreed, with a decisive nod.

Lex’s grin widened as he stood, putting his hands into his pockets. He was all gleaming teeth and shining eyes, and the office AC *must* be malfunctioning because it was just *too* hot. “I’ll look forward to it. Enjoy alphabetizing.”

“Thanks,” Clark said, waving as Lex walked away to his office. He turned back to his desk, and chuckled. Lex was *so* going down.

“So it’s like that, huh?” asked Jenna, eyeing Clark speculatively as she walked over to her desk from the doorway.

“Like what?” Clark countered, confused.

“Don’t worry,” she said, smiling a little. “You’re safe. I’m in public relations, remember? You’ve just answered a long standing curiosity, though, I’ll tell you that.”

What the hell did that mean? He pestered Jenna for a good five minutes, but wasn’t able to get another word out of her on the subject. When he turned his attention back to the filing that lay waiting ever so patiently on his desk, Clark wasn’t pouting, but it was damned close.

Like what? And what was like what? And in what way was this unknown object like some other unknown object? And why was Jenna grinning at him slyly every couple of minutes?

It didn’t make any sense. And the thing about filing was that filing *made sense*. It was boring as hell, but it made sense.

Clark sighed, and went back to alphabetizing the papers. G for gung-ho, H for hokey pokey…

**

Usually Clark’s lunch breaks found him either eating alone outside, or in a deli with Lex. But Lex had been tied up in a meeting, and outside wasn’t so much a comfortable option today, unless Clark wanted his skin to melt off. Which might make for interesting performance art, but wasn’t exactly something he wanted to have happen.

Sitting alone in a restaurant always felt a little weird to Clark, so he picked up a copy of the Planet while he was paying. The Phelan trial was still front page news, and it probably would be for the next week or so. Phelan was going to jail, that much was certain. Basically it looked like his defense was based on a vindictive desire to take pretty much everyone else in Metropolis down with him. What a sweet guy he must be, Clark thought snidely.

Phelan was flinging mud at every big name corporation in the city, especially LuthorCorp and LexCorp, but it seemed that amidst the barrage of accusations he was making, he’d done at least a little bit of good. Peter Vladenko, a high ranking member in Metropolis organized crime, had been brought in on drug trafficking charges. That’s what made Phelan’s lies so insidious, Clark thought. The little bit of truth mixed in.

Clark was an expert on lies. He just hated telling them, and wasn’t any good at it either. Which sorta seemed like some kind of big tip from the universe that he shouldn’t lie, but *not* lying was out of the question, unless he wanted the world’s scientific community setting up shop on his body. And he didn’t. At all.

Catch-22, much?

Clark didn’t kid himself that Lex was pure as the driven snow, and he realized that he really didn’t know Lex all *that* well, but he’d be willing to bet that the only addiction Lex had was to work. Given the long hours Lex spent in the office, Clark was pretty sure Lex didn’t have the *time* to do too many drugs. And besides? Clark just didn’t trust Phelan. He didn’t know why, but it was instinctive, and intense – much like his trust *in* Lex.

Munching on his sandwich, he turned the page. And stopped dead.

The Daily Planet was offering reward money for any information pertaining to the ‘Masked Samaritan’, and really, that name was starting to piss Clark off because he hadn’t been wearing a goddamned mask. And why did they have to offer money? Was he a criminal all of a sudden?

And there was a hotline specifically *for* information on the Masked Samaritan. Clark scanned the article, and found himself suddenly pissed off instead of panicked. Because he *wasn’t* a crackpot vigilante copycat of Gotham’s psychotic hero-slash-bat enthusiast. And he *didn’t* have disfiguring scars on his face. And Lois Lane *definitely* wouldn’t know gratitude if it bit her on the ass.

His parents were going to be practically hysterical when they saw this article. That more than anything put Clark in an anti-Lane frame of mind. Damn her anyway. When he got home his answering machine was going to be entirely filled with messages from his dad because as soon as the Planet had gotten to Smallville, Jonathan Kent had probably read right through it, looking for mention of this Masked Samaritan.

Oh, God. Chloe probably had been, too. Oh, this just kept getting better and better. Would she call the Planet hotline? No, no, Chloe wanted to keep it as *her* story. That he could depend on. But she was going to step up the heat on her own private investigation. She *hated* getting scooped.

What the hell was he going to do?

**

The day at work ended, blissfully, at five. Clark flew home, careful to avoid being seen, and loving the drop in temperature the higher up he flew. He landed on the roof of his building, and trudged down the stairs to his apartment, taking off his jacket and tie as he went. As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, his shoes, socks, belt and shirt followed. The phone rang as he started to divest himself of his pants.

“Hello?”

“So, were you actually wearing a mask?” Chloe’s voice asked him, playfully. “Because that’s not very ‘Clark.’ I never would have figured you for a mask kind of guy.”

“Chloe how many different ways can I explain to you that I am *not* whoever it is that saved Lois Lane? Which is good, because if I *were* him, I wouldn’t be able to catch a break. It’s like she’s got it in for that guy or something.” Clark tried his best to keep most of his anger out of his voice, and hoped he only sounded mildly annoyed.

“She’s just trying to make the most out of a story that she was right *there* to see happen,” Chloe told him. “I don’t think she actually has it ‘in’ for you or anything.”

“Would you just *stop* saying that? It wasn’t me. Repeat: not me. Someone else, got it?” Clark snapped, throwing his pants across the room.

“Clark, I’m not stupid, okay? Could you stop treating me like I am? Maybe for a millisecond, or something?” Chloe shot back. “I mean, God, what is it? Just because I have breasts you can’t trust me? Too much estrogen to be able to keep a secret properly?”

“What are you talking about?”

Chloe laughed, bitterly. “Clark, how long have I known you and Pete? What have I done in all this time to make you think that you can’t trust me? I know there’s something different about you, and I know that Pete knows it, too. You guys *suck* at being secretive, by the way.”

Clark sat down, blinking. This had turned around on him too quickly, way too quickly. “I…Chloe…”

“Yeah, you think I want to know because I’m curious, but Clark? I’d like to know what you think is so terrible that you can’t tell me ‘cause it’ll make me freak out.” Chloe paused, and drew in a shaky breath. “Because, I really, honestly, hope that’s the reason you haven’t told me, rather than because you think I’ll run off to some big paper with your secret like it’s an exclusive.”

There was no way to get out of this conversation. No way at all, and Clark didn’t know exactly how to respond. It was like walking through a minefield or something. A minefield filled with meteor rocks.

“Chloe,” he began, very cautiously. “I do trust you. And…you’re right. I have been keeping secrets, but. It’s not because I think that you aren’t trustworthy…it’s…habit, I guess? It’s just…not something I’m really ready to talk about, okay? But when I am, I will tell you, Chlo’.”

“If you’re not ready to talk about it than how come Pete knows?” she demanded. “And don’t try to tell me he doesn’t. I know he does.”

“I’ve known Pete since I was first adopted, Chloe. It’s not so much about me having told him as about him just knowing. Chloe…don’t push, okay?” Clark swallowed hard. “Please. Just…please.”

There was a long pause, and Clark started to worry that he’d finally crossed some kind of line with her, that he was asking too much.

She sighed. “You ask a lot, Kent.”

“I know, I know,” he said, relief rushing over him like a wave, “but I really do love you, Chloe.”

“I know,” she replied, sounding resigned. “I’m the best.”

“You are,” he agreed, smiling.

“Tell Pete for me, will you?” she asked, in a tone of voice Clark didn’t completely understand.

“He already knows,” he told her gently.

She snorted, disbelieving. “Yeah, well I’ve gotta run. I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay. Have fun. And…I…,” Clark groped for the right words, but Chloe saved him.

“We’re okay, Clark, don’t worry. But, I really do have to go, so bye.”

He hung up the phone, and rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, blew out a long, long breath, and thanked whatever God would listen to an alien for Chloe Sullivan’s patience with him.

That had had the potential to get really ugly. A confrontation like that had been in the offing between them for so long that Clark was surprised it hadn’t spiraled out of control really quickly. She and Pete were his two mainstays and losing her would be hard. A lot harder than losing Lana, because Chloe had always been there. It was Chloe, Pete, and Clark, and that was just the way that it *was.*

Clark didn’t want to live in a world without Chloe-snark. Thank God he wouldn’t have to.

He’d outright promised to tell her someday, he realized abruptly. And…he’d meant it. Clark was tired of lying to the people he cared about, just plain goddamned tired of it. So he would. He’d tell Chloe, as soon as he learned how to *let go* of his secret. It was hard to stop guarding it after so long.

Maybe if he’d been able to be honest with Lana…but no. That wouldn’t have fixed everything that needed fixing between them.

Blowing out a long breath, he shifted so he was lying on the couch. Sweat trickled down his back, and he reminded himself again how much he really *needed* to get a fan or air conditioner.

Weather like this always made Clark more aware of his body. The long hours of the day were filled with sunlight, and his skin was warmed by the end of each day. Heat twirled over and around him, like a ribbon.

He missed Lana, missed the swells and curves of her body, the half hitching sigh she made when he kissed her. They’d always made love. Slowly, carefully touching each other like they thought the other one would break, and Clark hadn’t been sure that Lana wouldn’t. But sometimes? Sometimes he’d just wanted a long, hard, fuck and should he feel guilty about that?

Feel guilty about wanting to hold wrists in his fingers, feel long, pale legs wrapped around him and look down and see white skin turning red from kisses he’d sucked onto it?

Clark could feel his body responding to the images running through his head, and he ran a hand down his chest, reaching down to cup himself. He sucked in a breath.

It had been a long, long, time and it wouldn’t take very long. He pulled his cock out of his boxers and squeezed once, hard enough to make him hiss a breath in through his teeth, before he started jerking off in earnest.

God, he didn’t want to be careful, wanted to just *take* someone. Let them feel his strength, hold them down with his body. Wanted to bite hard enough to leave tooth marks, wanted to feel clawing up and down his back, hear someone talk dirty to him.

Wanted to see blue eyes burning up at him, strong arms around him, and oh, God, yeah. He jacked himself harder, faster, pulled back his foreskin to rub his thumb over the head of his cock, and pumped harder, faster into his hand.

Could see it now, see himself biting a pale, smooth shoulder, see the predatory grin, see the sharp white teeth, and those pale, icy eyes, looking up at him. Hot for him. God.

“Is this what you want, Clark?” Lex asked him, voice low, raspy.

Clark came yelling ‘yes.’

He reached over the arm of the couch and grabbed a handful of Kleenex, cleaning himself off, and breathing heavily.

Very carefully *ignoring* what had just happened as he got up, went into the shower.

Shit. He’d just gotten off thinking about *Lex* who not only was his friend and his employer but who was also, you know, a *guy*. And Clark was straight, so that didn’t make much sense.

And he was doing a really bad job at the whole ignoring thing.

It was normal for everyone to…you know…jack off to weird people occasionally, right? That’s what Freud was all about, wasn’t it? Having weird, and not *really* sexual feelings about people that you shouldn’t actually want? Was it some kind of forbidden fruit thing?

Because, really, Lex was straight. Clark was straight. They were a couple of straight guys. They liked *women*. Clark liked *women*. Liked them a lot. Liked having sex with women and not men and was therefore a heterosexual male.

Straight as a goddamned *arrow.*

Except that he’d just had one of the best orgasms he’d ever had while masturbating and he hadn’t been thinking about a woman.

Clark took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, and think about this logically. He was nineteen. He was in college. College was a normal time for people to…question themselves. Experiment. And maybe that’s what this was. Experimentation.

Exactly. Clark’s little experiment had been to accidentally jack off to mental images of himself *fucking Lex,* hard. So, if it had been an experiment, a nasty part of his mind wondered, what had been proven?

That he wanted Lex, maybe? That Lex would look really fucking *hot* naked with his legs wrapped around Clark’s waist?

And that answer really wasn’t helping with the freak out session that Clark had going. He took deep breaths. He turned the water colder. He still could feel his cock beginning to react to the pictures of Lex in his head.

Maybe it was just because he hadn’t had sex in so long the idea of *anyone* having sex with him was hot. That’s not to say that Lex wasn’t attractive, because, he was. Lex was lean, well-muscled, and his bald head was even kind of sexy. His skin looked like it would be cool to the touch, and his mouth was always pursing when he thought, like he was going to kiss someone or something.

He also had a great ass. And whoa, where the hell did that thought come from?

All right. So that was incontrovertible proof that he was, indeed, attracted to Lex.

Who was a *man.*

So maybe Clark wasn’t straight as an arrow. Maybe he was kinda…bi?

Was it really fair for his life to be this complicated all at once?

He turned the water up, making it colder, because he wasn’t up to yet another round of jacking off to a man right now. Clark waited until his body had calmed down fully, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips and running a hand through his hair.

“You,” he told his image in the mirror, “are bisexual.”

His image didn’t look any different than it had a half hour ago. Except, maybe, for the kind of wild look around the eyes. Yeah, so he was a little panicked, but being forced to question your sexuality *out of the fucking blue* would do that to a man.

“Bisexual,” he repeated to himself. “You like men and women. Women and men. You bat for both teams, Kent.”

Still didn’t look any different, except for the blush staining his cheeks. Clark sort of felt like this kind of a change should be reflected in his outer appearance. Like maybe there should be a big ‘B’ or something on his forehead.

He sighed, and turned off the lights in the bathroom as he walked into his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed, and sighed, heavily. The water evaporated off his skin into the heat, and he shivered a little.

This was weird. Like, really weird.

Clark wished he could call someone and talk to them about this. But who? Pete? No, that would probably not go over too well. Especially considering that the ‘bi’ part of his sexuality seemed to center around Lex Luthor.

Chloe? They were kind of on shaky ground at the moment, and as much as he loved Chloe-snark, he wasn’t sure he was up to it on this particular topic. It was too new.

And Lana was definitely out of the question. God, would that be awkward.

And other than those three, he was really out of options. The only other person who he really considered a *friend* was Lex, but that….No. Just, no.

Beyond awkward. Like, light years beyond.

He turned his head, and saw the clock staring at him. It was six thirty. He had an hour and a half to get himself under control before going over to Lex’s.

God. Life *sucked* sometimes.

**

He was late getting to Lex’s. He kept turning around and walking back home because he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to look Lex in the eye like, ever again.

It turned out to be okay, though, because Lex was late, too. Clark was shown to the living room by a nice woman who kept looking at him like she was afraid he was going to touch something.

He tried very hard not to, because he was pretty sure that anything he broke would end up costing as much as a month’s rent. So Clark sat in the center of a very large, expensive couch, and moved very little for about twenty minutes, doing his damndest to try and figure out a way of getting through the night without embarrassing himself hugely.

It was eight forty when Lex got there, looking uncharacteristically harried. “Clark, I’m sorry. I got caught up.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Clark told him, trying to look like he didn’t notice Lex’s eyes were silver and his skin looked soft. “I was kinda late, too.”

“Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?” Lex offered, standing by the bar.

“Uhm, just a Pepsi would be good,” he answered, and whoa, he totally just checked Lex’s ass out as Lex bent over. Had he been doing that all along and not noticing it?

Must have been. God.

It really was a nice ass.

He felt like his face was on fire from his blush as he looked down at his feet. Ice and glass clinked against one another as Lex sat beside him, and Clark could feel the heat coming off Lex’s body.

Did he really have to sit so close? Didn’t he know that doing so could possibly cause Clark to spontaneously combust? Or, even worse, cause Clark to set things on fire with his eyes?

“So, uhm, what’s up?” Clark asked, lamely. “At work, I mean.”

Lex let out a sigh, and shifted on the couch. When Clark looked up, he was rubbing hand over his scalp and squinting. “I had a meeting that ran longer than I planned.”

“Is everything okay?” Clark asked, alarmed by the tone of Lex’s voice.

“If you’re asking if you’ll still have a job next week, then yes, everything’s fine,” Lex told him with a small smile. “But the Phelan issue has been making my life a little more…complicated.”

Clark nodded, thinking. “Does this have something to do with that thing your dad mentioned? The thing about starting a new branch or something?”

Lex gave him a sharp look, tensing. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Clark answered with a shrug. “You can tell me to shut up, whenever.”

Lex studied him for a moment longer, as though looking for something in Clark’s features. He must have found it, because he relaxed again, nodding. “Yes, it does. I want to open a pharmaceutical branch, but I’ll need more funding to do that.”

“That’s what your meeting was about?”

That earned him another sharp glance. “What are you studying at Metropolis University, again? Journalism?”

Clark laughed. “Actually, yeah. Am I being too nosy?”

“A little bit,” Lex told him, smiling again. “But I guess it’s just to be expected. Now, tell me Clark, why would a nice guy like you want to go and do something like be a reporter?”

“I’m beginning to wonder myself,” Clark admitted, thinking of Lois Lane. He smiled back at Lex, and really, Lex did have a great mouth. Sexy.

Get a *grip*, he told himself, with a shake of his head. Just because you’ve figured out that you’re attracted to him doesn’t mean you have to think about sex around Lex *all the time*.

Except, it kind of did. Because Lex just…exuded sex.

“So, you ready to take me on, Clark?” Lex asked him, smile turning predatory and sharp. And whoa, that was hot, and Clark’s libido was really clocking some bisexual overtime right about now.

He swallowed hard, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered, wincing internally when he heard the husky timbre that had just crawled into his voice.

“All right then. Let’s do this,” Lex said. He stood and walked over to the entertainment center that dominated one side of the room. Yeah, Clark was definitely checking him out, and when Lex turned and caught his eye… whoa? Was that Lex checking Clark out as Clark checked Lex out?

Or was Clark imagining things? All he knew for certain is the look Lex gave him briefly, whether indicative of possible sexual feelings or not, gave Clark a feeling not unlike butterflies in his stomach. But butterflies weren’t terribly manly. Maybe mini-condors.

Lex walked back to the couch, and sat beside Clark again, and the mini-condors did loop-de-loops. He handed Clark a controller, and wiggled his eyebrows. “The games begin.”

“Damn right,” Clark said. “Get ready to be beaten, Luthor.”

“Not on your life, Kent,” Lex replied.

They played Zelda for almost three hours. Clark had several libido-related mishaps during the game, such as the time he let Link die because he started to wonder what it would be like to lick Lex’s scalp. That *really* weirded him out because wasn’t it enough to find out that he was bisexual without needing to discover that he had bald-kink on the same day?

Apparently not.

In the end, Lex won more games than Clark. And Clark could really only blame a little of that on his libido. But he’d been taught how to lose graciously, so he just grinned, and shook his head. “All right. You’re better at Zelda than I am. I admit it.”

“Ahh, the sweet taste of victory,” Lex teased.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Clark warned. “Next time we’re playing a game of my choosing.”

“Doesn’t matter what the game is. I play to win,” Lex told him, grinning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Clark opened his mouth to respond, but his hearing zoomed in, picking up with total clarity the voice of a man on the opposite side of town.

“On your knees,” he ordered, and panicked sobbing met the demand.

“Please, no, I have kids…please…” a man begged.

And that’s all Clark needed to hear. It didn’t matter that he was trying to avoid attention. It didn’t matter that Lois Lane was scrounging up any and all information on him. All that mattered was that across town a man was about to be murdered, and Clark could stop it.

“I’ve got to run, Lex,” he said hurriedly, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, okay. Do you want a ride home?” Lex asked, looking confused. “I can just –”

“No, really, I’d rather walk, it’s late, and I need to go get some sleep, so I’ll show myself out?” Clark said, waving as he walked backwards. “I had fun!”

Lex nodded, and waved. He may have said something more, but Clark didn’t hear him, because Clark was out of the apartment as fast as he could be without using his speed. He flew across town, zeroing in on the noise easily, and broke down the door the warehouse, where the sobbing was getting louder.

The man with the gun cocked it, holding it to the back of his would-be victim’s head. Clark sped across the warehouse and knocked the assassin out cold, helping the other man to his feet.

“Are you okay?” Clark asked, stepping back into the shadows, belatedly.

“Yes, I…I am, thanks to you,” the man said tremulously, running a hand through thinning blond hair and laughing.

“Good,” Clark said, reaching out to hit him on the forehead hard enough to knock him out, too. There was no way he could possibly get out of that place without being seen unless he did it, but he still felt a twinge of remorse and heard his father’s voice in the back of his head begin to lecture him on proper and improper uses of his strength.

Clark tied up the assassin using his belt, before dusting off his hands and looking around.

“Oh shit,” he said out loud.

His life had just gotten *even more* complicated, and he hadn’t even thought it was possible.

The warehouse was filled with cocaine.

Thinking fast, he frisked the assasin’s pockets until he came up with a cell phone, and punched in 9-1-1.

“There’s a man with a gun, please, come help me,” he begged, trying to sound terrified. “I’m at…679 Clearmott. A big grey warehouse, I’m hiding. Please, help me,” he repeated for good measure, before hanging up. He put the phone in the hand of the intended victim, and sped off when he heard sirens headed his way.

For the second time in a week, Clark was going to be front page news. Life *really* sucked.

CHAPTER FOUR

All in all, Clark thought, he was handling everything really well. He’d gotten out of bed, and he’d even gone to work, thereby proving that anyone who had ever called Clark Kent high strung had been wrong. He was completely calm. Totally Zen.

He was Clark Kent, Calm Guy.

Calm, Bisexual, Alien Guy who had made the headlines *yet again*, to be more precise.

Not that Clark was looking at the newspaper. He hadn’t looked at it all morning. He hadn’t watched the news, or answered his phone, or listened when the people around him talked about the news, because really? He was happier that way. Like, galaxies happier. Not to mention calmer.

Ignorance was *totally* bliss, and Clark would stand by that. Hell, it was his new motto.

However, Lex had a different philosophy. A philosophy that involved reading the Daily Planet at lunch. And wanting to talk to Clark about it. And maybe in a world slightly less fucked up than Clark’s, that would have been both normal and acceptable, and not something that would end up making Clark want to crawl into a hole and die.

This was not that world.

“Metropolis’ inferiority complex has really gotten out of hand,” Lex muttered, reading the front page of the Daily Planet and shaking his head.

Clark made a noncommittal noise, and applied himself to eating his gyro.

“Have you ever noticed that as soon as Gotham has something, Metropolis wants one, too?” Lex asked him, smiling. “Gotham has a new opera house? Metropolis builds one! Gotham has an unbalanced vigilante, so what happens? Metropolis gets one, too.”

“Unbalanced?” Clark asked, defensive. “What do you mean ‘unbalanced’?”

Lex’s eyes shimmered with amusement as his lips curled up. A pink triangle of tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and he shook his head and yeah, Clark was definitely as bisexual as he’d been last night because that was *hot*.

“Clark, do you think sane men go around prowling the seamier side of town in order to find someone who needs saving? This ‘Superman,’ or whatever it is they’re calling him now, is a thrill-seeking personality type or maybe he’s just addicted to the attention he gets from saving people,” Lex shrugged, turning the page. “Either way, I don’t say it argues well for his sanity.”

“Wait, who’s Superman?” Clark asked, confused. “Isn’t the Masked Samaritan, or Sumerian, or something?”

“‘The Masked Sumerian’?” Lex quoted, laughing. “No. Not likely. The Sumerians were an ancient Mesopotamian civilization. It *was* Samaritan, as in the biblical ‘good Samaritan.’ The Daily Planet editors, in their infinite wisdom, have decided to change the handle they’ve given our emerging hero to ‘Superman.’ Because, quote, you people have got it all wrong, he doesn’t wear a mask or anything, end quote.”

“Who said that? And why are they calling him Superman now?” Clark was beginning to regret not answering his phone. It would really have been easier to get this with a dose of snark from Chloe, because hearing Lex’s voice, thick and dark with amusement as he tossed out random details from the article, was totally shooting any and all calmness to hell.

“The man who pointed out that Metropolis’ new celebrity does not wear a mask also said his savior was stronger than the average man. ‘He was like a superman’,” Lex read, snorting. “I’m not entirely sure that Nietzsche would agree with that assessment, no matter how fast and how strong he may have been. What do you think, Clark?”

Clark frowned. “Do you really think this guy is ‘unbalanced’? He just saves people. I mean, maybe he just likes to help people and is in the right place at the right time. Is that so unlikely?”

“Frankly, yes,” Lex told him with a sharp smile. “While it pains me to have to tell you this, Clark, I’ve found that people rarely do things out of the goodness of their heart. Or, even if they do, they have an agenda. Everyone has an agenda.”

“Everyone?” Clark challenged, irritated. “Even you?”

Lex raised an eyebrow and cocked his head, studying Clark as his smile got brighter, sharper. “Especially me,” he said eventually.

His voice rasped along Clark’s nerves, and Lex was doing that thing again. That thing where he might or might not be checking Clark out, and yeah, Clark was definitely checking Lex out, and the manly mini condors were doing some manly mini-fluttering all throughout Clark’s body.

God. So, revision of theory: Not only was Clark bisexual, he was a *lot* bisexual and a *lot* attracted to Lex Luthor.

Oh, his dad was going to *love* this.

Lex held Clark’s eyes with his own for a moment longer, before shaking his head and turning back to the newspaper with a small, satisfied smile. He flipped the page, and his expression hardened, eyes flickering briefly with something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

“What?” Clark asked, concerned. “Lex? Are you okay?” He leaned in, and his eyes flashed over the newspaper.

The bold print across the top of the page read, “Former Mrs. Lex Luthor to Corroborate Phelan’s Testimony.”

“I didn’t…know you were married,” Clark managed, trying very hard to find something a little less inane to say.

“I wasn’t, for very long,” Lex said, shortly.

“Can I?” Clark asked, reaching for the newspaper. Lex nodded, and Clark pulled it over so that he could look at the picture of ‘the former Mrs. Luthor.’ Lex’s ex-wife was…hot, Clark thought, as he looked at the inset picture. Her dark hair was pulled back, and she gave the camera an expression of artful innocence.

He cleared his throat. “So, is that going to be a big deal? Her testifying, I mean? Is it going to cause a lot of problems?”

Lex’s lips thinned. “Most likely, otherwise she wouldn’t have done it.”

“Well…that sucks,” Clark muttered. He was going to have to work on that ‘not saying inane things’ issue, he thought, blushing.

“Well put,” Lex said dryly, which didn’t help with the blushing.

Clark studied the picture, noticing for the first time what she was wearing; an orange jumpsuit. “She’s in jail?” he asked, looking up at Lex’s perfectly blank expression.

“Yes. Attempted murder is not something that Metropolis takes terribly lightly,” Lex responded quietly.

“Who did she try to kill?” Clark blurted out before thinking.

Blue eyes cooled further, but Lex shrugged, sitting back in his chair comfortably. “Me. Actually, she didn’t do it. A student of hers shot me twice in the chest, but conspiracy to commit murder in the first degree is just as serious as attempted murder.”

Lex looked away, a corner of his mouth curling up into something that would have been a smirk, had it not been so bitter. “It was not one of my better break ups.”

Someday he was going to learn tact. Someday he would *think* before opening his mouth and hopefully, that day would be soon because Clark never wanted to live through anything this awkward again. Ever.

“I…wow. I’m sorry to hear that, Lex,” Clark stammered, blushing at how inadequate the words were. “That’s terrible.”

Lex made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Our marriage was one of my greater failures, yes.”

Confusion knotted Clark’s brow. “What do you mean? It wasn’t your fault. She tried to *kill* you. How is that your fault?”

“I didn’t take my own advice. I forgot for a moment that everyone, *everyone* has an agenda,” Lex said flatly. “It was a mistake. A mistake my father never would have made. He doesn’t let emotions cloud his judgment.”

“So what? You’re not your father,” Clark said with a shrug. “What he would have done doesn’t matter.”

Lex half-laughed, surprised. He met Clark’s steady gaze, and incredulity was written across his features. “I’ve never heard Lionel dismissed so easily before.”

Uncomfortable, Clark shrugged again, looking down at his empty paper plate before glancing back up to meet Lex’s eyes. “Well, it *doesn’t* matter. You’re Lex, not Lionel.”

“Both Luthors,” Lex pointed out, tilting his head to the side.

“Doesn’t mean you’re the same person. Or even that you should be,” Clark argued, impatient. “Did you love her?” he asked, gesturing toward the photograph.

Clark thought for a moment that he’d pushed too hard, because Lex sat silent and expressionless for several long seconds before answering simply, quietly, “Yes. I thought I did.”

“And then you married her. It’s what people *do*, Lex. She played you, it *wasn’t* your fault.” It was important that Lex got that, and Clark wasn’t really sure why it mattered so much to him, but it did, dammit. “Being passionate isn’t a bad thing.”

“Being reckless is,” Lex fired back. “I’ve learned that lesson very well.”

Clark felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to crush her with his bare hands. “She’s a *con* artist, Lex.”

“Which, ironically, now works to my advantage,” Lex said, deftly changing subjects. “Even beautiful con artists don’t have much credibility in court.”

“True,” Clark murmured, looking away. He listened to the traffic behind him, and watched his fingers as they crumpled his napkin methodically.

When he looked up, Lex was still watching him, eyes silver in the light. “What?” Clark asked.

“It’s odd,” Lex began, watching Clark carefully, “that I said any of that to you. I…I don’t usually discuss Desiree, or my father, for that matter. Not with anyone.”

“Why not? It’s the kind of thing that you *should* be able to talk about with your friends,” Clark said slowly.

Lex raised an eyebrow, considering. “Are we friends, Clark?”

“Yeah, I think so. If you want to be, that is,” he responded quickly, tripping over his words.

He held his breath as Lex thought, still studying Clark.

This was one of those moments, Clark thought, when things were decided. Pivotal things, and he could feel the importance of Lex’s consideration.

He sort of wished that Lex would consider faster. Because he needed to breathe soon, and was finding it strangely difficult to do so.

A slow smile teased Lex’s lips. “I don’t know. I’m not sure my ego can stand being friends with someone who’s better at playing videogames than I am.”

Breathing was no longer a problem, and the biggest, toothiest, happiest grin in Clark’s repertoire was all over his face. “Hey, who won at Zelda? I don’t think it was me.”

“It most definitely wasn’t,” Lex agreed, grinning back as he checked his watch.

“Lunch over?” Clark asked, standing.

He didn’t want lunch to be over. He didn’t want to have to go back to his desk, and see Lex disappear into professional mode, and possibly have to wrestle with the photocopier again. What he wanted was to stay here, at this little round black table, and keep talking to Lex, because talking to Lex was pretty amazing when Lex *actually* talked.

But Lex nodded. “Yes, and I have to get back for a meeting.”

Clark suppressed the urge to pout, nodding instead and following Lex.

And damn it, his friend Lex really…moved well. Okay, his *friend* Lex sauntered, and Clark couldn’t really take his eyes off the way his *friend’s* hips moved from side to side and those were *not* friendly thoughts and Clark was *really* going to have to work on his whole ‘insanely-attracted-to-Lex’ thing because it was *not* a good idea to get involved with your friends and Clark *knew* that.

Clark was still affirming his knowledge of that fact when he almost ran bodily into Lex.

“What?” he asked, when he noticed the questioning look on Lex’s face.

“You know, you haven’t asked me,” Lex commented. “If it’s true or not.”

“If what’s true?” Clark was *totally* lost and he was sure it showed on his face when Lex smiled briefly.

“Phelan’s accusations.” Lex was serious again, mouth a hard line in an otherwise completely expressionless face. “You didn’t ask me if they were true or not.”

“Oh, that. I didn’t have to,” Clark told Lex. “I don’t believe him. Plain and simple.”

Somehow Clark knew that the small, astounded smile Lex wore back to the office was the Lex-specific version of the Clark Kent goofy grin.

And he’d put it there. And that was pretty cool.

**

When they got back to the office, Lex disappeared into a meeting and Clark went back to his desk. He steadfastly continued to ignore the newspaper, and any and all thoughts of the …fame? notoriety? attention?... he was getting in the Daily Planet. He didn’t think about what his parents must have thought when they opened the newspaper, he didn’t wonder whether or not there had been a description of him, and he *definitely* didn’t try to figure out if he was going to keep doing this saving-people-in-high-profile-kind-of-way thing.

Because if he thought about *any* of that, he wouldn’t be able to do any work. And doing work, while maybe not the world’s most *stimulating* activity, was important because it led directly to being paid. Which was *key*.

Also? Clark didn’t really want to think about any of those things. They made him uncomfortable, in a kind of prickly-guilt-and-dread kind of way.

Clark was typing away at his computer happily, thinking of nothing newspaper-related, when his phone rang. He glanced over at the caller ID and winced when he saw his parent’s number. Reflexively, he reached out to answer the phone, but on second thought, let his hand fall, and ignored the call.

At the desk across from him, Jenna raised both light eyebrows in confusion at Clark’s behavior. Or maybe it was disapproval.

The phone rang again five minutes later, and Clark decided it was *definitely* disapproval as he tried to disregard the shrill ringing.

After the fourth time Clark let his phone go straight through to his voicemail, Jenna gave Clark a *look* that should *not* have been as effective as it was. She was five foot two and looked like she was fifteen. She had *freckles*. And yet, she only had to stare at him accusingly and Clark found himself doing what she wanted him to.

That is, picking up the phone, which was *not* something Clark wanted to do. Dammit.

“Clark? Clark are you there?” his mother’s worried voice asked, the minute he snagged the phone.

He winced. She was…two decibels above worried. In the angry-danger zone area of loud.

God, he was in trouble.

“Yeah, I’m here, Mom,” he said, suppressing a sigh.

She let out a long breath. “Are you all right? Your father and I tried to reach you all morning and there was no answer.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said hastily. “Just…busy. I’m actually kind of in the middle of something right now….”

“Busy? Busy how? We called you ten times, Clark. Where have you *been*?” Yeah, his mother was *definitely* yelling now.

“I went for a run this morning. To clear my head. And I’ve been at work since then,” Clark told her, trying valiantly not to blush as he lied. He failed spectacularly. “I’m at work right now, too, and I really should go.”

“Clark Kent, when you get done with work you call home, do you hear me?” His mother ordered, voice tight. “Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Call home immediately after walking through the door, got it?”

Oh shit