Title: Perennial
Author:klulu
Website: www.klulu.com

Disclaimer: Not only are they not mine, the list of people with dibs on them ahead of me is pretty long, too.
Rating: Probably a PG-13, but I'm going to play it safe and call it an R for themes and a few bad words.
Pairing: Clark/Lex
Spoilers: Everything through the end of Season Three.
Warnings: Just the slightest bit Luthorcesty in one or two spots.
Notes: This is written after Covenant and before any spoilers about S4 are available, so it could be entirely AU come autumn.
Feedback: I've heard that sending feedback to fanfic writers guarantees good karma and a better sex life for the person sending the feedback. But don't let that sway you or anything...

*****

Clark closed his eyes as the words again washed over him. The timbre of that voice reverberated through his bones, even now, though it had been more than a month since he'd been released from the cave.

You are greater than they can ever hope to be, Jor-El had told him. You will conquer them. They cannot stop you.

But with the words came the images, and it was those images that Clark called up now as he closed his eyes. Of Martha Kent, wailing as she tried to revive her husband. Weeping as he awoke in her arms.

From his position behind the cave wall, Clark had seen them. For weeks, they'd kept vigil beside that wall, refusing to believe that Clark was gone. Sometimes standing, hands on the wall as if aware that Clark could feel their touch, could draw from it the strength he needed to fight Jor-El's words; other times, collapsing in exhaustion as something deeper than pain wracked their bodies and their tears would begin again.

Helpless, as he himself was helpless.

They were weak, and they were flawed.

They loved him, and he loved them.

***

"It's not a good idea, Martha," Jonathan said again. "You're not being rational about this..."

Martha Kent scowled across the kitchen table at her husband. "I have to do something, Jonathan. I don't sleep nights any more. I...I can't even think right. If Lex has been investigating Clark all this time, then I've got to find out what he knows. What they know," she added pointedly.

Jonathan studied Martha with a frown. "I don't see how you expect Lionel Luthor to believe a word you're going to say. It won't work."

Martha said nothing. They'd had this argument before. She didn't doubt that Lionel Luthor was guilty of the murder of his parents. She realized that he could even be behind the attempts on his own son's life. But he'd been convicted of nothing, and so he was free. And within the walls of that mansion, there could be information dangerous to the safety of her son. Until a month ago, there had been too much else to worry about. But Clark was back now, a little worse for wear, and as devastated by Lex's betrayal as by the experience in the caves. And with Lex now out of the hospital and Lionel out of jail, both of them with access to a roomful of information about Clark, well....she had to have access to it, too. She had to know what was going on.

Her plan would work; she'd gone over it from every angle. She would tell Lionel that she believed him, even that she believed that Clark had lied at the bail hearing. It was, she would say, the most likely explanation for his sudden disappearance afterward. Clark had a history of running away when he felt he was guilty of wrongdoing. She could cite the previous summer's exploits if Lionel seemed skeptical of it.

From a press standpoint, Lionel would love the chance to accept her apology on behalf of her son for his 'scandalous lies' at the hearing. The further act of benevolence in reinstating her employment in LuthorCorp when her family was struggling financially........., yes, she knew it would appeal to Lionel as a tool to use as he rebuilt his public image.

It would work. It had to.

But as if he'd followed her every thought, Jonathan spoke just then. "It won't work," he insisted, hands gripping his coffee mug obsessively. "Lionel Luthor is a lot of things, but he's not an idiot. Why would he ever believe you'd trust him over Clark?"

"Because I'm going to tell him I do," she answered him reasonably. "If Lionel has one weakness, it's his ego. He believes he can persuade anyone of anything. I'm going to let him think he's persuaded me."

"You're going to sell out our son, you mean," Jonathan said angrily. At the glare from his wife, he flinched.

"Don't you dare talk to me about selling out our son, Jonathan Kent." Standing abruptly, Martha stalked over to the counter to pour another cup of coffee. "He spent months in those caves because you promised to bring him back to Jor-El. All I'm doing is trying to find out how much the Luthors know about him, and to get myself into a position where I can maybe run a bit of interference if they're getting too close." Her husband only shook his head stubbornly as she added, "Do you have a better idea? We can't just ignore that room, Jonathan."

Silence filled the kitchen.

They were at stalemate. She knew her husband's concerns were valid, knew he was struggling with concern for her safety against the safety of their son. Knew also that he was aware of Lionel's affection for her. But what Jonathan saw as an additional threat, Martha saw as a form of protection. Because no matter what games the Luthors played with each other, neither Lex nor Lionel would hurt her. She was sure of it. Not that it would have mattered to her either way. Clark was all that mattered. Though Clark was even more adamantly against the idea than Jonathan was.

But Jonathan was shaking his head again. "I'm not letting you do this, honey. I won't have you going back to work for Lionel Luthor."

"Well, Jonathan," she finished with a sigh, "that's too bad. Because I'm not asking your permission. I'm telling you. I'm meeting with Lionel this afternoon. And you are not going to stop me." And with a final sip of her coffee, she turned to the sinkful of dishes, effectively dismissing him.

***

There were times when the feeling of being watched would overwhelm Lex, times when he'd have to will himself to remain still and appear unconcerned. He never shrugged it off to paranoia, knowing his father as he did. He'd grown to expect it in his personal life, and over the past few years, he'd come to expect it in his professional life as well. He resented it, but he also learned from it. Learned to hone his instincts, to differentiate the paranoia from the real clues that his mind was subconsciously experiencing. He may have hated the possibility that his father would spy on him, but he had to admit he was developing an invaluable skill because of it. No doubt, his father expected him to do so.

Nothing irritated him more than when circumstances proved his father right.

But at the moment, his instinct was telling him that this was not his father's doing. Someone was watching him, though. The skin on the back of his neck prickled with it. His eyes rested on the blue Ty-Nant bottle open in front of him on the desk. It wasn't carelessness that that bottle had been left there, he was sure of it. His staff was too good for that.

Someone was toying with him.

Son of a bitch, he thought to himself. Why was he feeling like this? During his stay in the hospital, he'd felt like this more than once, but the sensation had been trivial compared to everything else he was dealing with then. For the first week, he'd been unconscious much of the time. Consciousness brought with it an awareness of pain in both legs, his head, and his ribs. Eventually the doctors were able to explain to him that there had been an explosion in one of the caves, and that he was the only person recovered. He had no memory of having been in the cave at the time, nor of having planned to visit the caves any time recent to that event. He suspected that it might have had something to do with Clark, but thinking of Clark hurt too much, so he focused instead on other things.

Still, thoughts of the caves intruded inevitably into his mind. And with them came the nagging suspicion that if he had been in those caves, he wasn't alone. It was more than a hunch; his very bones seemed to insist upon it.

The fire marshal assured him that the caves had been thoroughly searched, and that no sign of another victim had been found. The doctors told him that memory problems were not uncommon with a head injury. But Lionel, Lex knew, believed him. Believed that someone else had been in that cave with him. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any easier to talk with his father. And Lex needed someone to talk to. He needed Clark.

When Lex was well enough to leave intensive care, he'd insisted on being allowed to recuperate at home. It would be easier for Clark to visit him, he reasoned.

But Clark never came.

He's been home from the hospital for three weeks now, Lex thought to himself. Still, no other body had been recovered from the caves, and Lex suspected that one never would be.

Damn. Why did he think that?

He thought briefly of sending for Lucas. He'd been working hard to earn his brother's trust since setting him up in Granville. If Lionel were in prison where he belonged, Lex could have brought Lucas to live at the mansion. But with Lionel free, he didn't dare.

He closed the folder in front of him. He wasn't really taking in any of the information, anyway. His brain wouldn't stay focused on the task in front of him. Well, no point in sitting here doing nothing, he thought as he rose, noting that his legs, at least, seemed to be responding well to his wishes.

From his pocket, Lex withdrew a silver silk handkerchief and carefully collected the Ty-Nant bottle with it. If someone was playing with him, he may as well find out who it was.

***

"I really do appreciate this, Lionel," Martha spoke earnestly. "Ever since Jonathan's heart attack, we just can't survive on what we can bring in from the farm. And I have to admit," she added, in what she hoped was a sincere tone, "I do miss having more of a challenge in my life than balancing the farm accounts."

Lionel laughed easily. "Well, it'll definitely be a challenge, Martha," he assured her. "And I'm certainly glad to have you back on board." He tilted his glass toward her in a toast as, elsewhere in the restaurant, a patron's wristwatch chirped, marking the four o'clock hour.

"Thank you," she nodded, sipping from her own water glass. She watched Lionel as he signaled the waiter to clear away their plates and ordered coffee for them both.

In the quiet of the candlelit restaurant, she could dimly hear rain striking the roof. A moment later, sconces on the wall came softly alive as a waiter across the room began drawing closed the drapes against the not-quite twilight outside.

"You're quiet, Martha," Lionel spoke finally. "This whole thing with Clark must be upsetting for you."

She nodded. "I'm never sure about him any more. What he'll do, what he'll say... I guess I wish he were little again," she shrugged. It took a moment for her to realize the truth in that statement.

Lionel returned the nod, contemplative, and brushed back with one hand the thick short hair he now had. "Hmmm, yes, I know what you mean. They're so much less complicated when they're younger, more innocent. We think we can protect them..."

For an instant, Martha stilled. Her eyes scanned his for signs of a threat. Jor-El couldn't keep her from trying to protect her son, and this man wouldn't, either.

But he wasn't talking about Clark, she realized. Visions of green rocks and cave walls faded into remembrances of tabloid headlines and rumors of wild teens in Metropolis....

...a slim, arrogant boy, flirting with her son...

...I promise, I'm not a criminal mastermind...

...and the memory of Clark sobbing one night, his heart shattered...

"How are you and Lex getting along these days?" she asked Lionel. "False murder accusations can't really be that easy to get past," she noted gently.

"We're...readjusting slowly," he admitted, acknowledging her concern with a confidential nod.

Martha smiled sympathetically.

"His mind is at such a fragile point right now...," Lionel explained.

...he was strapped down, Mom, Clark's voice echoed in her mind. He was helpless...

And she did NOT need that image in her head right now. Not if she was going to succeed in convincing Lionel that she believed him.

"He was struggling," Lionel Luthor was saying, "even before he became deluded about my parents' unfortunate deaths..."

"...ever since his experience on the island, really," He paused to sip his coffee, and Martha closed her eyes for a moment. "He's been through quite an ordeal," he finished.

"It must have been terrible," she murmured.

When there was no answer, she opened her eyes again. The man across the table was watching her with curious tenderness.

"It was," he confided softly. It chilled her to the bone.

They drank the rest of their coffee in silence.

***

In the dream, Lex buried his face in Clark's shoulder. The farmboy usually smelled of sunshine and freshly-mown grass, but this time was different. This time, Clark's scent was almost Lex's own - Emporio Armani and fine brandy. Hell, for that matter, it was almost Lionel's scent. And that probably should have been disturbing to Lex, but it wasn't.

They were lying back on one of the burgundy leather sofas, Clark's arm strong and warm along Lex's back. Their legs were stretched out, feet propped on the low coffee table in front of them. Lex's eyes were closed in the dream, his head turned to the side to taste Clark's skin just above the collar of his tee-shirt. Clark was silent, but Lex could sense the contentment within him, enveloping them both...

...until the distant murmur of voices began breaking through.

He sighed softly and nuzzled the warm flesh beneath his lips, even as a part of his brain began processing different clues. The clatter of footsteps in the hallway outside the study door, the rise and fall of voices engaged in conversation...

He knew he had to wake up, leave the dream for now.

And as if his dream-Clark were thinking the same, the gentlest kiss brushed Lex's temple, and Clark was gone.

Lex opened his eyes to find himself alone on the sofa. As he rose, the study door flew open to admit Lionel into the room. With some surprise, Lex saw that his father was followed by Martha Kent. She looked nearly as disconcerted to find herself at the mansion as he was to see her there.

Dammit, Clark, Lex thought with a sigh. Why aren't you here?

***

The weakness in his legs had nothing to do with his injuries or physical therapy as Lex watched Martha Kent wander the blue-lit room in a daze. Like his father, he opted to wait on the top step of the room.

"Mrs. Kent?" he spoke softly.

For several seconds, Clark's mother didn't answer. Lex suspected that his voice simply hadn't broken through her thoughts, but he didn't repeat himself. Beside him, his father had taken hold of his elbow, and Lex realized that he must have swayed a bit. He wanted to sit down; instead, he glared at Lionel and pulled his arm free.

Across the room, Martha Kent turned and looked at the two men. "I don't understand," she said with a sad shrug. "How could you have been doing this, Lex? Why?" She walked slowly toward them, pausing before the bottom step. "Clark was your friend."

Lex nodded. "And I'm his friend," he told her. She didn't believe him right now, he knew, but that made his statement no less true. "I would never do anything to hurt him."

"Do you know how betrayed he feels right now?" she asked him.

Lex's eyes shifted from the woman in front of him to the man standing beside him. "Yes," he assured her bitterly, returning his gaze to her. "I know exactly how he must feel."

Mrs. Kent said nothing.

"None of this...," he went on, his eyes sweeping the room in indication, "...is about my...my relationship with him. My reasons for this.....," Lex paused. There was no way to explain his reasons. And it would do no good to try. He scrubbed one hand roughly over his face, then looked at her again.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "But please know, I would never hurt him. And I would never allow anyone else to hurt him, either. Clark knows that," he added, but whether for her reassurance or his own, he didn't know. "He has to know that."

Martha stood silent before him for a moment, weighing his words. She would find them inadequate, he knew. Certainly she wouldn't forgive him.

But she nodded slowly.

"Alright, Lex," she murmured. "I believe you." She glanced over her shoulder and took in the room once more, then turned her attention back to Lex. "I would like to talk to you about this some more. But right now, I..." she shrugged, soft red hair falling over her shoulder. "Right now, I just can't process anything more. Do you mind if we talk about this again in a day or two?"

Unable to speak, he merely swallowed.

Martha climbed the stairs. "I ought to get home now," she said, this time to Lionel. "Shall I begin tomorrow?"

Surprised, Lex turned to his father, who nodded at Mrs. Kent. "Yes, of course. At your convenience," he added with a smile. "Come along, I'll walk you to your car."

Lex stepped aside, puzzled, as he allowed them to pass, then with a final glance at the image of Clark on the wall, followed them down the hallway.

***

He'd been standing there for quite a while, listening with ears finely tuned to the world around him. Earlier, the irregular beat of his father's heart had alarmed him, but it was settling down now. He knew the cause had been the argument his parents had had, and not another impending heart attack, but the sound was frighteningly similar. Its cadence was steady now, though, and Clark himself breathed more easily with it.

Now there were only the normal tones of the Kent farm - the clatter of flatware being placed in a drawer, the rustle of newspaper...

Straining his ears, he picked up another familiar heartbeat - one he'd heard many times even before he'd developed this latest ability. Lex's heart was something he'd grown to recognize from the closeness of skin on skin, from evenings spent lying with his head on his former lover's chest, his own heart finding its rhythm in that strong, steady beat. It had been, at one time, the most exquisite sound on the planet to him, both exciting and comforting in ways he knew he'd only ever associate with one human being.

It hurt now, listening to it.

The room still haunted him. It came to him each time he closed his eyes - an eerily lit, sterile, surreal museum of his life. He wondered why Lex didn't have classical music piped in to complete the effect. But maybe none of the masters had written anything appropriate to such a betrayal. And a Luthor would never select something inappropriate.

He'd believed Lex - believed in Lex. "You can't trust a Luthor," his father would tell him. But he'd defend his faith in Lex. He'd insist that Lex was a good friend.

Friend. Yeah, right. If his father knew how much more than that they were, the elder Kent would have another heart attack. Not that Clark had ever truly had delusions in that respect - he knew that Lex would eventually grow tired of him, look for someone more worthy. More acceptable. But always he had believed that the love between them was real. It hadn't dawned on him that Lex's interest in him was purely scientific, that the lust and the concern and the...love...could be nothing more than a pretense in order to keep Clark close enough to study.

Now he could only ask himself why he'd ever thought it could have been more than that in the first place.

A wave of pain washed over him as the images flooded his mind, and he turned away from it again.

Ten days after his release from the cave wall, he'd been jarred from restless sleep as the explosion shattered the November night. The assault on his ears was horrendous - the shouts and sirens, the clatters of electronic equipment and rumbles of falling debris and stomping feet. And through it, one faint repeating pulse, terrifyingly shallow, uncertain - terrifying in its very frailness - had shaken Clark to the core. He'd stood at the mouth of the caves, not even remembering the race to get there, dizzy with relief as the paramedics assured him that Lex would live.

Every night since then, he'd stood here and listened. Every night, the pain again struck him. And every night, he slept, grateful that the pain was caused only by what had happened between them, and not by what he'd feared.

***

"There really wasn't much more than that, Jonathan." Martha went over it again. Beside her in their bed, her husband sighed, but whether in relief or frustration, she wasn't sure. She'd been naming the items over and over again - pictures and re-creations and alien symbols drawn on paper - until she wasn't sure herself what she was missing. "Bullets.... a piece of meteor rock..... But the real disk wasn't there. No pieces of the spaceship, no blood sample, nothing alien," she told him, adding quietly, "I could certainly see why it upset Clark, though. That room was disturbing, to say the least. And I had several months to visualize it before I saw it."

Jonathan turned onto his side. "You don't think they've removed anything from it since Clark saw it?"

"It looked like what Clark described," Martha told him. "It didn't look like anything was missing."

"And you're still determined to take the job with Lionel, even now that you know what they do and don't have?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Of course. If they add to it, I want to know. We need to know."

"They won't add to it, honey. They'll just move it," her husband pointed out.

"Of course," she countered. "But I'll be in a better position to find out where they move it. Which will give us a better chance of knowing what they add to it."

Jonathan nodded weakly. "I'm still not crazy about the idea of it, you know."

"I know."

"But I trust you."

She kissed him softly. "I know."

Jonathan reached out to the bedside table and switched off the lamp. "So what did Lionel say about the room?" he wondered aloud.

Martha paused. She wasn't sure this was the sort of thing Jonathan needed to know, but as he'd just said, he trusted her. She could feel him waiting beside her for her response.

"He said he thinks Clark is something of an obsession of Lex's," she let him know. "On a...a...personal....level."

Martha listened to the silence as her husband digested that.

"Oh, shit," he finally muttered.

"I think he's right," she confessed. "And I think it may be mutual."

"Shit."

"It explains a lot, Jonathan," she pointed out gently. "Clark's reactions toward Lex are so extreme. Whether he's defending him or angry at him, he's....."

"Shit."

Martha kissed Jonathan softly. "I wish you'd stop saying that. I'm not exactly comfortable with this, myself. But we've accepted that Clark is different in other ways. We can certainly accept this."

"Sh--"

"Shhh," Martha caught him, pressing another kiss to her husband's mouth. "Shhh."

***

Only one person could have thrown the doors open in such an imperious manner. Lex didn't bother to look up to greet him.

"I expected you to get here earlier," Lex spoke, eyes still on the paperwork in front of him. "Your idiot called. Left a message for you to call him back."

"Dominic can wait," Lionel told him, pouring himself a drink. "Martha will be here in a few minutes, and I have a couple of things that I want to go over with her."

Lex sighed and glanced up now. "Why are you having her work from the mansion, Dad? You don't live here any more."

"And the Kents don't live in Metropolis," Lionel pointed out. "Martha can't very well commute to the corporate offices daily, and there's no place appropriate for her at the plant."

Lex folded his hands on the glass desk, but said nothing.

"Did you see to it that her former office was ready for her?"

"Yes, Dad," Lex assured him. "Though I don't really know why. She's seen the room now - and you've succeeded in destroying my relationship with Clark - so why are you really having her work from here?"

His father chuckled. "Obviously she intends to spy on you, Lex," he explained. "I just want to make it easier for her."

"That's why you're going to leave her on her own on her first day here," Lex added, and his father acknowledged it with a cursory nod. "It's useless, you know," Lex told the older man. "It's not as if I'll add anything to that room..."

"Of course you won't," Lionel agreed amiably. "I've raised you better than that. But Martha would feel better keeping an eye on you." He leaned over the desk a bit, looking down at Lex. "It's a parent thing, son. We become protective in unusual ways. You wouldn't understand."

Lex gazed at his father, wondering vaguely just how many generations back he'd have to trace his family tree to find ancestors who weren't insane. Deciding that the answer would depress him, he rose from the desk and headed up the library steps.

"You won't forget to call Dominic, will you?" he asked over his shoulder. "He's sounding a bit jealous, and I really don't have time to play games with two of your red-headed league - I've got a couple of meetings of my own planned for this afternoon."

"I'll see to Dominic," the older man promised cheerfully. "And Martha," he added. "Oh, and son? When you set up a new location for your research on Clark, do let me know. I may have an addition or two of my own to contribute."

Lex leaned over the balcony railing, astonished once more at his father's audacity. But the older man, without a glance upward, swept out of the room before Lex could respond.

It wasn't going to matter how many generations back he went.

***

Cutting through the cornfields on his way home, Clark could hear his father chopping more wood for the fireplaces. Frustrated, he raced the rest of the way home.

He was still halfway across the yard when he began calling. "You know, Dad, we've got enough firewood put aside now for six months. You really don't need to be doing that."

Jonathan stopped and waited for Clark to reach him. "Hardly that long, son," he commented with a grin. "But there's nothing wrong with being prepared," he told him. "Besides, it looks like we're in for a cold winter. We may need more wood than usual."

"You shouldn't be overexerting yourself, though," Clark admonished. "If Mom were home..."

"Well, she isn't," Jonathan pointed out. "And I do run this farm. I think my judgment is worth something."

Clark sighed. "I didn't mean anything by it. I just don't want you to get sick again." He dropped his bookbag and extended his hand to take the axe from his father. "If you really think we'll need more firewood, then let me take care of it." As he often did now, he gave a quick listen-and-x-ray to Jonathan as they stood talking. He was pretty sure his father was never aware when he did it.

Today, Jonathan seemed to be doing well healthwise, and Clark relaxed.

"No," his father answered him. "I'm fine, Clark. And you've got homework, and chores." With a nod of his head, Jonathan gestured at the bookbag. "Pick that up and put it inside before the rain starts. Then fix yourself something to eat. I don't expect your mother to be home until at least six o'clock, so we're on our own tonight for dinner. May as well make the most of it," he added.

Perking up at the last part, Clark asked, "Make the most of it? As in, we get to eat whatever we want?"

Jonathan laughed. "Tonight, yes. Don't expect it every night, though."

Clark retrieved his bookbag and wiped a bit of mud from it onto his shirt. "Ok. But Dad, I wish you'd come inside and keep me company. We really do have enough firewood, you know."

The two men turned to face the large stack of logs, and in the periphery of his vision, Clark saw his father nod. "Probably," the elder Kent agreed. The two men glanced at the large pile of logs. "Okay," Jonathan told him. "You win. Get inside and fix something for both of us to eat. I'll take it easy the rest of the evening, fair enough?"

Clark grinned. "Fair enough." He began walking toward the house, then sped back to where his father was still standing at the woodpile. Shifting his bookbag over one shoulder, he reached the other around Jonathan in a quick hug. "Love you," he said. Then he zipped back across the yard and into the house.

***

"He tried to kill you, Lex. I don't need him coming after me next."

"Lucas," Lex began reasonably. "He doesn't know how to find you. I wasn't followed. You know I'm always careful, don't you?" He waited until his brother nodded. "I just needed someone to talk to," he explained. He glanced around the Granville penthouse. "Your taste is becoming more....Luthorlike, I see," he remarked with some amusement.

Lucas bristled. "Sorry if it doesn't measure up to the mansion or the place in Metropolis. I'm still a few years behind the curve, you know."

"I'm sorry, Lucas," Lex offered. "It wasn't meant to be an insult."

With a shrug, Lucas dropped onto a dark leather sofa; a jerk of his head indicated to Lex that he was welcome to take a seat on a similar sofa on the opposite side.

"What did you want to talk about?" the younger brother asked.

Idly, Lex traced the gold rim of the coffee table. "Last month I was injured in an explosion."

"I heard," Lucas told him. As Lex raised an eyebrow in curiosity, Lucas informed him in his usual defiant tone, "It was on the news."

Lex nodded. "My memory of the events around that time are.... blurry. I'm trying to piece things back together."

His brother leaned back against the sofa, watching Lex through half-slitted eyes. "How do I fit in to any of this?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Lex confessed. "But I need someone to trust - someone to talk to. I came here." As he watched the younger man, Lex could see him begin to relax. He hoped his next question wouldn't put the boy back on guard, but he had to know. "Lucas, have you ever been to the Kawatche caves?"

"You think I blew you up?" Lucas asked with an amused smile. "You're the only benefactor I have at the moment, brother."

Shaking his head, Lex explained, "No, of course I don't think that. But I can't remember everything from around that time, and I'm trying to figure out why I was even in the caves. I wondered if perhaps I'd been there at some point to show them to you." More cautiously, he added, "I keep getting this feeling that someone else was in the caves at the time. I've been afraid someone else might have been...hurt. I needed to know it wasn't you."

Lucas spread his arms out expansively and drew in a deep breath. "As you can see, I'm fine," he told Lex. He returned to his former pose. "So I guess it wasn't me," he told his brother.

"No, I can see it wasn't," Lex agreed. "I'm glad. I've been worried about you, but I didn't want to risk calling you anywhere that Dad might have spies or wiretaps."

"No problem," Lucas assured him. "I wanted to stop by the hospital and visit you, but you're the one who warned me to stay out of dear old dad's radar in the first place. What's the old bastard up to these days, anyway?" Lucas asked lightly. He rose and headed toward the open kitchen area.

Lex followed him, taking a seat on a leather barstool and accepting the wine cooler his brother offered.

"I don't know," he admitted in answer to Lucas' question. "He doesn't seem to be too ill. I know he's involved in some experimental treatments for the liver disease, but..."

Lucas leaned across the countertop and tapped on it for attention. "I meant what was he up to, businesswise. I could care less about his health," he added with a cool smile.

For a moment, Lex could only stare, chilled. But then, why should his brother care? Lionel had made his choice - had been willing to risk a bullet to his own head rather than kill Lex, yet hadn't hesitated to turn the gun on Lucas. Of course, it had been Lucas who threatened Lionel first. Then again, Lionel had cast Lucas aside years earlier...

As long as I live, I don't think I'm ever going to understand your family, Clark had once said to him.

Join the club, my farmboy.

But images of Clark still hurt, so Lex brought himself back to the present with a reluctant sip of the wine drink and returned to Lucas' question.

"I don't know," Lex told him. "I keep my eyes open and my investigators watching, but if he's got any other plans to kill me, I haven't learned about it."

"Well, if your investigators learn anything, let me know. I don't want to find myself next on the list."

Lex set the cooler bottle on the countertop and stood up. "I'll let you know," he promised his brother. "Don't worry, Lucas. You're under my protection. You'll be safe."

"Yeah, right." Lucas smirked. "Look how safe you keep yourself. Poisoned brandy and blown-up caves."

With a wry smile, Lex shrugged. "I'm learning from my mistakes, Lucas. I won't let the same thing happen to you."

He headed for the front door of the penthouse, Lucas at his heels. As his hand reached for the door to the private elevator, Lex spoke again. "How'd you know it was brandy that was poisoned, Lucas? Did I tell you that before the explosion?"

There was no answer. Lex didn't need the glance over his shoulder to know that the boy's expression had turned to ice; sudden cold wafted toward him as an almost tangible thing. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he explained easily. "I'm just trying to piece things back together...." he stopped as his brother shook his head and chuckled.

"Sorry, Columbo, but it was in all the papers. Better luck next time." He grinned, but the smile didn't quite make it to his eyes.

Lex met his brother's gaze. "As I said, Lucas," he pointed out calmly, "I was merely asking. Call me if you need anything," he reminded him.

"Sure," Lucas told him. "Who else have I got?"

Who else have either of us got? Lex wondered, as the elevator descended.

***

There was a light rain still falling when Lex arrived at the coffee shop, a small paper bag in one hand. A quick survey of the place told him his appointment had not yet arrived, so he headed for the counter at the back. A young waitress with blonde hair was busy steaming a cappuccino.

"I'll be right with you, sir," she told him.

"No hurry," he assured her. As he spoke, the main door opened and his security officer walked in.

The waitress returned her attention to him at that moment, and Lex ordered two coffees, then headed for the empty table in the corner and motioned for the newcomer to do the same.

"Mr. Raynes," Lex began. "Thanks for meeting me here. I have some work for you, and I don't want to discuss it at the mansion."

"Understood, Mr. Luthor." Raynes took a seat, nodded absently as the waitress placed a mug of coffee in front of him, and waited for Lex to continue.

As the waitress left, Lex explained, "I want all of the details about the explosion in the cave."

Raynes frowned. "I understood that you already had that information from the official accident report."

"I think there's more to it than that," Lex informed his security chief. "I want you to look into it."

"Yes, sir." Raynes drew out a small notebook and a pen. "Do you have any information I can use for a starting point? Any contact names?"

"Start by checking my schedule and phone records for the two or three days leading up to it," Lex told him. "Check on anyone I saw or spoke to."

"Yes, sir."

"Check all of the details of the official report for discrepancies."

Raynes hummed vaguely his assent and continued taking notes.

Lex pushed the paper bag across the table toward Raynes. "I want this checked for fingerprints," he told the security officer.

Raynes opened the bag with one finger and glanced at the blue bottle.

"And don't - DON'T - approach me with anything about this in the mansion. When you find out anything, signal me and I'll arrange a meeting."

Raynes downed his coffee in one swallow. "Yes, sir," he assured Lex. "Is there anything else?"

Lex nodded. "Yes. I want to know every movement of every member of the security team at the mansion. Everything they see, everything they do. Meet me in the gym each morning after my physical therapist leaves, and bring me the security staff's records."

Raynes reviewed what he'd just recorded in his notes. "Security meetings each morning, investigative meetings only as arranged."

"Right," Lex declared. "And one more thing..."

Silent, expressionless, Raynes waited.

"If my father has anything to say to any member of the household staff - security or not - I want to hear about it immediately."

Raynes nodded.

"Thanks," Lex dismissed him. "That's all for now."

***

Clark would have recognized it as one of Lex's cars, even without the vanity plates. He turned to walk the other way, not sure which doorway Lex might emerge from, just needing to be away from anywhere Lex was.

Instead, he walked right into him as he turned.

Lex, more pale than usual, offered a subdued smile. "Clark," he murmured, the one word so much more than just a name being spoken.

Clark paused, then sidestepped the other man and continued walking.

A hand reached out and grabbed the sleeve of Clark's jacket. "Do you have a minute?"

"I'm busy," Clark told him.

"You're angry. I don't blame you..."

"Let go of my arm, Lex." Not surprisingly to Clark, Lex did so.

"Clark. Please."

The request was polite; Lex wouldn't beg.

"What is it?"

"I thought we could talk."

"I don't see what good it would do," Clark told him.

It was the first time since the explosion that he had been this close to Lex. Instinctively, he ran his eyes up and down the other man's slender form, checking the extent of remaining injuries. As he returned his gaze to Lex's, he was met with a curious glance.

"What?" he asked, wincing as he heard the belligerent tone in his own voice.

Lex shrugged lightly. "I'd like to think you just couldn't resist looking," he said with a soft smile. "But it felt like you were staring right through me."

"I heard you were hurt in that explosion last month," Clark admitted. "Looks like you're doing okay, though."

Lex said nothing, but leaned back against the Porsche.

"Are you?" Clark asked reluctantly. "Doing okay, that is?"

"Yes," Lex told him. "I'm fine."

"I'm glad."

"Yeah?" Lex asked.

Now Clark shrugged. "It's not like I'd wish you any harm," he said.

"Thanks."

Clark shrugged again.

Lex said nothing for a moment, but studied the car keys in his hand.

"I'd better be going," Clark said quietly.

"I wish you wouldn't," Lex told him. "If you have time, maybe we can go somewhere. Talk. Maybe clear the air a bit."

"There's no point," Clark told him. "I can't trust you. I don't know what you can say to change that."

Lex continued studying his keys.

"I miss you, Clark."

Clark swallowed, but remained silent.

"I miss having you to talk to," Lex murmured. "I miss...everything."

"You don't miss anything about me," Clark said sadly, "except maybe having me around as a scientific curiosity."

Lex brought his head up sharply, a stunned look in his eyes. "That isn't true, Clark," he spoke with quiet intensity. "I miss you. I miss us...," his voice dropped off.

Clark wanted desperately to believe that. But memories of the artifacts in that room swam before his eyes. He shook his head wordlessly.

Neither moved for a moment.

Finally, it was Clark who broke the silence. "Why are you still involved with your father?" he asked.

Lex paused before answering. "He's free, Clark," he explained. "They can't try him again for the murders."

"But you know he's guilty of them," Clark pointed out.

Lex nodded.

"So why do you have anything to do with him? Why haven't you cut him out of your life completely?"

"He's going to remain free, no matter what I believe." Lex shrugged, then offered, "He said he forgave me for trying to have him sent to prison."

"You believe that?" Clark asked, incredulous.

"What else do I have?" Lex countered. "I need someone, Clark. Someone to talk to. Someone who at least pretends to care whether I live or die..."

"It doesn't matter who?" Clark wanted to know.

Lex's gaze drifted past Clark's shoulder to a point down the road. "It matters," he confessed. "But it's not all that matters."

Clark could think of nothing to say.

Lex thrust hands and car keys into his pockets. "Your mother's seen the room," he informed the younger man.

"I've heard," Clark admitted.

"I've told my staff that she's allowed in there anytime she wants. So are you," he added.

Clark shrugged. "What difference would it make? You've probably recreated everything in a lab somewhere. Once your father let your secret out, it wasn't going to matter who came or went from that room."

He took Lex's silence for agreement, and continued, "You and your father are just playing her for a fool, aren't you?"

Lex's expression cooled a bit; his jaw twitched once. "You know me better than that," he told Clark.

"You're letting her think she's protecting me in some way..."

"...Clark..."

"...but you really just plan to do your investigation somewhere else..."

"Clark," Lex interrupted sharply, "I would never play your mother for a fool. Neither would my father, for that matter."

Clark smirked, but Lex shrugged. "He has a bit of a soft spot for her," he said.

"Why does he have her working for him, then?" Clark demanded.

Lex shrugged. "He gets a bit of publicity and a good assistant, she gets the extra income for your household. What's the problem?"

"But why have her work out of the mansion, if not to give her a false sense of security?" Clark asked insistently.

"I don't know, exactly. I've asked him that myself," he admitted, "but I'm told I wouldn't understand."

Clark sighed, and as he watched, Lex pulled the keys back out from his pocket.

"It's a parent thing," he muttered.

"What!?" Clark laughed, in spite of himself.

Lex raised his eyes and grinned weakly, shrugging again. "That's what I'm told...," his grin faded, but his gaze remained focused on Clark. Several seconds went by before he spoke.

"I miss you, Clark," he said quietly. "I...," he broke off, shaking his head as if the words he needed couldn't be found. "I need you," he said, and his voice was barely audible.

Clark couldn't speak.

"I didn't mean to hurt you."

Slowly, Clark nodded.

Lex stood, his eyes never leaving Clark's. The pain Clark saw there was so perfect a reflection of his own, he knew Lex couldn't be making it up.

Swallowing, he nodded again. "I miss you, too," he admitted.

The smile that broke across Lex's face made Clark want to grab him and never let go. But he didn't. Instead, he added quietly, "But I don't trust you."

And the smile dimmed a bit, but didn't fade completely. "It's a start," Lex said simply.

"I guess so," he agreed. Lex watched him silently.

"So what now?" Clark finally asked.

Lex fingered the keys still in his hand. "Coffee?" he suggested.

Clark grinned. "Yeah," he agreed. "Coffee would be good."

***

Martha yawned as she replaced the bowl to its proper spot in the cupboard. In the periphery of her vision, she noticed Jonathan pour another cup of coffee, draining the last remnants from the coffeepot. She managed to stifle a sigh, instead taking a moment to peek out the back porch at the November morning.

"Here, sweetheart." Turning, she found her husband standing beside her, coffee cup in hand. "You look like you need this more than I do." He placed a kiss against her temple.

"Thanks, dear," she smiled, leaning into him. Her head rested softly against his chest, over his heart. She could trace through the flannel cloth the exact line of scarring left over from his earlier surgery; she had, in fact, done so many times when the bandages had first been removed. It was a reminder to her of just how precious he was to her, of how nearly she had lost him more than once. Every time she touched that scar, every time she felt the rough warmth beneath her fingers, she was grateful anew that he was still here with her.

Her husband had been working hard to readjust this week, she knew. He'd reluctantly accepted her decision to continue working for Lionel, but the added blow of Clark and Lex renewing their relationship was wearing on him already. She wanted to do something special for him.

His arm tightened around her as they both gazed out at Kent farm, the early morning sun brightly promising after several days of rain.

The sudden thudding down the stairs drew a low chuckle from Jonathan. "You know," he observed, "it's nice to see him happy, but the house was in less danger of falling apart when he was miserable."

Slapping his arm lightly, she grinned. "You're not exactly a ballerina coming down those stairs yourself, Jonathan Kent," she told him.

He bowed his head and caught her mouth in a quick kiss.

"Hey," Clark's voice interrupted cheerfully. "Child in the room."

Martha broke the kiss and looked past her husband to her son. "Shouldn't the child in question be on his way to school?"

"I'm practically there already," he promised her. Dropping his bookbag on the table, he grabbed his jacket from its hook and pulled it on quickly.

"You're still available this evening to help me out, right?" Martha queried.

Clark nodded. "Mobile Meals. I haven't forgotten. I'll meet you at Lex's at 6."

"Good," she replied.

"Have a good day at school, son."

"Thanks, Dad," Clark answered. "See you later," he told them both, then he was gone.

Jonathan mumbled, "Lex's."

"Lex's," Martha repeated, sighing. "But what are we going to do? We really can't forbid him to see Lex," she pointed out.

Jonathan looked down at her, his expression saying as clearly as words that he'd like to do exactly that.

"He's happy, dear," she told him softly. "Let him have that for now. He knows what Lex is capable of - he'll be more careful."

Her husband nodded slowly. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Not really," she said. "But you do have me... and our child is no longer in the room..."

***

He shouldn't have been surprised when Clark's name appeared in Raynes' notes. Clark had disappeared from Smallville the night that Lex was poisoned, and had returned to Smallville a week or two before the explosion in the cave. His whereabouts during most of the summer were as yet unaccounted for. If his name hadn't appeared on the list, Lex reflected, common sense would dictate that he fire the security officer as an incompetent.

Still, it was jarring to see the boy's name on a list of suspects in the attempts on his life.

But then, the entire list was unsettling; family, friends, supposedly trustworthy staff and employees were all among the names.

No fingerprints had been found on the Ty-Nant bottle that had been left on his desk earlier in the week. He wasn't really surprised; most of the people he knew were smart enough not to leave prints.

A cursory glance was all Lex needed to know that the information on his father would be useless; Lionel Luthor wouldn't make the kind of mistake that would be picked up by anything in the first round of notes. At the very least, Lex knew, he'd have to wait until Raynes had had time to uncover information from some of his more unconventional sources.

Lucas was a different story. The younger Luthor was rash in his decision-making, too cocky and sure of himself. There were no alibis available for anything he did in Raynes' reports, but that didn't trouble Lex too much. He'd assigned the best man on his security staff to watch Lucas ever since their father's arrest; Darius was Lucas' alibi.

The information on Dominic was pretty much cut-and-dried. He'd been in Europe for much of the summer and autumn, and Raynes had both paper trails and eyewitness reports to verify the fact. Nothing tied Dominic Senatori to any person connected to either the mansion or the caves during the time in question. Oddly, Lex was disappointed in this; he would have enjoyed the chance to remove Dominic from his father's orbit once and for all.

Lex replaced the sheet on Dominic in Raynes' folder, and turned to examine the next name. Lana Lang.

Well, Lex thought with a chuckle, if nothing else, the man was thorough. If anyone was out there who could be blackmailed, bribed, or bought outright - any weak links among the people in Lex Luthor's world - Raynes was apparently going to find him. Or her, Lex corrected mentally. But he wasn't going to find it in Lana Lang. Lex tossed aside the page in his hand and moved to the next one.

Of course, Lex reflected, if Raynes was the weak link, then all bets were off. And Lex really was screwed.

***

Clark knew he was at the mansion too early to pick up his mother. He also knew Lex would expect him to arrive too early, and would be waiting for him. Perversely, the thought made him want to show up late, just to tease.

But their relationship was too newly mended, too fragile. And so Clark slipped quietly through the corridors until he stood in the open door of the study.

Lex was perched on the edge of one of the leather sofas; before him, several handwritten pages commanded his attention. But as Clark entered the room, Lex's gaze shifted immediately. Motioning for Clark to close the door first, Lex extended his hand and drew Clark into a sitting position beside him.

"I'm glad you're here," he told him, his voice surprisingly quiet and intense. "I need your help."

Clark nodded and frowned. "What's up?" he wanted to know.

Lex gestured at the pages spread out before him. "I told you the other day that I haven't been able to remember what happened in the days before the explosion..."

"Yes," Clark affirmed as he leaned forward to peruse the papers Lex had indicated.

"Well, I'm having some things looked into..."

"Hey. My name's in here," Clark pointed out with surprise. He glanced at Lex, who merely nodded.

"I know it is," Lex admitted. "My investigator is a thorough man. It seems like everyone I've ever met is mentioned in there. Certainly everyone who matters to me is. Apparently, the people closest to me are the ones most likely to want me dead," he noted wryly.

An accusation rose to Clark's lips, but he caught himself before the words escaped. He stared at the other man and inside, something cold uncoiled. Lex waited expectantly for the retort Clark had nearly spoken.

The cool blue smirk levelled at him was Lex's response to hurt. Clark had been able to see through it from the day he'd first met this man, and he wondered now at what point he'd stopped noticing it.

Leaning into Lex, eyes locked on the other's, he uttered gently, "Even when I was furious at you, I never wanted you dead."

Lex said nothing, but his expression softened.

Clark brought a hand to Lex's cheek, traced it lightly with his fingertips.

"I know you didn't, Clark," Lex reassured him softly. "But there are people who do. It comes with the territory when you're a Luthor. My father taught me that a long time ago..."

There were times when it was intoxicating to possess so much power. Times when it was tempting. Times when it was frightening.

He was protected from it all by his parents' love.

No. He was protected because of their love. It wasn't only that they loved him - it was that love existed. The experience of love had been their gift to him; the understanding of it, the lesson learned.

His images of them in that cave were a reminder of love itself.

Briefly he thought of Lana, of the little green stone she used to wear around her neck. A gift from Nell. Not only a reminder of the parents who had loved her. A symbol of hope that love still waited in a future yet unwritten, a shield and a comfort.

What protected Lex? What images could he call up when his father's words echoed in his mind? Clark wondered. What mementos reminded him that it was okay to hope - okay to love?

A Napoleon watch, given to him by a mother who had succumbed to darkness?

A Porsche with the top ripped clean?

A vision of the room down the corridor flashed through Clark's mind, and his gaze shifted toward the door. Lex swallowed, and his own eyes followed Clark's.

"I'm not having you investigated, Clark," he spoke, his voice quiet, solemn. Their gaze turned to each other again.

Lex held it a moment, then gestured again at the papers on the table.

"I'm having myself investigated," he explained. "Everyone who may have been around was checked to see if they had any contact with me on the days in question."

With a nod, Clark said softly, "It's okay. I believe you."

Lex leaned in then and kissed him, right at the spot where the ear ended and the jaw began. "Thanks," he murmured, then pressed another kiss along Clark's jaw, closer this time to the younger man's mouth.

Clark moved in to return the kiss, but Lex drew back. Grinning, the older man calmly turned his attention to the papers scattered on the tabletop.

"Tease," Clark muttered. Briefly, he considered the possibility that Lex had the innate ability to release some sort of Kryptonian hormone within Clark, rendering him both horny and stupid. But the thought faded as Lex began rummaging about in the papers scattered across the tabletop.

Sighing, Clark glanced past the page of notes about him, seeing for the first time the other names mentioned. He reached for the sheet with Dominic Senatori's name scrawled across the top. "Dominic gets to go to Europe for Lionel?" he asked, curious.

Lex chuckled at him. "Why not? He was born in Scotland, schooled on the continent...he's multi-lingual..."

Clark frowned, and Lex laughed again. "That just means he can speak several languages, Clark," he explained easily.

"I know what it means, mastermind," Clark informed him with a grin. "I just didn't know Dominic was...important...in LuthorCorp."

"There are degrees of importance, Clark," Lex remarked. "Dominic is relatively important. But he's replaceable, if need be. And he knows it." He eyed at the paper in Clark's hands. "According to my investigator, Dominic's alibi checked out. He couldn't have been in the cave with me at the time of the explosion."

Clark dropped the paper to the table and focused on a small leatherbound notebook. "What's this?" he asked. Skimming the pages, he discovered multiple entries of dates and times.

"It's a log of Access visitors to the mansion," Lex told him. "Regular visitors come through the front door, and the staff record the date and time. But when someone lets himself in through a personal access code - like me or Dad, or the staff - or you," he smirked, "when you bother to use it - the date, time and code are recorded in an electronic log. I have the log transcribed into notebooks every week for my records."

Clark skipped around in the notebook and eventually located the page for the day before the poisoning attempt on Lex.

He frowned. "Your staff is kind of careless about this, Lex," he asserted, pointing out one entry. "All this one says is L. Luthor. Don't they bother to record which L. Luthor?"

Lex shrugged. "I'm their employer. In their records, my staff always refer to me as Mr. Luthor. L. Luthor would only refer to my dad or Lucas. Lucas is under strict orders to stay away from the mansion for his own safety. I don't want Dad trying to hurt him. So the L. Luthor in that entry would be Dad."

"It can't be," Clark protested. "Your dad was in jail at the time. Look at the date." He handed Lex the notebook, puzzled. "It's got to be Lucas."

Now Lex frowned. "No. Lucas wasn't in Smallville while my father was in jail. I've had one of my security officers keeping an eye on him. I'd know if he were around..."

Security officer.

"Oh, sh-" Clark began, then caught himself.

Lex stared at him.

Clark shook his head weakly and looked into his friend's curious blue eyes. "Security officer," he repeated.

"Yes." Expectant.

Clark sighed. "Lex, have you ever been really and truly amazed at your own idiocy?"

Lex quirked one eyebrow. "No, Clark, I can't say I ever have been," he confessed with mild amusement.

"No," Clark allowed, "I don't suppose you have. I have," he acknowledged, and when Lex's head bobbed up and down in agreement, he scowled.

"Sorry," Lex offered contritely.

Clark sighed again, hesitated.

"There's, uh, something I haven't told you," he revealed, giving a guilty glance at the decanter across the room. "From when you were having your so-called breakdown?"

Lex's expression grew guarded, but he nodded. "Okay, go on," he encouraged.

"You were being...drugged," Clark informed him.

"Oh." To his relief, Lex smiled again. "It's okay, Clark, I've already figured that part out. I had a couple of doctors check fingernail samples, and they were able to confirm that there had been some drugs in my system. I guessed that that was part of why I had the breakdown. Probably was the sole cause of it, for that matter," he opined.

Clark agreed, "Yeah, it was." He paused, then continued. "Do you know one of your security officers was in on the whole thing? I think that's how the drugs were in your brandy back then," Clark went on.

Lex's expression froze for an instant, then shifted to take in the papers scattered before them on the glass tabletop.

"Please tell me it isn't Raynes," he muttered. He brought one hand to his face and pinched his eyes closed.

"No," Clark reported, and as he watched, Lex drew in a relieved breath and dropped his hand. "It was Darius."

Lex's hand returned to pinch the bridge of his nose again, and he swore softly. "Damn."

***

They were sitting across from each other at the two sofas by the fireplace, Lex idly tracing the tip of the blue bottle with one well-manicured finger. His head was aching, but he resisted the temptation to hold the cool bottle to his temple.

Lionel watched him for a moment, then asked quietly, "Have you remembered anything else? About the day of the explosion, that is," he added.

"Why do you ask?" Lex wanted to know.

"I'm your father, Lex," Lionel reminded him. "Do you ever consider the possibility that I'm just concerned for your well-being?"

"Generally, no. You've taught me too well."

Lionel leaned forward and placed his drink on the low coffee table. He met Lex's eyes with his own, holding the gaze until Lex was just about to turn away. "Son, there are times when you may not like the way I've raised you. But I am your father, and I do care. It's been clear in your behavior all evening that you've begun remembering things, and the memories coming back are not easy ones for you."

How does he always know? Lex wondered. Am I ever going to be better at this game than he is?

"Have the memories been coming back on their own, or are your investigators filling you in?"

Lex shrugged. "What makes you think I'm having anyone - or anything - investigated?"

"Well," Lionel remarked lightly, leaning back again, "You've been meeting Raynes away from the mansion quite a bit lately."

"That doesn't mean I'm having him investigate anything."

"Perhaps not," Lionel conceded with amusement. "I suppose you could be dating him. Are you?"

Lex didn't try to hide his smile. "He's not quite my type, Dad."

"I didn't think he was," the older man concurred.

In the silence that followed, Lex stroked the bottle of Ty-Nant, more purple than blue in the firelit room. Thoughtful, he brought the bottle to his lips, tracing the edge with the tip of his tongue before drawing a sip from it. He knew his father was watching him.

"What time is your flight?" he finally asked his father.

"Not until ten-thirty," Lionel answered. "I've got plenty of time," he assured the younger man. Lex gave a remote nod.

Another silence. Lex knew the game well. He could get up now and leave; it would be a form of defeat, but he was tired tonight.

As if his father had yet again read his mind, the elder Luthor rose from the opposite sofa and came to sit beside him. Wordlessly, he drew Lex to him, guiding his son's head to rest against his shoulder. Lex allowed it, and settled in to the strange embrace, and cursed himself for wanting it.

Alongside the sofa, the flames in the fireplace hissed.

Lex's gaze rested on the glass of brandy in front of them, its colors complementing the flames and reflecting them back in a little circle on the glass table. Heat radiating from his father's shoulder beneath his head lulled him, and he closed his eyes.

Without looking up, he asked quietly, "Did you have anything to do with the explosion in the cave, Dad?"

"No," his father answered simply. Lex opened his eyes again, glanced upward to find his father watching him through concerned eyes, hazel-gold, almost liquid in their own pain. Lex sighed softly and turned his gaze back to the brandy.

More quietly. "Did you poison me?"

Again, Lionel only said, "No."

He wanted to believe his father, but there were too many reasons he knew he shouldn't. Too many times the lies had been delivered with the same unremarkable sincerity. Still, he couldn't resist asking one more question.

"Do you know who did?"

Lionel paused before he spoke. "Don't you?"

In the silence that followed, Lex tried not to think. He shook his head softly, eyes on the fireplace as the flames found a weak spot in one of the logs, and a bright burst of color lit the room just before the bit of log collapsed and was lost in the ashes below. Unmoved, the flames continued eating away at the remainder. Lex closed his eyes and sighed, and beside him the man he considered to be his personal devil leaned in closer to his ear.

"Who benefits," Lionel prodded him gently, "by getting you out of the way if I'm also out of the way?"

For a moment, Lex only stayed as he was, head against his father's shoulder, eyes closed. He wished he hadn't asked the question. Finally he breathed in the scent of his father's cologne once more, and rose reluctantly from the sofa. He was nearly to the door when he heard his father reach for his brandy, and instinctively, he turned.

Lionel turned his eyes away from Lex before bringing the glass to his lips. "I've told you before, Lex. It's in his nature." He looked no happier than Lex.

Lex continued out the door without another word.

***

It was soothing. Standing in the loft, he could hear the world....his world...settle into sleep around him. His father snored, but only lightly. His mother sighed in her sleep, but he knew that she, like he, slept better to the steady rhythm of the heartbeat of a loved one.

Sighing at the sense of peace, Clark tuned his ear to the heartbeat of his own loved one, and called up the image of Lex in his mind. Lex's heartbeat was never as calm as that of the Kents, and Clark suspected that it never would be. But it had a rhythm all its own, and it warmed Clark at night.

But it wasn't beating normally now....

***

Someone was in the room with him. Lex could hear nothing, could see nothing in the near-total darkness, but he was sure nonetheless that someone else was here. Lying in his bed, he waited.

Nothing.

Thick drawn drapes rustled softly at the terrace window.

Lex swallowed, but remained still. Whoever was in here with him knew he had awakened. He had no doubt of that.

Still, nothing else happened. From the corridor outside his bedroom came the steady ticking of the grandfather clock.

The skin along his arms prickled, and Lex bit back the urge to call out.

Again the drapes moved.

As Lex watched, absolutely motionless, something began to approach him. It came slowly, a deeper darkness pulling free of the blackness around it, making its way toward him.

He needed light.

Silently, slowly, Lex reached out one hand. The bedside lamp was only inches away. He reached out for the familiar contact with the cloth shade...

"No," the familiar voice whispered, closer than he'd anticipated, and his hand was gripped firmly before he could withdraw it. "No lights."

He caught his breath, but didn't speak.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the voice continued. "Not this time."

Lex swallowed again, and found his breath. "What do you want, Lucas?" he asked quietly.

"Everything."

With a gentle tug, Lex was now able to pull back his hand. "Everything?"

Stall, he told himself. Think.

"What's everything, Lucas?"

His brother's breath against his cheek, and Lex turned away instinctively.

"Everything," Lucas said again. "All of what you have, Lex.... all of what should have been mine, as well. Everything the old man denied me but gave you."

"It comes with a high price, Lucas," Lex told him, his voice rueful and soft. "You were better off without it."

"He chose you," Lucas continued, and Lex wondered if he'd heard him. "You betrayed him. You sold him out. I would have been what he wanted in a son, all along..."

"Maybe," Lex conceded. "But I didn't make him choose. I didn't know about you."

Lucas moved closer still, one hand now on either side of Lex on the bed. Lex drew higher into a sitting position; his back was against the wall, and his brother was still uncomfortably close.

"I wanted a brother," Lex told him, willing his voice to remain even. "If I'd known about you, I wouldn't have made him choose. I would have shared everything with you...." In front of him - too close in front of him - Lucas chuckled.

"I don't want to share," Lucas murmured. "I want it all." His hand rose, touched Lex's cheek, and drew slowly downward, pausing to stop against Lex's throat. He squeezed lightly. "You don't die easily, do you?" he added, and Lex heard the amusement in the voice. His brother's thumb traced the outline of Lex's Adam's apple tenderly.

God, he's such a Luthor, he thought.

"You don't need for me to die, Lucas," Lex said. "You can have it all. Dad wants someone like him. Someone like you," he added. "We both know that."

And Lucas was so close to him that Lex could feel the movement of his brother shaking his head. "The old man will never choose me while you're still around."

"You said you weren't going to hurt me, Lucas," Lex reminded him.

"It won't hurt," Lucas assured him. "It'll be quick. Painless..."

The hand around his throat started squeezing, and Lex felt himself slide across the side of the wall.

***

The heartbeat was much too quick now. Lex was frightened. It was such an anomaly to Clark. Lex, his Lex, always seemed so damned sure of himself. But Lex was human, and as capable of being afraid as any of the rest of them. He needed to get to him - now.

He stood in the garden, looking up at Lex's third-floor terrace. It is the east, and Juliet is the sun....

Good god, Clark thought to himself briefly. Maybe I am crazy.

The too-quick rhythm of the heartbeat stopped. Clark shook, listened. A rasping, gasping sound met his ears, followed by a dim crack. Clark did the only thing he could.

He leapt, landing on the terrace, and smashed through the glass doors.

***

He was tucked into his bed, the comforter smoothed over him. The bedside lamp was off, but the now lit fireplace across the room cast enough of a glow to assure Lex that the room was empty. For an instant, he wondered if he'd dreamed Lucas' visit, and he brought his fingers to brush the front of his throat. But as he swallowed, the raw sensation confirmed the reality of his memory.

He gently pushed the comforter down and brought his legs over the side of the bed.

Stopped cold at the knock on the door.

Smiled as the door opened and Clark poked his head in.

"I thought you might be awake," the younger man said.

Lex nodded.

"Can I come in?" Clark asked, already passing into the room.

"You know the way," Lex reminded him with a smile. He extended a hand, and Clark came to sit beside him on the mattress.

Eyes on their clasped hands, Clark queried softly, "How do you feel?"

"Okay," Lex told him, then asked, "Where's Lucas?"

"They took him to the police station." Clark sounded less than pleased with that, and Lex understood why. "They're going to call your father from there. I figured I'd stay here with you, instead."

"Thanks."

In the golden firelight, Lex studied the large, gentle hand holding his own. "I really wanted to trust him."

"I know," Clark murmured. Another pause, before Clark asked, "What'll your father do to him?"

"Who knows?" Lex sighed. "Maybe pat him on the back... maybe have him killed... I've yet to figure Dad out," he admitted.

"Must be a parent thing," Clark remarked somberly.

Lex stared, stunned.

Clark grinned.

Lex grinned back. "You know, Clark? Sometimes I really do think you're crazy." To his surprise, Clark let out a laugh. It was a pure, joyous sound, and it made Lex smile even more, though he wasn't sure if it wasn't he himself that Clark was laughing at. It didn't matter; Clark was here beside him. That was all that mattered.

"Something funny, farmboy?"

Clark smiled even more.

"Yeah, sometimes," he answered. "Sometimes things are funny. Sometimes life is." He reached out his hand to stroke Lex's cheek.

"That's good to know," Lex said with a wry smile of his own. "Because a lot of the time, it doesn't seem too funny at all."

"Mmm," Clark agreed. "It has been a bit shaky lately, hasn't it? For both of us..." The younger man's expression softened, but the contentment didn't leave his eyes. Stretching, he lay back upon the mattress.

"But you know what?"

"What?" Lex asked. Shifting, he traced Clark's lips with one finger before resting his head against the younger man's chest.

"Right at this moment, I'm...happy." Clark grinned again, more softly this time.

"Right at this moment," Lex purred, "so am I."

"And you know what else?" Clark continued contentedly. "I think, if there are enough moments like this one, I just might be able to survive this life."

And as Lex listened to the steady heartbeat beneath his ear, he thought, So might I, Clark. So might I.

***

Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. - Desiderata