TITLE: "Vigilante"

PG-13

BACKGROUND: As Clark copes with Pete's recent departure, a new student teacher arrives in Smallville. Miss Helena Bertinelli (the future Huntress, Smallville-style) seems nice, but she shares a dark history with Gotham's notorious crime families. Why is she here: for redemption ... or revenge? Lex intends to find out, but the price of those answers may ignite an underworld turf war that could turn the streets of Metropolis - and Smallville - blood-red.

TIMELINE: This marks my first post-Pete story. Season 3 finale events haven't happened yet. Continuity note: not DC's 'pre-Crisis' Helena, but loosely based on the modern version. Check your DC Comics canon at the door, because it's a Helena with a Smallville twist -- ie. influenced 'by', but not strictly bound 'to', what happens on the show or in the comics.

(Smallville High Gymnasium)

Chloe returned to the gym bleachers. The Smallville Crows senior girls' volleyball team were going through their drills. There was an important match against the Grandville Titans this week. The constant squeak of sneakers echoed through the gym. High-tempo, hip-hop music blared from the speakers, while the players practised their digs, blocks and spikes.

Chloe spotted the new assistant coach across the floor. The tall, dark-haired woman hollered at her team to keep their eye on the ball. In one exercise, she instructed one of the players to lob the ball over the net. She immediately jumped, and spiked the ball with such force that the player couldn't dig in time and sprawled on the floor.

"Nice spike, Miss Bertinelli!" Chloe applauded.

Miss Bertinelli grinned. "Thanks! I used to play varsity at Gotham U. I guess you could say I still know how to kill." The winded player who missed the spike just scrambled onto her feet, underlining the coach's lethal point.

Lana also returned to the bleachers. Pete had just moved to Wichita two weeks ago, so Chloe enlisted her friend to be her freelance sports photographer – at least, until someone else offered to take up Pete's job at the Torch.

Lana fiddled with the settings on the digital camera. "Thanks for letting me pinch-hit at the Torch," she said. "With most of my time spent at the Talon, I realized I didn't have enough extra-curricular activities on my resume."

Chloe nodded towards the other end of the gym, where Clark was interviewing one of the players. "I think Clark came to the same realization. He wanted to gather more by-lines this year. At least, that was his official reason for his sudden interest in upping his Torch efforts."

Lana thought about the bitter departure of Pete Ross, and Clark's reluctance to discuss the loss of his hometown friend. "And unofficially?" she inquired.

Chloe missed Pete, too. He was everyone's stalwart friend, yet he seemed to be more distant this year. It wasn't his fault, she concluded. It was ours. We let him slip away.

"Clark would never admit it," Chloe replied, "but he's not taking Pete's move to Wichita pretty well. Some work at the Torch seemed like a good way to keep him occupied."

There was a loud laugh. It seemed Clark had made a joke. And his interviewee, an extremely tall blonde girl, seemed to be enjoying the joke.

Perhaps too much.

"I think 'distracted' is the appropriate term," Lana stated. The girl was obviously flirting with Clark, who didn't seem to be playing his objective reporter role so well. "Number 12 is practically throwing herself at him!"

Chloe sighed. "Clark's not exactly resisting, either! I guess that's what happens when you stick a teenage boy among a dozen, athletic girls in form-fitting spandex. My bad."

Lana laughed. Guys can be such fools. Clark finally pulled himself away from Number 12.

"Having fun, Mr. Kent?" Chloe inquired coyly.

"Just doing my job," Clark replied.

"And is blushing part of it?" Lana teased. Clark patted his cheek in embarrassment.

Chloe checked the clock above the gym entrance. "It's half-past one. They're going to have a practice game soon. I've got to snag 10 minutes with Miss Bertinelli, then it's up to you guys to cover the final results."

"Do you know which class Miss Bertinelli is teaching?" Clark asked. If anyone would know, it would be Chloe: she gave the student teacher a tour of the school last week.

"Well, she said she was a history major at Gotham U.," Chloe replied. "Mrs. Rosenberg will be going on maternity leave soon, so my guess is she'll be teaching us 20th century American history ... at least until her field practicum here is done."

"Yes!" Clark yelped. "I have US history this term, which means I'll be in her class."

"Is that your personal preference," Chloe wondered, "or is that the standard response of every guy in the school?"

"I have no comment at this time, Miss Sullivan," Clark joked. Miss Bertinelli was definitely attractive. "I'll be taking no further questions." Two more players playfully called for Clark. "I've got to go," he declared. "Duty calls."

Lana slung the camera bag over her shoulder. "I'd better get to courtside for some pre-game shots. See you at the Torch?"

Chloe nodded. She crossed the gym and approached the new assistant coach. "I was wondering if you had a few minutes to spare, Miss Bertinelli. It's for the Torch profile on you."

Miss Bertinelli sipped a water bottle. "Girls," she announced to the team. "I want to see some blocking drills! I've been told Grandville has a wicked offence." She turned to Chloe. "Certainly, Chloe. Where do you want to begin?" They sat on the courtside benches.

Chloe pulled out her reporter's notepad. "Well, for starters – where do you come from originally?"

The new assistant coach paused. Her past was a delicate subject. "I grew up in the East Town of Gotham City. I'm proud to be a third-generation Italian-American. My family ran a successful textiles import/export business."

My life is private, Miss Bertinelli thought. I'll gloss over those parts that are too painful to discuss.

(The Talon, Smallville)

It was late afternoon. The dinner crowd hadn't arrived yet. Lana relished this quiet period at the Talon. It wasn't too busy and she had time to do some homework before the place became busier.

A loud screech of tires interrupted her concentration. A metallic purple 2003 Lamborghini parked outside. The door opened, and a glamorous, well-dressed woman entered. She seemed oddly familiar.

"Miss, I'll have a double espresso to go." It was Miss Bertinelli, the new volleyball coach. "Lana Lang? I didn't know you worked here too. My, you're a busy student!"

"Saving up for college," Lana replied. She peered out the window. "Nice ride."

"My parents left me a trust fund for when I turned 21," the teacher explained. "The car's my only big splurge."

The door opened again. Lex had arrived with a handful of newspapers. "The evening editions arrived at LuthorCorp. I figured the extras would be put to good use here." He noticed the attractive brunette at the espresso bar. "Lana, I didn't know you also catered to Metropolis' jet-set crowd."

"The name's Helena – Helena Bertinelli," Helena offered her hand. "I'm a student teacher at Smallville High. You're Lex Luthor, right?"

Lex's charming demeanour immediately evaporated. "Bertinelli, eh? As in the East Coast Bertinellis?"

Helena froze. She had hoped that no one would know of her family roots. "I'm from Gotham City, if that's what you're implying."

Lex eyed the high-priced Lamborghini outside. "I'm not implying anything, Miss Bertinelli. Your choice of transportation says it all. Your Yves St. Laurent suit is only available on Fifth Avenue and Rodeo Drive. I take it your student teacher's salary isn't enough to support your lifestyle."

"My 'lifestyle' is nobody's business, thank you very much!" Helena declared. "For a fertilizer plant manager, you seem to know a lot about the so-called jet-set crowd."

"I was in Milan during the launch of the Fall Collection," Lex declared. "For legitimate business." He stressed the word legitimate. "I don't presume anything." He peered at the sports car again. "The facts speak for themselves."

Helena picked up her espresso. "Thanks, Lana. See you at class." She scowled at Lex. "Oh, and the next time you presume to pass judgment on someone because of their family name – don't!" She stormed out of the Talon, soon followed by the ear-piercing screech of her sports car.

"You were rather harsh with my teacher, Lex!" Lana grumbled defensively.

Lex glanced suspiciously over his shoulder. "Not harsh, but wary. Everything about her doesn't add up. The high-end sports car, the designer dress. Those were three-hundred-dollar frames on her sunglasses. Those luxury items don't come from a student teacher's honorarium. When she said who she was, I knew I had heard that name before." Lana seemed puzzled.

"You were probably too young to remember – you were probably only five then," Lex continued. "Helena Bertinelli is the surviving daughter of Gotham's ruthless Bertinelli crime family."

"Surviving daughter?" Lane blurted. "What happened to the rest of her family?"

Lex calmly sipped his coffee. He placed his macadamia cookie on a plate. "Think of Gotham City as this cookie." He split it in two. "One half of the city belonged to Anthony Zucco, an established lieutenant of the New York mafia. The other half belonged to the The Jazzman Syndicate, a forced alliance of old Anglo-Irish and East European gangsters. The Bertinellis were bound by mob honour to defend Zucco's interests. They did everything: extortion, racketeering, kidnapping, money laundering. All under the cover of a legitimate textiles exporting business."

He sipped his coffee again. "If your new teacher's dad stuck to his mob oath, Tony Zucco would have been Gotham's underworld kingpin then. But he didn't. Ever heard of the All Saints Day massacre?"

Lana shook her head. "Sorry. I was probably learning how to spell back then."

"I suppose," Lex replied. "The Bertinellis betrayed their vow to protect Zucco's empire. They sided with The Jazzman Syndicate, and wiped out an entire tier of Zucco's dons one day after Halloween. Zucco's New York bosses never forgave the Bertinellis for this betrayal, and ordered a hit on the entire family. Only Helena survived. Zucco just sat back and let The Jazzman Syndicate tear themselves apart with petty rivalries. He stepped in to fill the void left behind."

Lana held her hand up to her mouth in horror. "Oh my god! I had no idea! Maybe she's rebuilding a new life here? She said she got a trust fund from her family, from their legitimate textiles business."

"I don't think you understand," Lex stated,and he promptly smashed the cookie with his fist. Chunks and crumbs scattered all over the plate. "That is the legacy of the mob war in Gotham. They left the downtown core in ruins. The city has never recovered. Don't think for a moment that any of their businesses were legit. The clothes she's wearing, that car she drives: they're paid for in blood. If I was harsh with her, it was out of justified suspicion." He ate a large piece and swept up the crumbs from the table. "Sorry about the cookie."

He paid his bill and put on his coat. "Be careful, Lana," Lex warned, as he got up to leave. "Your teacher, Miss Bertinelli, might claim to be a new person. But she's the daughter of a Gotham mafia don. She benefited from those mob privileges. I don't know her true reason for coming here yet. But I assure you, I intend to find out."

Lana didn't know what to say. Miss Bertinelli seemed to be nice, even friendly. Was it all an act? And why would she move half a continent away to Smallville, Kansas to become a student teacher?

There were too many questions that needed answers. She quickly dialed her phone. "Hi Chloe? It's Lana. I think you should come to the Talon right away. I just learned something about our new student teacher. You won't believe it!" The odds seemed likely that her new history teacher was a mob heiress.

She studied the broken cookie of Gotham. Paid for in blood, she mused.