**A/N 03-2011: There is a new Chapter One (2 . One) inserted; the original is now Chapter Two (3 . Two) so on and so forth; Prologue Remains the same**

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN

"You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."

- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.

PROLOGUE

Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through the open bay windows. The silk window dressings waving gently in the breeze flittered translucent shadows and sunbeams like warm honey in a slow waltz about the cozy suite. The impeccably decorated corner apartment was on the third floor overlooking the quaint cobble stone intersection of Rue de l'Eau and Bouldevard Victoire.

In the central hallway that separated a formal sitting room from what might be a family or living room, stood a tall, young man in his early twenties. He had smiling, warm brown eyes, and a shag of blond hair that covered his ears and brow and was just beginning to threaten unruliness; his jaw was long and narrow and bore a hint of tawny stubble a shade darker than his coif. He was dressed in a grey, casual sports coat, a white button-up, dark denim, and black boots.

The young man wore a closed-lipped, bemused expression as his eyes searched the space with pleased curiosity and a pinch of hopefulness. The living room with its beige and taupe color scheme, chaise lounges, and white fireplace appeared empty, so he peeked into the office: recently used, but also empty. He hmm'ed to himself and pursed his lips as he thought.

Click

Growing up as he did, the sound was familiar. While he wasn't alarmed—he was so calm and unnerved in such situations that even his ever-so-cavalier father was put on edge by him—he did have a healthy reverence for what he had just unmistakably heard. Swiveling slowly and unthreateningly on his heel, his hands raising as he did, the young man found the business end of .454 Casull pointed at his face. He cleared his throat and quickly blinked twice, before uttering the most unassuming and disarming "Hi," he could manage.

The fiercely beautiful gaze of Lana Lang stared back at him over the barrel of the gun. Her hazel eyes warned him and demanded the reason for his intrusion. He was a little taken back by her beauty, even if she was dressed for business: hair pulled back, dark form fitting clothes. She was more stunning than he had ever seen her; he hadn't anticipated those little details.

"How did you get in here?" She demanded after another moment of studying him.

"I knew I'd find you here," he said with a smile. "You always loved Paris."

Her porcelain brow furrowed in confusion.

"Although, pulling a gun for an unarmed breaking and entering seems a little much." His tone was chatty, casual, and a bit playfully chastising. "Don't you think?"

"Who are you?" Lana demanded with gun still raised, not wavering despite his familiarity.

"Right," he said, remembering. He took a step towards her to explain but she reminded him of the gun quickly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, okay."

"Who are you?" Lana repeated more emphatically with less patience. He was beginning to think she might actually shoot him. She gestured with the barrel that he step away from the open door way of the office and forced him to back up towards the window at the end of the hall.

"Christopher," he said simply and sincerely, trying his best to convey his honesty. He motioned with his hands as he backed up in an attempt to calm her and enforce his nonhostility. "Although...you usually call me Chris. But you're the only one I let call me that."

"What is this?"

"Look," Christopher said in earnest with more haste and urgency, "We know each other...er...rather, we will. I...know you. You just haven't met me yet."

"Are you some kind of crazy stalker or did—"

"No!"

"—Lex send you?"

"Lex?" Christopher softly said, confused. "Luthor?"

"Do you work for Lex? Did he send you?"

Christopher shook his head slowly, his eyes dancing furtively as he thought intensely.

Lex Luthor?

"Lex Luthor is alive?" Christopher asked in quiet disbelief; his entire countenance had changed. "What would he want with you?"

Lana did not answer him, but only stared him down with intensity and distrust. He could tell she knew he wasn't a threat, but wasn't ready to stake anything on that judgment yet either.

"Is he alive?" he pressed in barely a whisper.

There was a long still pause, and then she nodded.

"And Clark?" the question still only a breath.

Lana's eyes narrowed and she tightened her grip on the gun. She looked like a caged animal ready to attack or flee.

"Clark," Christopher repeated, more forcefully. His was still whispering.

"I have nothing to say to you or anyone else about Clark," Lana growled, her eyes flashed. "You can tell Lex to go to hell."

"I don't work for Lex. Alright?" he replied in kind, his words even and restrained. "Now, tell me, please. Is Clark Kent alive?"

There was another long, tense pause.

"You answer a question and I'll answer one," Lana told him, regarding him with mixed curiosity and mistrust. "Who are you, Christopher?"

He bit his lip, his own patience waning now, and searched the wood grain of the floor for answers. He looked up at her again, the cocked gun still trained on his forehead.

"A friend," Christopher replied. "Clark?"

Lana seemed understandably unsatisfied with his answer, but her glower soon softened and she spoke in a rough, barely audible tone.

"No one's seen or heard from Clark in almost two years." Her voice caught and her eyes were moist. "The funeral was eighteen months ago, but anyone who knew him would know that."

"I'm too late..." Christopher whispered, then more loudly to her, "I should go."

"You should start talking. What's this about? Why are you here?"

I have to get out of here. This is all wrong.

Christopher sighed heavily and feigned a look of conflict. Letting his raised hands fall to the side of his head, he looked up and scowled. He waited to see if his movements were going to make her pull the trigger; she was waiting for his reply. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head.

"Okay," Christopher said, his words muffled by his hands. His right hand remained on his mouth and jaw as his left hand moved back up in the air; he stared back at her with challenging eyes. "Okay, I'll talk."

Christopher let his right hand sink to his chest as naturally as possible, watching Lana for any sign that she had caught on to his ploy. His palm came to rest over the open collar of his shirt; he could feel the hard metal loop beneath the fabric.

"I'm waiting."

"Sorry," he said. "Another time. I promise."

Before she could respond, he slipped his hand into his shirt and his finger into the ring hidden on a chain there. With a burst of light, Christopher was gone.

A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.