Disclaimer: As is customary when reading fanfiction, everyone knows that the author is obligated to point out the fact that they do not, in fact, own any of the characters that they are writing about. Just in case anybody is having trouble understanding the concepts of fanfiction, I thought I would clarify this, as is the trend. Lex is NOT mine. Neither is Kitty. However, Superman belongs to me. Just Kidding. Don't want to say something stupid and get sued later. Enjoy, folks!

"Kitty!"

Lex Luthor stood stiffly, shoulders hunched over as he stared dramatically at an explosion of glass all over the floor, blue shards of a once brilliant vase scattered about uselessly. A priceless artifact…good god, Kitty was going to have to go. He felt like a fucking dog owner, following his messy pet around to pick up the crap as it was dropped. Only this was worse than having to pick up fecal matter…This was a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of history, ruined Kitty style. Dragging his wide alabaster hands down his face, he peered through his fingers and moaned. Oh, god, Kitty couldn't get any stupider than she was now, and the last thing he needed was a moronic, hormonal female running around his boat while he was busy failing to take over the planet.

Not surprisingly, the only answer to his irate yells was silence, and he imagined that Kitty was probably hiding somewhere in the deep recessions of her bedroom closet, playing with that ugly fluff-ball Fifi, or whatever the hell she'd named it. Where had she gotten that thing again? Oh, yes…the old woman's house. Great. So now he had Kitty and a cannibalistic pomeranian for company. Oh, yeah, and the usual band of murderers.

It wasn't as though he'd envisioned himself as a child growing up to be a feared mastermind genius with no real friends, yet this was the dream he was living. As a young adult he'd hated people in general, large crowds seeming to dim his bright intellect while simultaneously making him feel claustrophobic. Any cravings he might have had for the other, feminine members of the human race had been forcibly quelled, mostly because none wanted very much to be near him if it could be helped. This was something even poor Lex couldn't understand, as he was ranking in brilliance with Einstein. Still, he did have needs, and Kitty was hardly capable of satisfying them.

If truth be told, all his fantasies involved having an actual intelligent conversation with a member of the opposite gender, one that wasn't centered on politics or, as Kitty often put it, 'Elephant and Donkey Stuff'. In a partner he desired strength along with brains, neither of the two greater than his own but at a heightened enough level that he felt challenged. Kitty was such a horrible substitute for what he really wanted that it made him sick to his stomach to think of all the times he'd tried to satiate himself with her annoying nasal voice and her slow-on-the-uptake bantering.

Especially spiteful towards her now that she'd broken her fourth vase of the week, he began to wonder whether opening the emergency hatch and shoving her out face-first wasn't such a bad idea…But no, he needed her. Sighing, he ran his hands over his bald scalp, tilting his head back as he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He needed her, not just so he had somebody to talk to who didn't have a gun handy at all times, but because she could prove very useful if Superman posed a problem. Correction: Not if, but when.

The bane of his existence was always bound to show his big-headed blue self in the end, and no matter how much Lex repeated the mantra 'Mind over Matter', Superman served to be undefeatable. Undefeatable, and successful in all the areas that Lex Luthor had failed in. He had the world's affection. He had super-strength. He could see through walls, the lucky jerk. He had laser vision. He had great looks. He had lady friends. And he had that really cool, flashy red cape. Why did Superman always get the cape and not Lex? Why couldn't the mastermind have the cape? Because. Because he wasn't a hero, and only heroes got capes.

Jealousy writhed within him, and for the first time in a while he allowed himself to stew in his own dirty insecurities, going back in time when Superman hadn't made himself known yet, and Lex Luthor's name wasn't synonymous with crime. Those days had been far worse, and it felt like every time Superman showed his face in the present, he was just rubbing in how perfect his life was, and how awful Lex's had been and was beginning to be. Sure, he had a plan. Lex always had a plan. But Superman, with his lady friends and his blood red cape, could always defeat the best plans in the world.

"Damn it, Kitty!"

And Lex stormed off, his heavily lined face contorted in paroxysms of anger and confusion, black business suit looking ruffled as he turned the corner of the maple-lined hallway in search of another reason to be mad. Superman was torturing him, and he hadn't even begun to fight.