All previous disclaimers apply.
Three cheers for my fabulous beta, sakurasyaoran4eva, SS4EVA – her patience and insights enrich my understanding of the characters as much as they improve the readability of every chapter.
I also revised the preceding vignette to this chapter as of 03 / 30 / 06, if anyone wants to take a look.
I also posted fhm mag cover of Leo that Clark looked up in Chapter 17 – cover courtesy of clive grl – on my author's page, in case any one wants a visual. Thanks again clive grl!
On with our story. Enjoy!
Spoilers: Lineage, Suspect, Prodigal
Chapter 18
I can't believe I lost the disc.
Leo groaned, thumping her head against the steering wheel. She'd run out of options and here she was, her Porsche – a birthday present to herself and the only major personal possession she had left – parked in the drive in front of the Kent's farmhouse.
She had wagered everything she had on a long shot against her father — and lost.
Her scheme had seemed so clever at the time. After encountering the mad woman who believed Clark was her illegitimate love child, Leo had become increasingly intrigued by the possibility of having a living sibling. While her father had solemnly claimed he was dead, Leo had her own investigators conduct a search anyway – her father's "earnest" expression no longer carried any weight with her.
When her investigators eventually found him hustling card games in Edge City, Leo was not surprised.
Disappointed – at having caught her father in yet another lie and for having let her down again.
Excited – at having a new sibling and possibly a real family of her own, untainted by her father.
Even eager – her father's living trust was set up to give all his heirs ten percent of his Luthorcorp stock; and in this case, it was the vital ten percent she needed to finally wrest control of the company from him.
She felt all those things, but never surprise – until her father and his demon seed turned the tables on her…
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Throwing open the doors to the mansion's study, Leo stormed into the room to confront her father who was sitting calmly behind the mahogany desk, using his cell phone's headset to make calls.
"I just spent the last two hours at the bank," Leo angrily blurted out, "Any idea why all my accounts are frozen?"
Lionel's cold lips quirked into a dry smirk. "You know Leo," he sighed, "I'm tired of your constant attempts at mutiny."
Leo rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, you didn't leave me too many options," she fumed. "It was either that or the plank."
Chuckling at her dramatics, he replied, "Sweetheart, it wasn't wise of you to wager all your assets as collateral against Leocorp when you took out your loan," Lionel began pedantically, as if explaining something to a slow child, "You see, now that your company is a Luthorcorp property, everything you own now belongs to me."
He cocked his head toward her, an icy smile forming on his lips. "I want you out of the mansion. Now"
Leo's heart leapt into her throat as her stomach crashed to the floor. She swallowed hard and stared at her father in disbelief. Leaning in over his desk to steady herself, she stoically tried to keep her lowered voice level and calm, "Come on, Dad. Isn't this a little futile? Lucas and I will be back home after we vote you out."
And that was when Lucas had triumphantly marched into the room and dutifully took his place at their father's side, completing the double-cross.
Basking in the glow of victory, Lionel chastised, "It may be hard for you to imagine, Leo, but a son wouldn't question his allegiance to family."
She tried not to look at him, couldn't think of anything to say in reply. 'I'm sorry' was useless at this point and would have made her sound as if she were groveling – which she was almost willing to do. And maybe she already was, and maybe a part of her wanted to, but she couldn't give her father that kind of power over her.
Lionel Luthor didn't respect weak individuals; he controlled them.
Desperately trying to turn the tide, Leo barked out a dry nervous laugh, directing an incredulous look at Lucas. "You are being incredibly naive if you think you can trust him over me."
Standing proudly by his father's side, he stated flatly, "Something you pick up at the tables, Sis. You size up your options," he shrugged nonchalantly. "You never know when you might have to change your strategy mid-hand."
And there it was – that little son of a bitch really was her father's son. He was the son her father had always wanted, the son that Leo could never be for him. She shook her head, her chin imperceptibly quivering, moisture pooling behind her eyes – OH FUCK! NOT NOW! Not in front of him – never in front of him…
Lionel regarded his daughter's shocked expression with thinly veiled amusement "Well, Leo, looks like you lose." Then, in a momentary rush of parental concern, he added, "Be sure to pack plenty of clean underwear – the rest of your things can be mailed to you."
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She had been stripped of everything.
As Leo hurriedly packed some private things and her emergency stash of ding-dongs amidst barely suppressed tears of humiliation, she realized in horror that her key card and combination to her private vault in the east wing were no longer valid.
Her father had already reset the access codes and electronic locks.
And suddenly, all her immediate problems seemed so small – how her father had managed to do all that became instantly irrelevant as well.
That vault contained everything she had ever amassed on Clark and his family – including the octagonal disc!
What the hell does he know? Her father hadn't let on about knowing anything when she spoke to him last – maybe he just changed the locks out of spite, just to piss me off! Maybe he didn't even bother examining its contents…
Leo snorted to herself. I'm not that fucking lucky. She quickly forced herself to calm down, viciously suppressing the panic that suddenly swept her. She had to consider this rationally...
Okay, what does the vault really contain? Well, if her father (or anyone else) spent more than five minutes in that room, he couldn't fail to notice that all the records in it pertained to Clark and his family. Well, dad already thinks I'm screwing him — maybe he'll just think I'm a stalker.
The thought made her feel marginally better.
After all, nothing in the vault explicitly stated, "Clark Kent is an alien". And while the vault did contain the octagonal disc, she doubted her father had any idea what its true significance was.
More troubling to Leo were the graphic analysis of the accident at the bridge and the thermo-spectral scans of Clark's heat vision (she had discretely collected some readings during a couple of their practice sessions). If her father connected those items to Clark…
She swallowed hard, the sickening taste tickling her throat nearly made her vomit. I have to warn him.
'And what would that accomplish?' a small voice in her head reprimanded, 'he'd just throw you into the street and then no one would want you!'
Even if she did tell Clark, what could he possibly do? It wasn't like he could just break into the vault and swipe all the evidence – Leo had laced the interior lead walls of the vault with green meteor rock to specifically prevent him from ever trying such a thing.
Leo silently cursed her paranoia and vaguely wondered if it ran in the family….
Hefting up the small bags she'd packed, Leo wondered briefly if she should have stayed at a local motel. She still had a couple thousand dollars of cash on her, but she'd hoped to conserve that to battle her father in this latest contest.
Besides, she felt obligated to stick close to Clark, just in case her father tried anything. Since there really wasn't anything Clark or his parents could do, it was probably best not to share her concerns with them. They would probably just overreact and kick her out in a fit of rage anyway, precisely when they were going to need her help the most.
And whether the Kents knew it or not, they would need her help. For all of Clark's amazing powers, Leo appreciated how ill equipped he was to take on someone like her father, especially if he managed to deduce Clark's weakness.
Hell, that asshole even caught me by surprise; Clark won't stand a chance.
She hated that she'd been so blindsided – for all their problems, she never thought her father would actually kick her out of the house. While she had run away as a teen, he had never thrown her out before!
This was further than he'd ever gone.
If there was one thing Leo had always been certain of, it was her position in her father's life as his heiress, the person meant to take the helm of Luthorcorp one day. Her father having proudly enrolled her in MENSA at the age of ten, Leo had always been certain that her intelligence and brute competence were the only reasons he had not tried to replace her over the years – otherwise, Leo was certain that he'd have attempted to sire the male heir that she knew he really wanted with one of his mistresses.
But then, that was before she'd stupidly invited Lucas into the picture.
Sighing with resignation, she braced herself and knocked on the front door to her small yellow oasis.
"I'll get it," she heard Clark call out as he clomped toward the door.
He pulled it open and stared in surprise at Leo as she stood there on the front porch, looking up at him with a slightly uncertain expression.
"Umm… hey, Leo," Clark greeted dumbly. A moment of awkward silence ensued. Things had been strained between them the last couple weeks, ever since his dad had been suspected of shooting Lionel Luthor. While Clark had later figured out and revealed Sheriff Ethan as the shooter, the rift between the two remained.
'Or maybe there's something else,' Clark thought. He couldn't help thinking that there was something else behind Leo'shesitation toward him lately. Leo had made it crystal clear that she didn't want a relationship with him – maybe she was still mad at him about his behavior during the red meteor rock incident. Or maybe she was annoyed at the way Clark still looked at her – as much as he tried to behave himself, he was pretty sure his feelings were obvious anyway. While she usually seemed to take it in stride, maybe her resentment of his annoying behavior was now starting to bubble up to the surface.
Whatever it was, if it was his fault, Clark was determined to fix it. Oh, what am I saying? It's always my fault. Noticing the distress in Leo's delicate features, he wondered for the millionth time how much easier everyone's life would have been if he had never shown up…
"Clark," she greeted softly. "I'm sorry to bother you."
"No problem," he shrugged. Curious, he asked, "Is everything all right?"
"No, it's not," came the reply, Leo's expression darkening slightly.
Clark's brow creased in a frown, and the masculine urge to sweep her in his arms and protect her nearly consumed him. He balled his hands into fists, rigidly keeping his arms to his sides. Whatever's bothering her, the last thing she'd want would be me pawing her.
"Leo, what is it?" Martha asked with concern, stepping up beside Clark, with Jonathan following.
Leo took a deep breath, glancing between the family members. She was reminded of why she was here, of what she was so determined to protect – but this wasn't the time for bravado. As much as they were going to need her, she suddenly realized how desperately she needed them. "According to my father, I'm… uh, no longer a Luthor. He's left me with nothing, not even a place to live. So, I… was wondering…"
Oh, goddamnit, just spit it out!
She paused, her gaze drifting over to Jonathan nervously. "If… I could stay with you for a while?"
Three pairs of anxious eyes shifted to an astonished Jonathan Kent.
He sighed. "Of course you can. Come on in." While Jonathan wasn't thrilled with having his family so entangled with the Luthors, he couldn't just toss the girl into the street either. It had never occurred to him not to open his home to someone in need.
And on the bright side, maybe this will reinforce to Martha just how much of a bastard Lionel really is. It just wasn't right for a man to be ogling another man's wife -- and that kind of behavior was just another reason in a long list of others for Jonathan to hate the man.
"I don't want to be a bother," Leo insisted as she entered the living room. "I didn't know where else to turn, and I found myself here." Please don't turn me away, I can prove myself…
"Don't be silly, Leo," Martha soothingly assured, "You're welcome to stay as long as you like." Martha's outward calm, however, disguised her shock that Lionel could impassively cast his only daughter into the cold like this.
"You can sleep in my bed!" Clark offered brightly.
Oh shoot. Did I just say that out loud? Judging by the three sets of blinking eyes in his direction, apparently he had.
"I mean, she could take my room while I sleep on the couch," Clark churlishly amended, cheeks aglow.
"I really don't mean to put anyone out," Leo half-heartedly protested, silently berating herself for being so pathetically desperate for their acceptance and approval.
"Oh, you're not. In fact, I'm now insisting that you stay," Martha asserted before nodding to her son. "Clark, why don't you take her bags and show her up to your room? I'll get some fresh towels."
"Thank you, Mrs. Kent, Mr. Kent," Leo acknowledged with a half-smile, touched at the easy acceptance with which she was taken into their home. She forcibly quashed the sudden surge of irrational jealousy she felt toward Clark's family.
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Before going to bed that night, Leo took a few minutes to poke around Clark's bedroom. While the Kent's were providing her with shelter, Leo felt perfectly entitled.
After all, Clark did set mine on fire. Besides, she had never even seen his bedroom before, and she couldn't help satisfying her curiosity.
Brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, Leo turned to look around the room that was to become her home for the next few days until she got this matter straightened out with her father. It was much neater than Leo had expected and quite small – only big enough for a twin bed, nightstand, and a tall narrow dresser that was tucked in the corner. Pennants for the Smallville Crows, the Met U Bulldogs, and the Metropolis Sharks hung prominently on the wall above the bed. There was a tiny, paned window that faced the barn, covered with white lace curtains (probably Martha's touch), and the furniture was all in light oak, recently dusted and shining from furniture polish.
She walked over to the dresser, her eyes attracted by the framed photos and small mirror that rested on top. One of the photos was of Clark – as a young boy – with his parents, proudly hoisting a large fish that looked almost as large as he was. Leo loved that 'Tom Sawyer' pose of Clark – her eyes greedily devouring the image of his boyish innocence with all the fervor of a starving person staring at a room full of food.
That warm sensation clashed with bracing bitterness when her eyes wandered to another photo, one of a perky blonde sandwiched between Clark and Pete Ross, her arms draped over each of their necks and wearing a sunny grin that stretched from ear to ear.
As that particular photo stood next to the small mirror atop the dresser, Leo couldn't help self-consciously comparing her features to the bright, cheerful, happy girl in the photo.
The bubbly girl in the photo was so young and fresh-faced, her skin gleaming. She looked happy and excited to be there with her friends. And why shouldn't she be? She had everything: good friends, a devoted father, a bright future.
Gabe practically never shut up about how wonderful his precious daughter was.
Leo briefly wondered what it would be like to have a doting father like that, one who bored the shit out of his co-workers as he proudly boasted about all his daughter's successes and accomplishments…
Or maybe that devotion only belongs to daughters that deserve it.
Looking into the mirror next to the photo, Leo scrutinized the broken, jaded image that stared back. Her eyes seemed dull. Her skin was sallow and unpleasantly pale, and she detected a faint line or two that she hadn't noticed before. Whether from stress, chronic insomnia, or just too much living, she didn't know what the cause was. The lines seemed so deep, perhaps from the monsters inside her that clawed out of her nightmares.
Leo sighed heavily as she rubbed her shoulders. Dropping her gaze, she started unpacking her overnight bag, gently setting her music box on the nightstand first. She desperately hoped the gentle chimes could grant her some peace again.
Settling into Clark's bed that night, Leo snuggled fitfully under the covers, wearing one of Clark's flannel shirts. She had impulsively grabbed one that was hanging in his cramped closet to sleep in. While Leo had brought several sleeping gowns of her own, she hadn't felt comfortable wearing any of them here.
Not that they were particularly racy, but none of her silk sleepwear rendered the feeling of comfort and security she craved.
Leo loved the smell of him that lingered on both the shirt and the sheets, even though laundry detergent had washed most of his scent away. Except the soap smelled like him, too, and nothing could wash away the memories the scents conjured.
As she snuggled into the comforter and pillow, she momentarily fingered the elaborate silver and turquoise cuff that adorned her left wrist. She'd found the bracelet behind a ratty basketball, wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed in a shoebox while she was rummaging through the back of his closet.
It wasn't as if she'd take it; she just wanted to try it on.
It had seemed to all but call out to her.
Having researched the Kewatche myths herself, she was fully versed in its legendary significance – just as she knew it had once belonged to Kyla.
Kewatche slut.
Leo couldn't explain what drew her to it. The legend was quite clear: it wasn't supposed to belong to her. Not that Leo paid any attention to what she was supposed to do - and it wasn't as if she wanted the tacky trinket anyway – though if Clark felt compelled to give it to me next Christmas, it would be rude to turn him down…
Closing her eyes, Leo realized that this was the first time in a long time that she knew she could sleep without anxiety. Much of the misery of insomnia was the despair that it would never end and the fear that she would simply die from lack of sleep. But residing under the Kent roof, cocooned in Clark's bed, the weight of the bracelet comforting her , and the soft chimes of her music box now soothing her, she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
For at least one night, the nocturnal demons that plagued her fell silent.
"Morning," Mr. Kent curtly greeted as Leo came down the stairs. His weathered brow dimpled in momentary surprise at her appearance – he had never seen her dressed so casually before. "Martha wanted to make you breakfast before she left for work, but you weren't awake yet. We thought it would be better if we let you sleep."
"I'm grateful," she acknowledged, trying to sound more sincere and less reticent than usual. "I'm usually up earlier than this – I haven't been sleeping well lately. I guess I didn't realize how tired I was." Saying it, she realized just how much it really was true.
This earned her a small half-smile. Leo didn't know what to make of it. She wasn't quite used to Mr. Kent being so nice to her.
"Well, it's a little after 5:30 right now," Mr. Kent told her, without the suspicious edge to his tone that Leo had become accustomed to. "I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. It's not up to Talon standards, but you're welcome to it."
"Welcome" wasn't a word Leo had ever expected Mr. Kent to use when talking to her. Her shock was barely covered as she evenly replied, "Is there anything I can do to help out? I'm not looking for a hand out; I can earn my keep."
"I'm sure you can," Mr. Kent replied, "but that's really not necessary. Besides, there really isn't anything you'd be qualified to do." Well, that wasn't totally true. While Leo didn't have the knowledge to perform any of the skilled farm tasks that Martha had usually done, there were plenty of crappy menial jobs he could have assigned her.
And though a part of him would have relished watching Leo muck out stalls, Jonathan wasn't comfortable having a woman perform that sort of heavy physical toil. Maybe he was being chauvinistic or old-fashioned, but he couldn't assign those kinds of tasks to the refined young woman. She may be a Luthor, but she's still a lady.
Unsure whether to be touched or offended by his attitude, Leo doggedly pressed on, "I'm sure there's something I can do to help out." Pursing her lips, she then suggested, "Maybe a little housework? And I could prepare some breakfast for you and Clark…"
Jonathan's eyebrows flew up in mild surprise. Her offer was completely unexpected, and he couldn't help being a little impressed at her sense of personal responsibility. "Well, I've already eaten, and I still have to finish the rest of my morning chores, but I'm sure Clark would appreciate it."
Leo instantly brightened at the thought.
Nodding to her, Mr. Kent went out the back door to get on with his work for the day.
Squaring her shoulders in determination, Leo began scouring the kitchen for the proper instruments. This isn't so bad – just think of it like a lab at school.
After all, she ate breakfast almost every day, and she had been surrounded by servants her whole life who did this for a living.
How hard could this possibly be?
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Over an hour later, Leo glanced at the clock as she scampered around the kitchen. After she had gone through all this hard work, she hoped Clark would wake up in time for breakfast.
She was currently engaged in her third attempt at preparing Clark's morning meal.
This is definitely tougher than it looks – Leo made a mental note to give her chef a raise once she returned from exile.
Still, she couldn't help feeling oddly proud of the product she'd finally turned out – she believed it demonstrated marked improvement, if she said so herself. Despite some earlier setbacks, she was certain that she had finally prepared a meal fit for…well, maybe not human consumption, but she was pretty sure Clark could digest it.
Her previous attempts at scrambled eggs had resulted in a vile, gelatinous mass she wouldn't have fed her most hated enemy.
However, this batch looks much better; and aren't eggshells supposed to have protein or something anyway?
As she began loading the scrambled eggs onto a plate, she found herself wondering why she was even bothering. He wouldn't expect it. She was slightly annoyed to realize that she was trying make a good impression.
'But on whom?' she wondered, thoughtful and confused.
Mrs. Kent wasn't even there.
As for Mr. Kent, she hadn't expected the kind hospitality he had offered her that morning. Kindness and generosity from men usually aroused her suspicion. In other circumstances, she would have been deeply suspicious of the man's motives, but she was still under the enchantment of Clark's room and the sweet solace of a peaceful night's sleep.
'Or maybe I'm trying to impress…Clark?' she mused as she finished buttering and cutting the charred toast.
Oh yeah, the presentation of burnt toast and runny eggs will blow him away. And since when do I have to prove anything to Clark?
Or maybe staying with the Kent's just activated some sort of dormant domesticity gene…
Finally stirring on the couch in the living room behind her, Clark unleashed a jaw-cracking yawn and stretched out widely. Rubbing his eyes vigorously, his gaze rested on the harried, red-headed figure in front of the kitchen stove.
"Mom?" he called out in a fit of momentary daze.
Leo rolled her eyes and tore herself from her labor, turning around to face him with her arms akimbo. "Clark, I know I'm a little ragged this morning, but I'm not that old."
"Leo?" Then his memory of the previous night came flooding back. "Sorry," he grinned sheepishly. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought I explained that last night."
"No, no," Clark huffed. It was definitely too early in the morning for him to be trading words with Leo coherently. "I mean, what are you doing in the kitchen?"
"What does it look like, Clark? I'm cooking you breakfast," she explained matter-of-factly.
"You…cooking breakfast?" Clark asked, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.
Glaring at him, Leo replied, "You don't have to sound so nervous."
"I - I'm not. Of course, I'm not. I'm..."
"This from a man who bench-presses tractors and is virtually invulnerable to harm," Leo grumbled, raising an annoyed eyebrow. "Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"
Clark smiled guiltily. "Sorry. It smells…good," he offered diplomatically.
"Why, thank you, Clark," she acknowledged. "Now go upstairs to wash up and change - you're going to be late. And here I thought all farmers woke up at the crack of dawn. Breakfast will be on the table when you get down."
"Hope you saved some hot water for me," Clark jibed.
"It would serve you right if I didn't," she chided. "But if there isn't, we could always try conserving water by sharing tomorrow."
Clark blinked as his imagination took him to a happy place…
"Clark!" she scolded playfully, snapping him from his reverie, seemingly oblivious to her insinuation. "It's getting late. Come on."
He shook his head slightly. "Right. Thanks Leo!" Woosh. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
Leo blinked, dazedly. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to that.
A few minutes later, Leo and Clark sat across from each other for breakfast at the kitchen table. Normally, Clark would have been down even sooner, but he'd taken some extra pains on his appearance after zipping through his morning chores, splashing on a liberal quantity of his dad's Old Spice and slipping on one of his tighter t-shirts (after a few thousand push-ups at super-speed to puff up his biceps, shoulders, and pecs underneath).
As Clark sat down at the table, Leo placed a plate of food in front of him while she sipped a mug of coffee.
Leo shook her head slightly. Her life was so strange.
Stripped of everything, thrown out by her father, betrayed by her newfound brother, and living on the charitable sufferance of others - Leo would have thought she'd be absolutely dejected and miserable.
Instead, she was seized by nothing but profound gratitude and relief.
She was grateful for her tall, tousled friend sitting across the kitchen table from her, shoveling the most disgusting breakfast known to man into his mouth, babbling about how this was the best prepared meal he had ever tasted.
She was grateful that he couldn't lie convincingly to save his life.
She was grateful for the old-fashioned kitchen, furnished with all of Martha Kent's things.
They could have been a million miles from anywhere, with nothing intruding from the outside world except for the chickens squawking in the barnyard. The morning sun shone in through the homemade wooden window blinds.
She sipped her coffee again quietly. She was at peace….
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Clark took a cautious bite and grimaced a little at the feel of biting into it.
"Oh man," Clark thought, barely suppressing his gag reflex in time. He quickly smoothed over the stricken expression that overtook his face, desperately hoping Leo hadn't noticed.
Clark had never eaten eggs that tasted both burned and undercooked simultaneously, but apparently Leo was gifted. He sat in silence for a moment, trying to figure out how to dispose of his mouthful. Unable to think of another alternative, Clark swallowed, and then proceeded to finish off the scrambled-egg-like substance and burnt toast slices, charred ashes and eggshell bits included.
"Would you care for some salt?" she inquired intently, "it should bring out the flavor of the eggs."
Clark rigorously nodded his assent as she passed him the salt, barely suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed.
After applying a generous quantity, Clark plunged the shaft of his fork into Leo's moist eggs over and over, repeatedly sliding it in and out, back and forth between the plate and his mouth, eagerly glancing over in Leo's direction the whole time, hoping she was satisfied.
He watched Leo regarding him with a tranquil smile, her fingertips absently tracing the rim of her coffee mug between sips, gently caressing the lip of the mug with her fingertips, before swallowing its warm contents.
Clark was momentarily mesmerized by her action, his eyes drawn to the smooth column of her throat as she swallowed. Oh god, what I'd give to be that mug…
"Are you enjoying your meal?"
Wide-eyed, Clark eagerly responded, "This is really great. Is there anymore?"
Luckily, Leo saved him from that fate by informing him there was no more and that he should be leaving soon before he was late for school.
From the gentle, mysterious smile tugging at her lips, he was pretty sure she'd bought his assurances and white lies. While he never liked lying to Leo or holding stuff back from her, he only did it to spare her feelings…
Oddly enough, though, Clark's babbling assurances about the delectability of his meal was almost genuine by the time he finished his breakfast.
Or maybe it's the company more than the food.
While he ate, Clark noticed Leo looking at him, a serene smile gracing her soft features as she quietly sipped her coffee. Drawn in by her peaceful expression, Clark couldn't help holding her gaze steadily as they shared the moment together.
Clark didn't have a label for what he was feeling. No woman had ever cooked a meal for him before. Well, his mom cooked for him most every day, but this was totally different.
Maybe it was sappy, but Clark couldn't help feeling the rightness of Leo sitting across from him. It was entirely too easy to believe that they were together, that maybe they were living together or married, and she'd just prepared his breakfast before sending him off to work or school or something…
'Wait – what am I thinking?' Clark scolded himself, 'This isn't 'Leave It to Beaver'.'
He knew Leo would never be content to be tied down as a housewife, and he would never want her to be one anyway. She was so beautiful and so smart and capable of doing anything – Clark would never want to stand in her way.
Not that he ever could – she just didn't see him that way anyhow. Maybe she might never see me that way…
And why should she? She was gorgeous, wealthy, and brilliant – she only deserved the best, not some dorky, love-struck teenaged alien.
And yet, Clark couldn't help wanting to prolong the illusion, for just a little longer.
Dressed in a frumpy pullover and jeans beneath one of his mom's aprons, her hair was pulled back in a fraying ponytail. She was completely unadorned by any jewelry or make-up, save the slight smudge on her cheek.
She brushed a stray tendril of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.
The atrocious flavor of what he was consuming was totally forgotten as the golden rays from the sun glistened in her lush, silky red locks.
She's never looked more beautiful.
Shoveling the last of his disgusting meal into his mouth, he was suddenly very sure – it's definitely the company, not the food.
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To be continued…