"How'd it go?" General Lane asked on his return.

"It went very well," Clark answered. "They wanted a sample of my blood to prove that I'm Kryptonian before they completely divulged their plans, but Earth is under no immediate threat. I will see them again tomorrow after they've had a chance to look at my DNA."

"Good. It's important to gain their trust. How many of them are there?"

"More than the army could take. Dozens of them." It was a necessary deception. If he told him that they were powerless at the moment, he'd swoop in and his role would be done. The clones had something he wanted, an understanding of genetics that would put the top geneticist in the world to shame, and he couldn't have the military fouling everything up.

He nodded. "I was afraid of that. Well, nice work. Keep it up, and you might just gain your freedom."

He hid his smirk. It was all too easy sometimes, playing people like a fiddle.

They returned to the apartment. As it was a Saturday, Lois was still there. Though she was no doubt working being that she was on her laptop. The woman didn't know how to take a break though she was probably working on something behind Tess' back, in which case, more power to her. He still planned on his sister being among his first victims once he got his slate wiped clean.

"Well?" Lois asked, looking at him.

Clark knew Luthor history as well as he knew American history. Maybe better. And one thing that the Luthor dynasty had proved time and time again was that the family knew how to survive. Levi Luthor had began the war as a British Loyalist and ended the war an American Patriot. Luthors picked the winning team every time. They amassed the best stocks, they merged with the best companies, and when their selection might have been off, they fudged the rest. Why then did he find it so hard to look this woman in the eyes and lie? It was second nature to him, but it got harder all the time. "Well, what?"

Her gaze narrowed at his weak response, but she played along. "How did the meeting go?"

"That's classified information," General Lane said, jumping to his rescue. To Clark, he said, "Don't forget you're talking to the press."

She snorted. "As if Tess would let me report on the story of the century. I've been assigned to do a story on Metropolis' favorite, fun-filled, fall activities."

He knew that had to be driving her crazy. Fluff pieces were not her cup of tea. "So why do you stay?"

"The same reason I stayed when you were running the paper and the city, more or less, because I don't turn tail and run. This is my home, and I'll fight for it to my last breath."

"That's my girl," Sam said, while he assembled a sandwich. He was obviously proud of her soldier-like attitude.

"I can't say I don't admire your grim persistence. Do either of you mind if I pull together my own lunch?"

"Be my guest," Lois said, her trademark curiosity etched on her face as she watched him search her fridge for ingredients. "You won't find much, I'm afraid. I pretty much live on takeout and TV dinners."

"It's okay. I'll manage." He found half a carton of eggs and leftover salad ingredients. He even found an apron hanging on a hook with the irritating cliché, "Kiss the Cook." It must have belong to Oliver judging by the size and general tackiness. He got down the solitary pan she owned and made it sizzle with a dab of butter he'd located in a McDonald's packet.

Lois laughed.

"What?" he asked, not bothering to hide his slight irritation.

"Oh, nothing. I just never thought I'd see the day that Clark Luthor put on an apron and made something as fancy as an omelet."

"An omelet is hardly fine cooking."

"Oh, trust me, as a girl who burns water, it is."

Was she flirting with him? Judging by Sam Lane's death glare, he certainly thought it was possible.

He had enough to make Lois one too. He knew her well enough to know she probably hadn't eaten and was too into her work to notice. In fact, she was buried in her research through most of his cooking, so he genuinely surprised her when he set the plate down in front of her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"You know what it is," he groused.

She took a bite and sounded even more surprised. "This is good. It really is. I had this in the refrigerator?"

"Yep."

"Wow, you, Clark Luthor, have a gift."

"Our tax dollars hard at work," Sam grumbled from behind a newspaper. "Turning convicts into chefs."

Watching her moan and give sighs of pleasure as she ate his simple egg dish did something to his insides that went beyond lust. Was this how domestic life with Lois would have been? Was this how it was with their counterparts? He yearned for something in that moment that he didn't know he had yearned for.

He shook the cobwebs from his head. A happy little home life wasn't in the cards for him; he wasn't going to live out a Norman Rockwell painting. Destiny and his many sins had seen to that. Besides which, he had a plan that involved revenge and getting his empire and powers back. And yet, the yearning for something more than his life had been before was there. It was shocking to say the least.