"I want to die." Lex thought. "Someone needs to come and put me out of my misery."
He lay curled in a ball in the center of his bed, his head throbbing, his body aching and his sinuses filled to capacity; wishing he could throttle his doctor who swore his latest flu vaccine was guaranteed to knock off every current strain of the disease. What was the point in having the most talented and expensive physicians at ones disposal if they could not do their job correctly? They had one standing order, and that was it - keep Lex from being sick.
Someone was getting a pink slip as soon as Lex gathered the strength to pick up the phone.
He'd probably caught the flu running around in the cool night air after Whitney "dumb ass" Fordman and those idiot mutant jocks who had Lex totally fucked for a fortnight. They'd made off with evidence of a particularly nasty bit of misbehavior on Lex's part, stolen several irreplaceable artifacts worth a great deal of money, and put Chloe in the hospital. Lex liked Chloe. She reminded him of himself - never satisfied with what she could see on the surface and always digging for what was hidden beneath it. She also shared his all consuming obsession with Clark Kent, although Lex was way ahead of her in that situation and was not about to share.
Clark was his.
And you didn't fuck with what belonged to Lex Luthor.
The whole situation had already been a royal mess; between the robbery, Chloe's injury and the blackmail attempt that Clark putting himself in the middle of it totally threw Lex into a tailspin. Lex rarely got involved in "situations" directly, preferring to let hirelings do his work for him, but when Clark was in danger of being seriously injured, if not killed, Lex roused himself out to defend what was his himself. He'd very nearly broken his cover when the jock ring leader shoved his fist into Clark's chest; as Clark's agonized cry cut him to the bone, but he'd stayed his hand until the time was right. Wade had not survived. He was lucky. Lex would have not been very kind to him had he lived.
As a reward for his devotion, Lex had caught the flu and had to watch as Clark spent every minute of his free time with Chloe. It was infuriating. When he was sick Lex tended to revert to the spoiled, whining brat he'd been before the meteor shower put life in a new perspective. Thus he spent his days curled up in the middle of his bed - much as he was now - pouting because Clark did not visit him. He would have rather been curled up in bed with Clark, doing something besides pouting, but he did not see that occurring any time in the near future. Breathing was more a priority than sex at the moment.
The only thing making Lex feel even halfway decent was the gloating he was doing over Fordman's loss of the football scholarship. That had taken a very complicated bit of manipulating to achieve and Lex was quite pleased with himself at having accomplished it. As long as Whitney stayed in Smallville he was a roadblock between Clark and Lana, and as long as Lana stayed out of Clark's life - Clark turned to Lex for companionship.
Among other things.
Lex reached one arm out from under the blankets and grabbed a handful of tissue with which to blow his nose. Fucking doctors.
He heard the door open and expected Hannah to ask him if he felt up to breakfast and if he needed anything, to which a scathing reply was already forming on his tongue. He was rather startled to hear a tenor call his name instead of the housekeeper's light soprano, and he spared a look over the top of his blankets. The sight that greeted him was most welcome.
"Clark." he croaked.
"You sound terrible."
Lex levered himself up into a sitting position, stacking his pillows behind him. "I feel terrible." he replied sullenly, but actually felt quite a bit better, especially as Clark crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. "And probably don't look much better."
"Your nose is all red."
"Great."
Clark's smile lit up the room. "Lex you've never struck me as particularly vain before."
"I'm horribly vain Clark. You try being bald from the age of twelve. It makes you extremely conscious of how you look in every other aspect. Everything else has to be perfect to make up for it." he sighed, and shrugged. "So what brings you here?"
"Hannah called and ordered some of mom's tomatoes. Said she was having your cook make fresh vegetable soup because you were sick."
"So you came to deliver the produce."
The petulant tone Lex tried to prevent must have made it into his voice despite the fact, for Clark's expression softened and he looked slightly hurt. Lex did not meet his gaze even though he wanted nothing more than to look into those grey eyes he adored so much.
"I came to see how you were feeling." Clark said quietly.
Lex chose to be unimpressed and changed the subject. "How's Chloe?"
"Fine. She gets her cast off this week."
"And the quarterback?"
"Lana says he's doing all right. He's helping her with the Talon renovation."
Lex couldn't resist it any longer, and he looked up into Clark's eyes. "How are you?"
As usual those eyes caught him, and held him so that he could not look away and all the emotions Clark usually hid from the outside world were expressed within them. He gave that much to Lex, even if his deepest secrets were still hidden. Lex knew his heart, and knew that something was wrong beyond the fact Whitney and Lana had moved a bit closer since this last crisis. The answer to Lex's question was "not so good" and Clark didn't have to say it aloud. Lex's response was also unspoken: "tell me."
"I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"I've been there." Lex smiled slightly, and Clark shot back a wry smile himself. "Nightmares?"
"Yeah."
"Well I don't recommend drowning them in vodka."
Clark laughed, which had been Lex's purpose with the joke, but after a moment both of them grew sober once again.
"Dealing with Whitney, and that whole situation, just brought back some bad memories." Clark shrugged. "No big deal. I'll get over it."
Lex said nothing. It was the scarecrow incident again, and this comment proved Lex's suspicion that it had been far more traumatic for Clark than he would admit. Lex remembered very well what he himself had seen, and it had shocked the hell out of him at the time. Even now, recalling the sight of Clark tied mercilessly to a stake in the middle of a cornfield made Lex's stomach tie itself up in knots. The kids pain had been obvious and each agonized breath he took had driven a knife into Lex's heart even then. Had Lex not come along when he did, Clark very likely would have died.
He also had a sneaking suspicion more had happened out there that night than just a simple prank and Clark was either repressing it, didn't remember it at all, or simply refused to talk about it. Lex had gone behind him to untie the ropes that held him to the cross, and Lex had seen the dark streak of dried blood that ran down the back of his leg. Blood - and something else.
"Clark," he said gently. "This has to do with homecoming night doesn't it?"
The grey eyes flickered up to him; momentarily startled. "Yeah."
"What happened?"
Clark didn't speak for a moment. "You know what happened. Whitney and his goons beat me up and tied me to a stake."
"You were in pretty bad shape."
"I was freezing. You hang around on a stake for hours in nothing but your underwear."
"I'm sorry Clark." Lex said quietly. "But I've slept with you. I know your strength. I can't believe you went down with out a fight." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You were sick weren't you?"
Clark said nothing.
"Its Lana's necklace isn't it? Something about it makes you ill. You were fine once it came off."
"Don't push me Lex."
There was no mistaking the tone, and Lex was forced to retreat before he lost any ground he'd previously gained. Sometimes dealing with Clark was very much like a fencing match with intricate verbal sparring. There were times where you could safely advance upon your opponent, and times where you had to back off and let them take the offensive for a while. Lex enjoyed it even as much as it frustrated him, and it was another in a long list of things he found utterly attractive about Clark.
He'd gained a point though. Clark's reaction confirmed Lex's theories regarding the necklace and quite possibly the meteorites in general as well. He filed the information away, and moved away from the subject.
"Regardless," he said finally. "Clark if you need to talk about it, don't push me away." He leaned forward, and gently brushed his fingertips across one finely cut cheekbone. "I swear, I'll stop with the questions. If you just want to talk, I'll listen."
"I just want to forget about it." Sighing, Clark flexed his shoulders and looked away. "And that's something I'll have to do on my own."
Lex sat back on his pillows. "Suit yourself." he murmured.
"I have to go."
"Fine."
He heard the rustle of Clark's jacket, and glanced up as he moved closer. A breath of a kiss brushed his lips, and Clark's mouth lingered close.
"I have missed you." Lex whispered.
"I'm sorry."
Another breathy kiss.
"Clark you'll catch the flu."
A firmer kiss cut off any further protest, but it didn't last long. Lex couldn't breathe.
"I've got to go." Clark said, and got up. "I'll call. Feel better."
Lex watched him leave, and settled back down into the bed with a small smile. "I feel better already."
*********************
Lex had discovered, during the months of what he and Clark still jokingly referred to as "therapy" , that Clark's lovemaking varied considerably based on his moods. It was as if his "on-off" switch came with an adjustable dimmer and a range of settings. When he was in a good mood he tended to be rather aggressively passionate, which turned Lex on considerably because it was so out of character for the quiet kid he knew outside of the bedroom. On the other hand, when he was upset or distracted, Clark tended to be quite passive. That suited Lex just fine as well, for then he had free rein to do whatever he wanted and fed his desire to feel possessive.
He was highly possessive of Clark's body. He loved to simply look at it. Lex appreciated beautiful things - it was the reason why he collected art - and when he had first seen what Clark looked like beneath his clothes, he had been astounded. To keep himself fit, Lex worked out constantly and was not unattractive physically, but apparently farm work was very good to Clark. The kid was lean and muscular and much more developed - in more ways than one - than other kids his age. Not an inch of fat marred his perfection; no scars or blemishes either. He was absolutely beautiful. A work of fine art Lex desired more than anything else he'd ever laid eyes on.
When Clark was passive, Lex got to play, and sometimes Lex liked to play dirty.
He was feeling much better since his flu was vanquished and he'd set his doctors on edge with a threatening rage, and managing to get Clark over for an evening just solidified the good mood. He'd immediately dispensed with idle chit chat and dragged Clark upstairs without preamble, although Clark joked mercilessly about cold medicine being an amazing aphrodisiac. Lex silenced him with kisses, and there were no jokes now as Lex's mouth and hands kissed, caressed, and suckled every inch of his body from head to toe with particular attention paid to the center section.
Lex liked to tease, and he did, his eyes drinking in the expression on Clark's face as he came nearer and nearer to release. He wouldn't get that far, Lex wouldn't allow it, but rather brought things right to the edge before backing off abruptly. The groan that produced sent shivers of excitement down Lex's back, and he waited for a moment before continuing. Again he brought Clark to the pinnacle - only to withdraw before allowing him to fall over the edge. He was quite careful to avoid Clark's clenching hands, because he had learned the hard way that the kid was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked. The bruises had lasted for a week.
"Lex....."
Beg Clark, because that's the only way I'm going to let you go. Lex rubbed his thighs, feeling the muscles bunch beneath his hands, but otherwise left him alone.
"Hurts damnit."
Lex loved it when he cursed. "Does, doesn't it."
"You are such a bastard." Clark gasped, squirmed. "Oh, God, please...."
"Please what?"
Clark let loose with a string of cursing and dirty talk so nasty Lex nearly fell backwards out of the bed laughing at him, but the words made it very graphically clear what he wanted and so Lex humored him. The resultant reaction was immediate, intense, and again Lex nearly found the floor when the body beneath him jerked up off the bed. Clark's voice rose, faded, and as he settled back with a little moan, Lex took advantage of him again. This time he slaked his own desires, molding Clark's body around his own; possessing it inside and out. The begging had turned him on much more than he anticipated and as a wave pleasure finally coursed through his own body, he made a mental note to try that tactic another time.
With a sigh, he eventually curled up in the circle of Clark's arms, basking in his warmth, and listening to him breathe; and he could tell when Clark finally fell asleep by the rhythm of his breathing. Not wanting to lose the moment, Lex fought to stay awake himself, but gradually he found his resistance waning and he slipped into unconsciousness before he realized it. He did not dream, and did not acknowledge he slept until the body next to his shifted suddenly and he heard Clark's voice cry out. It jolted him into full awareness immediately.
Lex's first thought was that his father had burst in on them again, and thanked God when he realized it was not the case. Instead he looked up to see Clark sitting straight up beside him. The expression on his face was nothing short of horrified, tears dampened his cheeks as he stared into the room and his body began to shake with sudden chills. Lex found this alarming, as Clark was never cold.
"What is it?"
There was no answer.
"Clark?"
"I have to go."
Lex made a grab for him as he exited the bed, but missed. "Was it another nightmare?"
Almost frantically, Clark searched for his clothes, dragging them into a chair with him and jerking them onto his body. "No...yes..." He paused, obviously forced himself to calm down, and resumed getting dressed with a bit less intensity. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine if you wake up screaming." Lex said softly. "I know that from personal experience."
Clark looked up at him.
The silent communication between them made Lex's heart ache. Clark was going through some inner turmoil that was eating him alive, and he wanted nothing more than to talk to Lex about it and exercise the demons.
But...
He didn't understand enough about what his mind was doing to him to have anything to talk about. He didn't know why he was having nightmares about the scarecrow incident again and Lex already knew everything there was to know about it anyway. The results of this line of thinking showed clearly in his eyes; he was confused, and frightened. Lex saw it all within the brief moment their eyes met, reading the thoughts as surely as if they were spoken aloud.
"I have to go." Clark repeated.
Lex remained silent, and the next moment, Clark was gone.
Alone, Lex sat up in bed, and after some time of silent contemplation, he reached for the phone. The tragic truth of the situation was the fact Lex did know everything about that cold night in October, perhaps more than Clark did; certainly more than Clark realized. If Clark could not, or would not, talk about it and thus purge himself of the nightmares; another solution had to be found. First, however, Lex needed to confirm some of his darker suspicions.
Lex's call was answered on the third ring.
"Roger. I have a job for you. I need to know where I can find one Jeremy Creek."
*********************
Jeremy was institutionalized in a home just outside of Metropolis, supposedly for rehabilitation and counseling. Basically no one wanted him. He wasn't quite bad enough to be locked up in jail, and he wasn't crazy enough to be put in the mental hospital; yet his family wanted nothing to do with him. He had been placed in rehab. A prisoner, but not a prisoner.
Going to see him was one of the most difficult tasks Lex had ever had to do in his life.
The accident began the bond between himself and Clark, and that night in the cornfield sealed it. Clark wasn't the only one who had bad memories surrounding the incident, because Lex remembered very well the homecoming when Jeremy had been the scarecrow. In his lifetime Lex had experienced many traumas, but the ones he held at the top of the list of horrifying events were; the loss of his mother, the loss of Ryan, and the loss of his hair. It wasn't even the hair really anyway, but rather the scars the blast had left upon his soul when it stripped him to his basest self and left him exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been more afraid in his life. Yet Lex had come back to himself realizing he had been reborn, and he would not be the sniveling, simpering brat he had been before. He would not be his father's trophy kid - his pawn - and he would take himself much, much further than Lionel would ever dream of going. His scars made him tough, and his rebirth made him patient.
He would never forget that day when the sky fell and his world turned upside down; and the sight of Jeremy Creek tied to the cross had been permanently seared into his mind. Jeremy reminded him of his fear, and Lex Luthor did not like being afraid. Dredging up that fear and going to see Jeremy was yet another sacrifice he found himself willing to make for Clark. Clark might not ever come to appreciate it, but Lex felt he had to do it regardless.
Jeremy was in his room; a bare bones chamber with nothing more than a desk, a dresser, one chair and a bed. He sat in the chair with a book in his hands and did not notice the presence of his visitor. Lex paused, gathering himself, and then cleared his throat.
Jeremy looked up.
And all the images Lex remembered shot vividly through his mind when he looked into the watery blue eyes: the sight of the cross rising up out of the corn into the blue sky, the pain in Jeremy's face, and the nightmarish monster that was the meteor blast coming straight for them....
Lex swallowed heavily. Damnit. His hands were shaking.
He also remembered what he heard. He recalled Jeremy's plea for help, and the whine of the meteor as it streaked across the sky. He heard his father's voice calling his name and how it had been snuffed by the roaring of the shockwave that blasted Lex off his feet and pounded him into the ground.
He heard Clark's pleas for help twelve years later.
Fuck. I have to do this.
"I know you." Jeremy said quietly.
Lex inclined his head. "You do, although I don't believe we've been formally introduced - Lex Luthor."
There was no reaction. Jeremy continued to stare at him, which made Lex even more uneasy. Finally he gestured towards the desk chair, inviting Lex to sit.
"I'd prefer to stand if you don't mind."
Standing made Lex feel like he was in charge of the situation, not that he felt he was at the moment, and allowed him to bolt out the door if he needed to do so. He remained standing, and crossed his arms over his chest; leaning on the dresser. The stance also hid his hands, which were not at all steady.
Jeremy's voice was cold, and uninflected. "Suit yourself." he said. "What do you want with me?"
"I want to ask you some questions, about what happened last October."
The blue eyes narrowed. "I've already talked to the police, and the press. I told them all I can remember, which isn't much."
Lex allowed himself a little smile. "On the contrary. I spoke with your doctor just this morning. It seems your memory has been improving over the last few months. I think you remember much more than what you told the police."
There was silence, during which Lex wondered if he would be asked to leave, and he planned an appropriate response just in case. It turned out to be unnecessary.
"What makes you think I'd tell you anything more?"
"Because I don't give a rats ass about you, or what you did. I simply want to know what you saw." When Jeremy didn't respond, Lex continued. "A friend of mine ended up on that cross that night. I want to know what exactly happened, and who was behind it."
"You a cop?"
"No, just a concerned friend." Lex reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded computer printout. It was scanned copy of a photograph from the Smallville High School yearbook showing the upperclassmen on the football team. "Do you recognize any of these kids?"
Lex was finally relieved of the unnerving stare when Jeremy turned his eyes down to look at the photograph, but he moved a bit closer in order to see which jocks Jeremy would implicate. It took less time than he'd anticipated.
Jeremy immediately pointed to four of the football players: Jacob Harrigan, Paul Lewis, Brent Smith, and Whitney Fordman.
"Them. I saw them throw the Kent kid in the back of a truck. I knew what was going on, so I followed."
"What happened?"
Jeremy told him.
The four had taken Clark out to the field near the fertilizer plant, traditionally the place where the scarecrow was hung every year, and Jeremy had quietly followed them. When he arrived there was an argument going on between Whitney and Jake, apparently regarding some second thoughts on Whitney's part. Something wasn't right. They hadn't roughed Clark up that much and yet he was completely out cold and obviously ill. The others proposed to Whitney that Clark was faking, which he accepted somewhat reluctantly, and then it was discovered Brent had forgotten the rope. He had left it in his car back at the high school. He and Whitney drove off to get it, leaving Jake and Paul alone with Clark.
Lex really didn't want to know, but he asked anyway.
"Then what happened."
The answer was matter of fact.
"They raped him."
Closing his eyes, Lex felt the bile rise in his throat. It was the answer he'd been afraid to hear.
Oh God, Clark....
"I was spared that at least." Jeremy continued quietly.
It took Lex a while before he could talk. His heart ached, and he could feel his eyes burning, but he had much experience with burying his emotions, and he swallowed them down out of the way.
No wonder this latest encounter triggered the nightmares again. Being beaten up by a gang of jocks and having that bastard Wade's fist shoved into his chest - a different kind of rape but rape all the same - must have been hell for Clark. Top it off with the fact that he was trying to save Whitney - who had initiated the scarecrow incident in the first place- and mix in his current affair with Lex; Clark had to be an emotional basket case right about now.
"Was he conscious?" Lex whispered, and begged for the answer to be "no."
"Not at first, but I think he may have realized what was happening towards the end. It was hard to tell. He wasn't in a position to fight them off. He was sick, the Fordman kid was right about that." Jeremy shrugged. "They were done with him when the other two came back. They strung him up and left. He came around a bit, spoke to me, and I figured he'd be all right. I'd go about my business and send someone out to get him later."
The dam burst, and Lex's grief suddenly turned into rage. "Why didn't you stop them?" he demanded.
"If I'd been allowed to go on with my plan, they'd all be dead anyway."
Lex wanted to strangle him, the fucker. He could have stopped it. He was there, but he didn't lift a finger to help Clark and in addition left the kid hanging out there while he went on with his warped crusade of vengeance. If anyone deserved vengeance it was Clark. Jeremy had not been ill. Lex had seen him. He stood on a platform, simply tied up and humiliated. Clark had been beaten, molested, and crucified. He'd been hanging with all his weight on his arms, half unconscious and sick. He would have been dead by the time the jocks came back to untie him; suffocated as his lungs collapsed - another tragic news story. Another sad statistic.
Jeremy handed back the picture. "Is that what you wanted to know?" His eyes were sharp, and cold, and very very blue.
Like the October sky.
Without a word, Lex snatched the picture back, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room.
His long black coat tails flared behind him like the dark wings of an avenging angel.
************************
Lex was rather pleased to see Chloe back to her normal self, and actually spared her a smile as she and Clark came into the Beanery together. He asked them to join him with the excuse of rescheduling the interview the robbery had so rudely interrupted, and bought them coffee. He didn't look at Clark, but focused his attention on Chloe instead. He felt that if he had spared Clark a second look, he would have broken down. Jeremy's words still haunted him:
"They raped him."
He did, however, notice Clark's unusual silence and knew he must not be free of the nightmares. Lex hoped that would change soon. He prayed it did. He was not used to having feelings of empathy, it was not Lex's usual style, and watching Clark suffer was slowly eating away at him.
I love you too much. Its killing me to see you like this.
He realized Chloe was talking to him, and paid more attention.
"We're waiting for Lana and Whitney. Lana won movie tickets over the radio. We're going to the Cineplex in about a half hour."
"Lucky girl." Lex smiled. "So its a double date?"
"Not really." Clark murmured, and his gaze drifted towards the window, distracted. He didn't see the faint flicker of hurt that crossed Chloe's face at his dismissal of her as his date. "Here comes Lana."
They watched Lana cross the street, her long hair drifting in the breeze as she hurried out of the way of an oncoming car. She looked, as usual, pretty and ethereal and Lex did risk a glance at Clark in order to see the longing gaze directed at her elfin figure. Clark worshiped the ground Lana Lang walked upon, despite everything, and Lex simply did not understand it at all. It wasn't even a case of jealousy. Lex just simply did not understand the attraction. Lana was pretty, and she was intelligent to a point, but Clark deserved so much more than such a flighty and fickle girl as Lana Lang.
The bell on the door jingled, and Lana was greeted by some of her other friends as she came inside. Lex watched her thread her way back to their table, and noted the rather grim expression on her face. He also noted the absence of her quarterback boyfriend.
"Did you guys hear what happened?" She asked, before any of them could comment. "There was an accident last night, out by the plant."
Lex raised his eyebrows. "My plant?"
Lana nodded, and eased into the empty chair beside him.
"A couple of Whitney's teammates were killed and Whitney has gathered the rest of the team for a memorial at the school. He can't make the movies with us."
Chloe immediately started to fumble for her bag. "Oh my God. I should go too, this will be a big story and I should be there to cover it." Her face fell into a frown "I'm sorry Clark."
He merely shrugged. "The Torch always comes first." He did, however, give her an understanding smile.
Chloe returned it, and paused to ask Lana: "Who was it, by the way? Anyone we know?"
"Jake Harrigan and Paul Lewis."
"Whoa! Were they drunk?"
"I don't know. The police are still investigating, but they did say the car was traveling way over the speed limit. It ended up out in the field across the road from the plant Lex, I'm surprised you haven't already heard about it." Lana looked over to Lex inquiringly.
He shrugged. "They don't always tell me everything that happens out there." he said quietly.
He raised his cup, and looked over its edge at Clark as he drank.
Their eyes met.
Two hours later it would not be Lana who held Clark in her arms as he choked out the whole story of homecoming night in a flood of hysterical tears; and wallowed in guilt at feeling nothing over the deaths of his molesters.
Nor was it Lana who lay beside him when he slept without dreams for the first time in weeks.
************************
It had been after midnight, somewhere between one and two a.m., when Lex, sitting in the Jaguar in the driveway of the fertilizer plant, heard the sound of a car approaching. It was actually two cars, running side by side, at a speed well over eighty. Lex had gotten out of his car to watch them come roaring towards him through the darkness, and he'd followed their progress until - just yards before they reached the intersection of the driveway where Lex stood - one car swerved abruptly. It was the car closest to Lex, and its right front fender just tapped the side of the bright yellow mustang beside it. Immediately the driver of the mustang lost control, and the car shot up into the air as it lost its grip on the road; spinning out into the field beyond.
Lex had shuddered, thinking of Ryan, but he kept his eyes on the car.
It rolled several times into the field, which was illuminated by the headlights from Lex's Jaguar parked directly opposite. He watched, impassive, as it slammed into the one thing standing in that field at this time of the year....
The cross of the scarecrow.
The cross had tilted sideways when the car hit it, but remained standing as the mustang sat at its base hissing steam into the cool night air.
The first car, a sleek black Mercedes, turned around and had returned to the scene. It stopped beside Lex and the window rolled down to reveal a bearded man who's acne scarred face was as hard and cold as the steel hood of his vehicle.
"Do you want me to make sure?"
Lex had put his hands in his pockets, his eyes still on the wreckage of the yellow mustang, and he'd shaken his head. "I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Thank you."
The man nodded, rolled up the window, and the Merc slipped silently back into the darkness. The dent, and the bright streak of yellow paint on its front fender would be gone by sunrise.
Lex stood alone in the dark staring at the cross. His eyes, and his heart, were cold.
Twenty minutes later he was at home in the shower....
....while a bonfire consumed both the wooden cross and the crumpled mass of metal that lay at its base.
You didn't fuck with what belonged to Lex Luthor.
He lay curled in a ball in the center of his bed, his head throbbing, his body aching and his sinuses filled to capacity; wishing he could throttle his doctor who swore his latest flu vaccine was guaranteed to knock off every current strain of the disease. What was the point in having the most talented and expensive physicians at ones disposal if they could not do their job correctly? They had one standing order, and that was it - keep Lex from being sick.
Someone was getting a pink slip as soon as Lex gathered the strength to pick up the phone.
He'd probably caught the flu running around in the cool night air after Whitney "dumb ass" Fordman and those idiot mutant jocks who had Lex totally fucked for a fortnight. They'd made off with evidence of a particularly nasty bit of misbehavior on Lex's part, stolen several irreplaceable artifacts worth a great deal of money, and put Chloe in the hospital. Lex liked Chloe. She reminded him of himself - never satisfied with what she could see on the surface and always digging for what was hidden beneath it. She also shared his all consuming obsession with Clark Kent, although Lex was way ahead of her in that situation and was not about to share.
Clark was his.
And you didn't fuck with what belonged to Lex Luthor.
The whole situation had already been a royal mess; between the robbery, Chloe's injury and the blackmail attempt that Clark putting himself in the middle of it totally threw Lex into a tailspin. Lex rarely got involved in "situations" directly, preferring to let hirelings do his work for him, but when Clark was in danger of being seriously injured, if not killed, Lex roused himself out to defend what was his himself. He'd very nearly broken his cover when the jock ring leader shoved his fist into Clark's chest; as Clark's agonized cry cut him to the bone, but he'd stayed his hand until the time was right. Wade had not survived. He was lucky. Lex would have not been very kind to him had he lived.
As a reward for his devotion, Lex had caught the flu and had to watch as Clark spent every minute of his free time with Chloe. It was infuriating. When he was sick Lex tended to revert to the spoiled, whining brat he'd been before the meteor shower put life in a new perspective. Thus he spent his days curled up in the middle of his bed - much as he was now - pouting because Clark did not visit him. He would have rather been curled up in bed with Clark, doing something besides pouting, but he did not see that occurring any time in the near future. Breathing was more a priority than sex at the moment.
The only thing making Lex feel even halfway decent was the gloating he was doing over Fordman's loss of the football scholarship. That had taken a very complicated bit of manipulating to achieve and Lex was quite pleased with himself at having accomplished it. As long as Whitney stayed in Smallville he was a roadblock between Clark and Lana, and as long as Lana stayed out of Clark's life - Clark turned to Lex for companionship.
Among other things.
Lex reached one arm out from under the blankets and grabbed a handful of tissue with which to blow his nose. Fucking doctors.
He heard the door open and expected Hannah to ask him if he felt up to breakfast and if he needed anything, to which a scathing reply was already forming on his tongue. He was rather startled to hear a tenor call his name instead of the housekeeper's light soprano, and he spared a look over the top of his blankets. The sight that greeted him was most welcome.
"Clark." he croaked.
"You sound terrible."
Lex levered himself up into a sitting position, stacking his pillows behind him. "I feel terrible." he replied sullenly, but actually felt quite a bit better, especially as Clark crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. "And probably don't look much better."
"Your nose is all red."
"Great."
Clark's smile lit up the room. "Lex you've never struck me as particularly vain before."
"I'm horribly vain Clark. You try being bald from the age of twelve. It makes you extremely conscious of how you look in every other aspect. Everything else has to be perfect to make up for it." he sighed, and shrugged. "So what brings you here?"
"Hannah called and ordered some of mom's tomatoes. Said she was having your cook make fresh vegetable soup because you were sick."
"So you came to deliver the produce."
The petulant tone Lex tried to prevent must have made it into his voice despite the fact, for Clark's expression softened and he looked slightly hurt. Lex did not meet his gaze even though he wanted nothing more than to look into those grey eyes he adored so much.
"I came to see how you were feeling." Clark said quietly.
Lex chose to be unimpressed and changed the subject. "How's Chloe?"
"Fine. She gets her cast off this week."
"And the quarterback?"
"Lana says he's doing all right. He's helping her with the Talon renovation."
Lex couldn't resist it any longer, and he looked up into Clark's eyes. "How are you?"
As usual those eyes caught him, and held him so that he could not look away and all the emotions Clark usually hid from the outside world were expressed within them. He gave that much to Lex, even if his deepest secrets were still hidden. Lex knew his heart, and knew that something was wrong beyond the fact Whitney and Lana had moved a bit closer since this last crisis. The answer to Lex's question was "not so good" and Clark didn't have to say it aloud. Lex's response was also unspoken: "tell me."
"I haven't been sleeping well lately."
"I've been there." Lex smiled slightly, and Clark shot back a wry smile himself. "Nightmares?"
"Yeah."
"Well I don't recommend drowning them in vodka."
Clark laughed, which had been Lex's purpose with the joke, but after a moment both of them grew sober once again.
"Dealing with Whitney, and that whole situation, just brought back some bad memories." Clark shrugged. "No big deal. I'll get over it."
Lex said nothing. It was the scarecrow incident again, and this comment proved Lex's suspicion that it had been far more traumatic for Clark than he would admit. Lex remembered very well what he himself had seen, and it had shocked the hell out of him at the time. Even now, recalling the sight of Clark tied mercilessly to a stake in the middle of a cornfield made Lex's stomach tie itself up in knots. The kids pain had been obvious and each agonized breath he took had driven a knife into Lex's heart even then. Had Lex not come along when he did, Clark very likely would have died.
He also had a sneaking suspicion more had happened out there that night than just a simple prank and Clark was either repressing it, didn't remember it at all, or simply refused to talk about it. Lex had gone behind him to untie the ropes that held him to the cross, and Lex had seen the dark streak of dried blood that ran down the back of his leg. Blood - and something else.
"Clark," he said gently. "This has to do with homecoming night doesn't it?"
The grey eyes flickered up to him; momentarily startled. "Yeah."
"What happened?"
Clark didn't speak for a moment. "You know what happened. Whitney and his goons beat me up and tied me to a stake."
"You were in pretty bad shape."
"I was freezing. You hang around on a stake for hours in nothing but your underwear."
"I'm sorry Clark." Lex said quietly. "But I've slept with you. I know your strength. I can't believe you went down with out a fight." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You were sick weren't you?"
Clark said nothing.
"Its Lana's necklace isn't it? Something about it makes you ill. You were fine once it came off."
"Don't push me Lex."
There was no mistaking the tone, and Lex was forced to retreat before he lost any ground he'd previously gained. Sometimes dealing with Clark was very much like a fencing match with intricate verbal sparring. There were times where you could safely advance upon your opponent, and times where you had to back off and let them take the offensive for a while. Lex enjoyed it even as much as it frustrated him, and it was another in a long list of things he found utterly attractive about Clark.
He'd gained a point though. Clark's reaction confirmed Lex's theories regarding the necklace and quite possibly the meteorites in general as well. He filed the information away, and moved away from the subject.
"Regardless," he said finally. "Clark if you need to talk about it, don't push me away." He leaned forward, and gently brushed his fingertips across one finely cut cheekbone. "I swear, I'll stop with the questions. If you just want to talk, I'll listen."
"I just want to forget about it." Sighing, Clark flexed his shoulders and looked away. "And that's something I'll have to do on my own."
Lex sat back on his pillows. "Suit yourself." he murmured.
"I have to go."
"Fine."
He heard the rustle of Clark's jacket, and glanced up as he moved closer. A breath of a kiss brushed his lips, and Clark's mouth lingered close.
"I have missed you." Lex whispered.
"I'm sorry."
Another breathy kiss.
"Clark you'll catch the flu."
A firmer kiss cut off any further protest, but it didn't last long. Lex couldn't breathe.
"I've got to go." Clark said, and got up. "I'll call. Feel better."
Lex watched him leave, and settled back down into the bed with a small smile. "I feel better already."
*********************
Lex had discovered, during the months of what he and Clark still jokingly referred to as "therapy" , that Clark's lovemaking varied considerably based on his moods. It was as if his "on-off" switch came with an adjustable dimmer and a range of settings. When he was in a good mood he tended to be rather aggressively passionate, which turned Lex on considerably because it was so out of character for the quiet kid he knew outside of the bedroom. On the other hand, when he was upset or distracted, Clark tended to be quite passive. That suited Lex just fine as well, for then he had free rein to do whatever he wanted and fed his desire to feel possessive.
He was highly possessive of Clark's body. He loved to simply look at it. Lex appreciated beautiful things - it was the reason why he collected art - and when he had first seen what Clark looked like beneath his clothes, he had been astounded. To keep himself fit, Lex worked out constantly and was not unattractive physically, but apparently farm work was very good to Clark. The kid was lean and muscular and much more developed - in more ways than one - than other kids his age. Not an inch of fat marred his perfection; no scars or blemishes either. He was absolutely beautiful. A work of fine art Lex desired more than anything else he'd ever laid eyes on.
When Clark was passive, Lex got to play, and sometimes Lex liked to play dirty.
He was feeling much better since his flu was vanquished and he'd set his doctors on edge with a threatening rage, and managing to get Clark over for an evening just solidified the good mood. He'd immediately dispensed with idle chit chat and dragged Clark upstairs without preamble, although Clark joked mercilessly about cold medicine being an amazing aphrodisiac. Lex silenced him with kisses, and there were no jokes now as Lex's mouth and hands kissed, caressed, and suckled every inch of his body from head to toe with particular attention paid to the center section.
Lex liked to tease, and he did, his eyes drinking in the expression on Clark's face as he came nearer and nearer to release. He wouldn't get that far, Lex wouldn't allow it, but rather brought things right to the edge before backing off abruptly. The groan that produced sent shivers of excitement down Lex's back, and he waited for a moment before continuing. Again he brought Clark to the pinnacle - only to withdraw before allowing him to fall over the edge. He was quite careful to avoid Clark's clenching hands, because he had learned the hard way that the kid was a hell of a lot stronger than he looked. The bruises had lasted for a week.
"Lex....."
Beg Clark, because that's the only way I'm going to let you go. Lex rubbed his thighs, feeling the muscles bunch beneath his hands, but otherwise left him alone.
"Hurts damnit."
Lex loved it when he cursed. "Does, doesn't it."
"You are such a bastard." Clark gasped, squirmed. "Oh, God, please...."
"Please what?"
Clark let loose with a string of cursing and dirty talk so nasty Lex nearly fell backwards out of the bed laughing at him, but the words made it very graphically clear what he wanted and so Lex humored him. The resultant reaction was immediate, intense, and again Lex nearly found the floor when the body beneath him jerked up off the bed. Clark's voice rose, faded, and as he settled back with a little moan, Lex took advantage of him again. This time he slaked his own desires, molding Clark's body around his own; possessing it inside and out. The begging had turned him on much more than he anticipated and as a wave pleasure finally coursed through his own body, he made a mental note to try that tactic another time.
With a sigh, he eventually curled up in the circle of Clark's arms, basking in his warmth, and listening to him breathe; and he could tell when Clark finally fell asleep by the rhythm of his breathing. Not wanting to lose the moment, Lex fought to stay awake himself, but gradually he found his resistance waning and he slipped into unconsciousness before he realized it. He did not dream, and did not acknowledge he slept until the body next to his shifted suddenly and he heard Clark's voice cry out. It jolted him into full awareness immediately.
Lex's first thought was that his father had burst in on them again, and thanked God when he realized it was not the case. Instead he looked up to see Clark sitting straight up beside him. The expression on his face was nothing short of horrified, tears dampened his cheeks as he stared into the room and his body began to shake with sudden chills. Lex found this alarming, as Clark was never cold.
"What is it?"
There was no answer.
"Clark?"
"I have to go."
Lex made a grab for him as he exited the bed, but missed. "Was it another nightmare?"
Almost frantically, Clark searched for his clothes, dragging them into a chair with him and jerking them onto his body. "No...yes..." He paused, obviously forced himself to calm down, and resumed getting dressed with a bit less intensity. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine if you wake up screaming." Lex said softly. "I know that from personal experience."
Clark looked up at him.
The silent communication between them made Lex's heart ache. Clark was going through some inner turmoil that was eating him alive, and he wanted nothing more than to talk to Lex about it and exercise the demons.
But...
He didn't understand enough about what his mind was doing to him to have anything to talk about. He didn't know why he was having nightmares about the scarecrow incident again and Lex already knew everything there was to know about it anyway. The results of this line of thinking showed clearly in his eyes; he was confused, and frightened. Lex saw it all within the brief moment their eyes met, reading the thoughts as surely as if they were spoken aloud.
"I have to go." Clark repeated.
Lex remained silent, and the next moment, Clark was gone.
Alone, Lex sat up in bed, and after some time of silent contemplation, he reached for the phone. The tragic truth of the situation was the fact Lex did know everything about that cold night in October, perhaps more than Clark did; certainly more than Clark realized. If Clark could not, or would not, talk about it and thus purge himself of the nightmares; another solution had to be found. First, however, Lex needed to confirm some of his darker suspicions.
Lex's call was answered on the third ring.
"Roger. I have a job for you. I need to know where I can find one Jeremy Creek."
*********************
Jeremy was institutionalized in a home just outside of Metropolis, supposedly for rehabilitation and counseling. Basically no one wanted him. He wasn't quite bad enough to be locked up in jail, and he wasn't crazy enough to be put in the mental hospital; yet his family wanted nothing to do with him. He had been placed in rehab. A prisoner, but not a prisoner.
Going to see him was one of the most difficult tasks Lex had ever had to do in his life.
The accident began the bond between himself and Clark, and that night in the cornfield sealed it. Clark wasn't the only one who had bad memories surrounding the incident, because Lex remembered very well the homecoming when Jeremy had been the scarecrow. In his lifetime Lex had experienced many traumas, but the ones he held at the top of the list of horrifying events were; the loss of his mother, the loss of Ryan, and the loss of his hair. It wasn't even the hair really anyway, but rather the scars the blast had left upon his soul when it stripped him to his basest self and left him exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been more afraid in his life. Yet Lex had come back to himself realizing he had been reborn, and he would not be the sniveling, simpering brat he had been before. He would not be his father's trophy kid - his pawn - and he would take himself much, much further than Lionel would ever dream of going. His scars made him tough, and his rebirth made him patient.
He would never forget that day when the sky fell and his world turned upside down; and the sight of Jeremy Creek tied to the cross had been permanently seared into his mind. Jeremy reminded him of his fear, and Lex Luthor did not like being afraid. Dredging up that fear and going to see Jeremy was yet another sacrifice he found himself willing to make for Clark. Clark might not ever come to appreciate it, but Lex felt he had to do it regardless.
Jeremy was in his room; a bare bones chamber with nothing more than a desk, a dresser, one chair and a bed. He sat in the chair with a book in his hands and did not notice the presence of his visitor. Lex paused, gathering himself, and then cleared his throat.
Jeremy looked up.
And all the images Lex remembered shot vividly through his mind when he looked into the watery blue eyes: the sight of the cross rising up out of the corn into the blue sky, the pain in Jeremy's face, and the nightmarish monster that was the meteor blast coming straight for them....
Lex swallowed heavily. Damnit. His hands were shaking.
He also remembered what he heard. He recalled Jeremy's plea for help, and the whine of the meteor as it streaked across the sky. He heard his father's voice calling his name and how it had been snuffed by the roaring of the shockwave that blasted Lex off his feet and pounded him into the ground.
He heard Clark's pleas for help twelve years later.
Fuck. I have to do this.
"I know you." Jeremy said quietly.
Lex inclined his head. "You do, although I don't believe we've been formally introduced - Lex Luthor."
There was no reaction. Jeremy continued to stare at him, which made Lex even more uneasy. Finally he gestured towards the desk chair, inviting Lex to sit.
"I'd prefer to stand if you don't mind."
Standing made Lex feel like he was in charge of the situation, not that he felt he was at the moment, and allowed him to bolt out the door if he needed to do so. He remained standing, and crossed his arms over his chest; leaning on the dresser. The stance also hid his hands, which were not at all steady.
Jeremy's voice was cold, and uninflected. "Suit yourself." he said. "What do you want with me?"
"I want to ask you some questions, about what happened last October."
The blue eyes narrowed. "I've already talked to the police, and the press. I told them all I can remember, which isn't much."
Lex allowed himself a little smile. "On the contrary. I spoke with your doctor just this morning. It seems your memory has been improving over the last few months. I think you remember much more than what you told the police."
There was silence, during which Lex wondered if he would be asked to leave, and he planned an appropriate response just in case. It turned out to be unnecessary.
"What makes you think I'd tell you anything more?"
"Because I don't give a rats ass about you, or what you did. I simply want to know what you saw." When Jeremy didn't respond, Lex continued. "A friend of mine ended up on that cross that night. I want to know what exactly happened, and who was behind it."
"You a cop?"
"No, just a concerned friend." Lex reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded computer printout. It was scanned copy of a photograph from the Smallville High School yearbook showing the upperclassmen on the football team. "Do you recognize any of these kids?"
Lex was finally relieved of the unnerving stare when Jeremy turned his eyes down to look at the photograph, but he moved a bit closer in order to see which jocks Jeremy would implicate. It took less time than he'd anticipated.
Jeremy immediately pointed to four of the football players: Jacob Harrigan, Paul Lewis, Brent Smith, and Whitney Fordman.
"Them. I saw them throw the Kent kid in the back of a truck. I knew what was going on, so I followed."
"What happened?"
Jeremy told him.
The four had taken Clark out to the field near the fertilizer plant, traditionally the place where the scarecrow was hung every year, and Jeremy had quietly followed them. When he arrived there was an argument going on between Whitney and Jake, apparently regarding some second thoughts on Whitney's part. Something wasn't right. They hadn't roughed Clark up that much and yet he was completely out cold and obviously ill. The others proposed to Whitney that Clark was faking, which he accepted somewhat reluctantly, and then it was discovered Brent had forgotten the rope. He had left it in his car back at the high school. He and Whitney drove off to get it, leaving Jake and Paul alone with Clark.
Lex really didn't want to know, but he asked anyway.
"Then what happened."
The answer was matter of fact.
"They raped him."
Closing his eyes, Lex felt the bile rise in his throat. It was the answer he'd been afraid to hear.
Oh God, Clark....
"I was spared that at least." Jeremy continued quietly.
It took Lex a while before he could talk. His heart ached, and he could feel his eyes burning, but he had much experience with burying his emotions, and he swallowed them down out of the way.
No wonder this latest encounter triggered the nightmares again. Being beaten up by a gang of jocks and having that bastard Wade's fist shoved into his chest - a different kind of rape but rape all the same - must have been hell for Clark. Top it off with the fact that he was trying to save Whitney - who had initiated the scarecrow incident in the first place- and mix in his current affair with Lex; Clark had to be an emotional basket case right about now.
"Was he conscious?" Lex whispered, and begged for the answer to be "no."
"Not at first, but I think he may have realized what was happening towards the end. It was hard to tell. He wasn't in a position to fight them off. He was sick, the Fordman kid was right about that." Jeremy shrugged. "They were done with him when the other two came back. They strung him up and left. He came around a bit, spoke to me, and I figured he'd be all right. I'd go about my business and send someone out to get him later."
The dam burst, and Lex's grief suddenly turned into rage. "Why didn't you stop them?" he demanded.
"If I'd been allowed to go on with my plan, they'd all be dead anyway."
Lex wanted to strangle him, the fucker. He could have stopped it. He was there, but he didn't lift a finger to help Clark and in addition left the kid hanging out there while he went on with his warped crusade of vengeance. If anyone deserved vengeance it was Clark. Jeremy had not been ill. Lex had seen him. He stood on a platform, simply tied up and humiliated. Clark had been beaten, molested, and crucified. He'd been hanging with all his weight on his arms, half unconscious and sick. He would have been dead by the time the jocks came back to untie him; suffocated as his lungs collapsed - another tragic news story. Another sad statistic.
Jeremy handed back the picture. "Is that what you wanted to know?" His eyes were sharp, and cold, and very very blue.
Like the October sky.
Without a word, Lex snatched the picture back, turned on his heel, and stalked out of the room.
His long black coat tails flared behind him like the dark wings of an avenging angel.
************************
Lex was rather pleased to see Chloe back to her normal self, and actually spared her a smile as she and Clark came into the Beanery together. He asked them to join him with the excuse of rescheduling the interview the robbery had so rudely interrupted, and bought them coffee. He didn't look at Clark, but focused his attention on Chloe instead. He felt that if he had spared Clark a second look, he would have broken down. Jeremy's words still haunted him:
"They raped him."
He did, however, notice Clark's unusual silence and knew he must not be free of the nightmares. Lex hoped that would change soon. He prayed it did. He was not used to having feelings of empathy, it was not Lex's usual style, and watching Clark suffer was slowly eating away at him.
I love you too much. Its killing me to see you like this.
He realized Chloe was talking to him, and paid more attention.
"We're waiting for Lana and Whitney. Lana won movie tickets over the radio. We're going to the Cineplex in about a half hour."
"Lucky girl." Lex smiled. "So its a double date?"
"Not really." Clark murmured, and his gaze drifted towards the window, distracted. He didn't see the faint flicker of hurt that crossed Chloe's face at his dismissal of her as his date. "Here comes Lana."
They watched Lana cross the street, her long hair drifting in the breeze as she hurried out of the way of an oncoming car. She looked, as usual, pretty and ethereal and Lex did risk a glance at Clark in order to see the longing gaze directed at her elfin figure. Clark worshiped the ground Lana Lang walked upon, despite everything, and Lex simply did not understand it at all. It wasn't even a case of jealousy. Lex just simply did not understand the attraction. Lana was pretty, and she was intelligent to a point, but Clark deserved so much more than such a flighty and fickle girl as Lana Lang.
The bell on the door jingled, and Lana was greeted by some of her other friends as she came inside. Lex watched her thread her way back to their table, and noted the rather grim expression on her face. He also noted the absence of her quarterback boyfriend.
"Did you guys hear what happened?" She asked, before any of them could comment. "There was an accident last night, out by the plant."
Lex raised his eyebrows. "My plant?"
Lana nodded, and eased into the empty chair beside him.
"A couple of Whitney's teammates were killed and Whitney has gathered the rest of the team for a memorial at the school. He can't make the movies with us."
Chloe immediately started to fumble for her bag. "Oh my God. I should go too, this will be a big story and I should be there to cover it." Her face fell into a frown "I'm sorry Clark."
He merely shrugged. "The Torch always comes first." He did, however, give her an understanding smile.
Chloe returned it, and paused to ask Lana: "Who was it, by the way? Anyone we know?"
"Jake Harrigan and Paul Lewis."
"Whoa! Were they drunk?"
"I don't know. The police are still investigating, but they did say the car was traveling way over the speed limit. It ended up out in the field across the road from the plant Lex, I'm surprised you haven't already heard about it." Lana looked over to Lex inquiringly.
He shrugged. "They don't always tell me everything that happens out there." he said quietly.
He raised his cup, and looked over its edge at Clark as he drank.
Their eyes met.
Two hours later it would not be Lana who held Clark in her arms as he choked out the whole story of homecoming night in a flood of hysterical tears; and wallowed in guilt at feeling nothing over the deaths of his molesters.
Nor was it Lana who lay beside him when he slept without dreams for the first time in weeks.
************************
It had been after midnight, somewhere between one and two a.m., when Lex, sitting in the Jaguar in the driveway of the fertilizer plant, heard the sound of a car approaching. It was actually two cars, running side by side, at a speed well over eighty. Lex had gotten out of his car to watch them come roaring towards him through the darkness, and he'd followed their progress until - just yards before they reached the intersection of the driveway where Lex stood - one car swerved abruptly. It was the car closest to Lex, and its right front fender just tapped the side of the bright yellow mustang beside it. Immediately the driver of the mustang lost control, and the car shot up into the air as it lost its grip on the road; spinning out into the field beyond.
Lex had shuddered, thinking of Ryan, but he kept his eyes on the car.
It rolled several times into the field, which was illuminated by the headlights from Lex's Jaguar parked directly opposite. He watched, impassive, as it slammed into the one thing standing in that field at this time of the year....
The cross of the scarecrow.
The cross had tilted sideways when the car hit it, but remained standing as the mustang sat at its base hissing steam into the cool night air.
The first car, a sleek black Mercedes, turned around and had returned to the scene. It stopped beside Lex and the window rolled down to reveal a bearded man who's acne scarred face was as hard and cold as the steel hood of his vehicle.
"Do you want me to make sure?"
Lex had put his hands in his pockets, his eyes still on the wreckage of the yellow mustang, and he'd shaken his head. "I'll do it."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. Thank you."
The man nodded, rolled up the window, and the Merc slipped silently back into the darkness. The dent, and the bright streak of yellow paint on its front fender would be gone by sunrise.
Lex stood alone in the dark staring at the cross. His eyes, and his heart, were cold.
Twenty minutes later he was at home in the shower....
....while a bonfire consumed both the wooden cross and the crumpled mass of metal that lay at its base.
You didn't fuck with what belonged to Lex Luthor.