8. Lex, Lies & Videotape
LEX
Running the tapes. Level III, the Luthor Wing at the Museum, my simulation.
What the hell are you, Clark? 'Just lucky' too many times. Slow the frames to the least possible speed, and you're still blurred.
Lifting two grown men? Adrenalin?
I -hit- you, I know I did, because I have the same damn nightmare of your eyes through that windshield too many times. I have a Porsche that looks like someone took a tin-opener to it. Don't tell me water impact.
You are always there when you're needed. Like in Club Zero.
The only time I ever saw you hurt, was when that turbo-charged meteor kid went crazy. And when you were hanging in that field. With a glowing green stone round your neck, bringing back every memory of that day the sky turned to fire.
But you aren't from Smallville, are you? You were adopted. And you have no medical records, except for that one incident. No other accidents that could have exposed you to the meteors. No blood-typing, either.
Where -are- you from?
Chloe told me about the adoption. She was upset that you were so angry with her. Guilty that she kept a record. A fake agency.
If a sixteen-year-old reporter can uncover this much, then the pieces are all there for someone with a lot more resources to put together. We need to be one step ahead, solve this before anyone else. Whose holding this ace?
United Metropolis Charities. Type it in. Search. Know what I'll find. Hope I'm wrong, and know I won't be.
Oh shit. Fuck.
There it is, and I know that zip code, that cover address. Under my hand, the plastic casing of the mouse crackles.
I never wanted to have to learn Clark's secret this way. I wanted him to trust me, to tell me in his own time. Now, my pushing, my need to know, has endangered the only two people who mean a damn to me.
Because if my father has found out what I think I know, then he -will- want Clark in a lab. And he will want Chloe silenced. I have never felt more alone in my life.
My Chloe, peacefully asleep upstairs in my bed. Oh God.
I reach into a drawer, pull out a key that I haven't used for a long time now.
The shooting range. This is the most secret part of the house, next to the panic room. Nobody but me ever comes down here. And I don't do that often. Normally, I prefer the sword. But now, we're playing for higher stakes than ego. Load up a Mark19 Smith and Wesson.
When I turn round, Clark is standing behind me.
"How the hell did you -get- down here?" Without triggering any of the alarms.
"Lex...I..." says Clark. Stops, gets an odd look on his face. Defeated, almost. And punches his hand through the wall.
LEX
Running the tapes. Level III, the Luthor Wing at the Museum, my simulation.
What the hell are you, Clark? 'Just lucky' too many times. Slow the frames to the least possible speed, and you're still blurred.
Lifting two grown men? Adrenalin?
I -hit- you, I know I did, because I have the same damn nightmare of your eyes through that windshield too many times. I have a Porsche that looks like someone took a tin-opener to it. Don't tell me water impact.
You are always there when you're needed. Like in Club Zero.
The only time I ever saw you hurt, was when that turbo-charged meteor kid went crazy. And when you were hanging in that field. With a glowing green stone round your neck, bringing back every memory of that day the sky turned to fire.
But you aren't from Smallville, are you? You were adopted. And you have no medical records, except for that one incident. No other accidents that could have exposed you to the meteors. No blood-typing, either.
Where -are- you from?
Chloe told me about the adoption. She was upset that you were so angry with her. Guilty that she kept a record. A fake agency.
If a sixteen-year-old reporter can uncover this much, then the pieces are all there for someone with a lot more resources to put together. We need to be one step ahead, solve this before anyone else. Whose holding this ace?
United Metropolis Charities. Type it in. Search. Know what I'll find. Hope I'm wrong, and know I won't be.
Oh shit. Fuck.
There it is, and I know that zip code, that cover address. Under my hand, the plastic casing of the mouse crackles.
I never wanted to have to learn Clark's secret this way. I wanted him to trust me, to tell me in his own time. Now, my pushing, my need to know, has endangered the only two people who mean a damn to me.
Because if my father has found out what I think I know, then he -will- want Clark in a lab. And he will want Chloe silenced. I have never felt more alone in my life.
My Chloe, peacefully asleep upstairs in my bed. Oh God.
I reach into a drawer, pull out a key that I haven't used for a long time now.
The shooting range. This is the most secret part of the house, next to the panic room. Nobody but me ever comes down here. And I don't do that often. Normally, I prefer the sword. But now, we're playing for higher stakes than ego. Load up a Mark19 Smith and Wesson.
When I turn round, Clark is standing behind me.
"How the hell did you -get- down here?" Without triggering any of the alarms.
"Lex...I..." says Clark. Stops, gets an odd look on his face. Defeated, almost. And punches his hand through the wall.