As Martha had expected, it did seem effortless for Lex to charter a helicopter to a city that had clear weather, arrange for a jet to meet them there, and take them on to Baltimore. She almost tuned his voice out, her mind already racing to plan what to do when they arrived, but a sudden tension in his voice snapped her back to attention.

"I don't think it's a good idea to bother my father about this." The relaxed, almost drawn-out pace with which he spoke didn't disguise the over-emphasis of most of the words, or the tightened grip on the phone as he returned it to his pocket.

Martha frowned. For the first time, she wondered why Lex wasn't seeking his father's protection or even using LuthorCorp resources. It could speed things up immensely. "Why not?" she demanded.

"Mrs. Kent, it's quite possible that he is behind this."

"But you said Clark tried to kill you," Jonathan answered, suspicion clear in his voice.

"He did. My father believes in frequent testing of my skills and intelligence." After a pause, he added, "And he believes in making the stakes something I care about."

The four stood in silence until the helicopter landed on the tarmac.

***

Lana couldn't help but enjoy the helicopter ride, despite the noise and frequent bumpiness. The craft hadn't been designed to seat five but she certainly wasn't going to object to sitting on Lex's lap. His arms encircled her waist, hands meeting near hers, and she leaned back into the rhythmic movements of each breath he took. It was ridiculous to feel safe while in a helicopter on a foggy late afternoon and going to find a deadly efficient killing machine, against the forces of at least part of the government. But she did. She laughed a little at the thought and as if in response, he bent his lips to her hair, delicately nuzzling as if the sensation of each strand were slightly different and he wanted to give his attention to each. She felt the movement of his breath slow and then quicken as the cool, tiny whisper of his breath seemed to wander through her hair, exploring on its own volition.

In the dim light, she could see only the elementary shapes of his hands, not the details of the joints. She traced a random path with a touch of one finger, barely skimming the surface. There were different textures there that her darkness-heightened perception found, the faintly pliable smoothness of the back, a slight roughening of the skin on the ridges of the knuckles, the tough smoothness of the nail. Letting her touch become imperious, commanding, she slipped her finger between the fingers, which tightened just enough to provide some resistance as she drew it back and forth, reminding her of the slight drag of a curry comb on a horse's flank.

Leaning forward, he placed his mouth right at her ear, lips touching as lightly as the brush of fabric, and she could hear the intimate amusement in his voice as he murmured, "License my roving hands, and let them go/Before, behind, between, above, below."

She lifted her head to rest below his chin and despite herself, gulped as she realized that while Martha Kent was staring at nothing, Jonathan Kent was staring with a disapproval that he wasn't bothering to hide. As much as she wanted to continue, it had a dampening effect.

She wanted to tell him that this was exactly what drew her to Lex. Maybe it was growing up in a small town, maybe it was that famous picture, but for everybody in her life, she was always "Lana the Something." Lana the Cheerleader. Lana the Nice Girl. Lana the Quarterback's Girlfriend. And of course, Lana the Fairy Princess. It was as though their expectations somehow diluted her, drained a little more of whatever it was at her core, her essence, replacing it with the tepid water of categories and slots.

Lex didn't expect anything of her, or if he did, he kept it to himself. Instead, he observed her, explored her and her reactions, contemplated her, with an eye that was both clinical and affectionate. If it meant that occasionally he seemed detached, well, sometimes that was better than having others' ideas and conceptions draped over her like Hawaiian leis. As fragrant as they were, there were just too many of them and she couldn't move without being afraid of ripping even a petal. Sometimes she even thought the scent was embalming her.

She stared directly at Jonathan, slowly lowered her glance to her hands entwined in Lex's, then raised her eyes again in a deliberate declaration. He was the first to look away.

***

Clark rolled over at the sound of the alarm to look at the clock, thinking it couldn't possibly be time to get up yet. But the display clearly read 6:30. Almost feeling as though he hadn't slept at all, he showered and dressed quickly, then checked the voice mail system that would tell him what his assignments were for the day and who to report to during the day.

There was no message there. He disconnected and entered his code again. Something had to be wrong with the system. Even on the days when he didn't have any external assignments, he'd still have responsibilities or lessons.

Usually he reported to the first person at 7:30. He didn't want to leave in case the message did come, so decided to wait and eat breakfast. By that time, the system would be fixed or somebody would come to tell him what to do. He took a box of cereal from the cupboard, got milk from the mini-refrigerator, and sat to eat. He made himself eat slowly, so that it would be more likely to work or that somebody would come by the time he finished. He carefully washed the bowl and spoon, then picked up the receiver again and dialed.

Still nothing.