Author: J.A.K

Rating: R- for real life feelings and real life situations that aren't always PG-13

Summary: Clark is born a Luthor; but the surprise doesn't end there. It also turns out that his father is the most notorious mobster in the nation. Fighting desperately for a forbidden love, he must also fight against who he is; as he is the son of a godfather.

Disclaimers: I don't intend to make a profit off of this story; I only intend to entertain those of like mind.

Author's Note: I didn't want to say in my prologue what ship this story was going to be. I'll tell you now, though, that it is a Clark/Chloe ship (what else could it really be) and that is mainly b/c I think it's most logical that Clark and Chloe end up together. It's a C&C fic partly b/c I think Lana should be with no one else except Lex.

An part 2: Oh yeah... I ask that you bare with me as I am basically re- writing Clark's entire history.

Enough of my ramblings.on with the story. Enjoy!

^Chapter Two^


Clark

I took a long drag off of my cigarette, flicking the simmering ashes to the side with unpracticed grace. There was no one around to tell me to quote-unquote 'stop polluting their lungs', so I kept smoking until I met the entrance of my school. I inhaled one last time and threw the remaining butt away. Late as usual I thought, walking as hurriedly as my relaxed legs would take me.


The halls of Saint Francis were long and imposing, but were also given reluctant respect by the students, who knew that their secrets were always heard yet- without fail- never repeated. The lockers that lined the marble walls were color sorted by grade. Red for freshmen, dark blue for sophomores, orange for juniors, and grey for seniors. There was no time for me to stop by my own locker; there was only time for me to make a fashionably late entrance to my AP Calculus class.


My eyes focused on the odd numbered rooms as I passed them by.


I stopped and sighed, reluctantly facing the corner that marked the path of where my math class was currently located.


Before making my way to the door, I unexpectedly thought about the corporation my father insisted I keep shares in. Thinking more on it, I also briefly reflected on how demanding their slogan was, as it now applied to me.


Apparently Nike never had Mr. H for a teacher.


My hand hesitated slightly over the knob of the door, but I urged myself to go ahead and follow the saying: to simply "just do it".


I hesitated again.


Now it wasn't that I was scared of Mr. Horowitz exactly.


To be honest, it was really my self I was scared for; scared about the inevitable shit loads of trouble I was bound to get myself into by being forced into cursing out yet anther teacher.


I turned the handle and pushed. As soon as my body stood inside the entrance of the room, rays of sunlight glared menacingly into my face. A gradual and long-lasting silence fell over the class. I noticed a couple of girls blush when I unseeingly made eye contact with them, and the follow of quiet admiration by a few of the guys who wished they could walk in thirty minutes late to a class run by one of the nastiest teacher's in the school.


"Nice of you to finally join us, Mr.Luthor." A sarcastic smile was followed by his equally sarcastic comment.


I tried hard, but failed miserably to take the remark in stride.


"The pleasure is all mine." I smiled back, hoping my expression matched my voice.


Irritation filtered through the mask Horowitz wore, and I took note of the twitch that started to rise on and off above his left eye.


"Are you fully- or better yet- even remotely aware that this is an AP class that you are taking?"


I tilted my head slightly and glanced heavenward, trying to appear as if I was really contemplating the question that was given to him. I shook my head faintly and shrugged my shoulders with an untaught polish.


"Yea. I guess I do know that this is an AP class."


I had noticed that my peers had been waiting with bated breath for my reply, and I could almost hear the internal groans that were resonating in their minds. All traces of my teacher's laughter were gone. In its stead was full blown and barely checked anger.


"You think this is all fun and games, don't you Luthor?" I opened my mouth to respond, but wasn't given even the slimmest chance to reply.


My teacher raged on.


"This isn't the first, or the second, or even the third time that you've walked into my class late. I can't even keep track now because it's been so many damn times." He rose his hand and pointed an accusing finger. "If you believe somewhere in your mind that this is acceptable behavior, then think again." His eyebrows rose haughtily. "Your father may run the mob, but he doesn't run this classroom. If you have a problem with what I just said well I don't give a shit. And if your father has a problem with what I just said then tell him Mark Horowitz says to be a real man and give his son an example that he can aspire to follow."


There was an extremely long and pregnant pause. None of the students dared breathe for fear of breaking the still and silent tension that had enveloped the room.


I, at the moment wasn't even aware of the presumably twenty pairs of eyes that were trained on me. I was way too busy being shocked.


This wasn't normal shocked.


This was a type of shock that pervaded the entire being of my body, but was then almost immediately overcome by seemingly unending waves of fury.


My teeth clenched. "Who the hell do you think you are?"


Horowitz took a step forward, standing directly parallel to his desk and the chalkboard. "I don't think I am anyone. I know that I am your teacher. A teacher who has the backbone to call you on the way you act."


I felt my hands automatically ball into fists.


"Talk about me fine; but don't ever, and I mean ever, bring up my father in a conversation that's supposed to be about this Luthor." The sun was still glaring, and the students were still staring, but neither of us was conscious of that fact.


"If your father is a pertinent part of my verbal exchange with you, then I will continue to bring him into any conversation that the two of us should ever have."


For a moment, I seriously considered the limited options which were presented to me as I thought of ways I should respond to the situation; but before I could allow myself to do something I would truly regret, I let out a quiet but meaningful "Fuck you" and walked out of the classroom.



An part 3: Reviews are greatly appreciated and muchly adored….or is it the other way around?

An part 4: Reviews are muchly appreciated and greatly adored!