Summary: Lex contemplates his unhappy past and uncertain future when he is taken hostage in an act of revenge against the Luthors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the lovely characters featured in Smallville—unfortunately!

I also do not own/have not written any of the lyrics or quotes which may appear as credited within this story; intended usage is merely to complement narrative and thematic elements of my original work.

A/N: This takes place somewhere in Season 1 (not very important to the story, just some minor details).

II: Hazard

As with most news in Smallville, the hard luck of four of LuthorCorp's most faithful did not take long to spread. At the Torch the next morning, Chloe pored over the day's headlines on her computer.

"I'm telling you, Clark, it's bad news," she said, referring to the report on her screen.

"It doesn't sound good, that's for sure," Clark admitted.

"I'm sure your parents were less than thrilled to hear about it," Chloe said, looking over at him.

Clark gave a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I guess you could say that," he said. "Honestly, I don't know what to think. I can't believe even Lionel Luthor would stoop this low. Lex must be really pissed off."

"You don't think he knew about it?"

Clark looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"All I'm saying is you never know. Maybe Lex has more Luthor blood running through him than you think," Chloe said.

Surprised, Clark countered, "Yeah, but if there's one person Lex isn't, it's his father."

"Touché. I would still ask him about it, though—see what his take on the whole situation is."

Clark arched an eyebrow.

"Off the record, of course," Chloe added with a smile.

»»««

By midday, reports of what was going on in Smallville were all over Metropolis. For most people there, it was just another chapter on their crooked tycoon that went in one ear and out the other. But when wind of the story reached one Mr. Jack Sherman, the news caught like a piece of floating driftwood on a jutting rock.

One of the more successful conmen in Metropolis, Sherman had always distrusted—no, in fact, hated—Lionel Luthor. So when his cousin Hank Robinson, who worked for LuthorCorp, had eagerly talked about investing all of his wages in his employer's stock, Jack had loudly protested. Now his cousin was in danger of losing everything, and Sherman decided, once and for all, something had to be done.

"This is the last straw," he told Clayton, his most frequent and reliable partner in crime. "Luthor has done this one too many times, and now he's made it personal."

"I hear he actually made his kid do it," said Clayton. "The bastard can't even pick up his own shit for fear his fingernails'll get dirty."

"Whether Luthor Jr. wanted to do it or not isn't the issue," Sherman said. "The fact is he did, and we can't have a future threat like that if we wanna get rid of Lionel Luthor's bullshit for good."

"What do you wanna do?"

"I say we go after the son. We send out leaks to the press of what's going on, we ask Lionel for a tidy ransom—and if that smarmy motherfucker fails to deliver, he'll go down in Smallville as the guy who sat back and let his only son die."

"Where and when do we get him," Clayton asked.

"I think it's safe to say his house would be way too goddamn hard. I know a good private eye—he can follow him around for a week, see where he goes. That will probably give us a good idea of the best place to do it."

Clayton nodded slowly in consideration. "Sounds like a plan to me," he said finally.

»»««

The tops of the trees were ablaze with the gold of the late afternoon sun as Clark busied himself shooting hoops in the driveway. The tension of the day's revelation and its possible implications had proven too much to bear in the farmhouse. His fingers were leaving the ball on a particularly nice shot when he noticed a black Porsche pull up out of the corner of his eye.

"Clark," Lex greeted, exiting the car.

Clark retrieved the ball that had just dropped neatly through the net and walked over to him. "Hey, Lex."

"Surprised to see me?" Lex asked.

"No, not really," answered Clark, involuntarily looking in the direction of the farmhouse. "How's it going?"

"Oh, another proud day for the Luthors," Lex replied cheerlessly. "What's an additional host of families to add to the casualty list?"

"Yeah, it's a shame," Clark said. "My parents are actually pretty good friends with some of them."

This produced the slightest of jaw clenches in Lex, who responded, "Yeah—well, tell your parents how truly sorry I am."

Clark smiled in acquiescence but raised a questioning eyebrow. "Sure, but you know it's not your job to apologize for your father—you're not the one who did it," he said.

Lex returned Clark's friendly expression stoically. "Right," he murmured.

"It's just unsettling, you know... I mean did your father mention anything to you? Do you think it could happen again in the future?" Clark asked.

Lex looked back at him and felt something inside of him go cold. "No," he lied, "he didn't say anything."

Clark nodded and gripped the basketball in his hands, moving it around a bit.

Lex stood there a moment and sought Clark's eyes again. "But I'll do my best to keep anything from happening to your farm," he said as Clark looked up.

"Thanks, Lex—that really means a lot."

Lex forced a smile and said, "Well, I really just stopped by to see how you were doing. I don't want to hazard an encounter with your parents today, so I think I'll just be on my way."

"OK," Clark said. "Thanks for stopping by."

Lex nodded and went back to his car. He left Clark to resume shooting baskets and drove off, the now red sun burning his eyes slightly as he sped along. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, Lex silently cursed his father for this life in which he was forced to lie to his only friend.

END 2/11

My words confuse you
My eyes don't move a blink
'Cause it's easier sometimes
Not to be sincere, somehow
I make you believe

When I speak, I cross my fingers
Will you know you've been deceived?
I find a need to be the demon
A demon cannot be hurt

Honest is easy
Fiction's where genius lies
'Cause it's easier sometimes
Not to be involved, somehow
I make you believe...

~ guster, "demons"