Part II
Chapter Two: Friends Among Foe

"Mrs. Sanderson, please, if Mark knows something about your son's death, I need to know. We can't bring Luthor down if we don't have anything to go on. I'm not asking for much. A name, a place, maybe. Just something we can work with."

David Aden leaned forward in his seat and gazed at the woman sat directly in front of him. "Please, Mrs. Sanderson," he said, "help us."

Margaret Sanderson, a graceful woman in her late forties, pursed her lips and shook her head. "I can't," she said, "none of us can. We'll be dead before morning." She paused to stare at him intensely and in a low, tight whisper she continued, "Do you understand me? He'll know. He always knows. Look at what he did to that Dana Leigh. I can't let that happen. Mark's the only family I have left and I won't sacrifice another son to that heartless bastard. You're on your own, Mr. Aden, I'm sorry."

She rose from her place on the sofa and brushed a stray strand of greying hair behind her ears. She looked younger than her forty-odd years and David guessed it was the constant strain of fear that made the woman look so thin and vulnerable. She was edgy, chewing on her nails and playing with her hair like a young child. The news of Dana Leigh's death had obviously added to the stress; there were dark black circles marring her eyes and her pasty-white skin was pulled taut over her cheekbones.

Margaret Sanderson was living in fear that she would be next. Or even worse, her son.

David stared up at her sadly. He rose from the chair and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "We'll get him, Mrs. Sanderson," he said softly. "If you help us we can put him away for good. You wouldn't have to live like this, day in, day out. You wouldn't have to worry about finding your son dead in his bed or having to sleeping with one eye open just in case. Is that any kind of life for your son? Do you think he'll be happy knowing that every day might just be the day that he dies? Would you be happy knowing that?"

Margaret shook her head and sighed heavily. "Mr. Aden, you don't--"

"He's right, mom," a timid voice interrupted, causing the woman to spin sharply towards the doorway. David turned his head to see a young man stepping into the room. He was a lanky boy with deep black hair that was cut short at the sides, leaving ebony tendrils to fall into his green eyes. No older than eighteen David could only guess that this was Margaret's only remaining son, Mark Sanderson, the youngest brother of Daniel Sanderson, who had been a former lab technician at LuthorCorp. Daniel had died tragically in a lab explosion three years ago. Supposedly.

"This isn't any way to live," Mark said, pausing in front of his mother. He had only a few inches on his mother but Mark still managed to look intimidating, so fierce was his determination. "The only reason no one has ever brought Lionel Luthor down is because no one has had the guts to try. Nobody dares."

"Mark, please, don't--"

"--no!" Mark exclaimed, and suddenly he wasn't a small, timid boy but a grown man who was tired of looking over his shoulder all of the time. Like David had guessed, Mark could no longer cope with the thought that each day might be his last and now he was fighting back in the only way he could. He wanted to be heard and David was more than willing to listen.

"I am so goddamn tired of being afraid! I'm tired of being manipulated and intimidated and used just so that bastard can walk around killing anyone he likes. We can't live like this, mom; you know we can't. We have to do something or more people will die." Mark stared down at his mother and took her hand in one, firm grip. "Do you want that? Do you want more people to die?"

"No!" Margaret countered angrily, glaring up at her son. "I don't want more people to die! Why do you think I'm trying to keep us out of this, Mark? To protect you! To protect us." She stepped back away from him and shook her head. Her face was conflicted, pulled tight by anger and paled by her growing sadness and fatigue. She dropped down onto the sofa and rubbed at her forehead with her fingers. "God," she breathed, "I can't believe you actually think I don't care. That I don't give a shit if these people die." She paused and peered up at her son, gazing at him solemnly. Quietly she said, "I care. I care that this man has ruined countless lives, including our own. I care that people are dying because of what he's done. But I care more about you, Mark. If you say a word, you'll be dead before sunrise. You know that, don't you?"

David glanced at Mark and his respect for the boy was slammed up another notch as he watched him nodding gently. It took an immense amount of courage to sacrifice your own life for the sake of others, he knew. Mark's life depended on him and Chloe and even then it was still a risk. There was no guarantee that the information the boy had to offer would provide them with valuable leads. This was a gamble, a dangerous one, and David could only hope that they won. It would be a waste of precious lives if they didn't.

"I gave the house a once over when I first came here," David cut in, hoping to offer some consolation. "You're not bugged, from what I can tell, so unless Lionel somehow manages to get wind of this, I doubt he'll even know. If it helps any you could stay with me for the time being. I have a room to spare."

The boy smiled gratefully at David. He returned the smile with one of his own and then glanced at Margaret, who sat silent and still on the sofa.

"Mom?" Mark probed, settling himself down next to his mother. He curled a comforting arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. She looked up at him with sad, fearful eyes. "I have to do this.," he said. "We have to at least try, for Daniel's sake, and Dana's sake, and for all those others who have died because of Lionel Luthor. If I don't, if I--" He swallowed heavily and shook his head. "--I don't think I could live knowing I would die a coward. Daniel deserves more than that."

"This is no time to be playing hero, Mark!" Margaret exclaimed in a desperate, broken voice. "What good will it serve? None at all! You'll end up dead, like your brother, and I won't let that happen. I won't--"

"And I won't live like this. Not anymore," Mark said, effectively cutting her off. Margaret fell silent. "I have to do this. I'm going to do this."

"Mark, please--"

"I'm sorry," he said, softly.

Margaret stared at her son for a long second and then shook her head. She swiped the glistening tears from her eyes and rose from the sofa. "You're going to do this no matter what I say, aren't you?"

Mark nodded. Margaret sighed and rubbed a tired hand down her face. "Okay," she whispered after a moment, and repeated, louder this time, "Okay." She lifted her head to gaze at her son with broken, resolved eyes, and in a tone that brooked no argument, she said, "But you promise me you'll do whatever Mr. Aden tells you to. If he tells you not to leave the house you don't decide to go visit your girl, you hear me? You do what he says, Mark, or by God I will beat you to a bloody pulp."

Mark nodded and smiled sadly. Then mother and son were embracing. Margaret curled her arms around him and pulled him tightly against her, resting her chin against his shoulder. He clung to her fiercely and David saw him inhale sharply, almost as if the boy was trying to savour the smell of his mother like it was the last time he would ever get to do so.

David's heart lay heavy in his stomach as he watched the pair separate. He took a few steps back, feeling almost intrusive as the two muttered quietly between them. He heard Mark ask his mother where she was going to stay, whether she was going to visit her stepbrother out of town or book herself into a hotel room. Margaret shook her head and told her son that she would be staying right here, so as not to rouse Lionel Luthor's suspicions. You can never be too careful, she explained, and went on to say that she would tell anyone who asked that Mark was visiting his father in New Zealand for Christmas and would not be back until the New Year.

Mark, obviously aware that his mother was not one to be swayed, simply stepped back and nodded gravely.

"Be careful," Mark said, "you know what Lionel's capable of."

"If there's any problems you can call me," David offered, slipping a pen out of his jeans pocket and kneeling down to scribble his number on a paper pad beside the phone. He handed the piece of paper to Margaret, who took it with a surprisingly steady hand. "Try and make sure no one gets that number or they'll be able to track me down. Mark, too."

Margaret smiled tentatively and folded the paper up. She slipped it into her bra and winked at her son. "No one'll be going down there anytime soon," she joked lightly, causing a bout of sad laughter to escape her son.

Then, with a small smile, Mark informed them that he was going to go pack and left the room. Silently David and Margaret listened to the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the stairs. When they grew quiet, Margaret turned towards him and regarded him solemnly. "You take care of my boy, Mr. Aden. If you don't, God forgive me, I'll beat you to a bloody pulp, too."

David smiled. He liked this woman. She had guts, just like Chloe. "I'll take care of him, Mrs. Sanderson, I promise. And call me David. Mr. Aden is my dad."

"And Mrs. Sanderson makes me sound old," she countered, and then frowned. "Although Margaret makes me sound older." She paused and shrugged, offering David an amused smile. "Maggie is fine. Makes me sound like a washcloth but what can you do?"

Her earlier fears were carefully concealed with good-natured humor and David found he admired this woman who had lost a son and was risking the possibility of losing another. He could see where Mark got his courage and wisdom.

Tone serious, he said, "I mean it, Maggie. Any problems and you call me, day or night. It's not just Mark who has to be careful here. You have to watch yourself, too."

"I've been watching myself for three years. I'm sure I can do it for a few more months."

David nodded, secretly hoping that Maggie Sanderson would not be a casualty in a war that was fast turning deadly.

---

Lex Luthor sighed heavily and settled himself down in his soft leather armchair. He lifted his brandy glass and downed the contents in one, deep swallow. He twirled the small stem of the glass between his fingers, gazing at the marble floor of his study absently.

They needed a carpet in here. He was sick of cold, stony floors and cold, stony walls. He'd had enough of them at the Manor in Smallville and now, here he was, back in Metropolis, his home, staring at the same marble pattern that he always did. He found simple things like this fascinating nowadays. He didn't know why. Maybe it was boredom. Maybe it was the fact that Lex now had everything he'd ever really wanted and now he was left with nothing else to do with his time.

He was back in power again. LexCorp was up and running once more and this time his father had reluctantly admitted defeat (though not vocally) and left Lex to his own devices. After all, the eldest Luthor still had his own business to run, which was doing infinitely better than LexCorp was. Not that Lex cared. He was still the second most successful businessman in Metropolis, still the second most richest. He was pretty proud of the fact that he was doing so well after such a short time.

His priorities had changed slightly over the last few years and Lex was no longer concerned with trying to constantly overthrow his father. There was no point in wasting his energy. It wouldn't be long before his father was too old to run the business anyway. Maybe if he was lucky someone would take him out before that. Again, Lex didn't care. Either way LuthorCorp would be his, whether Lionel handed over the reigns of his own free will or whether they were pried from his cold, dead hands by the playboy himself.

So, after two and a half years, LexCorp was running smoothly. In fact, too smoothly. Lex could run the blooming business with his eyes closed most days and it bored him. His job was no longer invigorating, no longer exciting. While his father had undoubtedly found his thrill in manipulating people, in using them, Lex did not. He ran an honest business, or as honest as he tried to make it, because he'd seen how his father's shady business deals and back-story projects had made his life intensely complicated. Lionel had a lot of enemies and though he did not show it, Lex knew it made his father wary. He knew that one day his own malicious nature would come back to bite him on the ass. Yet Lionel never bothered to rectify his actions and instead made a habit of digging himself deeper. Not that Lex really cared, but he'd decided long ago not to make the same mistakes as his father. He was perfectly content as he was without the illegal dealings and unethical experiments making his life more complicated.

Not that was Lex was squeaky clean. Far from it. After all, a little bribery and blackmail never hurt anyone. Unlike his father, however, Lex didn't simply use people because he could. There was always a logical reason behind his actions (or an ulterior motive, some might say). He was not a bastard for the sake of being a bastard, but because in this day and age only a fool as powerful and as rich as him would leave themselves wide open to the selfish and the greedy. There was always someone out there who was stupid enough to think that they could use him. It happened and sometimes Lex was forced to take certain measures to keep people at arm's length and his reputation intact. He was, after all, still a Luthor. A very bored Luthor.

He should have been happy. He had everything he wanted. A successful business, a beautiful wife and the respect he had worked so hard to earn; respect from the people who no longer saw him as Lionel Luthor's son, but Lex Luthor, a man who had fought his destiny every step of the way and won.

So why did he feel so... flat? Life had become so routine, so bland, so dull. He saw the same people everyday, ate the same food at the same time, slept the same number of hours each night, wasted the same amount of fuckin' time in his damn office. Had this been enough for his father? Had these same routines done nothing to diminish the eldest Luthor's thirst for success? Or was this repetitive lifestyle the reason why Lionel had invested so much time and money into his secret projects and experiments? Was it to pass the time? To add intrigue and excitement to an otherwise dull life?

Lex didn't know, but he prayed that this was not a sign that he would shortly be following in his father's footsteps, if only to sate the boredom for a short while. He was determined not to fall foul to the traps that Fate constantly set him. He'd be damned if he got this far just to give up the humanity he'd been fighting to regain for so long. He'd sooner die before he did.

Tiredly, Lex rose from his chair and settled his glass down on the table beside him. He left his study to wander the mansion that he felt did not quite belong in Metropolis, with it's stone walls and carved marble. Metropolis was too sleek and modern for a home like this and if Lex were honest with himself, he was too sleek and modern for a home like this, too. But his wife had insisted that they moved here. She said it reminded her of the Manor back home, where they'd spent most of their time together. It had been there that a romance had bloomed between the pair and it seemed that his wife had wanted to capture the same excitement and exuberance in these walls.

It had lasted a short while but it wasn't long into their marriage before the shine had worn off. Resigned to the fact that he would never find someone he could truly be happy with, Lex hadn't bothered to break the marriage off. And his wife, still so young, still so naive, refused to accept that their marriage was dying. Ever the optimist her faith in their relationship had never wavered even though he knew she did not love him. His wife held the strange belief that their marriage would take time and hard work, and she was sadly determined that they would see this through, that one day they would fall into a comfortable sort of love that would be enough for the both of them.

Lex knew it would never happen but he allowed her to indulge in her misguided delusions, if only to keep her happy. Because though Lex did not love his wife, he cared for her. There lay a mutual respect between them that had existed even before their friendship had evolved and that had never truly diminished. He admired her for her determination and for the unshakeable faith she had him, despite the fact that most girls her age, with her innocence, would have buckled under the pressure of being Lex Luthor's wife. Her trust in him remained steadfast, even during those dark moments when he would so cruelly make it obvious that he did not love her, and for that he would always be grateful to her. Grateful for her affection and her respect and her devotion, none of which he deserved. Because he had known what kind of life she would be taking on when she married him. He had known he would be stealing a heavy slice of her innocence when she did, yet he had still allowed her to ! make such a mistake. He had allowed her to become Mrs. Luthor number three and sometimes, on days like this, he found it difficult to forgive himself. On days like this he could not bear to look his wife in the eyes.

But today he would have to. He had received an invitation this morning, requesting his presence as the guest of honour at the Metropolis Charity Ball that they were throwing in order to finance the new hospital that was opening. The last one had been half-demolished after a helicopter had crashed into it, destroying three floors and killing over two hundred people. Unfortunately it hadn't been his father's helicopter but Lex had still donated a large amount towards the charity, knowing full well that it would serve to further his business and his reputation. Today he'd even made the effort to visit the bank personally in an attempt to kill the boredom for a few, short hours.

It was there that he'd run into Chloe Sullivan, someone he had been briefly acquainted with during his Smallville days. Her father, Gabe Sullivan, had once worked for him at the plant, and after the manager had died tragically in a car accident, Lex had helped finance the man's funeral expenses. An orphaned Chloe hadn't been left with enough to pay for it herself after it was found that Gabe had left no will. She'd had no money to support herself or Lana, either, so Lex had made sure she and Lana had enough to live comfortably on until the authorities found somewhere for Chloe to live and Lana was able to find alternative living arrangements. From what Lex knew they had attempted to track Chloe's mother down but she hadn't wanted to know and it was said that Chloe would have no choice but to be moved to a foster home.

It was probably why she decided to run, he thought. Chloe had wiped out her bank account, the one he had filled generously, and fled, leaving behind her friends who had grown predictably concerned when she did not return. He remembered Clark and his friends trying to track her down once but Chloe had obviously known that they would be looking for her and had made sure she'd kept herself well hidden. He had to admit, he had been impressed by her actions. He hadn't bothered to track her down himself, even though he knew he could easily have done so, because he had known then that bringing her back would have done her no good. The authorities were guaranteed to have gotten a hold of her and from then on it would have been nothing but constant shifts from foster home to foster home. Lex had thought it only fair that he gave her a chance to stand on her own two feet. She was, after all, a resilient girl. He'd always known that and today he'd been proven right.

Chloe Sullivan had definitely landed on her feet, but he couldn't say for sure that she'd come out of this unscathed. The girl was obviously still bitter and maybe a little angry and Lex had been mildly hurt by her biting remark. Still, he supposed he'd deserved it. He was, after all, a reminder of a time when her only concerns had been The Torch, Clark and becoming the best damn reporter she could be.

Speaking of which, he wondered how that was working out for her. As far as he knew she was not yet working for the Daily Planet. He was sure that he would have noticed her name at some point. In fact, he hadn't seen her name on any top-selling newspapers. So what was the young Miss Sullivan up to nowadays? He debated over whether or not to check up on her, see what she was doing with her life. It would certainly stem the boredom for a short while, if nothing else.

Yes, he thought. After dinner he would do a little investigating and find out what Chloe Sullivan had been up to these last three years. He was certain it would make for an interesting read.

But first, he had to speak to his wife.

---

They'd decided to meet back at Chloe's apartment for a quick briefing regarding the Sanderson situation, after they'd both agreed that divulging information about their new source over the phone would not be the wisest idea. "I'm not taking any risks with this," David had said, which was why the three of them were now seated around Chloe's poor excuse for a breakfast bar.

Silently, nursing a cup of steaming coffee, she studied the two men before her; David, with his cropped, blonde hair and hazel eyes, and Mark, with his contrasting oil black hair and green eyes. It was hard to believe that David had seven years on Mark. At twenty-five the hacker had the same boyish features he'd had when she'd first met him, almost three years ago.

It still amazed her how much he'd actually achieved in such a short time. Already David had worked for Lionel Luthor himself, as a lab technician at LuthorCorp here in Metropolis. He'd stepped down from the position after only two, short years, finding the work too boring and too repetitive, and already well-known among certain underground circles for his creatively-written viruses, it didn't take long for a then twenty-one-year-old David to make a name for himself. He'd built himself a legendary reputation in less than a year and nowadays everybody had heard of D-Hakey. He was famous for crashing numerous government systems, including the entire police database system for Metropolis, and several important business corporations, LuthorCorp not included. Yet.

David had also been married. Once. At the sweet age of nineteen he'd gotten hitched to his high school sweetheart, eighteen-year-old Sarah Parker, who, much to her parents dismay, had fled her home to follow David here, to Metropolis. Five months later she left him for her college tutor and he never saw her again. Since then he'd only allowed two other women into his life. One, an exotic Asian woman called Mae-Li, a notorious hacker and resident crime lord, who he'd spent just over two years with. They'd parted on good terms and they were still good friends today. Chloe had met her a few times when Mae-Lei (who preferred to be called Mae by her friends) had offered to help Chloe in whatever way she could. Unfortunately Mae ran her own underground business on the outskirts of Metropolis and was not available twenty-four-seven like David was. But the woman was nice enough. She was sophisticated and powerful, with a vulgar sense of humor that was to blame for the first smiles Chloe had cracked since her father had died.

The second woman in David's life was, of course, herself. He'd once claimed that he was in love with her and Chloe had believed him, but after she'd made it perfectly clear that she did not love him in that way, he'd learned to accept her decision. His attraction towards her had been intense and short-lived and since then they'd never had any problems. David slept around. Chloe didn't. Chloe liked the girls he slept with. David didn't. Not for long, anyway. She found it strange that she was never angry at her friend for breaking countless hearts, but Chloe knew that was just the way David was and he wouldn't change. Despite being perfectly capable of falling in love, he didn't do it often, but occasionally women fell in love with him. The result? Chloe was often lumbered with numerous girls that she actually liked enough not to turn away. They always found a friend in the one girl who had yet to capture David's heart, but while they believed that he just hadn't worked his way ! around to Chloe yet, it was actually because the two had built a comfortable friendship that they were both happy with. Their friendship was evidence that it was possible for a guy - even a guy like David - to be friends with a woman and not want to sleep with her. They'd already gotten past that part of their relationship and they'd come out better friends because of it.

Every day Chloe thanked the heavens that she had David by her side. Sometimes she could not bear thinking about what her life would be like without him.

She supposed that had they met at a different time in her life, under different circumstances, she would have found David attractive. When she'd first met him he'd reminded her of a blonde version of Clark, with his baby features and exceptional smile. But were as Clark was heavily muscled with shaggy, dark locks, David was thinner and well-built, with short, dusty-blonde hair cut short and spiked. While Clark was all marble and steel, David was charcoal and silk; rough around the edges but exceptionally gentle when he needed to be.

The two shared the same strong jaw line, though, she had to give them that, and had things been different Chloe would have fallen for David hook, line and sinker. But as it was now they'd long since passed that point and now they were both comfortable in the knowledge that while neither of them would throw the other out of bed, they did not need fireworks to kindle their affection for one another. That managed to feed itself.

Taking a deep gulp of her coffee, Chloe shifted her gaze to their guest, Mark Sanderson, who was sitting directly opposite her, nervously shifting about on his stool as he talked quietly with David. While Chloe had found it hard to believe that David was in fact seven years older than the boy, she found it even more difficult to believe that she herself was only two years older than Mark.

She'd been a different person at his age. Angry, bitter and too wise for her years. Her heart had been in constant conflict with her mind, one trying hard to keep up with the other, while she had been forced to cope with growing up too fast and failing at it miserably. Chloe never knew from one day to the next whether she felt too young or too old to live a normal life but after awhile she'd just given up even thinking about it. She had more important things to do with her time, like avenging her father's death and serving justice to a man that had gotten away with murder far too many times.

It was no secret that Chloe hated Lionel Luthor, but where others had had their hatred manipulated into fear, Lionel had been foolish enough to overlook one slip of a girl who would soon prove to be his most deadliest enemy. The heartless bastard wouldn't even see her coming and she was going to savour every second of his demise. She had no doubt that Lionel's death would be a welcomed tragedy.

She took another gulp of her coffee and then tapped on the breakfast bar lightly to catch the two men's attention.

"Guys," she cut in. "As much fun as it is listening to you two conversing all day, we have work to do."

"Sorry," Mark mumbled, offering Chloe a sheepish smile.

She returned it with a gentle smile of her own, hoping to put the nervous boy at ease. "S'okay, but we need to figure out how we're going to keep Lionel's people off our backs for a while. They've already caught onto what we're doing--we don't want to draw more attention to ourselves."

"Mark's staying with me for the time being. Once we've followed up any fresh leads we should have enough information to keep him safe. Lionel won't touch him if he knows the evidence has shifted hands. He won't know who to kill."

"Unless he does to Mark what he did to Dana," Chloe countered. "You know how Lionel loves to remind us of what he's capable of. He might think a couple of dead bodies will warn us off."

"And will it?"

Chloe and David both looked up at Mark, who sat ramrod straight and still on his stool, his face ashen white and his green eyes wide.

"Shit," she said. "Mark, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." She gazed apologetically at the teenager. "Me and David, we're gonna do our best to make sure something like that doesn't happen again."

"But it could happen, couldn't it," the young boy stated quietly. "There's a chance Lionel might find out. A chance I might die if--"

"We won't let that happen," David interrupted, his voice both determined and protective.

Chloe smiled gratefully at David. Covering Mark's hand with her own, she said, "Look, Mark, if you don't want to do this, we'll understand. We don't expect you to risk your life for something that could go horribly wrong at any time. You're taking a lot on faith here and I respect that, but we wouldn't think any less of you if decided to turn around now and go home. This is a lot to ask anyone, never mind someone as young as you and to be honest with you, if I were in your shoes, I probably wouldn't even be here right now." She paused and leaned forward across the breakfast bar. "You're free to leave anytime you want to, Mark," she said. "We won't stop you."

The teenager stared across at her solemnly, his deep black hair a sickly contrast against his pale skin and bright eyes. Chloe suddenly felt extremely sorry for the boy in front of her; a boy who had not asked to be a part of this world; a boy who had lost his brother and his freedom because of one, compassionless man. She knew they were asking a lot of him and she also knew, deep down, that there was a chance he would die for the sake of their mission. Chloe tried to shove the thought aside but it was hard to bury it when even the boy in front of her knew exactly what might happen.

More blood spilled, Chloe thought. All because of me. All for vengeance.

"If I don't help you, more people will die, won't they?" Mark asked, gazing at her sadly.

Chloe guessed that he already knew the answer but still she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "they will."

Mark mimicked the action and pulled his hand from beneath her own. He stepped down from his stool to pace the expanse of the small kitchen. Chloe and David watched him sadly, both sorry for the hell they had put this boy through. If he chose to help them, Chloe thought, things were going to get even worse. Things were going to turn deadly.

The teenager paused for a second and turned towards the coffee machine, where he poured himself a large mug. He downed half the contents in one swallow and then turned to look at them.

"Okay," he said finally, "what do you want to know?"