Waiting on You

by LillSakura

Clark, mucking around in Smallville, is suddenly forced from his comfort zone by none other than Lex Luthor. A typical day in the life of Mr. Clark Kent.

1. Part I

Written for the Clexfest, Clark and Lex meet with one or the other being a waiter.
The disclaimer: I don't own Smallville.
Summary: Clark, mucking around in Smallville, is suddenly forced
from his comfort zone by none other than Lex Luthor. A typical day
in the life of Mr. Clark Kent.

Waiting on You: Part I

It started with a casual glance, a quick smile, a skip in his heart
beat. The sudden rightness captured him off guard. The room seemed
to hum- as if singing a tune to a familiar song- and the
overwhelming urge to smile or laugh or act startled him, forcing an
unconscious decision to blush. An immediate response, an amused
smile, now shined on the man's face; it was the only indication
Clark was not imagining things.

A bump on his shoulder knocked him back into reality, jolting away
the resonate, and the intensity of the blue eyes fled Clark's mind
as his concentration now rushed to the piercing green eyes demanding
his attention.

He looked at Chloe, eyes sneaking a look at the man and then back to
Clark. She tilted her chin up, alight with knowledge. He barely
suppressed a groan; of course, she knew, she always knew. His best
friend since eighth grade, he would be astonished if her killer
journalist instincts missed one detail about him.

"Batting your eye lashes will not get you your car, Clark-Bar." And,
of course, being her best friend since eighth grade, there were few
things he missed about her. The alarming jealousy in string of words
strung through, never so pronounced. She loved him, and she was not
about to have him falling head over feet for some stranger.

Glancing back at the mysterious man, Clark laughed, "I don't know,
if that Armani says anything, I'd say he has a Lamborghini up his
sleeve somewhere."

" There's a thick layer of flannel separating you and Mr. Metropolis
over there." The illuminated protectiveness radiating from her eyes
vaporized the harshness of the words.

He grinned at her, gently ruffling her hair with his hand, "C'mon,
Chlo', let a boy dream. Maybe he'll take me outta here and give me a
castle or two."

She rolled her eyes, backing away from his pestering hand. She gave
the man a once over, judging everything and thriving on her
intuition, "Just what you need, a prince charming to suppress your
natural rights. He'd probably chuck the keys to those castles in
lake, and then where would you be?"

The tiniest of smiles struck at the corner of her mouth, ruining the
abrupt facade of indignity.

"M'dear, I will always have you to save me." He sent her a wild
grin, and she returned it with a laugh.

"A slight change for the better, I can't have that hero-thing going
to your head." Just being able to hear her say that, without the
tense awkward silence trailing behind, made Clark suddenly feeling
light and happy.

The smooth comfortable banter had taken months to rectify. After a
series of dates, love announcements, and revealed secrets, Clark was
not sure he would ever get his Chloe back. The awkward silences,
disastrous arguments, and outrageous accusations, nearly shook their
relationship beyond the saving point.

Once the tears settled and the wounds scarred, they tentatively
began to talk, progressing finally into a stronger friendship.
(Plus, now Chloe had more mutant action to report on, since Clark
was usually in the middle of it. Even in the last couple of days, he
had managed to save a roaming driver from Lake Mutant Molly, who
kidnapped anyone who turned her down for "a slippery surprise.")

"Hey! Kent, table five needs more water." The brunt, direct voice of
the manager, "Mr. Joe to you," cut through their teasing. Mr. Joe's
voice became distinctively lighter, friendlier, "Chloe, dear, I need
you to cover for Meghan, she's takin' a lunch."

"Yes, Mr. Joe!" She chimed at him, a plastic grin plastered so tight
it ached.

"Chloe, you're my best employee; there's no "Mr." needed. It's just
Joe." He tossed her a wink, his murky brown eyes leering at her.

Clark watched as the short stature of the manager disappeared into
the crowd. He began snickering and using an exaggerated southern
accent he swooned, "Oh Chloe! Ma best employee! The shinnin' star in
ma night sky! The only star in ma dreams! And oh-uff."

He would have continued his ode, but the blonde had shoved a tray
into his arms.

"Shut up. Don't make me ask Joe to have you making coffee for the
rest of the week." An inside joke, well worn, and down to the last
threads. Every time Clark went near the coffee maker, he had a
sudden sick feeling spread through his body, almost to a point where
he could not function his body. Chloe had noticed, concerned at
first, and then a teasing joke of the invulnerable man not being
able to handle coffee.

"Ai, ai, Ma'am." They shared a grin, now noticing the hustle and
bustle of the restaurant began kicking up for the lunch hour. With
the orders of Mr. Joe and the tedious and bothersome joys of serving
and waiting pending their tending, the two friends separated unaware
of the crystal blue eyes watching their banter.

The man gave a thoughtful smile, tossed a twenty on the table and
left. It would cover his order and leave an obscene tip for his
waitress. He had decided.

Clark had not expected to see the man again. A well dressed, smooth
talking, metropolis man was a rare find in Smallville. Even with a
baldhead, the man held himself with such regard as to suggest a
clear superiority among the crowds. He wreaked of power, an essence
so bombarding it set even the most unmotivated employee scurrying
away.

So, it completely floored Clark to learn the man had applied for a
job. No, not the managing job, but rather a waiting job, and of
course the man was hired. Rather than feel suddenly cheerful about
it, Clark stomach took a sudden plummet. Never one to ignore his
guts' reaction, Clark instantly staked out Chloe. If anyone knew why
this intimidating man was working here, she would.

"I don't know."

So, maybe she would not know. Clark looked at her, really seeing
her. Worrying her glossed lips and pushing back her cropped hair,
the idea of not knowing was tearing Chloe apart, considerably if
visual appearances branded themselves on her. It was days like
these, where Chloe fell back to human level, to wear things did
affect her, where she didn't have all the answers, that made Clark
remember why she was so endeared into his heart.

"He's Lex Luthor of the Luthor Enterprises. Worth 2.2 billion
dollars, and being paid 4.50 plus tips. He denied a position at
LuthorCorp, packed his bags, and here he is. Maybe Lionel disowned
him? But that does not explain why he is in Smallville, you know,
home of the corn, meteorites, and cows. Clark. We are working with
the Lex Luthor, and I don't know why." The comment rather tore her
up; there was no doubt about that.

"Actually, I'm worth 2.67 Billion." Smooth, piercing, blunt,
powerful. Also eavesdropping on the conversation.

Chloe's eyes flashed at a point behind Clark, marking her prey. It
was a look Clark had seen when they were in working at the Torch, a
look Clark rather not get in the way of. Stepping out of the way,
Clark pivoted to see Lex Luthor standing prime and dignified.

The intense blue eyes focused on Clark, taking in his body,
lingering on his eyes, before the blue eyes trailed back over to
Chloe. "As of this morning."

Clark, having had Martha and Jonathan Kent (the latter only
affecting the childhood years) furnish their morals into him,
started, "Sorry, I'm Clark Kent, and this is Chloe Sullivan."

"Lex Luthor." He gutted out a hand, offering partnership,
friendship, a pleasant working environment.

Before Clark had a chance to shift, Chloe had grabbed the offered
hand, in spite of the intended target. Chloe, a hawk with a
predator's eye, had just sunk her talons into Lex, and there was no
way she was letting go until she was full and content. Lex had no
idea what he was getting himself into.

Before he could be an accomplice to Chloe's machinations (or what
she calls "getting the scoop"), Clark made up a quick excuse to
leave, abandoning Lex with the harassing-- "scooping" --Chloe.

"What brings you to Smallville? Relatives? Scenery? You know,
there's not much out here that could compare to the city life..."

Clark almost felt guilty.

Clark never conversed about Chloe's interrogation of Lex, but he
knew it had to be successful because she had stopped pouting. She
attempted to enlighten him about it, but every time she opened her
mouth, he made an excuse to abscond.

In fact, Clark had been managing the "disappearing act" more and
more. In the four months Lex had worked at the Beanery, he may have
run into Clark twenty or thirty times, and the total amount of words
passed may have added up to 500. The busy work environment kept
Clark clean of his city prince, and therefore kept Clark clean of
making a fool of himself. His pretty-eyed colleague could be
charming and breathtaking, as long as he kept his distance.

Years of the "Lana Lang Trailing" had tattered Clark's heart. In
truth, he discovered people were never who they appeared. Lana, with
her dazzling russet eyes, pledged a perfect world, and yet she was
unattainable, ensnared in her mourning. She lured Clark in with her
normality, a bittersweet escape from the obscene mutants running
around. For all that she was pure and beautiful, she remained caged
in her world, and only an ideal man could have her, and Clark life
had allocated him his share of mutations.

The mutations had also taken its toll on Clark. Very few people had
earned the privilege to know about Clark's powers, Chloe being the
most recent. Although Smallville was crowded with mutations, nearly
1/8 of the population, the tolerance level was minimal, and mostly
they went by ignored. So ignored that when a few randomly went
missing, only a handful of people noticed, and none of those people
commented. With these escalating prejudices forming over the past
years, Clark was very wary of his "abilities" and who to trust them
with.

Walking into the Beanery, a slow Monday morning, he noticed the only
other employee opening was Lex. Resigning himself from the pedestal
about to fracture, Clark put a courageous foot forward.

Only, he had not bothered for such dramatics, because Lex barely
acknowledged his company. In fact, Clark could have been a fly for
all the attention Lex gave him. He was not sure whether to be upset
or grateful.

The trepidation, the intimidation, the worry, was all naught.
Whatever had clicked between the two of them the day Lex entered the
Beanery had surely snapped, leaving nothing left to hope on. It was
almost comforting. If Lex did not like him, there was no reason for
Lex to fall off his pedestal.

"Start the coffee, would you?" The casual over glance, as Lex
started setting the napkins at the tables, did wonders for Clark's
ease.

At least now, he knew Lex and Chloe did not discuss him, as the
coffeemaker was one of the first things she warned their associates
about. Putting the slight dread aside, Clark quickly did as he was
told. The sudden sickness came and went as he distanced himself from
the machine, making the five-minute chore a prolonged ten-minute
trail.

Finally, he finished, and he began the morning routine. It was dull
and bland, leaving nothing to the imagination. Everything came
prepackaged, so there was nothing excepting loading and unloading.
Wrap the silverware, lay out the napkins, and prepare the menus. It
was always the same.

So when he was fetching more silverware out of the storage closet,
the smell of smoke surprised him. It was a faint, barely detectable
aroma, but the scent still made its presence known. Running back to
the cashier desk, Clark found the faint stench had become smog of
smoke, sullying the entire restaurant.

How had the fire spread so fast? Glancing around, he saw a pile of
napkins, brilliantly lit and ready for take off, right next to a
dysfunctional coffee maker.

Grabbing the fire extinguisher, Clark headed for the coffee maker,
ready to flag down the flames. The pain was endurable, at a
distance. Except, he found he could not get closer, and the flames
ignited suddenly, ragging up a rebellion. No amount of extinguisher
fluid could save the Beanary now.

Choking through the smoke, Clark dashed out of the café, finding a
patient Lex talking on the cell phone, possibly to the fire
department.

Seeing Clark, Lex abruptly closed his cell phone, "They're on their
way. What took you so long to get out here?"

" I tried to put it out."

Lex gave Clark another perusal, taking in everything again. He
chuckled evenly, as if it was the most outrageous answer the city
man had ever heard replied and he could find no other way to express
it. He shook himself from the momentary mirth, setting his
incredulity aside, "Of course you did."

Perhaps it was the way Lex said it, his tone a little too blunt, a
little too callous.

"Is it bad to prevent a disaster?" A tentative question, extracting
just a bit more information from his supposed prince, a bit more
words, a bit more hope that he was not just another big-city
tormenter.

Lex opened his mouth, but must have thought better of it and
shrugged instead.

Perhaps it was the fleeting look, once again Lex staring past Clark
and discounting him. Perhaps it was the silly notation that Lex was
different than the superior city-boys and their engorged heads.
Perhaps it was the echoing shatter of a picture losing its glass
frame.

Whatever it was, the booming crash echoed in Clark's heart even
after the fire trucks and police and Chloe had arrived.

---

After Chloe hounded firemen and police officers alike, after the
trucks had cleared, after the damage had been accessed, after the
town gossip spread, after Lex had cleared the area, Clark was at
last by himself.

A tremble of worry sank in his stomach, a harbinger reeking
throughout his system compelling him to head straight home. Never
one to ignore his intuition, Clark set path-

Only to be hindered by a canon of blonde and style. And such as the
characterization of a canon, when Chloe ran into she sent sparks
everywhere, relentlessly pounding away information at him.

"Clark-Bar, big trouble, came from Lex's, must abandon the scene,
c'mon." A jumble of words, and she was off leading Clark away. After
the preliminary bang, there was little energy left, and the next
words were slower, more complete, "They said the fire was set
deliberately, and well, with only you and Lex being there," Chloe's
worried voice trailed off, trembling a bit in a insecure melody, the
bombarding boom had drifted off to a faded echo, a beat almost
drumming the suspense.

It was the look, an impeding doom, and finally.

A blitzkrieg of realization hit him, blasting in from all sides,
gusting away his arguments before he even began assembling them.
Finally, finding his voice in the rubble, he bellowed out, "They
cannot possibly think I started the fire? It's me, Clark Kent, clean
reputation with the shiny Boy Scout pin?"

Even though Clark resented hearing people say those things about
him, at times like these, shoving those particulars back out into
the open made him feel better.

She did not deny it. She did not even try to reassure him that there
was no feasible way they could incriminate him with this. Instead,
she offered an alternative, "Look, Lex has been talking to the
police. He's been stretching his influence to get you off the hook,
but as for getting your job back..."

It was hopeless, he supplied in his head. It was hopeless, because
although he did not do anything, Smallville was always about finding
a scapegoat or an easy explanation, anything to keep from facing
reality. Clark started the fire because he was the last one in the
kitchen. Tina Grier lost 40 pounds because she had an eating
disorder, and she went away to a mental hospital. The random fat-
drained body were a result of a virus. Keep it simple stupid.

In the wreckage of actuality, Clark's rationality took a dive,
compelling him to say a unnecessary, "So much for that car."

He did not need the car. He knew it; she knew it. He hated driving.
He knew it; she knew it. In a small town there was no use for the
car. He knew it; she knew it.

And yet, he still wanted the car. Now, even with damage control
running about, the word had extended across Smallville. It would be
silly to think the "pyro arsonist" Clark Kent would ever be seen
working at another business here.

"Clark." She sensed the desperation of his words, his vain hope of
making something out of the pit he had fall into, trying to fall to
the bottom so he could begin his way back up.

Smallville was a bottomless pit. She knew it; he would live it.

---

Even though Clark worked up the courage to find Lex, thank him for
his kind acts, and (probably) never see him again, it still took him
five days. Even after those five days, the first words out of his
mouth were rudimentary, as if Jonathan Kent's spirit seized his
vocal cords,

"I can't believe you actually live in a castle." He had half a mind
to ask him if he kept the whip and chains in the dungeon or the
bedroom, but Martha Kent's conditioning already had begun to punish
him for his thoughts. He had no idea where the frank anger arose
from, as his intentions were only pure.

But he had yet to vocalize his anger, yet to extinguish the burning
rage crisping at his patience.

"Clark, I was expecting you." The piercing eyes gleamed at him from
a desk across the room, and although the eyes did not smile, there
was one on his lips. Either Lex was simply ignoring his boorish
behavior to be polite, or he expected the anger to be irrationally
thrown at him.

And suddenly the rage sizzled down, dowsed with a fine cup of
veracity. Lex probably had really tried his best; Chloe would not
have given him any news but the truth.

"L-" He paused. Was he supposed to call the once cherished prince
Lex or Luthor? A look at Lex, and he decided throughout the displays
of benevolence, Lex deserved not to be called his family named
discarded months ago. "Lex, I came here to say thank you. I know we
have not known each other well, and there was hardly any reason for
you to even try to talk sense into the police officer. I mean, you
and I both know I did not start that fire. That should have been
enough."

Lex analyzed the boy in front of him, taking in everything from the
slackened posture to the sincere affection in his eyes. He knew what
he saw in those eyes, and although it would be fun to trail the
puppy along to Metropolis, he refused to see the boy in front of him
regarded as any less than his true potential.

"I'm afraid there might have been a mixed message along the lines. I
thought I would be the one thanking you."

"I didn't do anything." Clark yielded, shakily drawing the words
from his lips.

Lex continued at his words, ignoring Clark's uncertainty, "You
intrigued me, Clark. A simple fascination, one I could easily have
overcome, but lacked the willpower.
"In the first week of working, I found out more about you than any
hired man could ever hope to hold. A impeding force, waiting to
bless the world with kindness and generosity, and yet, tangled in an
aegis of attachment, inhibiting progress.
"You have a master's in journalism from MetU, a rather impressive
resume, both to which sit dusty in a back drawer. Did you ever plan
to move ahead with your life? What was keeping you back? Why not
make something of yourself? I passed it off as adolescent rebellion-
until I met Martha."

" My mom?" If Clark had expected anything when coming here, it
certainly was not here.

"A seemingly brittle woman, but surprisingly fierce, ready to face a
bullet for her son. She is terrified her only son will bottling
himself up in Smallville, rather than moving on and venturing with
Chloe into the big city. She is worried his dislike of the city may
be wearing on you." He paused, a slight smile arose on his face, "Do
you know the affect you have on people Clark? The way you are seen
here- an angel among men. Why wouldn't you want to help as many
people as you can? The city holds so much potential for you."

"I am not an angel." Clark blurted out, "You're deluded. I may show
up at the right places at the right time, give a helping hand to a
stranger, but that's not an angel. I'm not some holy saint that
won't confess you sound like a creepy stalker. Because you do."

"You are seen here as an angel, but I confess I never have seen you
of that sorts." Lex smiled, "angels cannot lie."

Fear slithered through Clark's veins, a scaly snake, selfishly
draining his warmth. "Everyone lies about little things."

"A truth- in the midst of lies. Ah, I am sure I can dig one up." Lex
did not once move from his chair, an intimidating position of power.
He was not forcing Clark to stay, but the constant eye contact
commanded Clark's muscles to tighten, forbidding him to move.

"You take a job at my work, question people about me, stake out my
mom, call me a liar. It's getting rather easy to tell why you are
always compared to your father." Clark, although locked in movement,
still could freely access his words.

"Ah, your fiery passion. It shows in your work, you know that? Once
riled, you get pretty carried away. I like that." Lex seemed to
notice he was dwelling off topic- a rare event for the polished
businessman, steering himself back on the tracks, he announced, "I
owed you a reward. So I give you freedom, something I have watched
and saw that you yearned for the most."

"Working in Smallville, stalking me, my friends and family,
backtracking through my files--- it was all as a "thank you?" What
did I even do? I didn't even know you before you worked at the
Beanery. And how did you give me free...oh no." Clark was not a
journalist major for nothing. He actually was great at putting
pieces together, finding the veiled implication. It was just at
times when the puzzle was more sinister than he originally thought
that he worried. "Please tell me that was some sick city-humored
joke."

"Clark." But Lex could not get his two words in, because Clark ran
them out a thousand miles per minute.

"Did you set fire to the Beanery because I needed push to the
outside world? Because I had better things waiting for me on the
other side of the match? Because I was tying myself down to
Smallville?"

"Clark." He tried again, this time knowing he would barely get the
name out before being interrupted and slightly okay because there
was nothing left to do but let Clark work out his frustrations.

"Right. I can handle the background checks, in fact, I can
completely overlook them. But you're holding horses with thread if
you think I'm not going to the authorities- -"

Lex's turn to cut in. "They won't believe you. Nothing was damaged.
In fact, Mr. Kingleys made a large profit off the building, and all
the employees are being compensated for their time."

"Oh good, because I always wanted everyone to be perfectly happy
with a toasted building. Do me a favor? Next time you decide to help
a stranger find his or her way- don't burn down a building." Clark
ran out of the room, too thoroughly upset with the blue-eyed wonder
to even continue with the tête-à-tête.

-----

Clark never discussed with Chloe what happened when he went to thank
Lex. Fortunately, he had not revealed to her he was going, or else
who knows what he may have said to her.

A deep roar of disgust lay uneasy in his gut, racked with hate and
fear of Lex, as well as ignominy with himself for liking the
stalking tyrant.

The roar never calmed, even when the moving trucks were seen packing
away the mansions inner workings, heading them back into the city
where they came from. Locked in the unfortunate blessing of
Lex's "gift," Clark would soon be forced to abandon his hometown,
wishing and hoping time would heal this wound inflicted upon his
reputation.

It would be four more years until the two came face to face.

----

The shadowy buildings loomed over the streets, casting a darkening
doom upon the setting. The urban roads were torn apart, littered
with sporadic holes and trash. The dimmest lamp lit a varied area,
shuttering on and off with the nights hours.

A speeding tan car broke the miserable district of vast emptiness.
Coming to a screeching halt, the noise merely echoed across the
deteriorating buildings, the sound cracking crumbs of the weaker
structures.

Noises broke out through the derelict area, as the two passengers
stepped out of the car.

"Next time, Lois, I drive. That was four red lights you ran--- in a
row!" The outrage of the man, tall and bulky, handsome and
mysterious, was lowered by the gusty whispering of his voice.

"Shut up. My car, my driving. You can walk, Coffee-Boy." The
shorter, shapely figure threatened back, her voice slightly echoing
in the abandoned town.

"And you can take Jimmy on your next ruse to die before 30." The
woman identified as Lois shuddered at the mention of 30, making the
threat of the overzealous newbie seem like a welcoming sign.

"You're lucky you can write- I have half a mind- umph." Clark's,
the "Coffee-Boy, " hand covered Lois's mouth, hearing the slight pad
of feet coming from around the corner.

"Someone's coming. Go into the restaurant, find Snealzs, get the
interview. I'll be right out here, looking to see if find a sign of
life that might know more about these robberies."

The restaurant- one of the many ruined buildings of the street, had
no lights to shine the "Bell's Kitchen" posted above the door, and
the glass tinted windows, a dark hue in the dim light, were
shattered. Without fear, Lois disappeared behind the haunted doors
of the most popular restaurant of Gnoles, now apart of the slums of
Metropolis, and once a popular attraction for the entire city.

In the time it took Lois to be kicked out of the restaurant, having
greatly offended Snealzs, (a quality in which usually kept her from
the more personal side of the reporting job, but Clark insisted she
do because of the seedy area) Clark managed to find two people to
confirm that the robberies started around the time LuthorCorp tried
to buy up the land but was refused, two or three years ago.

As they drove off, leaving the dying neighborhood behind, Clark
could not help but feel a little extra work was needed.

-----

It was effortless, to fall back into the simple practice of serving.
No one looked at you, no one spoke to you. It was easy. Of course,
now the job came with the added benefits of being disregarded and
being able to spy.

LuthorCorp was growing out of control. Terrorizing the citizens with
their growing influence in state and government, barely any
companies were saved from being bought out. Small business might as
well invest in LuthorCorp stock- not to mention the various
increases in crime rates, the roaring corruption. Just last month
the mayor had vetoed an energy bill that would have decreased the
amount of electricity used by each person and consequently would
have lost LuthorCorp millions each year. It was no wonder that five
days after the veto, the mayor had a lumpy back pocket.

The tolerance shakily began breaking away at that point, and several
assassination attempts in the last weeks plagued Mr. Lionel Luthor,
who made no show of acknowledging these bare misses. Sooner or
later, one of those shots would not miss.

In the amidst of hundreds of millionaires and billionaires alike,
one could not tell of the ill seeking the billionaire by looking at
him, as his placid face remained the same throughout the night. Only
a quick uplift of an eyebrow changed his demeanor, and no sooner had
this emotion shown than it had been perfectly erased.

Following the men who caused this change, Lionel Luthor's
accompanied date was unlatched from his arm as he and a two other
businessmen headed toward the back to take about some ventures they
were planning.

A perfect opportunity, one Clark had been waiting weeks for. If
Snealzs would not volunteer the information, Clark would just have
to find it out by himself. If his mutant powers could help him
protect this city from men like Lionel, it would only be injustice
to not use them.

Casually making his way to the area sectioned off for rest purposes
in a way such that it was not noticeable he was making an escape, he
now was infinitely glad he convinced Lois he was better because he
was less known. (He constantly got his way when flattery came into
the picture; Lois' big head inflated quite continuously when it went
unchecked.)

Passed the closed doors, he merely set his dish (yes, he really did
have to carry it around and offer it to the mingling people) onto a
nearby table, and then proceeded to rush into a brightly lit,
glaringly porcelain chamber, the bathroom seemed to be relentless
against his eyes. Channeling his hearing, he caught the last of a
sentence.

"I expect the money on my desk by Friday." The head of Blair and
Sons Motor Industry.

"Don't be foolish- it would be too suspicious, you already have the
media searching your every drawer." The silky voice, full of danger
and waiting to strike.

"Do you want Gate out of the scene or not?" A low threat, backed by
nothing but words. A poor attempt to threaten the billionaire.

"Do not sully my hands with your impatience. We have a deal, do not
steer from it, lest I have to rectify the problem myself."

" You're out of your league Luthor, you can't possibly do this
directly and not have Jr. and the reports tagging you down. It's
amazing he doesn't know about this now." A new voice, most likely
the short man in Berkley's law firm.

"Ah this – Jr.- fellow is just another obstacle is the long run of
business. He will soon cease to be a problem, but let us not veer
off track. I am not worried about Joseph; he is an insect to the
tiger hiding in the grass.

"No, no. It is a leak, a certain Taylor Birks, who you men should
really be worried about. Ah, yes, Mr. Birks. Wasn't he employed to
you, Sam? He has grown quite a conscience, rather dangerous in his
line of business."

" I would take you down with me."

" No one would believe you. Forget the money, make Gate disappear or
certain facts will reappear. I would hate to lose such two business
partners."

Silence danced among the tense air, playing with the cords of
frustration, drawing them tighter and tighter, until finally one
snapped.

"Gate will be gone." Defeat sang it's beautiful voice. Sometimes it
seemed, not even the whimsical sounds of music could calm a fierce
tyrant. Life is unforgiving. By twelve midnight Thursday, when their
plans of actions had carried through, both of the CEOs would be
laying in a pool of their own blood, their last note a resonant
scream, followed by several rest, a quiet ending for a dramatic
piece.

A turning knob, a click allowing access out, and the soft shut of
the door concluded the meeting.

Clark, always looking out for the fellow citizens, quickly banked
the names in his head. He did not know who Joseph Gate or Birk were,
but knowing Luthor, they would be deceased by the end of this week.

Obligation, or perhaps more of friendship, drove Clark into
informing Lois, asking her to do the dog's work of the partnership
until his shift was over.

Happily, she agreed, babbling off a list of possible scenarios
before hanging up.

A smooth click, the dooming turning of miniature pins, sounded in
Clark's ear, and without further investigation, he knew he was
locked in the bathroom. The soft pace of feet, so familiar, but so
unknown, stalked closer. Suddenly the rhythm stopped, two feet,
impatience glaring from the black shine, stood right outside the
bathroom door.

The shine, the shine, the shine, he could not ignore it. No super
speed nor any of his other mutant powers could save him here. The
enclosed walls suddenly shrunk, a wild uproar ceased his senses. He
had to get out of there before he and all his mutant self passed
out. Forcing himself to relax, he mightily, tentatively opened the
door, ignoring the urge to burst out of the cell and flee from the
claustrophobia.

"Hello, Mr. Kent." The smooth voice, so promising and so deceiving.

"Lex- Luthor." Flustered, again. Caught. In a stall, cell phone
still held in his left hand, food tray- where did he put that again?
A red hue boiled up, and he threatened it back down. "Did- Did you
follow me in here?" He pushed past him, out of the stall. Aha,
outrage. Much better.

"Simply worried when a waiter went missing. You know, when I helped
you in Smallville, I did not mean for you to become a waiter in
Metropolis." Lex chuckled, flashing him a coral set of teeth.

The smile ran through his veins, the blood pumping faster, the heart
racing faster—his mind suddenly struck with a cold fear: "Stay away
from me. I do not want your help." A fleeting, anxious feeling
floated into Clark's gut, encouraging the thrumming of his blood.
The lunatic in front of him had not seemed to radically alter over
the years.

"But you don't really need my help do you? I'll save immolation for
another day." A slight smirk, more friendly (if you could call a
lunatic friendly) than cruel, and then the conversation turned
serious. A dark shadow cast itself on Lex, and a warning fell from
his lips, "Clark, you're playing with sharks. There is nothing they
will not do. Expect everything, expect nothing. Do not trust anyone,
least of all your friends. Businessmen are tyrants."

" And are you a businessman? " The shadow moved off of Lex, hitting
Clark's left hand, as if slowly infecting him.

"A slight trade below, I'm afraid. But, in your line of work, I am
sure you knew that?"

Ah yes, the collapse of LexCorp, the end of a terrifying reign.
Filled with possibilities, charity organizations, and thousands of
other helpful tidbits, LexCorp was doomed. Slight slips, rounded
edges, had LexCorp not been eaten by LuthorCorp, LexCorp could have
become dangerously powerful. The mightily fall, an anguished cry
ringing through the city, thousands losing their job due to
LuthorCorp cuts, the mere four minutes summarized everything.

"Perhaps the fall was a miracle? Fatum erat." The snotty reply was
meant to hurt, but his companion smiled.

"Fatum sumus. If anything happens, call this number. Give your name
and you'll be sent directly to me. Sharks, Clark. A life vest will
not save you." A card, with shinning gold print, was handed to
Clark, who took it without contemplation.

An agreement, a truce, he did not understand it himself. He hated
the man in front of him, the one who ripped away his secure setting
in Smallville and forced him to abandon his miserable mom. (Who,
although she wanted him to go and escape Smallville, clung to him
until the very end.) And yet, he held Lex's eyes, promising, "If
anything ever happens to you, I'm sure you have a data file or a
drawer full of my contact information. Don't be afraid to use it."

He couldn't understand what made him say that, but he felt
alarmingly surprised he meant it. Even the joke, lingering on bitter
memories, was lightly meant, a sort of diminishing the tension.

Lex stepped away from the threshold, allowing Clark access to the
outdoors.

Perhaps something had changed in the man.

-----

A pile of notes scattered the desk, print outs and access codes and
pictures were smeared across the desk in random order. A busy day at
the planet, topped off with Clark's lead, and finally, finally
something was coming out of it.

Joseph Gate arrived in Metropolis around three years ago, ready to
begin his own business in Gnoles. At the time, the place was well
known for it's extravagant restaurants and elegant antique shops.
Although those days were over, and his restaurant long closed, Gate
still resided in the area, the building and house still owned by
him.

And perfectly, the number had not changed in the past three years.
Taking the late hour chance, as Lois was known to do, she dialed the
number.

A gruff, sluggish voice responded, "'Lo? Who's callin'?"

Clearing her throat and making it as serene as possible, a difficult
task for someone with a nagging thread pulling her towards the
Pulitzer, Lois retorted, "Ah- Mr. Gate? This is Lois Lane, from the
Daily Planet-"

"Whatchya callin' her for ? I didn't do nothing." Defensive.
Something really big had to be going down.

"Actually, I was wondering if you knew anything about the burglaries
going on-"

Click.

"Joseph? Gate? Hello? Dammit."

Perhaps she should take Clark's advice and go for a more subtle
approach. The idea of resembling the sickly sweet farm boy in any
form revolted her, and she decided she would just find some other
way. She would have her Pulitzer.

----

Ralph Snealzs was a common city businessman, so common indeed, there
was nothing outlandish about him. In the early 2000s, his restaurant
had won awards dignifying it as most prominent restaurant. During
that time, he had been married and happily divorced. Also, once 60
grand in the hole, he was now receiving insurance from his
restaurant's robbery in Gnoles.

So common he was, he had a tapping set up, covering the range of the
street, waiting for a misplaced sign, waiting for a sign his
paranoia was not in futile.

Belle's Kitchen, his life, his treasure, was nothing more than a
wasted dump. He sat with frantic worry over the days proceedings.

At last! A fellow owner in Gnoles, Gate had just called a reporter.
Driven with fear, he quickly moved to cover the spill. Taking the
trace, a number and a house, he knew what he must do. There were
some things in life that were better left unknown.

As a common city businessman, it was his duty to make sure they
remained secret.

----

Monday morning, Clark and Lois went over her notes, and no lead.
Monday morning, and a call from Chloe- lasting no more than two
seconds, which happened frequently because she always called him to
ask a question but suddenly realized the answer and hung up before
he could answer- and no contacts. Monday morning, Gate had
supposedly fled town; Monday morning, Snealz had taken to become a
dummy, unable to talk unless the ventriloquist of a lawyer put the
words into his mouth. Monday morning, and still Lionel Luthor knew
better than to speak to amateur reporters. Monday Morning, Clark had
yet to call Lex- not that he ever would, be he still thought about
it.

Monday morning and Chloe went missing.

Clark was the first to know, followed five seconds later by Lois.

Clark informed the police officer he received a call from her a few
hours earlier. The police officer informed Clark Chloe was last seen
a few days ago, and a neighbor had complained about her cat's meows.
Perry informed Clark they looked like he swallowed a cockroach.
Clark informed Perry he was taking a personal day.

Leaving without further notice, Clark bolted out the door, the
disease of worry spreading through him and attacking his rationality.

---

She was dimly aware of the faint pain in the back of her head,
growing progressively noticeable as her senses began to return. A
voice murmmering in the background, pacing back and forth. The loud
clunk of the feet making it's appearance through a pulsation sound
in Chloe's mind.

Over the thudding sound of feet, Chloe could distinguish the
syllables of the words until they began to make sense, forming
compound sentences- ah ah! There was the noun. Clone. The clone's
progress was proceeding well. And! There was another noun. Lionel.
Wait!

Chloe's mind without more ado backtracked, reviewing the
information and sharply tuning itself. Luckily, she could jump back
and process the given information.

"I don't want to be involved with this! My part involves a
restaurant, not whatever the hell some maniac built below it. Clear
my name or I swear to God- Taylor? What does he have to do with
this?" The harsh hush of his voice rang through the cracked walls.

For the first time since being awake, Chloe noticed she was in an
deserted restaurant. She figured as much, due to Joseph Gasper's
call. She did not know why he called her, but she never turned down
the gruff voice of a terrified man. He was in trouble, that much he
had not said, but it was implied. He promised her he didn't mean any
of it, promised he just got caught up in business. He was a
businessman, he was supposed to do all he could to protect his
business. He start incoherently babbling about the Luthors and
proceeded to hang up. Right after, Chloe called Lex.

Lex and her had remained on a friendly relationship, strengthening
over the downfall of LexCorp. Lex, although understanding she could
not mention her sources name due to journalism ethics, offered to
hire her help, even stay with her a few nights until she was less
spooked. Two nights and several backaches from a lumpy coach, Lex
was released from his obligation. Chloe had not received anymore
calls, and if she were she was to call Lex. Once agreed, Lex still
had Mercy watch over her.

Even under Mercy's guard, eight hours, 36 minutes, and 17 seconds
after being left on her own, Chloe was captured by a man she had
known, but certainly not the man she talked to on the phone.

The rounded face of Snealz stared at her, whispering, "I'm sorry,"
over and over, even as she passed out from the chloroform.

And even now, through her blurry vision, Chloe saw herself laid on a
bed made of cushions, covered with a blanket and a glass of water
beside her. No chains, no rope. She might as well be an obligatory
victim through all the care he had gone into making her comfortable-
well, as comfortable as possible in an abandoned restaurant.

Once again, the voices picked up in her hearing range, "Powers? From
where? Kent? His lover? No, no. Don't tell me anymore. I hear, see,
and speak no evil-- as long as I do not hear nor see evil." He
abruptly hung up the phone, shaking and worried.

Clark? Lex? Clones? Lionel? Looking in her pocket, yes, he hadn't
taken her phone. Signal? One bar. Good. She called Clark, just
getting him and losing signal as he picked up. Dammit.

She thrusted her phone between the cushions, incase Snealz decided
he would turn on his "favorite reporter" who he had entrusted so
many leads in. Sometimes, people you knew the most, flabbergasted
you the most.

---

Even with his mutant powers and journalist training, Clark was
hopeless. Calling his mother, she informed him that the best thing
to do was relax and let the police take care everything. Her gentle
anguished voice, always so broken after Jonathan's death, always so
regretful - she was never the same kindhearted women he remembered
from his childhood years- calmed him with familiarity.

Lex Luthor had been the last person seen with Chloe Sullivan. Had
the tyrant kidnapped her to prove an insane point to Clark? Quit
waiting and become a journalist or you'll lose the only inspiration
you ever had? Maybe he should just inform the businessman he really
was a reporter and he would give Chloe back.

Somehow, Clark did not think Lex, although quite capable physically
and mentally, kidnapped Chloe. Otherwise, why in the world would
there be a large crew of men hired by Lex looking for the missing
person? Not the scoundrels Lionel would have hired, whose men were
more for the purpose of burying than digging, but rather honest,
good working humble men.

Rebelling against his mom's words, Clark took on watching Lex's
employees, scouting them for information. It was a floating idea,
but the broken red vase, shattered in the attack, had an odd piece
among the remains. The darker shade of red, glaring different colors
at different points in the light, looked oddly familiar. Forensic
science told the investigators the glass was not from anywhere in
the room, but an outside source.

This information, passed on to Clark through the use of his special
abilities, gave him a shimmer of hope. More information, passed by a
telephone company about recent phone calls, gave him all the
confirmation he needed. The last call Chloe received was from Joseph
Gate. Taking the lead, he wound back up into Gnoles.

The streets, still lubrigious and uninviting, were less ominous than
before. No lights, but on a hunch, Clark knew he would find what he
was looking for. And if running into Lex Luthor, glamored out in a
five hundred dollar shirt and a ridiculously expensive pair of
pants, happened to be on the road to finding Chloe, so be it.

Lex looked at him, and sighed as if he expected this, "Somehow, I
think I may have known you would be here."

Lex did not bother questioning Clark on how he received his
information, in fact he just smiled. His whole demeanor had changed
in the years since Smallville. No longer was he an attending
businessman. He had played that part, formed LexCorp, say the final
annihilation of LexCorp, and now he idled around, working for his
father, doing nothing more than paper work. No, this Lex Luthor was
not a businessman, this man had hung up his suit and retired.

"I just got a call sending me information about Chloe. The police
are coming in ten minutes, but I thought I'd give it a look around,
play a bit of Hero." Not waiting for Clark, Lex entered the
building, slowly opening the door, glad when there was no creaking
breaking the haunting silence. The slight pad of feet, calming and
worrying, and ten million other things Clark did not think about,
disappeared into the partially lit building.

For all the careful procedure, they might as well have banged open
the door, for in the next second, Lex fell through a few rotten
boards. Before he could think, Clark was on the floor at an
unnatural rate, grabbing Lex's hand and saving him from crashing to
the bottom. Hoping the shock had unhinged his senses, Clark lifted
Lex, helping him dust off from the wreckage.

Knowing that stealthily trying to approach would now be useless,
Clark left Lex and ran into the main room, trying to find them
before anyone managed to get away.

Only, no one was there. The abandoned restaurant was actually an
abandoned restaurant. No Chloe held in the corner, begging for her
life as this insane Gate character tried to murder her.
The lead was at a dead end, time to turn and find a new road. Lex
came behind him, a few minutes later, slightly limping and holding
his arm, which Clark now noticed to be bleeding.

"Hey, watch it, I left you to rest, not kill yourself trying to walk
across the room." Clark checked over his body with his x-ray vision,
a fleeting relief coursed through him. Nothing sprained, nothing
broken.

"No harm done, I heal quick." He scrutinized his eyes, sending a
slight challenge, as if the statement were so profound that only a
select few had heard it before. Perhaps Lex thought Clark that
important, and was challenging Clark to address his feelings as
well. Perhaps not.

"I suppose that comes in handy when you are related to Lionel
Luthor." Clark smiled, not prepared to address his relationship, the
tension, the thumping of his heart, the yearning that was once again
returning-- even in the amidst of his best friend's kidnapping.

"Well, it's countered with having Clark Kent at my side. My Mr. Hero
of sorts."

The statement to Clark sounded odd, having more meaning than he
could ever imagine. He saved him from the floor boards' doom, but
the damage had he not been there could not have been so severe the
cops would not have been able to handle it.

Lex tore off a piece of his shirt, tying it around his wounded arm,
preventing further blood loss. "Even if I do heal quick, blood is a
nasty thing to lose."

Taking off his jacket- Clark laid it down on Lex's shoulders. "I
would hate to have you explain to the authorities how you managed to
get so tattered without a victim in site. Falling through a hole
does not sound nearly as heroic when there's no damsel in distress."

Lex did not remark on how the dark colored jacket hide the spill of
blood, instead he opted to change the subject, putting the concern
for Chloe first, " Did you try all the rooms?"

With my x-ray vision, thought Clark, but he wasn't about to tell
that to Lex. "Yes."

Lex nodded, not bothering to double check his word, showing more
trust that one would assume of someone in the line of CEOs, but as
Clark had discovered before, Lex was not such the businessman
personality.

"I'm going to check with Snealz, he's been quiet lately, but maybe
he could tell us if he saw anything." Clark stated, leaving an
opening for Lex to join him, if he so wished.

Lex nodded, "Let's give the police our statements and head out. I
don't suppose this Snealz character owns a restaurant too? I think I
might be getting sick of them. Wouldn't it be ironic if I died in
one?"

Clark, ever the one for superstitions, knocked on the nearest
wall. "Lex, keep thoughts like that to yourself next time, okay?"

Lex, noticing the affect of his words, nodded, "I promise we will
find Chloe alive and we will all make it out okay. Perhaps we will
go out for that tea Chloe's been addicted to lately."

Clark laughed, "You're behind on the days- Chloe's sticking strictly
to coffee again. Easy to make and plenty of it late nights in the
Planet."

" I don't suppose you drink that dirt too?" Lex questioned, heading
out in front of Clark to the police, who by the sound of it, just
arrived.

"Not since I worked at the Beanery." What could have come out as
harsh and angry, came out as a slight joke of old times, as if they
were two friends reminiscing on old times.

"Yes, that evil coffee maker." Lex laughed.

"You knew about that?" Clark's eyes bugged and suddenly he realized
by just how much he had been set up that day. Lex would have started
the fire where he was most vulnerable, in order he would not
diminish the wild flames by any method.

"Clark, soon you'll realize there is nothing I don't know."

-----

The dramatic freeing of Chloe, as put forth into Clark's head, took
place the very next hour. Or, Snealz, hearing the police sirens so
close to his door, jumped out of dodge and fled the scene, leaving
a "napping" Chloe alone in the corner.

After three minutes, Chloe hopped out of the building and ran toward
the sound of the police sirens.

Well, she would have ran, but still lethargic from the chloroform
and having only coffee and water in her system, she may have made it
a half of a mile before her bones screeched "no more."

Walking the rest of the way, she regained her breath as well as
composure. All the better, for when the flashes and yells, and
dozens of microphones where thrust into her view, she look quite a
doll rather than a deranged mutt.

Chloe had found Clark, rather than Clark finding Chloe.

----

Chloe had become distant, as was normal with kidnapping. She told
them nothing about who had kidnapped her, nor the words shared.
Setting back, all three in a booth in a coffee shop, Chloe on one
side by herself with the supposed lovers setting across from her,
Chloe really looked at them.

And they really did look like lovers. She supposed the past couple
of days brought them closer together. The hostility between the two
had all but disappeared, replaced with a mutual acceptance- and
perhaps more.

The light in Lex's eyes, although it was always there whether he was
seeing Clark, or talking about Clark, seemed now more mystical, as
if he found his holy grail.

And Clark, perhaps had Clark once again found his prince. Even
through the monstrosity of the earlier years--- Clark would kill
Chloe if he knew burning down the Beanery had been her idea--- had
tempered.

Which meant they were both in trouble. Lionel Luthor was a vicious
pit-bull; he could look surprisingly affable and saccharine, even as
his victims hand rest mischievously detached in his mouth.

Lex had mentioned clones in Smallville; Lionel had tried to make a
clone of him to follow dutifully through the business world,
becoming his puppet. The clones never lasted more than a couple of
days, and finally the research was ended.

Chloe remembered how much strain had been put on Lex- knowing the
control his father had on him, until he had ultimately sent out to
start his own business. He succeeded well, too well in fact. Perhaps
that was his undoing, Lex was never much of a businessman, he didn't
have the guts, the over glace. No, he was much better suited as a
caring brother in society.

Chloe refused to destroy the Lex he had finally managed to become,
refused to drive him back to the business world he had so reviled.
No, Lex had sacrificed enough. It was her time to give back to her
friend, as well as her best friend, what they have offered her all
along. A chance.

----

Threats thickened, and finally, it became too much. The police
ransacked his broken building, the structure finally collapsing on
itself, falling to it's grave in a rush of tumble and timber. Who
hears a tree falling in the middle of an deserted forest? He
certainly did.

He felt it as well, he breathed it, smelling the decayed wood,
tasting the forgotten succulence, he certainly saw it, the dream now
shattered beyond repair. He could take the money, start new. Snealz
would want him to. Snealz, his beloved friend, always by his side,
always with him. Business partners, he was glad Snealz had left
town, leaving his soul only slightly besmirched of his hideous
crimes. He betrayed Snealz, to the highest degree. There was no
point, he was a dying red star.

But now, he realized, the pressure was on, there was no escape. He
was a mere puppet in a line of evil doings. He would complete his
work, and he would be killed; he would not do his work, and he would
be killed.

Was the triumph worth the cost? Did it matter? He was a dead soul
anyway; he might as well be a useful dead soul.

He promised Snealz he would pursue his dream no matter what may
come. They would pursue it together, and he broke apart torn by his
own greed. He would do this for Snealz, so when he finally knew of
the betrayal, he would as least know it was worth something rather
than nothing.

-----

The pressure, the need to be repent, came to one other that
thunderous evening. The devil it seemed, had been making his tours.
Only, this one, willingly sacrificed everything at the price of good
rather than evil. She would not be the puppet, she would be the
actress. She could pretend to be manipulated, and she would do it.
For her friends and for her self.

Some things were too great to leave behind.

Sometimes fate had a comical way of presenting itself.

Sometimes following the devil led to virtue.