"Is it just me, or is this more like a psychodrama script than an expense report?" Lex raised his eyes from a series of papers covered with notes, lines and arrows meandering from one spot to another, and several coffee rings. A flourescent pink Post-It read, "Flash's expenses and other fictions. Just kidding! Ha ha!"
"I've often been tempted to offer them to the Museum of Modern Art," Alfred replied, solemnly. "Mr. West is an exuberant individual."
"That's like saying that Clark can lift weights a bit," Lex muttered, then printed the last files. "Here's the petty cash statement, here are the CDs, US Treasury bonds, and here are the current checking and savings accounts." That afternoon, they had finished reconciling all the accounts, including the ones from the time when Bruce had used them as a learning experience for Dick, resulting in notes such as "What's $1.74 among friends" and "So, maybe the bank embezzled that last 39 cents" popping up here and there in the statement reconciliations.
"I think we've earned a potent drink, possibly more than one," Alfred answered.
Lex grinned, an expression that by then was beginning to look as though it might belong on his face, instead of appearing and disappearing like a traveller trying to cross unfamiliar territory as quickly as possible.
In the study, the two men raised the brandy snifters to each other in a silent toast. Alfred savored the liquid and then said, "Both Master Bruce and I shall miss you and your brother."
"The feeling is mutual." Lex smiled again. "Though I'm not sure how much longer Bruce would have let Clark drink coffee or eat anything with sugar in it."
"The 'sugar high' is a fallacy," Alfred corrected, though gently, and Lex answered, "I'm not so sure about Clark."
"You have a point. The first evening they patrolled together was on the traumatic side for Master Bruce, and Master Clark had consumed a great deal of coffee." Not even Dick Grayson had ever blown a raspberry at a defeated opponent, and Clark's lung capacity and mouth muscles had made his foray into that area very impressive, but rendered Batman's customary ominous warning far less so, through contrast. Alfred's eyes stopped their veiled glinting for a moment. "Have his nightmares stopped?"
"He says so." Lex's doubt showed in his voice. "I'm not sure what returning to Metropolis will do, though."
Alfred had given up on attempting to dissuade the brothers, so he merely answered, "You are doing a courageous thing by returning."
"Well, I'd rather see whatever it is coming, rather than have it sneak up on us." None of them had been able to make sense of Lionel's patterns of company tradings, but what appeared to be a gradual buildup in biochemistry and neurotechnology firms had alarmed them, especially when coupled with what seemed to be a plan to amass all the available meteor fragments. His hiring patterns had, Bruce commented, indicated that being accused of unethical or unprofessional conduct was a prerequisite rather than an obstacle to employment. Clark and Lex had finally decided that they'd be able to find out more in Metropolis and were planning their departure for the next day.
"Hey, Lex, Alfred," Clark skidded to a stop. "We're back." Bruce Wayne followed more sedately.
"Were the rats indeed trained to attack?"
"Yes, but some of them also seemed to be carrying messages. Clark caught most of those, we think."
"One suspects Mr. Otis Flannigan again."
"Hey, there's the missing rhyme! Flannigan, again!" Alfred and Lex exchanged looks that indicated that they didn't want to know but were too piqued by curiousity not to wonder. "I was trying to make a limerick, you know? Bat and rat rhyme, so..." Clark's voice trailed off and he added, defensively, "Limericks *are* a lost art form."
*Maybe it's just as well we're going,* Lex mused, trying to imagine just how well Batman would have reacted to a Clark with his adrenaline pumped by chasing rats. He ended that train of thought by deciding that some things, like what Margaret Thatcher would look like in a thong, were better not contemplated by somebody who didn't want to end up at the Arkham Asylum.
"I've often been tempted to offer them to the Museum of Modern Art," Alfred replied, solemnly. "Mr. West is an exuberant individual."
"That's like saying that Clark can lift weights a bit," Lex muttered, then printed the last files. "Here's the petty cash statement, here are the CDs, US Treasury bonds, and here are the current checking and savings accounts." That afternoon, they had finished reconciling all the accounts, including the ones from the time when Bruce had used them as a learning experience for Dick, resulting in notes such as "What's $1.74 among friends" and "So, maybe the bank embezzled that last 39 cents" popping up here and there in the statement reconciliations.
"I think we've earned a potent drink, possibly more than one," Alfred answered.
Lex grinned, an expression that by then was beginning to look as though it might belong on his face, instead of appearing and disappearing like a traveller trying to cross unfamiliar territory as quickly as possible.
In the study, the two men raised the brandy snifters to each other in a silent toast. Alfred savored the liquid and then said, "Both Master Bruce and I shall miss you and your brother."
"The feeling is mutual." Lex smiled again. "Though I'm not sure how much longer Bruce would have let Clark drink coffee or eat anything with sugar in it."
"The 'sugar high' is a fallacy," Alfred corrected, though gently, and Lex answered, "I'm not so sure about Clark."
"You have a point. The first evening they patrolled together was on the traumatic side for Master Bruce, and Master Clark had consumed a great deal of coffee." Not even Dick Grayson had ever blown a raspberry at a defeated opponent, and Clark's lung capacity and mouth muscles had made his foray into that area very impressive, but rendered Batman's customary ominous warning far less so, through contrast. Alfred's eyes stopped their veiled glinting for a moment. "Have his nightmares stopped?"
"He says so." Lex's doubt showed in his voice. "I'm not sure what returning to Metropolis will do, though."
Alfred had given up on attempting to dissuade the brothers, so he merely answered, "You are doing a courageous thing by returning."
"Well, I'd rather see whatever it is coming, rather than have it sneak up on us." None of them had been able to make sense of Lionel's patterns of company tradings, but what appeared to be a gradual buildup in biochemistry and neurotechnology firms had alarmed them, especially when coupled with what seemed to be a plan to amass all the available meteor fragments. His hiring patterns had, Bruce commented, indicated that being accused of unethical or unprofessional conduct was a prerequisite rather than an obstacle to employment. Clark and Lex had finally decided that they'd be able to find out more in Metropolis and were planning their departure for the next day.
"Hey, Lex, Alfred," Clark skidded to a stop. "We're back." Bruce Wayne followed more sedately.
"Were the rats indeed trained to attack?"
"Yes, but some of them also seemed to be carrying messages. Clark caught most of those, we think."
"One suspects Mr. Otis Flannigan again."
"Hey, there's the missing rhyme! Flannigan, again!" Alfred and Lex exchanged looks that indicated that they didn't want to know but were too piqued by curiousity not to wonder. "I was trying to make a limerick, you know? Bat and rat rhyme, so..." Clark's voice trailed off and he added, defensively, "Limericks *are* a lost art form."
*Maybe it's just as well we're going,* Lex mused, trying to imagine just how well Batman would have reacted to a Clark with his adrenaline pumped by chasing rats. He ended that train of thought by deciding that some things, like what Margaret Thatcher would look like in a thong, were better not contemplated by somebody who didn't want to end up at the Arkham Asylum.