Lex looked, for at least the twentieth time, at an astounding piece of design and craftsmanship. It was slender and graceful, a beautifully shaped piece of metal. Working titanium and platinum together like that couldn't have been easy, though it made an almost unmatchable strength and lightness. No, it must have been quite a challenge to combine. Especially with the obvious addition of meteor fragments. The bracelet fixed about his wrist was as sleek and strong as a powerful car. Dammit.
Doing the same thing and expecting different results is a definition of insanity, he reminded himself as he again worked the edge of a belt buckle between the bracelet and his wrist and tried to pry it off. Unfortunately, the woman who had come that morning to fit it had done far too good a job. Her hands with the tools were so sure that he hadn't even been alarmed by how closely the riveting drill bit came towards his skin, and the fit was perfect, neither distractingly loose nor uncomfortably tight.
He still wasn't quite sure what to make of that whole situation. The woman, that is, not the bracelet. The bracelet's purpose was all too clear. But so far, he'd come into contact with three people after his return, that metalworker, a doctor the week before, and someone described as his "assistant," who came each day to see if there was anything he wanted. Each one of them had been a stunning, long-haired brunette, of the kind he'd always found it well nigh impossible to resist.
This had to be intentional on Lionel's part. What galled him was that he couldn't decide for certain what the intention was. It could be some kind of cynical test of his self-control, which would be perfectly in character for his father, but it could also be an equally cynical way of "seeing to his comfort," and that, too, would be in character.
Judging from his one experiment, they'd clearly been briefed. A few mornings ago, he'd lowered his voice to a bedroom murmur and asked Patricia, the assistant, to come over to the window where he was standing. He'd put a hand on the shoulder her blouse temptingly exposed and pointed outside with his other hand, with low-voiced inanities about the varied colors of the unvaried landscape. He slipped in the question, "What's that lake's name?" as casually as if he were asking about the weather, and caught a sardonic, "you don't fool me one bit" glint in her eye before she throatily declared ignorance with parted, glossy lips and left the room, hips swaying so much that she probably covered more side-to-side motion than forward motion in her departure.
Either he was insane or the bracelet actually looked smug as the belt buckle snapped. Tossing it to the wastebasket to join the others, he decided that at least there was one thing he knew for certain that he wanted Patricia to do. Order him some new belts.
****
Score! There was definitely a hint of a whine in Bruce's voice.
"But does he *have* to be so, so, sixteen!" Clark grinned and waited for Alfred's response.
"I wouldn't know, sir. I have had relatively little experience with unusually gifted young men going through a troubled adolescence." Even though he was three rooms away, Clark instinctively stifled a snicker. There was a long pause and since apparently Bruce had no answer, Alfred went on. "Considering the circumstances and the transitions he's had to go through at a very rapid pace, he's actually handling himself reasonably well."
"Agreed. But you're not the one he's pestering," Bruce muttered, and Clark heard the sound of retreating footsteps.
He'd delivered the deeds to the hotel this morning and was trying to get over his sense of unease. He hadn't seen Lionel, just the woman he was supposed to give them to, and she barely said anything, just thanked him and went on reading construction contracts and sub-contracts. It made him feel too much like a puppet on a string. *Stupid Lex!*
That reminded him that he still hadn't told the Kents what had happened. He checked his watch. It'd be about two in Kansas. Probably by the time he'd given them the news and all that, the high school would be letting out, so that'd be a perfect chance to make sure that Chloe Sullivan was doing okay. Which was nothing more or less than his duty as her rescuer.
He ran down the steps to Guano Central HQ, stopped at the bottom, and drawing a huge breath, hollered, "Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce! I'm going out!"
He snickered to himself as he heard a muttered reply.
***
A/N: You know that lovely feeling you get when you go over to your special somebody's apartment and you see a chocolate cookbook on the counter, especially when you know that he or she actually doesn't much like chocolate but you do, and you realize that he or she bought it just to make you chocolate deliciousness?
Scientific studies have confirmed that receiving feedback is definitely analogous.
Doing the same thing and expecting different results is a definition of insanity, he reminded himself as he again worked the edge of a belt buckle between the bracelet and his wrist and tried to pry it off. Unfortunately, the woman who had come that morning to fit it had done far too good a job. Her hands with the tools were so sure that he hadn't even been alarmed by how closely the riveting drill bit came towards his skin, and the fit was perfect, neither distractingly loose nor uncomfortably tight.
He still wasn't quite sure what to make of that whole situation. The woman, that is, not the bracelet. The bracelet's purpose was all too clear. But so far, he'd come into contact with three people after his return, that metalworker, a doctor the week before, and someone described as his "assistant," who came each day to see if there was anything he wanted. Each one of them had been a stunning, long-haired brunette, of the kind he'd always found it well nigh impossible to resist.
This had to be intentional on Lionel's part. What galled him was that he couldn't decide for certain what the intention was. It could be some kind of cynical test of his self-control, which would be perfectly in character for his father, but it could also be an equally cynical way of "seeing to his comfort," and that, too, would be in character.
Judging from his one experiment, they'd clearly been briefed. A few mornings ago, he'd lowered his voice to a bedroom murmur and asked Patricia, the assistant, to come over to the window where he was standing. He'd put a hand on the shoulder her blouse temptingly exposed and pointed outside with his other hand, with low-voiced inanities about the varied colors of the unvaried landscape. He slipped in the question, "What's that lake's name?" as casually as if he were asking about the weather, and caught a sardonic, "you don't fool me one bit" glint in her eye before she throatily declared ignorance with parted, glossy lips and left the room, hips swaying so much that she probably covered more side-to-side motion than forward motion in her departure.
Either he was insane or the bracelet actually looked smug as the belt buckle snapped. Tossing it to the wastebasket to join the others, he decided that at least there was one thing he knew for certain that he wanted Patricia to do. Order him some new belts.
****
Score! There was definitely a hint of a whine in Bruce's voice.
"But does he *have* to be so, so, sixteen!" Clark grinned and waited for Alfred's response.
"I wouldn't know, sir. I have had relatively little experience with unusually gifted young men going through a troubled adolescence." Even though he was three rooms away, Clark instinctively stifled a snicker. There was a long pause and since apparently Bruce had no answer, Alfred went on. "Considering the circumstances and the transitions he's had to go through at a very rapid pace, he's actually handling himself reasonably well."
"Agreed. But you're not the one he's pestering," Bruce muttered, and Clark heard the sound of retreating footsteps.
He'd delivered the deeds to the hotel this morning and was trying to get over his sense of unease. He hadn't seen Lionel, just the woman he was supposed to give them to, and she barely said anything, just thanked him and went on reading construction contracts and sub-contracts. It made him feel too much like a puppet on a string. *Stupid Lex!*
That reminded him that he still hadn't told the Kents what had happened. He checked his watch. It'd be about two in Kansas. Probably by the time he'd given them the news and all that, the high school would be letting out, so that'd be a perfect chance to make sure that Chloe Sullivan was doing okay. Which was nothing more or less than his duty as her rescuer.
He ran down the steps to Guano Central HQ, stopped at the bottom, and drawing a huge breath, hollered, "Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuce! I'm going out!"
He snickered to himself as he heard a muttered reply.
***
A/N: You know that lovely feeling you get when you go over to your special somebody's apartment and you see a chocolate cookbook on the counter, especially when you know that he or she actually doesn't much like chocolate but you do, and you realize that he or she bought it just to make you chocolate deliciousness?
Scientific studies have confirmed that receiving feedback is definitely analogous.