Clark stopped, just out of sight of the building. It was frustrating not being able to look inside, a bit like missing part of a sense or something. But definitely no sign of anybody coming out. It was starting to get creepy.
If Dad was a step ahead of them, it'd mean that Diana and Bruce would be in big trouble, as well as Lex. He didn't think that Dad would hurt Lex, but Diana and Bruce would be another story, not being flesh and blood. He ran right up to the edge of the building and tried to listen inside. He guessed that if Dad had caught them, even if it were the moment that they first got inside, the older Luthor would still be talking.
As he concentrated, he could hear voices, but they faded in and out and he couldn't make out words. He tried the door and it was open. More of the weird.
Just the word reminded him of Chloe Sullivan. She liked weird. He wasn't sure, though, that she'd really like to know that he himself was pretty much weird epicenter. Or if she did know, what she'd do about it, think about it. There was a chance she'd want to pin him against the wall and get up close and personal with weird, but maybe she'd just want to pin him on the wall. Could maybe the Kents kind of find out for him?
A few more feet inside, and he heard one phrase, way too clearly. "We can't let Clark see this." That was Bruce. He tore in the direction of the sound, sometimes stumbling past the green glows that started as he approached, like they were glad he was here so they could eat him alive.
He stopped in a doorway. It was just Bruce and Diana there, in a bedroom, empty of anything but furniture. Bruce was staring at the bed, swearing in such a monotone that it almost sounded detached. Clark didn't get it at first, then saw that the colors of the crumpled sheet weren't some kind of abstract arty thing. Straightened out, it would be the shape of a human figure, surrounded by rust-brown stains. On an equally stained piece of paper lying in the exact center on the bureau nearby, there was a neatly coiled strap.
***
Lex opened his eyes, stretched, and looked around as a strong deja vu presented itself. Bottle of water at hand, nicely chilled, spectacularly comfortable bed linens, and so on. Grabbing the water and gulping some down, he strolled to the window and looked out, twisting his neck to see up and down. If the other setting was rustic, this was downright isolated, with nothing in sight but trees, a mix of coniferous and deciduous, and rock faces. He surmised that the house was built into the side of a mountain, fairly high up.
He tried the window crank and after some effort and an unexpected soreness in his arm, it opened about an inch. Lex frowned down at the crook of his arm and saw not just the tiny injection mark he'd anticipated, but another one, surrounded by a bruise. If they'd dosed him twice, that meant he could be anywhere, probably even another continent. Next time Lionel dropped in, he'd see what he could find out. But in the meantime, a shower and a workout would be just the thing.
***
Clark had no idea where he'd stopped running. Not that it mattered.
Everything was so screwed up. He hated his father for being so vicious, he hated the League for not being more careful, and he hated himself for not seeing it coming. He'd never been able to outwit Lionel before, Lionel knew him too well, hell, Lionel had been the one who shaped him. There was no way that he'd ever be able to beat him.
God, was that the wrong word. He wished so much that he didn't hear all the voices from his memories telling him that he had to think about the consequences to his actions. Mom's, gentle and concerned, Bruce's, steady and serious, Dad's, even, calm and smug. Sure, he could blame the League all he wanted, and that was plenty, but he could bet anything that Lex would blame him.
A train horn from the distance sounded just like he felt. Now he didn't have anybody left. He hated them or they'd hate him. It just wasn't fair.
***
Lionel folded his own note, reread Lex's to be positive that there wasn't anything untoward, and put them in the envelope. It was an awkward situation but he had handled it with aplomb, he congratulated himself. After years of making sure that his two children would not form a close bond that might lead to an alliance against him, he'd seen them form just such a bond, but adapted quickly to make sure that now that closeness would keep them both firmly under control.
A week had been the right time to wait after Clark had seen those stage trappings. Nobody in Gotham or Metropolis had seen Superman--he still wasn't able to think of Clark by that name without wanting to roll his eyes--during that wait, and nothing unusual had happened to his commercial or personal holdings. Ergo, Clark was cowed. Now was the time to notify him that he'd been tricked, making it clear that should Clark try to circumvent his plans again, the same scenario would be played out in reality.
If Dad was a step ahead of them, it'd mean that Diana and Bruce would be in big trouble, as well as Lex. He didn't think that Dad would hurt Lex, but Diana and Bruce would be another story, not being flesh and blood. He ran right up to the edge of the building and tried to listen inside. He guessed that if Dad had caught them, even if it were the moment that they first got inside, the older Luthor would still be talking.
As he concentrated, he could hear voices, but they faded in and out and he couldn't make out words. He tried the door and it was open. More of the weird.
Just the word reminded him of Chloe Sullivan. She liked weird. He wasn't sure, though, that she'd really like to know that he himself was pretty much weird epicenter. Or if she did know, what she'd do about it, think about it. There was a chance she'd want to pin him against the wall and get up close and personal with weird, but maybe she'd just want to pin him on the wall. Could maybe the Kents kind of find out for him?
A few more feet inside, and he heard one phrase, way too clearly. "We can't let Clark see this." That was Bruce. He tore in the direction of the sound, sometimes stumbling past the green glows that started as he approached, like they were glad he was here so they could eat him alive.
He stopped in a doorway. It was just Bruce and Diana there, in a bedroom, empty of anything but furniture. Bruce was staring at the bed, swearing in such a monotone that it almost sounded detached. Clark didn't get it at first, then saw that the colors of the crumpled sheet weren't some kind of abstract arty thing. Straightened out, it would be the shape of a human figure, surrounded by rust-brown stains. On an equally stained piece of paper lying in the exact center on the bureau nearby, there was a neatly coiled strap.
***
Lex opened his eyes, stretched, and looked around as a strong deja vu presented itself. Bottle of water at hand, nicely chilled, spectacularly comfortable bed linens, and so on. Grabbing the water and gulping some down, he strolled to the window and looked out, twisting his neck to see up and down. If the other setting was rustic, this was downright isolated, with nothing in sight but trees, a mix of coniferous and deciduous, and rock faces. He surmised that the house was built into the side of a mountain, fairly high up.
He tried the window crank and after some effort and an unexpected soreness in his arm, it opened about an inch. Lex frowned down at the crook of his arm and saw not just the tiny injection mark he'd anticipated, but another one, surrounded by a bruise. If they'd dosed him twice, that meant he could be anywhere, probably even another continent. Next time Lionel dropped in, he'd see what he could find out. But in the meantime, a shower and a workout would be just the thing.
***
Clark had no idea where he'd stopped running. Not that it mattered.
Everything was so screwed up. He hated his father for being so vicious, he hated the League for not being more careful, and he hated himself for not seeing it coming. He'd never been able to outwit Lionel before, Lionel knew him too well, hell, Lionel had been the one who shaped him. There was no way that he'd ever be able to beat him.
God, was that the wrong word. He wished so much that he didn't hear all the voices from his memories telling him that he had to think about the consequences to his actions. Mom's, gentle and concerned, Bruce's, steady and serious, Dad's, even, calm and smug. Sure, he could blame the League all he wanted, and that was plenty, but he could bet anything that Lex would blame him.
A train horn from the distance sounded just like he felt. Now he didn't have anybody left. He hated them or they'd hate him. It just wasn't fair.
***
Lionel folded his own note, reread Lex's to be positive that there wasn't anything untoward, and put them in the envelope. It was an awkward situation but he had handled it with aplomb, he congratulated himself. After years of making sure that his two children would not form a close bond that might lead to an alliance against him, he'd seen them form just such a bond, but adapted quickly to make sure that now that closeness would keep them both firmly under control.
A week had been the right time to wait after Clark had seen those stage trappings. Nobody in Gotham or Metropolis had seen Superman--he still wasn't able to think of Clark by that name without wanting to roll his eyes--during that wait, and nothing unusual had happened to his commercial or personal holdings. Ergo, Clark was cowed. Now was the time to notify him that he'd been tricked, making it clear that should Clark try to circumvent his plans again, the same scenario would be played out in reality.