**A/N 03-2011: There is a new Chapter One (); this is the original, now Chapter Two (), and so on and so forth**

Disclaimer: DC content not mine. Not making $

Spoilers through Season 8. Alternate Universe. Set Post Season 7. Features some Original Characters. No Clark. Lex knows.

Cover Art: http : / /lyxanderblue .deviantart .com/gallery/#/d38wuyl

SOMEONE TO BELIEVE IN

"You hold the future of the entire planet in your hands; I'm here to take it back. I loved you like a brother, Clark, but it has to end this way."

- Lex Luthor, on the day Clark Kent died.

TWO

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THE ARCTIC

.

The icy artic wind whipped without relent. It churned the coarse, shaved ice, which had once been powdery snow, in the air in wild patterns. Though it had not snowed in some time and the thin polar skies were oddly clear, the flurries on the powerful gusts dazzled the eyes. The expanse of white on white on white domed in slate that was sometimes white was daunting. Up easily became confused with down.

Even in expensive custom gear, the cold was biting. Oliver Queen had been riding for hours, pushing his snow cat to the limit, and he was chilled to his core, though he barely noticed it. The machine, custom built by his own Queen Industries and further enhanced by his own discretionary masked activities fund, was designed specifically for its current task: search and rescue. But even it couldn't seem to keep up with Oliver's maddening pace.

He wore a modified version of his Green Arrow outfit, meant specifically for cold weather excursions. Even he wasn't foolish enough to go sleeveless in the arctic, fashion be damned. Oliver made a mental note that snowmobiling around the North Pole and cold weather excursions were two entirely different things. Next time, he'd be more prepared with a whole line of arctic gear.

Oliver was in costume because whatever it was that had happened up there in the frozen north to cause Clark Kent's ice castle to disappear, and him along with it, was serious business. His satellites were scouring the area but had come up with nothing thus far. Plus, with LuthorCorp already staking its claim to the area, he couldn't be too careful. What their angle was in the whole mess, Oliver wasn't sure, but ever since a bruised, battered, and broken Lex Luthor spouting nonsensical gibberish had briefly turned up in a Swedish ICU before falling off Oliver's radar again, he knew there was more at play.

Oliver and his team, Dinah Lance aka the Black Canary and Arthur "AC" Curry aka Aquaman, had been searching the artic for Clark without much luck. Their unexpected encounter with Tess "Mercy" Mercer, acting CEO of LuthorCorp and all its subsidiaries, had really thrown Oliver for a loop. She was the last person he expected to see at the helm of the Luthor Empire and its search for its missing king of the trust fund kids. Oliver's fling with Mercy, albeit short-lived and ancient history, had been memorable; he'd felt an unmistakable twinge as he watched her brazenly strut into the tent in her black, curvaceous outfit with smoldering red curls swirling about her in the frigid air. That was before his team stormed the place.

The warm, fuzzy, nostalgic feeling was fleeting and passed like a bout of indigestion with the discovery of Clark's signature red jacket at the bottom a hole bored into the ice twenty feet deep. It was the first time Oliver felt any inkling of doubt that Clark was anything but just missing. Those doubts lingered more frequently now.

As Oliver cruised over the snow banks towards a spot his satellites had pinpointed, he remembered the first time anyone even suggested giving up on Clark. It was only a month after his friend's disappearance.

.

"I ran his photo through every surveillance camera north of six degrees latitude," Dinah spouted quickly with an exasperated sigh, as she worked fervently and futilely at the Watchtower computer hidden at the Isis Foundation; they had regrouped to report in. "Face Recognition hasn't come up with a single hit."

"Every dock or coastline east of the Siberian Sea to the Baffin Bay: they're Clark Kent-free zones," AC chimed in. "It's like he just disappeared."

"Well, that leaves us with Chloe's hard drive, which is full of fun facts, but not one lead on Clark," Oliver replied with annoyance. He was frustrated—frustrated they couldn't find Clark, frustrated with himself, and frustrated with the others because he could sense them giving up.

"Oliver," Dinah said softly and more gently, standing up from the computer. He knew that tone. It was the one she used to reason with someone who was being unreasonable. "We've searched practically everywhere. I think it's time to accept the fact that maybe something happened to him."

AC nodded in agreement dejectedly.

"No," Oliver refuted, not willing to even consider accepting it. "No, you don't understand. Clark's not like us. It's gonna take a helluva lot more than a little snow and ice to bring him down."

"Victor and Bart have been covering the entire southern hemisphere, and they couldn't find him. What makes you think we will?" Dinah countered, though she didn't match Oliver's force.

"Clark would never give up on us," Oliver insisted, "We're not giving up on him."

.

Oliver refused to give up, but as they slipped through the second month—or was it the third?—he felt the others already had. That red jacket had been their only tangible lead. There was no other sign of Clark at the ice cap except for an image of a boot print Oliver snagged a copy of from one of Mercy's goons a few days later. That was before she took his team hostage.

Mercy turned out to be more of a merciless femme fatale in line with the Luthor dynasty than expected. She couldn't have been traced to have a direct hand in it, as one of Lex's lackeys of the month had done most of the on-scene dirty work via Project Black Creek Mountain. AC and Dinah were caught off guard on the same night, but when they came for Oliver the next morning he managed to see them coming.

It was pure luck. He was a block from his penthouse trying out a new scanning device he had rigged for use in the arctic to look for heat signatures and weak signals. It had fuzzed out on him and he was running a diagnostic; he was in over his head there. Whatever they were using to track his phone tripped a sensor on the scanner and the thing went wild. When he saw three dots closing in on him, Oliver ditched his phone and the screeching scanner—one crushed under his boot and into a homeless burn barrel and the other down a storm drain—before he hightailed it out of there and into the safety of the large crowd at the Ace of Clubs.

It was several more days before Oliver figured out that Dinah and AC were missing and discovered where they were being held: Black Creek Mountain. It was a three-for-the-price-of-two bonus when he learned that Chloe Sullivan was also being held there. All that time his lawyers had been battling with the DDS about Chloe's hacking charges for nothing. Lois Lane, Chloe's cousin, managed to sneak in, looking for Chloe, and got herself tangled up in the mess a day or so before Oliver showed up. The jailbreak went from two to four with only the slightest of snafus, namely Oliver being injected with mind-control serum that wore off when Lois cracked him over the head.

Their search for Clark continued, but with Chloe's skills added to the mix and no leads of any kind, discouragement prevailed. With both Dinah's and AC's covers blown, it was even harder for them operate while staying incognito and on the lam from LuthorCorp. It was two weeks after Black Creek that word of Lex being alive first surfaced, and despite Oliver's disappointment in that, it gave them hope. If Lex survived, then surely Clark did. They kept looking.

Oliver mused that with Lex confirmed alive, Mercy's reign on the Luthor throne would be brief. Caesar was going back to Rome, so Oliver expected to see the troops pull out too: no such luck. When Lex was still MIA, Mercy had a legitimate reason for setting up camp on the North Pole.

But now...

He couldn't see their angle. Was Lex looking for Clark too? Was this some kind of misguided attempt at reconciliation on his part? Did they know about the Fortress and were looking for it too? There were even worse possibilities still that he didn't want to think about just yet. Whatever LuthorCorp was up to, he knew there were a few more twisted puzzle pieces that weren't on the table; he didn't think he was going to like the whole picture when he finally saw it.

It was a race now. Him against Lex. Lex was at a disadvantage because he had gone underground and was presumably bed bound, but he had Mercy. Oliver was at a disadvantage because, other than Clark who was his main focus, he didn't even know what he was looking for. Furthermore, Oliver had never been able to pick up the Fortress on a satellite anyway so when it went missing, there was no record of when it happened. He wasn't entirely convinced the Fortress of Solitude was gone anyway. Clark would have the answers.

If I could just find him...

Oliver was beleaguered and haggard; his scruffy chin was chaffing in the snow mask under his helmet. The rest of his team had packed it in hours earlier unable to match his voracious fervor. He'd slept four hours out of the last forty eight, and not much more than that in the last week. Oliver's faith in Clark's invincibility was waning. Clark's ability to survive was proportionate to his ability to be found. Baring something as outlandish and unlikely as amnesia, though at that point they weren't ruling anything out, if Clark couldn't make himself found or get home by his own means then it was unlikely he could protect himself from harm or survive extremes.

As Oliver neared the coordinates, he banked a hard right, revved the engine, and opened the throttle, a wake of snow billowing behind him. He traversed a steep embankment at a treacherous angle; gravity pulled at him dangerously. Snow began to fall away more quickly below him. He was standing up now, pulling the behemoth of a snow mobile to stay up right with his body weight.

Oliver's left leg was extended as far as it would go, the toe of his boot barely touching the sideboard. The weight of snow cat against that leg was incredible, and extremely taxing. Oliver felt like all the weight was balanced on the inside of his left ankle. His brow sweated profusely inside his helmet despite the cold and he laughed nervously. Another one of his inappropriate responses to serious situations.

His right leg was bent so that it was almost a crouch; his right shoulder almost skimming the side of the snowing embankment. Occasionally it did dip in, jarring him radically and probably bruising that shoulder. It was a precarious dance as he pulled with his arms and legs, his abs straining painfully, to keep the snow cat on balance and drive it up the side of the snowy cliff to his destination. He was almost there.

Crack!

"Son of..."

The snow cat jerked, and Oliver lurched forward. He gasped as the handle bar knocked the air out of him and most likely bruised some ribs. Daring a glance behind, he saw that he'd hit a large rock, an outcropping. The belly of his snow cat had cleared off the light snow covering it. Regaining his composure and resisting the urge to grip his screaming side, Oliver retook control of the snow cat. It was still going forward, though he'd lost speed and altitude. The nose was no longer pointed at a forty-five degree angle to edge of the embankment. He was now running parallel to it and was in extreme danger of flipping over into a roll which would end only one way.

Willing every ounce of strength from his muscles, Oliver fought to get himself back on course, but it was losing battle. He saw that his right ski was crack and tip had snapped off; he had nothing to pull himself up hill with now. He was running out of time and strength as the end of the embankment approached.

It was so close.

If I could just...

Oliver saw his chance and went for it. Swinging his left leg around so it was on the right side, he was poised facing the slope. He let go of the handles and pushed off the side of the snow cat with his feet, launching himself in the air up hill. He drew his miniature collapsible crossbow from his side holster in record time and fired it. He waited infinitely long milliseconds for the recoil from the grappling hook as it took hold in the rock face of the cliff.

Oomph!

Oliver bounced once, front first, against the snowy slope before the crossbow began reeling him in reverse. He whizzed through the air, skimming above the snow, and popped up over the ledge; he landed on his feet in a graceful if not precarious feat of acrobatics. Releasing the grappling hook, Oliver watched as the snow cat plummet down the embankment in a rolling cloud of white.

"Not bad for a playboy from the city," Oliver said smugly, pleased with himself, brushing his hands off. The five minutes it took to investigate the small plateau, outcropping, and cave lined with minerals that were blocking his satellites' prying sensors proved fruitless.

"Clark!" Oliver called out over the frigid gales that were sweeping across the crest. "Clark! Come on, man. I don't have all year. Clark!"

Oliver pulled off his helmet and face mask, and pushed back his hood, his sweaty blond hair a matted mess. He dragged his gloved hands over his chapped face and then growled Clark's name again before yelling, "Where the hell are you, Clark!"

He threw up his hands in exasperation and defeat.

"Chloe," Oliver said, touching his headset. "Nothing here but penguins and polar bears."

"Alright, Ollie," Chloe's voice crackled over his headset, "It's time to get your green pleather-clad behind out the icebox and in front of fire. No more Kryptonian hunting for today."

"Sounds good to me. My green's turning blue. Better send the chopper; don't think I can make it down from this perch without wings."

"You sure there's no way down? The snow cat won't fit in the helicopter, unless you plan on strapping it to the bottom." Chloe reminded him.

"Won't be bringing the snow cat with," Oliver said, gritting his teeth, hoping she wouldn't ask.

"Why not?"

"Cause it's at the bottom of a cliff," Oliver replied with a grimace, cringing instinctually to her expected response.

"Another one! That's the forth one this...hey, I'm detecting some pretty heavy avalanche activity nearby, you alright? Everything look clear?"

"You should be. I caused it," he said peering over the edge as the snow poured down the slope. Except for the top of the cave, he was as high up as he could be. "Yeah, I'm good. It's clear. Send the whirly bird, Chlo'. I'm freezing out here."

"Well, it is the Arctic, Ollie," came Chloe's response. "It's on its way...ETA...nine minutes."

"Thanks, Chloe. See ya soon."

"Think warm."

"Right."

"Oh, and Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"Penguins are in the Antaractic, Oliver. At the South Pole."

Oliver rolled his eyes and put his gear back on. He rubbed his hands together and stamped his feet for warmth. Just standing still, he suddenly felt his fatigue and the cold.

And the weariness. He was dead tired, and not just his body. Oliver had devoted all of his time, energy, and effort to one singular task in the last few months. With no progress and not so much as a hint of Clark's whereabouts, it was exhausting. Even if they found remains it would be something, it would be an answer.

As much as he didn't want to make the call to Senator Kent to say he'd found her son's body or he'd given up the search, there was something he dreaded more: Chloe. Oliver knew that he'd be the one to give up first if it came to that; he'd always known it. As often as Chloe was the voice of reason and the one who talked people down from ledges, there was never any reasoning with her when it came to her devotion to Clark. Even if they stopped, she would never stop. Oliver was just a man, but Clark was larger than life, something to believe in. He was what she believed in. She would never stop.

As tired as Oliver was, he wasn't ready to give up on his friend yet. And he wasn't ready to face Chloe yet. So they continued to search. He had employed all the manpower and resources at his fingertips, and, with as much discretion as they could afford—which was a sizeable amount given his eleven figure bottom line—his company and his team were combing the globe for one Clark Kent. .

.

.

ZURICH, SWITZERLAND
.

Tess Mercer tugged at the hem of her skirt and straightened the matching jacket as she cleared the helicopter's torrents of wind. It wasn't as cold in Zurich this time of year as she expected. She clutched tightly to a briefcase and was flanked by an escort of brawny security. Her nerves were concealed within the iron exterior of confidence and power she projected.

"Vandal Vanderbilt wants to know if you've approved his story on the city transportation department's safety fraud," her executive assistance, Kat, announced at little too loudly.

"I'm not really concerned with the overactive imagination of a glorified copy boy right now."

"He's not a...copy boy, Ms. Mercer." Kat informed her, as if Tess didn't know who he was.

Vandal Vanderbilt.

Between him and that upstart Lane, she couldn't get a moment's peace and had taken to avoiding working out of her Planet office entirely when she could manage it. Vanderbilt seemed to make it his mission to make her life a living hell: causing public press fiascos she had to clean up, writing smear stories about her and LuthorCorp and having the gall to ask her to publish them. About the time Lex had surfaced, Vanderbilt had really gone rogue.

In the middle of what should have been a triumph, Vanderbilt concocted an exposé that highlighted her failings as CEO of LuthorCorp in Lex's absence. In addition to the supposed damage Tess had done to the company's image, Vanderbilt made the accusation that her "financial incompetency had wrecked LuthorCorp's bottom line and ravaged the city's already floundering economy." She remembered with distinct distaste how he sat in her office with that smug little grin and asked her to print the article.

The Daily Star ran it two days later.

Tess would have fired him except that every advisor she had implored that she not. The only way to salvage the wreckage was to grin and bear it, dismissing it as the smear campaign it was. Despite every best attempt at damage control, their stocks and the Planet's sales plummeted.

However, Tess had the mother of all aces up her sleeve that day. Vanderbilt's timing really couldn't have been better, because, in spite of every venomous attempt at slander, she had found Lex. Friday's edition with the headline "LEX LUTHOR ALIVE!" had wiped all the muck slinging away. Tess had even fed the interview with the rescuer to Lane and put it on the front page below the fold. Despite their rivalry, Lane had been an accomplice to Vandal Korrn's basement coup. Tess drove a heavy wedge between the uneasy partnership of salt and thorn, alleviating some of the sting in her wounds.

"Kat, tell him to kill the story. Then forward a copy to Brady and have him run with it."

"Yes, ma'am," she replied eagerly. "With pleasure."

Tess smoothed a red curl back into place as they entered the hanger. Kat reached to straighten Tess's starched white collar, but Tess batted her hand away and did it herself.

"Big day, ma'am," Kat said, while obviously absorbed with answering emails on her phone.

"Go wait in the helicopter," Tess told her curtly. Tess's entourage continued moving down the dimly lit hallway as a stunned Kat lurched to a halt.

A smug and satisfied smirk played at Tess's lips. Her staff—Lex's staff—had not willingly accepted her unexpected ascent. It had taken weeks to establish herself in the role. She had specifically chosen an assortment of female attachés who were more forward thinking in the role of women's rights. This had turned out to be a bit of mistake as they saw her as more of a sister-in-arms and took familiar liberties she wasn't comfortable with.

Since Lex Luthor's return, her control over his domain had been shaken. He was in no shape to be running his company and he had made it clear that her role would remain unchanged for the time being. She had been so relieved when she learned he was alive, but the state of affairs was worse than when he was missing. All his funds were being funneled towards Prometheus, something so classified even she hadn't the foggiest. She felt like a glorified accountant at times, trying to keep up with it.

It had been exactly a month since Tess had first received word that Lex was indeed alive, and seventeen days since their first phone call. His preferred means of communication after that had been email—all signed "X". And she had yet to meet with him face to face.

Tess thought about the last time she had seen him. She was confined to an ICU bed in a Rio de Janeiro hospital, and had checked in on her so frequently, so concerned with her wellbeing. He had saved her life after that terrible explosion when she'd been left for dead. When everyone else had given up, he came back for her. She'd never be able repay her gratefulness to him, but she had devoted her life to trying. Despite the years apart, Lex had seen her loyalty.

It was apparent the unfortunate altercation involving losing Lex's ex-wife when he had commissioned Tess to spirit Ms. Lang away to safety had shaken his trust in Tess's ability. But she had proven herself in the months that followed, in her search for him and her handling of his empire.

Tess had boarded a LuthorCorp private jet within thirty minutes of his summons. His request that she bring the artifact discovered by their teams in the arctic had been surprising and a bit baffling. His use of the word "their" had distracted her from that.

Their teams. Our teams. His and mine. Ours. Us.

He was beginning to think of them as a team. She was proving herself and he was trusting her. But as she carried the large paperweight—the clear and faintly glowing, five sided, flat backed crystal—she wondered again. How had he known about it? Tess supposed she shouldn't be surprised he had informants littering the globe, even within his own house. It irked her that he had people checking up on her when she reported to him and him alone.

Apparently his trust in her wasn't so great. That little incident with his perfect little ex-wife, the ungrateful adulteress—did she not know what she had?—had caused that. She would make up for it. Tess would make up for that mistake. His total faith in her loyalty and reliability would be restored. She would do whatever was necessary.

"This way, Ms. Mercer," a heavily accented guard said, guiding her into an elevator. Her security detail was not allowed to join her. The elevator dropped quickly and she felt her stomach lurch. She was unsure how far they had descended when the doors finally opened, but it had to be far beneath the surface.

The air was cold and biting in the corridor they entered. She followed it to a set of double doors. Through the glass, she could see equipment and a faint blue glow. Tess mentally prepared herself for the severity of Lex's injuries. She knew they were extensive, but had few details.

A short elderly man of eastern European descent and a slight build nervously emerged. He gave her a half bow half nod and pointed to a black hemisphere adjacent the doors.

"Ms. Mercer," he squeaked awkwardly. "The retinal scanner please."

"Oh," she replied, "of course."

The device verified her identity and he led her into the antechamber.

"Dr. Aronofsky," he introduced himself, offering a hand which she ignored, "We're so glad you've finally arrived."

"Thank you, Doctor," she replied stoically, peering over him through the next set of doors. Then returning her attention to him, asked, "How is Mr. Luthor today?"

He gave her a puzzled expression.

"I...I wouldn't know," he stammered. Clearly he wasn't Lex's primary physician. Lex would never put up with someone so incompetent.

"Is that it?" he asked, nodding towards the box. "The device."

Device?

She gave him an annoyed and perturbed look.

"May I?" he inquired meekly, reaching for the briefcase.

"Lex has asked that I personally deliver this to him, Doctor," Tess informed him curtly with a reprimanding tone, "I'm not here to satisfy your curiosity."

"And you have...Delivered it personally that it is. Now, I'll take it from here. Thank you ma'am."

"I don't have time for this, Doctor. Now, take me to Lex."

His puzzled expression returned.

"Mr. Luthor," Dr. Aronofsky said slowly, "isn't here."

She paused, giving him her full attention, and slowly turned her head to the side, regarding him with a disbelieving expression.

"Excuse me?"

"This is a laboratory, not a medical facility, Ms. Mercer."

Tess pushed passed him and into the larger room beyond. The blue glow was brighter here, and it was indeed filled with equipment like a lab, but it could have easily been for medical purposes. Several frightened techs looked up at her, astonished. She moved quickly about the room and then hurried into the next. It was another similar set up.

"Ms. Mercer!" She heard Dr. Aronofsky cry, "you really can't be in here!"

"Where is he? Where is Lex?"

Room after room and no sign of him.

"Ms. Mercer," the doctor called again, finally catching up with her. "Please. You shouldn't be in here. Just give us the device and you can be on your way."

"What have you done with him?" she demanded.

"Mr. Luthor was never here."

"Oh, indeed?" Tess mocked harshly, her green eyes flashing, "Lex asked me to bring this to him here personally. Why would he do that if he wasn't going to be here?"

"I...I don't know, Ms. Mercer. You'd have to ask him."

Tess regarded him quietly for a moment, reality revealing itself slowly.

"Now, please, Ms. Mercer, the device?" Aronofsky said. "Mr. Luthor was very specific that we should start on it immediately."

"You're not getting your hands on this," she informed him matter-o-factly, gripping the case tighter and walking back the way she came.

Aronofsky grabbed her arm to stop her. She spun and snatched up his wrist, pulling him very close to her.

"Don't ever touch me."

She paused for a moment longer, tense silence lingering in the air like a gust of cold from a freezer. He nodded and swallowed, and she let go.

"Kat," she said into her phone, "shut this place down. Mr. Luthor isn't here."

A/N: thanks for reading. Reviews welcome.