SV fic: The Dog

[roxy]

Title:The Dog
Fandom: SV
Pairing:Clark/Lex
Rating:nc-17
Warning: rape of a minor, non-consensual sex, dubious consent, humiliation, violence, prostitution
WC this part: 21,263





The Dog

Chapter One
“Sooner or later we’re all someone’s dog”--
Terry Prachett

On a quiet June afternoon, Mr. And Mrs. Kent were on their way into the aptly named town of Smallville, the center of a small farming community in the southern part of Kansas.


They were a young couple just starting out, barely more than a year married and still unsure of exactly how to be with each other. They talked about nothing and enjoyed it, with a great deal of smiling back and forth, the oddly shy smiles of people who *knew* each other, but didn’t *know* each other.

Birds broke from the cover of the fields along the roadside, calling to each other, dipping and wheeling in black waves away from them and the suddenness and the sheer number of birds startled Martha Kent. Learning to live in the country was still a slowly unraveling mystery to her. Things her husband, Jonathan Kent, took for granted sometimes filled her with wonder, sometimes with sorrow…sometimes fear.

She turned to him, expecting to see a look of fond amusement on his face, a look she’d learned to see as part of the love he felt for her. Instead, he was frowning. “That’s strange at this time of year,” he began and suddenly the little truck rocked violently, and clouds of dust rose from the fields and rolled over the road. A moment later the ear-splitting shriek of a projectile dropping out of the sky deafened them both, Martha’s startled screams went unheard. She looked toward her husband and her heart was in her throat. How could she lose him when she’d just found him? She yanked at her seat belt as the cab tipped precariously, trying to free herself, her intention being to protect him from the missiles falling around them.



Jonathan pulled desperately at his seatbelt; fighting to get loose, he slammed against the window as the truck settled back on its four tires and bit his lip to keep from yelling aloud. He had to protect Martha, and in the silence of a momentary lull in the cosmic bombardment, he heard her panting, groaning with fear—he darted a look at her and saw—she was fighting the seat belt, trying to get free, get away. He cheered her on, ‘go, Martha, run’, even if the tiniest part of him felt a twinge of disappointment. She unlocked her seatbelt and turned—oh!--towards him—“No! Get out, get under the truck!”

“Don’t be stupid.” Her voice was harsh and thick with fear, and an instant later she was in his lap. “I’m not leaving you!”

What a miracle was taking place on that road--all around them the missiles fell screaming to the earth, throwing up long plumes of pulverized dirt and debris and not one hit the truck. Miraculously not a single piece penetrated the thin metal shell that protected two people made foolish by love. Miracles and tragedies were taking place all over Smallville that day.

Jonathan managed to unlatch his belt finally and force Martha behind him and the clouds of dirt settled slowly back to earth. In one second the world again made sense, normal June afternoon sounds began to break the eerie silence--bird song, confused and off beat but song--tentative barking in the distance as the farm dogs gathered their courage and expressed their outrage.

Martha and Jonathan stared at each other, amazed that they’d survived. They hadn’t expected to. Now, they had brand new lives handed to each other. Martha said, “We are going to have a baby, no matter what the doctors say.”

Jonathan nodded, wide-eyed and clammy with the horror of almost losing the one thing in his life that made any real sense. “Yes,” he said, his voice a dry scratchy whisper. If Martha said so, it must be true.
The truck started, another miracle, and they drove slowly back to the farm, carefully navigating the road.

In Smallville, people were coming together, searching each other out, and the total toll of the afternoon was taken. Some had died, some were injured—some disappeared never to be seen again.

Quietly, gradually, the town was about to undergo changes that would break it into bits, underneath, where it wouldn’t show for years to come.



The voice he loved the most in all the world called out to him, more beautiful than music floating in the air. It said, Kal-El, soon it will be time for you to wake, come let me instruct you.

Lara said so many things, taught him his name, and his father’s name and his father’s father’s name, and colors and songs and tales of heroes, but this was different—the tone was different. Wasn’t he awake? He turned to the little pavilion that was their favorite place and raced towards her shining form.

“Lara,” he laughed, “how can I wake up when I’m not asleep!” He picked a flower from the garden that grew around the structure for her, pink and aerl, because those were her favorite colors.

Come Kal-El. Sit here with me. She sat on the low broad wall that circled the pavilion. She poured water from a pitcher into a stone basin sitting on a base made to look like orelrins in flight, their wings and long serpentine necks entwined to provide a support for the bowl. Kal-el tucked the flower behind her ear and waited until she’d poured all the water in, then climbed on her warm lap, and snuggled against her. He loved the way she smelled, like the air and flowers and the lake that they swam in…clean and fresh. He didn’t even realize that he’d been drowsing until she said his name softly.

Look here, little one. She dipped her fingers in the shallow pool and agitated the water in the stone basin. The dark water shimmered and a picture began to form and Kal-El jumped off her lap and leaned over the basin. He loved looking at the pictures of the strange fairytale world Lara told so many wonderful tales about. His fingers gripped the pebbled edge as the image of the familiar blue ball swam in the pool, growing larger and larger until the image was that of a sea of green grass, so different from the curly aqua blades that cushioned his feet .The sun was a yellow globe high in the sky—again so different from the beautiful red sun that warmed and lit their world. This is your home, she said and Kal-el protested.

“This is home.” He waved his thin little arm around, “That’s a story.” He smiled, his black curls bounced around his face as he nodded vigorously and pointed at the pool, laughing at her. “It’s not real, silly!”

She shook her head. It is real dear, all the stories I told you are real, and soon you will be on your new home and be happy there, I promise.

Kal-El sat in the grass and pulled at the springy blades, crushed them in his toes.” Why? Why do I have to live there? I like it here, I don’t want to leave! My garden is here, and you are here, and our house is here.” He pointed at the triangular shield over the archway of the pavilion and said, “Look, my name is on the house. I belong here.”

She shook here head. No one belongs here, my sweet. This is all a dream, a dream you’ll wake up from very soon.

He started to cry, “Why are you teasing me?” He threw himself on her lap again. “Why are you being so mean?”

She stroked his curls and teased his chin up with gentle tugs, gazing into his eyes, the color of alien seas. Look around sweetling, look around.

And the sky was dark, clouds raced towards them and slowly thinned and the pavilion shuddered, dark walls rose on every side of them, lights like stars but not blinked on and off and under him, the grass was hard and slick—he looked down and his feet touched a black couch, straps crossed over them. Wires ran over and under them, he was lying on his back and awfully close overhead, the same black walls winked and glittered at him. He drew in a deep breath and smelled oil and dust and metal and a salty tang at the back of his throat.

He was back with Lara and shocked into stillness.

This is the dream. In a few tren, all this will change, you’ll be standing on your real home and I’ll have to leave you, but never here. She pointed at the center of his chest. I’ll always be here, I promise you. I’ll look over you. You may not see me but you’ll always feel me.

She kissed him, hugged him and held him. The pavilion tilted, the sky tilted and slid away, and the gentle sound of waters and the rustle of the grass gave way to an eerie howling. Kal-el cried and held onto Lara tight as he could, desperately trying to hold on even as the world roared away, and the black walls around him shook and screamed. No matter how ferociously he held on, he felt her thinning away into mist and he was left holding air and screaming out, “Momma, come back, momma, please come back!”

All around him, under him and in him was black, for a long time. Kal-El felt the black like a living thing; crouching, waiting for the moment he opened his eyes to devour him. He kept his eyes squeezed shut, and his hands pressed over his mouth, afraid to breathe, afraid to move in case the monster grabbed him. If he lay here long enough and stayed still enough maybe Lara would come back.

A screeching roar tore his eyes open and light blinded him. He screamed and leaped up over the edge of the cracked shell. He ran, ran under the acid lash of the awful glaring sun, trying to escape the horrible scrape of wind over his skin. The air hurt and it was too wet and too bright, the grass was sharp and too tall, and he dropped in a little heap and cried and cried, until he was too tired to cry anymore.

Thirst pulled him to his feet again, slowly tickling his throat and parched mouth. He had to look for water; Lara said that water was on the ground on this awfully green world. He blinked and blinked against the yellow sun. He would look for water.

* * * * * *
Lex waited not at all patiently for his father to come back to the car. His friend, who Lex thought was ugly and cheap looking and smelled like discount store perfume, made a show of taking notes as his father and some men looked out over the town in the distance. It was some business thing, and he hated being here. He wanted to be back in Metropolis with his mother.

He worried. What if she got sick again while he was gone? Who would make sure she got her tea just the way she wanted it, with two spoons of honey and the spoon to the left of the cup on her tray? He sighed, slid across the seat until he was sitting with his feet hanging from the open doorway, kicked them back and forth idly. The leather of the seat was getting warmer and warmer; the breeze that floated in through the doorway just stirred hot air inside the limo.

He watched the progress of an ant across the dust-smeared doorframe, thought briefly about smashing it, but let it go. His mother would let the ant go. She liked ants; she liked their busy, productive nature. ‘A man must always find what work makes him happy and then do it to the best of his ability’. ‘A man makes the world better for having been in it, Alexander.’ Mother was full of stories, fables. Lessons on what made a man a man. She was very intelligent, as well as beautiful and kind. He missed her.

He wished his bodyguard was with them on this trip, but Dad decided his one bodyguard would be enough. He missed Robin too. He was so nice; he acted like his job wasn’t just a job. He acted like he really liked him just for him. And Robin was really strong, and handsome, with his chocolate skin and brown eyes that could see right inside a person and know what they were really like in their hearts—and so smart. He knew all kinds of things, and didn’t think it was babyish to still like being read to. He read to him lots of times, about Hannibal and Alexander and Arthur and Chevalier St-George…. He was so warm to lean on, and he didn’t mind at all. His mom liked him too, and whenever she was strong enough, they’d play cards together. If she didn’t feel up to it, he’d read to her too, different books. Lex made a face. Boring books about romance and letters from long lost lovers and other dumb stuff. Robin always smiled at him when he read that stuff—guys had to make sacrifices sometimes for the ones they cared about. He nodded. That’s what men did.

He stood up. In fact, men didn’t wait for things to happen, they made things happen. He was about to make his own adventure now.

He jumped off the seat, ran from the car and tried to get into the tall stands of corn flanking the roadside before his dad could see him—but he wasn’t quick enough to escape the eyes of Dad’s bodyguard. He was a big guy, heavy—Lex thought he could outrun him.

He dashed into the cornstalks hearing his name being shouted behind him, he ran and ran, ripping off his stupid tie as he did so. He flung it gleefully over his shoulder, laughing at the heady feel of freedom. Oh, he’d pay for it, no doubt, but right at the moment, running through the green stalks that smelled crisp and bright, being dazzled by sunlight turning filmy and green in the thick of the field was just so exciting--an absolute adventure.

His silly patent leather shoes quickly filmed over with dust, turned to mud when he hit puddles that hadn’t dried yet. His nimble mind supplied a reason for their existence—irrigation, this summer had been especially dry and the odd puddle left here and there was a bonus in his flight to freedom. He laughed—Freedom--it almost had capital letters in his mind.

Starved for adventure, starved for company, starved for air at times, the life of a ‘delicate’ child was lonely and stifling.

Lex was bordered on one side by his father’s off hand indifference; on the other, by his mother’s over protective, puritan love, her fear for him fueled by the asthma that kept a leash on his life.

Robin provided some balance, and his nanny had given him balance also…until she’d been retired. He laughed again—if she saw him now, dirty, coatless, (he flung that behind him too), red hair flopping about wildly in the breeze that had strengthened since he’d run from the car—dust blew around him, and the sky was darker and suddenly he was aware that he had no idea how far or in what direction he’d fled. Wind kicked up again and dust swirled into his lungs and he coughed. The sun seemed to disappear and he was not interested now in running away, it wasn’t fun anymore. He stopped and yelled as loud as he could, “Dad! Dad!” He doubled over coughing and felt the tightness in his chest that signaled an attack. Fear instantly chilled him—Dad! He opened his moth to scream louder and a howl from the sky drowned him out, the earth leapt and shook and threw him to his face. Dirt slapped at him, painfully covering him and then explosions burst around him. Fear gripped him, he felt tears come and struggled against them, he struggled to be brave like the heroes Robin read to him about but it was hard, too hard. “Robin,” he called out. “Robin…help me…”

The earth shook and shook and pain raced through him—he gasped, he was on fire.
Thankfully, blackness rushed up to claim him, and he fell into it gratefully.

* * * * * *
Kal-El wandered through the tall grass, he felt fear, hunger, loneliness. Tears ran down his face, dropping to wash little trails down his dirty chest. That made him unhappy too, the dirt itched and clung--he’d never been dirty before. He’d never wanted to eat and not have food before. He trudged on, not knowing what else to do, when he heard a moan, a sound—it might be one of the heroes Lara told him about! He ran towards the sound, hoping that rescue would finally be at hand.

He burst through the tall, tall grass and found himself in a clearing. He looked around for the Hero, but all he saw was flattened grass and dirt, he felt a sharp stab of despair and then, heard it again--a weak mewl of pain. He was nearly standing on a hand. A little hand, not as big as Lara’s but a little bigger than his--he dropped to his knees and threw dirt and the big grass wildly until he uncovered a person, a small person, in need of help.

He pushed the mat of brilliant red hair away from the fine features. The hair was so red and soft it took his breath away-- he cried aloud in horror when it came loose in his hand. He shook with sorrow as all the beautiful red hair he touched dropped to the ground, some strands wrapped around his fingers and some strands floated away on the wind…the still figure moved and opened its eyes and Kal-El felt an immediate and wonderful shock race through him. The eyes held him, and he hardly knew that his little hands were on the smooth pale cheeks; he was so excited, he began to babble, “Who are you? Are you a Hero? Do you live here?”—he was interrupted by a groan and a small dry voice saying…something. Words certainly, but nothing he could understand. The person lifted his head and Clark saw blood under his nose and on his chin—he leaped up. Help—he had to find help.

He was clutching a handful of red hair unnoticed as he ran through the grass again, this time with purpose. He ran back precisely the way he came. He didn’t need to think about it, he just knew where he was. He listened for some sound that might lead him to help and he heard a noise similar to that of the shell that dropped him on Fairytale World.

He put on a burst of speed and the grass dropped away and he was on a black path, it was warm under his feet, and he felt waves of a strange, bad feeling that came and went as he moved. He ran blindly down the path, yelling for help, and in an instant was struck by something hot and hard as stone. It flung him back, almost to the grasses and he was dizzy and his stomach tried to flatten itself. He tried to sit up, but it hurt. Pain stabbed him, poked sharp claws into him over and over—he began to cry in misery and frustration.

He heard screaming and the thing that hit him stopped and growled angrily at him and amazingly, vomited out more persons.

There was a big person with short hair and a gruff voice, and…and a beautiful lady, beautiful as Lara, with the bright red hair of the little Hero in the grass. When he saw her, he ran straight to her, calling out, “Hurry, hurry, he needs help!”

She ran towards him, grabbing him up and searching him all over while making weird noises that rose and fell in such an odd way.

“Stop,” he cried, “he needs help!” He wiggled and wiggled until she set him down, tears running from her eyes too. He showed her the hair and said carefully, slowly, so maybe she could understand him, “Come now, please. My hero needs help.”

He looked at the other, a man, he could see now. “Are you a knight? Help me please—“ he showed them the hair and ran towards the grass again. He waved the bright red strands and the persons began to speak rapidly, excitedly to each other. He smiled and turned to run--they understood.


Martha watched the little naked boy smile and then run into the corn. “You’re right, Jonathan, he wants us to follow him; the hair has to be from someone who needs help!”.

They hurried after him and the boy sprinted in a straight line through the corn, knocking stalks out of the way. Jonathan winced at the deliberate damage, a farmer down to his soles.

They caught up with the little boy in a circle of flattened corn and he gave a cry of anguish that made her heart break. Whoever it was the boy brought them back to help was obviously gone. He turned to them and held out his arms, babbled something and his sorrow was clear. She was heartbroken for the boy, he must be so frightened, a stranger, in a strange land, crying out in a language she couldn’t understand—one that she’d never heard before. She picked him up and made Jonathan give her his shirt. She managed to get his little arms through the enormous sleeves, and rolled them up a hundred times before his hands poked out the ends, one hand still clutching a few strands of red hair, hair from someone he’d lost here.



“Wait right here, I’m going to look around the field, maybe this person managed to walk off a bit. Might be his mother,” Jonathan said, watching the little boy run his free hand through Martha’s hair with such a look of worshipful awe that he was deeply moved, as much as he’d been the first time he’d seen Martha cry out of sadness.

He walked out from the spot they stood in a circular movement, wider and wider and still no sight of a redheaded anyone. He was beginning to feel fried in the hot sun and decided Martha had waited long enough when he saw something glint through a gap in the cornstalks. He pushed his way through, and where dirt didn’t cover it, sunlight reflected from the mirrored edge of a spaceship. He stared at it and his overwhelming emotion was an oddly…calm…sort of interest.

Spaceship. It was the only term he could dredge out of his brain to describe the open shell laying half buried in the dirt. It was the size of a…a cradle, it even looked weirdly like a bassinet. Closed, it still would have been a snug fit, he thought, and realized he’d already accepted that the strange little boy had come out of this thing.

He froze, blood rushing to his feet and he swayed…he’d left his wife with an alien thing—it looked like an adorable toddler but whatever the hell it was, it wasn’t from Earth.

He dashed back, fear closing his throat but lending him a superhuman burst of speed. He ran headlong back to the clearing, heart slamming against his ribs and panting aloud as he slid to a stop in the chewed up dirt.


Martha sat in the dirt, with the little boy on her lap. He had his head against her chest and was ‘talking’ quietly, making sounds, his hand closed tight around the lock of red and the other hand wrapped in the tails of the shirt and pressing it against his face like a kid with a blanket. Tears ran steadily from both the boy, and Martha. The tone of the little boy’s voice was questioning, but not very hopeful. When he saw Jonathan, he raised his arms and called out to him.

This was no alien creature, no monster. This was a lost little boy; by the looks of it he’d lost everything, parents, language…his home. He reached down and picked up the boy, helped Martha to her feet.

“His…um…spaceship. Is out there. I’ll come back late tonight and get it.”

Martha gasped, looked from the boy to the skies and back at Jonathan. “His spaceship? He’s….” She stared down at the little boy in her lap, dawning fear almost instantly giving way to a soft look, one he’d never seen on her face before. It suited her.

He nodded and tried to smile at her. “We’ll need to hide it. Come up with some story why we suddenly have…” his voice wound down and she smiled at him and wrapped her arms tighter around the boy.

“A baby.” she finished.

“Lara,” the little boy said clearly. “Kal-El.” He pointed at himself. “Kal-El.”


Several miles farther down the road, a black limo flew towards Smallville. Against the advice of his bodyguard, who sported a swollen lip for his trouble, Lionel Luthor rushed his son back to a private hospital, well known not only for its excellent staff, but also its discretion. His son was— disfigured.

Pale, clammy--his skin had undergone some sort of change that rendered it horribly waxy and smooth to the touch, lifeless as a manikin’s. It frightened him, that and Lex’s total hair loss. He wouldn’t or couldn’t open his eyes; they were sunken and lash-less beneath his bruised brow--no hair there, no hair, no eyebrows… his head lolled loosely over the man’s arm.

Lionel sat wedged against the limo door, chewing on his fingers. Thinking.

The very sight of him was repulsive…and fascinating. He couldn’t take his eyes off him. He’d never get the image out of his head ever--Lex lying on the ground, his man sweeping him up out of the dirt and Lex covered with dirt and blood and no hair at all, none. Lionel combed his fingers through his short shorn salt and pepper hair and shivered. The boy looked like some unearthly creature.

The limo sped farther and faster away towards Metropolis and he worried the edge of his thumb. He’d have to deal with Lillian; maybe the shock would kill her. He hoped not.

Blowing up the tenement that once upon a time, he’d had to call home, had changed his life dramatically. While not all of the changes were good, on the whole, not counting the money, Lillian had been one of the better changes. Once.

First and foremost had been the money, which gave rise to more money, more money than his alcoholic bum of a father could ever have dreamed of, and that brought access to whomever he wanted; including women so beautiful that other men wanted to slit their own throats out of envy. He’d married one…he looked at the long legged bottle blonde at his side, her dime store makeup applied thickly to smooth out a sallow complexion; her bright red lipstick that only made her teeth look stained. She was trashy and tried for flashy and failed miserably and she’d let him fuck her anywhere, anyway he wanted and he liked that. He liked humiliating her. She was a cheap no excuses for it whore. Not quite in the same league as dear old Mom, but a few more years and a few more bottles would guarantee she’d catch up.

She sighed with boredom and her eyes slid off Lex in total disinterest, the slight fascination his radical hair loss held for her used up by a brain not quite able to handle all the information required for daily living. Lionel smiled at her. worthless tramp

His man kept his eyes on him relentlessly. His swollen lip twisted in anger from time to time. How was it that that weak little twig of the Luthor tree inspired such loyalty in these men?

He leaned back and watched Lex’s head bob and roll with the movement of the car. Perhaps he’d better pay a bit more attention to young Lex.




Chapter Two
My little dog--a heartbeat at my feet.
-Edith Wharton


Chickens ran across the yard and Kal ran after them, waving his arms. They were so funny, fat and feathery and they made the most amusing noise when they ran. He copied it as best he could, and giggled, the sound made his mouth buzz. “Cuck-cuck-cuck! Orelrin, cuck-cuck!” He laughed—they weren’t really very much like orelrin, but they did have feathers, and they did *sort* of fly…he laughed harder and crowed and ran the birds intro a frenzied circle.

Martha dashed out onto the porch.

“No, no! Cal, stop this instant.” She ran down the porch step, and grabbed Kal by the hand. “Don’t frighten the chickens, honey, it’s not good for them.” She was truly frightened that he’d run them to death; he’d done just that before. This time, she smacked his hand, and said, “That’s bad, that’s the wrong thing to do, Cal!”

His eyes opened impossibly wider, and flooded with tears as he stared at his hand in shock. “ Ooow,” his voice trembled and Martha steeled her heart.

“Go to your room this instant, Cal.” She pointed towards the porch, and the boy stuck his lip out. “No. Kal no.” He shook his head hard and fat black curls flew. Martha looked down at him, his cheeks were red, his eyes swam with tears and as he cradled his hand to his chest, his little lip shook—oh no, she thought to herself, we’re not falling for that lip this time. She narrowed her eyes. “What did I say?”


Kal looked at up at her, and saw she was not to be moved. All the tears in the world weren’t going to melt her heart. He looked at the chickens sorrowfully. He’d really liked that game, and now he couldn’t play it anymore. He’d really enjoyed being the boss and now it appeared that that game was over too. Lara was Lara, no matter what she looked like---she was the one who gave the rules.

He burst into loud wet tears and trudged slowly into the house, howling all the way and not looking back. There was no point. He’d lost. He mounted the stairs and before going in the house said,” Love Kal?”

“Yes---now go to your room.”

He nodded--he hadn’t really expected to soften her heart-- and went inside.

Martha watched him and felt absolutely horrible, like the very worst mother in the world. It was plain that her little boy was just devastated at having disobeyed. Maybe she should tell him it was all right, assure him that he really was a good boy…she straightened. No. Now was the time to be firm. He needed to learn what he could and couldn’t do. And absolutely, killing the chickens was *not* one of his approved activities. She squared her shoulders and walked into the house.


When Jonathan came in that afternoon, Kal was sitting quietly at the table, concentration creasing his forehead as he helped Martha peel apples, handing her un-peeled ones and putting the peeled ones in a bowl.

“Hey, everybody.” He waved and hung his cap on one of the hooks inside the door, and walked over to the sink. While he filled a tall glass with water, he asked, “How was your afternoon--” and stopped. It was pretty plain to see it had been a much less pleasant afternoon than the homey little domestic scene would indicate. Martha was red-eyed, the tip of her nose was pink and Jonathan took a long swallow of cold water and waited.

“Progress,” she smiled and patted Cal. Jonathan grinned. Cal was a handful, that was for sure. If she said she was making progress, than some miracle had occurred. His son was a joy, but he was one hardheaded kid.

“Go give your daddy a hug, sweetie.”

Kal flew off the chair and hit Jonathan with a full body hug, nearly knocking him down.

“Daddy!” he yelled in delight, and Jonathan and Martha both gasped.

“Oh my gosh—did you hear that? He called me daddy!”

Martha was astonished. They’d tried to get him to say mommy and daddy since he’d come into their lives. He obviously had language, he understood them, but he didn’t try to use English words. Instead, he spoke constantly in his own language, as if in his mind he’d reasoned that if he spoke it enough, *they’d* understand--but they couldn’t make sense of what he said. Lara was mother…maybe. It could be hair. It could be the sky or the sun; he frequently said it as he pointed upwards. The only thing that they were certain of was his name, Calel. He always pointed at himself when he said that.
Martha sighed. Or, it could mean boy. She smiled faintly to herself. Life had become so much more interesting than she’d ever imagined.

Jonathan beamed at her, Cal grinned from his dad’s hip. She felt a bubble of warmth expand in her chest, just grow until it filled all of her. Her family. So perfect, so right. Her entire life had been lived just to reach this moment. She was happy.

Cal reached out to her with one chubby hand, fingers wiggling. He wanted her near, and she stood. He grinned from ear to ear. “Mommy!”

They laughed aloud. “Wow, this must be his day to talk!” Jonathan grinned. “Daddy *and* Mommy.” He threw Cal into the air. “Hey sport, let’s celebrate! How about ice cream?”

His eyes got round and wide and he crowed, “Yuuuum!”


They walked together down the sidewalk to Smallville’s most popular ice cream shop. That it was the only one made no difference. It was the best ice cream parlor ever. People just knew it to be true.

Cal silently watched the traffic go by. He was always quiet around strangers—anyone who wasn’t mommy and daddy. Martha rubbed his head briefly and he smiled up at her.

People who knew them called out in greeting, and made sure to include Cal, who responded with a grave little smile. Martha knew some of them thought that Cal couldn’t speak at all, that there was something a little off about him. It didn’t bother her; it just meant that they didn’t have to share him.

When they’d first arrived in town with Cal, folks had naturally been curious. They’d explained his sudden appearance as a kindness to a Metropolitan cousin of Martha’s, an unmarried one that had fallen on hard times and had a baby she couldn’t care for—that was instantly accepted, after all, it happened in Metropolis. The rumor mill ground on…goodness, all kinds of things happen in that city that people just take for granted, unmarried mothers, you know, on every corner and lord knows that drugs were almost certainly involved, he’s a pretty baby but he can’t speak, you know that crack cocaine will do that, saw that on the news, they’re good to take the boy in, aren’t they? Well Jonathan did come of good parents….

It only took a few carefully chosen words and a sad but brave smile or two, and the rest of the story filled in and took wing nearly on its own, powered by the ever-active imagination typical of a small town.

Martha hummed and swung Cal’s hand much to his delight—she enjoyed any outing into town. She knew Jonathan worried constantly that she was bored, or compared his little town unfavorably to the life she’d led in Metropolis. There was no way she could explain to him that though this life was so different, that even though, yes, at times she felt like an outsider, she was happier than she’d ever been before. This was all she’d ever wanted--to love and be loved in return. This life—it didn’t matter that sometimes she wasn’t sure of what she was doing, that sometimes she made mistakes. This life was so free. All she was concerned about was her husband and her son and that made life wonderful.

She stared at the menu, her eyes automatically seeking the cheapest item. She smiled wryly to herself. Okay, not all of it was easy and carefree. In fact, a lot of it could be harsh. But—it was her choice, her decision. She lowered her menu and looked at Cal, at Jonathan joking with the waitress. Best decision she’d ever made.

Sundaes arrived, single scoop, sauce, a swirl of cream and a single cherry on top, but it was as if Cal had been presented the most amazing gift ever. He looked at her with wide worshipful eyes, as if asking permission to eat. “Go ahead, honey, dig in.”

He sighed happily and grabbed his spoon and proceeded to create a masterpiece of a mess. Ice cream and sauce were everywhere in seconds, and he kept up a constant delighted hum throughout. Heads turned and people laughed. No one could ignore a happy Cal. His delighted “mmm” filled the ice cream parlor and Martha could only laugh herself and try to contain the growing mess.

Half an hour later, daubed with sauce and ice cream, they were on their way home. Cal sat in his car seat and hummed. After a while he was quiet and had been for some time. Martha turned to check on him, but he was wide awake, his brow slightly furrowed. He said when he caught her looking, “Mommy.”

She nodded.

“Daddy.”

She nodded again as he pointed at Jonathan. In rapid succession, he said, “Ice cream. Truck. Cow. Chicken. House. Cookie. Apple.” They stared at each other in astonishment.

“Sleepy,” he yawned and stretched, closed his eyes. “Goo’ night.”

Jonathan looked at his sleeping son in the mirror. “What the hell was that?”

Martha automatically tapped his arm. “Language. Oh…language. I guess…today was his day for language?” She laughed, a little high-pitched and Jonathan looked at her in concern.

“Sorry. It just really struck me how different our lives are going to be than other parents.”

“Oh, not so much, honey. He’s pretty much like other kids his age. I don’t think it’s going to be all that different.”

* * * *
“Cal!! Put that truck down now!” Jonathan came running up the driveway to the garage. “Put it down, Cal!”

Cal looked at him, surprised that this was a bad thing. “Ball,” he explained patiently, and under the shadow of the truck, Jonathan could see his red and blue ball.

“Okay, but next time, ask Daddy to get it. You mustn’t lift the truck.”

Cal looked sad and Jonathan sighed. He knew the poor kid heard “you mustn’t do this or that” a hundred times a day but…what else could they do?

Teaching him not to exert his full strength had been pretty much a nightmare for all of them. How many things had Cal crushed when suddenly a...a sort of growth spurt had come on him. One night he’d gone to bed, maybe just a little stronger than other children his age and the next morning holy hell had broken loose. Dishes, chairs, lamps, silverware, all had fallen victim to Cal’s super strength. Doorknobs had flown out of splintered doors, squeezed to misshapen lumps in his chubby little hands…Jonathan didn’t even want to think of the barn kittens…poor, poor Cal. Poor Martha. No one should have to live with what those two lived through. A wave of guilt and love for his wife swept him. She was so brave. She’d had to adjust to so much, so quickly. He knew she must miss all the small luxuries that were taken for granted in her world. She never said, but sometimes she had to want it back. Especially at times like this, when bills came hot and heavy and the money came slower by far, when she had to deal with a million crises a day almost on her own. Poor Cal, trying so damn hard to do what they wanted that it almost broke his heart to watch him…. was it selfish of him to still want it all and not want to change a bit? To be so damn happy he had Martha and Cal? Maybe he should be generous and explain to her that anytime it became too much she was free to go. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that. Too selfish

He came back to himself when he felt a tug on his pants leg. “Daddy mad at Cal?”

He looked down into the earnest little face and smiled. “Heck no. You just forgot this time.” He picked him up. “Come on, we’ll ride on the tractor, okay? That’ll be fun right?”

Cal yelled out “Yay,” in excitement and threw his arms around Jonathan’s neck. Jonathan forced himself not to react, and he could feel how carefully, how tenderly Cal embraced him. He looked at his face and his brow was furrowed in concentration. Cal was trying to judge how hard was too hard. He kissed his son on the lines that creased his forehead, willing them away. He thanked God that he was a resilient little boy with a huge happy heart—grown men would have broken under a tenth of the strain that Cal went through every day of his life.

He walked with the boy in his arms up to the farmhouse. He wanted to let Martha know to relax for a while, that he was taking Cal. He hoped she wouldn’t comment on his red eyes.

* * * * *
The sun was high in the sky by the time the two of them stopped for water. Jonathan wiped his arm across his brow, and followed that up with swipes from the bandana hanging out of his pocket. He folded the ball cap he wore against the sun in two and shoved it in his back pocket. “Wanna get down for a bit, sport?” Cal nodded and hopped down from the tractor Jonathan masked a wince—he always expected to hear a howl when Cal did that, it was a long way for a kid his age to drop. He dropped down next to him and walked the kinks out of his back.

Birds called to each other in the distance and the low drone of an airplane wafted towards them. The sun blazed, almost a weight on him, but Cal just—glowed. His skin looked gold, his eyes bight as emeralds. Jonathan smiled; enjoying how much Cal enjoyed the sun. They passed a bottle of water back and forth, and Jonathan pulled a bag of grapes out of the little cooler strapped under the seat.

“Ooo,” Cal grinned. “Grapes.” He checked carefully to see that they were all of one color; he wouldn’t eat different colored grapes together and all the coaxing in the world wouldn’t get him to eat them. Satisfied that they were all green, he happily nibbled away at his treat.

Jonathan looked back the way they came. It was probably time to check the fences—it’d been awhile. And he was going to have to have the vet come out and check the young cows that they’d recently purchased. That was going to cost. He looked back down at Cal happily squirming his butt on the fresh turned soil. And Cal was about due for new clothes and shoes…he thought guiltily of doctor’s appointments that other young families would be going to. He and Martha prayed constantly that Cal remained as healthy a baby as he was now. What in the hell they’d tell a doctor he had no idea. In the meantime, all his ‘appointments’ took place in Metropolis if anyone got nosy enough to ask.

“Daddy, all done!” Cal held his hands up in the air palms up, so that Jonathan could easily see that he was indeed all done. He carefully handed his dad the empty plastic bag—Cal knew better than to throw garbage on the ground. He held his hands out and made a face. Jonathon grinned. He knew what that meant. He pulled out the pack of wet wipes Martha had packed, wet wipes they didn’t dare leave the house without. Cal hated terribly for his hands to be dirty or sticky. He could be coated all over the rest of him with a thick layer of grime but his hands—had to be clean. It was frustrating at times, irritating but also cute and sometimes made them laugh—when they were alone and Cal was safely asleep.

He wiped Cal’s hands vigorously and lifted him up. “Ready to ride?” Call nodded and stood, took a step, and suddenly stumbled. He cried out in shock and puzzlement and Jonathan realized—pain.

Something was making his baby hurt—somehow. Cal fell to the ground and his mouth opened wide on a soundless scream, and Jonathan saw with horror that his skin had a greenish cast. Cal swept his hand in the dirt and thin black lines bloomed on his skin, raced up his arm, and he was still screaming silently, nothing coming out of him, not even breath. Jonathan snatched him up into the air and Cal finally let loose with a howl of agony and betrayal, he screamed louder than Jonathan had ever heard from him before. Tears flowed so rapidly it was if someone had dashed water into his face and he waved his arms frantically. Jonathan ran big hands all over his little body, trying to feel for glass, metal, something had to be stabbing him, something...He looked down into the dirt and he saw a faintly glowing green stone, a pebble really. He knelt still holding Cal and Cal’s screams increased in volume—and the pebble glowed brighter.

Jonathan leapt up so quickly he staggered back against the tractor; with distance, Cal’s cries lowered somewhat. Jonathan put him in the cab and he quickly stopped screaming, whimpered and sobbed quietly instead.

Jonathan kicked the stone farther away from the cab and heard Cal sigh with relief, still sobbing…

Jonathan examined the pebble, rubbing his fingers over its cracked and pocked surface. It was a meteorite, a piece of whatever had landed with Cal. Somehow it caused Cal pain…he swallowed hard, and a lump rose in his throat. He felt ice run down his spine and curl in his gut. Steeled himself for something he had to do. Had to do it. Now. He grabbed the pebble into his fist and walked back to the tractor, the closer he came to Cal, the louder his sobs got until he was howling again, black lines crawling over his golden skin.

Okay. Okay.Jonathan turned and sprinted from the tractor, and threw the pebble as hard as he could. Tears flooded his eyes and he ran back fast as possible. He was sobbing too by the time he got Cal up on his lap and was hugging him.

“Daddy, tummy ache,” he cried. “Bad bad tummy ache.” The only pain Cal could identify, an overly full stomach. Up until this day, that had been the only discomfort he knew. Jonathan struggled hard not to cry with him. He needed to comfort, not be comforted.

“It’s all right son; you’re better now, right? “Daddy didn’t mean to make you hurt, he really didn’t. He rocked Cal and thought about how he’d explain to Martha that he’d found something that could hurt their little boy, maybe hurt him really bad…that their life had taken yet another turn into uncharted territory.




Chapter Three

If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principal difference between a dog and a man.
-Mark Twain

One year later….

Lex lay on his bed and struggled not to cry. Big boys didn’t cry. And certainly Luthors didn’t cry. Dad had an unpleasant way of sensing whenever he got overly emotional. He rolled his face into the pillow and bit it hard, grinding his teeth as he did so. It didn’t help that he still felt too hot and his stomach still rolled. He let a long shaky sigh out into the pillow, and rolled to his side.

Today had been a bad day. He could usually ignore the taunts of the other students, ignore the accidental little shoves and elbows in the ribs and being splashed with any number of fluids but today—today had been exceptionally bad, yes. His back was sore, his legs sore and his shoulders hurt, the skin burned. He’d been held down and beaten, spanked with some sort of paddle, he guessed, maybe a ping-pong paddle…his skin ached from being scraped raw. He’d fought hard against the boys—they’d twisted his arms until he’d thought they’d pop out of their sockets and nails left hot red tracks all over his skin. His zipper had scratched his thighs where his bunched underwear hadn’t been able to pad him. He shuddered in humiliation. It was going to be all over the school by next morning and he might as well paint “I’m a giant pussy” all over his face. Worse, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Who was he going to tell that he let himself be pantsed and spanked and spit on? The few friends he had were as likely to back him up as they were to fly off the Daily Planet globe.

He groaned quietly to himself and got up from his bed. He walked stiffly into his bathroom and ran warm water into the sink. Taking a washcloth from the hook above the basin, he washed his face, slowly, letting the warmth sink into his cheeks, his lips, soothe his eyes…finally, he couldn’t put it off any longer. He took his shirt off, and shoved it into the hamper in the closet. He was glad his blazer had covered most of the blood. It wasn’t that much anyway. Sometimes his nose bled after being jumped. The Lex in the mirrored wall stared back at him, contempt twisting his lips into a sneer.

He reheated the water, and wiped the soft cloth over his sore scalp. A few scratches, not much. Last year, he mused as he stared in the glass, he would have had an asthma attack the minute the boys grabbed him. He’d be covered with a million little scratches and scrapes. This year, post hair loss, he hadn’t suffered through one attack. There had been a few times his chest had tightened down on him and he had to fight to breathe, he was pretty certain those had been panic attacks …and there was no way he was going to let any of those bastards know he didn’t get asthma attacks anymore. It was probably the only thing keeping him from getting killed… He carefully swiped the cloth over the red abrasions on his chest and down his arms. Neither would he let on to anyone how fast he healed. Not one more person besides his dad was *ever* going to know.

He wrung out the washcloth and folded it on the edge of the sink basin. He took a deep breath, and lowered his pants and underwear, stepped out of them and rolled off his socks. Socks and underwear went in the laundry hamper; he folded the pants and put them in the dry-cleaning hamper.

He stood with his head down and eyes closed, took a deep breath and then opened them. He looked at thighs, his shins...not too bad. He turned and swallowed and looked at himself in the mirror. At his back.

He hissed. There were purple marks from the small of his back to the back of his knees. Probably his ‘healing factor’ was the only thing that was keeping him off the floor right now. It ached, ached miserably, but he could move and sit and lay down without too much trouble. Now he only had to keep himself covered and he should be fine. If his dad found out that he’d let himself be abused, he’d come up with some way to punish him.

Lex leaned against the sink as he let the water out and ran fresh into the glass basin.
He dipped the cloth back into the water until it was comfortably warm and ran it over his legs, his back, as much as he could reach. He dabbed it over his rear, and he hissed loudly. Here was the pain, concentrated on his buttocks. A tear squeezed out from his tightly shut lids and ran down his cheek.

Bastards. Some day, he’d make them wish they were dead. He’d catch them and play with them the way they played with him, until they begged him to kill them…and he wouldn’t. He stopped; a little startled at the turn his thoughts had taken, laughed a little at himself. He sounded like a nutcase.

He let the water out and swirled the cloth around the sink, wiping it clean of blood. He rinsed the cloth out carefully and hung it back on the hook. He stared at himself for a long moment, seeing his father in his face. No matter how much he wished it wasn’t there, even hairless, he could see the resemblance. He snarled at himself in the mirror. If he was going to make those dicks pay, then the old man should have his ass in line for some payback too. He was definitely on his list. He looked at the faint pale lines that ran along his arms, down his body, his legs--the insides of his elbows and his neck sported silvery little dots that faded more and more until one day they’d be gone. The doctors had done a thorough job—they’d been as thorough as they could be, not knowing what exactly they were looking for. He laughed a little and his hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he thought if he ever became a doctor, he’d know damn sure what it was he was looking for. He turned from the sink and swallowed. He remembered once when he thought Lionel’s interest in him had to do with love. Stupid. So stupid. People who love you didn’t treat you like a lab rat, or…or…a toy.

* * * *
The dining room was bright even though the morning was gray; drizzle glittered on the tall glass panes at the end of the room and the sound of wind driven rain hitting the glass could be heard over the soft music playing, endlessly playing in the background.
Lex’s house shoes scuffed against the gray carpet, the thick nap masking the sound. He quietly slid into one of the gray upholstered chairs at the breakfast table. Lionel glanced his way. “Lex.”

“Good morning, Dad,” he replied, lifted the dove gray napkin from his place setting and unfolded it across his lap. He waited patiently as the housekeeper brought eggs and a croissant and filled the china cup with coffee, sweet and extra light. She smiled briefly at him and went back to the kitchen.

Lionel leaned from behind the newspaper, said, “Ray will pick you up from school and Robin will accompany you to Dr. Keller’s office.”

The mouthful of eggs he’d popped in his mouth turned to sand. Needles, blood work again. He’d forgotten that he had an appointment at the institute today. He hoped fervently that he’d be able to convince Dr. K not to tell his dad about the bruises. A bit of egg fell off his raised fork into his lap and Lionel raised an eyebrow at him. “Careful, son. There’s no reason to become so emotional. He’s only drawing a little blood, after all.” His eyes traveled over him, and did that reptilian blink and stare that he hated so much, studying him like he was an especially interesting specimen of…something.

He forced a casual smile. “I’m not worried.” He bit at one horn of the croissant and chewed carefully.

Lionel lost interest, the paper rattled as he folded it to a new section. “Don’t forget to say good morning to your mother,” he murmured.

“Has she eaten already?” he asked. “I could bring her something.”

“Uhm, hum,” Lionel replied distractedly. “Ask the housekeeper to make a pot of tea…”

Lex slid off the chair, grateful to be dismissed.

In the kitchen, he was handed a tray. On the tray was a pot of tea, a porcelain cup and saucer and a vase with a single white tulip in it.

“Oh, how pretty! That’s nice, she’ll like that,” he said, and the housekeeper and he smiled at each other. The door at the other end of the kitchen opened and Robin walked in, snagged a cup of coffee and took a quick gulp or two before he spoke.

“For your mom?” He nodded when Lex said yes. “Okay. I’ll walk you up to her room. Your dad tell you what you’re doing this afternoon?” He held open the door so Lex could walk through with the tray. “How about riding around the park for a bit after? We could get hotdogs.”

“Oh, that’d be great.” He concentrated on not tipping the tray as he carefully negotiated the few steps to his mother’s room. Robin opened the door and peeked inside the dim room. “A…Lex, Mrs. Luthor.”

A soft breathy voice responded “Oh, lovely. Come in, come in.”

Robin stepped back. “Keep it kind of short, okay? She’s been having a hard day, Nurse said.” He steered Lex in the door and shut it.

* * * *
The halls of J. Parker School For Boys were high-ceilinged; at the end of each hall, tall glass windows with frosted lower panels divided by steel mullions let in as little light as possible The stairwells were alternating pools of gray and black, their odd design holding lots of little hiding spaces. These sometimes worked to one’s advantage and sometimes painfully not. The open treads and risers gave rise to many delightful games of “break an ankle” or “fall headlong down a flight of granite steps and knock a tooth out.” Friends of his had taken the plunge, but Lex listened with his whole body and was agile as a springbok on the stairs.

He was rather less fortunate in the wooden cavern of the gymnasium. The bleachers in the gym shuddered and creaked often under the weight of running feet and while Lex’s agility enabled him to weave and spring and dodge from step to step—there was just no place to go once one had reached the top and the bottom bleachers were lined with one’s tormentors. Lex had yet to gamble on how fast he could recover from a broken bone. Leaping from the top was not an option—so far.

The restrooms were a world unto themselves. They were huge, with the same high ceilings as the rest of the school, having been built in an era that believed children needed vast amounts of light, not unlike flowers, to help them grow. And J. Parker built high, and built wide; oversized windows were everywhere, every classroom, every restroom, in the gymnasium and the offices and the nurse’s office. The cafeteria had so many windows it was nearly a solarium—or would have been, had not the city grown around them. Taller buildings grew to tower over them, progress darkened the air and safety wire and bars grew like metal ivy over the panes, all working hand in hand to render the quality of light to a pearl gray at all times.

J. Parker also had lovely huge fluorescent lights that hung from the tall ceilings in the restrooms and in fact, everywhere. They burned all the time. Icy light reflected off the white tiles that lined the restrooms floor to ceiling, Lex thought it gave the room the air of a 1900’s operating theater. God knew the place had seen almost as much blood. He was willing to bet that most of it was his…He stood on tiptoe and stared in the mirror; wiped at a smear of blood under his nose; with his fingernail scraped at the blood stubbornly clinging to the scar on his lip.

“Hurry up, Lex, before we’re late,” a high-pitched voice behind him squeaked.

“Jacob, there’s no reason for you to wait for me now; you didn’t wait when those guys came after me in the first place.” He turned to pick up his book bag and look at Jacob who was completely unconcerned at Lex’s intimation that he’d been a less than sterling friend. Lex sighed. He couldn’t stand the ass and Jacob definitely couldn’t care less about him, but there was safety in numbers and like the herbivores most of them were, they preferred to travel in packs.

Lex trudged along with Jacob ghosting at his heels and thought about his situation.

He pushed his bag under his chair and ignored his teacher’s glare. Yes, yes, book bags must be stowed in one’s locker but not when said locker was full of water and pudding. He looked down at the soaking edges of his pants. That was going to dry in a disgustingly suggestive way. Pale brown streaked his legs from knee to ankle. He fumbled in his bag for pencil and notebook and thought in an idle way that it was really kind of ingenious the way they’d booby-trapped his locker…

English gave way to math gave way to social studies gave way to music. Lunch was uneventful, history was barely interesting, science almost managed to be entertaining and this day gym was blessedly free of taunting or physical attack. It was, he had to admit, a fairly decent day.

He stood on the wide granite steps just outside of the covered porch of the J. Parker School For Boys, Est. 1926, and waited for salvation in the form of a black limousine to arrive. He had minutes to go. His ‘friends’, his acquaintances really…no, put a proper face on it—his fellow victims--walked past him with barely a nod. They hurried off to various waiting cars; the not so lucky ones sprinted to the subway. With any luck, Lex thought they’d make it home unmolested. A very large part of him cared not at all.

A car horn broke his reverie and there he was. Lex’s heart leaped with the first pure pleasure he’d felt all day. It was always this way.

Robin stood by the open car door, tall and handsome, his dark skin made the white of his shirt so much whiter in contrast. His broad shoulders lifted the edges of his dark jacket as he waved Lex forward. Lex waited a bit. Robin grinned, a flash of white teeth, and waved again, and Lex flew down the stair. He was smiling as he ran and then he remembered, Dr. K. and the smile was a little less—but-oh! Freedom! Friendship!

He skidded to a stop and just managed, as always, not to throw his arms around Robin and hug him. How he wished he could. Every day that he saw him, he wished he could.

“I love days I get to ride home,” he crowed, and flung his bag in the car.

“Hey, watch the upholstery,” Ray called said with a ferocious frown and Lex grinned back.

Reason number two he loved the days he was allowed to ride. Ray, who was absolutely the coolest chauffeur ever. He wasn’t as smooth and polished as Robin, but the aura of barely leashed power he gave off more than made up for that lack—he was an impressive guy. He was quiet, looked stern, in fact, unfriendly, but when it was just Lex and Robin, he was a completely different guy, one who joked and smiled—he had a wonderful smile. He was the kind of guy who’d do anything for his friends.

All too soon he was in front of the Institute and Dr. Keller waited for him.

Robin asked if Lex wanted him to walk up to the office with him and Lex shook his head quickly. He didn’t need to be protected inside the institute. He knew the minute he stepped in the doors, every camera, all their security were aware of the fact. Lex Luthor was valuable to them. Dr. Keller, his colleagues and Dad, they all knew he didn’t get attacks anymore. They’d been in every part of him since that day and there probably wasn’t anything they didn’t know about him and he hated them fairly equally. The ones who didn’t look at him like he was some sort of alien freak looked at him with way too much sympathy. None of them mattered. He held his head up and walked right past them. He was Alexander Joseph Luthor and he didn’t need anyone.

Except Robin. And Ray. And Mother.


Dr. K’s office was cold—it was always cold. Winter, summer, it didn’t matter. The office had its own environment. Hell, maybe it had its own dimension. Lex looked around the sterile area with nothing to relieve its bland whiteness--white tiles, from the floor to the ceiling, white furnishing, white blinds masking the windows… Lex sighed. Why was it that all his nightmare places featured white tile? The white tile in J Parker School For Homicidal Boys restrooms wasn’t quite as cheerfully white, the grout in fact had gone a dingy gray with age and dirt. But Dr. K’s tiles were as white and sparkling, the grout whiter than the white of the tiles, as the very first day he’d stepped into this office. He shivered, and gooseflesh ran up and down his arms and legs and the back of his neck.

He was perched on the edge of the table, his legs dangling in the air. The paper gown scratching his butt and alternately exposing it to the frigid air was getting on his nerves. The sharp smell of alcohol assaulted his nose; disinfectant clung to the back of his throat. He rubbed his cold scalp and growled quietly to himself. This was ridiculous; this waiting for the doctor, like he hadn’t figured out long ago it was part of the process. They filmed him---watched what he did and how he acted. What was the point? All he did was sit on the damn table and swing his legs back and forth and curse under his breath. He looked up to the corner he was pretty sure the camera was in and mouthed “dick.” It wasn’t like the guy could do anything to make it hurt more and he was as afraid of his father as any sane man should be.

Sane. Dr. Keller might not be all that sane. Lex had thought often the man was less than all there. He was a creep. He was…fingery. Too touchy. Granted, his job required him to touch but…still. He got a feeling from him. It was just a feeling but it gave him creeps. Lex hated him completely but the guy seemed not to know it. He acted as if he and Lex were the best of friends—‘buds’. Buddies. Creep. He was just…it was as if he’d developed a personality by watching films of normal humans interacting and he’d taken extensive notes. “Ah. To infer closeness, grasp the shoulder and apply mild pressure. To express humor, wink while doing so. To comfort, pat in varying degrees of strength. Repeat ‘there, there’ as needed.” He hated Dr. Creep.

Who finally entered the room. Lex was certain his lips were blue. “Alexander! What a pleasure!” Lex watched him and thought. ‘Smile one, two, three, apply serious look and fold arms behind back as to appear non-threatening.’ And like clockwork, Dr. Keller did just that.

“Nurse saw your bruises. Is there anything you’d like to tell us? You know you can tell us anything.”

As freaking if, Lex thought. “Nothing’s wrong, sir, I slipped on some steps at school, sir. Granite gets like ice when it’s wet, sir.”

Dr. K frowned. “I see.” He sat at Lex’s knee on a stool that looked strangely like a tractor seat. “Well, today just involves a quick exam and we’ll take a little blood also.” He smiled and Lex was grateful that he didn’t wink. The thought of the wink made him shiver and Dr. Keller petted his leg. “Not much at all, I promise.” His hand lay on his leg like a dead thing and Lex cringed inside. The man’s touch was revolting. He hated the touch of his fingers on his skin—it was like a violation. Dr. Keller moved his hand up to his arm and turned it out so the inside faced him, stroked his fingers over the inside of his elbow. He hummed to himself and murmured, “such good, good veins…” and kept touching his skin in an absentminded way. Lex finally jerked a bit and Dr. K blinked.

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Dr. K smiled at him and Lex swallowed.

The nurse took blood, efficiently, impersonally but thankfully with the minimum of pain. He felt a slight pressure and vials of blood were rapidly filled, marked and stowed in a little tray. She pulled off the strip of rubber tubing she’d wrapped around his arm, wiped the puncture mark and left. He watched the purple around the pinprick fade, the swelling disappear, and shuddered. It always made him vaguely ill. The nurse turned right before she walked out the door and the look on her face was flat, repulsed. The corner of her lip turned up when she caught him looking, a bone-deep instinctual response towards something not pack and he felt burning behind his eyes. He dug his nails into his palms. He’d die before he let her see…bitch.

Dr. Keller re-entered the room and asked him to take his gown off. He slid it down into a puddle of paper on his lap and waited. Dr. K lifted his arms, flexed his joints, felt under his arm and along his ribcage, took notes and in general treated him like a lab rat. He looked into his eyes, his ears, his throat. Felt under his chin, along his neck. His fingers slid over his skin, over and over and Lex had to fight not to squirm. Fingers slid everywhere, and when they moved into his groin he asked, “What are you doing?”

Dr. Keller smiled. “It’s part of the exam.”

“Oh.” He sat as patiently as he could, but the fingers were taking too long. Touching too much. “Are you done yet?” He shifted minutely away, and turned his face away from Dr. K. “Is the exam over yet?”

Dr. K nodded and his fingers floated over his arms again. “There’s been no hair growth. There’s no reason why it shouldn’t grow,” he said and looked at Lex as though he were the cause of the lack of hair. Eyelashes, thin sketches of eyebrows, the occasional lone hair sprouting oddly and then falling away, but nothing else. Lex was pathetically grateful of the eyelashes and brows; there had been talk of implants…he shivered again.

Dr. K still traced the muscle in Lex’s arm again and Lex said loudly, clearly, “I want to go.”

He jumped slightly, dropped his hand and swallowed quickly. “Of course, dress, I’ll let Mr. Wald know you’re ready.”

Lex dressed quickly and scrubbed at his arm. Creep. Creep. He wanted to go home now and take a shower.

He did go to the park and had hotdogs and watched kids float boats in the little pond at the center of the park. He walked through the little box maze not too far from the pond and told Robin what he planned to do when he grew up, leaving out the bits in which he killed his former classmates and Dr. Keller. Robin wouldn’t understand. He looked up at the tall man at his side. He was so…solid. He never said anything unless he meant it. He never said anything mean, or anything careless. He loved to tell jokes too—and he was terrible at it. Lex loved that about him and it always made Ray laugh. Whenever he got new pictures of his son, he showed them to Lex. He didn’t even show his mother the pictures. Lex felt it was a gift, something that just he and Robin shared. Robin let him lean on him. Robin listened, and understood when sometimes he didn’t want to see his mother—Robin never called him an evil thankless selfish child…even though Lex knew that it was true.

Robin never rubbed his skin.

They were sitting on a bench and Lex was eating an ice cream cone and thoroughly enjoyed it, loved the creamy smooth feeling on his tongue and the bursts of flavor as he crunched through the bits of chocolate and toffee buried in the vanilla. The fact that he wasn’t allowed ice cream made it an even more special treat. Sweets were non-nutritious and a waste of time for a child, apples and fruit were much better. Occasionally Lionel allowed a sorbet as an extra special treat.

’Treat this, you asshole’, he thought and licked a huge glob of ice cream into his mouth. He took another large gulp and Robin chuckled.

“Take it easy, AJ. If I bring you home with a stomach ache, we’ll all get in trouble.”

Ray came strolling up the walk, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and his tie loosened. His buzz cut head bobbed as he walked, keeping time to some interior music. When he saw the two on the bench, he grinned and stopped in front of Robin. “Hey, where’s mine?”

Robin frowned. “You’re supposed to be with the car; he’ll have a flipping fit if he finds out you aren’t with it.”

“So, who’s going to tell him—you? “ He smiled at Robin, and looked at Lex. “You going to tell him, AJ?”

He reached down and rubbed Lex’s head, because he was allowed to. Lex smacked his hand away and pretended to kick him in the ankles, because he was allowed to. Lex assured Ray he’d never tell, and grinned, just overwhelmed at Ray’s ability to not give a darn about anything, least of all, his father.

“He’s not about to fire me,” Ray laughed and poked Robin’s shoulder. Robin snorted and batted his hand away. Ray laughed again, a clear loud burst of amusement, the kind of laugh that made other people smile.

“Come on, get me a hotdog, kid. I’m hungry.” He grinned down at Lex and Lex blushed.

“Okay, Ray. Can we, Robin? Get him a hotdog, I mean.”

Robin sighed and shook his head. “Come on, you big baby. You too, AJ.”

They laughed and Lex walked between the two of them and he felt like he was about to fly out of his skin. This was perfect; this day had been the best day ever…he wasn’t Alexander, the lab rat, he wasn’t Lex, the mote in his father’s eye and the punching bag of J. Parker School for Blood-sucking Delinquents Est. 1926. He was AJ, who had really cool friends and was a pretty cool guy himself.




Chapter Four
A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.
-Josh Billings

Cal lay upside down on the bed, thumping his feet against the headboard and humming. Bear was under his head. The window was open and a little breeze flipped the ends of the curtain around, the window shade clacked as it hit the frame.

Cal wrinkled his brow and tried to make out the next line of the story he was reading. Daddy read it to him so many times, it was his favorite. He decided that he was going to learn to read. All big boys could read. He was a big boy. He would teach himself to read and surprise Mommy and Daddy. He smiled briefly before turning his attention back to the book.

He knew “Clark” and “cat”, and “sky”. S-K-Y was sky. Cal said the word to himself. “Skkkkiiiiy.” He smiled. He liked words that felt funny in his mouth, like bubble and balloon. He loved to say balloon. He rolled onto his tummy and propped his chin on his hands. He started aloud from the first line. “One day, Bertie the…beeglee…gul…beegul--beagle and Clark the Corgi…”

Cal worked on his words until Mommy called him to lunch and he jumped up. He was so hungry; he hadn’t even realized *how* hungry he was until she called. He carefully closed the book and laid it on the chair next to his bed. He wanted to be sure Daddy saw it when he came in to read to him at bedtime.

Mommy called again and he called out, “Coming!” He ran down the stairs, careful to slow down to a complete stop at the bottom and not to put his weight on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs—he hadn’t pulled the ball off in a long time. He felt proud of himself—he knew Mommy would be proud when he told her again he didn’t break the post. He skipped towards the kitchen—next birthday, if he kept doing real good, he’d be able to go to the real school. School at home was fun, but he wanted to see other kids too. He saw classrooms on the television, they had chalkboards and teachers and show and tell. He wanted to go to school and show the kids his treasures too.

He slid into his chair at the table and thought about all his treasures. He had a shell he found in the field. A seashell! Daddy said it was just a rock but he was certain it was a shell. He had a glider that Daddy made for him and it flew a long way. He had a bird feather that was blue all over and a diamond. It might look like glass but it was a diamond all right. He was proud of his treasures.

Mommy put his plate on the table and it was peanut butter and jelly with no crusts and cut up in just the right way. “Thank you, Mommy,” he said when she put his cup down next to his plate. His favorite one, too, the one with a bear on it. He gasped, seeing the cup reminded him—he’d left Bear upstairs all alone!

“Mommy, Bear is alone! On my bed—can I get him?”

“Cal, eat your sandwich first, Bear is sound asleep. He won’t wake up until you wake him up.”

He nodded, true. Bear would sleep until he woke him, he always did. Cal enjoyed his sandwich and kept listening for Daddy’s truck. Sure enough, the sound of tires on gravel floated through the open window.

“Daddy,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

“Daddy,” Mommy agreed and set Daddy’s lunch on the table. He had roast and potatoes and a big glass of water with lots of ice in it, Cal made a face at the ice. He didn’t like it. It was squeaky and crunchy at the same time and made his teeth feel bad.

“Who’s eating my lunch?” A voice boomed in the doorway, and Cal could hardly stop himself from squealing. He quickly dipped a finger in the mashed potatoes, bringing up a bare speck on his finger. He made a great show of eating the speck, licking his lips and rubbing his tummy.

Daddy said, “You! You’re eating my lunch!” and swung him off the chair and into the air, Cal shrieked with terrified glee, and Daddy covered his face with kisses. He squeezed him and dropped him back on the chair. He patted Cal on the head and went to the sink. He lathered and washed his hands vigorously and warned Cal, “I’ve got my eye on you…”

Cal giggled and grinned when Daddy kissed Mommy on the nose.

He sighed happily when Daddy sat down and ate his lunch, and Mommy sat at his side and nibbled on her own sandwich. It was good—everyone he loved was right there—except for poor Bear, but he’d make it up to him later. He'd make a good story with Bear as the hero. He could help Clark the Corgi save Bertie Beagle.

* * * *
Lionel sat at his wife’s bedside and sighed quietly. He stroked her thin, thin hand, so cold and light in his own. She was losing ground every day. She suffered. She wasted away, slowly, terribly slowly. He couldn’t imagine the pain she must feel, how she must long for as quick and easy a death as poor Julian, the son he’d had such hopes for. He sighed again. Well, death came as it willed, destroyed swiftly or ate slowly; bit by terrible bit, with no regard for status, no care for the good one did in life.

Or the evil….

He leaned back and clasped his hands together. It was obvious she didn’t have long. Days maybe. He looked around the room that had been their bedroom. It looked like the hospital room it’d been turned into. Equipment filled the corners, sat around the bed. The silence was broken only by quiet beeps and dings of the various bits of machinery, the gentle wheeze of oxygen being forced into her lungs and tubes everywhere, it seemed. He could hardly see her face. She was barely a wisp under the light blanket.

Her eyes fluttered open and for a moment there was no recognition there, and then her lips moved. A whisper floated up and she closed her eyes again, exhausted by the effort.

The nurse came in, checked on her, mysteriously adjusted whatever needed to be adjusted and disappeared.

A knock at the door let him know it was someone other then medical staff—they never knocked. He rose stiffly and went to the door. It was Lex. He moved aside and Lex and his bodyguard came into the room. Lionel checked his watch. Of course, end of the school day, Robin fetched him home once again, safe and sound. He saw that Lex favored his left side a bit—so, nearly sound. His eyes narrowed as he watched the boy cross the room. When was he going to fight back? When would he develop a spine, damn it? He glanced to the side and caught Robin looking at him in a less than flattering way.

Robin stepped closer and said, “If you like, sir, I can wait here until Lex is through visiting his mother.”

Lex and Robin. They were too attached to each other. The boy’s mother was—had been—very nearly as attached to the man. Too many times he’d overstepped the boundaries of his job. Eventually, he’d have to do something about that. Lex needed to know where the division lay.

Lex leaned carefully against the bed and whispered to his mother and just when Lionel was about to tell him not to waste his time, Lillian lifted her hand and curled it around the boy’s. Lionel nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Wald, I’ll be in my office. Please make sure that Lex gets his dinner.” Supercilious bastard. He left without a backward glance.

Lionel spent the evening going through reports from various business ventures. A businessman had to keep on top of things. Money came—money went, and he had to make sure it went into the right pockets—his.

He smiled. Mob movies might be ridiculous but there was one point they managed to get correct--get the money first. When you get the money, you get power. And then—you get anything you fucking want. You could come out of the worst, deepest shit and enough money allowed you to scrape it off your shoes, allowed you to buy a whole new person to become. He knew about transforming a gutter rat into something polite society approved of. From his box at the opera to his chair on the board of Metropolis University, to his presence behind the men who stood in office—he rose like a phoenix from the ashes, a testament to money…power…respect. Thanks to dear old dad and mom for giving him the drive to succeed, to excel. Without them, he’d still be a low-life smash and grab punk. He gazed around his office. Hell, it was twice the size of the apartment he’d grown up in, had been decorated by a top of the line Italian designer who’d smiled and blown him and smiled some more when the check was half what it was supposed to be.

This, he sighed in satisfaction, was the life he’d been born to have. Hell, he deserved it; he fought hard enough to get it.

He leaned back in his chair and opened an envelope sent from the office at the Carver St. Building—some pictures of the newest fighters he owned.

Money.

Money brought him to have the right wife, the right social position…let him raise a kid without the stink of poverty and failure in his nose. He threw the pictures on his desk, watched them slide across the polished surface and drop to the floor.

What the fuck was he going to do with that boy? How was he going to toughen him up? The way he was now…he’d never be able to hold onto the business. Lionel got up from his desk and walked around it, stood over the pictures on the floor.

The boy was damn unnerving at times…there was something…he was almost beautiful. Unearthly. But he had no balls, no backbone. Lionel grimaced, frowned as he moved the pictures around with his foot. The boy had no idea what it was to want something with all your soul. He picked up a picture of one of his fighters. The man in the picture was bruised, battered, splashed with blood. He sneered into the camera lens. He had a metal cuff on each wrist; one arm was lifted and crossed over his head, displaying a brand burned into his side, two capital Ls crossed like swords. He was nude.

To want something with all your soul…money, power. Freedom. Your life…he let the picture drop to the floor again. Lex needed to learn to *want*.

He sat again, settled back in his chair, slipped back into ‘respectable businessman’ and continued to work. There was a notation about the fertilizer plant in Smallville, one of several plants he had in this area of the state. His partner in the trucking business thought the area might be a good place to build storage and maintenance for their containers trucks, nice and private. They needed to buy up some of the land near the plant and there was a perfect spot, a farm a few miles from the plant—struggling business, a young couple, one child…it had to be too much for one person to maintain--they’d probably be happy to sell the farm. He’d be doing them a favor. In fact, he’d offer them pretty near what the land was worth.

Smallville. He hadn’t really thought about the place since the time he’d bought the plant, the day of that disastrous business that had so severely altered the boy.

If he believed in such a thing, he’d almost think he’d been cursed by a vengeful deity... a wife who was dying too slowly, a freak son, and one who’d died in his crib….

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, folded his hands over his chest. On the other hand, he was gifted—rich beyond his dreams, people begging him for favors, for notice. Dying for his attention. Lex and…the rest…were a small price to pay for all that. Besides, he had a growing feeling lately that Lex was…untapped potential. What, how, he wasn’t quite sure but somehow he’d make a difference. Lex was going to enhance Lionel’s life in some way, of that he was certain. He’d make it so.

* * * * *
A few days after his mother’s funeral, Lex took the elevator to the garage and waited until Ray noticed he was standing in the entranceway.

“Hey, AJ,” he called softly. “Come on over here, kid.” Ray curled a hand around his head when he came up and pulled him close for a second.

”Holding up okay?” he asked gently and resumed wiping down the Benz. “Your dad’s taking it out this evening,” he explained. “Wants it to shine,” he said with a faint undercurrent of disgust. Lex nodded. He knew his father.

“Ray…” He hesitated.

Ray stopped and looked at him. “Yeah?”

Lex looked up at him and wanted to say, can you keep me from drowning? Can you protect me now that mom’s gone? Can you get me out of here, let’s you and me and Robin run away…”Can you teach me something to keep me from being swirled every other day? I’m heartily sick of getting my butt kicked like it’s a soccer ball.”

Ray heard most of what Lex said to him. He smiled. “Sure, AJ. I can do that. We’ll get Robin to help.”

Lex knelt out of Ray’s eyesight, picked up a cloth and started polishing the rims on the wheel he was facing. “Thanks.” He didn’t want him to see his eyes water up like a girl’s.


Little more than a week after Lillian’s’ funeral, Lionel decided to visit Smallville. They had a home there that they’d never actually lived in outside of the town. Lionel had bought it years ago, before he’d had business interests in the town, refurbished it with a thought toward moving Lillian there…before she’d gotten so…ill. He liked the idea that the place had belonged to a mobster in the old days—a Kansas City mob boss who, funnily enough, had decided to retire in Kansas, and live the life of lord of the manor. His fellow mobsters had had other ideas and retired him not only from a life of crime, but from life, period.


Lex hated the place. It was too big, too cold and smelled of disuse and neglect. He was outside of the house as much as possible, reading in the garden, hanging around the garage. He spent afternoons working out with Ray, learning basic defense moves. Ray assured Lex he was an excellent student. He was sharp, quick and agile and Lex enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed the attention and praise—he came away from their matches bruised and limping sometimes—but Ray was never mean or cruel to him. Ray liked him. It meant a lot to Lex to be liked, to be noticed. His dad…well, it was probably best his dad didn’t notice him.

He happened to be in the kitchen with the chef, learning how to scramble eggs when Lionel came storming into the room. “Who do you order your produce from?” he demanded of the chef.

“Why…why I usually get it from Kent Farms. They’re a small organic farm--”

“I know who they are—who else orders? How big is their customer base?”

“I’m not sure—I know the restaurant in town and two others the next town over use them, the coffee shop buys pastries from them as do we, the wife has a little side business…”

Lionel stared through the man, “Hmmm…I’ll find out what switch to flip on those two. I need that land…” He came back to himself and suddenly seemed to notice Lex perched on a stool at the kitchen island. “Son,” he sneered. “Cooking? That’s an…interesting pursuit.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen, his grizzled mane the last thing Lex saw before the door swung shut. Like an even more disconcerting version of the Cheshire cat, he thought.

The chef shrugged his shoulders. “Your father, he’s an unusual man.”

Lex smiled. “Is that polite for asshole?” He whisked the eggs together until the chef took the bowl.

“Alexander! That’s no way to talk—gives assholes a bad name,” he muttered under his breath.

Lex snorted gently and watched what the man did, but his mind was elsewhere. He wondered what his dad was doing, and why he was interested in some Smallville farmers. He wondered about these Kents. They must be giving his dad a hard time. He liked them already.


One afternoon not long after the kitchen incident, Dad loaded him into the car, along with bodyguards. They skirted the town and headed out to the farmlands, and Lex marveled at the change in landscape. It’d been a long time since he was out of the city. He watched his dad’s face surreptitiously. He saw their similarities—the eyes, the cheeks—he watched how his long hair shifted around his shoulders as his head moved. Dad’s hair. He wondered if he set it on fire, would it burn away like tissue or just eat him right down to the toes? Was hair very flammable? Lionel looked over and met his eyes and they smiled at each other before Lionel’s eyes flattened out with disinterest.

If anyone asked him what his father thought about him—he’d have to say, he didn’t. Disinterest described his relationship with him in a nutshell. Lex looked out the window and stared at the corn whizzing by. If he shifted his focus though, he could see his dad’s reflection in the glass. All that damn hair…he rubbed briefly at his smooth, smooth scalp. He could see that Lionel had caught the motion and he very slowly very casually dropped his hand and made his mouth curve in a smile. Lionel smirked, and seemed to nod slightly. Lex leaned back and closed his eyes, rested his head against the warm back of the leather seat.

A short time later, they were pulling into an unpaved driveway that led to a cheerful yellow farmhouse. Lex looked approvingly at the building. The yellow paint was surprisingly cheerful and not at all as garish as one would think, and the white trim set it off nicely. He slid across the seat and out of the car, took in the flowerpots filled with white and red blooms hanging from the porch roof. The little house said ‘we’re happy here’. It was like something out of the picture books he’d read when he was a little kid—happy little house, happy little family. He sighed. Why did his dad want him out here?

Lionel brought Lex, Ray, his own bodyguard and Robin with him. Lex wondered why Lionel needed all the manpower, they were just farmers here... They marched up to the house, stopping halfway up the drive and a sandy-haired man came out on the porch, wiping his hands on a rag. Lex looked at him with interest.

So…this was a farmer, eh? He was handsome. He had really nice blue eyes. His look was spoiled a little by the glower. This Mr. Kent must know his dad.

“Well, well, Mr. Kent. Have you had sufficient time to examine my offer?” Lionel turned to Lex and smiled. Oh God—a lesson. His dad wanted him to watch as he screwed this farmer in some way,

“Mr. Luthor, I’ve looked at your offer. For one thing—it’s way too little. For another thing—there’s no way I’d sell my family’s land to you. No way in hell, my apologies to your boy there.” He inclined his head towards Lex and he thought at first, he thinks I have cancer but no—the blue eyes were warm as they landed on him, sympathetic as they cut from his dad back to him. Oh no—Mr. Kent understood very well. oh yeah, he does know my dad. Lex risked a smile back. Behind him, a little dark-haired boy came out on the porch, and grabbed the man’s pants leg. Lex looked but he couldn’t see the boy’s face, he hid it against his dad’s knee.

“We’ll speak again, and soon.” Lionel inclined his head at the man and whirled on his heel, strode back to the car. He snapped for Lex to follow him and Lex had to run to catch up. He cast a look behind him, saw the man pick up the boy and hold him close. He wondered briefly what that felt like before turning his attention back to Lionel. He grinned inside. Well, that wasn’t quite the lesson he was supposed to get, he was sure. He caught Ray grinning behind his dad’s back. He jerked his head back towards the farmhouse and mouthed, “Balls.” Lex stifled a laugh in his hands. .

* * * * *
It was nearly bedtime, but Robin let Lex sit in his room and watch TV. Robin sat at a writing table against the wall and Lex leaned over the back of the small couch, chin on his crossed arms and studying him. . “Who are you writing to?” he asked, ”—if you don’t mind me asking, I’m sorry.”

Robin looked up with a smile and shook his head. “I don’t mind. I’m writing my friend.”

“Oh. Is he a body guard too?”

Robin laughed, “No--*she’s* a teacher. More of a girlfriend than a friend, I suppose.” He smiled gently at Lex and Lex felt a tiny prick of unhappiness. He forced himself to smile back.

“Oh, that’s nice you have a girlfriend. Does your son know?” It made him sad, this girlfriend and he didn’t know why.

Robin put his pen down and leaned back. He stretched his long legs out past the desk and Lex thought sadly of days when he was small enough to sit on those legs—get bounced up and down and laugh, laugh…”Robby knows. He met her. He likes her.”

Lex was annoyed with himself again for feeling hurt that he’d never been introduced.

“It’s been a long time since his mother and I divorced. Robby was okay with the idea…but you don’t seem to be.”

Lex blushed furiously. “Don’t be silly—I’m glad you have a girlfriend. I’ll bet she’s really nice, too,” he said brightly and Robin seemed to believe it.

“I have a picture…”

Lex jumped off the couch and stood by the desk, Robin took a picture out of his wallet. “That’s her, that’s Tricia.” He smiled. “What do you think?”

Lex chose to believe that Robin honestly wanted his opinion, that it was important, so he took a moment and studied the photo. She was pretty, well dressed, she looked happy. She looked like…she fit Robin. Lex nodded. “She’s very right for you.”

Robin looked surprised, like he hadn’t expected a response like that. “Well, thank you…thank you, AJ. Yes, she is.”

Lex handed the picture back and ran back and jumped on the couch. He flicked quickly through the channels and waited for Robin to sit next to him. It was strange, he always knew he shared Robin with his son and other people but—Robin was in love. That was strange and for some reason, it made him sad.

Robin sank down onto the end of the couch and said, “You know you only have ten minutes, right?”

Lex pouted. “Yes, yes—I know.”

He stared at the TV and Robin stood. “Come on, let’s go—bedtime.” Lex dragged himself off the couch and slouched toward the door.

“Are you too old to be read to yet?” Robin asked.

Lex jerked his head up and grinned. “No—not yet.”

“All right then. Your choice.”

Lex felt lighter. Okay—Robin still loved him, too.

* * * * *
A few days passed before Lionel decided to drive out to the Kent farm--again. Where he’d been turned down by the Kents—again. He wasn’t about to be stopped by a couple of simple dirt farmers. This really was the last straw, now he was about to handle that corn-fed cocksucker the way Dear Dad would have, may he rot in hell. He took a deep breath, smoothed his lapels. Not personally of course. Fire…Gas explosion, anything could happen on a farm. Lionel glanced at himself in the rear view mirror. Hell. it didn’t cost much to have a social misfit with a baseball bat appear on someone’s doorstep—it was criminal really, how cheap it was.

He drove too fast down the country roads, letting the roar of the engine fill his head, letting his anger drain off in the feel of the car humming with power under him. He drove until he was under control again, turned and headed back to the Kent farm. He parked a distance from the Kent house, looked down on the field he coveted. He could see the house just past the barn, heard the roar of a tractor engine in the distance. There was Kent, roaring along in the field that should be his, sitting like a prince on that damn tractor, the boy in his lap.

The tractor-slowed and the boy stood, and then—leaped off the tractor—Kent never stopped. What the hell? Kent didn’t react at all; he let the boy jump down and never turned a hair. Had he misread the relationship? He’d seemed genuinely fond of the child…

The boy hit the dirt and it appeared, hit it hard. Lionel expected to hear something, a scream from the boy, a shout from the man but the child leaped up, running and laughing and Lionel froze—how in the fuck was that possible? Could Kent’s son be another boy like Lex? But this boy looked normal…Lionel watched, his heart beating harder as he watched the boy dance around behind the tractor, and Kent called him and pointed to a fallen tree limb. Lionel could see his face brighten from where he was—he ran to the front of the tractor, and picked up the limb---which was as thick around as Kent himself—too heavy for a grown man to pick up in one hand, which was just what the boy did.shit…—the boy picked it up, tossed it aside like it was made of paper. Strong, unbelievably strong. Stronger than any kid in the stable, fuck…what I could do with that….

Fuck the land—he just found something even more valuable. That child was obviously mutated by the bizarre properties of the meteorites, in a different way than Lex. He wasn’t simply human, any more than Lex was now. But this one was…super human. He wanted that—and somehow he was going to get it.

* * * * *
Calls to the bank, timely purchases, a few bribes and a threat or two here and there, and the Kents’ finances were in his hand. He probably should have done this earlier—but then, he wouldn’t have discovered the treasure they were hiding. Now, he had to convince them their only choice was to give it up or lose everything.

The next time he called on the Kents, he’d have all the cards in his hands. He looked forward to making them crawl. Especially that fucking stick of wood, Jonathan Kent. Martha, now…he could find plenty of uses for her….



He came away from the farm with his composure cracked. He was sweating; he was so furious that it took him minutes to recover. This was not good. Control—his job was making other people lose theirs. They had turned him down, willing to live on the street, to lose everything, just to keep their son. Not possible. He needed that boy. He was steaming mad when he drove blindly away from the farm that evening—and that night, a miracle occurred.

He was back in his office, scowling at the thought that he’d have to do this the messy way after all. He’d sent Lex back to Metropolis in his bodyguard’s care. He needed to be able to concentrate completely on the problem. He’d found out that the child wasn’t the Kents’ biological child. There were no records concerning him anywhere. The locals described some vague connection the boy had to an obviously fictitious Metropolitan cousin of Martha’s. He had no idea where the boy came from and frankly, didn’t care. All he saw was that it should be easier to erase them and take what he wanted. He was debating his next step when one of the men he had watching the farm asked to come in.

His man looked triumphant. Lionel sat back. “This had better be better than good,” he drawled.

“I’ve got something weird here,” he said, “I thought it might be important.” He gave Lionel a camera, and captured in a short video was the boy in the field he’d seen them in earlier that week, crying and apparently writhing in pain. The next instant, Kent dashed over, scrabbled in the dirt and found something, shut it in a tube of some sort and the boy rolled to his feet again, fine, as if nothing had ever happened.

“This is what he found,” the man said as he unscrewed the cap of a tube, shook a piece of dull greenish stone on the desk and laid the tube next to it. Lionel recognized the tube as the one Kent handled in the video. Lionel picked it up and examined it. It was threaded on the open end, the shape of the tube bottom looked familiar. He cast the other man a puzzled look and hazarded a guess. “It’s a shell casing…”

The man nodded. “A mortar shell casing. Kent had a few pieces of the green stone in it, hidden in a toolbox in the barn. Here’s what’s interesting. If the stone is in the shell, the kid’s not bothered by it. Outside of the shell, it makes him sick—deadly ill. The casing is lead, I think, and I know they use lead to shield against radiation. Seems to block whatever’s in the stone that makes the kid sick. It didn’t seem to bother Kent, and I’ve been handling it all the way here and it didn’t affect me in any way.”


Lionel smiled, looked mildly interested. “I see. How…interesting. What else do you have?”

The man’s face fell a little. “Just--just this—I thought I should get it to you right away.”

“Ah. And did you confer with anyone else before bringing…this…to my attention?” he asked, his tone plainly that of a busy man forced to deal with an incompetent underling.

The man thought he’d failed by not going through channels and reluctantly admitted that he hadn’t. Lionel smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m pleased with this information. Go to the garage, I’ll have one of the drivers take you back to Metropolis to…celebrate. I’m feeling very generous. You’ve done a sterling job.”

The man left beaming. Lionel laughed softly to himself as he practically strutted out of the room, Lionel’s promise of reward the only thing on his mind. Lionel called ahead and gave instructions—the ride was definitely to be one-way. “The man I’m sending down to you is a problem. Take care of it. Contact me when you’re done.”

He hung up and smiled. No parent would bargain against the life of their child. He tilted the shell and listened to the rock rattle inside. He’d visit them again and this time, he planned to take everything.

* * * * *
Jonathan looked at the serpent in the chair in front of him; the Devil was in his living room, smiling like he was an invited guest. His heart beat wildly and he struggled to control the rage that threatened to break free. His family needed him to keep calm. This monster wasn’t going to beat him--he just couldn’t.

“It was kind of you to invite me in, Mr. Kent,” and Martha gasped in outrage.

Jonathan laid a hand on her wrist, pressing gently. “What do you want now, Luthor? We already told you to go to hell—you’ll never get Cal.” Martha sat at his side, trembling, and he could feel the weight of her hatred of the man.


Lionel laid an envelope and a sheet of paper on the table, in front of Jonathan. “Mr. Kent, simply put, I own you. Or, at least I own this farm.”

Jonathan glanced down-- the paper detailed Lionel’s purchase of his loan, his assumption of his debts—the machinery he’d purchased, the livestock, feed…everything he owned was Lionel’s, everything…. Tears ran down Martha’s face, and Jonathan squeezed her wrist. “Don’t,” he whispered.

Lionel said, “Pardon me, I didn’t hear that?”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he snapped. “We’ve been over this before and our answer is the same. Hell no. I hope you choke on this place, you bastard. But we’d rather lose every damn thing we have and then some before we’d let you take Cal away from us.”

Lionel chuckled. “Well Jonathan, that’s an amusing choice of words, because it’s come down to exactly that—‘and then some’—“

Jonathan jerked to his feet and Martha stumbled to her feet as well, her hand clutching at his arm, more to stop her self from leaping forward then to steady herself, he knew. Jonathan cursed inside. She’d kill herself trying to protect him, to protect Cal, damn it. He glared at Lionel and let every bit of the hatred he felt shine out of his eyes. He felt a little lick of satisfaction when Lionel moved back slightly, for a moment his lizard smooth exterior cracked. Just a moment, and then that smile, that look that said, ‘I eat fools like you for breakfast every day’ slid back across his face. He reached for the briefcase at his feet and Jonathan tensed, waiting for…anything.

Lionel said, “I told you when I came to your door this evening that I had a last proposal for you. That was not it. That,” he jerked his chin toward the table and the paper laid there. “was just to let you know where we stand. This is the proposal. I’ll forgive all your debt, release the farm back to your control. All you have to do is give me the boy--”

“Cal?” Jonathan laughed out loud. “You’re crazy— how many fucking ways do I have to tell you no?” Jonathan snarled, took a step forward. What did he have to lose—he was going to beat the crap out of this guy. He was going to kill him and bury his psycho ass in the corn. They’d suffered enough—it was his turn now.

He took one more step forward when the click of the briefcase lock made him hesitate. Lionel put something on the table. Jonathan started, and nausea spread through him It was one of the mortar shell casings from the barn, the shells his grandfather had stored in the loft, souvenirs of the Great War…Lionel picked it up and shook it. “Imagine what I found inside this shell. So strange…”

Jonathan felt sick, hot and sick all over. Martha let out a small shriek and he jumped.

Lionel said, “Open the envelope.”

Martha snatched it from the table, ripped it open, her face wet with tears as she pulled photographs out and quickly shuffled them in her hand. She was pale, shaking, as she handed the pictures to Jonathan.

He was looking at Cal—moving the log in the field, crying on the ground as he shoveled the green stone into the lead tube, Cal lifting the tractor…

“He can move faster than an automobile, he’s stronger than a grown man, his skin is amazingly tough…” He shook the shell again. “And he can be harmed, maybe killed by this…stone.”

Martha whirled and ran to the gun cabinet behind the couch, and Lionel watched her pull out a rifle without moving. Jonathan grabbed her, snatched the gun from her grip and she screamed and punched him. “He’s ready for that—do you think he came unarmed, without protection? Not this time!” He spoke rapidly, held Martha’s head between his hands and willed her to believe, to understand. “He’s ready to kill us all, he’s as ready as we are.” He looked back at the Devil, and wished he could burn him to death with the hatred he felt.

Lionel stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “Yes.” he nodded, “Oh, you might shoot me, but you’d be dead, your…son…would be dead. Do you really want to be the cause of his death? Give him to me, or he will die.” Lionel leaned forward and froze them with an intense look. “Give him to me and he’ll live. And if it means anything—he’ll have the best I can provide, things you could never give him. A beautiful home, the best education available, safety from--well let’s just say that if I discovered his secret, who’s to say who else would? Anyone else would want to cut him open, take him apart to try to see how he works. I won’t do that. Promise.” He smiled. “I want him whole and healthy, believe me.”

Martha looked at Jonathan, eyes completely rimmed by white, her breath jerked and stumbled and he was afraid that she’d never survive this night. He shook his head, reached down for the rifle at his feet-- Cal would survive, and somehow, he’d be fine, he told himself.

Lionel lifted a cell phone from his pocket, held it so they could see.

“If I don’t call in a few minutes to check in, my men will come in—they’ll kill you first and make Cal watch. And just so you know, they all have the means to kill Cal.” He followed Martha’s gaze to the shell in his hands. “And dead, I won’t be able to tell them to do it quickly.”

Jonathan turned to Martha. “Go get him.”

“NO!” she screamed and ran at him, teeth bared, hands clawed. She raked his arms, his face, she screamed, “You son of a bitch! You can’t—no! NO!”

He grabbed her hands and shook her until her hair flew. They were both crying. “He’ll kill him—understand? He’ll kill him.”

“No, no,” she cried, “no I can’t…”

Cal appeared at the top of the stairs, Bear hanging from one hand. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”

Martha opened her mouth to scream and Jonathan hugged her to his chest. He called Cal to him.

“Son, Mommy and Daddy need to go away. You’re going with Mr. Lionel for a bit. Until we can get you again…” he broke down, choking, unable to draw in breath to speak. He felt as if he’d been punched in the chest, stabbed. He pulled Cal towards him, picked him up and held him between himself and Martha. They curved around each other, Martha’s face buried in Cal’s hair, his neck, and Jonathan leaned over. He filled his nose with the scent of him, willed his fingers to memorize the feel of him, the feel of his little heart thumping slowly and steadily away…He heard Martha beg for time, time to pack his things, please, his toys and Lionel granting permission like the Lord of the manor. He cursed himself for being a coward--he was filled with self-loathing. He couldn’t lift his head from his son's shoulder.

Cal patted his head and tried to lift his face. “What’s the matter, where are you going?”

He set Cal down, held his hand and Martha appeared in the living room doorway, holding a brightly colored children’s suitcase. He took the suitcase from her and she scooped up Cal. She was dry–eyed and she smiled as she bounced him on her hip. “Honey, just for a while. You’re going with Mr. Luthor for a little while and then we’ll come get you.”

Jonathan stared hard at Lionel, waiting for him, just…waiting for him to laugh or say anything, but Lionel remained silent, motionless.

She looked at him, determined and ferocious. “He’s got to change clothes. He can’t leave in pajamas.”

“Do it here.” Lionel granted her wish with a flick of his wrist and again Jonathan vibrated with the desire to snap it off—he was going to touch his son—he was going to take him…Jonathan felt weak, dizzy as his heart raced, he didn’t think a heart could beat that fast and not explode.

He watched Martha calmly undress Cal, and dress him in jeans and a sweatshirt. She laced his tiny boots on his feet, an exact copy of his. He remembered going to Fordhams with him to buy the boots and how pleased he’d been. Even now, half awake and puzzled, he twisted his feet to look at them and smiled sleepily. “Like daddy’s,” and Martha nodded, smiled back at him.

Jonathan was horrified at the strength his wife had, the terrible, terrible strength to do this. He felt cowardly, weak. His insides collapsed tighter and tighter inside until breathing hurt.

They walked Cal out to the car; a walk that took an eternity. Martha carried him all the way down the drive, Jonathan followed. After a million years, they stood outside the car, and he said, “We don’t want to leave you—we just can’t do anything else right now. Believe me when I say, I love you. I’ll always love you.” Cal started to look worried, so he kissed him, over and over until Cal squirmed and protested. He let him go and Martha dropped to the ground beside him. She kissed his cheek and Cal made a face.

He squeezed Bear tight, and his face started to crumble. His eyes filled. “You come too.”

Martha said, “I can’t come right now, but guess what?” She pointed at the center of his chest and pressed her fingers there. “I’ll always be here, I promise you. I’ll always be looking out for you. You may not see me but you’ll always feel me.” Jonathan snapped, something inside of him broke and he lunged for his son, and then he was on his back gasping for air, and Cal screamed and reached out for his mother.

Jonathan heard the crack and the pained cry, he turned his head and saw Martha white with pain, wrist ballooning as he watched. Cal was red-faced, yelling, crying, and then he was flung into the car, and the last he saw of Cal was his tear washed face surrounded by Lionel’s men, green armbands glowing in the darkness.

* * * * *
Cal looked back in horror—he hurt Mommy…

”Noooo..” he started to cry and the door slammed shut, the car was moving fast down the drive way. He jumped up and raised his hand to break the glass and get out of the car and he felt something hurt, deep in his chest, spreading like fire through his limbs, blackness crept over his vision. He couldn’t see Mommy or Daddy anymore.

Gray light eased around the deep black, slowly, slowly brightening, until the light was red, and he realized he was seeing light through his eyelids. He opened his eyes and the nightmare was still there. He hurt from head to toe; no one was with him except the bad man…tears flooded his eyes again. He still had Bear, and he buried his face in his fur. Bear loved him. Bear smelled like his room and a little like Mommy—fresh tears spilled over curly brown fur.

He hurt her…he hurt Mommy. He heard a little noise and looked up. The bad man was staring at him, smiling at him. Cal shook all over and tried to stop crying—he didn’t like to cry in front of strangers. He took in a long shaky breath. It was okay, Mommy and Daddy were going to come for him; he knew it. He felt confused, and worried. Why had they let him go? Maybe…maybe he did something wrong… he’d find out what it was and fix it. Maybe it was too late, though—he was supposed to always be careful and look what he did. It was a bad, bad thing.

The bad man kept watching him and Cal wanted to tell him to stop looking at him.

He shifted on the seat, licked his lips and spoke. “They’re not coming for you, you know.” He tilted his head and his hair covered part of his face. It made him look scarier. “They don’t want you anymore, not after what you did.” He ignored Cal’s gasp of horror. “They decided you were too much trouble, always breaking things, so ugly…” He shook his head sadly. “They sold you to me. You belong to me now.”

Cal leaned back, his chest heaving, lips working. He was lying. Mommy loved him, she’d never sell him—Daddy would never sell him—

“What’s your name?” the man asked in a soft voice, and Cal automatically answered.

”My name is Cal Kent.”

Lionel shook his head and he looked so sad. “No. Not anymore. Those people even took your name back. They want to give it to a good boy, a pretty boy.” He looked up at Cal. “I’m sorry. You don’t have a name anymore.”

Cal blinked hard against the tears that welled up. He didn’t care what the man said. He had a name and it was Cal. But…but…didn’t it used to be something else once? Didn’t someone else give him away? He felt the memories of another life dissolve like smoke as he reached for them. Maybe that was just an old dream he remembered.

The man held something up. “Look. I have something for you.” He opened a box and in it sat a little circle with something shiny on it. As he looked, the Man popped open a big clip on the side of the circle. It looked very much like the collar Butch, the feed store dog, wore. “Come see,” he said, and Cal leaned forward and the man snapped it quickly around his neck.

Cal dropped back against the seat, limbs jerking from the shock to his system. He gagged and gagged, and saliva ran down his chin as his body tried to remember the process of swallowing. It took long moments for the pain to recede, for his throat to open enough that he could breathe and swallow again. He moaned, terrified, hurting, ashamed…the seat under him was wet. He cried, he could feel his jeans were wet He was bad—he’d peed on himself.

Lionel sneered and sat back. “When you prove to me—if you prove to me-- that you deserve a name, I’ll put it on this.”

The collar sat like a heavy weight against his neck. The urge to swallow battled with the fear of throwing up, fear that kept him kept him quiet and still. The vague ill feeling he’d experienced since getting in the car was intensified, and thick waves of nausea washed over him. The darkness at the corners of his eyes kept reaching for him, trying to pull him down, and finally he gave up and let it take him.

* * * * *
Lionel watched the boy quietly and rather neatly pass out. He approved. He moved the boy’s slim limbs onto the seat, until he stretched along the length of it. He wrinkled his nose at the faint scent of urine. He’d need to have that seat recovered. The expense would be minimal but it annoyed him--the car would be out of commission for a while.

Lionel turned the events of the evening over in his head. He was mildly surprised how effective the meteorite was. It was one thing to see the marvelous effect on the screen, but the reality was quite dramatic. The boy’s reaction had been sudden and apparently rather painful. He reacted stronger to the collar than the chips the men wore on the bracelets he’d issued them—and the amount of stone was minute, really—perhaps it was skin contact that made it more effective. He looked down on the pale features. He had all the time he needed to experiment, discover what the boy was capable of. Perhaps he could combine the research on this boy with the research he’d conducted on Lex. He imagined the results would be interesting, to say the least.

He turned the heavy band on the boy’s throat. He seemed to have hit on the proper amount of powdered green stone to sew between the strips of leather. That was a bit of luck. He looked the powder-coated latch on the collar over. In the next version, he’d see if the stone could be mixed into the metal itself. He ran his finger over the latch and along the thick leather band, stopping at the blank metal tag. He smiled. Filling the blank tag with a name would give the boy something to work toward, to want. Everyone needed to want something, after all.

He noticed the boy’s suitcase on the floor and the ratty teddy bear lying on top of it. He considered throwing the whole mess out but curiosity made him open the case instead.

Inside were pretty much the items one would expect to find—clothes, another pair of shoes and a pair of cheap sneakers. There was a small knitted blanket, obviously an infant’s blanket, but not very worn…there were a few board books and a few pictures, including one of the Kents. Sweet, he sneered. Souvenirs of Mommy and Daddy…he took all the pictures and locked them into his briefcase. There might come a day the pictures would be useful to him, in the meantime, they were of no use to the boy.

The rest of the items he crammed back into the suitcase –just garbage, he’d dispose of it at their next stop. He set the bag down and the boy’s perfectly modeled features captured his attention again. He was beautiful, even more beautiful in pain. He traced the shape of him with his eyes…with his hands….

He would keep the suitcase, let the boy have it. The clothes and shoes he’d outgrow, quickly. The blanket and bear would wear to tatters. None of it mattered much. After all, his real life was just beginning.

end part one

part two