Title:  Superman Revealed
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
Date: July 2003 - January 2004
Rating: very adult
Category: Futurefic, AU, fluff, angst, romance
Summary: A potential future for Lex and Clark.
Disclaimer: Smallville, the characters, and Batman, do not belong to me.
Author's note: There is some assumption in this fic that parts of Superman and Batman canon (and even Justice League semi-canon) will be so in Smallville canon; but I hope that it will accessible to Smallville fans. Thanks are due to all my wonderful beta readers: Lyra Jane, Jade, Erika, Angel, and of course LastScorpion. Also to Britt, who doesn't know the fandom at all, but thwapped anyway.

Part One

"Lois! You got that article yet?"

"I've just finished, Perry," Lois replied, and read aloud from the sheet of paper on her desk, "Local Candidate's Presidential Campaign Supported By Superman.

" 'Last night, Lex Luthor's campaign to be President was given yet another vote of support—by alien crime-fighting marvel, Superman.

" 'In a statement given outside Luthor's North Metropolis home, Superman said, 'As most of you know, Lex and I have been friends for many years. But I won't just be happy on a personal level if Lex wins this election—I'll be happy on a professional level. His 'tough on crime' policy will ensure that even more of the criminals I catch will be going to prison, making my job much more satisfying'."

Lois looked up at Perry. "Then he went into a series of thinly veiled denials that boiled down to 'I'm not Lex's lover, oh no not at all not me,' which I left out of the article because you said this was for the politics page not the gossip columns. But I can put them back in if you like."

Perry shook his head. "Lois, that'll be fine. Stop obsessing about Superman's love life and go and get on with the next job, whatever that is."

"Okay," she said, handing him the sheets of paper. "I'll go and see what I can dig up on Lex's sex life, shall I?"

He glared at her as she left the room.

* * *

"Clark, what on Earth were you *thinking*?" Lex demanded late that night. He'd just arrived home from some campaign meeting or other—Clark lost track, and he suspected Lex only managed by having a crib sheet printed out—to find that Superman had decided to publicly support him.

"I was just trying to help, Lex," Clark said, deciding (because he was genuinely confused by his lover's anger) not to comment on the irony of the fact that he hadn't, strictly speaking, been on Earth when he'd made the decision. "And I don't understand why you're upset. Lois's article in the Daily Planet makes it sound like a good thing for you."

Lex sighed. "Okay. It doesn't matter now. Just go home and keep your nose out of my business, will you?"

"Um… okay," Clark said, crestfallen, as Lex walked straight past him and into the bedroom. "I'm sorry, Lex. I didn't mean to—don't you want me to…" He let it trail off.

Lex sat down on the bed, and Clark moved to the doorway in the hope that he would keep talking. "Clark," he said, his back tense and shoulders hunched, "Clark, you don't understand. It's not your help I don't want, it's Superman's."

"But—I *am* Superman."

"I know that, you know that, your parents know that, but nobody else does," Lex said, tiredly, as if he were explaining things to a six-year-old who was refusing to understand. "You're leading a double life, Clark—more than that, a triple life. You cannot, you *must* not mix them up, and you can't blame me if I get upset when you do."

Clark walked around the bed and knelt in front of Lex, not quite touching him but close enough to lean in and kiss him, or for that matter give him a blow job, which he would do if he thought that would help relieve the tension between them. "I don't mix them, Lex. And besides, I only see two lives."

Lex sighed again, and closed his eyes. "Three, Clark, three lives you have to juggle. Clark Kent, journalist. Clark Kent, my male lover whose existence would, if widely known, prevent my ever becoming President of the United States. And Superman, crime-fighting silly-costume-wearing super-powered alien do-gooder."

"No, two. With you and without you. But why are we arguing about this? It's all secret, and we're safe."

"Except when Superman makes statements to the press about how we're just good friends, and every rumour mill in the world leaps to what is, in fact, the correct conclusion, although they must never know that."

"I'm sorry, Lex. I was trying to help." Clark was silent for a moment, still not quite daring to touch Lex, and then he tipped his head on one side. "Did I really say that? 'Just good friends'?"

Lex looked into Clark's puzzled face for the first time since he had arrived, and smiled a little at last. "Words to that effect," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come here."

His hands in Clark's hair were persuasive, but Clark held back for just long enough to ask, "It's not irreparable, is it? The damage I've done?"

"No," Lex whispered against his lips, "nothing I can't bluff my way through or twist to my advantage."

'Like me,' Clark thought, as he let Lex kiss him and tumble them onto the bed. 'You always manage to twist me to your advantage.'

* * *

Soon enough, of course, Lois had it all.

"Clark, you may want to sit down for this," she said, cool and calm, having bullied him into letting her come to his apartment for dinner.

He sat, wondering what was coming, and she went on, "I know who you are, Clark Kent. You're Superman, and you're fucking Lex Luthor."

"Actually I'm letting him fuck me," Clark said, and then really wished he hadn't. "I mean, you don't have any evidence for that."

"Well, there's the way you just confessed," Lois pointed out, and watched Clark flinch, feeling an odd mixture of journalistic triumph and personal sympathy. "And there is some evidence, if you must know. I've known you a long time, Clark, and I've been following the Superman story about as long. You always know what's going on, but you've apparently never met him.

"You disappear mysteriously, Superman makes a rescue, and then you reappear, with full details, without ever been seen with him. The first couple of times, it looked like a coincidence. But you're getting careless, Clark, and it's blatantly obvious.

"Then there's the way that you know Lex Luthor so well. He and Superman are mysteriously good friends, and you seem to know him—you always refuse to tell me where it's from, but you get inside information on LexCorp somehow. Never bad stuff, I notice, but you seem to know when he's going to issue a press statement before anyone else does. Then Superman comes out in support of his campaign to be President, and it all seems obvious. Especially to someone who's been looking for years."

"You, of course."

"And I had some help. Your old friend, Chloe Sullivan?"

"Chloe? How is she? I haven't…"

"She was doing well, until she got fired."

"Someone fired her? What from?"

"She was covering politics for the Boston Herald, I think. Anyway, she helped me track down some strange goings on in Smallville—and she knew you'd been sleeping with Lex from way back."

"She knew? Or she guessed? Look, Lois, if I tell you the truth, will you promise not to publish it?" Clark didn't dare look at her, running his fingers round and round on the arm of the chair instead. "I don't want… I can't…"

"You can't let the truth be known? Truth as in 'truth, justice and the American way'?"

"Please, Lois. If people know who Superman is, I'll be in danger."

"And if they know that Superman is fucking—sorry, being fucked by—Lex Luthor, your honey won't win the election."

Clark shrugged. "Yeah."

"I can't not publish, Clark. I'm a journalist, and this is a big story."

"I know that, Lois. Just… not until after the election? Let him win or lose on his own merits, not because of me."

"You—Superman—already broke that rule," Lois pointed out.

"I know," Clark sighed. "And Lex is pissed off about it. I've promised to stay out of it from now on."

"So, you want me not to publish this story so you can fix a lover's quarrel? Not going to happen."

"I know that."

"Clark, I have to take this to Perry."

"Lois!" Clark stood up, nearly shouting. He was getting desperate. "Lois, this is important…"

"And that's why it has to be published," Lois told him, defiant.

"Lois, just let it be for a few days, please? Publish after the election."

"Why?"

"Well…" Clark thought quickly. "For one thing, it'll be front-page news, and the election will take that spot tomorrow."

"It needn't. This could go."

"And Lois… please. I'm begging you—as a friend, wait."

"Doesn't that compromise my journalistic integrity?"

"Only if you let it. There's more research to be done, isn't there? I could… if you'll wait, I'll give you an interview."

"Oh, yeah. Like I can't print what you've already told me."

"There's more, though. Lex."

"What about Lex? He's not going to give me an interview."

"Lois, have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Clark asked, smiling a little. "No promises, but I could ask Lex."

"I can publish without either, you know," Lois said, wondering how far she could push this.

"I know," Clark replied, and his voice suddenly had a dangerous edge—an edge Lois mentally categorised as 'Superman dealing with criminals'. "But if you publish, Lex won't be happy—and, well, you know Lex. He has a…"

"… reputation? Yes, I know. Clark, are you trying to threaten me?"

"Not me, Lois. Not me. I'm just reminding you who you're dealing with—and that he is still Lionel Luthor's son, no matter who he sleeps with."

"I'm still taking it to Perry the moment the polls close."

Clark stared at her for a moment, but quickly realised that this was her final offer. "Okay."

* * *

Election night rolled around, and the votes rolled in. Clark, heartily sick of the whole business, persuaded Perry that covering an election was hardly city reporter's work, and went home to bed around ten. He didn't exactly sleep— he couldn’t keep up his “couldn’t care less” attitude when he was alone, and he was worried —but he'd turned off the radio to escape the sheer noise of it and drifted into a doze when the telephone rang.

For a moment, he considered ignoring it, but something—maybe as simple as boredom—made him roll over and pick it up. "Hello?"

"Clark." Lex's voice, almost broken, desperate, the way Lex never sounded, and Clark was fully awake, upright, ready to panic or help or bake cookies if that was what Lex required of him.

"Lex, what…"

"Clark," Lex said again, and didn't have to say any more. Clark understood. He put down the phone and flew to his lover.

* * *

Lex was waiting for him on the penthouse balcony. "Hey."

He'd been expecting a hurried greeting and then to be pulled or persuaded inside, where they could kiss and cuddle in peace, but Lex wasn't patient enough for that, apparently.

As gently as he could, he broke the kiss. "Lex… someone will see us."

"I don't care."

Clark stared at Lex for a moment, noting the exhausted hunch of his shoulders, the tremors in his hands, the tired eyes. "Something is weird here. And it's cold—you're shaking. Let's go indoors, and you can tell me what's going on."

Lex shrugged, and tried to pull Clark down for another kiss. Clark allowed it, but took advantage of the movement to lift Lex up and carry him through the open door.

"I hate it when you do that," Lex complained, as Clark shut the door.

"We both know that's not true. Lex, what happened?"

"It doesn't matter. If we have to be inside, why aren't we in the bedroom?" Lex started to pull Clark—still dressed in his Superman outfit—towards the door that would take them there, but Clark resisted after a just couple of steps.

There wasn't a lot Lex could do about that.

"Lex, what happened? You're normally the security-conscious one, always stopping me, not the other way round. This is very strange."

"Isn't it obvious, Clark? You're a journalist, you've seen the news."

"Actually, Lex, I was asleep when you called and I haven't seen the news for," Clark checked the clock, "two hours now."

"You…" Lex looked staggered, stepping away from Clark and frowning. "You don't *know*?"

"No, Lex, I don't." Lex, only seconds away from falling over, took another step back and managed to sit heavily on a couch. "I might be able to guess, though," Clark went on, moving to sit next to him. "It's going badly, isn't it?"

Lex nodded. "I lost."

"You can't know that yet."

"I know I haven't won," Lex said, simply, and he didn't seem sure what to do with that knowledge. Losing wasn't part of the plan.

"I'm sorry, Lex. I…"

"That suit still makes you look like you've jumped out of an ad for laundry detergent."

"Well, if that's the way you want to play it," Clark said, grinning because whatever had happened, Lex-with-insults-about-his-clothes was a Lex he knew. "What do you think I'd look better in?"

Lex, well practised at this game, didn't take long to strip Clark out of the detested suit.

* * *

"I guess," Lex said, lazily, a couple of hours later, "I'll just have to wait four years while the country goes to ruin, and try again."

"Yeah," Clark agreed, and then remembered Lois. "Maybe."

"What do you mean, maybe?" Clark felt Lex shift beside him on the bed, and he was suddenly looking up into clear blue eyes—no less exhausted than they were before, but very much more cheerful.

"I mean… look, Lex, I'm sorry. There wasn't anything I could do."

"Clark—what's happened?" Lex asked urgently.

"Haven't you been watching the news?"

"Clark!"

"Lois knows."

"What does she know?"

"That I'm Superman. That I'm sleeping with you. The whole thing. And… I promised her an interview."

"That was stupid. But… how does she know to start with?"

"It wasn't that well hidden, Lex—and she had help. Remember Chloe Sullivan?"

Lex frowned. "One of those girls who followed you all round Smallville?"

"Yeah."

"Clark, I… oh, damn it. I should just give up and go and live in a hut in the mountains, shouldn't I?"

"No! Lex, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to happen this way—I should have told you earlier—I thought I'd have time…"

"When's she going to publish, Clark?"

For a moment, Clark wondered how Lex could possibly know that Lois had set a date, and then realised that his lover probably knew journalists and their habits as well or better than he did. "The day after the election she's taking it to Perry. It could be in tomorrow—no, it's past midnight—today's evening edition, if we do the interview this morning."

"So we've got," Clark watched with fascination as Lex's face reflected a complex series of internal calculations, "maybe six hours to either stop it or change it."

"Change it? How? She knows, Lex. She's going to print it, even if I back out of the interview."

"Yes—so either we stop her—kill her or buy her off," Lex grinned at Clark's shocked expression, "which isn't a viable option; or we change the tone of it. If the interview offers an alternative explanation for her evidence, it'll stop her in her tracks."

"Alternative explanation? You mean, not let her tell the truth?"

"You think we *should* let everyone know?" Lex was looking at Clark as if he'd turned into a penguin.

"On general principles? Yes," Clark said, and now he was a crazy pink talking penguin wearing a party hat. "I'm tired of lying, Lex. I've been lying all my life, to everyone I meet, every day. It's hard work, and I don't want to do it any more."

"Being outed won't be easy, Clark."

"I know… I just… I want to be honest for once. And… I sort of began already. When Lois asked, I told her the truth. I mean, I said "not that you have any evidence," as well, but actually, she does. I confessed. And she hasn't sold me out to evil scientists yet."

"Oh, great," Lex said. Clark hurried on.

"And that's why I made that statement supporting you—it's the truth, and I wanted people to know that. I… I know I should have asked, first, but I couldn't lie, and say I didn't care who won, or whatever."

Lex stared at him for a moment longer, before flopping back down onto the bed. "Okay."

It was Clark's turn to lean up on one elbow and look at his lover as if he'd become a raving lunatic. "Okay? Tell the truth? All of it? Just like that?"

"Better we tell them than let Lois do it for us," Lex explained. "That way, we control the image given—slightly more—and we might manage to keep a few shreds of dignity."

"Let me get this straight, Lex," Clark said (forcing the ten-year-old voice than snickered 'straight? You and Lex? Are you crazy?' to the very back of his mind). "You're proposing that you and I go out there and issue a press statement detailing my full identity, our relationship, everything?"

"Well," Lex said, pretending to think hard about it. "Maybe not the full results of the green versus red Jell-o experiment."

"Lex!" Clark didn't blush nearly as easily these days, so Lex took the time to appreciate the effect. If he couldn't be President, he could at least enjoy the simple things in life.

"Yes, Clark, that's what I'm saying. This is supposed to be a free country—there may be a lot of latent homophobia, but there's been nothing in the laws since Close vs. Texas came down in 2008, and I've lost the election anyway. And I'm tired of hiding."

"I know—me too. It's just… it's a big change. I'd have to give up my job at the Daily Planet, and my private life as Clark Kent. The very idea that Superman's fallen in love," Lex was surprised by that word, though he guessed he ought to have expected it really, "at all, never mind with a man, will tarnish him in some people's eyes."

"We'll make a deal with Lois…"

"I tried that."

"… or with the Daily Planet. We'll give them an exclusive interview, and they'll publish part of the story, not all of it."

"Lois will want everything." Clark's eyes drifted shut and he rested his head on Lex's shoulder. "She drives a hard bargain."

"I'm sure," Lex grinned, letting his own eyes shut. "We'll work something out."

* * *

Part Two

Trying to act normal when you're not sure how many of your secrets have become public knowledge is not an easy thing, as Clark had known, theoretically, all his life.

It seemed a more acute problem today, though.

Had Lois told anyone? Who? How much?

Jimmy didn't seem to know anything was odd, and Clark tried not to alert him to it. "Morning, CK! Coffee?"

"No, thanks, Jimmy. I need to talk to Perry."

"Okay—talk to you later? We've got that photographer to track down."

"Um… yeah, if Perry hasn't let that story go. He might, with the election and everything."

Jimmy frowned, clearly not quite understanding, but Clark managed to spot Perry across the crowded newsroom, and escaped the younger man's questions.

He didn't escape Lois, who had seen him and Perry in the same moment. They bumped into each other—almost literally—outside the conference room. "Perry," Lois started, "we need to talk."

Perry took one look at the flushed and excited faces of his two best journalists, and opened the door of the (mercifully empty) conference room. "What's going on?"

"Not out here," Clark said, so pleadingly that Perry took mercy and shut the door behind them before asking again.

"What is this?"

Lois looked at Clark, aware that this was his secret to reveal. Clark looked at Lois, half expecting her to go ahead and make the most of the story.

"Well?" Perry demanded.

"It's… complicated," Lois said. "I think Clark should tell you about it."

Clark went slightly green at the prospect. He swallowed hard, and then began, "Perry, you may have noticed how I and Superman are never seen together." Perry nodded. "What does that suggest to you?"

"That you're not as good an investigative journalist as you like to make out? That Superman prefers to talk to a pretty woman like Lois here than some guy?"

"Or…" Clark prompted, and then realised that Perry was either very stupid, and therefore going to make him spell it out, or a sadist, and therefore going to make him spell it out. He took a deep breath, and explained, "I'm Superman. In disguise. Or rather, Superman is my disguise."

"You, Clark Kent, are the same person as Superman. Okay," Perry nodded, as if it confirmed something he'd long suspected but never been able to pin down. "Is that everything?"

Neither Clark nor Lois had a chance to reply. The door opened and Chloe appeared. "I hope I'm interrupting the right discussion."

"Yes," Lois nodded, smiling. "Let me introduce you. Chloe, this is Perry White, editor of the Daily Planet; Perry, this is Chloe Sullivan, who's been helping me with this story." They shook hands. "I understand you know Clark already."

"We go a long way back," Clark said. "It's good to see you again, Chloe."

"Right. Has Lois mentioned the part where I'm about to reveal your secret identity to the world yet?"

"Yes, Chloe, she did," Clark smiled.

"That's all right, then. Good to see you, Clark."

"This story, people?" Perry reminded them. "Is the fact that Superman has been working in my newsroom for the past four years all there is to it?"

"Err… no," Chloe said. "There's also the part where the aforementioned Superman has been sleeping with…"

"Lex!" Clark said, leaning back to look around Chloe and out the window, where Lex could be seen, standing on the edge of the chaos that was the newsroom and clearly wondering where to go. "Excuse me."

"Yes," Chloe agreed. "I didn't expect you to be so…" She suddenly found she was talking to empty air.

"No," Perry corrected her. "He means, Luthor's here." Chloe swung around, and the three of them watched as Clark hurried through the busy room, bumping into several people on the way, and greeted Lex—with an enthusiastic kiss.

"Okay," Lois said. "Theory proved for once and for all."

"Yeah—for all," Perry observed, after a moment's stunned silence, "There are at least two photographers in that room, and—hurry up, people—" As predicted, camera flashes went off, two within seconds of each other.

The kiss seemed to go on forever. At least, it did for Clark and Lex, and for those merely watching; either of the photographers could have told them that it lasted about four exposures.

Finally, Perry decided that enough was enough. He bustled out through the frozen statues of his staff, practically bounced up the steps to where Clark and Lex were standing, and tapped Clark politely on the shoulder. "Clark—we do have a policy about keeping this sort of thing out of the office."

"Oh. Sorry, Perry," Clark said, breaking the kiss but still wrapped in Lex—arms around him, looking deep into his eyes.

Lex pulled away, reluctantly. "Mr White? Pleased to meet you."

"Mr Luthor," Perry responded, taking the offered hand and trying not to think about the fact that two seconds ago it had blatantly been groping Clark. "Shall we go somewhere less public?"

"Sounds like a good plan," Lex said.

Perry turned to face his newsroom staff. "Work, people. That's what you're here for, isn't it? Work."

The statues rapidly discovered that they could, in fact, move, and do paperwork, and start to research and type and sort out their notes. Perry resisted a grin at how fast they scattered, and shepherded Lex and Clark into his office. Chloe and Lois met them there.

"Okay," Perry said, when he'd shut the door. "Logical order here. First: Mr Luthor, my condolences. You must be upset over the election results."

"To be honest—and call me Lex, please—the election results are annoying, but they're not the end of the world. I'm sure Mr Bowen is as capable of running the country as many of his predecessors."

Perry decided not to try and decide if that was a compliment to Mr Bowen or not. "Second…" He didn't finish. Clark had tipped his head to one side, and seemed to be listening intently. "Clark?"

"Someone's calling for help. I've, err, got to go." He didn't wait for a response, ran to the window, opened it, and leaped out, spinning into the Superman costume as he went.

"Did he just…?" Perry asked of no one in particular.

"Yes, he did," Lois confirmed. "And there you have the proof you were about to ask me for."

"I suppose I do," Perry nodded. "This is—odd. My star reporter, Clark Kent, is both Superman, and…"

"In love with a failed Presidential candidate," Lex finished for him. "Mr White…"

"Call me Perry."

"Perry, there are two potential front pages stories here, I think you'll agree. And I'm sure you can see that I have as much or more interest in them being published in the right order than you have."

"Wrong. There are five stories here: Superman is on my writing staff; Superman is gay; Superman has been lying to the world; Lex Luthor is sleeping with Superman; and Bowen's won the election. Guess which one's going on my front page."

"Err… Superman's been lying?"

"Wrong again—I'm starting to think there's a reason you lost. Only one of those stories has been written, and that's Bowen winning the election. And that's already in the early edition. It's going to be in the main morning edition. It's what people want to read about."

"You're not going to publish the others?"

"I'd like an interview first."

"I believe Clark already agreed to give Miss Lane an exclusive. I'm happy to be included in that."

"That's right, Chief," Lois confirmed.

"Good." Perry considered that for a moment. "Bowen's hardly in need of crack investigative journalism; he's clean as a whistle, from what I see. Can I ask why Miss Sullivan is here?"

"I'm… in need of a job, actually. I can help Lois—I know the story, I know the job…"

Someone knocked on the door. "I ought to go," Perry said. "We'll talk about this later. Lois, it's your story. Pick one of them, and get going." He dived out into the newsroom just as Superman flew back in through the window.

"Hi, Superman—Clark," Lois said. "Have you got time in your busy schedule to do an interview with a lowly reporter?"

"He has, and so have I," Lex told her, firmly. "But not, I think, here. Let's go back to the penthouse—and Clark? Put your street clothes on. That outfit does nothing for you."

Clark grinned at him, a grin that said that there might be other reasons that Lex simply didn't want to spell out in public, and spun into his normal clothes.

* * *

"If you'd just stop trying to tell us how to do our jobs, and answer the questions, this would be a lot easier," Chloe said, annoyance easy to hear in her voice. "How long have you been having sexual relations with Superman?"

Clark watched with some amusement—Chloe in full reporter mode was a force to be reckoned with, and it was fun to see Lex… not quite blushing, Lex didn't blush, but uncomfortable. He caught Lois's eye and they shared a grin before returning their attentions to the argument in front of them. "You know I'm not going to go into details, Chloe," Lex said smoothly. "They hardly affect the story. Besides, we need to set a firm policy of keeping Superman's private life at least a little bit… private.  Do we have an understanding here?"

"Oh, I understand perfectly well. You're refusing to answer my legitimate question because the revelation that you and Clark have been an item since he was in high school wouldn't do your image any good."

"Okay, Chloe, if that's the way you want to play it," Lex said, leaning forward to look her in the eye. "The facts are these: I've been in love with Clark Kent since I first met him, fifteen years ago; I've been sleeping with him for twelve years, since he was eighteen; I've been sleeping with Superman since Lois invented the name, four years ago; and I'm planning to marry him. Is that enough for you?"

"What?" Clark choked out before Chloe had a chance to answer Lex. "What!"

"Is something in there incorrect, Clark?" she asked instead. "Are the dates wrong?"

"No, no," he said. "Those are right. Lex, can I talk to you outside for a moment?"

"Of course." Clark was already dragging Lex out of the room. "Excuse us a moment, ladies." The door shut behind them, and Lex frowned. "What is it, Clark?"

"You… did you hear what you said in there?"

"I hope I did, Clark. I was saying it, after all."

"And you mean it?"

"Mean what?" Lex asked. Clark wasn't quite sure if he was genuinely baffled or just pretending to be confused.

"Go through what you said, one point at a time," Clark told him.

"The facts are these," Lex repeated. "I've been in love with Clark Kent since I first met him, ten years ago—is it that? I mean that, Clark, I do love you and I have since we first met."

"No, not that," Clark shook his head. "Though it's always good to hear you say it."

Lex smiled. "Okay, then. I've been sleeping with him for seven years, since he was eighteen—that's true, isn't it? You didn't lie about your age?"

"No, that's right."

"Good. I've been sleeping with Superman since Lois invented the name, four years ago—not that either?" Clark shook his head again. "And I'm planning to marry him—that part?"

"Yes. Did you mean that?"

"Yes, Clark, I did."

Clark thought about that for a moment, his head tipped to one side. Watching him, Lex tried to predict what was coming next, and found he couldn't. He tried not to let the panic that caused show on his face. "You mean it, and you've announced it to the press," Clark repeated.

Lex nodded, swallowing hard. He'd hoped that Clark wouldn't get onto the serious part for—oh, who was he kidding. It would have come in a few minutes whatever he did.

"Don't you think you've missed a stage out there?" Clark asked, grinning playfully. "Like, for example, asking me?"

So this was the moment, then. Time to ignore that Luthor pride that said you didn't have to bother with little things like that, get down on one knee and ask. Here. Now. In the hallway, with Chloe and Lois probably listening the other side of the door. And a rather strong possibility that Clark would say no just to teach him not to be arrogant.

He was afraid that rather more of that than he'd have liked had managed to show on his face.

Clark observed the emotions flitting across Lex's face. Normally, they were well hidden, or at least carefully controlled; but now he could read most of them—love, annoyance that his own arrogance had put him here, calculations (probably 'will we be disturbed?'), and something else—fear? Clark thought it was, and wondered why Lex was afraid. Surely Lex knew that a proposal, while pretty much essential, was mostly a formality at this point?

Take a deep breath, Lex told himself. Clark's smiling. He won't kill you. He could, but he won't. Probably.

Lex took a deep breath, listened carefully to make sure he couldn't hear footsteps coming round the corner, and dropped to one knee.

"Clark," he said, "will you marry me?"

* * *

"That's our story, Chloe," Lois said, excitedly. " 'Superman to Marry Luthor!' We'll put a positive spin on it—for Clark's sake—say, oh, 'At last, Metropolis' own superhero has found love, in the form of businessman Lex Luthor.' "

"Not 'Superman's Secret Identity!' ?"

"I don't think so. That'll come out as part of the story, of course, and the next newspaper to get the story will be all over it; but we want something a little unique. Something that'll get us remembered."

"Okay. Then all we need are the good quotes, and a way to tell the whole story."

"Lex gave us a good one already—' "I'm planning to marry him," says failed Presidential candidate Luthor.' "

"We're going to need something from Superman himself—from Clark. A simple "I'm very happy" will do it, but it has to come from him. People in the city have got better about trusting Lex, but they'll want to hear from Superman if they're going to get behind this."

* * *

"Clark?" Lex asked. "Do I have to ask again?"

Clark shook his head. "No… I mean," he added when the fear on Lex's face threatened to turn into panic, "you don't have to ask again. The answer to the first question is yes, of course."

It seemed entirely possible that his superspeed was rubbing off on Lex. There was no other way that Lex could be kissing him that fast.

"Lex, relax," Clark said, when the kiss ended. "We've got an interview to finish, and if you go on like that we'll both be needing showers before we're fit to go in there again."

"Sorry," Lex said. "It's just…"

"Stressful twenty-four hours, I know. The quicker we get rid of Lois and Chloe, the sooner we can… do something about that."

"You've changed a lot, you know. Back in Smallville, when you were a mere horny teenager, that would have been my line."

Clark grinned. "I think it's a change for the better, don't you?"

"Yes, actually." Lex kissed him again, and then indicated the door. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Whew," Clark said, several hours later, as Lex finally closed the door behind Chloe and Lois. "I knew interviewing people was hard work, and I've been interviewed as Superman before, but that was way harder. Being yourself isn't easy."

"I could have told you," Lex said with a wry grin. "Now, is there anything else we need to attend to? Any other major life changing events to discuss?"

"Err…" Clark thought about it. "My mom would like it if we adopted a baby?"

"Martha Kent needs a reality check. And I need to fuck you." Lex didn't wait for an answer to that; Clark's smile was enough. He put his hands firmly on Clark's shoulders and shoved—as hard as he could, knowing that it was impossible to hurt his lover—him backwards into the bedroom.

* * *

Part Three

"Seriously, Lex. When we're married—and I thought it still wasn't legal in Kansas?"

"It isn't. I was going to change that before I proposed, but I had to change the schedule. We'll go to… Canada, or Hawaii, or Holland, or somewhere."

"And do I get a ring?"

"I hope so. And so do I."

"Good. Anyway, when we're married, I think it would be nice to adopt a kid."

Lex rolled onto his back, luxuriating in the feel of silk sheets. "You talk too much after sex."

"You talk during sex. I think we should adopt a kid."

"We are talking about a human child here, aren't we, not a baby goat?"

"Yes, Lex. A human child, whom we should adopt."

"I'm never sure with you, farm-boy. But there is no way on Earth you're persuading me to adopt a child. Children and Luthors are not a good mix."

"No way on Earth, huh?" Clark asked, and Lex knew from the tone of his voice that he was about to regret this.

He was. He was picked up (any other time, he'd have enjoyed feeling Clark's arms around him), and flown (eyes screwed shut, trying not to remember the litany of names he'd learned when he studied astronomy: troposphere, ionosphere, stratopause, thermosphere, ozone layer, Van Allen radiation belts…), until they were… Lex wasn't thinking about where they were. How high up they were. If he didn't know, he couldn't possibly be terrified by it.

"Lex, it's all right. I've got you. When will you learn that you don't have to be afraid of me?"

"Possibly," Lex answered through gritted teeth, holding tight onto Clark, "when you stop being so fucking scary."

"I'm not scary," Clark said, and his voice was soft. "I'm just Clark—ordinary, everyday Clark you've been sleeping with for seven years. What's to be afraid of?"

"Clark, you have super powers. My feet aren't touching the floor, I'm naked, I've got no idea how high up we are, and frankly, if I knew it wouldn't help. I'm not in control—you've taken over completely, I'm shit-scared, and we are never, *ever*, having children. Clear?"

That was quite a big admission, and Clark thought Lex should be rewarded for it. There was a lesson to be learned first, though. "It might help," Clark said gently, "if you opened your eyes."

"And actually see that we're—in space, or on the moon, or wherever? No, thanks."

"Lex, trust me. Open your eyes."

"No."

"Why not?" Clark's voice was still soft.

"I don't want to," Lex said, and then cursed the way his inner redheaded six-year-old took over at times like this. There had to be better reasons. Oh. "I'm frightened enough." He buried his head in Clark's shoulder, hoping that would stop him saying anything worse.

"You'll be less frightened if you trust me. Open your eyes. It will help, Lex."

Slowly, Lex opened his eyes. Darkness. His head was still resting in the crook of Clark's shoulder, so he was as well off as before. "Have."

"But you still can't see where we are, can you?"

Lex shook his head a little, closing his eyes again. Just in case.

"Look, Lex. Open your eyes, lift your head, and look."

Clark slid down Lex's body, or slid Lex up his body, or something, so that Lex could no longer hide his eyes in Clark's shoulder. A tiny crack—white? He wasn't expecting that. Surprised, he opened his eyes wide… to discover that he was staring at his bedroom wall.

They were six inches off the ground, in the bedroom—in his own fucking bedroom, exactly where they were before, and what the fuck did Clark think he was doing?

As soon as Lex had finished that thought, he repeated it, aloud, verbatim (allowing for the addition of a few more swear words).

"I needed to know you were listening to me," Clark explained, setting him down on the floor and stepping back. "I've just lost all control over my life—I'm trusting you completely now, because you're used to being a public figure, and I'm new to it, and so far I've always had a private life—and I needed to know you were listening. That you trusted me."

"So you flew me…"

"Twice round Metropolis."

"… and made me open my eyes, and what does that *mean*?"

"It means you opened your eyes, Lex. It means you're not the only one with power in this relationship."

"Clark…" Lex didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He settled for a slightly hysterical bark. "You thought you didn't have any power?"

"Well… I come here, when you ask me to; you fuck me; I leave afterwards. It's good, but… I don't have any control over it."

"What about all the times you came when I *didn't* ask?"

"Sometimes I got what I wanted; sometimes you just said "no" and walked away. I've never been able to do that to you."

"Have you ever tried?"

"Not really, I suppose," Clark shrugged, "but—I've never wanted to. Except when there was an emergency and Superman was needed, and even then, you'd say "go" before I got a chance to make a decision. And you never let me fuck you."

"Okay," Lex said, sitting down on the bed. "That's a lot of issues to hand me at one time, you know."

"There—see? You're back in control."

"No, Clark," Lex held up his hands pleadingly. "I'm just trying to process, okay? Clark, has it ever occurred to you that you might be the one with *all* the power? Because that's what it looks like from here. You're Superman—you get called away, and I have to say "go" or you'll go anyway and leave me broken. You come to me when I ask you to, although I don't understand why, since you could clearly have anyone you want. You let me fuck you, which I'm grateful for, because given that you leave finger marks in the headboard, or the bed stand, or the marble kitchen worktop, or whatever, and while the worst injury you've ever actually given me is a bruise, you destroyed eight thousand dollars worth of computer and desk last time we had sex in my study, so I strongly suspect that if you fucked me I wouldn't come out of it alive!"

Lex stopped and took a deep, rather shuddering, breath.

"You're afraid of me," Clark said, slowly. "You really are afraid of me."

Lex nodded. Clark had no idea how much it cost him to make that simple gesture, but he guessed it didn't come cheap.

"That's… I don't like that, Lex." Clark stepped forward, knelt in front of Lex so he could look him in the eye more comfortably. "You have no reason to be afraid of me, you know. I'll never hurt you."

"I… I know that, Clark. You'd never hurt anyone deliberately without a very good reason. But… superpowers. They're still powerful, and throwing me around the place like you just did doesn't help, either."

"Lex…" Clark reached out, touching Lex's shoulder, his face. "This is going to be tough, but we're in it together, okay? I'm always going to have powers—you're always going to be better at lying than I am. It doesn't have to be a problem."

"By which you mean, 'let me fuck you', right?"

Clark grinned, and kissed him. "Not now, but sometime soon, yeah."

"We'll see," Lex said, and he noticed (how could he have forgotten?) that Clark was still naked. "Clark, you do know it's only one p.m., don't you?"

"It is? And I wondered why the sun was still out. I suppose you'll be wanting to eat something other than Clark for lunch, won't you?"

"You're the one who's always telling me to eat," Lex pointed out, and then added,. "If we put clothes on, we could go and have lunch out somewhere. Anywhere you like. Since it doesn't seem important that we're not recognised."

"How about somewhere exotic?" Clark suggested.

"You mean like the sushi restaurant on 57th?"

"Or like Japan."

Lex stared at him for a moment. "I thought you promised only to use your powers for good."

"What's bad about Japan?"

"I can't drive there in time for lunch."

"You really want to drive?"

"Yes, Clark. I own a fleet of very expensive cars for a very simple reason: namely, I like driving them. Let's go somewhere… closer than Japan."

"The Talon."

"What?"

"You remember," Clark said, and that grin spread over his face again. "The Talon. You still own it, don't you?"

"Yes, but…"

"You can drive there."

"Yes, but…"

"Last time I heard, they were still selling my mom's apple pies."

"Yes, but it's at least an hour away, Clark."

"So drive fast." Clark stood up, starting to search the room for his clothes. "Isn't that what you have expensive cars for?"

"You're probably better off having clean pants," Lex commented, going to the closet for his own clothes. "And yes, it is. But if we crash, it's your fault."

"You're going to let me drive?" Clark looked at him, eyes suddenly full of youthful excitement again, and Lex though going back to Smallville might not be such a bad plan if it made Clark happy like that. And damn, he was close to saying yes.

"No. *I'm* driving in *my* car."

"Oh." Clark… yes, the pout that went with that teenaged expression was still there. It looked a little odd on Clark's adult face, but it still seemed as powerful as ever.

"Well… maybe you can drive on the way back. When we're going slower."

"Okay." Clark nodded, happy again, and went back to trying to work out which pair of socks to wear.

* * *

The story was starting to take shape. "It's several pages, Lois," Chloe reminded her. "We can take our time—tell one part of the story, then the next."

"We'll take the front page for a picture, and one, simple headline. The last one Jimmy took: Clark hasn't got his glasses on, so everyone can tell it's Superman, and he's kissing Lex."

"And what's the headline?"

"Something simple, something powerful. 'Superman Revealed'?"

" 'Superman's Lover Exposed'?"

" 'Superman's Secrets Revealed'?"

"That's good—it says there's more than one. You see that on the newsstand, you aren't going to be able to resist finding out what the story is." Chloe tapped it into her laptop—they were working in the peace of the conference room, deserted at this time of day—and then added, "We can stress the 'Superman's hidden side' aspect, too. You know. 'Underneath the strength and the heroics, the Man of Steel has a heart. It beats for one person, and one person only: failed Presidential candidate Lex Luthor.' "

"Then a subheading: 'A Well Kept Secret', and the main story… um… 'Ever since he landed on earth in the Smallville meteor storm of 1989, Superman has maintained a secret identity: that of Clark Kent. Regular readers of the Daily Planet—and those who recall the name from various awards ceremonies—will be aware that 'Clark Kent' has been a reporter here for the past four years.' "

"Go over all the facts of that, and then… Perry."

"Ladies," Perry said, poking his head round the door. "I wanted to tell you that I've talked to the people upstairs about this, and they think we should keep Clark on as a columnist—probably writing as Superman rather than Kent, but in our paper. Put that in your story, okay?"

"Yes, chief," Lois grinned. "Have you told him yet?"

Perry shook his head. "He's not answering the phone at his place. I can't even get hold of Lex. He'll be pleased, though."

"He's not the only one," Chloe observed, looking at Lois' smile.

"He's good to work with," Lois told her. "And now he's admitting to *being* Superman, and not giving the highly improbable "I just happened to see, without being seen there" story, I'll get the real scoop, and much faster."

"You hope," Perry said. "Give it a few months before you make pronouncements—I suspect Clark's better at lying than we ever suspected." Someone in the newsroom shouted for him, and he left.

"So—fairly quickly we have to get past the simple fact of Superman's double life, and into the juicy part, which is his affair with Lex."

"And without forgetting to mention that he's still working for the Daily Planet."

"Or we could leave that until the end. See? If we…" Heads bent over the laptop, Lois and Chloe set to work, writing the scoop of the year.

* * *

"Clark, if the only reason I've driven to Smallville at nearly twice the speed limit is for you to eat your mom's apple pie, I have to ask… why in the Talon, and not in Martha's kitchen?"

Clark shrugged, and waved his hand about vaguely. He would have replied, but his mouth was full of apple pie.

"You're going to have to do better than that."

Clark managed to swallow the apple pie. "It's not the same. I don't want to impose on her. And I can live without my father giving you death glares while I'm eating."

"You can live with it the rest of the time? I'm not sure I like that."

"When I'm not eating, I can tell him not to," Clark explained. "Are you going to eat anything else, or shall we go?"

"If you've eaten enough apple pie."

"I think two is enough, don't you?"

"Two apple pies, and nothing else. Sure, that's a healthy, balanced meal."

"You're as bad as my mom. And you're right—we should go and see them while we're here."

Lex stood and picked up his coat. "I suppose you're going to suggest that we tell them what's going to be in the newspaper tomorrow morning."

Clark nodded. "It seems like a good idea."

Lex thought that falling into the sixth pit of hell was probably a better idea. "If you say so."

* * *

The kitchen smelled of warm bread and milk—a comforting smell, anywhere else, but it tended to make Lex nervous. Of course, he'd have to admit that it could have as much to do with the fact that Jonathan was holding a hammer.

"Clark!" Martha greeted, with enthusiasm and a noisy kiss, "and Lex! What brings you two out of Metropolis today?"

Lex slid away from the imminent mother-in-law embrace, and let Clark answer.

"Oh—we just happened to be coming out this way." Trust Clark to keep the innuendoes flowing.

Martha smiled. "We were just about to have some coffee. Do you want anything?"

"Mom. You don't think I'd refuse coffee, do you?"

"I suppose not. You are my son, after all. Lex?"

"Yes, please, Mrs Kent." More caffeine might, conceivably, help him cope with this conversation. He could hope.

She bustled away to get mugs and make coffee, pushing Jonathan into a chair as she passed him. "Sit down, all of you. You're getting in my way, standing around like that."

"So, Clark, how are things in the big city?"

"Not bad, Dad. Between all the things Superman has to do, and Perry, I keep busy."

"But not too busy, I hope," Jonathan said. "You need some time to rest."

"I'm fine. It's nothing I can't handle."

So much, Lex thought, for warning the parents about tomorrow's newspaper headline. He accepted a coffee mug from Martha, and watched Clark carefully for a moment, trying to work out what was going on in there. Clark was being careful to make normal eye contact with Jonathan, to smile at Martha, to say the things he was expected to say. Either this was to reassure them, or it meant he'd got frightened and was trying to avoid telling them.

It didn't seem like a good sign.

"… the election must have been a blow, Lex," Martha was saying.

The election? Oh. Losing it, right. "Not entirely an unexpected one, though, Mrs Kent," he said, since she seemed to be expecting a reply. "Bowen was a stronger candidate than I from the very beginning."

"Do you plan to try again in four years?" Jonathan asked.

If only he knew. "I'm not sure at this point. If a week is a long time in politics, four years can change everything—and it won't just be the politics that affect my decision."

Lex glanced at Clark, trying to say, 'now would be a good time.'

Clark took the hint. "Mom, Dad… I… there's some stuff you should know. Before you read the newspaper tomorrow morning."

Instantly, nobody was paying any attention to Lex. Not a feeling he was familiar with, exactly, but it wasn't unwelcome.

"They've found out—about me being Superman. And about Lex and me. Lois figured it out, her and Chloe. They're going to publish it all."

"Oh, Clark," Martha said, and took his hand. "Couldn't you…"

"Stop them? No, not without making things worse. So… it'll all be okay, but you might find you get reporters round here, asking questions, and stuff like that. Don't talk to them."

"We won't," Jonathan said, with the air of a man swearing a sacred oath. "Don't worry about us, Clark."

"And… err…" Clark looked at Lex, smiling. "We'd like to invite you to our wedding."

Martha studied her son's face for a moment, and then glanced at Lex. "Wedding? That's… wonderful, Clark!"

"I know," he said, and the grin that split his face was probably worth everything Lex had been through to get here.

"Son, I'm happy for you," Jonathan said, gruffly, and then added, "Lex, can I have a word with you? Outside?"

"Of course, Mr Kent," Lex replied, though he wasn't quite sure he hid the moment of anxiety.

* * *

Out on the porch, Jonathan swung around and faced Lex. "Listen, Luthor," he began, voice low but menacing, "I can take a lot of things in my stride, but you're working through the list slightly faster than I like. Clark being gay; okay, I dealt. Clark sleeping with a Luthor; I seem to be dealing. Clark revealing his secret identity, Clark revealing his relationship with you, Clark *marrying* you… it's going to take me a while."

"I understand that, Mr Kent," Lex replied, working hard to keep his body language neutral. "It's going to take me while to get used to the idea, too."

"You need to understand something else, Luthor. If Clark ends up hurt because of this—whether it's your fault or not—you will regret it."

"Mr Kent, if Clark ends up hurt, I will regret it. Rest assured of that."

"And one other thing—Lex—I was there the last time you got married, remember?"

"I remember," Lex nodded. "My only regret about that episode is that Clark wasn't there."

A nod, before, "I keep a rifle around the place, you know?"

"I know."

Jonathan gave him a long, appraising look, and then turned and opened the door. "If we're clear about those points, then, let's go back in. My wife probably wants to feed you."

Lex followed him, hoping fervently that Martha's desire involved giving him apple pie and not feeding him to crocodiles, or piranhas, or for that matter mutant man-eating cows, which were probably easy to find in Smallville.

* * *

"Stop worrying, mom," Clark said, when Lex and Jonathan had left the room. "I may not have any choice about this, but that's okay. This is the way it has to be."

"And you're sure about that?"

Clark nodded. "I'm sure. If I'm going to stand for truth and justice, I have to be honest with the world."

"I suppose that the argument about preserving a higher truth isn't going to carry much weight?"

"It's still a good argument, but really, it's too late. Lois and Chloe are publishing. We gave them an interview and everything, to keep it reasonable, and to the facts, not their wild speculation."

"Okay, Clark," Martha said, thoughtfully. "And you'll cope with having no private life?"

"I think Lex is going to make that part a lot easier for me. He has a… err… certain amount of experience with living in the public eye. It won't be fun all the time, but we'll manage."

"And the wedding?"

"Will all be organized by people who aren't you. You buy a dress, make Dad put his good suit on, and show up, nothing else, okay?"

Martha grinned, and covered his hand with hers. "I think I can do that, Clark."

Jonathan and Lex found them like that, sitting and smiling, talking quietly.

* * *

Lex leaned back against the soft leather, and watched Clark drive. He'd improved as the years passed, but he still felt that the Ferrari deserved all his attention. Which it did, so that was okay, except that he wasn't paying any attention to Lex while he drove.

Lex tried to ignore that, as well as the nagging worries at the back of his mind. The evening was hot—sultry even—and Lex was… well, here, in his expensive and very sexy car, sitting next to his handsome and very sexy… Lex's mind stumbled. Boyfriend? Lover? Fiancé? He'd never had a fiancé before—fiancées, yes, two of them, but never a fiancé.

"You're quiet, Lex," Clark observed, glancing over at him. "Planning your next campaign?"

"No—as a matter of fact," Lex nearly told him the truth, and then swapped it for the tiniest of lies, "I was thinking about you."

"Where?" Clark asked, teasingly. "On the pool table?"

Lex smirked, remembering various times when they'd indulged that little kink, and then sighed. "No, not that it's a bad thing to think about. You in relation to me."

"Am I underneath, or on top?" Why did he teach Clark to talk dirty, again? The one time he wanted to talk about the emotional side of this whole thing—normally Clark's province—and Clark's mind was on sex.

"No," he said again, knowing that the faked patience in his voice didn't really conceal the frustration, "I mean, our relationship," even though he didn't. "I was wondering," and oh, God, romantic crap like this would never be his forte, "what I should call you. To the media and people." He didn't say 'to my employees' or 'to my father'. One thing at a time. Especially when there were so many things.

"Well, 'Clark' works. 'Superman' if you have to."

Lex nearly growled, or at least he intended it to remain a nearly. It might have come out as an actual.

Clark glanced at him again, gauging the mood. "I don't know, Lex. I'd prefer not to be a 'significant other', though."

"Partner?" Lex suggested. "Lover? Fiancé?"

"Fiancé is good," Clark said. "And after the wedding, you can call me 'husband', if you don't mind me doing the same to you."

Well, at least he wasn't thinking about the misery of the night before. He ignored the way that idea made him grin, and said, "Yeah. The wedding. I guess we should think about what we want for that."

"I don't care much, as long as we organise it. Mom would love to, but she's got enough to worry about."

"The farm not doing well again?"

Clark shook his head. "I think some of the crops failed last year. They didn't tell me much about it—I think they don't want anyone trying to help."

"You Kents are a stubborn lot."

"Did you only just notice that, Lex, or is this something you've known for a while?"

"Oh, it's not hard to work out," Lex told him, giving up the fight to keep this serious. "As soon as I met your father, I had my suspicions."

"And your special scientific training led you to the inevitable conclusion."

"Naturally. You put in hours of thought and applied logic. What took you so long?"

"Whenever I think about the Kent family, I end up thinking about you, and it's distracting." Oops. Unplanned honesty was still uncomfortable, even when he'd been proclaiming love in front of two journalists only a matter of hours ago.

"You don't exactly help me concentrate," Clark said, smirking. "Speaking of which…" He pulled the car over to the side of the road, and stopped the engine. "It's eight o'clock, it’s a beautiful sunset, the road's quiet…"

"And you've never really grown out of the horny teenager stage, have you?"

"Well," Clark shrugged, turning to face him, and that damn smirk was still there, the one he'd stolen from Lex. "I regress sometimes."

They leaned towards each other, kissing slowly but passionately.

"Come here," Lex whispered against Clark's lips. "Too far away."

Clark started to slide towards Lex, but was thwarted by the gear stick. He sighed. "Just a minute. I'll walk around."

"Okay," Lex said, and it was a good thing the road was really empty, because Clark opened the door with his eyes still fixed on Lex.

For a moment, he considered using super-speed, but then decided to tease his lover the way he was so often teased. He walked easily, but not too fast—it was only a few steps—trailing his fingertips over the car's hood.

Lex watched him, knowing he was being teased, and waited until Clark was right next to him, outside the car. Then he swung the door open, just before Clark reached out for the handle, and stepped out. "You sit down first, Clark," he said. "I want to be on top."

"Okay," Clark said, and sat, only a little disappointed. Lex on top was the way they'd always done things, and it was… normal. Comforting.

Lex sat sideways on Clark's lap, feet hanging out the open door into the grassy verge. They kissed, and then Lex leaned his head on Clark's shoulder.

For a long moment, they were silent, holding each other close. Lex swallowed, opened his mouth. Tried to begin, knowing that this was probably his last chance for the day. Tried to say what he had to say. What he'd almost said twice this evening already.

"Clark…"

"Yeah?" Clark said, interested but relaxed.

"Nothing."

"Oh. Okay."

Mentally, Lex kicked himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stupid keeping control. Stupid keeping secrets. What if that feeling comes back? What if I really do it? What if I need him the way I did last night, and he doesn't come?

The part of his mind that his father had trained too well snickered, and told him that it would never happen—that he'd be strong, resist it—and that keeping it secret served Clark right. Clark had kept his real nature a secret for years.

Clark tipped his head and kissed him again, and Lex let it happen, let sex take the moment away. They could talk later, if they had to talk at all.

* * *

Lex opened his eyes to sunshine—a sunbeam caressing Clark's sleeping face—and tried to appreciate that he was happy, that this was a moment worth enjoying… but it wasn't. It was too much like dreaming, as he had been only minutes before. There were things to be done.

He dressed soundlessly and slipped through the quiet house to his study, knowing that some early servant would have cleaned and tided with the dawn, ordering without disturbing. And so it was: coffee maker ready to go, copy of the Daily Planet on his desk, answering machine flashing. Messages, probably from yesterday.

He flicked the switch on the coffee maker, and (carefully skimming his eyes over the newspaper without reading, before turning his back to it) leant on his desk and pressed 'play'.

Soft whirr as it rewound; then the crackle of playback.

"Mr Luthor, I've done the spreadsheets as you requested, but I'm going to need…" One of his assistants asking for year-end figures. A quick e-mail later would deal with that. Lex jotted a couple of notes, and listened again.

Beep as the message ended, and a time-stamp. Noon yesterday.

"Clark, it's Lois. I'm sorry to bother you again, but I need to speak to you. Call me, please—today. You know my numbers."

Beep and time-stamp: they'd been in Smallville, eating apple pie in the Talon.

"Lex, what on earth went wrong?" His father's voice. "You'd better have a damned good reason for losing or life will get very difficult for you." An idle threat from an angry old man whom most of the world thought senile—it could be the medication talking as easily as anything. The matter did need some thought, though. Soon.

"Clark, the sooner the better." Lois again. "Call me."

Timestamp: they'd been at the Kent's.

"Clark, seriously, I have to speak to you today. Please."

Timestamp: still at the Kent's.

"Clark," a different female voice. "Listen to me. We used to be best friends—if you don't want to read it for the first time in the paper tomorrow," and now he knew who it was. Chloe. Trust her to be direct—he could see why Lionel had liked her—"…call Lois or me before you read the paper."

They'd been driving home.

One last message: "It's Lois again. Clark, fine. You want to find out from the paper, do it that way. It's not like it's bad news."

Chloe's attitude was rubbing off on her. The timestamp was only a little later; they'd been having sex. Lex smiled a little at the memory, and then frowned as he recalled his failure to talk to Clark about… not that it mattered now. There was no way he was going to try this morning. He turned the machine back to 'answer', put the coffee and the newspaper on a tray (still without reading the headline: just the first word. Superman. His mind leaped into guessing what came next, but he resisted the temptation to read more), and started back to the bedroom.

He'd almost reached the door when the phone rang.

He hesitated, and then waited. If it was Lois or Chloe, he'd answer and wake Clark.

"Lex!" Dad, he greeted mentally. Now is not the time. He left.

Behind the closed door, Lionel's voice spoke to the empty office. "This is the second time I've been forced to speak to your answering machine, Lex, and it's your last chance. What on Earth happened?"

* * *

Clark woke to the smell of freshly made coffee, with just a hint of newsprint underneath. For a moment, he wondered how he'd managed to fall asleep at work.

Then Lex said, "Morning, Clark," and it came back to him. Yesterday. The telling. Smallville. Oh, God. "Coffee?"

"Please," Clark said, struggling upright. "Newspaper?"

"Right here." Lex passed him a mug, but held the newspaper back. "Lois and Chloe were trying to get hold of you yesterday. I gather there's something in the story they'd rather you knew before you read it."

Clark sipped and shrugged. "You read it to me, then. That way I'll get it in person."

"Okay." Lex sipped his own coffee, burnt his tongue, and smoothed the paper out on the bed. "'Superman and Luthor Reveal Shocking Relationship'" he read.

"So, Perry put the headline on himself," Clark noted. "Go on."

"Then there's a picture, and then basically the story we roughed out—Superman… alter ego Clark Kent… Lex Luthor, failed Presidential candidate—I wish they'd stop saying that. I didn't fail—I was beaten. Anyway. Going to marry…"

"Is being beaten better than failing?" Clark asked, amused.

Lex shrugged. "It suggests it wasn't my fault," he explained. "I'd prefer to have retreated, but I didn't quite manage that. No matter. 'Regular readers of the Daily Planet will be interested to know…" He turned the page, took another sip of still scalding coffee, and read on. "… to know that Clark Kent, a.k.a. Superman, will be continuing to write for us, probably under both names, in the grand tradition of journalistic pseudonyms."

Clark sat, briefly stunned into silence. "I get to keep my job?"

"You've been ordered not to resign," Lex corrected.

"That's…" Clark thought. "Good, I guess. I hadn't even considered that as a possibility."

"I don't know why," Lex said, quietly. "Everyone in their right minds wants to keep you around." Then his smile twisted into a wry grin. "I really just said that, didn't I? You're a bad influence on me."

Clark returned the grin, and leaned over to kiss him. "I like it."

"You would," Lex grumbled, accepting the kiss. "You would."

* * *

Part Four

"I ought to go to work," Clark said, but he made no move away from Lex.

"Not yet," Lex said. "Take a day off."

Clark shook his head, a little. "I shouldn't. You should go to work, too. Everyone needs to see that we're normal, despite what they've just found out about us."

A pause, and then Lex said, "I hate it when you're right."

"You do?" Clark asked, sceptically, lifting his head so he could look into Lex's eyes.

Lex nodded, seriously. "Yes. Luckily, that isn't very often."

"If you say so," Clark laughed, and rolled away. "I don't know about you, but I think clothes might be a good idea."

"Why?" Lex shrugged. "Stay here. Naked. Much nicer all round."

Clark shook his head again. "I have a job, Lex. One I can't do while I'm not wearing clothes. Well," he added, tipping his head to one side, considering, "I suppose I could, but Perry wouldn't like it, Jimmy would get upset and Lois would enjoy it."

"The first two I can deal with," Lex said. "Lois enjoying something? That I want to put a stop to."

"You aren't jealous, are you?"

"Not yet. But I could be."

Struggling into his trousers, Clark wasn't looking at Lex… until that. He made eye contact, wondering what had prompted such an open display of emotion. Lex was normally hiding, unless he had a very good reason.

He had to say something, had to stop this being a problem. "You won't have to be," he said, worried that it sounded lame.

Lex smiled, a fake, but better than nothing; and turned away, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. "Of course not."

* * *

Technically speaking, he was now at work.

Once Clark had gone, he knew he couldn't stay in the penthouse; the balcony was too tempting. So he'd come to the office—sweeping through the downstairs to a stony silence that broke into a chorus of muffled voices reporting to each other, "Mr. Luthor's in a bad mood" as he got out of sight—and locked the door.

He reflected, bitterly, that it was establishing normality in the most brutal of ways: assuring his workers that he was still as bad-tempered as ever.

"Phone for you, Mr. Luthor," Kirsty chirped. "Do you want to…"

"I'll take it in here, same as always," he snapped at her. He almost regretted it, but then the phone was ringing, and he snatched it off the cradle. "Luthor here."

"I heard the news."

"I don't doubt it. Who is this?"

A soft laugh. "Don’t you recognise my voice, Lex? It's your old friend Bruce."

"Bruce—Bruce Wayne?"

"Who else? Look, I'm sorry to hear you lost the election."

Lex leaned back in his chair. "You're sorry? How do you think I feel?"

"Very, very lucky."

"Huh? Losing the election is bad, bad luck, Bruce."

"I could argue—who wants to be President?—but that's not what I meant. The election's not exactly the top news story—in America, at any rate. I understand China's still talking about Mr Bowen."

"Oh, you mean *Clark*."

"Yeah. He's quite the catch, you know."

"He's a meddling do-gooder with a superhero complex and a misplaced sense of justice," Lex told him, smiling.

"As I said," Bruce repeated. "Quite the catch."

"He's Superman, Bruce. Do you know what that means, practically?"

Kirsty watched Mr Luthor relax as he talked, and silently thanked God that whoever was on the other end of the line wasn't making his mood worse—was, in fact, improving it, if body language was anything to go by.

"Yes, Lex, I do," Bruce said, and his voice was suddenly dark and serious. "If I tell you a secret, can you keep it?"

"Yeah, of course," Lex said, and then added quickly, "But if you want it to be a real secret—there's not a lot of risk, I could wipe the tape—but this line is often bugged, because I use it for business deals. Where are you?"

"In Gotham, Lex, where else would I be? And—you bug your lines, routinely?"

"Naturally. Or, rather, my secretary bugs them just in case I ever decide I wanted her to. If I go and pick up Clark now, we can be there by late this afternoon. Okay?"

"Lex, are you looking for an excuse to run away?"

"Does it matter if I am? You have something to tell me. I want to see you, and I want to introduce you to Clark. Therefore, I'm going to get Clark and drive to Gotham. Perfect plan."

"What if Clark doesn't want to come?" Bruce asked. "What's he doing? What are you supposed to be doing?"

"I'll persuade him," Lex said, "don't you worry—he's only at work."

"As are you. You must have plenty to do, after leaving LexCorp to look after itself while you fought an election."

"It manages okay without me." Something in Lex's tone—something trying to be wry—worried Bruce.

"You must have good people there. Wayne Industries has a tendency to—not flop exactly, but get muddled—if I leave it alone for too long."

"I must have set up my command structure better, then—LexCorp practically runs itself. It won't miss me for another day."

Bruce sighed. "Lex, there's really no reason. I have phone lines that aren't bugged, for heaven's sake. You can… we can… there's no point…"

"Okay, Bruce. I get the message. You don't want to see me," Lex said, the tension instantly back. In the office, Kirsty saw and tried to swallow her groan as he slammed the handset down.

There was a moment's silence, and then… "Kirsty, I want those monthly reports. Now."

She jumped to it.

* * *

"Daily Planet," Lois said, picking up the phone and wedging it between her chin and shoulder in order to go on shuffling papers on her desk.

"Is Mr Kent there?" the caller enquired.

"Mr Kent is here," Lois replied, looking up at Clark, typing at superhuman speed, "but he's not taking calls at the moment. Are you a reporter from another paper?"

"No, I'm Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Industries. If you could…"

"I'll call him over," Lois said quickly, "Just a moment. Clark," she called, putting her hand over the mouthpiece, "it's another of your rich friends—Bruce Wayne!"

Clark raised his eyebrows, surprised, and reached for the phone. Lois pulled it back a couple of inches. "I want details, Clark, all the details…"

"It's a private call, Lois," Clark said. "Give me the phone."

She looked at little reluctant, but handed it over.

"Hello, Clark Kent speaking," he said into the receiver. "What can I do for you, Mr Wayne?"

"We have a lot to talk about," Bruce told him. "Is this line secure?"

"Of course," Clark said reassuringly, smelling a story.

"That's good, anyway. Your boyfriend isn't as scrupulous."

It took Clark a moment to connect the phrase "your boyfriend" with Lex. When he did, it made him smile; and mentally, he added, 'now my fiancé'. "Well, you know Lex," he said, and then listened to himself. "Wait—you know Lex?"

"We're old friends—at least, I hope we still are. That's partly what I called you about; I'd been trying to speak to him since I heard the news yesterday about the election, but he wasn't in his office. Then, this morning, I saw the newspaper and knew I had to try again."

"He's in his office now, or he should be."

"He was five minutes ago, I spoke to him—but he was in a strange mood: bad-tempered before he recognised me, somehow wild after that, and then he cut me off. He's not taking… all this… well, is he?"

"You can say that again," Clark said, aware of Lois at the next desk, listening hard to try and hear his every word.

"We… err… we have more in common that you might expect," Bruce said, finding that Lex's warning had made him change his mind about doing this over the phone. "We should meet up. Not Lex's crazy drive-to-Gotham-this-afternoon sort of meet up, but sometime soon."

"Is that what he wanted to do?" Clark asked, grinning.

"Yeah. Not exactly a sane kind of plan. I think I managed to dissuade him."

"Well, since we drove to Smallville for lunch yesterday, and it was my idea, I don't think I can say too much," Clark said. "You're in Gotham, right?"

"That's right. It's quite a way…"

"Not if you can move faster than a speeding bullet." Clark's smirk was evident in his voice, and it occurred to Bruce that people who spent time with Lex tended to start sounding like him.

"Well, no," Bruce agreed, a little at a loss for anything else to say.

"So, I can go pick up Lex after work, and be with you by dinner time—if that's okay with you."

"Err… yeah, sure. But you'd better talk to Lex, first. He might not… I don't know if… does he…"

"I'll talk to him," Clark promised. "And one of us will call you later to confirm, okay?"

"Okay," Bruce said. "Later, then."

"Later," Clark replied, and reached across the desk to put the phone down. "Lois," he said, "I'm going out for a while. This cheating-photographer story is nearly done; check it through for me, would you?"

"Sure," Lois said. "Are you going to…" but Clark was gone.

* * *

Kirsty was returning from a hurried trip to Accounting when Clark arrived. "Hi, Kirsty," he said, and they stopped just out of sight of Lex's office.

"Mr Kent," she replied. "If you've got any good news to give him, go right in. If there's bad news, I may have to kill you before he kills me."

"Don’t worry, Kirsty," Clark smiled. "The news should be good, if I put it the right way. I'd hate for you to have to try and kill me."

Kirsty grinned. "Having read the newspaper this morning, sir, I don't think I'd want to try. Unless he's escaped in the last three minutes, he's in his office."

"Thanks, Kirsty," Clark said, and strode up to the door… where he paused for a moment, considering, and then turned the handle. "Lex?"

The room was empty, at first glance—desk, laptop, chair pushed back, window open… Clark moved into superspeed instinctively, across the room, out the window…

…and there was Lex, falling—this was the thirtieth floor, ten down, fifteen—Clark dived.

When they hit the ground, Clark was underneath, but the impact still managed to knock Lex's breath away. "What…?" Clark asked. "Who…?"

"Clark," Lex gasped. He rested his head on Clark's chest for a moment, and then shoved himself to his feet. Anger etched itself into every line, every angle of his face. "How dare you?" he growled. "How dare you make that decision for me?"

"Lex, what…" Clark began, but Lex wasn't listening.

"I chose, Clark, and you had to come and stop me! You're always trying to change my destiny, aren't you? Well, that's the last time you're going to. We're through, Clark—life will be a lot easier for you if I'm not around."

"No, Lex…" Clark began again, but Lex was reaching into his pocket.

"I'm going walk away, Clark," he said, calmly. "And you're not going to follow me."

"Lex, we have to talk," Clark said, desperately. "I'm staying with you until…"

Lex pulled the box out of his pocket and opened it; he watched with sadness and satisfaction as Clark cringed back, bathed in the green glow of the kryptonite within. "Sorry, Clark," he said, "but I really do need the time alone."

Still holding the open box, he walked away.

* * *

"He *jumped* out the fucking *window*, Lois!" Clark shouted, pacing up and down the room. Lois nodded calmly, and took the time to be glad that she'd got him out of the newsroom and back to her apartment before he started having histrionics. The gossip columnists would be lapping this up.

She was itching to take notes, it was true, but at least she was Clark's friend, and not really going to publish this… until there was a bit more to the story, at any rate.

"I don't understand—what was he thinking? Doesn't he know how I feel about him? Yesterday he fucking proposed *marriage* and today he tried to fucking *kill* himself! And then he pulled the fucking *kryptonite* on me! What does he… I mean… was he lying yesterday?"

* * *

"Hello, you've reached Wayne Manor. I'm sorry, the staff are unavailable to help you at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone."

Lex swore. "Bruce, it's Lex. I'll be there in a few hours." He threw the cell phone onto the passenger seat and set out to break the speed limit.

* * *

"Clark, slow down," Lois said. "Look, do you know that he jumped? He could have fallen or been pushed."

"Then why would he say he made a choice?" Clark yelled, stopping his pacing and leaning into Lois' face. "He said he chose, Lois. He… God, he must be confused. And I promised to call Bruce back. Lois, if you figure out what's going on—tell me—please?"

"Of course," Lois told him, leaning back a little. "Do you know where he is now?"

Clark shook his head. "He said we were through. I… he might have gone to Bruce's, I suppose." Lois tried to think of something to say, but it turned out she didn't need to. Clark blurred across the room to the telephone and was dialling in less than a heartbeat.

Alfred answered the phone. "Hello, Wayne Manor."

"It's Clark Kent, can I speak to Mr Wayne, please?"

"Of course. If you'll wait a moment…"

Clark waited, and heard, "… thanks, Alfred. Hello?"

"Mr Wayne, it's Clark Kent. I… Lex… he might come to you. He's… look after him for me."

"Yes, he left a message on my machine about half an hour ago, saying he was coming here."

"Right." Clark leaned back against the wall, relieved to know that much. "So he's on the road right now. I can find him…"

"Clark, if I know Lex—and I used to, maybe I still do—he won't be happy if you follow him, because he'll think you don't trust him. Come straight here—you can be here before he can, right? We can talk, and then when he arrives, we can try and deal with him."

"I have to know he's okay."

"Check him without being seen, if you must—but he'll be okay. He's a good driver, and it's not like he's suicidal, is it?"

"Actually, Bruce," Clark said, and slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, "it's exactly like that."

"Oh," Bruce said, and was silent.

"He jumped out of his office window—luckily I was there, or he'd have died."

"Ah," Bruce said, and then, "I see."

"Yeah," Clark said, for want of anything better.

"He's even more screwed up than I gave him credit for," Bruce said.

"Me too," Clark said, sadly. "Do you still want me to…"

"Yeah, come here. We'll work something out," Bruce said, trying to sound confident. "Check that he really is driving this way—if he is, come straight on, if he's not, err, see what the situation is. Okay?"

Clark nodded, and then remembered he was on the phone. "Okay. I'll be over there in… probably in a few minutes."

"Good," Bruce said, and waited until he heard the click as the phone went down. "We're going to have guests soon," he said to Alfred. "Let's just hope Batman doesn't get called out tonight."

* * *

Lex drove. He took the main roads, the freeways, the fastest roads, and he was glad for their barrenness.

He drove, and tried to work out how he would explain the situation to Bruce.

"I think I love him," they would both understand who was meant, "but I don't have any way to be sure, and he's in control of my life, and oh, by the way, I tried to kill myself and he didn't let me."

That was no go. He couldn't admit to Bruce that he'd lost control; his last vestige of power lay in the fact that nobody else knew he was powerless.

He tried again. "I had to put on a good front for the press. I don't understand what I'm feeling, I don't want to be doing this, I just want…"

Even worse. That fantasy conversation ended with him weeping on Bruce's shoulder, which was not going to happen under any circumstances. Even if Bruce would allow it, even if Lex wanted it, there was no way it was going to happen. Luthors didn't break down.

"Bruce, I don't want to talk about it. Can I just get some sleep?" was starting to look like his best option—maybe even his only option.

He yawned, suddenly aware of how tired he was. The car swerved a little; Lex tried to correct it, hit a loose stone on the road, and went careering straight into the path of an oncoming car.

He closed his eyes, heard the crash, and waited to die.

He waited…

… and waited. "Clark?" he asked, tentatively, as the door beside him opened.

"No, Victoria," a British voice replied, sounding surprised. "Lex? Lex, what on earth happened just now?"

Without opening his eyes, Lex replied calmly, "I drove onto the wrong side of the road."

"Deliberately?" Victoria asked, and Lex could imagine her raising one elegant eyebrow, the way she always did.

"No," he said, "but it's not like I didn't mean to."

There was a silence for Victoria, and Lex looked at her. She was frowning. "I don't understand you at all," she said. "Let alone why you're here."

"Believe me, Victoria," he sighed, "neither do I." Something sticky ran into his eye; he blinked and put his hand to his forehead. When he took it away, it was red with blood.

"You've got a cut over your eye," Victoria explained, unnecessarily. "You need to… we need to…"

"I'm not going to die of it," Lex said, impatiently, and started to get out of the car. "Are either of these things fit to drive?"

"Yours isn't," Victoria said, looking at the crumpled hood. "Mine might be." She started to survey the damage.

Lex stood, carefully keeping out of her personal space, and looked as well. "Your front headlight's gone, for sure, but my car took most of it. I must have hit you almost straight on, but you swerved and the damage is on the side."

"Pretty good at assessing car crashes, aren't you?" Victoria said, making eye contact and smiling.

Lex looked down, avoiding her gaze, and he wondered if that surprised her. He knew it wasn't the way he'd always been around Victoria. "I've had some experience," he agreed, and added, "and the occasional reason to read up on the subject."

"Because of your farm boy of steel?" Victoria asked, and this time Lex could see that eyebrow go up. "Here, help me. If we push your car off the road, mine will probably be okay to travel in."

They moved the cars; decided that headlights weren't needed; and then stood at the side of the road and argued about which way to go.

"It's Gotham or Metropolis, Lex," Victoria said. "Who wants to go to Gotham?"

"I do," he argued. "Why were you going to Metropolis, anyway?"

"To…" she began, and her face softened. "To see you."

"You can see me just as well in Gotham," Lex said, wondering if she really meant him, or his father. Some questions never change. "A profusion of Gothic architecture won't make me disappear."

"The question of why you were going to Gotham remains, though. I've just come from there, and I don't like it." A car passed, slowing slightly to gape at them, but apparently its driver decided it was better to keep out of other people's business. "What's there for you?"

"Bruce Wayne," Lex said simply. In this situation, there didn't seem to be a lot of point in lying; and as Victoria had already admitted that she was on a let's-visit-fellow-millionaires trip, he could do the same.

"Wayne Industries is in trouble," Victoria said, as if that was a reason not to have anything to do with them.

"I know," Lex shrugged, even though he didn't and he suspected it wasn't true, "that's why I'm visiting."

Victoria looked at him, and this time he kept the eye contact. "Okay, okay," she said after a minute, "Gotham it is. Get in." Lex didn't move. "You're not driving," she said. "Get in, and get used to it."

They had another brief staring contest. This time Victoria won; Lex was beginning to feel dizzy.

Victoria drove (fast, but slower than Lex liked) for Gotham.

* * *

Part Five

"Wayne Manor, how may I…"

"Just one question—is Clark Kent there?"

"Yes, ma'am, he is."

"Thank you." Lois hung up. Clark didn't need to know she'd worried about him enough to crack her cool-reporter façade.

* * *

"Clark, please stop pacing," Bruce said tiredly. "You've been doing that for the last eight hours, almost non-stop. I don't care about the carpet, but I'm getting a headache."

"I'm sorry," Clark said, and stopped briefly. "I'm just worried about Lex. I know he's okay, sort of, but he crashed a car. That's not normal."

Bruce regarded Clark skeptically from his armchair. "From what I know of your history with him, I'd have thought you'd find it reassuring that he was still crashing cars."

Clark spun around to face him. "This isn't funny."

"I'm sorry." Bruce sighed. "He'll be here soon—even if they get stuck in traffic, it can't be more than another half hour or so."

"Unless Victoria's kidnapped him, or tried to kill him, or…"

"I don't know her personally, but she didn't sound like the sort who'd…" Bruce began, but stopped as a strange light shone into the room. "Damn. I was hoping I wouldn't get called out tonight—look, do you want to come? Two of us will be quicker, and Alfred will let us know if they turn up."

Clark considered for half a second, and then spun into costume. "Come on—what are you waiting for?"

Grinning, Bruce headed for the door.

* * *

"I told you we shouldn't have tried to come through downtown," Lex snapped.

"Will you just shut up?" Victoria said. "I don't know what's happening here, but you're not helping."

Something was going on in Gotham's central plaza, and the traffic in the surrounding area wasn't going anywhere fast.

Most of it wasn't even going anywhere slowly.

* * *

"They thought they needed Batman for *this*?" Bruce said disgustedly, as they looked down on the centre from one of the rooftop vantage points Batman liked to frequent.

"Well, it's a pretty bad jam," Superman said, tipping his head as if he was considering it seriously. "Even Metropolis doesn't usually get this bad."

"When are you ever there?" Batman asked. "The way you were talking earlier, it seems like you barely know the city." He knew his tone was on the cruel side, but didn't feel like rectifying that; Superman's earlier bragging about the world travel he'd done had started to get on Bruce's nerves.

"Are we going to try and sort this out, or not?" Clark enquired sharply, his journalistic pride in knowing his city hurt—doubly so, because he suspected Bruce might be right. "I can't see what's causing it."

Bruce leaned back against a pillar, and surveyed the city. "It's sheer numbers, mostly. If we can get people out, one street at a time…"

They spent a couple of minutes planning, and then went to work.

* * *

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Superman said to the old woman. "Either you'll have to find another route, or wait about an hour and then try coming this way again."

"My son is expecting me!" she said. "What should I tell him?"

"I'm sure he'll understand if you tell him the truth," Clark said, and sighed. "Please, ma'am, get out of the way. You're making the hold-up worse."

"Okay, okay, young man," she said, sneering, and drove off, muttering something through her clenched teeth.

Superman bent down to the next window. "I'm sorry, Miss… Miss Hardwick."

"Hi, Clark. We'll drive round to Wayne Mansion by the other route. See you there."

She was gone before he had time to peer in and see how Lex was

* * *

As it happened, Lex was asleep. He'd been going from complaining of a headache, to irritable, to sleepy, and back all day, so much so that Victoria wondered from her limited knowledge of such things if he might be suffering from a concussion.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let him sleep; but she didn't think she could stand waking him up. She left him alone and kept driving. The tiny roads round Gotham were bad enough in the daylight. At night, they were horrible.

Finally, though, they arrived at the mansion, and Alfred was standing at the front door, waiting.

"Miss Hardwick," he said as she climbed out. Victoria noticed, slightly absently, that she was happy to hear someone pronounce her name without that annoying American accent.

She opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly there was another car pulling up alongside—a black car, fast and sleek and shiny. She thought she'd seen it before—maybe on the news—but she could place when or where until Batman climbed out. Batman. Huh. And Superman… Clark Kent.

Victoria leaned back against her car, tired, confused, and ready to be rude to just about anyone.

"Miss Hardwick," Alfred repeated. "Come inside. I'm sure that… these gentlemen… can help Mr Luthor."

"Go on," Batman said, gently. "Alfred will look after you."

She shot him an angry glare, because the softness in his voice sounded slightly patronising, and followed Alfred. Stupid men could look after their own stupid problems.

* * *

Clark ignored Victoria, and went straight to Lex's side, assessing him. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he registered gratefully that the kryptonite's lead box was closed, or still in Lex's car.

The cut on his temple that Clark had seen before, and a bruise darkening on his cheek were his only injuries. Nothing worse, thankfully.

Lex opened his eyes, and frowned. "Clark? What happened?"

"You crashed your car, remember? Come on, let's get you inside."

Slowly, Lex leaned towards Clark, into the warm arm that had wrapped around him, and said, "No. I don't remember."

"Oh, God," Clark sighed. "Look, let's take this one step at a time, shall we?" He undid Lex's seatbelt.

Gently, as if Lex were a china doll that would break if moved too suddenly, Clark lifted him up and carried him indoors. Just once, on the stairs, Lex seemed to realise that he wasn't being allowed to move under his own steam, but Clark simply stopped until Lex lay still in his arms again.

"Settle him on the bed," Bruce said in a low voice, swinging the door open to let Clark carry Lex through, "and then we'll talk about what we do next."

Clark did so, sliding Lex's shoes off, taking the opportunity to check his body for other major injuries, and then tucking the blankets around Lex's slim form.

"Simple concussion," Clark murmured as he joined Bruce by the door. "The cut on his forehead's bleeding again—it needs cleaning and maybe a couple of stitches—but I think that's all. Maybe some other bruises but nothing else major."

Bruce nodded. "Know a lot about concussions, do you?"

"Enough to know we don't need to call a doctor tonight if Alfred can stitch that cut," Clark said. "Smallville gave me a good practical grounding in the area—Lex may heal fast, but he's been hit on the head more times than I care to think about. He must have had nearly as many concussions as school lunches."

"You're exaggerating," Bruce accused, then softened his voice as Lex stirred a little. "Beside, Lex always was the kid who'd skip lunch in favour of something cold and alcoholic."

"I just improved the story—I'm a journalist, it's what I do," Clark said, remembering Lex's comments about 'damned reporters', and smiling rather nastily. "Excuse me," he added, gesturing to Lex, "our concussion patient is awake."

Bruce nodded shortly. "I'll send Alfred up," he said, and disappeared.

"Clark?" Lex said, struggling to open his eyes, to sit up, to—"Clark?"—prove he wasn't still asleep.

"It's okay, Lex, I'm here," Clark said, and the warm hands were back, on his head, on his shoulder, inviting him to lie down and stay still and let Clark take care of everything. Which wasn't quite what he wanted.

"Clark," he croaked out, swallowed, and tried again. "Clark, stop being in control of everything."

The hands stilled, though they didn't leave. "I'm not," Clark said quietly. Lex managed to move enough to reach out for his lover, though his eyes were still refusing to cooperate on the opening front. "I'm not," Clark repeated, and Lex could only hope that running a hand into your lover's hair was some sort of Kryptonian sign language for all the things he wanted to say. "I'm really not," Clark said again. "God knows I try to be. In control of my life, of yours, of the election, of the earthquakes and the floods and the fights, but… I'm not."

Something inside Lex snapped, and he laughed. "So Clark—if you're not, and I'm not, who the hell is?"

Clark grinned, leaning forward to kiss Lex. "Do you want to hear my father's answer—with quotations from the Bible—or your father's answer—with quotations from Greek war heroes—or my answer, with quotations from Lane and Sullivan?"

Lex tried to kiss Clark without moving his head, found that Clark had shifted away again, and yanked on the strands of dark hair until their mouths met. "I think I know your answer," Lex said, when the kiss was over. "It's like mine."

"Oh, and what's that?" Clark enquired.

"It's all a bloody mess," Lex said. There was an edge of hysterical laughter still in his voice.

"I have to concur," Alfred said from the doorway, and Lex finally forced his eyes open. "You're letting that cut bleed all over the clean sheets."

* * *

"Go and find something to eat, Clark," Alfred said, when he'd finished stitching. "Lex is going to be asleep for a while, and you need to refuel and rest."

"Okay," Clark said, his mind still on the earlier conversation with Lex. He wandered down to the dining room.

He stood by the window, chewing absently and staring out over the night-lit city.

"It all makes so much more sense now," Victoria's voice said.

Clark whirled around to face her. "What?"

"What happened in Smallville makes sense now. The teenage boy who rescues me from being drowned in my bath by an invisible girl—without any hesitation or ogling me at all—is not only going to turn into a Superhero, but is also gay."

Clark tipped his head to one side, and Victoria laughed at him. "When you put it that way…"

"I wish you luck with him, anyway. He's a cheating, lying bastard."

"Well," and Clark smiled that sharp smile again, "we all have our faults. By the way, why were you heading for Metropolis?"

"Reasons of my own," Victoria said. Clark didn't want to know how to read that. "I'll be leaving here in the morning."

"I'm sure that's fine," Clark returned. "How is Sir Harry, by the way?"

"Rather better off than Lionel, from what I hear," Victoria smirked. She seemed to have forgotten that Clark wasn't actually Lionel's son. ('Though you might be going to be his son in law,' something said at the back of Clark's mind. 'Won't he hate that?')

"Not difficult," Clark said. "Good night, Victoria."

He walked straight past her on the way out without so much as a sideways glance.

* * *

Lex sits alone in his office, looking out over an inexplicable Gotham skyline. A bird, high in the sky, flies past at his eyelevel. Its freedom makes him feel smothered.

Behind him, he hears the door open. He turns, as slowly as he can bear to, and finds his father standing there with Victoria a pace behind.

"Dad," he greets.

"No time for that," Lionel says, striding forward and sweeping the desk clear, knocking papers and laptops and phones and coffee cups into a jumbled heap. "Lie down, son," he orders.

Lex complies, unable to resist.

Lionel bends over him until their noses nearly touch, his hair falling dark and thick around them so that Lex can see nothing but his father's face. "You've been a bad boy," Lionel begins, and Lex feels Victoria straddle his waist. "You've fooled the fates," as his face is replaced with an image of Lex in a shining white suit, taking the Presidential oath. "You'll never fulfil your destiny now," and Lionel's face is back, hissing, "You've let her die in vain."

Lex tries to scream, but there is a mouth on his, sucking out the breath that Clark once put back there.

"Lex," Clark said in the darkness of their bedroom, watching his lover thrash about. "Lex, wake up. It's only a dream." But Lex didn't hear him—

—because Lex is standing in a field of sunflowers which have withered to mere brown shadows. As he watches, they turn into the delicate pottery that lined the house in Metropolis where he had grown up.

Victoria hands him a rapier. "Fight," she says, "or you're done for."

He tries; but Lionel is there as well, and they trap him. He becomes more desperate, knocking things over, flailing wildly, hearing his mother's voice scold him for carelessness, and all the time wanting to run and hide his face in her.

Soon enough, he is defeated, gives up, standing still.

"You never listen," Lionel says, and nods to Victoria.

She takes her rapier and proceeds to dig it deep into his right ear, twisting until he grates his teeth and feels blood running down his neck.

When Lionel nods again, she repeats the process on his right ear; it hurts more than he could image possible, and yet somehow he can still hear the hum of traffic outside.

The Lionel nods a third time, and Victoria presses the rapier—not to Lex's throat, but to Lionel's. "Job's done, boss," she says. Blood spurts from the wound, and Lionel falls.

Somehow—and Lex registers that this is wrong, but couldn't say how—he doesn't fall to the floor, but his feet move upwards, floating into the air and dripping red onto the dead sunflowers they are once again surrounded by.

He drifts away, becoming part of the sky and the rain of blood that is falling.

Lex looks at the stains gathering on his sleeve. "This is going to be one hell of a dry-cleaning bill."

Beside him, Victoria smiles, and hands him a bright blue-and-red umbrella. "Protect her," she says, pointing at the crying child at his feet. "It'll keep some of it off you, but don't let any—any at all—touch her."

She stares into his eyes until he nods. Then Victoria dances off, letting the blood drench her, happy and skipping.

Clark tried again, worrying about his lover. "Lex, come on. It's just a dream." He didn't like the way this dream was sending tears rolling down Lex' pale cheeks, but he didn't dare shake too hard, frightened that he'd hurt the already injured Lex. "Lex, please. Wake up."

Lex crouches down to lift the baby—and woke, shaking, confused, but reassured.

"Clark," he said, "it’s a good plan." It would be several years before Clark knew what that meant.

* * *

"Telephone for you, sir," Alfred said to Lex at the breakfast table the next morning. "A Nurse Gladys Immanuel, and she says it's urgent."

"Take it in my office," Bruce said, seeing the startled expression on Lex's face, "if you want to."

"I will, thanks," Lex said, and left the room.

* * *

"Hello?" Lex said, a little nervous. Last time Nurse Gladys, staff sister at the British 'retirement home' Sir Harry Hardwick owned, had phoned with urgent news, Lionel had escaped and was trying to persuade the Inquisitor to listen to his ideas about Superman's origins. It was then that Lex had been forced to agree that Lionel's medication needed to keep him calm—so calm he could barely think. It wasn't a decision he'd chosen to share with Clark, because the whole thing was more than a little distasteful.

"Mr Luthor, I'm so sorry, love," the familiar voice of Nurse Gladys said down the transatlantic telephone line. "I would have got to you sooner, but it's taken me a while to find out where you were."

"Nurse Immanuel, if you have news about my father to impart, I advise you to get on with it."

"I'm sorry, Mr Luthor. Look, love, you may want to sit down. It's not good."

"Is he dead?"

"Yes, Mr Luthor. Yes, he is. Late last night—he… the nurse who was with him said he went into shock as soon as he saw this morning's newspaper, but the doctor said he had a stroke. I'm sure I don't know. Anyway, it was nice and quick and very peaceful."

Lex slumped into an armchair, and was only mildly surprised to find himself sitting in Clark's lap. "The truth, please, Nurse Immanuel." Keeping his voice steady wasn't as easy as it sometimes was.

"Well, he never recovered from seeing the newspaper, as I say, love. The strange thing is, it wasn't one of our local newspapers—not even a British one."

"Which newspaper was it?"

"I don't know—the Weekly Planet? Daily Planet? Something like that. Anyway, Sir Harry himself came to see him, and brought it with him (I thought it was nice he had a visitor, right at the end, like—he didn't have many friends, did he, poor fellow?)."

"Nurse Gladys, if you want to keep your job…"

"Oh, sorry, sir. As I was saying, he read the front page, or most of it, and then he starts gasping like he's in shock, or—as I said before—had a stroke. He was unconscious for about an hour, and then he—you know, love—passed away, quiet-like."

"Thank you, Nurse Immanuel. The previous arrangement stands."

"If you're sure, love…"

"I'm sure. Everything we set up is in accordance with his wishes."

Before Nurse Gladys could speak again, Lex put the phone down.

"Problem one, gone," he said to Clark. "Now—if we're going to bring up a kid, where do you want the house to be?"

* * *

Part Five

"House buying is all well and good, Lex," Clark said, swinging the car they'd borrowed from Bruce into a curve. Lex had declined to drive, ostensibly on the grounds that it was American made, "but there are some things we need to sort out first."

"There are?" Lex asked, though he knew Clark was right.

"There are," Clark repeated firmly. The Kent stubbornness was back, full force. "To begin with: why did you try and kill yourself? Can we agree that neither of us is in control?"

"I didn't, and yes," Lex said. "Now can we talk about where you want to live?"

"I think you need to expand on those answers first."

Lex sighed. "How?"

"If you didn't try and kill yourself, what were you doing? You jumped out a window, Lex."

"I know, Clark, I was there. I… okay, so at the time I was trying to commit suicide. Just to… see if I could."

"And?"

"I can jump, but I never hit the ground."

"What does that mean for us, Lex?" Clark asked, giving Lex a long, searching look.

"Keep your eyes on the road, please, Clark. It means I won't have to try again. And it means," Lex added, more hesitantly, "that I trust you."

Clark wanted to ask, 'when did that happen?' (knowing that there were still secrets between them, not least of all about Lionel) but restricted himself to a simple, "Uh-huh."

"You—you're always there," Lex explained, sounding slightly uncomfortable but resigned. "Catch me, hold me…"

"Love you," Clark added when Lex paused.

"Yeah," Lex said. "And… I'm there for you, too. When you need me. I hope."

"You are," Clark confirmed. "You really are."

The car's atmosphere was suddenly far too serious. "Always assuming your father hasn't tried to kill me."

"He'll come around, one day."

"And stop checking where his shotgun is every time I enter the room?" Lex enquired, raising an eyebrow.

Clark grinned. "Mom might persuade him to make it less obvious."

* * *

"I found the house," Lex reported over dinner. "One house, out in New Troy, big enough that people will believe it's mine and small enough that you won't get lost wondering round it."

"The one we looked at on Monday? With the apple trees in the garden?"

"That's the one. Happy?"

Clark didn't bother with a verbal answer.

* * *

"Shortcake?" Clark repeated, staring at Lex. "The best interior designer in America is really called *Shortcake*?"

Lex nodded, trying not to giggle. "That's right, Clark. And for heaven's sake, don't make any cracks about his name in front of him. He has a reputation for being… touchy."

"I think I can handle that," Clark said seriously. "I've had a little practice."

"What makes you so sure?" Lex frowned. "I mean, I know Lois has a temper, but…"

Clark grinned, but didn't get a chance to reply. "Mr Shortcake to see you, sir," the butler, Christopher, announced.

"Come in," said Lex, standing up.

Mr Shortcake bustled in, five-foot-nine of expensive but rumpled suit, topped by red hair so bright that Clark wondered for a moment if he was going to have to deal with the effects of Kryptonite poisoning.

"Hello, hello! Mr Luthor, Mr Kent, I've taken the very great liberty of producing some drawings…"

* * *

Two long meetings later, Clark stated firmly, "I don't like that, either." He threw the paper onto the desk and leaned back fitfully. "No offence intended, Mr Shortcake, but it's too crowded to be comfortable."

"It's okay," Mr Shortcake said, as he had done many times before. "At least you, Mr Kent, are clear. You know what you don't like, and you say so. Mr Luthor, who says nothing—" Mr Shortcake broke off, briefly, to glare at his employer, "—is much worse. You tell me what you like and what you don't like, Mr Kent, that is good."

Clark nodded. He had given up trying to identify Shortcake's accent some time ago. "It needs to be simpler," he said. "Much, much simpler. These look nice, but they're too rich—even after years of spending some of my time in places like this," Clark waved an arm to indicate the luxurious office, "I wouldn't want to live there, let alone bring up a child."

Mr. Shortcake smiled, his gappy teeth and wild red hair lending him a slightly fey aspect. "I see, Mr. Kent, I see. We will—if this is okay with both of you—we will meet again tomorrow, and I will show you new drawings, until we find what is right."

"Same time, same place," Lex said, speaking for almost the first time since they had begun examining the drawings.

"Okay," Mr. Shortcake said," and grinned his toothy grin again. "That is for the best." He left.

* * *

Casually, Clark laid his arm over Lex's chest, effectively pinning him to the bed.

Lex muttered something in a sleepy voice that sounded suspiciously like, "don't you dare snuggle," but allowed the gesture.

The way it brought Clark's hip into contact with his probably wasn't a deterrent.

When Clark's voice came, though, it was anything but sleepy or casual. "Why aren't you talking to me?"

"I am," Lex said, and started to roll over.

Clark prevented him without much trouble. "No, you're not. You keep saying stuff, but we're not really talking. We haven't been since Mr. Shortcake left."

"Have," Lex replied, petulantly. He took a deep breath, apparently summoning to himself the power of the full sentence, and went on, "Immediately after he left, we discussed—in some depth—the current political situation in New York. Over dinner we had a long conversation concerning the flaws in Augustine's theodicy. And only ten minutes ago we rounded off a large chunk of evening spent in some excellent dirty talking. Clark, we have talked."

"Yes," Clark agreed, as if conceding a major point, "but always about things you chose. Politics, religion, and sex. When, I'd like to know, did politics and religion become better topics of conversation than interior design? General advice on small talk suggests the opposite is normal."

"In which case, it seems we've hit upon another of your superpowers," Lex said, dispassionately. He tried again to roll away from Clark, and this time Clark allowed it.

What Clark didn't allow was sleep. "Lex," he began again, ten minutes later, "this house isn't just going to be my home, you know. It's going to be yours as well, or at least, I hope it is. I want you to have some input as well."

"Clark, two things: one, why? Two: why now?"

"Now because it's got to be now or over breakfast, and trying to talk to you before you've had breakfast and before I have to leave for work is like trying to put an elephant in a three-ring binder. Why, because… because it has to be both of us, or it won’t work."

"I don't see why not," Lex told him. "Why can't we sleep now, and talk about interior design with Mr. Shortcake tomorrow?"

"Because, Lex, you don't talk to Mr. Shortcake. Today was the third meeting we've had with him, and in all those meetings all you've ever said boils down to "give Clark what he wants" and "I quite like the stained glass." That isn't participating in the process."

"There has to be a process now?"

"No. Yes. You have to join in."

"I am 'joining in', Clark. I've bought the house, I'm paying Mr. Shortcake, and I will come and live with you in the house when it's finished. What more do you want?"

"I want… " Clark said, and then trailed off, looking at his lover's back. "Lex, turn over. Let me see your face."

Obediently (though with enough pause to indicate that he did this because he wanted to, not because Clark was forcing him), Lex flopped onto his back. "I still don't see what more you want from me, Clark."

Clark studied him for a moment. "You don't understand, do you?"

"No, Clark, evidently I don't. Enlighten me, if you must."

"Well," Clark began, and then stopped, mouth open, as if listening intently.

"Clark? What is it?"

"Bank robbery on Sixth. I'll be back as soon as I can." Clark scrambled out of bed. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't try and stay awake, though."

Lex opened his mouth to reply, but Clark was gone. "Right," he said to the empty room. "Finally, I'm allowed to sleep."

Fifteen minutes later, Clark slipped back in, to find Lex fast asleep and snoring. He resisted the temptation to wake him. "Sweet dreams, Lex," he whispered instead, and laid his head on the pillow.

* * *

"Still you do not say what you are thinking!" Mr Shortcake said to Lex, accusingly, as they ended their meeting. He shook a finger at him. "You must speak up, or we will never make something that makes you happy!"

Lex didn't look pleased, and Mr Shortcake dropped it—but not without whispering to Clark on the way out, "Make your boyfriend be talking to me, please. Is difficult to read his mind!"

Clark nodded and said goodbye. Mind-reading would make a lot of things easier.

When the interior designer was gone, Clark walked across the room and swung himself up to sit cross-legged on Lex's desk.

"I thought you had to go back to work," Lex said, leaning back to look up at him, though without any hint of complaint in his voice.

"Changed my plans," Clark shrugged. "Lex, if we're serious about this, if we're really going to have a home together, we're going to have to *work* together."

Lex nodded. "We are, though, aren't we?"

"No, we're not. Not really. So far, all we've done is spilt the jobs up—I chose the house, you bought it. This part, we have to agree on. We have to do it together."

"I don't see why it's important all of a sudden," Lex said. "You chose the house, you get to choose what goes into the house. I'm not worried, as long as you're there and you're happy with it."

"But I," Clark said, stressing the word, "want you to be happy with it."

"If you're happy, I'm happy. I just said that."

"Lex, you won't be. We have wildly differing tastes, we come from very different backgrounds, there is no way you will be happy in a house I've had free run in. You can't even stand my *apartment*, for heaven's sake."

"Nothing wrong with your apartment," Lex said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Clark looked at him. "You refuse to step inside the door."

"I don't."

"You never visit."

"I have."

"When?"

"I came over at Christmas."

"Yes, Lex. Once, three years ago, you came over for Christmas. And within ten minutes you'd decided that you were *desperate* to take me out to dinner."

"I'd made reservations."

"No, you hadn't. You paid a lot of money—even by your standards—to be somewhere that wasn't my apartment."

Lex, knowing he was losing, cast around for another way to go. "What has your apartment got to do with this, anyway? The things you're choosing for the house are totally different."

"They're still all my choice, Lex. And you don't like them."

"Supposing you're right, Clark. What would you want me to do about it?"

Finally, Clark thought. "Tell me."

"Tell you I don't like it—and what then? You ignore me, and all I get is the satisfaction of knowing that I did complain?"

Clark stared at Lex, surprised. "Is that really what you think I'd do?"

Lex met Clark's eyes for a moment, and then looked down. "It's what most people do, Clark," he said.

"No, it isn't," Clark said. "It's exactly the sort of thing your father would do, but it's not the way most people behave."

"Oh, isn't it?" Lex asked, his voice dripping with protective sarcasm. "So, what do ordinary human beings do, Clark?"

Clark frowned, but didn't rise to the bait of the 'you know full well I'm not human' argument. "Normal families make compromises, Lex. I choose something. You say you don't like it; I suggest something different. You say you don't like that either, and you tell me why, so then I can suggest something that I like, but I think is closer to what you like. You suggest something that you like, and which is close to what I like. In the end, we agree on something we both like."

"Or, for the sake of a peaceful life, we agree on something that neither of us actually likes, but which we're both *pretending* to like. I don't see how that's an improvement."

"Lex, listen to yourself. Can you see either of us lying about it?"

"Yes."

Clark sighed. "In the past, maybe. But now we're supposed to be trusting each other, Lex. Trusting each other not to lie. Do you trust me?"

Lex's reply, when it came, was so quiet as to be almost inaudible. "I'm trying."

"And I'm trusting you," Clark whispered, and then returned to normal volume. "Now, where do you want to start? You can't stand the curtains, can you?"

"No, I can't," Lex admitted with a smile. "In fact, the whole curtains/stained glass combination isn't a good one."

"But I want curtains," Clark said simply. "So—is there some sort of curtain that *does* go with stained glass?"

"You'd better ask Mr. Shortcake that," Lex told him.

* * *

Epilogue

from The Daily Planet, 23rd November 2018:

We are pleased to announce the adoption, by Alexander Joseph Luthor and Clark Jerome "Superman" Kent, of a baby daughter, Jade Alexandra Martha Lillian Kent-Luthor.

No official statement has been issued, but Mr Kent's colleagues here at the Daily Planet report that he is very pleased, and somewhat more tired than usual.

End.

Stories