Bare the Cross by CJ

Summary and/or challenge: Remember the whole scare crow thing from the pilot? Clark LIKED it. What, you may ask? Being semi-naked in front of a group of men? The humiliation? Lex finding him nearly naked in a corn field? Being restrained? Whatever... it's just been bothering him deep down and he has to confess to Lex, who of course, gets to "help". (Creed Cascade)

Disclaimer: They aren't mine. None of them. Not only Clark and Lex, but Chloe, Lana, and Pete - the WHOLE CREW belongs to someone else. *sigh* so I write about them for free. It's fun. No infringement intended.

Beta: Thanks to a whole raft of people- Reetchik and Haunt Fox for grammar; Margaret for telling me I'm not a sicko, just very inventive; Mary Willing Prey for answering questions like "What the FUCK do you mean there's no corn in the fields in November?" and Diane for making sure it made sense.

He tried to pull his head up and see who was speaking, but Whitney and his friends slapped him. Hard.

He felt weak, dazed, and he knew his powers were gone. Gone to Eric, the boy that would be him. Had become him, with all his powers and all his temptations. Clark Kent was nothing special now.

The football players were laughing at him, running their hands over him, ripping off his clothes, holding him up by the hair. Then Whitney put one strong arm across his chest to keep him from falling on his face as they tried to hook his arms over the main beam of the cross.

He was struggling again. He wanted to see the owner of the voice. He just wanted to see, and maybe to feel.

Whitney shoved him hard, and the leather sleeve of the boy’s varsity jacket clung to his chest. He gasped as it peeled away and he found himself against one of the other jocks, who held his arms behind his back as Whitney slapped him again. Twice. He felt it.

He relaxed into the arms of the football players and let them position his body as they liked. He felt the rough wood digging into his arms and the ache in his shoulders as they raised the scarecrow cross.

His skin tightened as Whitney, standing on a stepladder, took a soft horse hair brush and smeared a red “S” across his chest and down around his abs. He felt his ass clench as they ripped off his jeans and boxers, and he shivered as they laughed at him, goosed him, slapped his dick, and called him a cocksucker.

“Because I have to tell you, my friend,” the voice drew closer as the jocks left the cornfield and drove away to win their homecoming game.

“I have to tell you that this,” white skin glowed in the moonlight as a slim hand reached out and ran one elegant finger up his aching, leaking cock, “is not a normal response to crucifixion.”

Clark sat up in bed, almost knocking his mother over as she held on to his shoulders. He clutched the sheets and quilt and pulled them up to his chest. “Mom?”

“I’m right here, Clark. You were having a nightmare.” She was in her flannel nightgown, eyes as much full of sleep as worry.

She was petting his hair now and Clark flinched. “Right, nightmare.” He closed his eyes briefly to try toand wipe out the images of the dream, but that just intensified the ache in his shoulders and his cock.

“Son,” his father was standing at the door to Clark’s bedroom in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, looking concerned. “Do you want to talk about it? You… You called out a name in your sleep.”

“I did?” He looked from his dad to his mom and back. He’d obviously made enough noise to bring them both running and he couldn’t remember the last nightmare that had made him cry out that loudly. If you could call what happened tonight a nightmare. The stickiness covering his stomach made the sheet cling to him as he shifted uncomfortably.

When his mom moved to turn on his bedside lamp, Clark was there first. “Don’t bother, Mom. I mean we’re just heading back to sleep, right? Not like I need a night light or anything.” He attempted a laugh, but barely managed a dry chuckle.

His parents exchanged worried looks. Even in the dark he could see the silent communication flying between them. They weren’t going to let the subject drop that easily.

His mother took it up and asked hesitantly, “You called out Lex Luthor’s name. Was he- In the dream, did he-“

“These guys had him,” Clark jumped in, not wanting to hear the end of his mother’s question, “and I was trying to save him but I didn’t- didn’t have my powers any more and I didn’t think I would get there in time and, you know, it was- um, scary.”

Please, please, please, don’t let his Mom notice the wet spot or, oh jeez, the smell.

Another look was exchanged, and Clark was worried that they had totally seen through his explanation, or maybe his quilt, then Jonathan spoke. “Clark, I know that the last few days have been hard: to have the chance to live a normal life and then to have to give it up, well, it’s got to be a disappointment. And it’s natural to wish that you didn’t have your gifts anymore, especially after seeing what happened to Eric.”

His dad came in and sat on other side of the bed and put a strong hand on Clark’s shoulder. “But it’s going to be okay, Son. We’re going to keep your secret safe, like we always have, and no one is going to take you away for study. We’ve seen now what can happen when people find something like this out. It’s not going to happen to you.”

“Get some sleep, Clark,” his mother said as she patted his shoulder, “and call if you need anything.”

He felt his Mom squeeze his shoulder and knew there was at least a little understanding there, but no way out. As far as his parents were concerned, the lies were forever.

But he wouldn’t bother her. It wasn't the kind of dream you could tell your mom about.

He listened as his parents went back to their own room and settled down for another couple of hours of rest before chores. When he was sure they were asleep he wiped himself off with a corner of the sheet and got to work. He used a touch of speed to quickly and quietly strip the bed, get fresh sheets from the linen closet, and remake the bed. Then he took the semen stained bedding down to the basement to rinse and wring out in the utility sink before finally depositing them under a stack of dirty laundry. His mom would probably run a load this morning, or he could do it when he got home from school.

She'd probably notice the extra sheets, but she wouldn't say anything. The Kents knew all about secrets.

After speeding through the fields, Clark slowed down to a walk once he was in sight of the campus. He watched some of the other kids walking or riding bikes, arriving early for extra study, or to hang with friends.

It was like seeing everyone and everything through a different lens or something. For a few days this week Clark had felt like them. He’d had to work at running. His chores had taken forever, and he’d felt tired at the end of them.

“Hey, Clark!” Chloe called, getting off the bus with Pete and heading up to the entrance.

“Hey, Chloe, Pete.” Smile. Stand. He was good at pretending he hadn’t run the distance from home to school in three minutes. He could certainly act as if he hadn’t had a wet dream about being tied up naked in a field with Lex Luthor stroking his cock.

“Clark, man, what are you doing here?” Pete fell in on Clark’s left as Chloe took the right. “I have never seen you get to school before the bus!”

“Hey – first time for everything, right?” Clark grinned. “Anyway, I wanted to finish the reading for Mrs. Crissling.”

“Oh, god! I forgot about the biology reading!” Chloe came to a dead halt and snapped her head up to plead, “Clark you have exactly nine minutes before the bell: WHAT DID THE READING COVER?”

As Pete busted out laughing, Clark gave Chloe his usual grin and a summary of the chapter entitled The Structure of Cell Walls and the Difference Between Plant and Animal Cells.

The microscope work in biology had been really interesting, and Clark had managed not to break any of the tiny pieces of glass as he and Pete had put different solutions on them and examined them through the tiny lenses. Chloe had managed to bluff her way through three of Mrs. Crissling’s questions, which earned Clark a big hug after class. Which was nice.

He arrived home smiling, got off the bus and took a deep breath of fall air as he walked into the farmyard. The shadows were already getting long and he figured he’d better get started on the chores. Then he saw his mom loading up the truck.

“Don’t know if I like the sound of that, Mom.” His grin was big and natural and very normal as he teased, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you only wanted me around for the heavy lifting.”

His mom swatted his shoulder and smiled up at him, “I don’t think you’ll mind helping out with this. It’s a last minute delivery out to Lex Luthor’s house. Something about a dinner party tonight. Think you could run this out there for me?”

Something crawled down his spine and curled up, shivering, in his belly. It wasn’t nice and it wasn’t warm, and it didn’t even know what normal was, but it was all for Lex.

“Thanks, Honey.” She searched his eyes for a second, and smiled, visit too long, okay? You still have chores.”

“No problem, Mom, back before you know it,” he pasted on a grin, took the keys, and got in the truck.

The house line rang and Lex picked it up without looking. His eyes continued to scan the report on his laptop as he answered, “Yes, Ms. Franklin?”

“Clark Kent is here with the produce delivery, Sir. You wanted to be informed.”

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Franklin.”

Lex left his desk without a second glance. The smile on his face as he headed for the kitchen would have puzzled his business associates and troubled his father. It was far too real.

The game Lex was playing this evening was childish, but he couldn’t help it. The confrontation with Clark over his invulnerability had been a miscalculation on his part, and no matter what Clark had said in the hospital he wouldn’t believe everything was okay until he had tested it a few times.

By pressing Clark to reveal his secrets he had violated his father’s first two rules of business: never risk what you aren’t willing to lose, and, even more importantly, never hold anything so closely that you aren’t willing to lose it. Obviously, he hadn’t learned either lesson well enough.

Not for any secret, not for any truth, would he willingly lose his friendship with Clark Kent.

So tonight, having roped his cook into the plot, he sent a message to the Kent farm for an urgent last minute delivery of produce to be used in a fictitious dinner. It was calculated sponteneity. If Mr. or Mrs. Kent delivered it, then he would worry. If Clark delivered it, then they would have an excuse to spend an hour or so shooting some pool and making sure all was still on track with what should be a legendary friendship.

It was childish.

He’d known that.

He’d done it anyway.

“Hello, Clark,” a breezy, casual entrance, because acknowledging to himself that he was childish and insecure didn’t mean he was going to let Clark see that.

“Um, hey, Lex.” Clark was half way to the kitchen door, turning in surprise as Lex came to a stand still at the kitchen’s central island.

Okay, maybe this test was not going to be passed so easily after all. “Leaving so soon?”

“Well, I thought you had people coming over. A dinner party or something, right?”

“Not for a while yet, and Ms. Franklin has it all well in hand.” He glanced at his exceedingly efficient cook.

“Yes, Sir, no problems here.” And you could believe it, looking at the young woman in her efficient chef-whites and the tightly pulled back bun.

“Oh. Good,” Clark looked down at his hands as if there were some notes to tell him what to do next. “I guess I can stay for a minute then.”

But he didn’t move.

“Is something wrong, Clark?”

A rhetorical question, since it was clear that there was indeed something wrong: Clark was obviously feeling uncomfortable with Lex.

This was not acceptable.

Not at all.

Lex jerked his head in the direction of the gaming room, “Let’s go shoot some pool.”

“Sure.”

Their footsteps sounding through the stone halls were awkward and intrusive in the silence. Lex wondered if he should apologize again for the accusations he had made about Clark’s invulnerability or if he should wait for Clark to say something. Would discussing it help? Or just serve to stir things up again?

He set up the balls and let Clark break. Clark sunk the nine-ball and as he moved to take his next shot, he finally spoke.

“Lex, do you dream much?”

Okay. Not a question he was expecting, but Lex was nothing if not quick on his feet.

“Everybody dreams, Clark. Without our dreams we’d go insane.”

Clark sunk the seven in the corner pocket.

“I don’t mean ambition or conquer the world type stuff; I just mean dreams like you have when you’re asleep.” Clark kept his eyes on the table, moving around to the opposite side to set up his next shot.

“So do I,” Lex agreed. “Most animals dream. Dreams and sleep are the brain’s way of resetting at night.”

“So you don’t think they, like, mean anything.” He tapped the three, but it bounced out of the side pocket. Clark stepped back, eyes still studying the table.

Lex walked up to take his shot. It was clear that whatever was bothering Clark had nothing to do with what had happened at the hospital when Clark had broken his ribs. This was something completely different.

“There are lots of theories about the meanings of dreams. The Greeks and Romans thought the gods could communicate with you through your dreams.” Lex sank a ball and glanced up at his friend. Clark was watching him intensely, but Lex didn’t think it had anything to do with the game. He shrugged a bit, lined up his next shot and continued. “Many cultures have traditions of dreams being a communication from the spirit world, showing a person the path they’re supposed to follow.”

He heard Clark’s little gasp just as he stroked into the shot; his miscue sent the cue ball straight into the opposite pocket.

“Very smooth, Lex.”

Lex could hear the grin. Which didn’t help, as he remained leaning over the table for long moments, shaking his head as if mourning the stupidity of the error, when in fact he was amazed at the stupidity of his dick for choosing that moment to get hard.

As Clark moved around to retrieve the ball, Lex stood up and arranged his grip on the cue appropriately. He waited while Clark lined up his shot, three in the corner: no fuss no muss, and then he said, “What have you been dreaming about, Clark?”

There was a crack and the three-ball ricocheted off the table entirely.

“Shit!” Clark muttered and went to fetch it from inside the unlit fireplace. The nervous swallow, the deep blush, the eyes fixed on his task, told Lex everything he needed to know.

“There is another theory about dreams, one that I find entirely convincing.” Lex said, keeping a carefully straight face.

“Yeah?” Clark stood up from retrieving the ball and looked almost fearfully at Lex.

“Yes,” Lex nodded very seriously as he walked up and gently took the pool-ball from Clark’s hands, “it’s the theory of rampant adolescent hormones overrunning the brain.” And he could nothold back the grin anymore, especially as he saw Clark blushing, not with shame, but with the goodhearted embarrassment of a friend being caught out in a mild game of ‘what are you really talking about?’

“Dreams are never straight forward, Clark.” Lex said, tossing the pool ball in one hand and heading back to the table. “Don’t make the mistake of giving them a literal interpretation. Just remember that they’re dreams and no one else is going to see them.” He smiled up at Clark as he positioned the ball and then bent low over the table to take his shot. Without even a moment to line things up, he angled the two off the opposite bank and sank it in the near-side pocket.

Clark seemed to relax then, and grinned as Lex made ready to run the table. “Thanks, Lex.”

And Lex knew then what true power was, because he had made Clark Kent smile.

~*~*~*~

Two weeks after their pool game, a week after thieves with glowing green tattoos had thrown Chloe from Lex’s window, and three days after almost getting killed himself by the same meteor rock crazed thieves, Clark stood outside the mansion at 3:00 AM and wondered why it was that Lex was always making everything okay for him when Clark was the one with the alien powers.

Clark hadn’t been able to save Chloe, but Lex had gotten her specialists that had managed to ensure no permanent damage from the fall.

Clark hadn’t been able to resist the tattooed thugs when they had caught him and Whitney looking for Lex’s stolen disk, trying to redeem Whitney’s soul. It had been Lex who kept his cool and showed up with the Calvary just when they needed it. It had been Lex who had made the lies work, without Clark even asking.

Lex made things easier for Clark. There just weren’t many people in his life that did that.

Which was no doubt why he was still here now, at 3:15 AM on a school night, wishing he could wake Lex up so that his friend could tell him not to worry about his dreams; they were just symbolic.

Really.

It was weird, though. He hadn’t dreamed at all while he’d been chasing down Whitney and new buddies. His stomach clenched at the thought of them and their glowing green tattoos.

Every time he’d gotten near them it had hurt so bad. Then the ring-leader, Wade, he’d actually stuck his hand into Clark’s chest. That had been pain like nothing he’d felt since getting his powers back from Eric. His lungs had been squeezed and his heart had labored, and he’d wanted to scream but he’d had no air. At the same time, he'd never wanted Wade to stop. He’d yearned to feel that intensity, that reality, for as long as he could.

The night after Wade’s gang was arrested, the dreams had started up again.

He sat down with his back to an old stone wall in the garden and closed his eyes, trying to catch the feeling of acceptance he’d had with Lex during their pool game. Even as he reached for the memory of purple felt and clicking billiard balls, sleep snuck up and hijacked him back to his latest dream of Reilly’s field.

The corn still sighed and the cross was waiting, but there weren’t any jocks this time, just four has-beens-turned-thieves. They wore ski masks and denim vests and their arms were covered with glowing green tattoos. One of them had only one arm; another had blue eyes and only one tattoo.

Whitney.

He knew that the tattoos should make him sick, that he should fight them, but then he remembered that he didn’t have his powers here in the corn.

He gave in.

They spun him around and around, pushing him into each other’s arms, but instead of being caught in their hands he was skewered on them.

The pain was so intense: fire and ice moving inside him, stroking him from the inside out, and then gone. He gasped at the emptiness.

They laughed and whooped as they stripped him, shouting words he couldn’t understand and spilling beer on him from over-flowing steins. Thin, cold, liquid strips of sensation sliding across his chest and down his ribs.

He didn’t struggle, and he was hard before they even touched his cock.

“Your body doesn’t lie, Clark.”

The voice was out in the corn somewhere. He was glad it had come to watch, glad that he wouldn’t be on display for nothing.

After he was tied to the cross, they didn’t stand it up in the field. Instead they reclined it back onto two sawhorses until he was laid out and ready for them. He caught a flash of white skin and purple silk approaching through corn before Whitney pushed his head down.

It was enough. Whatever happened, he knew he’d be safe.

“There’s truth in every line, every fiber of you.”

The voice was so close he felt the vibration of the words and shivered.

While Whitney petted his hair, two of the thieves pressed his shoulders even further back into the crossbeam. He could feel the pattern in the wood grain through his skin. Wade stood over him with a needle-tipped machine in his hand. The thief was laughing as he turned it on.

When it touched his skin he thought he was on fire. His cock jerked. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.

“Your body wants to tell all your secrets, but it doesn’t know the words. It can only show.”

The voice was at his feet now. He tried to raise his head. He so wanted to see. But Whitney held his head down firmly.

The fire was moving now across his chest. Slowly, so slowly, it burned in a line from right to left. Then down at an angle, another turn, coming to a point over his belly and then back up the other side in mirror image.

He felt tears trickle out the corner of his eyes.

“Can I teach your body to talk, Clark?”

The fire moving across his chest had completed the straight lines; now it moved in one long excruciating curve, and as it began its sweeping crawl over his chest, something hot and slick begin to trace paths up his legs. Swirling, probing in hollows and creases, it traced searing pleasure in counterpoint to the pain over his chest. He desperately tried to spread his legs against the ropes: wanting more, needing more.

The line of pain moved to its completion across his abdomen, and there was a pause in the slick calligraphy moving over his hips.

“And by the gift of tongues shall the truth be revealed.”

And just as the needle-point of the machine started to trace over its own tracks, his stomach muscles cramping with the pain, he felt a lapping and sucking at his balls that jerked him up: arching off the cross as the thieves held him down at the shoulders and the ropes anchored him at his feet, with all the pain and pleasure meeting halfway and each making the other that much more intense as he came in waves that didn’t seem to have an end.

Clark awoke to a mini-avalanche of broken stone caused by his head jerking back against the wall. His entire front was wet and sticky and warm. His cock was still tingling and his lip throbbed.

He reached up to his face and found a cut through his lower lip that healed even as his fingers explored it. The healing didn’t get rid of the trail of blood, however. It ran from his chin down his chest and he knew this shirt was destined for the rag bag. His pants were filled with cum as well and getting clammy. He was going to have to speed home and change before school.

He really wished Lex were here to tell him it was just a dream.

‘Don’t worry about it, Clark,’ he’d say, ‘don’t take it literally. There is nothing to say conclusively that having a wet dream about being beaten, tied up and tattooed means you’re a perv.’

As he ran home at top speed, Clark wondered what Lex would say about the fact that he got hard just remembering it.

~*~*~*~

At 4:30 AM Clark heard his parents get up and his mom come downstairs and go into the kitchen to start the coffee. From the laundry room in the basement, he could hear every step as she went to the pantry, pulled out the coffee and the filters, and then went over to the sink to fill the pot. She did this at the same time every morning, except Sunday, when she let Jonathan make the coffee while she slept in until 6:00 AM.

Clark had already changed and was just finishing loading his jeans and underwear into the washing machine, when he heard his mom calling him.

“Clark? Are you up?”

“Yeah, Mom, just getting a load of laundry in!” He checked to make sure that he had put in enough other dark colored clothes from the hamper to justify running a load and then added the soap, closed the lid, and turned on the washer.

He walked up the steps sniffing appreciatively, “Smells good, Mom. Apple cinnamon pancakes?”

His mother smiled as he entered the kitchen, “I made the apples up last night. I thought I might need extra incentive to get you out of bed this morning. You were up pretty late.”

“I had a lot of homework.”

“Doesn’t seem to have stopped you from getting up this morning. I didn’t hear your alarm go off.”

“I sorta got up by myself.”

Clark started setting the table. It had been his very first chore: setting the table for family meals. He could lay out all the plates and silverware without even thinking, and he desperately wanted to stop thinking now.

“What time did you go to bed?” His mother’s voice was casual, and her back was to him as she mixed up that pancake batter, but Clark knew this was just the beginning of the questions.

“I’m not sure. It was pretty late.”

“Clark?” His mother managed to put a full sentence of meaning into his name. She knew he was hedging.

Clark played dumb.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Are you sleeping okay at night?”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, Mom, I’m sleeping okay.” He took a deep breath, straightened a fork and decided to come out with a little more truth. “Just not as much as I used to.”

“How much is not as much?” She had dropped all pretense of breakfast preparation now and turned around to lean against the counter, frowning with concern.

“Couple of hours.”

“Clark, honey, that’s not enough. You need more sleep than that!” She was frowning and her mouth was pursed: she was worried. Like she always worried.

But he’d rather see her eyes worried than disgusted. Or better yet, just not see anything at all. So he turned to the refrigerator to get the milk out. As he did so he threw a question over his shoulder, “How do you know?”

“What?”

“How do you know I need more sleep than that? Maybe I’m growing out of it. Like I grew out of bruises.”

“Well, do you feel like this is normal for you? It seems kind of sudden. To go from eight hours a night to two.”

Clark was tired of this. Tired of the whole thing. One more freak fact about alien-boy.

“Mom, it’s no big deal, okay? I just don’t need to sleep so much. I’m fine. It’s just another weird thing about me, and it’s a heck of a lot easier to deal with than some of the other things.”

“What things?” Jonathan asked coming downstairs.

“Nothing.” Clark said immediately. The table was set and he had nothing to do with his hands, so he gripped them on the back of one of the chairs to keep from nervously re-arranging the place settings.

“Clark suddenly doesn’t seem to need as much sleep as he used to.” His mother’s raised eyebrows and cautious tone were like a signal for his father: Go carefully, Jonathan.

“It’s not that sudden, Mom!”

“When did this start, Clark?” His father started in with the questions now, “Have you been feeling any different? Any other changes?”

“Look, I-” Clark couldn’t take it anymore. What could he say to make them stop asking questions? I’m having wet dreams about being assaulted in a corn field by my best friend, and I’d rather not sleep than have freak dreams that have no chance of coming true.

Shit. He did not just think that.

“I’m gonna walk to school today. Maybe it’ll tire me out a little.”

“Clark!” He heard his mother call, but he wasn’t stopping.

~*~*~*~

“Mr. Luthor, Mr. Raines is here to see you.”

“Send him in.” Lex looked up from the report he was writing for his father and frowned. What was Raines doing coming all the way out to the plant? Generally, his chief of household security handled updates by phone.

The door to Lex’s office opened and the tall, broad, blond presence of Mr. Raines walked in. “Good morning, Mr. Luthor.”

“Is it, Mr. Raines? I’m inclined to doubt it when my chief of security pays me an unscheduled visit. Do we have a problem?”

Personally, the man had rubbed Lex the wrong way at first, but professionally he was just what Lex wanted: experienced, loyal, and discreet. He was one of the best at what he did, and he worked for Lex, not his dad or LuthorCorp.

“What we have is an anomaly, Sir.” Raines said as he sat down and placed three videos on Lex’s desk. “Whether this is a problem or not is something we need to assess.”

“What kind of anomaly?”

Raines picked up a tape and raised an eyebrow to Lex, “May I?”

“Certainly.” Lex gestured to the TV/VCR on the shelf to the right of his desk.

“What you’re about to see is a tape from approximately four this morning.” He slotted the tape in and hit play on the control panel.

A high contrast black and white security shot of part of the mansion gardens came up. The monitoring equipment was new and used the latest night vision and motion sensor technology to direct the cameras. It had been installed immediately after the break-in that had injured Chloe Sullivan and lost Lex a valuable corporate data disk.

Lex wasn’t sure exactly where this shot had been taken, but at the moment he didn’t care. What he cared about was that sitting in the middle of the shot was Clark Kent, leaning up against a retaining wall, apparently asleep.

Lex watched as his friend started rocking slightly. He seemed to be dreaming. Suddenly, Clark threw back his head and slammed it into the wall behind him.

The stone shattered.

Raines froze the picture and Lex stared at the face of his best friend: his eyes were squeezed shut, he was biting his lip to the point that it appeared to be bleeding, and he had a look of concentration that Lex wanted to break.

No.

Lex wanted to own it, to do whatever was necessary to see it again. Preferably in person next time.

“This was the point at which the motion sensors picked him up and upgraded the station to ‘intrusion warning’. It was the vibration from breaking the stones that set them off.” Raines paused and looked at Lex. “Who is he, Mr. Luthor?”

“You know who he is.” Or at least as much as Lex was willing to let him know about Clark. “He’s one of four people on my immediate access roster. I should think you would have already researched him.”

His security chief ignored the jibe, and pointed to the image on the television screen. “Once I saw this, I went back and checked the passive recordings.” Raines gestured to the stack of tapes. “He’s been sitting in that same spot for an hour or two a night almost every night for the last three days. He’s so still once he’s there, that he doesn’t set off the motion sensors. How he gets there without setting them off, I don’t know.”

Lex’s eyes narrowed, “I thought this was state of the art equipment, Mr. Raines. Why don’t you know?”

Raines popped out the tape and picked up the next one in the stack. “Watch.”

The screen came up with a picture of the same spot. The wall was not broken and Clark was not there, so this was an earlier tape. Lex opened his mouth to ask Raines what he was supposed to be seeing, when from one frame to the next, Clark was suddenly there. Sitting on the wall. Staring up at the mansion.

Lex swallowed.

That was… fast.

Teleportation?

It wasn't supposed to be scientifically possible, but neither was walking through walls, and he'd seen that with his own eyes. He’d seen other meteor-altered humans do things just as strange.

Or maybe Clark was just really, really fast.

“Who else has seen this?” Lex demanded.

“The mids shift brought the initial alarm to my attention last night. Once I saw who it was, I checked the passive recordings myself. All the copies of the tapes are accounted for and sitting on your desk.”

“Good.” Lex felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly. Raines had contained the problem admirably.

“However, I must tell you that I consider this to be a threat to your security. I can’t protect you if I don’t have the facts.” Raines said softly, “I’ve never heard of a Kansas farm boy that could get through a world class security system and just appear inside the perimeter. I am asking you again, Mr. Luthor, who is he? Or should I be asking, what is he?”

Lex went cold. Other security staff had seen last night’s intrusion alarm and the video of Clark breaking the stone. Had any of them posed that question?

He’d known Clark had a habit of just showing up at the mansion. Why hadn’t he warned his friend about the new security system? Too late to be worrying about that now, of course. Time to focus on damage control. Lex had been careless, but he would not let Clark pay the price.

“He’s my friend, Mr. Raines, my best friend. You don’t need to protect me from him and you certainly don’t need to ask any such questions about him.” Lex’s eyes narrowed as he considered the fate of his chief of security. The man was an asset, unless he insisted on becoming a liability. “You are a valued employee, Mr. Raines. You came to me with the highest recommendations for your discretion concerning the private lives of your employers. I find I must rely on that discretion now.”

“I can’t operate in the dark, Mr. Luthor.”

“You have all the facts that I have.” Which was true. The man had all the facts; he just didn’t have all the conjecture, the hypotheses, or the first hand experience of what meteor exposure could do to a child.

Lex got up and paced a few steps behind his desk before he continued, “The feed from this camera will be taken off the main security grid and recorded separately. You will be the only one to handle the tapes. I will be the only one to review them. There will be no discussion of Clark Kent among security personnel. You will find a fault in the camera or motion sensor grid that explains his sudden appearance on last night’s tape. You will accomplish this by the end of the day and turn in a full report by 6:30 this evening, or you will turn in your resignation.”

“You are leaving a hole a mile wide in your security.” Raines’ voice rose and he jabbed a finger at the picture of Clark on the television, “That boy could get into your home and assault you or kill you, Mr. Luthor, and I would not be able to prevent it.”

“He’s my friend.”

“He’s a stalker.”

“I can take that resignation now, if you prefer.”

The silence in the room pressed in at his temples and gave Lex the mother of all headaches. He needed the kind of competence and loyalty that Raines had demonstrated, but he would be goddamned if he was going to allow anyone to investigate Clark or his family again. He had made a promise to Clark that night in the hospital: the matter was dropped. The friendship would be protected.

Lex's first impulse was to remove the threat, but there were problems inherent in that as well.

“I’ll do as you ask, but I want you to sign a statement attesting to the fact that this is being done against my professional advice.”

“Very well. You will have it at 6:30, when I have my report.” Lex allowed himself to breathe freely for the first time in several minutes.

Raines nodded and rose to leave; Lex rose as well, and held out his hand. After a moment, Raines took it and said, “I hope you know what you are doing, Mr. Luthor. I’ve never lost a client. I don’t want you to be the first.”

Lex smiled. “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Raines, and your understanding.”

Raines simply nodded and left.

As soon as the door shut, Lex was on the intercom to his secretary, “Melanie, clear my afternoon. Tell Gabe we’ll reschedule the final personnel reviews for tomorrow morning. I have urgent business at home. You can reach me by cell, but only for emergencies.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

Lex headed home to take a look at his garden wall, but he redirected on the way when he got a frantic call from Lana.

“Lex, there’s water coming down right in the middle of the room and the contractor just keeps looking at it and shaking his head!”

“He’s milking it for a higher fee. It’s all right, Lana, try to get him to give you a definite estimate. If he can’t provide one, tell him we’ll find someone that will. Use my name.” Lex smirked to himself as he pulled the car over to finish the conversation. “Put the fear of Luthor into him.”

“Right.” He could hear Lana take a deep breath, “I won’t let him intimidate me, Lex.”

“Good girl.” He thought about the fact that Lana really was just a girl, and dealing with a contractor on her own showed a lot of determination. Maybe he ought to ensure that the contractor understood exactly who stood behind her. “Tell him I’ll be by. Don’t tell him when, just that I am going to drop in today and make sure he knows I’m a concerned owner. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You sure?” He thought she sounded a bit shakey.

“I’m fine, Lex.” Lana assured him. “Clark is coming by soon, he’s going to help me with some stuff, and you know, well, there’s just so much to do! And now this.”

Had he ever been that young? That nervous? “Nothing will be allowed to delay the opening, Lana. We’ll get it all done. I promise.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

After he hung up the phone he turned the car around and headed into town. Clark was going to be at the Talon, and certainly Lana needed his support, so there was no question of going home now.

It was going to be a fun evening.

Later, when Lana handed him an application for assistant manager, filled out with a dead man’s name on it, he realized that once again Smallville had caught him flat footed and unprepared.

~*~*~*~

Speeding everywhere was not always the best way to go, Clark reflected as he walked from the Grand opening of the Talon. He kicked a stone with the toe of his dress shoe and continued to put one foot in front of the other at the rate of a very human, pensive teenager.

Walking gave him time to think, to contemplate, to meditate on the massive pile of lies that seemed to be at the heart of his life. He lied to his friends about his powers and his origins, he lied to his family about his dreams and his feelings, and he lied to Lex about absolutely everything. The worst part was that he couldn’t see a way out, not now.

Not since Zero.

He kicked another stone in frustration, and winced as it embedded itself in a tree.

He’d come to rely on Lex way too much, in ways his friend didn’t even know about, and probably would never understand.

At night, if he’d woken up from a dream, from the dream, he’d gotten into the habit of going to the mansion. He’d jump the wall, super-speed to the garden just below Lex’s window and look up at his sleeping friend.

It had helped.

It had made him feel safe, like he could go back home and sleep and it was okay, ‘cause it had just been a dream.

And then Jude Royce had come back from the dead, or seemed to, and Clark had abandoned his best friend to the machinations of a psychotic.

Clark scuffed the toe of his shoe into the asphalt, leaving a shallow furrow. He didn’t even notice.

Cool it for a while.

That’s what his mom had said, and how could Clark argue when they had a field full of LuthorCorp chemicals and dead cows?

He’d never seen his dad cry before.

And Lex kept telling him to stay out of it; let him handle it. Lex was the one who made everything okay, so Clark could do that. He could leave it. The past was the past and Clark really didn’t want to know if his friend had done something terrible back in Metropolis three years ago. Everyone said Lex was dangerous, that bad things happened around him, and, honestly, Clark had been afraid to find out if that were true. Let Lex have his secrets since, God knew, Clark had his.

That’s what he’d told himself. That’s how he’d justified leaving his friend to face death on his own.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut and scrubbed at his face, trying to erase the image of how Lex must have looked, chained at the ankles and bound up in a straight jacket hanging from the ceiling of the Club Zero.

Sure, Clark had got to him in the end, but how long had Lex hung there?

And when Lex told him the truth, lying there on that filthy, soaking couch, covered in shards of glass, hardly able to see because his eyes were so puffy from all the blood having settled in his head; when Lex spilled out the truth, it turned out that the shady past everyone had warned Clark about had just been a smoke screen to save a friend.

Clark had almost hoped that there had been some other reason, some sense of self preservation in the cover-up, but Lex had looked straight at him when they had spoken at the Talon’s party earlier this evening: “I was just trying to protect Amanda.”

Maybe it hadn’t been exactly the right thing to do by some standards, but Lex didn’t really operate by anyone’s standards but his own. He’d lie to protect a friend. He’d let his own father believe he’d killed a man, just to keep a friend from jail. He’d cut that friend out of his life, lose him completely, to keep him safe. Even if the friend didn’t want it. Even if the friend would rather go to jail, or be exposed to the press.

Clark could understand why Amanda had killed herself.

Clark didn’t want to do to Lex what Amanda had. He didn’t want to draw Lex into his own secrets. Dangerous secrets. Who knew what Lex would do to protect Clark, if Lex ever found out?

Clark muffled a sigh as his mind went over and over what he had already analyzed to death. He couldn’t keep using Lex as a security blanket. It was too dangerous for all concerned. He squared his shoulders and started to pick up the pace for home.

He didn’t fool himself into thinking the dreams were gone, but he resolved to find some way to beat them on his own. He had to if he wanted to be able to maintain his net of lies.

As he sped up to a pace faster than what most people could see, Clark remembered Lex’s final words at the party: “The truth is, I’d do anything to protect a friend.”

Those were the words that had sealed it. Clark knew then he could never tell Lex.

~*~*~*~

It was almost 10:00 PM when he got home and he found his mother and father sitting out on the porch in their jackets with cups of cocoa. As if the cocoa would make it look less like they were waiting up for him.

Clark grinned and walked up with his hands in his trouser pockets, his suit jacket open and casual. There were no comments about the cold and the thinness of his jacket. Sometimes it was cool to have parents that loved you and knew your secrets.

“How was the party, Clark?” his mother asked as he came up the steps.

“It was good. Lana’s done a great job with the Talon.” Clark smiled as he recalled how Lana had looked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy. She spent all evening going around talking to everyone, organizing things. I think she’s going to be a real success.”

“That’s good to hear.” Jonathan said, although he was frowning, and Clark tensed a bit knowing what was coming next. “I just hope she doesn’t get caught up in anymore craziness like last week. There’s no telling what could happen now that she’s in business with the Luthors.”

Clark could suddenly feel the chill in the air; he crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the tips of his dress shoes. “She isn’t in business with the Luthors, she’s in business with Lex. His dad doesn’t have any tie-ins with the Talon.”

“And it was because of Lex that a man was murdered and his hand delivered to the Talon in a box.” His dad reminded him, refraining from mentioning the dead cows. Again.

Not that he had to, because Clark could fill in all the blanks himself.

“Was Chloe there?” His mom broke in with a change of topic, and Clark looked up gratefully.

“Yeah,” Clark put on his best ‘I’m a normal guy smile’ and joined his mother in pretending the topic of Lex Luthor had not been brought up. “She and Pete were both there. Pete was teasing Lana by trying to come up with these really complicated orders that I’d, like, never heard of. He’d say, ‘I want a ta