Smallington by mahaliem (Part 2 of 2)

[teot]

Title: Smallington
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 20,000
Cover: One
Summary: Due to a deplorable scandal, Alexander Luthor is exiled from London and sent to Smallington. No sooner has he arrived than his life becomes imperiled and he is rescued by a gentleman named Clark Kent.



PART ONE

"Tell me of Richard Astley," Clark said. His head was in Alexander's lap as they rested upon the grass.

The hand that had been busily twining through strands of Clark's hair stilled. "Why do you wish to know?"

"Others may use my ignorance of what occurred in an attempt to part us. I would not have mere words tear me from your side."

"What I said to you earlier was true, but there was more than that to the tale. I met Richard at a house party. Though I thought we had little in common, it seemed each time I turned around it was to see him next to me."

"Again, and again in the weeks that followed, I came upon him in town and at my club. He suggested one night when I was bored that we venture out together for an evening's entertainment. We went to a gambling establishment of ill-repute and at the end of the evening's play I did hold his markers. At first I believed his luck to be running uncommonly poorly until at last I realized that he meant to be in my debt."

"Upon attempting to return his markers to him, he said that he must earn them. It was he that suggested the method. As I had drunk heavily throughout the evening, my judgment was impaired. That is the only excuse I give for agreeing to his suggestion."

"If it was his idea," Clark asked, "why did he go home and kill himself?"

A wave of pain swept across Alexander's features. "He declared his love to me that morning, claiming to have fallen prey to a passion for me from the time our eyes first met - which was a moment I did not recall. I told him to go back home to his family and fiancee. He became increasingly desperate for me to accept his love and, before departing, swore that he would prove his love for me."

Alexander gazed down at Clark with beseeching eyes. "I promise you that if I had suspected he would attempt to prove it by ending his life, I would have stopped him."

Clark curled an arm around Alexander's neck and gently pulled it down. Simultaneously he raised his head so that their lips could meet. Gently against them he whispered, "I believe you."

The kiss became one of deep, devouring hunger, and it was some time before either had the breath to speak.

"What I do not understand," Clark said, having returned his head to Alexander's lap, "is why he did it. Although you are most decidedly worth dying for, living for you seems a more propitious choice."

"I fail to understand it, as well. The man was young and impulsive, but if asked I would have said that he valued himself and his life much too highly to do the deed."

A thought sprang to Clark's mind and he straightened up abruptly.

"What is it?" Alexander asked.

"Could it be possible that he did not choose to hang himself?"

"What?" Alexander untangled himself from Clark's form and stood. He began pacing as he considered the matter. "It is possible. Though strong, Richard was of slight build. One more powerful than he could have forced the noose around his neck."

Clark, in the meanwhile, had also risen to his feet. "His father looks to have the strength."

"But why.... Alexander's voice trailed off. "Lord Astley had counted on Richard's marriage to Miss March, the shipping heiress, to fund repairs to their ancestral home and provide for their needs. If Richard, as proof of his love, announced that he was calling off the engagement, then his father might have been enraged."

"Why is he so anxious to blame you? Wouldn't it be better to allow such gossip to die?"

"Perhaps he desires to fix in society's mind the notion that it was suicide. Additionally, it is not unheard of for my father to attempt to buy someone's silence to avoid scandal. Lord Astley may be hoping that a continued show of outrage will force my father's hand."

"Or he could be mad." Clark moved closer to Alexander, feeling protective, though there was no immediate threat. "Before we left America, there were two incidents near where I lived of people going mad. With twisted reasoning, they would cast others as villains. Lord Astley, crazed with grief, might see you as the ultimate cause of the tragedy for if you did not exist for his son to have loved, then his son would still be alive."

"Then it is Lord Astley who may have shot at me."

"And," Clark added, "from whom I must guard you."

Alexander shook his head. "That is impossible. You must not be seen near me for it would incur my father's wrath. I would not see you harmed."

"Nor I, you."

Although Alexander had not moved from Clark's side, he felt him withdraw.

"It is late and I must return to the castle. I am surprised my father has not yet set the dogs out in search of me." Having said that, Alexander pulled away and turned toward the castle.

Clark took a step in front of him to delay his leaving. "When may I see you again?"

"I know not. It would be most unwise for us to meet again."

Nodding, Clark cast his eyes to the ground to hide his disappointment as Alexander turned from him. A moment later he heard returning steps and felt Alexander's hand upon his chin, lifting it.

There was an altogether too brief press of lips before Alexander drew back. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "At the ruins. As the sun sets."

This time, Clark felt his heart lighten as Alexander walked away and hoped the hours that lay before him ran like water through his fingers.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Alexander paced through the ruins, glancing at the sun for the fourth time in as many minutes. Was it only his imagination that it seemed to be staying firmly in the sky?

As he walked, his eyes drifted to the stones that hid the entrance to the cellar and he wondered what pretext he could put to use to lure Clark back there. The thought of the time they had spent within its confines had fueled his dreams these past two nights.

When he'd awoken that day to find himself astride Clark, it was to wonder if his fantasies had come to life. It was only the throbbing of his shoulder that reminded him that what he was experiencing was true.

His friend's arms had surrounded him, clutching him in sleep, and keeping him warm. The muscles of a broad chest lay under his hands and from deep within Alexander could hear the steady thumping of a heart that he knew to be good and pure. A war had waged within Alexander for though he admired such purity, a part of him wished to strip him of it as much as his clothes. As the clothes were barriers to Clark's form, so did the purity act as a barrier to Clark's soul.

Though Clark had now declared his feelings, Alexander continued to have doubts, for who so good could truly love one such as he?

Alexander had reached the spot where he'd been standing when he was shot. Spying a rust-colored splotch on the grass, he squatted down to examine it. If the aim had been true and the bullet had pierced his heart, despite his accelerated ability to heal, it would have spelled his death.

A glint of metal caught his eye. Investigating further, he found the remnant of a bullet, squashed flat as if it had hit a wall. Alexander glanced around, puzzled. There was no stone nearby, the nearest being the stones upon which he and Clark had sat which was several paces to the rear. It seemed unlikely that it might have ricocheted to this exact point.

He thought upon the moment in which he'd been wounded. Clark had been coming to join him and Alexander had turned to smile at him when he'd heard the shot and felt a blaze of agony in his shoulder. Instantaneously, Clark had been there. The second shot had sounded and Clark, somehow, had been in front of him, shielding him. Once more, Alexander examined the bullet in his hands. If there had been a wall in front of where he'd been standing on that fateful day, the bullet would have likely landed on the grass where he'd found it. But there had been no wall, only Clark.

Only Clark.

Clark who'd saved him at the river, though Alexander had spied him much further along the bank. Clark who'd saved him from the falling stone in the time between an exhale and inhale of breath. Clark, who'd lifted and carried him when he was injured with less difficulty than one would an infant.

So intent were his thoughts that he did not notice anyone approaching until he heard the whinny of a horse. Rising to a stand, he saw a man on horseback riding fast. Alexander started to call out a greeting when, by the light of the dying sun, he realized that the man was not Clark. It was Lord Astley.

And Lord Astley was carrying a gun.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark strode out of the stables, glanced at the sun setting in the sky, and let out a low curse. He was late but there was nothing for it. One of the mares had gone into a labor that proved difficult. The stable hands had fetched Clark, for he was known to have a talent for handling problematic births.

Using his special vision, Clark had seen that the foal needed to be turned. Keeping his vision fixed upon the foal inside, he corrected its positioning and then stayed until it was born, healthy and whole, with the mare unharmed. Afterwards, he'd washed up, but would need to change his clothes before meeting Alexander at the ruins.

Approaching the house, he saw a carriage out front. Looking closer, he noted the Luthor coat of arms on the side, and his pace quickened as he wondered why Alexander had decided to call upon him instead of rendezvousing as planned.

He stepped inside and was informed by a maidservant that he had a guest in the library. With a glad heart, he hurried to the library, opened the door, and then stopped short. Inside, drinking a cup of tea with his mother, was Baron Luthor.

Baron Luthor stood as Clark entered and gave him a smile that showed his full complement of teeth.

"Clark Kent, it's so good to see you again. I have been having the most delightful and enlightening conversation with your mother."

Clark spared a glance at his mother, before returning his gaze to the man before him. "Have you, now?"

"Indeed. Your mother is an amazing woman." Baron Luthor turned to Martha. "Mrs. Kent, if you have no objections, I believe I will take you up on your earlier offer to dine with you."

Martha's gaze switched back and forth between her son and the baron, before nodding. "I'll so inform the cook, then. If you'll excuse me?"

Martha had no sooner closed the door than the smile dropped from Baron Luthor's face. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here, Clark. I was under the impression you and my son had planned a clandestine meeting for this evening."

"We did. I'm late."

Baron Luthor blinked at the bald statement, though it seemed for show only. "I appreciate your honesty. It means that we won't have to waste time getting to the heart of the conversation. I am getting old and would like a grandchild. Alexander, however, seems too busy with his dalliances with young men to marry and provide me with one."

He paused at Clark's sudden intake of breath. "Surely you did not suppose that his preferences were unknown to me? Or," Baron Luthor said slowly, "was it because you did not view your relationship as a mere dalliance? I suppose by now he has already professed his love for you. He usually does in all of his little romances."

Baron Luthor advanced and was soon standing close to Clark. Reaching out, he gripped Clark's shoulder. "I apologize profusely for my son if he has led you astray with his false proclamations. I only hope that I can make amends for his actions."

Clark's eyes, which had been downcast to hide his thoughts, rose to meet Baron Luthor's.

"Amends?"

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Alexander scrambled behind a cluster of stone blocks and prayed for darkness to settle fully.

Lord Astley had cut off Alexander's path to his horse. Running down the hill toward the woods, while there was still light enough to see, would only be asking for a bullet in his back.

"Cease hiding like the coward you are, Luthor!" Lord Astley roared from a spot not nearly far enough away.

Stepping further into the growing shadows, Alexander silently vowed to give his valet a reward for choosing dark breeches, waistcoat, and tailcoat that day. He only wished he'd worn a hat to hide the gleaming of his head, which he feared might serve as a beacon to his location.

"If cowardly cur you be, then I'll hunt you down like a rabid dog!"

There was a thud and a muffled curse as Lord Astley stumbled on a bit of loose rock.

Alexander considered the possibility of overtaking Lord Astley. He was younger than the lord and fit. Lord Astley, however, outweighed him considerably and while some of that could be attributed to fat, a good portion seemed to be muscle. Then there was the fact that Lord Astley was carrying a gun. If Alexander failed to surprise him, he was sure to die.

No, it was better to avoid detection and escape into the night.

All might have gone well, but at that moment Alexander heard the drumming of a third horse's hooves. Any thought that Clark was invulnerable to bullets flew from Alexander's head as he stepped out of the shadow.

"Clark! Take care! Lord Astley has a gun!"

There was no answering shout and Alexander had time for no more warnings for a shot was fired and stone not far from Alexander's head shattered.

Alexander raced around the partial wall where he'd been hiding. He could hear Lord Astley curse from much too close a distance. It was then that he spied the entrance to the cellar not far from him. Racing to it, he threw himself in and hoped he hadn't been observed.

Quietly panting, Alexander lay still as he listened to Lord Astley's heavy footsteps and muttered imprecations come closer to the opening of the cellar. Soon, it seemed as if Lord Astley was right on top of him and Alexander sent up a silent prayer that he would pass by. His prayers, as always, were ignored and the footsteps stopped.

For long moments, all Alexander could hear was the overtaxed lungs of his pursuer as he stood at the entrance of his hiding place.

There began the sound of a distance thunderclap. But, instead of fading as thunder does, it grew until it became a roar and the very earth shook. Huge stones began to fall as a remnant of a tower nearby collapsed.

Alexander covered his head with his arms. From outside the cellar, Lord Astley cried out, but the scream was cut off.

Alexander backed away as far from the entrance as possible and shut his eyes to protect them from the cloud of dust. The walls around him trembled as stone fell to the ground. As the tower toppled, the ground quaked as if in pained reaction.

After what felt like an eternity, the world quieted.

To Alexander's own surprise, he lived still. He opened his eyes and for a moment thought he'd been blinded before realization struck. There was no star or moonlight for the entrance of the cellar was blocked by tons of stone.

What had been his safe haven had become his death trap.

Alexander was buried alive.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark waited in silence for Baron Luthor to tell him how he thought to make amends for his son's actions.

"Your mother has been telling me how much she'd hoped for a match between you and Miss Lang, but that she chose another, the son of a merchant." Baron Luthor's grip on Clark's shoulder tightened as he leaned closer. His voice took on a conspiratorial tone. "I am not without some influence on Miss Lang's aunt, Nell Potter. It would take but a word in her ear to put an end to the betrothal and soon have Miss Lang looking in your direction."

Clark knew he should be ecstatic at the thought that Baron Luthor was offering Lana to him, practically on a silver platter. Lana was beautiful and admired by all. She'd make any man an outstanding wife. With Lana at his side, Clark could live a happy and normal life in Smallington. He'd loved Lana for years, from the moment he'd first met her on the day they'd arrived in Smallington.

Or had he?

His love for Lana was but a candle flame compared to the conflagration of the soul he felt when with Alexander.

Alexander, with his bald head, defied conventional norms of beauty. Alexander, whether rightly or not, was shunned by society. For Alexander and Clark there would be no marriage, only furtive encounters, their love hidden under a cloak of friendship. With Alexander, who knew where their life's path would take them?

Clark stepped back, forcing Baron Luthor's hand to drop from his shoulder. Clark gave a slight bow.

"Please excuse me, but I must leave. I am late for my appointment."

With that pronouncement, Clark promptly turned on his heel and headed upstairs to his room to quickly change. To avoid further delay, he took the backstairs out and then used his great speed to run to the ruins.

At the foot of the hill, he stopped and stared in bewilderment at the cloud of dust that lingered in the air, unsettled, and the altered skyline. It took but a second for him to realize that one of the remains of a tower had lost its battle with gravity and collapsed. His next thought was of Alexander.

With pounding heart, Clark raced up the hill and began calling Alexander's name. When there was no reply, he used his vision to search for him in the darkness as he closed the distance to the mound of fallen stones. Most desperately he yelled, and still no answer came.

He'd almost reached the edge of the collapsed tower when he saw the lower half of a black Hessian. The top half of the boot and the leg within was blocked from view by rubble and several large stones.

With a cry, Clark sank to the ground next to it. His heart and very soul felt ripped from his body leaving a chasm of despair in their wake.

How long he sat there, he would not know, but at last he rose. It was only right to return Alexander's body to his home. It would be one last task, one last way that Clark could be of aid to him.

Slowly he picked up the uppermost stone and cast it aside. A second one went the way of the first. Then a third. By the removal of the fourth stone, more of the body was revealed to Clark's eyes and he sucked in a breath. The remaining stones were tossed aside until, to Clark's utmost relief and joy, he saw that the victim was not Alexander at all, but Lord Astley.

But if this was not Alexander, where was he?

Once more, Clark looked about, praying to see Alexander. Once more he failed. Closing his eyes, he tested his hearing to its utmost, hoping to hear something, a heartbeat, a whisper of breath.

At hearing Alexander's voice, clear and strong, calling for help, Clark felt his world right itself again. Alexander was alive.

From the sound of Alexander's voice, it seemed as if he were nearby. In a flash of recognition Clark saw that he was near where the entrance to the cellar had been.

The huge tumble of rocks over it gave Clark a momentary pause. He'd have to be careful when digging Alexander out for a stone moved in error might cause it to put more pressure than the ceiling of the cellar could withstand and all would be lost.

Or Clark would have to move so very fast that the stones would not have time to shift their weight.

Spurred by his concern for Alexander, Clark began to tunnel through the rock moving faster than he ever had before, hurling rocks aside in such a fashion that, to a viewer, it might have appeared to be a waterfall of stone.

There was a groaning as the stones began to sink inward, which incited Clark to more desperate efforts. When all that kept him apart from Alexander was but the ceiling of the cellar, Clark punched his way through. From its depths, he grabbed Alexander and lifted him out.

A second later, under the stars of the night sky, some distance from the tower's collapse, Clark carefully allowed Alexander to regain his footing, but was unable to let go of him entirely.

Alexander stared at Clark with eyes gone round. "My God," he breathed.

"You will not leave me," Clark said. "Swear to it, for I could not bear it if you did."

Not knowing what else to do but wanting to assure him, Alexander replied, "I will not leave you."

"Swear!"

Alexander took Clark's damp cheeks in his hands and it was only then that Clark realized that he'd shed tears. "I so swear."

Clark shuddered in reaction and his legs felt unsteady. Only his arms wrapped around Alexander saved him from falling.

"Have you done yourself an injury?" Alexander asked, concern filling his voice.

Clark shook his head.

"My God," Alexander said again, full of wonder to the point that he could scarcely get the words out. "I suspected you had powers of speed, but did not dream of the extent of it. Nor did I have an inkling of your true strength."

"I would not see you hurt."

"And you have my deepest gratitude." Alexander turned to look at the ruins and then returned his gaze to Clark. "What are you?"

"Yours."

"No, I mean-"

"I know your meaning, but that truth is unimportant in comparison to this one - that whatever you want from me, whatever you would have of me, take it, for I am yours."

Alexander brushed the hair away from Clark's face. "And I will take it. Greedily, with both hands, clasp it, never to let go."

Upon that hill, with only the stars as witness, Alexander Luthor was as good as his word.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

On the cool grass, Alexander shifted to his side so that he might gaze upon his lover's face.

"You never answered my earlier question as to what you are, but I believe I know. You grew up in the town where the meteors struck. It was the meteors that blessed me with good health and a strong constitution. You were gifted, as well."

Clark shook his head. "Although you are not the lone recipient of gifts, for many in that town have displayed abilities that defy imagination, I am not among those affected. The meteors did not make me what I am."

"Then how did you come to be as you are?"

"It is simply the way I was born. My parents were traveling back to their home when the meteors stuck. The horses shied and their carriage tipped. It was then, as my mother would say, that I found them. Although only a small child, I righted the carriage easily. Thinking my birth parents were injured, they entered the fields to search for them only to discover a strange conveyance, hot to the touch, that appeared to have fallen from the sky."

Clark took a breath to steady his courage. "My mother calls me her angel, but my thoughts and actions are too sinful for it to be true."

"You are most certainly no angel."

Clark gave him a bashful smile. "Indeed."

Alexander let out laugh and then shook his head. "That is not what I meant. Throughout history, many civilizations have believed that people from other planets in the heavens have come to Earth. You may be one such being."

"From another planet?"

"Yes, and if all of the people from your planet possess such talents and gifts as yours, then, if they'd visited Earth in the past, it would explain the gods of the ancients."

Clark smiled widely. "In one breath you take away my angelhood, but in the next, make me a god."

"I, for one, would happily worship you."

The look upon Alexander's face was one of such tenderness that Clark could not resist. It lured him down to bestow a kiss upon those lips.

When Clark withdrew, Alexander gave a sigh and moved to a seated position.

"As much as I would wish to stay here until the end of the world, there are matters that must be taken care of. Lord Astley's widow must be informed of his death and his body collected."

At the reminder of Lord Astley and the state Clark had found him in, Clark flushed and rose, lending Alexander a hand to rise, as well. He took a moment to straighten his clothing, which had been haphazardly drawn back on with no thought to neatness. His attempt at rectifying his appearance was doomed to be a lost cause. Rips in the fabric had occurred during his rescue of Alexander and grime was so deeply embedded that it had leaked through to the inside. The stains that now marred the surface of his clothes marked them as destined for the rubbish heap.

Glancing at Alexander, he was not surprised to see his attire was in much better repair, though still in need of a thoroughly cleaning and pressing of the iron.

"It would be for the best," Alexander said, "if I return with Lord Astley alone. I would not subject you to my father's disapproval."

"I will not let your father's disapproval sway me from being at your side. I have already made that known to him this evening."

"You spoke to my father?"

"Yes. He paid me a call at Skylar Hall, which was the reason for my excessive tardiness. He thought to dangle Miss Lang as a carrot before a horse to drive me in the direction he wished to go. I refused."

"My father has been known to shoot horses that don't take to the bit." Alexander took on an air of resigned determination. "But what's done is done. I will do all I can to see that he doesn't wield his power against you or your family."

Upon that note, Clark and Alexander ascended the hill to fetch Alexander and Lord Astley's mounts that were still tethered near the ruin.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark stood silently in the library at Luthor Castle and pretended an interest in the titles of the books that filled the shelves. It wouldn't do to appear to be eavesdropping on the discussion Alexander and his father were having behind closed doors in Baron Luthor's drawing room two doors down.

Lord Astley's body had been taken to an upstairs bedroom by the footmen with orders for it to be cleaned as much as was humanly possibly for there was no desire to upset Lady Astley further with its state than she would, by necessity, already be. Word had been sent to Brookstone Manor and if Clark concentrated, he could hear the clip-clop of the horses' hooves as the carriage from there drew closer.

He turned from the shelves and saw the foils that Alexander and his instructor had used upon a nearby table near a set of dueling pistols. The foils caused his mind to return to that day when he'd visited to return the curricle, completely unaware of how much importance Alexander would soon have in his life.

At last, Lady Astley arrived. Miss March was at her side, helping to support her in her grief. Clark stood next to the table with the foils and waited as they entered the foyer. From down the hall, he heard the butler clear his throat twice before Baron Luthor and Alexander ceased their arguing to listen to his announcement of the arrival of their guests, so deep into their disagreement were they. Not wishing to be forgotten, Clark headed for where they were gathered.

As he joined the group in the drawing room, Clark felt a wave of weakness and decided that with the rescue of Alexander and the subsequent passion they'd shared, he'd overtaxed even his amplified abilities. The greetings he gave them, consequently, were barely on the right side of politeness, but he doubted it was too noticeable. What his greetings lacked, Baron Luthor's greeting made up in spades.

After bowing over Lady Astley's hand for an interminably long period, Baron Luthor turned to her companion. "Miss March, are you any relation to the Marches of Devon?"

The woman smiled the type of smile one gives when one must apologize for something for which she has no control. "If I am, I am not aware of it."

At the sound of her accent, Baron Luthor's gaze sharpened in examination. "You're American?"

"Lady Astley," Alexander inserted, "would you like a cup of tea or would you prefer that I escort you upstairs immediately?"

"I would like to see my husband."

"Certainly," Baron Luthor said. "Do escort Lady Astley to her husband at once, Alexander." His gaze passed over Clark. "Take Mister Kent with you as he may be able to help answer any questions asked. In the intervening time, I will take it upon myself to keep Miss March company."

Clark followed Alexander and Lady Astley as they made their way to an upstairs bedchamber. He felt awkward, but would not have Alexander be alone in this deed.

The staff had done an excellent job of cleaning Lord Astley and, though one would never presume him to be slumbering, his condition was much improved from when Clark had unearthed him. From Lady Astley, there was a sharp intake of breath at her first glimpse of her husband; breath that came out moments later as a low keening sound. She moved closer to the bed, her eyes fixed upon its unmoving occupant. Clark and Alexander maintained their silent vigil until at last she spoke.

"Pray tell me, what happened to my husband?"

Clark watched as Alexander stepped closer to Lady Astley, and he wondered how he intended to tell the grieving widow that her husband had been bent on murderous revenge when he'd been struck down.

"I was visiting the ruins when Lord Astley came upon me," Alexander began. "He must have been hunting in the nearby wood for he had his gun with him. We took this chance meeting as an opportunity to discuss the unpleasantness between us and to rectify the matter. No sooner had we parted from one another, each wishing the other a civil good night, when there was heard a rumbling noise and the tower, whose base we'd been standing near, chose to collapse. It was only ill-fortune that your husband was at that place, at that time, and was caught in its path."

The lie was so blatant, for Lord Astley hatred of Alexander could scarcely be described as an unpleasantness, that Clark knew there was no conceivable way in which Lady Astley could take it for truth.

In all likelihood, Clark's assessment was correct for there was a long pause as Lady Astley stared at Alexander as she digested the falsehood and found it more palatable than a possible truthful explanation. She nodded her head in acceptance of Alexander's lie.

"My husband lived his life in quiet dignity until his recent grief preyed upon his mind and caused him to act in a manner most unlike him. I would have him return to that dignity in his passing." She moved closer to the bed and slowly sank onto a chair beside it. "If I may, I would like a moment alone in privacy with him."

Alexander and Clark both murmured their assents and stepped into the hall, closing the door behind them.

"She will want him returned to his ancestral home for burial. I should go make the arrangements," Alexander said, walking down the hall with Clark at his side.

Clark clasped his arm to halt his progress. "Is it done, then? Can I once again draw a breath without fear that you might be harmed?"

"I believe so."

"Then you have no further need of me to be forever at your side to keep your enemies at bay."

Alexander smiled and his voice lowered. "No. At least there are no known enemies of that caliber here. However, in London, there are many who might call me an enemy and love a chance to slay me. If none of them suffice, then I will gladly do whatever villainy necessary to create more."

Clark pressed a finger against Alexander's lips. "Hush. Do not talk of such things."

Alexander's tongue flicked out and with it he ran a wet line up to the tip of Clark's finger before pulling away. "I would do much to tie you to me. For the sake of all mankind, do not forsake me and force me to resort to extremes to keep you in my life."

"I promise you that will never happen."

"Good."

Alexander and Clark were each leaning toward the other, less than a hand's breadth separating them, when the bedroom door opened. They hastily withdrew to opposite sides of the hallway.

"Lady Astley," Alexander said, "If you have no objections, it would be an honor to assist you by making the arrangements to have your husband returned to the family estate."

Still much preoccupied with her grief, she gave a simple nod to Alexander's offer.

They escorted her down the stairs and entered the drawing room to see Baron Luthor and Miss March standing together near the window. As one, they turned. There was a short hesitancy before Miss March made her way across the room to clasp Lady Astley's hands and give soft murmurs of comfort at her ordeal. Clark took a step back from the group so that he could lean against the wall, aches and fatigue once more making themselves known.

Minutes later, the ladies had been escorted to their carriage and were off.

"I should return to my own home, as well," Clark said. Perhaps, he thought, a meal and a night's rest would restore him to his usual state of good health.

Alexander opened his mouth, as if to argue, but then closed it without uttering a sound. He nodded.

As Clark walked down the drive, he forced himself not to listen to Alexander and Baron Luthor's discussion behind him. He'd learned, by listening to them earlier, that their conversation was filled with verbal parries that made fencing seem crude and clumsy. It would be to no one's benefit if he blundered in and attempted to interfere between the two men. Hearing harsh words flung at Alexander when he could not halt them would only cause sorrow and frustration to grow in Clark. It was better not to hear them.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Despite not feeling the fatigue he'd felt at the Luthor's, Clark ate after arriving home and slept for a full eight hours, waking much later than he would in the normal course of events. Once downstairs, his mother called for his breakfast to be served and proceeded to ask him about the prior night and the death of Lord Astley.

Earlier that morning, Chloe had arrived at their doorstep bristling with news and wanting to hear Clark's version of what had occurred at the ruin. Once informed that Clark was still abed and after having her suggestion that they awaken him rebuffed, she'd told Martha of all that she'd heard.

Clark listened to the version of the truth which Chloe had related to his mother then, with the servants out of hearing range, amended the story. When he reached the point in his explanation where he'd lifted Alexander out of the remains of the cellar, she interrupted him with a gasp.

"Clark! Was there no other way for you to save him without exposing the truth of your differences to him?"

"I did more than display my strength and speed. I told him." At Martha's fearful look, he continued. "Alexander is far more to me than a dear friend. He is worth more to me than the value of my secrets. He is worth more to me than my very life."

For several moments, Martha stayed silent, her only movements that of sipping her tea before at last speaking. "What's done is done. I can only trust that you chose well." She then placed her hand upon his arm. "As for what he means to you, I have a simple motherly concern and that is 'does he make you happy?'"

Clark smiled in reassurance. "Yes. In his presence, happiness flows through and engulfs me until I feel that I can no longer breathe without having it spill out. I am full aware of how fortunate I have been to have you and Father in my life, as well as good friends, but when I am with Alexander, I no longer feel alone."

Blinking back dampness that threatened to spill from her eyes, Martha nodded, before returning her attention to the table and taking another sip of tea.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

By the light of the stars shining in the night sky, Alexander watched as Clark walked into the bridal garden to greet him. Clark's face shone with such joy at seeing him that it warmed Alexander for it had been many years since anyone had expressed gladness at his presence. He hurried to Clark's side and for a long, quiet moment, they embraced.

"I was beginning to be concerned that you might not have received the note I sent earlier," Alexander said after drawing back.

"Why did you fret, for I am not late. It has not yet struck ten which is the hour of our appointment."

"Yes, but I have been anticipating your visit with great eagerness and have been awaiting your arrival for some time."

"You were able to leave without your father noticing?"

"My father will not discover my absence for he has his own preoccupations this evening." Alexander looked at Clark for a moment before nervously starting to pace. "Speaking of my father, there is a matter of great import which I must discuss with you."

"What concerns you so?"

"My father wishes for my immediate return to London. He believes that my current stay in Smallington has been as close to a disaster as one would ever wish to get and the possibility of my falling further into scandal has only risen."

Alexander paused in his pacing and raised his eyes to meet Clark's. "Given the circumstances that have occurred since my arrival, I can only agree with him."

"You are going then?"

How it ached Alexander to see those broad shoulders of Clark's slump down as if burdened with the weight of the world. He strode to his side.

"I plan to go, but not to London. From my mother, I inherited land in the colonies in a place called Ohio. I have never been to see my holdings, but have recently found a desire to do so."

Alexander reached out and clasped Clark's hands in his. "Would you consider making the journey with me? If I were to make such a trip, my father will expect me to inspect his holdings as well. While doing so, we could venture to your late father's land and examine the conveyance in which you reached our Earth."

"You would desire my company?"

"With all of my heart."

Clark stared at him in silence for a time that seemed excessively lengthy to Alexander before saying quietly, "I do not wish to part from you, but if I were to accept your offer I would be leaving my widowed mother, my home, and all the friends I hold dear."

Bravely attempting to hide his pain at Clark's reluctance, Alexander nodded. "Please think on it. That is all that I ask of you now."

"I will."

"Then enough talk of the future, for we are wasting the present and once time passes it can never be retrieved, only regretted or remembered. Our evening together could be spent in much more pleasant ways than conversation."

Alexander saw that Clark smiled with a not small degree of relief at putting the matter momentarily to the side. There bodies moved closer, as if drawn together.

From the direction of the house, a shot rang out.

It startled both Alexander and Clark, causing them to spring apart. They looked at one another, confusion in their expressions.

"We must investigate," Alexander stated as he hurried toward the break in the hedge.

Upon arriving at the mansion, Alexander flung open the doors with Clark at his heels.

"Where are all the servants?" Clark asked.

"My father dismissed them for the evening, which is his usual action when he plans to entertain a lady for whom discretion is required. That is how I knew he would not note my absence."

Down the hall, Alexander spied the library door ajar and led them toward it. Pushing open the door more fully, he came to a most abrupt halt at the appalling sight that greeted him.

His father was sprawled on the antique carpet of the library floor. He was in his shirtsleeves for his waistcoat and tailcoat were haphazardly discarded on a nearby chair. The fine linen of his shirt was dark red and wet with blood while a dark stain spread out around him. Next to his body was one of a set of dueling pistols. The box in which it had sat lay empty on the table next to Alexander's fencing foils.

"Father?"

Without thought Alexander moved forward and dropped to his knees beside his father's body. He clasped the shoulder closest to him and pushed to turn his father onto his back.

His father's eyes were open and unseeing.

Alexander's hand dropped away as he tried to comprehend what had occurred. His father had seemed indomitable, a being that was outside of time and all the rules of nature. The thought that a man, a person of such power and passion, could be brought low by a single bullet seemed next to impossible.

"Who..." Alexander began before stopping, his eyes catching a movement in the corner of the room and an almost silent swish of skirts. "Miss March?"

"Alexander, what fortuitous timing you have. I was quite worried that I would have to wait hours upon your return from your assignation." As she moved out of the corner, Alexander could see that in her hands was the second of the pair of pistols.

"Why did you kill him?"

"I didn't kill him. That was you. At least that will be what those who discover your bodies will suppose."

Harriet March smiled in a way that sent an unpleasant feeling to the pit of Alexander's stomach.

"It will be your last, greatest scandal. Upon returning in the morning, your servants will find your father and your friend dead, and yourself hanging from the rafters."

"No one will believe I did it," Alexander said, though he knew that many might.

"Why ever not? When I killed Richard, they were more than happy to believe he committed suicide after you had dishonored him."

For the first time upon entering the study, Clark spoke. "You killed Lord Astley's son?"

Miss March nodded. "He came home that evening and informed me that our wedding was off with no regard that a large portion of my inheritance had already been instrumental in the restoration of his family estates. But I will preside as Lady Astley yet for Lord Astley's heir is young and unmarried."

"But how did you manage to subdue Richard? Though slight, he was strong and in good health," Alexander asked.

As a reply, she gave a wave of her hand and a chair slid across the floor without any apparent force directing it to do so.

"I acquired a special ability as a child." The chair moved again, this time faster. It slammed into Alexander, forcing him back against the table, pinning him there. "A rope around Richard's neck was not difficult. Causing the tower at the ruins to collapse was far more of a challenge."

"Then it was your horse I heard on the hill at the ruins that night," Alexander said through gritted teeth, for the pain where the chair was pressing into him was acute.

"Yes. I find it inconceivable that you managed to crawl out from under that mound of stones. You must have an angel watching over you for you also survived the fall from your horse which I engineered and escaped unscathed the night of the ball."

Alexander's eyes went to Clark.

"Not an angel," Clark said, moving forward. He was but a few feet away from Miss March when he gasped. Alexander watched as Clark's complexion turned an unpleasant shade of green. The veins in Clark's arms and torso seemed to roil as if the blood inside was seeking to escape.

"Stop it!" Alexander shouted at Miss March, but she seemed as puzzled as he at Clark's dilemma.

Clark had fallen to his knees and was having difficulty breathing.

Dismissing the unusualness of Clark's reaction to her presence, she aimed her pistol at him. "I have observed the two of you carefully, Luthor. You care for him a great deal. As you have ended my relationship, I will end yours."

"No! I'll do anything. Do not harm him," Alexander pleaded. "If you wish to marry, I will wed you. My wealth is far greater than yours or that of the Astleys."

For several seconds, she seemed to consider the proposal before rejecting it.

"Your father thought to make such a bargain. It was clear that he sought to harness my powers for his own use, as would you. Like him, you will suffer the consequences for thinking me so easily controlled."

Again, she turned toward Clark, the pistol pointing at his chest.

In desperation, Alexander struggled, but could not escape from where the chair had him trapped. He shouted, hoping to get her attention focused back on him and purchase some time, but she ignored him. Reaching behind himself, hoping to find something he might use to distract her, his hand closed around the grip of a foil.

But the foil would do little good for even with its extended reach, she was too distant.

Her finger tightened on the trigger.

It was then that Alexander's mind flashed to when Clark had first visited his home. How in a fit of frustration, he'd thrown to foil, sending it quivering into the wall.

Praying for his aim to be true, Alexander threw the foil with all his might at Miss March.

It struck and she let out a cry as it pierced her. Her gaze flew to Alexander. With her last ounce of strength, she aimed the pistol once more at Clark and fired, before collapsing to the ground.

The pressure from the chair disappeared and Alexander flung it out of his way. He raced to where Clark lay bleeding from a hole in his chest. Blood bubbled from Clark's lips and dribbled down the side of his cheek.

The body of Miss March had landed almost on top of Clark. In a fury, Alexander grabbed it by an arm and yanked it away.

As he did so, Clark took in a breath that sounded less labored than before.

Did Clark's face look a touch less green? Alexander thought it might.

He remembered that it had only been when Clark had neared Miss March that he'd sickened. Hoping against hope that his theory was correct, Alexander once more grabbed the body of their assailant and dragged her further from Clark. As he was doing so, from the pocket of her gown rolled a stone that glowed an eerie green. Not knowing what it might be, he kicked it past her and then hurried back to Clark's side.

Clark took in another breath and then let it out. This time, no blood accompanied it. The greenish tint had vanished from Clark's skin and the veins had calmed. As Alexander watched, the blood flowing from his wound slowed to a trickle and then stopped. In fascination, he saw the skin surrounding the wound knit back together.

Blinking, Clark sat up, despite Alexander urging him to remain where he was. Putting a hand to his chest he coughed once, twice, and on the third time he gave a lurch and into his hand spat out a bullet.

For the first time that Alexander could remember, his prayers had been answered and a miracle had occurred. Silently, he vowed to prove that he was worthy of it.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

Clark strode into his mother's drawing room to find her going through the post.

"Did I receive a letter?" he asked.

She shook her head.

With a heavy heart, he walked to his bedchamber. From his dresser drawer, he withdrew the stack of letters he'd received from Alexander. The most recent one being from three weeks before while the oldest was from six months earlier, for he'd received it only days after Alexander had left for London.

Many of the letters were thick and filled with sentiments that had caused Clark's breath to catch in his chest. Along with such musings, he'd learned how Alexander had found documents that revealed his father had been aware of the changes the meteors had wrought in their victims. Harriet March's name had been among those listed as affected.

Miss March had been the daughter of the Shipmaster that had sailed Alexander and his father, along with Nell and Lana, back from America after the meteor storm. In the years that followed, the Shipmaster had had uncommonly good luck when it came to delivering his cargo while his rivals were plagued with unexplained rips in their sails or leaks in their hold. Soon, the Shipmaster owned a small fleet. The only ship that had provided him with any competition had gone down two years before with all hands lost.

Now, Clark seated himself on his bed and took the letter off the top of the stack and unfolded it, touching the parchment gently with his fingertips so as not to do it harm.

Dear Clark,

I sit at my desk, surrounded by the paperwork that my father's estate has heaped upon me and wonder if he has managed to reach out from hell to curse me. How can mere ink and parchment bind far stronger than chains, for bound I am to the duties and tasks laid before me.

Outside my window there is the constant rattling of carriages and the clatter of horse's hooves. The air is fouled by smoke and smells of horses and people. London feels too peopled, yet in this city crowded with others, I find myself alone.

Though my body is forced to remain at my desk, I find my mind constantly escaping to Smallington and you. Much would I prefer the sound of the breeze in the trees and the rushing of the river as it tumbles past. Before Smallington, I never noted the deep rich scent of earth or the crispness of clean air, but now I mourn their absence.

Above all these things, it is you whom I most miss. I have heard of veterans who have suffered amputations only to still feel sensations from the missing limb. Now I truly understand. Oft times I turn my head to speak with you only to find that you are not there. Upon entering a room, it is your face I seek before remembering the futility of it. It is you I reach out to at night when half-asleep, only to find cold sheets beneath my palm instead of warm flesh.

Knowing you has changed me on such a fundamental level that I am scarcely the same person that I was. The hedonistic pleasures, which I pursued relentlessly, cannot compare to the bliss I experience when in your presence. My goals of increased wealth and power have been replaced by my desire to prove worthy of you. I no longer wish to do great things, but good things.

Though the requirements of my father's estate seem insurmountable, like Hercules I will conquer the tasks set before me. I will slay the hydra of papers, though I doubt even two rivers could cleanse the filth from some of my father's investments, and will return to you.

Until that day, know that I am as I have always been -

Forever yours,

Alexander

Clark had no sooner placed the letter with the others and returned the stack to his drawer when there was a knock upon his door. It was his mother.

"You do recall that this evening we have been invited to the ball Nell Potter is holding in honor of her niece's upcoming nuptials?"

"I have not, though I do not feel like celebrating. Perhaps I should send my regrets."

"If you do not attend, there are those that will recall the high regard you once felt for Lana and will think you grieving. It could cause ill-feelings between you."

Clark conceded to her logic.

Which was why, several hours later, he found himself in Nell Potter's home, standing against the wall to avoid the bustle of the crowd.

If he had hoped to go unnoticed, his hopes were dashed as quick-eyed Chloe spotted him and made her way through the press of bodies to him. She took one look at his face and misinterpreted his expression.

"You surprise me, Clark. I had thought you'd put Lana from your mind and wished her well with Whitney?"

Startled, Clark straightened up. "I do. Most assuredly I wish them both the best."

"Explain to me then, why you appear so melancholy."

"My mood has little to do with the happy couple. Perhaps I shouldn't have come."

"What?" Clark's heart leapt as he recognized the masculine voice coming from behind him. "And miss the dancing?"

Spinning around, he saw Alexander standing not more than a foot away.

Alexander smiled at him. "I would think you would put those lessons I went to the trouble of arranging to good use."

While Clark stared at Alexander, hardly daring to believe his eyes, a friend of Whitney's approached and bowed to Chloe, asking for the dance. Graciously accepting and with a wink to Clark, she allowed Whitney's friend to lead her to where couples were taking their place.

Clark and Alexander watched in silence as she left them, disappearing into the crowd.

"Why didn't you tell me you were returning?" Clark said, his voice barely carrying to Alexander's ears.

"There was no guarantee that I would be able to escape from London. Once it became clear that I could, I wasted no time on notes, but set forth immediately."

A group of men standing behind Alexander let out a laugh and more huddled around to share in the merriment, one bumping Alexander so that he was pushed into Clark. Clark inhaled at the sudden contact and Alexander let out a small gasp. Slowly, reluctantly, Alexander moved back by just a few inches. There was far less space between them than was truly proper, but still easily explainable by the crowd.

Sheltered between their bodies and the wall, Clark felt Alexander's hand brush his. To Clark's shock, Alexander's hand returned, this time his fingers lingered, exploring and circling the flesh of his palm before venturing to stroke his fingers.

Unable to hold a conversation, both Alexander and Clark pretended interest in the music and the surrounding party-goers. This pretence would not have held up under even the most minor of scrutinies had anyone been watching when Alexander's fingers traveled to Clark's wrist and lightly stroked there.

"Please," Clark murmured on half a breath.

"I intend to," Alexander replied.

With a great effort, Clark pushed away. "I escorted my mother and must return her home."

"And afterwards?" Alexander said on the barest of whispers, the sound of which caused a tremor to run through Clark.

"I would go to bed."

Blue eyes rose to meet his. "Would you go to mine?"

Unable to take in enough air to speak, Clark nodded.

A tension seemed to flow out of Alexander and he relaxed. He stepped back from Clark and smiled. "It has been a most tiring and eventful day. If you'll pardon me, I must make my excuses to the happy couple and return home to rest."

As Alexander left, Clark wondered how quickly he could hurry his mother home without being uncommonly rude to all.

~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~..~

"You never answered my question," Alexander said. The candle next to the bed flickered, bathing Clark's face with its soft light and Alexander found himself envious of it.

Clark stretched and let out a yawn, then looked at him, his eyes half-closed. "I thought I had. What you did, the way you made me feel, was beyond all expectations."

Alexander let out a small laugh and then shook his head. "That was not the question I meant. Before I left, before the death of my father, I asked if you would consider traveling to America with me."

Becoming more alert, Clark propped himself onto an elbow. "You are still planning to go?"

"More than ever. All that I've read in my father's documents about those infected by the meteor storm have stirred my imagination. Most importantly, I wish to see the ship that brought you to Earth, and eventually to me, with my own eyes and discover its secrets."

Clark lowered his gaze to the space between them. "My secrets mean that much to you?"

Alexander reached out and tilted Clark's head back up. "No. Never. If you would have me never to speak of them again, you have only to ask and I will comply. It is you who interest me." Cupping Clark's cheek with his hand, he stroked his thumb across Clark's lips. "A word from your mouth will end this conversation, and I will spend the rest of my days in Smallington, living the life of a country gentleman, so that I may be close to you."

Leaning forward, Clark kissed Alexander briefly, before drawing back.

"When would you like to sail?" Clark asked.

"You will go? With me?"

Clark gave a little laugh. "It would be nice if you allowed me to pack and bid farewell to my mother first."

"You will not regret this," Alexander said. "That, I promise you. We will learn so much. Together we will unlock the meaning of your existence and destiny. Together, we will be the stuff of legends."

Clark smiled. "We already are."

The End

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