SV: Strip Minefield 2/2
Part 1
They kept fending off minor vandalism. There was a visit from a bunch of college guys who’d clearly been paid to come in, drink heavily, and be disruptive. They would’ve been a bigger problem if Chloe hadn’t somehow contrived to have them get up on stage and strip, amateurish and almost charming-Chloe actually hired one of them for a substitute gig, and she said the Metropole made money overall that night since she confiscated all their tips, along with their clothes. There were a host of other, less amusing nuisances, though Chloe insulated Clark from many of the details.
And then, not much more than a week after Lex’s impromptu introduction to stripping from the other side, Chloe alerted him when the police scanner spat out the information that a team of gunmen was attacking the main courthouse. Clark knew Lex was there, supervising jury selection for a high-profile case against a local businessman who’d bribed his way out of safety inspections and then tried to cover up the resulting deaths. Clark dropped the supplies he was hauling out of the basement and flew across town.
Painful experience had taught him to stop and assess a situation before charging in. Sure enough, the assailants didn’t just have automatics. They were wearing Kryptonite bracelets, which suggested that whoever was giving the orders had included anti-Superman measures.
No one was getting shot right at the moment. They were systematically tying up all the security guards and searching the building. Clark focused and heard clipped words, reporting to each other, all in the negative: they were looking for someone in particular. Since all the judges were already rounded up and there were no high-profile criminals in the building, he had a pretty good idea of whom that might be.
Clark needed to beat them to Lex. But where-
Lex had made it into the ductwork.
And was stuck, because Metropolis courthouse ductwork wasn’t movie ductwork. He’d quickly come to a point at which there was nowhere else for him to go. Clark could see that his temperature was higher than normal. He was probably sweaty and covered with grime, but at least he was temporarily safe.
Except that Metropolis courthouse ductwork also wasn’t designed to bear the weight of an adult man. Every time Lex twitched, the framework groaned and got a little closer to collapsing through the ceiling.
He called Chloe. “Where’s Oliver?”
“On his way-four minutes out.”
Four minutes might be too long, judging from the flakes of paint drifting down to the floor under Lex’s hiding spot.
Clark plotted a path that would keep him away from the Kryptonite-enhanced gunmen and then executed his entrance. The noise of him breaking through the window would bring them running, so he didn’t pause, just barrelled down the corridor. When he punched through the ceiling to grab Lex, Lex screamed and tried to flail, but Clark was already bringing him out and setting him on the ground, just out of sight in an alleyway across the street from the back of the courthouse.
Lex, who was exactly as grubby as Clark had expected, nonetheless tugged at his suit jacket, as if that would help. He didn’t look entirely steady on his feet, but he pushed himself free of Clark’s grasp anyway. “Thank you.”
“I have to go back,” Clark told him. “Once they figure out you’re gone, they could do just about anything.”
Lex nodded, and Clark felt a flash of deep affection for him; Lex knew when to postpone questions. “Wait,” he said, before Clark could take off. He grimaced. “The police have an experimental lead-lined riot shield. It’s not here, but it can be brought.”
Telling him this was, in some ways, a breach of confidence, and they both knew it. The police still hadn’t decided whose side Clark was on, and Clark doubted Lex had made up his mind on the issue either. “You should make some calls,” Clark said. “But I have to go.” Back in the building, the gunmen were almost done rounding people up. They weren’t panicked by Clark’s smash-and-grab; they were professionals. They would likely have demands soon.
At that moment, Oliver’s bike screeched to a halt next to them. Lex turned away, reaching for his phone, and Clark gave Oliver a quick situation report. Oliver frowned. “Do they have gas masks?”
Clark scanned and didn’t see anything; he shook his head.
“If you tell me what windows to fire through, I’ll put them to sleep.” Oliver brandished an arrow, presumably armed with knockout gas.
“They’re not all together, but you could take out the ones guarding the hostages,” Clark said. He gave Oliver quick directions and set himself to the task of figuring out what to do with the five gunmen still patrolling the halls.
He didn’t like to do it because of the potential for permanent injury, but with Kryptonite in play his safest bet was superheating their weapons at a distance great enough that his powers were still mostly intact. He waited for Oliver’s signal that the men guarding the hostages were down, then got the job done fast-staying just long enough to make sure that each gun was too melted to be of use-and then let Oliver know so he could work cleanup and secure the Kryptonite before the police arrived.
It was stressful, yes, but not really terrifying, the way these situations had been when he’d just been a kid with no experience and no thought given to his next move.
His self-satisfaction lasted until he got back outside, where he’d left Lex.
Lex was gone.
Clark focused his ears-Lex would have to be giving instructions to his various minions, after an incident like this-and heard nothing. Looking around, he saw Lex’s phone, dropped in the gutter.
There’d been a second team, and Clark had delivered Lex straight into their hands.
He hit his communicator and updated Chloe. “Okay,” she said, in the calm voice that let him know that he was not hiding his agitation, “Oliver’s still busy with the other goons. Can you check the phone?”
Clark wanted to yell at her for wasting time instead of magically solving his problem, but he followed her advice. He’d seen Lex put in his passcode before, so he unlocked the phone-and it opened to the camera. Lex had managed to capture a few moments of video of the men grabbing him before the phone spun and went black as Lex tossed it aside, to bear witness for him.
Clark closed his eyes and thanked Chloe. Then he sent her the file. He hadn’t seen anything on first viewing, but she had technology and more patience than he presently possessed.
Inside the building, all the remaining gunmen had been knocked out and hogtied; the police were just arriving as Oliver leapt out of a third floor window, sliding down to the ground on wire from one of his special arrows. Clark zipped over to join him.
“That went well,” Oliver said, panting a bit, and then noticed Clark’s expression.
****
Back at the Metropole, Oliver reloaded his quiver while Chloe tried to identify the men in custody and who they might’ve been working with.
“You know,” Oliver said as Chloe opened her back door into the NSA facial identification database, “this might just be some PR move. ‘Prosecutor faces down shadowy attackers.’ Bet that plays well in the next election.”
Clark looked away from the computer screen. “He’s not his father.”
“Sure seems like he learned a bunch of moves from him, though.” Oliver was still smarting from the revelation that Lex Luthor had been visiting the Metropole for months, which Clark had come clean about not too many minutes ago. (Chloe was going to have words of her own about that development later, Clark knew, but she was too busy hacking to add them just now.)
“Would you want to be judged by the worst things your parents ever did?” It was a sore point with both of them, since the Queens had apparently been involved in some of the same shenanigans as Lionel Luthor, trying to crack the secrets of the alien Kryptonians. And Jor-El had been one of those Kryptonians. Clark wasn’t entirely sure just how conquer-y his father had truly been, since reports were somewhat confused, but the point was that they both needed to judge people on their own merits.
Oliver scowled and muttered something about flexible morals, but dropped the issue in favor of making a plan to requisition a lead-lined shield for their own use. He was examining diagrams of the police HQ when Clark remembered something.
He checked Lex’s phone: Yes, Lex had made a call just after Clark had left him, presumably summoning the shield just as they’d discussed.
Telling whoever was on the other end exactly where to find him.
“Chloe,” he said, and her head jerked up. “Can you pull the information from this number? And outgoing calls made just after this call, either on that phone or any phone near it?”
The corrupt police captain Lex had called had been smart enough to use a burner to reach his confederates at the scene of the kidnapping, but he hadn’t been able to get around geolocation. Now they had at least some of the who, and Chloe tracked the phone the captain had called to the warehouse district, not terribly far from the Metropole itself.
After that it was a matter of flying over and scanning the area for Lex’s distinctive bone patterns-it wasn’t creepy to know that, Clark told himself. He’d long ago learned to memorize the distinctive shapes of all his friends’ skeletons, for when rescue inevitably became necessary. He found Lex on the second floor of a nondescript dry goods warehouse, one of LuthorCorp’s recent acquisitions. Lex was surrounded by a clot of other people. His left arm was broken, but he was breathing and his temperature was within standard parameters. His captors had the same Kryptonite wristlets that the other team had worn.
“-have to go through this,” the man in front of Lex was saying when Clark tuned him in. “You won’t run out of real criminals to go after. The farmer and the cowman can be friends, Lex.”
“Eat my shit,” Lex said, his tone more inviting than Clark had ever heard except at press conferences. The contrast with the content was jarring enough that it took the man a moment to process, too, and then he hit Lex sharply across the cheek, snapping his head around. Clark was so focused that he could see Lex’s blood vessels tear.
Clark made his fists unclench. Oliver and Chloe pulled up, Chloe riding behind Oliver on his growly green cycle. Not for the first time, Clark wished that he had a bigger team, maybe with genuine superpowers, so that he wouldn’t have to risk his fragile friends every time some jerk associated with Lionel Luthor showed up with Kryptonite.
He didn’t think the configuration of the hallways leading up to the room where Lex was being held would allow Oliver to pull the same knockout gas trick that had worked at the courthouse. It would be too difficult to get close without being noticed.
Except-
Lex, he knew, made a study of Superman’s exploits, which were a frequent topic of pre- and postcoital conversation. To be honest, Lex’s occasionally vicious post-mission critiques were pushing Clark to improve his strategy more than Chloe and Oliver’s go-team enthusiasm, as welcome as the latter was. Something Lex had said, about exploiting three dimensions in arenas other than air combat, came back to him now.
“This is the plan,” he told Oliver, while Chloe worked to make sure her cameras would capture the face of anyone who escaped the building, for later identification.
Clark was affected by the Kryptonite even one floor down, but the bad guys couldn’t see and exploit that, and so they had the element of surprise when Clark cut a hole through the floor and Oliver popped out of it to shoot smoke grenades.
The main goon grabbed for his gun, determined to shoot Lex before visibility disappeared, and Clark tried to leap up to protect him, but he was still slowed past human frailty by the Kryptonite. Lex had been waiting for his opportunity and lunged to the side, landing hard but out of the line of fire, and then Oliver made good use of his night vision goggles to use knockout darts on Lex’s captors.
Oliver might still have had some prep school resentments against Lex, because he basically shoved Lex through the hole in the floor, trusting Clark to catch him. Which was no picnic with the nausea still running through him, but Lex was whole and Clark could move out of range easily enough. Clark left Oliver and Chloe to handle cleanup and sped Lex back to the penthouse. If there was a third team waiting to strike-well, then, Clark was going to get angry.
****
In the event, Clark’s scans didn’t turn up any more lurkers, and he was able to deposit Lex on his very own couch.
And then he realized that Lex needed treatment. “I’ll take you to a hospital,” he said, but Lex shook his head and gestured for silence, already dialing on his land line. Lex was holding the broken arm motionless and using his right hand, but he didn’t seem to be in need of immediate care, so Clark waited while Lex told his colleagues that he was alive and directed them to coordinate with the feds, who’d have to handle the case against the men now in custody, since there was an obvious conflict of interest for Lex’s own office.
Clark used his vision to make sure Lex wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding, and discovered that the break now looked as if it had occurred two weeks ago. He’d known Lex had some extra bounceback factor, but this was more than a few disappearing bruises.
“Your arm,” he said as soon as Lex hung up.
Lex tilted his head to examine the named appendage. “I told you, I heal quickly,” he said.
Clark swallowed. He’d never asked just how much Lex knew about Smallville’s poisoned gifts.
Lex snorted and went over to the bar, pouring himself a drink right-handed with none of his usual grace. “You know, if my father understood that I was a mutant, he would use that against me instead of all this drama. I think he’s too used to the more flamboyant manifestations of meteor-induced metamorphosis.” He took a deep swallow and closed his eyes, not even wincing at the burn of alcohol.
“Do you have any proof that this was him?”
Lex gave him a look that indicated that Clark probably should have been held back a few grades. “Other than the threats demanding that I back off my investigation into LuthorCorp, which I was the only one to hear? No.”
“LuthorCorp owns the building you were held in,” Clark offered.
“I’m sure LuthorCorp will deny all knowledge of how the building was being misused. With all those shell corporations, they can pretend they didn’t even know which specific buildings they own.” Lex smiled, knife-edged. “Knowing how my father works, at least it’s probably underinsured.” His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to rub his hand over his head but was dissuaded from further motion by the pain of the break. “I can’t even figure out how he’s passing orders from prison,” he muttered.
“You can start with Jake Frost. He’s the one who called to let your father’s men know where you were.”
Lex nodded jerkily, thin-lipped. Furious with himself and with the world in general. “He’s not done,” Lex said, looking out the window at the bright Metropolis night. “He’ll keep after me until one of us is dead.” He sounded almost proud, despite himself.
“He didn’t get away with anything today,” Clark reminded him.
“Because of you.” Clark couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a rebuke or not. Then, as if sensing Clark’s uncertainty, Lex continued: “Thank you.”
“On behalf of the people of Metropolis?” Clark asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“On my behalf.” Lex turned to him, eyes intense, the tiny scar on his lip standing out more than usual. “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t trust me either. But I am not my father. I will not let him take anything more from me.”
“Lex-”
Lex snorted, reaching for his abandoned tumbler, still half-full of alcohol. “Superman.” The way he said it made very clear that what he meant was: I don’t even know your name.
“Kal-El,” Clark blurted, because it was as close to the truth as he could give Lex. “My birth parents, they named me Kal-El.”
Lex froze, fingers still tight around his glass. Then, deliberately, he drank, and smiled at Clark. “Some days I wish I’d been sent to a different world.” His expression said that his words were supposed to sting.
Clark’s throat tightened. He hadn’t said that name to many people. He’d expected-Lex was the one running around trying to get someone else to sleep with him; Lex was the one who told people that Superman meant nothing to him, and the fact that Lex had only said that to Clark Barr didn’t change what it meant.
This was just another way that Superman wasn’t enough for Lex. But Lex’s own father had likely just put him in mortal danger. And Clark couldn’t make him feel what he didn’t feel; the superpower to do that wasn’t worth having anyway. Clark swallowed his own distress. “Come to bed, Lex.” It was the one thing Clark could give him that was all the way real.
****
As soon as the young woman who was actually not getting mugged smiled and handed him the papers, Clark knew exactly where he needed to go.
Lex read through the lawsuit quickly, his face giving nothing away. “It’s a class action,” he said.
“A class action?” Clark asked, still confused.
“On behalf of all the people you’ve put in jail, with a subclass for those who’ve had property destroyed in the course of your activities.” Lex looked up. He’d scanned the thick document almost as fast as Clark could’ve, given that Clark would’ve needed to stop and get definitions of every third legal term. “They’re asking for roughly three hundred million dollars. Plus attorneys’ fees.”
Right, wouldn’t want to leave those out.
“Is that … possible?”
Lex shrugged. “Define possible. If you default, you’ll either have to pay up or remind everyone that you’re blatantly defying the law every time you show up for a rescue in the U.S. I know the firm; they’re vicious and clever. If you can get a decent firm to represent you, you’d have some chance of negotiating a settlement. O.J. Simpson lost his right of publicity in a lawsuit. If you agreed to some sort of trademark licensing deal and sent the proceeds on to your putative victims, you might not ever have to notice that there was a legal claim in the first place.”
Clark felt his stomach twist. There weren’t enough big tippers in the world to cover the costs of hiring a real lawyer to defend himself in what would undoubtedly be a bigger news story than the Olympics.
“You don’t look pleased,” Lex observed. “Did you have other plans for the Superman brand?”
“It’s not just the money!” Clark took a deep breath. Yes, Lex was distrustful of Superman’s popularity and power, but that wasn’t the issue now. “These are bad guys, Lex. You sent most of them to jail. I can’t let my name, my House’s name, be used to pay them off. I can’t agree to that!”
Lex tilted his head a fraction, as if he were looking for a flaw in Clark’s disguise. “Point taken,” he said. “Let me make a few calls.” He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. “The initial hearing is next Tuesday, at 9. Be there. Even if there’s a disaster somewhere else, get one of your super-friends to cover it. You can be a murderer, an embezzler, or just a real creep and still get your day in court. The one thing judges can’t stand is people-or in your case, aliens-who ignore them.”
This was obviously a dismissal, and Clark accepted it.
****
Chloe insisted on dressing up for the hearing, black wig and scarf and pearls that made her stand out more than if she’d just gone in her usual business casual. Then again, in the crush of people, she was just one more glamorous and mysterious figure in the crowd. They’d arrived separately, of course, with Clark touching down just in front of the entrance (the reporters barely pulled back enough to let him land, and frankly he’d had less inappropriate physical contact during most of his lap dances).
Once he was inside the courthouse, security kept the press back, even as he could hear them insta-analyzing the fact that he’d showed up at all. A very polite young man showed him to the correct room.
Lex was standing by one of the tables at the front of the courtroom, bending to say something to a black-haired woman in a bright red suit. Lex’s eyes gave nothing away, ocean-ice blue as he regarded Clark with less warmth than the two men at the other counsel table. Clark recognized them from his internet searches: Lanson and Hogue, the lawyers suing him.
The woman gestured him over. Up close, she had only a little of that glazed ‘I’m next to Superman’ look that a lot of people got. Better than most people were on first contact. “I’m Kensington Steinfeld,” she said, shaking his hand and speaking softly, so that no one else in the room heard the introduction. “I don’t usually take clients without meeting them first, but Lex-Mr. Luthor-was persuasive.”
I’ll bet, Clark didn’t say. “Thank you” seemed much wiser.
“All rise,” the bailiff said, and they did. Clark could hear the click-click-click of digital cameras. He never knew what to do with his hands when he wasn’t in motion, rescuing people.
The judge came in, a middle-aged man with a frown and jowls like a bulldog’s. “Be seated,” the bailiff said.
The judge rubbed his hands together like a gourmet faced with a five-star meal. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I understand we have quite a case today.”
Lex stood. “Your honor, Lex Luthor, on behalf of the state of Kansas. I respectfully request permission to intervene.”
“On what grounds?”
“Under the Crime Victims Act, the state is entitled to pursue any assets of convicted criminals-a group into which many of the putative class members fall and more certainly will as the trial date approaches-including the amount of any recovery in tort, up to the amount of restitution ordered at the time of sentencing, plus the costs of their confinement. The amount recovered by the state should of course be excluded from any calculation of attorneys’ fees ultimately awarded,” Lex said.
Clark blinked.
Over at the other table, Lanson and Hogue were starting to sputter.
“I’ve prepared a motion and a supporting brief setting out the relevant statutes and caselaw,” Lex said, sounding for all the world like a man who only wanted to be helpful.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” the judge said, accepting the papers Lex handed up.
“You might not need to resolve the question, Your Honor,” Kensington said. “The defendant moves to dismiss all claims as completely preempted by the Federal Aviation Act.”
“What?” the judge said-echoed by, it seemed, half the people in the room, Clark not among them only because of his hard-won ability to shut his mouth before reacting.
“The FAA defines ‘aircraft’ as ‘any contrivance invented, used, or designed to navigate, or fly in, the air.’ My client, as plaintiffs themselves allege, flies on his own power, routinely transporting passengers, including most of the plaintiffs themselves: he is used, and quite arguably designed, to fly.”
“He’s not a plane!” one of the lawyers-Lanson, Clark thought-interjected. The judge didn’t seem to mind.
Kensington looked bored, like she’d heard that one before. “He’s not a bird, either. As I was saying, as an aircraft, my client is subject to the FAA, and any fair inspection of the complaint will reveal that none of the claims plead failure to meet the safety standards imposed by the FAA. Absent a violation of the FAA itself, no tort claim can survive.”
The other lawyer stood, tugging at his suit jacket to make it settle properly. “Your honor, even if this preposterous argument made any sense, Superman isn’t being sued in his capacity as an aircraft.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Kensington replied smoothly. “The FAA covers claims brought ‘relating to’ the operations of aircraft. If it were possible to replead a complaint against an airline in its capacity as a corporation, the preemption provision would be a nullity. And if you’ll examine our memorandum, you’ll see a number of cases in which the FAA was applied to claims based on events that occurred entirely on the ground, though of course many of the allegations in the complaint, including every claim of intentional and negligent infliction of emotional distress, depend on my client’s flight capabilities.”
“Well,” the judge said after a moment, “my clerk and I seem to have our work cut out for us. I assume we can set a briefing schedule that works for both sides?”
Clark tuned out after that. Kensington, who appeared as sated as a lion after bringing down a gazelle, agreed to various deadlines, and reporters rushed out of the room.
Eventually the judge got up again, and so did Clark. Lex glanced over at him, then put a careful hand on his arm. “Walk with me,” he suggested, and Clark and Kensington followed him into a room that was evidently set aside for the prosecutors, outside the boundaries where the press was allowed to go.
“What just happened?” Clark asked.
“In fairness, it was Lex’s idea,” Kensington said with a small shrug. “There are ways around FAA preemption, but I’m prepared to argue that the FAA has specifically determined that ultralights shouldn’t be regulated, and based on your presumed weight and lack of motor you’re clearly an ultralight. Which is a good thing because otherwise you’d be in need of a pilot’s license.”
Clark looked at Lex. “The federal government decided that states can’t have their own rules for airplanes,” Lex said, “because airplanes go everywhere and so the rule has to be the same nationwide. Since they didn’t argue that you violated the federal rule, they don’t have a case. No, Congress probably wasn’t thinking about you. But by the time anyone wades through the statutory text and decides that you are more like a bird than a plane, the Superhero Protection Act that Senator Kent is introducing today will be the law. It’s almost ironic: having these idiots be the first to actually sue you makes the best possible case for giving you immunity.”
Okay, Clark basically followed-Senator Kent? His mom hadn’t breathed a word. It was a huge conflict of interest, but he guessed she couldn’t really admit that. He needed to call her-but in private. “Wow. Um, thanks. So, what do I do now?”
Kensington produced a business card. “You can check in any time. I really should have a way to contact you-” She shut her mouth as Lex gave her a glare that indicated that this discussion had already taken place, and that she hadn’t won. “If I need to talk, I’ll go through Lex, given the unusual circumstances.”
Clark agreed, and Kensington left. Lex watched him for a minute, until Clark broke. “What?”
Lex smirked. “I’m just wondering where you’re going to put Kensington’s card. I’ve never noticed any pockets-and I think I would have.”
Clark rolled his eyes, then looked at it just long enough to memorize the contact information. “Thank you,” he said, more relaxed now. “I know you don’t really approve-”
“Vigilante justice isn’t my thing, no,” Lex said sharply. “But you’re excellent politics, so there we are.”
“There we are,” Clark repeated, suddenly feeling the distance between them increase. “Lex-” He reached out.
Lex stepped back. “You understand that this-us-just got even more foolish. If I’m using the power of my office to protect the man I’m fucking-”
The word was harsh, and not just because of the profanity. Clark said the only thing that came to mind. “I thought I was an aircraft.”
Lex’s eyelashes fluttered, and then he sniggered. “Honestly, in Kansas that’s probably better.”
“So-” Clark said, not quite brave enough to ask if he was still welcome at Lex’s apartment.
And like that, Lex was pressed up against him, hand on the back of Clark’s neck, pulling him into a quick kiss. “I’ve done worse for less,” Lex said, millimeters from his mouth, before he backed away. “I have to go talk to the cameras.”
Clark nodded. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and let Lex leave.
****
“I made you an apple pie,” Mom said when he dropped in at the farm. She’d refused to give up Smallville for a more central location, but given how easy it was for Clark to see her, he didn’t worry that much.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, kissing her cheek before diving in.
“So, Lex Luthor,” she said.
Clark stopped with the fork in midair. “Um?”
“He came to see me and told me that he knew my son, and that I could trust him.”
“Oh,” Clark managed. “Well-I guess that’s, it’s not untrue. I mean, I know him. And he’s been-he was a big help with the lawsuit even though he criticizes Superman all the time, so.”
“Clark,” his mom said, leaning forward, “he said he knew my son.”
Clark thought about that for a bit. “He knows me too, sort of.”
His mother frowned. “And which ‘me’ do you mean?” She watched as Clark squirmed. “Clark, I’m concerned that you’re splitting yourself in two. I know why you have to have a secret identity, even if I’ve never gotten used to that high-tech thing you use to conceal yourself. But you are still the same person, no matter what clothes you wear. Or don’t wear.”
Clark winced. Mom was never going to get over the Metropole, and Clark couldn’t blame her.
“I think he truly likes you, Clark.”
Clark took another bite of pie and stared down at his plate. “That doesn’t mean my secret is safe with him.” No, he didn’t think that Lex would arrest him. But Lex was going places, and those places had security details and possibly, someday, the power to order drone strikes, and he’d made very clear what role he thought Superman should play in the American system.
Clark started when his mom’s hand settled on his wrist. “I trust your judgment, honey. But you were meant for a bigger stage than Metropolis. And I think you need to start deciding how you’re going to deal with that, and who can be trusted.”
She was right, of course. And what she wasn’t saying, but was running under the surface, was also right: that he couldn’t be with someone who didn’t know the truth. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Especially Lex, who didn’t know he was being fooled and who wouldn’t take kindly to deception, however well-intentioned. He’d once watched Lex chew out a subordinate over the phone just for implying that she’d read a case she hadn’t. And from what Lex said, his father had engaged in a years-long campaign to make Lex doubt everything in his world. So no, Lex wouldn’t appreciate the revelation, even if it was that he was actually with the guy he had been chasing.
“Thanks, mom,” he said, even though he wanted to go up to his room to brood. Those years were over.
****
He owed Lex, if not the truth, then some respect.
Lex was busy the next two nights, and then there was a tornado that required Clark’s attention for roughly seventy-three hours. When he finally managed to find Lex in his apartment, he hesitated before entering.
Lex looked up and smiled, a small rare thing, unfair to give him when Lex had been hitting on Clark Barr. His face changed as Clark emerged from the shadows. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this any more.”
Lex’s expression flickered. “I see.”
“You should be with someone you really want. You obviously aren’t satisfied, and I-I deserve someone who wants me,” Clark said, knowing how ridiculous that sounded. Before Lex, he’d thought that people would only want Superman, and that was why he’d stayed away from entanglements. Turned out, the opposite was no better.
“You do,” Lex agreed, which was infuriating. “I don’t suppose it would help to say that I do want you.”
“That’s hard to believe when you’d rather spend your time at a strip club,” Clark said, and the venom in his voice surprised him. He’d meant to be distant. Superman-like.
Lex closed his eyes briefly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Clark felt his teeth grind together, well past diamond-crushing. “I came here to tell you it’s over. So I’m sure.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lex said, so cryptic Clark’s fingers actually ached to shove him up against a wall and do something that didn’t need interpreting. “I know what I want. I want you. And when you’re ready for that, my door is always open.”
****
He told Chloe that Lex-still Mystery Guy to the bouncers-wasn’t welcome any more, and she gave the appropriate instructions, and only asked him if he wanted to talk about it four times. After that, she just gave him looks when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes there were significant downsides to keeping the friends you had in high school.
“Turned him away again tonight,” she said, two weeks later, while Clark was rearranging his costumes. “That’s the third time. You’re either going to need a restraining order or a real conversation, and while ordinarily I’m all about antistalking laws I’m gonna have to go with door number two in this case, Clark.”
“I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing,” Clark said, angry and helpless, which he hated. Tsunamis and bank robberies, he knew what to do with.
“Thus the need for conversation,” Chloe pointed out. “Look, he may be obsessed, but unlike most of the people who’ve been obsessed with you, he essentially has taken no for an answer. There have been no kidnappings, attempted kidnappings, assaults on people you love he blames for your lack of attention, assaults on people he thinks are making your life difficult-”
“I get it,” Clark interrupted, since he didn’t need a recap of the last ten years of his life. “Kryptonite poisoning didn’t rot his brain, which is good, but-he’s still the attorney general and I’m still-I can’t have that.”
“Have what?” Chloe said, gently. “God knows I am not all about sharing your secret, Clark, but I think you should talk to him.”
Even if Lex weren’t both a Luthor and a politician on the way up, Clark wasn’t sure he could’ve admitted his secret. Alicia, whom he might have loved, had died protecting him; Lana, whom he had loved more than life, had left him, because it was too much for her.
Time and again, clever villains discovered Clark’s weaknesses, including the people he loved, and used them against him. Adding to that list was just selfish. A relationship with a human was as out of reach as lost Krypton.
“He already knows that it can’t happen,” Clark said, feeling his life stretch out before him, full of duty and the satisfaction of saving people but empty of so much else. “That’s all there is to say.”
****
Two weeks later, Clark touched down in front of the main police station with another Suicide Slum arsonist (yet another LuthorCorp stooge, if anyone could prove it). Chloe had already forwarded the footage proving his guilt to the police; just another skirmish in their hidden war.
The grim-looking officer coming out to meet him was wearing an especially bulky Kevlar vest, moving like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Clark hesitated, feeling something off. Why would-
When the explosion came, he whirled to put his body in between it and the arsonist.
But instead of the delicate patter of metal and debris he expected, there was only pain, lighting him up from head to toe. The world went the green-white of a Kryptonite strike, then black.
****
He was jostled back to horrific consciousness by the bright, familiar lights of the Metropole’s sign. The writhing man wrapped around the ‘l’ had never looked more sinister.
He was pretty sure he was dying. He’d come close before, back in Smallville. He’d been shot with a meteor rock bullet once. This was like that, a thousand times. The air was heavy in his lungs, like he might be drowning in it.
Somehow, Lex and Oliver were on either side of him, dragging him through the empty main room. Lex was shouting for help, louder than Oliver. It would’ve hurt his ears if there’d been room for so small a discomfort.
Chloe came running out, and her face changed when she saw them. “Get him up here,” she ordered, gesturing at the bar, and they did. He could feel every jostle and bump as his head hit the counter. He felt sorry for ruining Chloe’s custom-ordered wood. He was pretty sure that alien blood wasn’t going to wash out that easily.
“It was a lead-lined IED packed with meteor rock along with ball bearings,” Lex explained to Chloe as they stripped Clark. Vaguely, Clark realized that was why he felt like he’d been stabbed in about eight thousand places. He was making noise, a kind of keening sound. He would’ve been louder if he could’ve, but one of the places that was hurting was his throat.
They said a lot more, something about forceps and scalpels and having to use the Kryptonite itself to keep Clark’s body from healing over with bits still embedded in him. At one point Chloe apologized to him for chaining him down. Maybe more than once. It was hard to be sure. The pain was worse than usual because it was coming from inside him, like a solar system of agony had taken up residence. Through it all, Lex’s voice was even, but not at all calm. He narrated what he was going to do, which for Clark was just a catalog of pain: now I’m going to get inside your shoulder; now I’m going to remove a large fragment from your upper thigh.
Oliver asked something about Lex knowing what he was doing. Lex’s answer involved a college bio lab and a lot of cross-examination of forensic pathologists.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Lex said at one point. “Any chance of a transfusion?”
Clark was still in the green tide of pain up to his eyebrows, but individual spikes were being removed at a fairly fast pace. With great effort, he coughed, and when the agony from that had subsided, he managed a few words: “I’ll … heal. In the sun. When it’s gone.”
“Pretty big ‘when,’” Chloe said, her voice shaking as she dropped another piece into the lead-lined box they used.
“You should consider autologous donation, for future reference,” Lex said, pulling at something that made Clark’s whole body seize up. “Hold his shoulders.” Oliver’s hands pressed him down, stronger than Clark right now, and Clark felt the knife-blade Lex was using wriggle, like he was trying to extract a tooth that didn’t want to go.
Finally, blessedly, Clark passed out again.
****
The first thing Clark saw when he opened his eyes was Lex perched on a chair, pecking rapidly at his phone. Clark was on the tiny daybed in his own dressing room, curled up in a way that he would’ve called uncomfortable if he didn’t have very recent memories of what real discomfort was. There was a new mirror hanging at a strange angle on the wall, reflecting light from the window directly onto him. He was naked except for the dried blood that crackled unpleasantly when he shifted. The clock indicated that more than seven hours had passed.
“Lex?”
Lex froze, like some sort of predatory cat that didn’t want to admit it had been surprised. His mouth thinned, somewhere between anger and concern. “I presume you’re feeling better,” he said, and it didn’t escape Clark’s attention that Lex hadn’t used a name, any name.
“How did you know to bring me here?” Clark asked, grabbing for a sheet to cover himself even though Lex had seen far more of him than what was on offer now, and to better advantage than the bloody, recently green picture he presented now.
“I’m not an idiot,” Lex said sharply.
He could just mean he’d figured out that Superman’s home base was the Metropole, but Clark could tell that there was more. He sat up, pulling the sheet up to his lap. “You know?”
Lex closed his eyes. “About three months after we started sleeping together, I saw you do the same backbend to dodge a missile that you do in the middle of your firefighter routine. Then I correlated your missions of mercy with Clark Barr’s performances, and they were never at the same time. Everything added up: a secret identity, some alien technology to change your appearance, why Clark Barr had no personal life.”
Added up if you were a twisty-minded genius, Clark thought, but he guessed that Lex qualified.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, quietly.
Lex’s mouth tightened. “When would’ve been good, Clark? When you were still afraid I was going to have Superman arrested? When you were lying to me again and again about who you were?”
Some of Lex’s behavior made a lot more sense now. But other parts-“Then why did you keep pushing to get to know Clark Barr?”
Lex looked at him, as unguarded as he’d ever seen. “Is it so strange to think that I wanted to know the real Clark Kent? The person and not the icon? I wanted you to want to tell me. But I suppose that was too much.” He stood, turning towards the door. The motion had the feeling of finality.
“Wait,” Clark said. Lex froze.
“If you know who I am, then you must have found out-I have a bad history with letting people get close. I thought-if I told you my secret, the same thing would happen that always does. I thought I’d lose you.”
“So you gave me up,” Lex said.
Put that way, it did sound less than smart. “Do you really-?”
Clark didn’t know how that question ended, but Lex apparently did, turning back and coming to stand over Clark. He picked up Clark’s hand, wrapping it in both of his own. “I want Clark Barr and Clark Kent, Kal-El and Superman. Everything you have to give, and then more than that.”
Possibly that should’ve sounded scary, but Clark felt a hot pulse of want instead. Only lingering weakness kept him from grabbing Lex, but unfortunately, reality seeped in before Clark could work up the energy. “But-your father. Your career.”
Lex’s lip curled. “I intend to have it all. You, by the way, are a big part of the ‘all.’ This latest trick will be enough to get the feds fully invested in LuthorCorp-sponsored domestic terrorism, which should help with my father. The rest of it’s just a matter of spin. And I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” He paused and sat down on the daybed, his thigh brushing Clark’s. This close, Clark could see the striations of his irises, blue-gray-blue, like the skies on some other world. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t support you if you decided you wanted to use your brains instead of your equally fine brawn to make a living as Clark Kent. But I try not to negotiate from a position of weakness, so I’m not going to ask.”
Clark smiled at him. “‘Equally fine’?”
Lex pursed his lips consideringly. “You’re not a bad leader, all told, though you could use some more people to lead. Not that I’m advocating vigilante justice, especially not some sort of organized posse.”
Of course not. Clark couldn’t keep his grin from widening. Still-“Being with me is dangerous,” he cautioned. It had to be said, despite the epic eyeroll he got in return.
“Only one of us is covered in his own blood because of my father.”
Okay, effective counterargument. “This is why you win so many trials, isn’t it?” Clark asked.
Lex moved to cup his jaw and bring him in close enough to kiss. “That, and jury tampering.”
“Not funny,” Clark chided, even though that too wasn’t exactly true. Then their lips met and Clark had better things to consider.
No way was this the end of their troubles. There were bigger explosions ahead than Kryptonite bombs. But Lex wanted him, superhero and stripper both. In a world that could deliver that to him, maybe, just maybe, everything else was possible too.
END
comments on DW | reply there. I have invites or you can use OpenID.
They kept fending off minor vandalism. There was a visit from a bunch of college guys who’d clearly been paid to come in, drink heavily, and be disruptive. They would’ve been a bigger problem if Chloe hadn’t somehow contrived to have them get up on stage and strip, amateurish and almost charming-Chloe actually hired one of them for a substitute gig, and she said the Metropole made money overall that night since she confiscated all their tips, along with their clothes. There were a host of other, less amusing nuisances, though Chloe insulated Clark from many of the details.
And then, not much more than a week after Lex’s impromptu introduction to stripping from the other side, Chloe alerted him when the police scanner spat out the information that a team of gunmen was attacking the main courthouse. Clark knew Lex was there, supervising jury selection for a high-profile case against a local businessman who’d bribed his way out of safety inspections and then tried to cover up the resulting deaths. Clark dropped the supplies he was hauling out of the basement and flew across town.
Painful experience had taught him to stop and assess a situation before charging in. Sure enough, the assailants didn’t just have automatics. They were wearing Kryptonite bracelets, which suggested that whoever was giving the orders had included anti-Superman measures.
No one was getting shot right at the moment. They were systematically tying up all the security guards and searching the building. Clark focused and heard clipped words, reporting to each other, all in the negative: they were looking for someone in particular. Since all the judges were already rounded up and there were no high-profile criminals in the building, he had a pretty good idea of whom that might be.
Clark needed to beat them to Lex. But where-
Lex had made it into the ductwork.
And was stuck, because Metropolis courthouse ductwork wasn’t movie ductwork. He’d quickly come to a point at which there was nowhere else for him to go. Clark could see that his temperature was higher than normal. He was probably sweaty and covered with grime, but at least he was temporarily safe.
Except that Metropolis courthouse ductwork also wasn’t designed to bear the weight of an adult man. Every time Lex twitched, the framework groaned and got a little closer to collapsing through the ceiling.
He called Chloe. “Where’s Oliver?”
“On his way-four minutes out.”
Four minutes might be too long, judging from the flakes of paint drifting down to the floor under Lex’s hiding spot.
Clark plotted a path that would keep him away from the Kryptonite-enhanced gunmen and then executed his entrance. The noise of him breaking through the window would bring them running, so he didn’t pause, just barrelled down the corridor. When he punched through the ceiling to grab Lex, Lex screamed and tried to flail, but Clark was already bringing him out and setting him on the ground, just out of sight in an alleyway across the street from the back of the courthouse.
Lex, who was exactly as grubby as Clark had expected, nonetheless tugged at his suit jacket, as if that would help. He didn’t look entirely steady on his feet, but he pushed himself free of Clark’s grasp anyway. “Thank you.”
“I have to go back,” Clark told him. “Once they figure out you’re gone, they could do just about anything.”
Lex nodded, and Clark felt a flash of deep affection for him; Lex knew when to postpone questions. “Wait,” he said, before Clark could take off. He grimaced. “The police have an experimental lead-lined riot shield. It’s not here, but it can be brought.”
Telling him this was, in some ways, a breach of confidence, and they both knew it. The police still hadn’t decided whose side Clark was on, and Clark doubted Lex had made up his mind on the issue either. “You should make some calls,” Clark said. “But I have to go.” Back in the building, the gunmen were almost done rounding people up. They weren’t panicked by Clark’s smash-and-grab; they were professionals. They would likely have demands soon.
At that moment, Oliver’s bike screeched to a halt next to them. Lex turned away, reaching for his phone, and Clark gave Oliver a quick situation report. Oliver frowned. “Do they have gas masks?”
Clark scanned and didn’t see anything; he shook his head.
“If you tell me what windows to fire through, I’ll put them to sleep.” Oliver brandished an arrow, presumably armed with knockout gas.
“They’re not all together, but you could take out the ones guarding the hostages,” Clark said. He gave Oliver quick directions and set himself to the task of figuring out what to do with the five gunmen still patrolling the halls.
He didn’t like to do it because of the potential for permanent injury, but with Kryptonite in play his safest bet was superheating their weapons at a distance great enough that his powers were still mostly intact. He waited for Oliver’s signal that the men guarding the hostages were down, then got the job done fast-staying just long enough to make sure that each gun was too melted to be of use-and then let Oliver know so he could work cleanup and secure the Kryptonite before the police arrived.
It was stressful, yes, but not really terrifying, the way these situations had been when he’d just been a kid with no experience and no thought given to his next move.
His self-satisfaction lasted until he got back outside, where he’d left Lex.
Lex was gone.
Clark focused his ears-Lex would have to be giving instructions to his various minions, after an incident like this-and heard nothing. Looking around, he saw Lex’s phone, dropped in the gutter.
There’d been a second team, and Clark had delivered Lex straight into their hands.
He hit his communicator and updated Chloe. “Okay,” she said, in the calm voice that let him know that he was not hiding his agitation, “Oliver’s still busy with the other goons. Can you check the phone?”
Clark wanted to yell at her for wasting time instead of magically solving his problem, but he followed her advice. He’d seen Lex put in his passcode before, so he unlocked the phone-and it opened to the camera. Lex had managed to capture a few moments of video of the men grabbing him before the phone spun and went black as Lex tossed it aside, to bear witness for him.
Clark closed his eyes and thanked Chloe. Then he sent her the file. He hadn’t seen anything on first viewing, but she had technology and more patience than he presently possessed.
Inside the building, all the remaining gunmen had been knocked out and hogtied; the police were just arriving as Oliver leapt out of a third floor window, sliding down to the ground on wire from one of his special arrows. Clark zipped over to join him.
“That went well,” Oliver said, panting a bit, and then noticed Clark’s expression.
****
Back at the Metropole, Oliver reloaded his quiver while Chloe tried to identify the men in custody and who they might’ve been working with.
“You know,” Oliver said as Chloe opened her back door into the NSA facial identification database, “this might just be some PR move. ‘Prosecutor faces down shadowy attackers.’ Bet that plays well in the next election.”
Clark looked away from the computer screen. “He’s not his father.”
“Sure seems like he learned a bunch of moves from him, though.” Oliver was still smarting from the revelation that Lex Luthor had been visiting the Metropole for months, which Clark had come clean about not too many minutes ago. (Chloe was going to have words of her own about that development later, Clark knew, but she was too busy hacking to add them just now.)
“Would you want to be judged by the worst things your parents ever did?” It was a sore point with both of them, since the Queens had apparently been involved in some of the same shenanigans as Lionel Luthor, trying to crack the secrets of the alien Kryptonians. And Jor-El had been one of those Kryptonians. Clark wasn’t entirely sure just how conquer-y his father had truly been, since reports were somewhat confused, but the point was that they both needed to judge people on their own merits.
Oliver scowled and muttered something about flexible morals, but dropped the issue in favor of making a plan to requisition a lead-lined shield for their own use. He was examining diagrams of the police HQ when Clark remembered something.
He checked Lex’s phone: Yes, Lex had made a call just after Clark had left him, presumably summoning the shield just as they’d discussed.
Telling whoever was on the other end exactly where to find him.
“Chloe,” he said, and her head jerked up. “Can you pull the information from this number? And outgoing calls made just after this call, either on that phone or any phone near it?”
The corrupt police captain Lex had called had been smart enough to use a burner to reach his confederates at the scene of the kidnapping, but he hadn’t been able to get around geolocation. Now they had at least some of the who, and Chloe tracked the phone the captain had called to the warehouse district, not terribly far from the Metropole itself.
After that it was a matter of flying over and scanning the area for Lex’s distinctive bone patterns-it wasn’t creepy to know that, Clark told himself. He’d long ago learned to memorize the distinctive shapes of all his friends’ skeletons, for when rescue inevitably became necessary. He found Lex on the second floor of a nondescript dry goods warehouse, one of LuthorCorp’s recent acquisitions. Lex was surrounded by a clot of other people. His left arm was broken, but he was breathing and his temperature was within standard parameters. His captors had the same Kryptonite wristlets that the other team had worn.
“-have to go through this,” the man in front of Lex was saying when Clark tuned him in. “You won’t run out of real criminals to go after. The farmer and the cowman can be friends, Lex.”
“Eat my shit,” Lex said, his tone more inviting than Clark had ever heard except at press conferences. The contrast with the content was jarring enough that it took the man a moment to process, too, and then he hit Lex sharply across the cheek, snapping his head around. Clark was so focused that he could see Lex’s blood vessels tear.
Clark made his fists unclench. Oliver and Chloe pulled up, Chloe riding behind Oliver on his growly green cycle. Not for the first time, Clark wished that he had a bigger team, maybe with genuine superpowers, so that he wouldn’t have to risk his fragile friends every time some jerk associated with Lionel Luthor showed up with Kryptonite.
He didn’t think the configuration of the hallways leading up to the room where Lex was being held would allow Oliver to pull the same knockout gas trick that had worked at the courthouse. It would be too difficult to get close without being noticed.
Except-
Lex, he knew, made a study of Superman’s exploits, which were a frequent topic of pre- and postcoital conversation. To be honest, Lex’s occasionally vicious post-mission critiques were pushing Clark to improve his strategy more than Chloe and Oliver’s go-team enthusiasm, as welcome as the latter was. Something Lex had said, about exploiting three dimensions in arenas other than air combat, came back to him now.
“This is the plan,” he told Oliver, while Chloe worked to make sure her cameras would capture the face of anyone who escaped the building, for later identification.
Clark was affected by the Kryptonite even one floor down, but the bad guys couldn’t see and exploit that, and so they had the element of surprise when Clark cut a hole through the floor and Oliver popped out of it to shoot smoke grenades.
The main goon grabbed for his gun, determined to shoot Lex before visibility disappeared, and Clark tried to leap up to protect him, but he was still slowed past human frailty by the Kryptonite. Lex had been waiting for his opportunity and lunged to the side, landing hard but out of the line of fire, and then Oliver made good use of his night vision goggles to use knockout darts on Lex’s captors.
Oliver might still have had some prep school resentments against Lex, because he basically shoved Lex through the hole in the floor, trusting Clark to catch him. Which was no picnic with the nausea still running through him, but Lex was whole and Clark could move out of range easily enough. Clark left Oliver and Chloe to handle cleanup and sped Lex back to the penthouse. If there was a third team waiting to strike-well, then, Clark was going to get angry.
****
In the event, Clark’s scans didn’t turn up any more lurkers, and he was able to deposit Lex on his very own couch.
And then he realized that Lex needed treatment. “I’ll take you to a hospital,” he said, but Lex shook his head and gestured for silence, already dialing on his land line. Lex was holding the broken arm motionless and using his right hand, but he didn’t seem to be in need of immediate care, so Clark waited while Lex told his colleagues that he was alive and directed them to coordinate with the feds, who’d have to handle the case against the men now in custody, since there was an obvious conflict of interest for Lex’s own office.
Clark used his vision to make sure Lex wasn’t suffering from internal bleeding, and discovered that the break now looked as if it had occurred two weeks ago. He’d known Lex had some extra bounceback factor, but this was more than a few disappearing bruises.
“Your arm,” he said as soon as Lex hung up.
Lex tilted his head to examine the named appendage. “I told you, I heal quickly,” he said.
Clark swallowed. He’d never asked just how much Lex knew about Smallville’s poisoned gifts.
Lex snorted and went over to the bar, pouring himself a drink right-handed with none of his usual grace. “You know, if my father understood that I was a mutant, he would use that against me instead of all this drama. I think he’s too used to the more flamboyant manifestations of meteor-induced metamorphosis.” He took a deep swallow and closed his eyes, not even wincing at the burn of alcohol.
“Do you have any proof that this was him?”
Lex gave him a look that indicated that Clark probably should have been held back a few grades. “Other than the threats demanding that I back off my investigation into LuthorCorp, which I was the only one to hear? No.”
“LuthorCorp owns the building you were held in,” Clark offered.
“I’m sure LuthorCorp will deny all knowledge of how the building was being misused. With all those shell corporations, they can pretend they didn’t even know which specific buildings they own.” Lex smiled, knife-edged. “Knowing how my father works, at least it’s probably underinsured.” His fingers twitched, as if he wanted to rub his hand over his head but was dissuaded from further motion by the pain of the break. “I can’t even figure out how he’s passing orders from prison,” he muttered.
“You can start with Jake Frost. He’s the one who called to let your father’s men know where you were.”
Lex nodded jerkily, thin-lipped. Furious with himself and with the world in general. “He’s not done,” Lex said, looking out the window at the bright Metropolis night. “He’ll keep after me until one of us is dead.” He sounded almost proud, despite himself.
“He didn’t get away with anything today,” Clark reminded him.
“Because of you.” Clark couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a rebuke or not. Then, as if sensing Clark’s uncertainty, Lex continued: “Thank you.”
“On behalf of the people of Metropolis?” Clark asked, trying to lighten the mood.
“On my behalf.” Lex turned to him, eyes intense, the tiny scar on his lip standing out more than usual. “I know you don’t trust me. I don’t trust me either. But I am not my father. I will not let him take anything more from me.”
“Lex-”
Lex snorted, reaching for his abandoned tumbler, still half-full of alcohol. “Superman.” The way he said it made very clear that what he meant was: I don’t even know your name.
“Kal-El,” Clark blurted, because it was as close to the truth as he could give Lex. “My birth parents, they named me Kal-El.”
Lex froze, fingers still tight around his glass. Then, deliberately, he drank, and smiled at Clark. “Some days I wish I’d been sent to a different world.” His expression said that his words were supposed to sting.
Clark’s throat tightened. He hadn’t said that name to many people. He’d expected-Lex was the one running around trying to get someone else to sleep with him; Lex was the one who told people that Superman meant nothing to him, and the fact that Lex had only said that to Clark Barr didn’t change what it meant.
This was just another way that Superman wasn’t enough for Lex. But Lex’s own father had likely just put him in mortal danger. And Clark couldn’t make him feel what he didn’t feel; the superpower to do that wasn’t worth having anyway. Clark swallowed his own distress. “Come to bed, Lex.” It was the one thing Clark could give him that was all the way real.
****
As soon as the young woman who was actually not getting mugged smiled and handed him the papers, Clark knew exactly where he needed to go.
Lex read through the lawsuit quickly, his face giving nothing away. “It’s a class action,” he said.
“A class action?” Clark asked, still confused.
“On behalf of all the people you’ve put in jail, with a subclass for those who’ve had property destroyed in the course of your activities.” Lex looked up. He’d scanned the thick document almost as fast as Clark could’ve, given that Clark would’ve needed to stop and get definitions of every third legal term. “They’re asking for roughly three hundred million dollars. Plus attorneys’ fees.”
Right, wouldn’t want to leave those out.
“Is that … possible?”
Lex shrugged. “Define possible. If you default, you’ll either have to pay up or remind everyone that you’re blatantly defying the law every time you show up for a rescue in the U.S. I know the firm; they’re vicious and clever. If you can get a decent firm to represent you, you’d have some chance of negotiating a settlement. O.J. Simpson lost his right of publicity in a lawsuit. If you agreed to some sort of trademark licensing deal and sent the proceeds on to your putative victims, you might not ever have to notice that there was a legal claim in the first place.”
Clark felt his stomach twist. There weren’t enough big tippers in the world to cover the costs of hiring a real lawyer to defend himself in what would undoubtedly be a bigger news story than the Olympics.
“You don’t look pleased,” Lex observed. “Did you have other plans for the Superman brand?”
“It’s not just the money!” Clark took a deep breath. Yes, Lex was distrustful of Superman’s popularity and power, but that wasn’t the issue now. “These are bad guys, Lex. You sent most of them to jail. I can’t let my name, my House’s name, be used to pay them off. I can’t agree to that!”
Lex tilted his head a fraction, as if he were looking for a flaw in Clark’s disguise. “Point taken,” he said. “Let me make a few calls.” He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. “The initial hearing is next Tuesday, at 9. Be there. Even if there’s a disaster somewhere else, get one of your super-friends to cover it. You can be a murderer, an embezzler, or just a real creep and still get your day in court. The one thing judges can’t stand is people-or in your case, aliens-who ignore them.”
This was obviously a dismissal, and Clark accepted it.
****
Chloe insisted on dressing up for the hearing, black wig and scarf and pearls that made her stand out more than if she’d just gone in her usual business casual. Then again, in the crush of people, she was just one more glamorous and mysterious figure in the crowd. They’d arrived separately, of course, with Clark touching down just in front of the entrance (the reporters barely pulled back enough to let him land, and frankly he’d had less inappropriate physical contact during most of his lap dances).
Once he was inside the courthouse, security kept the press back, even as he could hear them insta-analyzing the fact that he’d showed up at all. A very polite young man showed him to the correct room.
Lex was standing by one of the tables at the front of the courtroom, bending to say something to a black-haired woman in a bright red suit. Lex’s eyes gave nothing away, ocean-ice blue as he regarded Clark with less warmth than the two men at the other counsel table. Clark recognized them from his internet searches: Lanson and Hogue, the lawyers suing him.
The woman gestured him over. Up close, she had only a little of that glazed ‘I’m next to Superman’ look that a lot of people got. Better than most people were on first contact. “I’m Kensington Steinfeld,” she said, shaking his hand and speaking softly, so that no one else in the room heard the introduction. “I don’t usually take clients without meeting them first, but Lex-Mr. Luthor-was persuasive.”
I’ll bet, Clark didn’t say. “Thank you” seemed much wiser.
“All rise,” the bailiff said, and they did. Clark could hear the click-click-click of digital cameras. He never knew what to do with his hands when he wasn’t in motion, rescuing people.
The judge came in, a middle-aged man with a frown and jowls like a bulldog’s. “Be seated,” the bailiff said.
The judge rubbed his hands together like a gourmet faced with a five-star meal. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I understand we have quite a case today.”
Lex stood. “Your honor, Lex Luthor, on behalf of the state of Kansas. I respectfully request permission to intervene.”
“On what grounds?”
“Under the Crime Victims Act, the state is entitled to pursue any assets of convicted criminals-a group into which many of the putative class members fall and more certainly will as the trial date approaches-including the amount of any recovery in tort, up to the amount of restitution ordered at the time of sentencing, plus the costs of their confinement. The amount recovered by the state should of course be excluded from any calculation of attorneys’ fees ultimately awarded,” Lex said.
Clark blinked.
Over at the other table, Lanson and Hogue were starting to sputter.
“I’ve prepared a motion and a supporting brief setting out the relevant statutes and caselaw,” Lex said, sounding for all the world like a man who only wanted to be helpful.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” the judge said, accepting the papers Lex handed up.
“You might not need to resolve the question, Your Honor,” Kensington said. “The defendant moves to dismiss all claims as completely preempted by the Federal Aviation Act.”
“What?” the judge said-echoed by, it seemed, half the people in the room, Clark not among them only because of his hard-won ability to shut his mouth before reacting.
“The FAA defines ‘aircraft’ as ‘any contrivance invented, used, or designed to navigate, or fly in, the air.’ My client, as plaintiffs themselves allege, flies on his own power, routinely transporting passengers, including most of the plaintiffs themselves: he is used, and quite arguably designed, to fly.”
“He’s not a plane!” one of the lawyers-Lanson, Clark thought-interjected. The judge didn’t seem to mind.
Kensington looked bored, like she’d heard that one before. “He’s not a bird, either. As I was saying, as an aircraft, my client is subject to the FAA, and any fair inspection of the complaint will reveal that none of the claims plead failure to meet the safety standards imposed by the FAA. Absent a violation of the FAA itself, no tort claim can survive.”
The other lawyer stood, tugging at his suit jacket to make it settle properly. “Your honor, even if this preposterous argument made any sense, Superman isn’t being sued in his capacity as an aircraft.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Kensington replied smoothly. “The FAA covers claims brought ‘relating to’ the operations of aircraft. If it were possible to replead a complaint against an airline in its capacity as a corporation, the preemption provision would be a nullity. And if you’ll examine our memorandum, you’ll see a number of cases in which the FAA was applied to claims based on events that occurred entirely on the ground, though of course many of the allegations in the complaint, including every claim of intentional and negligent infliction of emotional distress, depend on my client’s flight capabilities.”
“Well,” the judge said after a moment, “my clerk and I seem to have our work cut out for us. I assume we can set a briefing schedule that works for both sides?”
Clark tuned out after that. Kensington, who appeared as sated as a lion after bringing down a gazelle, agreed to various deadlines, and reporters rushed out of the room.
Eventually the judge got up again, and so did Clark. Lex glanced over at him, then put a careful hand on his arm. “Walk with me,” he suggested, and Clark and Kensington followed him into a room that was evidently set aside for the prosecutors, outside the boundaries where the press was allowed to go.
“What just happened?” Clark asked.
“In fairness, it was Lex’s idea,” Kensington said with a small shrug. “There are ways around FAA preemption, but I’m prepared to argue that the FAA has specifically determined that ultralights shouldn’t be regulated, and based on your presumed weight and lack of motor you’re clearly an ultralight. Which is a good thing because otherwise you’d be in need of a pilot’s license.”
Clark looked at Lex. “The federal government decided that states can’t have their own rules for airplanes,” Lex said, “because airplanes go everywhere and so the rule has to be the same nationwide. Since they didn’t argue that you violated the federal rule, they don’t have a case. No, Congress probably wasn’t thinking about you. But by the time anyone wades through the statutory text and decides that you are more like a bird than a plane, the Superhero Protection Act that Senator Kent is introducing today will be the law. It’s almost ironic: having these idiots be the first to actually sue you makes the best possible case for giving you immunity.”
Okay, Clark basically followed-Senator Kent? His mom hadn’t breathed a word. It was a huge conflict of interest, but he guessed she couldn’t really admit that. He needed to call her-but in private. “Wow. Um, thanks. So, what do I do now?”
Kensington produced a business card. “You can check in any time. I really should have a way to contact you-” She shut her mouth as Lex gave her a glare that indicated that this discussion had already taken place, and that she hadn’t won. “If I need to talk, I’ll go through Lex, given the unusual circumstances.”
Clark agreed, and Kensington left. Lex watched him for a minute, until Clark broke. “What?”
Lex smirked. “I’m just wondering where you’re going to put Kensington’s card. I’ve never noticed any pockets-and I think I would have.”
Clark rolled his eyes, then looked at it just long enough to memorize the contact information. “Thank you,” he said, more relaxed now. “I know you don’t really approve-”
“Vigilante justice isn’t my thing, no,” Lex said sharply. “But you’re excellent politics, so there we are.”
“There we are,” Clark repeated, suddenly feeling the distance between them increase. “Lex-” He reached out.
Lex stepped back. “You understand that this-us-just got even more foolish. If I’m using the power of my office to protect the man I’m fucking-”
The word was harsh, and not just because of the profanity. Clark said the only thing that came to mind. “I thought I was an aircraft.”
Lex’s eyelashes fluttered, and then he sniggered. “Honestly, in Kansas that’s probably better.”
“So-” Clark said, not quite brave enough to ask if he was still welcome at Lex’s apartment.
And like that, Lex was pressed up against him, hand on the back of Clark’s neck, pulling him into a quick kiss. “I’ve done worse for less,” Lex said, millimeters from his mouth, before he backed away. “I have to go talk to the cameras.”
Clark nodded. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, and let Lex leave.
****
“I made you an apple pie,” Mom said when he dropped in at the farm. She’d refused to give up Smallville for a more central location, but given how easy it was for Clark to see her, he didn’t worry that much.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said, kissing her cheek before diving in.
“So, Lex Luthor,” she said.
Clark stopped with the fork in midair. “Um?”
“He came to see me and told me that he knew my son, and that I could trust him.”
“Oh,” Clark managed. “Well-I guess that’s, it’s not untrue. I mean, I know him. And he’s been-he was a big help with the lawsuit even though he criticizes Superman all the time, so.”
“Clark,” his mom said, leaning forward, “he said he knew my son.”
Clark thought about that for a bit. “He knows me too, sort of.”
His mother frowned. “And which ‘me’ do you mean?” She watched as Clark squirmed. “Clark, I’m concerned that you’re splitting yourself in two. I know why you have to have a secret identity, even if I’ve never gotten used to that high-tech thing you use to conceal yourself. But you are still the same person, no matter what clothes you wear. Or don’t wear.”
Clark winced. Mom was never going to get over the Metropole, and Clark couldn’t blame her.
“I think he truly likes you, Clark.”
Clark took another bite of pie and stared down at his plate. “That doesn’t mean my secret is safe with him.” No, he didn’t think that Lex would arrest him. But Lex was going places, and those places had security details and possibly, someday, the power to order drone strikes, and he’d made very clear what role he thought Superman should play in the American system.
Clark started when his mom’s hand settled on his wrist. “I trust your judgment, honey. But you were meant for a bigger stage than Metropolis. And I think you need to start deciding how you’re going to deal with that, and who can be trusted.”
She was right, of course. And what she wasn’t saying, but was running under the surface, was also right: that he couldn’t be with someone who didn’t know the truth. It wasn’t fair to either of them. Especially Lex, who didn’t know he was being fooled and who wouldn’t take kindly to deception, however well-intentioned. He’d once watched Lex chew out a subordinate over the phone just for implying that she’d read a case she hadn’t. And from what Lex said, his father had engaged in a years-long campaign to make Lex doubt everything in his world. So no, Lex wouldn’t appreciate the revelation, even if it was that he was actually with the guy he had been chasing.
“Thanks, mom,” he said, even though he wanted to go up to his room to brood. Those years were over.
****
He owed Lex, if not the truth, then some respect.
Lex was busy the next two nights, and then there was a tornado that required Clark’s attention for roughly seventy-three hours. When he finally managed to find Lex in his apartment, he hesitated before entering.
Lex looked up and smiled, a small rare thing, unfair to give him when Lex had been hitting on Clark Barr. His face changed as Clark emerged from the shadows. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this any more.”
Lex’s expression flickered. “I see.”
“You should be with someone you really want. You obviously aren’t satisfied, and I-I deserve someone who wants me,” Clark said, knowing how ridiculous that sounded. Before Lex, he’d thought that people would only want Superman, and that was why he’d stayed away from entanglements. Turned out, the opposite was no better.
“You do,” Lex agreed, which was infuriating. “I don’t suppose it would help to say that I do want you.”
“That’s hard to believe when you’d rather spend your time at a strip club,” Clark said, and the venom in his voice surprised him. He’d meant to be distant. Superman-like.
Lex closed his eyes briefly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Clark felt his teeth grind together, well past diamond-crushing. “I came here to tell you it’s over. So I’m sure.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Lex said, so cryptic Clark’s fingers actually ached to shove him up against a wall and do something that didn’t need interpreting. “I know what I want. I want you. And when you’re ready for that, my door is always open.”
****
He told Chloe that Lex-still Mystery Guy to the bouncers-wasn’t welcome any more, and she gave the appropriate instructions, and only asked him if he wanted to talk about it four times. After that, she just gave him looks when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Sometimes there were significant downsides to keeping the friends you had in high school.
“Turned him away again tonight,” she said, two weeks later, while Clark was rearranging his costumes. “That’s the third time. You’re either going to need a restraining order or a real conversation, and while ordinarily I’m all about antistalking laws I’m gonna have to go with door number two in this case, Clark.”
“I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing,” Clark said, angry and helpless, which he hated. Tsunamis and bank robberies, he knew what to do with.
“Thus the need for conversation,” Chloe pointed out. “Look, he may be obsessed, but unlike most of the people who’ve been obsessed with you, he essentially has taken no for an answer. There have been no kidnappings, attempted kidnappings, assaults on people you love he blames for your lack of attention, assaults on people he thinks are making your life difficult-”
“I get it,” Clark interrupted, since he didn’t need a recap of the last ten years of his life. “Kryptonite poisoning didn’t rot his brain, which is good, but-he’s still the attorney general and I’m still-I can’t have that.”
“Have what?” Chloe said, gently. “God knows I am not all about sharing your secret, Clark, but I think you should talk to him.”
Even if Lex weren’t both a Luthor and a politician on the way up, Clark wasn’t sure he could’ve admitted his secret. Alicia, whom he might have loved, had died protecting him; Lana, whom he had loved more than life, had left him, because it was too much for her.
Time and again, clever villains discovered Clark’s weaknesses, including the people he loved, and used them against him. Adding to that list was just selfish. A relationship with a human was as out of reach as lost Krypton.
“He already knows that it can’t happen,” Clark said, feeling his life stretch out before him, full of duty and the satisfaction of saving people but empty of so much else. “That’s all there is to say.”
****
Two weeks later, Clark touched down in front of the main police station with another Suicide Slum arsonist (yet another LuthorCorp stooge, if anyone could prove it). Chloe had already forwarded the footage proving his guilt to the police; just another skirmish in their hidden war.
The grim-looking officer coming out to meet him was wearing an especially bulky Kevlar vest, moving like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Clark hesitated, feeling something off. Why would-
When the explosion came, he whirled to put his body in between it and the arsonist.
But instead of the delicate patter of metal and debris he expected, there was only pain, lighting him up from head to toe. The world went the green-white of a Kryptonite strike, then black.
****
He was jostled back to horrific consciousness by the bright, familiar lights of the Metropole’s sign. The writhing man wrapped around the ‘l’ had never looked more sinister.
He was pretty sure he was dying. He’d come close before, back in Smallville. He’d been shot with a meteor rock bullet once. This was like that, a thousand times. The air was heavy in his lungs, like he might be drowning in it.
Somehow, Lex and Oliver were on either side of him, dragging him through the empty main room. Lex was shouting for help, louder than Oliver. It would’ve hurt his ears if there’d been room for so small a discomfort.
Chloe came running out, and her face changed when she saw them. “Get him up here,” she ordered, gesturing at the bar, and they did. He could feel every jostle and bump as his head hit the counter. He felt sorry for ruining Chloe’s custom-ordered wood. He was pretty sure that alien blood wasn’t going to wash out that easily.
“It was a lead-lined IED packed with meteor rock along with ball bearings,” Lex explained to Chloe as they stripped Clark. Vaguely, Clark realized that was why he felt like he’d been stabbed in about eight thousand places. He was making noise, a kind of keening sound. He would’ve been louder if he could’ve, but one of the places that was hurting was his throat.
They said a lot more, something about forceps and scalpels and having to use the Kryptonite itself to keep Clark’s body from healing over with bits still embedded in him. At one point Chloe apologized to him for chaining him down. Maybe more than once. It was hard to be sure. The pain was worse than usual because it was coming from inside him, like a solar system of agony had taken up residence. Through it all, Lex’s voice was even, but not at all calm. He narrated what he was going to do, which for Clark was just a catalog of pain: now I’m going to get inside your shoulder; now I’m going to remove a large fragment from your upper thigh.
Oliver asked something about Lex knowing what he was doing. Lex’s answer involved a college bio lab and a lot of cross-examination of forensic pathologists.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Lex said at one point. “Any chance of a transfusion?”
Clark was still in the green tide of pain up to his eyebrows, but individual spikes were being removed at a fairly fast pace. With great effort, he coughed, and when the agony from that had subsided, he managed a few words: “I’ll … heal. In the sun. When it’s gone.”
“Pretty big ‘when,’” Chloe said, her voice shaking as she dropped another piece into the lead-lined box they used.
“You should consider autologous donation, for future reference,” Lex said, pulling at something that made Clark’s whole body seize up. “Hold his shoulders.” Oliver’s hands pressed him down, stronger than Clark right now, and Clark felt the knife-blade Lex was using wriggle, like he was trying to extract a tooth that didn’t want to go.
Finally, blessedly, Clark passed out again.
****
The first thing Clark saw when he opened his eyes was Lex perched on a chair, pecking rapidly at his phone. Clark was on the tiny daybed in his own dressing room, curled up in a way that he would’ve called uncomfortable if he didn’t have very recent memories of what real discomfort was. There was a new mirror hanging at a strange angle on the wall, reflecting light from the window directly onto him. He was naked except for the dried blood that crackled unpleasantly when he shifted. The clock indicated that more than seven hours had passed.
“Lex?”
Lex froze, like some sort of predatory cat that didn’t want to admit it had been surprised. His mouth thinned, somewhere between anger and concern. “I presume you’re feeling better,” he said, and it didn’t escape Clark’s attention that Lex hadn’t used a name, any name.
“How did you know to bring me here?” Clark asked, grabbing for a sheet to cover himself even though Lex had seen far more of him than what was on offer now, and to better advantage than the bloody, recently green picture he presented now.
“I’m not an idiot,” Lex said sharply.
He could just mean he’d figured out that Superman’s home base was the Metropole, but Clark could tell that there was more. He sat up, pulling the sheet up to his lap. “You know?”
Lex closed his eyes. “About three months after we started sleeping together, I saw you do the same backbend to dodge a missile that you do in the middle of your firefighter routine. Then I correlated your missions of mercy with Clark Barr’s performances, and they were never at the same time. Everything added up: a secret identity, some alien technology to change your appearance, why Clark Barr had no personal life.”
Added up if you were a twisty-minded genius, Clark thought, but he guessed that Lex qualified.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, quietly.
Lex’s mouth tightened. “When would’ve been good, Clark? When you were still afraid I was going to have Superman arrested? When you were lying to me again and again about who you were?”
Some of Lex’s behavior made a lot more sense now. But other parts-“Then why did you keep pushing to get to know Clark Barr?”
Lex looked at him, as unguarded as he’d ever seen. “Is it so strange to think that I wanted to know the real Clark Kent? The person and not the icon? I wanted you to want to tell me. But I suppose that was too much.” He stood, turning towards the door. The motion had the feeling of finality.
“Wait,” Clark said. Lex froze.
“If you know who I am, then you must have found out-I have a bad history with letting people get close. I thought-if I told you my secret, the same thing would happen that always does. I thought I’d lose you.”
“So you gave me up,” Lex said.
Put that way, it did sound less than smart. “Do you really-?”
Clark didn’t know how that question ended, but Lex apparently did, turning back and coming to stand over Clark. He picked up Clark’s hand, wrapping it in both of his own. “I want Clark Barr and Clark Kent, Kal-El and Superman. Everything you have to give, and then more than that.”
Possibly that should’ve sounded scary, but Clark felt a hot pulse of want instead. Only lingering weakness kept him from grabbing Lex, but unfortunately, reality seeped in before Clark could work up the energy. “But-your father. Your career.”
Lex’s lip curled. “I intend to have it all. You, by the way, are a big part of the ‘all.’ This latest trick will be enough to get the feds fully invested in LuthorCorp-sponsored domestic terrorism, which should help with my father. The rest of it’s just a matter of spin. And I’ve always enjoyed a challenge.” He paused and sat down on the daybed, his thigh brushing Clark’s. This close, Clark could see the striations of his irises, blue-gray-blue, like the skies on some other world. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t support you if you decided you wanted to use your brains instead of your equally fine brawn to make a living as Clark Kent. But I try not to negotiate from a position of weakness, so I’m not going to ask.”
Clark smiled at him. “‘Equally fine’?”
Lex pursed his lips consideringly. “You’re not a bad leader, all told, though you could use some more people to lead. Not that I’m advocating vigilante justice, especially not some sort of organized posse.”
Of course not. Clark couldn’t keep his grin from widening. Still-“Being with me is dangerous,” he cautioned. It had to be said, despite the epic eyeroll he got in return.
“Only one of us is covered in his own blood because of my father.”
Okay, effective counterargument. “This is why you win so many trials, isn’t it?” Clark asked.
Lex moved to cup his jaw and bring him in close enough to kiss. “That, and jury tampering.”
“Not funny,” Clark chided, even though that too wasn’t exactly true. Then their lips met and Clark had better things to consider.
No way was this the end of their troubles. There were bigger explosions ahead than Kryptonite bombs. But Lex wanted him, superhero and stripper both. In a world that could deliver that to him, maybe, just maybe, everything else was possible too.
END
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