Title: Making History
Author: Bagheera
Email: bagheera_86@yahoo.de
Rating: PG
Challenge: Pete is a mutant.
Notes: Many thanks to my beta danceswithgary, who also suggested the title for this fic! All remaining mistakes are mine. I don't own any of the characters or places within this story, nor do I own "The Brave and The Bold."
Summary: Pete is a mutant.

Transcript of "The Brave and The Bold", issue 116, January 2028

 

The Brave and The Bold: Hello listeners, this is Chloe Sullivan with another edition of 'The Brave And The Bold', coming to you direct from the Watchtower! Tonight, we have some special guests in our ongoing reporting on this year's election. At this point, just let me make a little caveat: I usually try to keep as much professional distance and neutrality towards my interviewees as is possible. 'The Brave and The Bold' tells both sides of the story.  However, I can't promise the same objectivity for the people with me today. I'm sure you could find out easily with a few clicks, we go way back. I'll try to be as fair as possible; the rest is up to your judgment. With me now is the presidential candidate and governor of Kansas, Pete Ross, who will talk about his election promises and his long history as a metahuman rights activist. Pete, do you want to say anything to our viewers?

 

Ross: Sure.

 

Brave & Bold: Charming. Also with me is Pete's campaign manager and well-known and feared industrialist Lex Luthor. If I get him to make more than glib statements, he will undoubtedly talk about his own experiences as a metahuman and the question of metahuman criminality. If not, our surprise guest is going to talk about it, since he's also something of an expert. Welcome to the show, Superman!

 

Superman: Uh, hi.

 

Brave & Bold: Studies say that 13 % of all Americans and 17 % of the world population believe that you're actually a metahuman. Another 23 % think you're either the messiah or a government hoax. Which is it, Superman?

 

Superman: Well, I'm an alien. From the planet Krypton.

 

*

 

Pete glances through the window in the door into the studio. Clark is standing with his arms crossed, looking at once regal and mildly ridiculous in his tights and cape. His face-off with Lex began as soon as they arrived here and found Clark already chatting with Chloe. She and Pete wisely retreated, sharing a look of understanding: when those two are in a room together, everyone else is collateral damage at best. Their civil tone can't disguise the fact that they are about to engage in a death match, at least a verbal one. Pete can tell; there is this wide-open look of honest pain on Clark's face, and Lex, whenever his pacing avails them a glimpse of his expression, wears a stage-worthy look of self-important tragedy. Probably they are arguing about the quality of the coffee (which is provided by the League, and therefore a natural bone of contention between them), but it is definitely an epic argument. Theirs always are.

 

"This is what peace negotiations in the Middle East are going to be like, isn't it?" Pete sighs with an amused headshake.

 

Chloe is leaning against her desk, coffee in hand, and her eyes spark with curiosity. It makes her look all of seventeen again. Pete guesses that you never entirely get over your first crush, even when you're married with kids and approaching fifty with seven-mile boots.

 

"I still can't believe you're working with Lex Luthor."

 

"Clark works with him when he has to." Pete defends himself not quite seriously. Why he works with Lex doesn't really have anything to do with Clark. And of course Clark asked the same question when he first heard about it.

 

Chloe rolls her eyes. "When the survival of humanity is at stake, yes."

 

Pete grins. It's nice to be with Chloe for a few moments before he has to project his public image again. He feels at least ten years younger. "I am saving the world from mutant-haters, didn't you know?"

 

"Seriously, Pete. What the hell changed your mind? If he's got something on you, I'd like to know before we go in there and start the interview."

 

Inside the studio, Lex is laughing mirthlessly, the flashes of teeth sharp as daggers. Clark's eyes look suspiciously dark and shiny. How can you be a six foot four invulnerable bulldozer of a guy and still be so damn girly? Pete puts down his coffee and glances at his watch. Live, unscripted, uncensored. That is 'The Brave and the Bold's motto. The show, although hosted in the Watchtower in Metropolis, which is officially a League building, is independent, and the listeners aren't just capes – civilian metas and normal people alike flock to the Saturday evening broadcast that has guests from superhero teams and shady underground organizations alike, villains and politicians, stars and nobodies. It's all fair game, as long as it concerns metahumans. If this goes well, it could be a deciding victory in their campaign.

 

He considers Chloe's question for a moment longer, then asks, "Do you remember Superman's funeral?"

 

Chloe's eyes dull with painful memory. Even a death that doesn't last leaves its scars. "Yeah," she says softly. "Who could forget?"

 

Who indeed? A year without Superman. Chloe lost her best friend. Pete felt as if some part of himself was irretrievably gone. And the rest of the world felt unprotected, as if Clark had been the only thing standing between them and inevitable doom. In the end, Clark had convinced them all with his martyr complex. Clark's death had taken their breath away, and his funeral felt like the death knell for far more than a single man.

 

Even though he came back afterwards, things were never quite like before again. The shining knights of the skies had lost some of their mystique, had proved to be fallible, human. And people began to question whether it was right that they stood above the law, or whether they were in fact just a different kind of criminal. Awe and admiration is now always tinged with a hint of wariness. There is talk about special laws for metahumans. Registration, restrictions. "How human are metahumans?" Time magazine asked a couple of years back, with a picture of Clayface adorning the cover.

 

Clark was on that cover, too. Many times. His bland but radiant smile, as well-practiced as Pete's handshakes and Lex's slightly superior smirk. Clark's alien crest, Clark's superhuman feats. Clark's coffin and the throngs of mourners at his grave. Pete remembers sitting in that church, between Martha and Chloe, both of them crying. The flutter of airborne heroes under the roof like primary colored pigeons. Halting, shocked eulogies. Some of the speakers hadn't known Clark as Clark, others had tried their best to keep his secret a secret even post mortem.

 

The hostile silence when Lex spoke, a silence that softened with each word. Not a word of it had been true, on the surface. Lex lied through his teeth, about a fruitful partnership, about mutual admiration, about his grief at not having known this exemplary man better. Even though their rivalry was well-documented in the media, this single speech rewrote history. Suddenly everyone agreed that it had been friendly competition, respectful criticism rather than slander.

 

Even Pete left that church not knowing which side of the story was true. Because beneath the smiling lies lay no contempt for Clark, no sneering satisfaction. All it seemed to be was the respectful eulogy for a great liar.

 

Pete smiles, making a joke of it although he is perfectly serious, "Lex writes brilliant speeches. I couldn't pass on that, could I?"

 

*

 

The Brave and the Bold: Senator Ross, in your campaign you have repeatedly emphasized that metahuman policy is only a small part of your platform.

 

Ross: I'm an American first and a meta second. I went into politics long before there even was such a thing as metahuman policy. The people of Kansas voted for me because they trusted me to lead their state well, and I hope the people of America will do the same for the same reason.

 

B&B: Tonight, though, I'd like you to talk about metahuman politics, because that's what most of our audience will be interested in. Gentlemen, give us a brief history on your mutantship. When did you first discover you had an active metagene? When did you come out? What was the impact on your life?

 

Luthor: I discovered that I was a mutant long before the term metahuman was even coined.

 

B&B: How unusually modest of you, Lex. It was you who coined it, after all, wasn't it?

 

Luthor: It was one of the scientists in my employ, who does not wish to be named. However, I publicised it. Yes.

 

B&B: Mr. Luthor, in a now historical interview of yours given to the Daily Planet in, 2011, was it? 'On the danger of super-powered agents in our society'. Back then, you claimed to have proof that an active metagene made the bearer unstable and potentially criminal. Your own metagene remained unmentioned. That's quite a change of mind.

 

Luthor: Back in 2011, and the preceding years, my company was the sole player in metahuman research. The metahuman population was still much smaller then – and what little of it there was remained highly uncooperative. The only mutants we had access to were convicted criminals and people under psychiatric care, which colored our view of the matter perhaps a bit unfortunately. My views changed since then, as have the circumstances in which such research can take place. Those were the Dark Ages of the so-called mutant question. Things we take for granted now, like the existence of the metagene and the effects of certain mutagenic substances, as well as the existence of people with extraordinary abilities, were still new and frightening then.

 

B&B: Is that how you experienced it, too, Mr. Ross?

 

Ross: Well, I'm from Smallville, one of the hotspots of meta activity back then –

 

B&B: – where Mr. Luthor and I also spent a significant portion of our lives –

 

Ross:  – and mutants were a fact of life there, more than anywhere else at that point in time. At least I didn't think I was crazy when I first found out I was different. But I still was afraid it would change me and I wasn't eager to tell anyone.

 

B&B: Were you afraid of being rejected?

 

*

 

"Well," Pete says nervously as he closes the door behind the leaving police officers. It's late, although they have had later nights at the office since he came to work as an intern with Senator Kent.

 

She  is another person when she's Senator Kent, but no less cordial and nice. She trusts him, and she gives him work to do that is way above his qualifications, and Pete manages well, he thinks. In the first week, he was horribly nervous, but she told him it was okay, "You won't believe the blunders I made in my first couple of years in politics."

 

Martha is busying herself with the coffee machine. Actually, that's Pete's job, but he knows Martha always liked to cook and bake when she was distressed. It's really weird though, how this woman in the sharp costumes with the perfectly done hair and precise manners suddenly becomes Clark's Mom again, as she pours them both a cup of steaming coffee. 

 

"You can never really escape Smallville, huh?" he asks when he accepts his.

 

She sighs, and sets the coffee down on the beautiful walnut wood table, courtesy of Lionel Luthor. Nothing in this office has been paid with Kent money. At first, that made him uncomfortable, because he couldn't help wondering – could you really accept that kind of gift without paying something in return? She noticed his looks, of course, but she didn't say anything. It wasn't necessary. Pete barely spent three weeks working for her before he realized either you have money, or you're going to take it from someone. At best, you can choose your sponsors.

 

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asks and Pete deflates in defeat. Yeah, okay, she knows. She'd be stupid not to recognize what he is.

 

"It just… it kinda seemed awkward," Pete mutters.

 

Again, she sighs. "Pete. You know Clark's secret. I've never been happy with the way you and Clark ended your friendship, but at least to me you'll always be family."

 

Pete raises his eyes to the ceiling and throws back his head, clenching his teeth in frustration. "That's why!" He stalks a few steps to the fireplace, then to a bookcase. "I shouldn't –"

 

"Are you ashamed of your power, Pete?" she asks gently. If she only knew.

 

"You saw what I did. I took away that guy's power when he attacked you. That's all I do, okay? I de-power other mutants. Three guesses as to why I got <i>that</i> power."

 

"You envy Clark," she says, without judgement, just being matter-of-fact.

 

"Yeah." That's how great a friend he was. It had as much to do with Chloe as with Clark's powers. Moreover, by the time Pete realized he had his power, he'd already seen enough of what Clark's secret did to wish he didn't have it.

 

"There's no shame in that, Pete. Do you think Jonathan or I never envied Clark? His powers are gifts."

 

He stares at her. It never occurred to him that the Kents… they were Clark's parents. Parents don't envy their children, don't want to be super-strong and super-fast and God knows what else Clark has become. "I should have envied him his parents," Pete blurts out.

 

Martha's face softens, and she draws him into a hug that Pete accepts, more or less gracefully. He's still ashamed. He still envies Clark. He has to try really hard not to imagine what his powers had been if he had envied Clark his parents.

 

"Oh, Pete," she says softly and pats his back. "It's okay."

 

*

 

Ross: Perhaps. We were also – I was constantly afraid that if it became public, they would put me into a laboratory, to study me. It may seem ridiculous to hearers now, but back then it seemed very real to a sixteen-year-old from Kansas.

 

B&B: But is it ridiculous?

 

Ross: No, unfortunately not. The high percentage of metahuman disappearances can not solely be put down to runaways and freak accidents. We know, and our government tries its best to keep that knowledge down, that a lot of them end up in corporate labs and private armies. Metahumans have become a fact of life, but sadly, that also means we have become a commodity for some.

 

B&B: So did you tell anyone?

 

Ross: Not at first. I would have told my Mom if I had thought she'd believe me.

 

B&B: What about your best friends? No, don't answer that. Who did you tell first?

 

Ross: That was in 2004, a year or so after I discovered my ability. I didn't plan on telling anyone, but it was sort of a life or death situation and perhaps you know what it's like when you think you might die –

 

B&B: You do crazy stuff. Right. So who was the lucky guy or girl? I'm dying to find out, you know, because if you say 2004, then that's a whole lot earlier than I thought it would be.

 

Ross: It was Lex.

 

B&B: … right. Okay. You mean the guy who's currently giving me the 'no comment' look? You weren't exactly friends back then, weren't you?

 

Ross: We lived in the same town. I had talked to Lex a few times, but we weren't friends, no. It was pure coincidence that we ended up in that basement together. We were trapped in the rubble, waiting for help, he was injured –

 

*

 

It's really pretty much irony that of all the usual suspects, Lex is no longer at the bottom of the list of people Pete wants to get trapped in an enclosed space with. He would prefer Lana, but he neither does he want it to be Clark nor Chloe, not after he's confessed his crush on her. Besides, Clark is one moody bastard lately –

 

"I don't suppose you have a way to contact Clark," Lex asks. His voice is low and tight with what must be hellish pain. Most of the rubble hit him. Karma, Pete guesses. Lots and lots of bad Luthor karma. Lex's legs are trapped under concrete and steel, and Pete doesn't want to think about whether they're broken. Luthor would pass out if they were, wouldn't he? Some of his ribs definitely are. He's bleeding from a head wound, but still conscious, and, it seems, lucid.

 

"Clark?" Pete snaps. "What do you want with him?"

 

"It is usually Clark who shows up for an eleventh-hour rescue," Lex replies mildly, but with an edge to his voice, an undercurrent of implications.

 

Pete swallows. "Unless Clark has an excavator with him, he's gonna be pretty useless to us."

 

Luthor says nothing. Pete tries frantically to think of a way to distract him. The only strategy that comes to mind is what he usually uses with Chloe, though. If you want to stop her investigating something weird, you only have to come up with something even weirder. He figures talking about the mutants responsible for them being trapped here is the lesser evil – Lex has seen Chloe's Wall of Weird, and he lived in Smallville for three years, during most of which he has been a prime target of the Smallville psychos. No wonder – most of them probably think that it's the pollution from Lex's damn plant that turned them into freaks. There's no way in hell he doesn't already know about meteor freaks.

 

"Why's it that these freaks always go evil?" he asks. "I mean, you'd think once in a while they'd use their flame-spitting and wall-crawling powers for great good or something. You think it's something about the freakiness that makes them go crazy?"

 

"No," Lex says, without doubt or hesitation. Either he's not as bad off as he looks, or he's tough as bones, because he actually starts to lecture, "Sudden power, fear and marginalization are perfectly good reasons to explain that phenomenon. Besides, there are likely dozens of undiscovered mutants living peaceful, productive lives."

 

Pete is baffled – and scared shitless – for a moment. Then he realizes that Lex has spoken hypothetically, calmly, without that hinting edge to his voice.

 

"You sound mighty sure about that," Pete mutters apprehensively. Chloe has the wildest theories about meteor freaks and madness, and Lana seems to think of them as some middle-thing between creepy stalkers and icky animals. Clark just clams up when it comes to the subject, probably out of guilt. Most things Clark does can be traced back to his massive guilt complex, really.

 

"Well, I consider myself a productive member of society," Lex jokes weakly, then adds, "for the most part."

 

Pete waits for more, dumbfounded, until he gets it. "Van McNulty. The mutant shooter. So you're really a - "

 

"Freak," Lex agrees. "That was when I started researching it. The radiation from the meteors changed my DNA."

 

It figures that Lex would go and throw money at the problem. Pete feels vaguely angry, although he can't really tell why. "So, are you going to share your amazing powers with the class, or what? Anything that's going to get us out of here?"

 

"Hardly, unless our kidnappers discover a sudden fear of baldness. I have an elevated white-cell count and heal very fast."

 

Okay, so Pete does want to be chained up with Clark, after all, but only because Clark is a super-alien and would have gotten them out of here before the evil krypto-freaks came back. As opposed to the good ones, or the sort of suspect but probably not truly evil ones, which are currently trapped in a building that might fully collapse any minute. It looks like the evil guys have gone home and left them here for the night.

 

And, how typical is it that no matter how lame Luthor's powers are, they're still better than Pete's?

 

"Meaning you're like Wolverine without adamantium claws. Great."

 

"Or like Professor Xavier without the telepathy," Lex agrees, and shifts with a small groan of pain. His pupils are dilated, his lips white as bone. He doesn't look good. Pete is starting to wonder if perhaps Lex hasn't passed out from pain because he can't feel his legs.

 

"Hey, don't faint on me."

 

Lex blinks and winces when he tries to shake his head. "I'm fine. I consider this another interesting test of my abilities. I haven't yet… had a lot of opportunities to observe open fractures… healing."

 

Pete snorts. There's something patently ridiculous about a guy in a lavender silk shirt playing tough. The idea of Lex poking at his injuries with a couple of mad scientists is also pretty disgusting. He tries to bridge the lull in their conversation, because by now, he needs the distraction more than Lex. "Did Clark make you watch that movie?"

 

They went to see it together, Clark, Chloe and Pete, back before Lex even came to Smallville. The good old days. Chloe mocked the leather costumes of the X-Men, and so did Pete, even though he secretly thought they were really cool. Too bad he ended up having the one really sucky power of that movie.

 

"I have a subscription to the comic books."

 

No way, part of Pete says, and another part wants to laugh at the earnest confession. Luthor is a geek on top of everything else. On the other hand, it makes him strangely ordinary. Like Pete's brother Dan, who has a whole stack of boxes with old comic books back in the basement at home. When they were kids, Pete used to sneak into his room and read the Spiderman issues. 

 

"Huh," Pete says, because he isn't sure if he likes Lex being normal and approachable and sort of lame. It makes it harder to hate him, and Pete has been pretty comfortable with his hate for Luthor so far.

 

"It's pretty topical literature, here in Smallville," Lex says, and it looks strained, but he smirks, "Although I hardly ever find the time to catch up with it. What about you?"

 

"Me?" Pete snorts derisively, and then suddenly realizes that Lex isn't one of the guys. Isn't even in high school. He doesn't have to score cool points with Lex. He has a sudden epiphany, a suspicion that this is a major reason Clark likes hanging out with Lex. Or maybe not. Clark never really cared about his coolness status, except when it came to Lana. "Nope, I just watched the movies."

 

They don't say anything for a while. It's dark behind the cracked, dusty windows now, and pitch-black inside the warehouse. Pete's feet have gone past the prickly stage and are now numb, and it dawns on him that sooner or later, one of them will have to piss. He won't start whining in front of Lex, though. Let the spoiled billionaire break first. Although considering the fact that Luthor survived months on a deserted island, the chances of that are pretty slim.

 

"If you're researching meteor freaks, how come half of Smallville isn't in some lab yet?"

 

It's a valid question. Even Clark, prime defender of all things Luthor, is way more afraid of Lex finding out about the big secret than he is of, say, Chloe finding out. Which makes perfect sense to Pete. He wonders if Clark knows that Lex is researching mutants.

 

"What do you suggest," Lex asks sarcastically, "that I start abducting random Smallville residents at night and blame it on aliens? People aren't exactly lining up for research in this town."

 

That alien quip so wasn't an allusion to Clark. Oh no. Pete reigns in a minor panic attack. He decides he fucking hates Clark's secret – not for the first time.

 

His heartbeat calming down again, he shrugs. "Can't blame them. Nobody likes the idea of being dissected."

 

*

 

Brave&Bold: You confessed to Lex that you were a mutant?

 

Ross: No. He went first. It wasn't that much of a surprise, I mean, he was as hairless then as he is now.

 

B&B: How did you get out of that warehouse?

 

Ross: We were rescued. By… um… an unknown savior with superhuman abilities.

 

B&B: Another denizen of Smallville, I presume.

 

Ross: Yeah, probably.

 

B&B: An early precursor of our present day costumed heroes, no doubt, what do you think, Superman?

 

Superman: It's… possible.

 

B&B: And then you told him you were a meta, too?

 

*

 

"Clark, just get the hell out of here."

 

Pete stares at him, wishing that for once something could stop Clark from being an immovable object when he's being stubborn. He has that mulish look right now, somewhere between a scowl and a pout.

 

"Lex is hurt," Clark objects.

 

Luthor's probably still bleeding, and Clark slapped the back of his bald head to render him unconscious while he dragged Pete and him out of the collapsed basement. Pete understands that it was necessary – Luthor may have been less obnoxious than usual today thanks to his blood loss, but he is still and will always be a shark – still Pete isn't sure if he would have had the nerve to knock an already injured guy out cold. Clark looks as if he isn't sure anymore himself.

 

"Yeah, well, he's going to ask questions when he wakes up! Do you want to be there then?"

 

Clark's expression turns sour. For three years now Pete has been wondering what the hell it is about Luthor that keeps Clark coming back, but it must be some damn good (or stupid) reason. It isn't the money or the fancy cars. It can't be their many mutual interests, either, because they have none. Probably it's just freaks attracting each other.

 

"Look, I'm going to save your ass this time," Pete says, urgently, because the blue lights of the ambulance are approaching in the distance. It's dark, but Clark really should make a run for it before they spot him. "I'll make up something. Just get the hell out of here."

 

And Clark does. A last glance at Luthor and he's gone. They're alone in the parking lot of the warehouse. Pete kneels next to Lex and pats one bone-white cheek, not gently. The meshed wire fence throws a criss-cross of shadows on Lex's skin. He did just tell Pete that he's a meteor freak with super-healing. He'd damn better live up to it now.

 

As if on cue he wakes with a frown and a flutter of lashes. His eyes are dark and cloudy as he tries to lift his head from the gravel.

 

"Stay down," Pete orders. "An ambulance is coming."

 

"How?"

 

 Pete totally called it. Questions, questions. Lex coughs painfully and wipes his mouth with a sluggish motion. "The chains – "

 

Damn Clark. "You're not the only mutant 'round here," Pete says grudgingly.

 

The grey eyes flicker from left to right, and Lex's lips part, searching for someone beyond Pete, someone who left a moment ago. Pete's mouth tastes bitter with that old familiar mix of envy and frustration. "You're dead if you tell anyone about me," he hisses.

 

Luthor tries to ask a few more questions, but then there's blood on his lips when he coughs some more, and finally they're carrying him away on a stretcher. Pete lies to the police and the doctors. He pretends he's confused and scared. A sheriff takes him home.

 

A couple of days later, he runs across Luthor at the Talon. There's nothing to suggest he ever was hurt, so it's true. Lex is a mutant, just like Pete. Lex asks him to stay and have a coffee with him, stiff and polite, like they're grown-ups both, businessmen from Metropolis perhaps, or billionaires. For a moment or two, trapped under rubble, he stopped dissembling and seemed like an almost decent guy. But, Pete's smarter than that. Being around Lex with Clark's secret is dangerous. He's badly afraid of slipping up anyways, and it's hard enough to keep it from Chloe. He doesn't need Lex sniffing around as well.

 

"Got homework to do," he mumbles. "Maybe some other time." He can tell that Luthor knows a brush-off when he sees one.

 

*

 

Ross: Yeah. It wasn't exactly the start of a beautiful friendship. Just a shameful confession between two people who didn't have much else to say to each other.

 

Luthor:  We were both busy with other projects back then. I didn't see Pete for a couple of years, he moved away from Smallville shortly after that. By the time we met again, I had already advanced the state of research quite a bit.

 

B&B: So how did you meet again? Public records show that you didn't go back to Smallville or Metropolis until… Superman's death, right, Pete? Did you meet at his funeral?

 

Ross: No, it was a lot earlier.

 

*

 

For a moment, it feels like the morning after blacking out from too much alcohol, and Pete has gotten really experienced with that since going to college, but then things fall into place. It's much worse. No hammering in his ears, no puke taste in his mouth. Just the cold hum of neon lights and a smell of hospitals, of creeping dread and pain.

 

With a groan, Pete tries to hide his face in the pillow and suddenly there's the pull of restraints around his wrists and ankles.

 

There's a scritch-scratch of a pen on paper, and a voice like clipboards and wire-framed glasses says,

 

"Welcome to Level 33.1, Mr. Ross."

 

*

 

Ross: Lex… tried to recruit me for one of his research projects. We had a bit of a clash, but -

 

Luthor: I appreciated Pete's willingness to discuss the matter openly. He answered a few questions that helped forward my research considerably, simply by confirming a few theories I already had. At that time, confirmation from a sane person was invaluable…

 

*

 

The door to Pete's room opens. He's pathetically grateful for it, considering that it's most likely some doctor come to slice him up and pierce him with needles, but he's close to crying from boredom. He's been in this room forever. There's no watch, no window to tell him how much time has passed, just the walls, the bed and the cold neon light. Two walls are steel, two are a warm red. The weird contrast of that mixed message drives Pete mad.

 

It's not a doctor who enters. It's Lex fucking Luthor in all his bald, be-suited glory.

 

"You!" Pete yells, or rather, croaks.

 

Lex is frowning, but it looks as if the frown has been there for a while and gotten settled in. He closes the door and stalks over to Pete's bed, looking down his nose at him.

 

"What the hell is going on?" Pete has gotten the gist of it, of course: mutants, scientists, lab.

 

"The restraints are only a precaution as long as we don't know if your power is potentially dangerous," Lex says. His voice makes something inside Pete go suddenly cold. Luthor used to be weird, now he's nothing short of sinister.  Pete starts to wonder if he should have gotten off his ass and gave Clark or Mrs. Kent a call about that Dark Thursday business. What if Luthor's gone seriously bad and is responsible for it? That article by Chloe that Pete caught in the Daily Planet almost made it seem that way.

 

"My power?" Pete rails. "Bullshit! You're the one who abducted me! I never hurt anyone with it."

 

Luthor pulls out the uncomfortable chair by Pete's bedside – the contrast between coldness and comfort is in evidence again, because Pete's bed, apart from the restraints, is perfectly nice – and sits down. He's still frowning, and now it looks more like a tension headache. "Pete," he says, sounding tired. "What is your power?"

 

"What, are you gonna torture me if I don't tell you?" Pete scoffs with more bravado than he really feels. The word torture clings on his tongue with a bitter aftertaste.

 

"No. You'll be brought back to the place you were taken and will wake up with no memory of this incident. We'll watch you until we find out. Usually we do no more than tag the mutants we pick up, but in the light of the fact that you are the only Smallville resident who ever showed himself willing to discuss the topic with me – " Lex makes a vague gesture towards the room, "I decided we should try and talk civilly about it."

 

He really has gone crazy. Shit. Are they in Smallville? Is Clark going to charge in any second? Fat chance. Pete hasn't heard from Clark in two years.

 

"So this is how you repay it when people trust you?" Pete snarls. "You tag them like animals? And you think it's any surprise no one else was ever stupid enough to tell you the truth?"

 

Luthor stares at him with impassive grey eyes. Something coils there, maybe anger, maybe guilt. He turns away, glances at the TV set that makes the cell look almost like a hospital room. His frown deepens. Then, shocking Pete, he starts undoing the restraints – first the right wrist, then he walks around the bed and does the left.

 

If Pete were an action hero like Clark, he'd probably scramble out of the bed, knock Lex out, and make a run for it. But he doubts the door will open from the inside, and Luthor looks alert. So Pete just sits up and rubs his wrists.

 

"I might have gotten over-cautious," Luthor says stiffly, because apparently the man can't say sorry.

 

Pete doesn't deign that with a reply. Instead, he glowers at the red wall for a while. "I take people's powers away. I turn freaks normal again. Happy now?"

 

Doesn't look like it. Luthor sighs, looking exhausted as he sinks back down into his seat and rubs the back of his neck. Being evil must be tough work. "That can't be how you got us out of that basement." He looks up at Pete again. "So it wasn't you, was it? You were protecting someone."

 

 If Luthor were just guessing, Pete might try and lie to him, but he's obviously not. He's just putting pieces together that he must have had a long time ago. Back when Pete left Smallville, Lex already knew something – with Clark's generally shitty skill at keeping his secret hushed up, he'll know more by now.

 

"You gave up your secret for Clark's."

 

Pete says nothing. Denials or defiance would only get him in deeper. He figures that if Luthor has progressed to abducting people against their will, he won't be squeamish about getting Clark's secret out of him, but Pete's not going to tell it just like that. It's a matter of honour.

 

"Pete, I respect your loyalty.  I'm not going to ask you for Clark's secret," Luthor says. "But you're obviously out of the loop."

 

Pete squints at him. Is that a jab at how Clark and Chloe sort of dropped him like a hot potato? "Yeah, so?"

 

"Things have happened in Smallville that change a lot of things." Lex leans forward. His eyes have lit up with something feverish, like when Chloe used to hunt a story, or when some of Pete's fellow politics students get all fanatic on some topic. "It is no longer just meteor mutants we have to contend with."

 

The best Pete can do is not move at all. But Luthor doesn't even mention Clark. He picks up a remote from the bedside table and switches on the TV. The room must have been prepped for this, because the footage picks up immediately. The second meteor shower coming down. Grainy surveillance pictures, from the Smallville Medical Center, then from Luthor Corp research facilities. There's a spaceship, but it's nothing like Clark's little thing. Big and black and menacing. Two people who look like they've got Clark's powers, tossing around people like puppets and asking for 'Kal-El'. A photograph of something scratched into a wooden floor that looks like a Kryptonian symbol. Then, abruptly, there's snippets from Dark Thursday, cut together. The city burning, cars upturned, people fleeing and crying.

 

Lex stops the tape. "A spaceship came with the second meteor shower. I encountered the aliens myself, and they were hostile. I tried to build a weapon, in case more would come, but a man called Milton Fine attacked me. I was possessed by a being called Zod – according to Lana, he was some sort of alien invader who intended to make himself overlord on Earth. He was brutal. He caused Dark Thursday. Then, somehow, he vanished. I have more evidence, if you're in need of convincing."

 

"Whoa." That's really all Pete has to add.

 

"This is about survival," Lex says grimly. "Of the human race."

 

Pete suddenly remembers Clark telling him about his father, his real, alien father, wanting him to rule Earth. He has an intense moment of, 'Oh shit', as he stares at the ugly red wall. The kind of silence that whispers and crackles hangs between them.

 

But, reality check. Clark was pretty much frantic with horror at the thought of ruling Earth. Even when he wore the red class ring he didn't want much more than money, girls and fancy rides.

 

"So, uh, that Zod guy just vanished? And the other aliens, too?"

 

Lex nods. "Their current location is unknown. It's possible that they're dead, but so far I haven't found anyone or anything with the power to defeat them."

 

Could Clark defeat other superaliens? He's got a massive advantage over normal krypto-freaks and humans, but in a fair fight, Pete suspects, Clark would probably lose. Especially against the kind of guy who did something like Dark Thursday.

 

"Lana says that Zod tried to kill her. She blacked out – when she woke up, he was gone. Someone must have saved her. I found myself at the hospital after Zod stopped possessing my body."

 

If Lana didn't buy the whole thing, Pete might have suspected that Lex had just been possessed by the usual krypto-madness. But the way it sounded, it was pretty clear who had saved them both. A look passed between Pete and Lex, and while Pete tried not to give anything away, Lex seemed to find what he had been looking for, whatever that was. 

 

"Thank you," he said. "Aside from Lana, there hasn't been anyone I could share this knowledge with."

 

Does Clark even know that Lex is on a one-man crusade against aliens? Pete takes a sip from the glass of water next to the remote on the bedside table. "What are you gonna do about it?"

 

"Continue my research," Lex replies grimly, getting up. "And search for a weapon against them."

 

Some hours later, Pete wakes in his bed in his college dorm, with no proof that he was ever abducted. But the memories are there, fuzzy around the edges but clear in the centre. Even a long shower and hot coffee doesn't drive away the discomfort. Pete stares at his computer. He doesn't have Clark's cell-phone number, but he still knows the number to call the Kent farm. And he has Chloe's e-mail.

 

But what if Clark is caught up in something huge, something really bad? What if Lex is right about his alien invasion thing? And what if Pete is being watched, if Lex only waits for him to contact Clark and confirm his suspicions?

 

So Pete keeps quiet. He doesn't call them. There's a couple of stories in the Planet and the Inquisitor that might be traces of something going on in Metropolis, but soon the "Green Arrow" scare replaces Dark Thursday as the top news. Then it's Lex and Lana's marriage that makes a few headlines.

 

And then Lana's death almost drowns out the story about a broken dam near Smallville and a couple of sightings of a monster that sounds suspiciously as if it has Clark's powers. Lex is arrested, but comes free quickly without proof that he was involved in Lana's peculiar death.

 

Pete decides to go to the funeral. It's his chance to find out what the hell is going on. Chloe and Clark don't notice him during the service, but Pete notices things. Things like Lionel Luthor sharing a pew with Clark, Chloe and Mrs Kent. Things like the burning hatred that surrounds Lex's like a poisonous cloud from all sides.

 

Clark looks unapproachable afterwards, but Chloe has stopped crying. She looks incredulous, then suddenly she's hugging him tight. She looks very different. Grown-up. No trace of flippy hair and quirky clothes. Clark is gone when Pete lets her go, and they end up driving home together, to Chloe's apartment above the Talon, which used to be Lana's. Pete looks for a trace of the Wall of Weird, but it's not there, just heaps of papers and a fancy laptop.

 

At first they talk about Lex and Lana and what went wrong. Then Chloe suddenly breaks apart and other things come spilling like driftwood out of a stormy sea: her mother, Level 33.1, and finally –

 

"I'm a meteor freak."

 

It's really, really insensitive that Pete laughs, and she glares through her tears. "Me too."

 

"You – what?"

 

"I'm a mutant. It's a really stupid power. I make people normal again."

 

"You're – that's a joke, right? A really mean joke."

 

"No."

 

Then, and in all the years to come, Chloe never once asks Pete to take away her powers. Maybe it's because she saved Lois's life with them, or maybe she likes being a freak a lot more than she admits. They don't ever talk about why Pete got this power of all powers, either. Just like Chloe never says, "I heal people because I wish I could heal my Mom." They know. It doesn't have to be said.

 

But finally, Pete asks, "What's going on with Clark? What was Dark Thursday about?"

 

Chloe hesitates, and Pete feels the burn of these three seconds in the marrow of his bones. He's know longer part of the inner circle.

 

"Chloe, you realize that Lex Luthor thinks there's an alien invasion going on, right? And he's got some pretty good evidence. That's what Level 33.1 is about. He's building an army." Pete tells her about his abduction and Lex's little horror show about aliens. She's obviously flabbergasted.

 

"You didn't know?"

 

"No!" She shakes her head. "We thought he was just – I dunno, making a bid for world domination? He's a monster, what he did to me and my Mom and Lana – "

 

"Do you really think he killed her?" It sure looks like it, but it makes Pete wonder why Lex is still alive. Clark looked… frightening at the funeral. Pete doesn't want to think about what Clark is going to do to the person responsible for Lana's death.

 

Chloe hugs herself on the couch and wipes her permanently reddened eyes. She shakes her head, though. "No. Clark doesn't think so."

 

And Clark's word is gospel in Chloe-world. Pete gets that. Since Clark has never been slow to blame people, it's probably true. "So don't you think somebody should… like, do something about Lex's paranoia, before it goes out of hand? The guy's seriously dangerous."

 

Chloe doesn't look like she likes the idea of having anything to do with Lex at all. "You should talk to Clark, Pete…" She catches his expression and makes an annoyed noise. "Why do I always have to play messenger for you guys?"

 

*

 

B&B: Did Pete's input to your research change things?

 

Luthor: Not at first, it took some time. But it alleviated some of my more pressing concerns and allowed me to concentrate on more fruitful projects.

 

Ross: I talked about it to some friends of mine. The news about Lex's research eventually reached some of our early costumed crime-fighters – it was all word-of-mouth back then, since we didn't have any metahuman newspapers or forums or broadcasts.

 

Superman: Hearing that Lex's research wasn't as big of a threat as we had thought, uh… alleviated some of our more pressing concerns, too.

 

B&B: That must have been very early in your career, Superman… you made your debut on the eve of the invasion in Spring 2008…

 

*

 

"Luthor!"

 

Lex, and the dozens of heavily armed guards surrounding him turn at Clark's voice. They raise their weapons when they spot him hovering a few feet above the concrete of the parking lot in front of LuthorCorp tower – LexCorp, Clark reminds himself, it's LexCorp now. Closest to Lex is his newest acquisition: a huge woman, somewhere between supermodel and professional wrestler in stature, wearing sunglasses and a smart pantsuit. Clark's x-ray vision reveals that she packs more heat than the rest of Lex's security together.

 

There's fear on their faces, fear of the unknown, paired with stark disbelief at his flapping red cape and colorful costume. Clark wonders if it is always going to be that way from now on.

 

But Lex doesn't look afraid. He carries the one weapon in the crowd that can harm Clark: a gun loaded with kryptonite bullets. Earlier that year there was an incident where he almost killed Clark – but that was Clark, and not Kal-El, space warrior. Lois dubbed him Superman in their interview yesterday (Clark couldn't escape, she cornered him), but hopefully that's not going to stick.

 

Clark sucks in a deep breath and floats as straight and tall as he can. "I'm Kal-El, space –"

 

"I know who you are," Lex says, and with a wave of his hand makes his Amazon step aside. Clark can see her grinding her teeth. Her sunglasses flash threateningly at him. Lex steps past his minions, until he and Clark are face to face. Clark reminds himself that he is Kal-El now, wearing the colors of his house, an alien costume and an alien face. He reminds himself of his picture in the Planet, the distance his eyes and his smile projected.

 

Lex's face is a precise mirror. They're wearing the same mask, the same armor, and Clark's a moron because he thought he could fool Lex of all people. In the distance, an explosion rumbles like thunder, but their eye-contact doesn't break. Clark feels cold and exposed under Lex's regard. A rush of air hisses over the parking lot, filled with dust. The city is under attack.

 

"We need to talk," Clark says.

 

Lex cants his head, just slightly, in the direction of the latest explosion. He gives Clark a low-lidded stare. "I have a city to defend. Another time perhaps."

 

And yet he makes not even the slightest move to leave until Clark floats down and his soft red boots touch the ground. "We need to work together," Clark demands.

 

Lex's eyes glitter with the power to walk away, to ignore him. But another rush of dust and heat, and the scream of steel bent like rubber warns them that neither of them has the power to walk away right now. Unless it isn't true what Chloe said she had heard from Pete, unless Lex was just after power all this time, and all his talk about alien invasions just talk.

 

"Let's talk," Lex drawls.

 

They walk, although they should be running. The attack has reached the other side of the street, and alien drones swarm around the globe of the Daily Planet, darkening the cloudy skies. The lobby of LexCorp tower coats them in sudden, unexpected silence as they make their way to the elevator.

 

"Meet me in the office," Lex says to his henchwoman, and she turns on her heels with a tiny salute. Doors slide shut noiselessly and then its just them in the elevator. One wall is mirrored, and Clark sees what can't be himself: a man who is neither scared nor insecure, and only radiates power and confidence.

 

Lex leans against the other wall, his eyes traveling up and down Clark's costume with contempt. "Talk."

 

"The city is under attack. From aliens."

 

Lex relaxes eyes more, dangerously so, like a cat looking almost sleepy before it suddenly pounces. "The question is, whose side are you on?"

 

Clark swallows. So it is true, what Pete said. Lex really thinks Clark is like Zod. "I – I was on your side all along!"

 

"That's an interesting… uniform you're wearing. Your military?"

 

"Lex – " There's no moment, no thought between Clark's surge of frustration and his fist impacting in the mirror. It shatters to a billion tiny slivers of glass, almost dust. Clark removes his fist, shaking. "People are dying. I'm – I'm not wasting my time arguing with you. Do you have an army, a weapon, anything – "

 

"What are we fighting against?"

 

Silence falls in which Clark flinches. Lex's grey stare is cold, diamonds luminous with anger. The 'we' sits between them like the final, most disdainful insult. It wasn't like this. Clark didn't just give up on Lex. Lex pushed him away just as hard. But all this time they've been fighting shadows… everything they wanted each other to be was just one admission, one question away. 'I wish' and 'I'm sorry' are on the tip of Clark's tongue, but they die under Lex's expression.

 

"Don't waste my time with your antics," Lex says. "I'm willing to strike a temporary alliance. Otherwise, leave."

 

In that moment, Clark believes that there will be other days to make peace, other days to try and find a way back to where they lost each other along the way. So he concentrates on business. "We're fighting against Milton Fine, Bizarro and an alien army lead by someone who calls themselves Darkseid."

 

Lex listens and later they fight side by side. He is well-prepared, frighteningly so. All this, Clark knows, was meant to fight him, should the need arrive. Between Clark, and Lex and the League, they're just strong enough to hold the city and drive the attackers away. The collateral damage is hardly worse than Dark Thursday when victory comes in the cold grey hours of morning.

 

Clark's red cape is in tatters, his tights crusted with blood. On a rooftop, slumped against a wall, he awaits sunrise, hoping it will heal him when the no man's land of night has passed. He doesn't want to die with so many regrets.

 

He lives to read his praise in all the papers. Only Lex is a single voice above the crowd, reminding them that it was their savior who attracted danger in the first place. He warns of costumed vigilantes and super-powered mutants, of aliens masquerading as men. Clark hardly has to read between the lines to understand the message. Lex sounds strong, satisfied, war-like in his confidence.

 

*

 

B&B: After your little interlude with Lex's research, you finished your studies, right?

 

Ross: Yeah. I got a scholarship from a private foundation, and then a recommendation that allowed me to work with Senator Kent in Washington as an intern.

 

B&B: Formative years, I guess?

 

Ross: Oh, definitely. Senator Kent was – she had the most compassion and integrity of any politician I've ever met. I can only hope to follow in her footsteps.

 

B&B: I knew her, she was an exceptional woman. In 2015, you outed yourself to Daily Planet reporter Lois Lane, which makes you one of the very first metahumans to speak up publicly without a mask to hide their identity. Why did you make that choice?

 

Ross: It was after the first big wave of superheroes made their public debut. The papers were full of people speculating about 'freaks' and 'monsters' and 'demigods' and then LexCorp introduced the term 'metahuman' and it caught on. People started calling it the 'metahuman question'. A lot of people were eager to see us all locked up or at least registered. I knew only a couple of people with powers back then, but they were all pretty nervous. So I decided to go public, to show the world that were weren't some shady underground minority, but normal people who just happened to have powers.

 

*

 

Pete has almost forgotten that Clark doesn't use phones. Not when he can be anywhere in an instant, present and real. Staring at Pete with eyes as wide and strange as ever. It should be strange to see him again after all these years, but, hell, it's Clark. And it isn't as if Pete hasn't wondered if there will be a life sign from Clark after what he has done today.

 

He didn't quite expect him to be standing in Pete's living room, in the dark, when Pete unlocks the door. It seems Clark had gotten a hell of a lot stranger.

 

"Man. Did you get in through the window?" Pete asks when he recovers from the shock, his heart still beating a little too fast. "There's such a thing as calling before you drop by!"

 

Clark just stares. Pete has grown almost a foot taller, and Clark is still a giant. Finally, he asks, as if he's afraid to speak, "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

 

Pete laughs. It's a mean laugh that carries all of Pete's pent up frustration and bitterness. All the distance between them. "I would have if you had asked."

 

But Clark didn't. He never asked any questions about Pete, not when Lana and Lex and his own secret were so much more important. Pete walks into the kitchen, takes off his coat and pulls open the fridge. He remembers the Kent's place, the fresh milk always in a pitcher. He remembers Mrs Kent's kind call this afternoon, her words of encouragement. She was so damn proud of him. Like it didn't matter at all that he had never told her anything. Sometimes he wonders about Martha. How can anyone be this forgiving?

 

Clark has followed him, hovering in the doorway, with no eyes for anything except for Pete. Pete closes the fridge, giving up on eating for now. He takes in Clark, who looks uncomfortable. The words come halting and labored when Clark says them, "I'm sorry."

 

Pete sighs. Shrugs. "Forget it. You've asked now." And Pete was too damn glad about it. But, whatever.

 

"Pete – "

 

Pete is absolutely not going to talk about their feelings. Not right now, and not ever if he can distract Clark. "Clark, I'll love to listen to you grovel, but I'm starving."

 

Clark lifts his face, and slow as ever, his expression brightens from pain to surprise to a sunny grin. "Pizza?"

 

Pete grins back at him. "You got a deal."

 

*

 

B&B: Were you surprised by the reaction?

 

Ross: Yeah. Yeah… I guess I was. I got a lot of e-mails and phone calls from metas who wanted me to use my powers on them to make them normal again. I was approached by government representatives, too – I'm not going to give names – who asked me if I would work for them. 'You are the perfect solution for our problem, Mr. Ross' they said. It was shocking – I had hidden my powers for years because I was ashamed of them. To me it felt as if they were a product of envy because I grew up as a normal boy in a place with so many people with powers. And suddenly everyone started treating me like a mutant messiah, because I could take their powers away. There was this huge lack of self-confidence. Everyone who didn't put on spandex behaved like… like anorexic teenagers, you know?"

 

B&B: So that was what prompted your famous Times Square speech in 2016?

 

Ross: Yes. I hadn't anticipated becoming the leader of any kind of movement. It was overwhelming.

 

B&B: Did you follow that speech, Lex?

 

Luthor: From a hospital bed. I was diagnosed with cancer in 2015, ironically caused by the same radiation that triggered my metagene. If not for my mutation, I wouldn't have survived it, either. That speech put a lot of things in perspective for me.

 

*

 

When Clark slips into the hospital room, the screen of a laptop is still flickering in the dark. The video has been paused on a shot of the crowd on Times Square. Clark spots himself, in suit and glasses, staring ahead past the camera with a rapt, wide-eyed expression. He looks small, almost fearful amongst the proud, angry crowd of metahumans demanding recognition.  

 

He switches off the laptop so he doesn't have to look at himself. He feels like a liar and a coward, more so today than usual. He settles in a plastic chair near Lex's bed. The room is tinged grey-green now, the pallid color of the rainy twilight outside. Night is falling quickly, obscuring the dark shadows under Lex's eyes, the pink hue of his eyelids, and the fallen hollows of his cheeks. His hands are clawing at the blanket as if he's in pain even while asleep, a needle stuck under paper-thin skin.

 

Hours later, he starts coughing, and Clark lifts a glass of water to his lips without having to think about it. He's punishing himself by waiting for Lex to wake and call him a coward, a traitor, a liar. Who will call him on it when Lex is dead? They've always needed each other to whisper "memento mori" into each other's ear, and they never listened. Remember that you are mortal. Remember that you are fallible. If Clark were who most people believe he is, he wouldn't be here and wasting so many hours that could be spent saving people at the bedside of man who doesn't want him here, a man who barely resembles the Lex he has known for so long, the friend and the enemy.

 

So when he fully wakes, the sharpness of his eyes in the dark is startling. "Get out."

 

Clark knows it was the kryptonite that poisoned Lex, but the hatred in his voice sounds just as deadly and bitter, as if it's eating him from the inside. The rocks were only an extension of Lex's hatred, a physical manifestation of how much he wanted to hurt Clark. The feeling was mutual once, but it no longer is. If Clark could do anything at all to alleviate Lex's pain, he would.

 

"I wish someone had told me the things Pete said today when I was fifteen," Clark confesses softly. So much truth about the power of secrets, how they could be like poison, too. Pete spoke from experience.

 

Lex's eyes glitter darkly, little slivers of life in a skull-like face. "I'm not going to forgive you," he rasps.

 

Clark sighs, and bows his head, and wraps his hand around Lex's. It's tiny and bony and shockingly cold, like the skeleton of a small bird.

 

"I know."

 

*

 

B&B: And you, Superman?

 

Superman: I was there, in New York, watching from the sidelines. Some people in the League had anticipated riots and we were there in case crowd control would be necessary. But it turned out to be a very peaceful affair. There were mothers bringing their babies, school children, business men. It was the other side of metahuman America.

 

B&B: The other side?

 

Superman: Before that it was just us – I mean, heroes and villains. It didn't seem quite so… real.

 

Luthor: A big game of power-mad cops and robbers.

 

B&B: That sounds pretty cynical, Lex, considering that you used to be one of the big players in that game…

 

*

 

Lucas yelps and dives behind the dinner table when Superman bursts into the room, seizes Lex by the collar and slams him into the wall. A few expensive paintings rattle in their frames. Clark pulls back to give Lex a second to catch a breath, then slams him into the wall again. "What's your angle, Lex? Why Pete?"

 

"Woah," Lucas says, his head rising from behind the table. He lowers his gun. "You two always playing this rough?"

 

"I believe we will have to post-pone our dinner," Lex says coolly, ignoring Clark's red-gleaming glare.

 

The boss of Metropolis's underworld throws up his hands and grins. "Aw, we won't play catch-up tonight? Why don't you invite him some time?"

 

"Lucas."

 

"Right." Lucas downs his martini, snatches the olive with his teeth and makes a quick exit. Somehow, Clark's big entry wasn't very effective – it's why Lex invited Lucas tonight in the first place, knowing that a visit from Clark was inevitable.

 

"I won't let you use Pete for whatever scheme it is you have," Clark declares.

 

Lex raises his brows. "My scheme is rather simple, Clark. Pete Ross becomes President. Four years later he runs again, with me as his vice President. Eight years later I announce my own campaign. Unless anything unforeseen happens – and it won't – we'll have sixteen years to make this country fit for a peaceful co-existence between metahumans and non-metas."

 

Clark's glare narrows in anger. "Where's the profit for you?"

 

Lex raises his eyes toward the ceiling. "Please, Clark. You're not talking to my father. It's true, financially this is going to be extremely risky. Financial profit is going to be minimal. I've already had to drop a considerable percentage of LexCorp projects and personal connections because in the long run the media is going to have a very close eye on me."

 

"Yeah, I can see that," Clark sneers. "Which is why you're dining with the top boss of the Metropolis underworld."

 

"Exactly. At the moment, Lucas isn't very good publicity. I'm discussing a new… business strategy with him."

 

"You want me to believe you're making him go legit?"

 

Lex laughs Clark in the face. Something is different tonight; it feels as if they're not alone in the room, as if Lex is standing with his back to a crowd, and the crowd is cheering for him. The brittleness of his anger is gone, replaced by arrogant certainty. Clark feels demoted from arch-enemy to gadfly. "Believe what you want."

 

Clark lets him go, and Lex turns his back to him, straightening his suit. The untouched dinner cools on the table; the delicious smell stifling Clark. "You still haven't told me what's in it for you."

 

Lex sighs and bends his head. Clark watches the tendons in his neck, the delicate tension he has learned to be wary of.

 

"I get to make history."

 

*

 

Ross: Don't mind him, Chloe. He hasn't quite forgiven me yet for telling him that he's not allowed to charm, blackmail, bribe, or trick anyone into voting for us.

 

Luthor: We may be super-powered, but that's not reason to cripple ourselves while others play dirty. Of course, the idea of fighting an honorable fight is pretty appealing…

 

*

 

"The hell?!"

 

Pete storms into the campaign office, slapping the paper down on Lex's desk. Lex's chair swivels around slowly to face him, his lofty expression clearly saying, I'm not impressed.

 

"Yes?" he asks mildly.

 

"You did not just have the governor of Texas assassinated!"

 

Lex never resembles his father more than when he does his shocked, 'What, me?' impression. He pokes at the paper, raising his brows at the picture of Governor Cassidy, then cants his head at Pete. "Whatever led you to that conclusion?" The bastard is enjoying himself. Pete wants to choke him with his bare hands.

 

"Oh, perhaps the fact that Cassidy called you a 'megalomaniac would-be dictator' right before he boarded that plane?"

 

"He called you a 'misled idealistic puppet-candidate', which admittedly is a much more awkward insult, but am I accusing you of murder? Besides, Cassidy isn't dead. He'll be miraculously saved from the island where he is currently stranded about two or three months after the election."

 

"Fuck," Pete says, and really hopes that their campaign headquarter isn't bugged. He r