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"We move between two darknesses." - E. M. Forster

"A lover will admit a greater beauty than that of his mistress but not its like, and surrenders his days to a laborious study of all her ways and looks, and he pities only if something threatens that which has never been before and can never be again." - W. B. Yeats

Frigid, midwinter air swirled around Clark as he glided home. He could taste snow in the wind. He checked his watch as he touched down softly onto the penthouse balcony.

Not even ten o'clock.

He turned briefly to look at the city, focusing his ears outward to pull in any sounds of emergency before he called it a night and entered the comfort of his home. Metropolis screeched below. Cars peeled out, cats wailed, dogs barked, people shouted, but no cries for help or screams of pain reached him.

The city had been calm tonight. Clark had headed over to Gotham and Edge City. He'd been surprised to find them quiet as well. No murders to interrupt, no rapes to prevent, no strange mutants to force into submission. No major emergencies. It was very strange, actually. But nothing that he really wanted to question since it meant he could return home before Lex went to sleep.

Clark smiled at the city blinking below and reached a hand out towards it. He turned to the glass doors that would lead him into comfortable arms. Out of habit, he glanced quickly at his dark clothes; he found them clean. No blood stained them tonight.

He stepped over the threshold into the warm penthouse, greeted by the strains of Ella Fitzgerald. Clark smiled a little. Based on the choice of music, Lex must have been feeling maudlin tonight. Clark coming home early would cheer him up. Clark took in the room. Half-empty brandy snifter on the coffee table, lap top on power reserve mode...on the floor?

He strode across the room and picked up the lap top, placing it on the coffee table where it belonged. Eager to see Lex, wanting to spend a few quality hours with him before they both crashed into a numb and mindless sleep, Clark tuned his ears and focused his eyes. He glared through walls and cast about the penthouse for the sound of Lex's rhythms. He found him almost immediately, in the bathtub. Clark blinked his eyes out of x-ray and began to pull his hearing back, but he stopped. The rhythms weren't right. The pulse was...off.

There was no thought, simply movement and no preparation for what he found.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Lots and lots of blood.

Lex's blood. Everywhere.

The usually strong pulse slow. Lex's heart hiccupped. The bathtub ran red and stains splattered across the floor and walls.

Clark found Lex somewhere in all that blood. His skin white--blue almost. His eyes nearly shut in shock, unconscious; his body propped in the bathtub, naked.

"Lex! Fuck! Oh God..."

Clark grasped Lex's slick torso and nearly lost his grip in the blood. Lex's head slumped to the side and Clark's fingers continued to slip in the viscous red fluid that covered Lex from head to toe.

"Lex, wake up." Clark didn't even recognize his own voice. "Come on, baby, don't do this, come on..."

He examined him quickly for the source of the bleeding and gasped in horror. "Come back, come on, I'm here now...come back to me."

But Lex wasn't there; just blood. Blood was everywhere and Clark's mind fumbled, panic racing inside of him.

Lex. Lex. Lex.

Finally, a coherent thought pushed through to him.

Clark slung the half-dead man over his shoulders and raced to the hospital. He arrived within seconds, not sparing a moment to give a damn if anyone saw him using his speed.

Lex was drowning again. The thick water didn't hurt this time though, and he sucked it in deeply without jerking or sputtering. It was a slow, consuming death.

Visions, like the flashes of cameras, poured over his brain, blips of messages to his soul. Long red hair and sparkling blue eyes that clung to him like hope. Warm arms and fine hands that smoothed back his hair, smoothed over his scalp, then gone. Mom.

Strong arms, firm and dangerous; big hands, thick and dense, brushing over his body, over his scalp, holding his own smaller hands, caressing his face. Then, eyes green, hazel, sometimes amber burning into his. Dark curls that could pour through his fingers and gold skin that just gave under his fingertips. Clark.

Lex took another deep draught of death and choked on it. He could hear foggy, distant pleas in a voice that he wanted to hear again, needed to hear again. He felt hands gripping him and then...blackness.

Death had claimed him after all, he guessed. And it was a shame, because he didn't want it.

He didn't want to leave Clark.

It had been hours and they wouldn't let Clark see Lex. Martha was resentful; everyone knew who Clark was, they all knew who he was to Lex, but without Lionel's permission or a Health Care Power of Attorney, Clark was denied access.

Martha wrapped her arms around Clark as he vibrated. Jonathan sat on Clark's other side, silent. Martha looked at him and knew that Jonathan was seeing again what this man, what Lex, meant to his son.

Clark was in a state of shock, consumed by panic and grief. She'd shushed him over and over as he began an old litany of self-blame.

"I should have been there..." he moaned.

Martha had stood by as the police questioned him. Clark had held up rather bravely but broke down when he'd been told that the apartment was marked off as a crime scene. The policeman had turned to Martha and gently asked if Clark had someplace else to stay for a few days.

No one was sure why the perpetrators had committed this atrocity. All anyone knew was that Lex had put up a fierce struggle, the bedroom had been in shambles and there appeared to have been more than one assailant.

"Lex could have taken down one guy, Mom." Clark had said, "He's really strong and..." his voice had cracked. "Martial arts" was all she could make out of the rest of his sentence.

She clucked and soothed as he shook, only a tear or two slipping down his face. "I know, Clark, I know." But she didn't know. Not really. There were a lot of things about Lex that she didn't know.

When a doctor offered to examine Clark and possibly prescribe something to help to calm down, Martha wished they could have accepted his offer. She had never seen her little boy so distraught.

"I wasn't there...I should have been there..." he murmured.

"Clark, shh, honey, shh." What else could she say?

Clark studied his shaking hands. Lex's assistant, Mitch, had brought clean clothes before his parents arrived and took his blood-stained clothes away. Clark had washed his face and hands and arms in the bathroom, but there was still blood under his nails. Lex's blood.

Mitch had murmured apologies for the perverse fact that a Health Care Power of Attorney, giving Clark control over health care decisions should Lex be incapacitated, sat unsigned on Mitch's desk. He told Clark he'd planned on notarizing their signatures the next time Clark came to LexCorp. In its absence, Clark not only had no say in Lex's treatment but was helpless to the whims of Lionel for information about Lex.

So instead of knowing what was happening with the most important person in his life, Clark was forced to wait outside in the general waiting area. Forced to pray that Lionel would deign to come and let him know what was happening.

But these things he knew for sure. Lex had lost a lot of blood and, based on his quick scans before they removed Clark from the emergency room, had a head injury which had knocked him unconscious...and a completely severed right hand.

And Clark knew absolutely that he should have been there.

Clark couldn't believe the things that passed through his mind. Trivial things that made no sense. Things like, "Lex won't be able to use his laptop any more." Or, "There's blood on the carpet. We'll need to get that cleaned out." And, "We had season tickets to the Metropolis Sharks. I guess we'll miss tomorrow's game." His mother tried to reassure him that it was normal to think such things at times like this.

Clark tried to reel his senses in tightly. The multiple pages throughout the hospital jumbled in his ears and every code blue brought a sweat to his skin. Hours of panic and adrenaline left him wrung out, the pages blurring into each other in a meaningless cacophony. The floor of the waiting area held 5,344 black tiles and 5,335 white tiles. The ceiling contained fifteen cracks and one bizarre stain that looked like the Kryptonian symbol for 'hope'. Clark had stared at it with the fervor of one looking for an omen during the three long hours before his parents arrived from Smallville.

His mother's hand rested on his knee and he compared her small fingers to his large ones. Her fingers stroked his knee soothingly and he wanted to be five years old again so that he could bury his face in her neck again and believe that he was safe in her arms.

He took several long breaths to gain control of his emotions and lifted his head to scan the areas of the hospital he could see from the waiting room. He found Lionel standing at the nurse's station just beyond the double doors. He sent his eyes out further and saw that the operating room where Lex had been was now cleared. Surely Lionel would come to find him soon.

Clark resumed the study of his blood-stained hands, willing himself to be patient, fighting the urge to break through the walls all around him until he found Lex. Managed to distract himself for a moment with a fantasy of doing just that.

His mother whispered his name and Clark looked up to see Lionel swinging through the double doors with Mitch and Dominic at his heels. Mitch searched the room and found Clark's eyes immediately, giving him a quick, reassuring nod. Clark nodded back, accepting the gesture for what it was worth.

Clark rose to his feet, a little unsteady, but willed himself to stop shaking, wanting to face Lionel in a less distressed state. Lex's father didn't appreciate overt emotional displays.

Lionel's eyes stabbed through Clark as he moved toward Clark with long strides that Lex imitated all too well.

"How did this happen?" Lionel demanded with no prelude.

Clark cleared his throat. "First, tell me about Lex."

Lionel looked him over before intoning slowly, "He'll live."

Clark nodded and swallowed thickly around the sob of relief that threatened to well up. He blinked his eyes for a moment before he said, "I don't know how it happened. I was out and when I came home I found him."

Flashes of the mess at the penthouse streaked through his mind and he shut his eyes against it, a hand rising to his mouth to hold in the bile.

Lionel observed him in silence. Clark looked into Lionel's eyes and fought the urge to beg. He wanted to drop to his knees, wanted to say, "Please let me see him." But he knew Lex wouldn't want him to make that kind of sacrifice to his father.

Lionel glanced down at his watch and then remarked, "If I wasn't all too aware of the depth of your attachment to my son and of his attachment to you, I might question your story." Lionel flicked his eyes over Clark and said even more quietly, "As it is, I suppose you will want to see him." It was a statement, not a question and Clark merely nodded in response.

Lionel turned imperiously and gestured with a flick of his wrist. "Follow me."

Clark was relieved to find that his legs still worked as they followed Lionel, Mitch and Dominic back through the double doors that had separated him from Lex nearly 10 hours before.

Was that snow on his skin? It felt like snow.

Fuck, he was so high. He melted into the world, seamless. He couldn't even put his finger on the last time he'd been even remotely close to this high.

There were colors in his body and he felt invaded by the strange beat of some terrible machine that didn't even make him feel like dancing. He felt good though. Soft like his mother's blue blanket. Warm like Clark's arms.

Oh. Fuck. Clark. Clark was going to be pissed. He wasn't supposed to be high. Jesus.

Lex struggled to pull out of the snow, out of the colors, desperate to spit the blue and red and orange out of his mouth. He couldn't grip anything that passed through his mind long enough to expel it. He was drowning in color and the cold snow was on his skin again, sucking him in and under.

Could he breathe? Was he breathing?

No pain...just floating high, high, high. Clark was going to be so angry with him.

He was dying. He'd OD'd. Clark. Clark!

"Clark!"

It was hard to smell Lex under the antiseptic hospital odors, but with his face buried in Lex's neck, Clark could pick up the warm, oatmeal-like smell that was home.

He was alone with Lex now. Lionel left early in the day, demanding that Clark call immediately if there were any changes in Lex's condition.

Clark pulled away from Lex's soft skin and watched his pale face, the features almost delicate. Deceptive looks. Lex wasn't someone that most considered fragile. But to Clark he was. To Clark, Lex was like fine china and stained glass. Entirely too breakable.

His parents had retired to their hotel room and Clark had sent Mitch home to his family. Mitch had been grateful to leave, eager to see those he loved after the up-close and personal drama he'd witnessed, but Clark knew he'd be back at the hospital first thing in the morning. Mitch was devoted to Lex, something that Clark knew he needed to thank him for more often.

Lex's rest was fitful now. Clark watched his features twist and struggle. He tried to soothe him, whispering and running a cool washcloth over his face, chest and arms. He glanced at the narcotics drip and noticed that it was nearly time for another dose to dispense.

Lex's voice broke out. "Clark!"

"Shhh, Lex, it's okay. It's alright." The eyelids fluttered desperately as Lex tried to wake up. It seemed like the drugs would succeed in pulling him back under, but Lex finally opened one eye and then the other; his hazy gaze searched for and found Clark.

Lex's breath hitched and Clark saw the fear there. "Don't go. I didn't mean it." Lex swallowed and his voice was no more than a whisper. "I don't know why I took them. Please."

"I'm not going anywhere."

Lex looked uncertain but then the narcotics dispenser hummed as it squeezed more medicine through the tubing. Sleep seemed to visibly grip Lex and tug him under as the drug hit his veins.

Lex murmured breathlessly, "What the fuck did I take?" as his eyes closed again and consciousness left him.

Clark understood then and he rested his head on his arms and waited for the wave of despair to pass.

The irony was that Clark was the one making sure that he remained high right now. And, except for the scrambling moments when Lex came down too quickly from the last dose, Lex seemed to float in utter bliss.

Clark wanted to keep him there, keep him happy. Didn't want him to know what had happened, didn't want him to have to remember the attack. Didn't want to tell Lex that Clark was going to rip the insides out of whoever had done this. Didn't want Lex to see him like this.

Didn't want Lex to know the truth.

Clark felt stretched to his breaking point and he struggled between wanting Lex to wake up and wanting to spare him the pain of reality.

The doctors wouldn't let it continue much longer though. The police wanted Lex awake to question him, to see if he remembered anything about his attackers. Or the note they had found in Lex's office that seemed to imply an unspecified threat against Lex's person.

And it hurt like hell that Lex hadn't told him about that.

He would never have left Lex alone for a minute if he'd known about that note.

"Clark?"

Clark looked up at the tiny uniformed woman standing just outside the door to Lex's hospital room. He glanced down at Lex to make sure that he was still asleep and resting comfortably before he joined the officer in the hallway.

He reached down and embraced her tightly, whispering, "Hey, Jack."

After a few moments of holding her close and smelling her ginger scented hair, he let her go. She kept a hand on his arm for a moment as she spoke.

"Sergeant Saunders told me that he was going to take me off the case. I'm sorry, Clark. I know you were counting on me for information. I think Saunders suspected that, you know, since we're friends and all. He said I was too close to this one."

Clark nodded and looked away from the pale face of his friend. He closed his eyes for a few moments, weariness overwhelming him. Jack touched his arm gently and murmured, "I'm so sorry, Clark. I really am."

Clark forced a smile. "I know. Thanks, Jack."

He still couldn't believe that Jack had quit school to join the police force. She was so tiny, but she'd always been determined. He missed her in his classes, although Lex had been none too subtle in his happiness that Jack wasn't part of Clark's daily life. Lex didn't forgive easily and finding her in Clark's bed had been more than enough to blacklist her forever.

Lex. Clark swallowed hard as Jack spoke again.

"One thing I did learn from the guy who is taking my place on the team, though, is that we found some interesting footprints leaving the scene of the crime."

Clark's eyes narrowed and he listened intently as she described the patterns left in the blood. There were five sets of footprints. All of the prints indicated that they had been left by men. One set had been confirmed as Clark's, but one pattern was unique and they were calling in a special forensics team from the FBI to take a look at it.

Clark leaned back against the wall. He needed to get copies of the police files; then he needed to have the information in the files interpreted. He needed Chloe. She'd know where to go from there.

The next stage of his plan was more vague.

Find the perpetrators.

Kill them.

Bright lights shone in his eyes and a steady, annoying beep filled his ears. Clark needed to turn that damn alarm off so he could go back to sleep. He licked lips that were drier than he wanted and rasped through a throat strangely sore and tender, "Turn that goddamn thing off, Clark."

"Lex?" Clark's voice, excited and yet scared. "Lex, baby, are you awake?"

Baby? That wasn't right. The only times Clark called him 'baby' were back in the days of meteor mutant attacks leading to near-death experiences and the time Clark thought he'd broken some ribs during rough sex.

Lex fluttered his eyes open, which was harder than it should have been. Rails, bed, blipping monitors. Hospital. Hospital.

Lex's mind whirled through time, grasping and clasping on tidbits of items, willing himself not to remember why he was here. Wanted to avoid that--but he slammed into it hard. Shut his eyes on impact.

Four men in his home. Clark gone. Guns, knives...a fucking machete. A man whose face he'd never forgotten but never thought he'd see again. And his tactics hadn't changed, although his level of sanity had dropped dramatically. Fuck. Oh, fuck. His hand. They'd cut off his fucking hand.

"Lex...talk to me." Clark. His Clark. And he opened his eyes again. Deep hazel eyes peered into his own, a smile on the verge of tears on Clark's face.

"Lex you're okay. It's going to be okay. I found you." Clark's eyes filled and Lex tried to reach a hand to touch him but found his arms bound in wires and tubes.

Clark saw him try to move and gripped his left hand.

Lex swallowed and whispered, "I'm thirsty."

Clark nodded and reached for a plastic cup. He pulled out a few ice chips and pressed them between Lex's dry lips. They tasted so good. Lex savored them. He kept his eyes on Clark though, struggling not to close them.

"Tell me." He managed through his throat, rough and sore.

Clark ducked his head and looked away. "Later."

"Tell me. Now."

Clark blinked rapidly and then buried his face in Lex's neck inhaling slowly. Lex turned his head to press a kiss into Clark's hair and waited for Clark to calm down.

Clark whispered, "I was scared. I was so scared."

Chloe answered her cell on the first ring. "Clark! Oh my God, Clark! I heard and--are you okay? Is Lex okay? Are you okay?"

Clark glanced over at the nurses station before saying, "I'm okay, Chloe. Lex will be all right. Things are a little crazy." He paused as he heard Chloe shouting to Pete that Clark was on her cell and that he was all right.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"That was kind of loud."

"Oh! Sorry, Pete's just been really antsy since we heard the news. You know, despite everything he really loves you, Clark."

"I know. I love him, too. And I love you, Chloe."

"Amazing what a trauma will do, huh? Makes you want to tell everyone that you love them."

"Well, yeah, um, I also have a favor I want to ask you."

Chloe was silent for a moment before she replied hesitantly, "Yeah? What kind of favor?"

"I've got a source in the police station. Turns out they've got some interesting stuff on the perpetrators. Assuming I can get the information, would you be interested in helping me with some theories?"

"Clark, you aren't going to try to solve this on your own, are you?" Chloe continued when Clark was silent, "That's insane! You're too close to this. You could get yourself killed! You could get Lex killed! You know what my cousin Lois at the Planet says about stories? Once you're emotionally invested you're dead meat. It's just like in the movies, Clark."

Clark said, "I'm talking about confidential police reports on the attempted murder of Lex Luthor, billionaire and native son. I'm going to get the information. I'm going to have to ask for someone's help." He waited for the implication to sink in.

"Fine, Clark. Fine. If you get the information--" Chloe sighed heavily.

"Thanks, Chlo'. I knew I could count on you. You're the best."

"You're a martyr-complexed freak."

Clark chuckled and the sensation felt foreign to him.

Chloe took a deep breath. "Speaking of, do you know anything about that 'Angel of Metropolis'?"

Clark smirked. Chloe had always been too close to putting the puzzle together. He just had to keep throwing her off the path.

Too tired to put any energy behind his words, Clark sighed and murmured, "Yeah, I hear he's got real wings and a halo."

Lex watched Martha make soup, grimacing when she sat it down in front of him.

"Please eat it, Lex."

Martha sat down at the table across from him and reached out to pat his hand. Lex pulled it away and lifted the spoon. He didn't want to eat. He didn't want to drink. He just wanted to be left alone. The pain in his right arm was excruciating but he couldn't take another dose until 3 pm.

Lex fiddled with his soup and brought a few spoonfuls to his lips. It was bitter and he didn't know if it was supposed to be or if it was simply his medicine playing tricks on his taste buds. It didn't matter. He'd eat a few bites to satisfy Martha, to make that worried look in her grey eyes ease.

"Clark's in class. I convinced him to go today."

Lex nodded.

"Lex--I want you to know, you can talk to me."

Lex cleared his throat. "There isn't anything to talk about."

Martha nodded and he took another bite of the soup. It scalded his tongue but he didn't care. He just closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I'm sorry. I'm full."

Martha sighed and asked, "Can you eat one more spoonful?"

Lex shook his head.

The phone rang and Lex stared at the wall as Martha said, "Hello, Lionel. Yes, Lex is right here. I'll ask him. Just one moment."

She held the phone towards him and he reached out with his good hand to take it. He held it up to his ear but he couldn't find any words. He just sat there and listened to his father's breathing. Finally, Martha took the phone away.

"I'm sorry, Lionel. He's not feeling well." She nodded. "I'll let him know."

Lex watched her disconnect and take the cordless back to its base to re-charge.

"Your father wanted me to tell you that he has hired a therapist. She'll be here to meet with you tomorrow."

Lex blinked at Martha blankly. "A therapist?"

"Yes, he said that you deserved the best care and that he would be sending the best in the field of post-traumatic stress."

Lex's eyes narrowed and he whispered, "A spy."

Martha shook her head. "Lex, you really do need to talk to someone."

"I won't be talking to her. Send her away when she comes."

"But, Lex, you need to work through your anger and fear." Martha's voice was pleading and it irritated him.

"What anger? What fear?"

"Anger! I'm sure you're angry somewhere inside, Lex. They took your hand! They ambushed you and hurt you! If you aren't angry about that--well, I am! And Clark! Clark wasn't here when you needed him! No matter how much you love him, there has to be part of you that..." Martha trailed off and her hand raised to her mouth. Her eyes went wide and stunned. "I'm--I'm sorry, Lex."

Lex closed his eyes and licked his lips slowly.

"Where were you, Clark?"

Lex's voice was quiet, only slightly accusatory, very distant. Lex sat in his leather chair, in the dark, his feet propped up on the ottoman. His left hand held a short glass of amber liquid and the bandaged arm was strapped up close to his chest in a way that was more comfortable for him.

Clark dropped his book bag to the floor.

He knew that Lex wasn't asking him where he had just been. Lex knew he had class. He glanced around the penthouse, x-rayed throughout. His mom wasn't here. She must have gone out to get something for Lex...or maybe just stepped out to get fresh air. The penthouse was full of the smell of sickness, the industrial cleaners that had been used to remove the blood, and the chilling scent of anguish or fear. Maybe both. Clark could smell it from the ground floor.

Lex just looked at him. Silent. This was the question that Clark had been waiting for, dreading, since Lex first opened his eyes. Because, yeah, where was he that night? Not here. Not here, that was for fucking sure.

Clark walked slowly to kneel at Lex's side, careful to kneel next to his left hand, hoping that Lex might reach out and touch him. He bowed his head, a supplicant before the man he'd failed. Failed in so many ways.

Clark swallowed audibly before he managed to whisper, "Not here." He waited for some reaction from Lex and got none. He continued, not daring to look up, "Edge City...Gotham."

Lex's heart rate remained relatively steady, his breath at a normal pace, but his tone was cold when he said, "I guess you couldn't hear me from there." He lifted the drink to his lips and Clark heard the swallow, but he couldn't look at Lex, not now, not right now.

"I called for you..." Lex's voice hitched in a sick laugh before he continued, "I screamed for you actually."

The words pulled him down, sucked him into the undertow and drowned him in shame. He'd caused this. He'd failed Lex. He bowed his head until the cool leather of the chair pressed into his forehead, his body burned with self-loathing.

"You didn't come." Lex sighed.

Clark shook his head but there were no words. No words to express the feelings in him.

Lex leaned forward. Clark could hear the sound of the glass being placed on the coffee table, but he didn't move. Tears blurred his eyes but he couldn't cry, wouldn't allow himself that luxury.

Clark heard the scrunch of leather as Lex leaned back into the chair then felt the cool, damp sensation of strong fingers brushing hair from the side of his face, stroking comforting motions over his cheek and neck.

Absolution.

Against his will, sobs wracked his body.

"Clark?"

"Chloe! Hi. Did you figure anything out from that information I sent?" Clark sat down in Lex's leather chair and propped his feet up on the ottoman.

"Yes. But--Clark? How did you get this? This is super-top-secret, confidential stuff."

"Like I said, I've got a source."

"Well, damn, I could use a source like this. How about you set me up--"

"Chloe." Clark rolled his eyes.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. Yes, so what we're looking for here is a very big guy. A big guy. They figured that out by the way the blood--"

"Yeah, I read that part. And?"

"Here's the deal. Based on the note, which, by the way, was dead creepy, and Lex totally should have reported that to the police, it seems like this guy knew Lex. So, coupling that with the trophy hand, we're looking at a psycho with a vendetta."

"Chloe? Tell me something I don't already know. Please?"

Chloe sighed. "I'm just setting the stage, Clark. Anyway, the guy was wearing size 16 Alfarerias. For one thing, those shoes are only sold in one store in Italy, for another thing--size sixteen. So, we need to figure out who in Lex's past had huge feet and was recently in Italy. Venice to be exact."

Clark groaned. "That's your idea? That's your plan? I could've come up with that on my own when I was five years old!"

"Clark, I know you're worried about Lex right now and I know you've got a lot going on, but don't yell at me. I'm just trying to be helpful."

"I'm letting you in on the biggest scoop of your career and you're giving me amateur theories and logic 101!"

"Clark, calm down. See? This is what Lois was saying--you get emotionally involved in a story and you can't think straight any more."

"Chloe--" Clark scrubbed his hand over his face. "Listen, the cops already found out that the name the guy gave in Venice was fake. That's in the information I sent, too. Didn't you read it?"

"Clark, the thing is we simply need more information. And I'm just a journalist, I'm sure Metropolis PD has the big guys on this and if they can't find a break..."

"I can't believe I'm hearing Chloe Sullivan refer to herself as 'just a journalist'. I can't believe you're willing to just walk away from this!"

"Clark, listen--you're going to have to find out more information. There has to be someone that has more information than they've let on. Like that security guard at LexCorp. The cops interviewed him before they knew about the Alfarerias, before they knew the guy was really large--maybe you could ask him if he saw anything else, you know, off."

Clark exhaled an impatient breath.

"I'm sorry, Clark. That's really the only thing I can think of for now. I'll call you if I think of anything else."

Clark nodded miserably into the phone before realizing Chloe couldn't see him. "Sure, Chlo'. Thanks."

Martha told Clark to go to the bedroom. Lex was being difficult and refused to get out of bed.

She looked like she was at her wits end and Clark told her to go out, to see a movie, to take a few days and go home to Smallville if she needed a break from this. He was worried about her and worried about his dad alone on the farm, probably working too hard with his bad heart.

Martha took a set of keys and said that she would be back. She agreed that she did need a short break. But Clark could see in her eyes that she wasn't about to abandon him with Lex in this state.

Clark headed toward their bedroom. The door was closed and the room was nearly pitch black despite it being 3:00 in the afternoon. Clark paused in the doorway and flipped on the light.

Lex jerked in the bed, startled. Clark cringed and wished that he'd announced himself.

He sat down next to Lex. He already missed the easy way that they used to be together. He missed the way that he would have curled up around Lex and smelled him to his heart's content and bantered playfully with him about school, about work. Clark was actually quite worried about LexCorp at the moment, the board of directors continued to hound him and Lionel for answers about when Lex would be back at the helm.

But this Lex didn't welcome cuddles...really didn't welcome them; he wasn't just pretending to not want them, and Clark didn't know what to do anymore. He'd tried his old methods of breaking down Lex's walls, but he met roadblock after roadblock.

"Lex..."

Lex deigned to open his eyes when Clark spoke his name. Yesterday he had refused him even that courtesy.

"Can I hold you?"

Lex seemed to seriously ponder the question before lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug of permission.

Clark missed Lex's voice, missed that swelling, scratching timbre that would lecture him on everything...that would lecture himself. Clark hadn't overheard Lex talk to himself even once in the last two weeks.

The doctors said this depression was normal. They said that everyone should be patient with Lex and that they were lucky that Lex wasn't more belligerent. Apparently some trauma victims became violent. But Lex had withdrawn more and more. Clark wasn't sure he'd ever come back.

He curled his body down and spooned Lex close to him, careful to avoid the tender, healing arm. He whimpered as the soft scalp pressed under his chin and Lex actually seemed to respond by clasping his hand over Clark's arms. He moved so he could surreptitiously sniff Lex's skin--sometimes Lex became impatient with that, especially now--but Lex didn't say anything. He even tilted his head to bare his throat to Clark.

Seeing the line of soft, pale skin exposed for him and inhaling Lex's warm scent, Clark's cock started to harden, but he kept his hips from grinding forward. The doctors said that Lex felt violated and not to press physical intimacies.

He was starting to drift into a strange half-sleep when Lex's voice scratched against his ears.

"Do you remember the first time I fucked you?"

Clark flinched a little at the brutality of the words.

"Of course." He kept his voice easy, he didn't want to scare Lex away from talking. This was the first conversation he'd initiated since asking where Clark had been the night of the attack.

"I lied to you."

Clark was silent. He couldn't imagine what Lex had lied to him about on that night. Finally he said, "Okay." He hoped it was enough for Lex to continue, but he knew better than to push.

"It wasn't good."

Clark knew that Lex felt him wince. "I'm sorry. I was a virgin, you know." He tried not to sound hurt.

Lex chuckled. He actually chuckled! But it was short-lived; he sobered almost immediately, his voice becoming even more strained and quiet. "No. My first time. I lied when I told you it was just like yours."

Clark didn't know what to say. This was not a conversation he expected to have right now. "I'm sorry." He paused, waiting for Lex to say something more but he didn't. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Lex shook his head. Clark felt Lex's scalp drag under his chin, the soft scrape of stubble against skin.

"No. I never want to talk about it."

Clark pulled him tighter and closed his eyes. He felt sick to his stomach. He'd known Lex as a lover for six years and he'd always suspected that someone had hurt Lex.

Clark had conjured a likely scenario years ago: Lex had been at a club, most likely high on drugs. He'd probably been taken to some skanky bathroom stall and before he really knew what was happening he'd been hurt.

Clark had also meditated on elaborate methods of torturing that guy if he ever found out who he was--but that guy took a backseat now to the piece of shit that took Lex's hand.

That guy was going to die.

The scars of whatever had happened sexually to Lex had never faded, though. Lex was still a reluctant bottom, even for Clark, even after all these years, even though he liked it now.

"My first time. They raped me."

Clark couldn't stop the hurt sound that escaped his throat as he pulled Lex tighter to his body. He buried his face in Lex's neck and hugged so hard that he thought it might hurt Lex, but he didn't hear any sounds of protest.

"I had my revenge though. On all of them."

"All of them?"

"Four. There were four of them."

Clark heard the growl starting in his chest. Four? Four of them. If he hadn't been holding Lex he would have destroyed whatever he was touching. It was a struggle to keep his hands from clenching on Lex's body.

"When? How?" Clark's voice was tight and high.

Lex answered him in detached tone, almost like he wasn't really in the room any more. "I was fifteen. A brat. They told me they wanted to buy some coke. I took them up to my room, fucking arrogant of me to do that. I never made that kind of mistake. That time I did."

Clark could hear Lex's heart pounding and the rush-rush of his pulse. "There were four of them. I was small for my age. It was easy for them to overpower me. They stood on me. Their feet holding me down while they took turns. They held their hand over my nose until I opened my mouth so they could..." Lex trailed off and then whispered, "Then they fucked me."

Lex's voice was so distant, so far away like he was underwater, dredging up memories from the depths. "I bled for weeks. I should've seen a doctor, but I didn't want anyone to know."

There were deep noises coming from Clark's throat, threatening sounds that reverberated in his chest as the anger wrenched in his gut.

"I can't remember the pain any more." Lex shrugged in a bizarre show of fake nonchalance. "I was a coward, though. I didn't kill them. I should have killed them."

Clark was going to kill them. He was going to kill them...just four more fucking names to add to his very short list. He'd fucking kill them all.

"He said it was in exchange for his life," Lex muttered. "He said I got off easy. He said to expect more."

Clark gently turned Lex so that he was looking down into his face. Lex kept his eyes averted, staring at the wall, and Clark was glad because he didn't think he could hide the rage that was building in him, glaring from his eyes.

"What was in exchange for his life?" Clark whispered, awed to find his voice steady and even tender.

"The hand."

Clark's eyes rolled into his head with fury so raw his whole body shook with it. "Who?"

Lex shook his head, softly. "They all killed themselves after I ruined their lives, when they knew they couldn't get it back. Everyone except for him."

"Who?" Clark growled.

"I don't know." Lex swallowed hard and his next words were barely audible. "He was James Morgan. Now...I don't know."

Clark's mind spun with the rush of anger in his veins. It pulsed behind his eyes, and he carefully shut them to save Lex from the anger there. The note, the footprints... years of the fear in Lex's eyes before he submitted to Clark's gentle lovemaking, the tension that would crawl through Lex's body before he surrendered. The hand that would never tie his bowties again, that would never stroke him or type on that damn laptop that had been an extension of Lex. And, fucking God, someone was going to fucking pay.

Lex gasped as Clark's hands gripped him too roughly. The sharp noise brought Clark back to the moment and the blue eyes that looked up at him.

"No one will ever hurt you again."

Lex woke up on his side curled behind Clark. They had shifted positions during their nap. Lex rested on his right side, his injured arm cradled between his body and Clark's, his left arm looped over Clark's hip. Clark had taken his clothes off at some point, leaving only his boxers. Lex was still wearing his t-shirt and underwear.

Lex's cock was hard--hard and nuzzled into the warm crack of Clark's ass. Lex stroked his fingers over the ribbed elastic of Clark's waistband then dipped them underneath. He curled his fingers into the crinkled hair above Clark's soft cock.

Lex buried his face in the back of Clark's neck and breathed. He needed to feel good, he needed to be in control, he needed to feel something.

He pressed his hips forward, enjoyed the tightening in his groin as his erection rubbed against Clark. He felt Clark wake beside him in the small tensing of muscles, the change in his breathing.

"I need you."

Clark nodded silently. Lex stroked his hand further down and found Clark's cock hardening under his palm. He ran his hand over the velvet, smooth length, teasing through the curls again as he withdrew, grasping the waistband and pulling Clark's boxers down. Clark slid them the rest of the way off before starting to turn to face him, but Lex pressed down on his hip, holding him steady.

"Don't. Don't move."

Clark nodded again without speaking. Lex reached down and freed his own cock through the fly on his boxers, rubbing it against Clark's cleft.

"Clark, do you remember the last time you topped?" Lex whispered.

Clark stiffened and Lex could imagine the guilt that he knew would be written across Clark's face. Lex spoke again before Clark had a chance to voice the apology Lex knew was coming.

"Don't. I liked it. It's different with you." Lex stroked up his hand up Clark's side, a soothing gesture. "I need that from you sometimes. I don't want you to stop now that you know."

Clark took a breath to respond but Lex cut him off again. "Don't talk, don't say a word. Just nod."

Clark's head bobbed obediently. Lex was in no mood for preliminaries. He wanted to feel something, he wanted to fuck Clark now.

"Get what we'll need." Lex whispered.

Clark pulled away and opened the bedside table, took out the bottle and returned to his original position without looking at Lex. Lex was pleased that Clark was giving him the complete submission he needed tonight without needing it spelled out.

Taking the small bottle from Clark's hand he flipped it open. He smothered a choked sound when he realized he couldn't put it on his own fingers. He reached around Clark's body, pressing the bottle back into Clark's hand.

"Put it on my fingers," he commanded.

Clark poured the smooth liquid drops into his own hands and then slicked Lex's fingers. His hands were gentle and Lex allowed him a few extra strokes before demanding, "Pour enough into my palm."

Clark took Lex's hand and dripped the fluid into his cupped palm, closing the lid and tossing the bottle off the bed when he was done.

Lex growled. "I didn't tell you to get rid of it."

Clark's body flinched at his voice. Lex felt guilty, he knew that Clark would want something gentle and mutual to re-establish their closeness. But Lex needed control.

Lex slicked his cock quickly, not taking the time to feel any pleasure. He adjusted his injured arm into a more comfortable position before nudging against Clark's leg silently urging him to shift it forward.

No preliminaries--he dropped his hand down to massage Clark's ass. He found it pliable, years of trust between them opening Clark more than his fingers. Moments later, Lex pressed his cock into the sweet heat. The curve of Clark's neck welcomed Lex's mouth, absorbing his whispers and cries of Clark's name.

Rick Benister was a nice guy. Clark had chatted with a few times after Lex hired him to head up security at the LexCorp building. He ran the main control room and watched the video feeds with eye of an eagle. He was nothing if not serious about his job. It was obviously a passion, not just something he did for a bi-weekly check. Clark had talked to him about it once, thinking of him as a good source for his future career as a reporter and wanting to know more about the man.

"It's like a hunt, like a chase, Clark. Every person that enters this building could be an assassin or a terrorist or a blackmailer. Mr. Luthor has his enemies and my job is to figure out their movements before they can be successful."

"How often is Lex's life really at risk?" Clark had asked cautiously.

"We can't look at averages and act on those. Paranoia is the only safety in this world. It only takes one person slipping by security for Mr. Luthor to be--" and here he had drawn a melodramatic line across his throat. "I'm not going to let that happen on my watch. Not in this building. I'm still trying to convince him to let me handle the security at the penthouse as well. Speak to him about that for me, will you? I think those boys he's got over there now are chumps. Second class in every way."

Clark had nodded and never spoken to Lex about it. He swallowed back the self-loathing and regret; Rick had been right. Paranoia would have kept Lex safe. Clark had been too prideful, so sure that Lex needed minimal security when he was around to protect him. He scrubbed hands over his face in an attempt to focus before he rapped lightly on the door to Rick's office. He was greeted with a gruff, "Come in, Mr. Kent!"

He opened the door and peered inside. Rick had his feet propped up as he analyzed the latest video feed from the identification booth that everyone entering LexCorp had to pass through. Even Lex thought it was extreme.

Clark watched the video as several ID's were held up for inspection by the security guard and unwittingly recorded on film as well. Clark watched as the video version of himself walked up to the booth, pulled out his school ID and pressed it to the window. The Clark on the screen smiled widely and nodded at the individual working the identification booth and then turned to wink at the hidden camera as he always did. Funny, it was such a habit, he didn't even know he'd done it this time.

"Cute, kid. Real cute."

"My mom thinks so."

Rick chuckled and paused the video. "I'm already a little behind from my lunch break, Clark. What can I do for you? The police already pumped me for all I was worth if that's what you're here about."

Clark smiled and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "Actually, that is why I'm here--in part, anyway. First, I wanted to ask you to take over the security at the penthouse, starting tomorrow. Whatever increase in pay that requires, bill me directly and I'll see that it is taken care of."

"Mr. Luthor know you're doing this?"

Clark shrugged. "Mr. Luthor is still unwell and I'm making the decisions about security for now."

Rick nodded slowly. "I'm real sorry, kid. You know I'd've given my right arm to have been able to stop that from happening." Rick winced and continued, "I guess that wasn't the best example."

Clark blinked and shrugged. "The second reason I'm here is--well, I was wondering if you'd noticed any big guys come through here in the weeks before the assault."

Rick shook his head. "Big guys come through here every day, Clark. I mean obesity is an epidemic in America, don't you read the papers?"

Clark continued as though Rick hadn't spoken. "This guy would be tall, too, probably 6'4". My size only much, much wider. And he wore spiffy shoes."

Rick laughed. "Spiffy shoes? Son, everyone in this building wears 'spiffy shoes'; they're all in some competition with each other. One upmanship all over the damn place."

Clark nodded, trying to keep his temper in check. "Come on, Rick--" Clark ran a hand over his hair. "You would've noticed someone new or different, wouldn't you? Surely there was someone--anyone at all."

He knew he sounded desperate but he didn't know what else to do. The police were taking too long to find Morgan and Clark felt like he was going to go insane.

"Son--Clark--" Rick sounded so sad. Clark shrugged off the comforting hand that Rick tried to lay on his upper arm. "I'll tell you what. I'll look through some back tapes when I go home at night. I'll pull out the ones that I think might be of interest to you. Give me a few days?"

Clark nodded miserably, unsure how he could last another hour much less a few days.

"Get outta here kid. I've got work to do, terrorists to stop, blackmailers to thwart."

Clark tried to laugh but the jokes weren't so funny any more. Rick seemed to sense that and shrugged. "Gotta keep your sense of humor, kid; it's the only thing that'll keep you sane in this big, bad, fucked-up world."

Clark nodded. "Thanks, Rick. I'll be waiting."

"Sure. Give Mr. Luthor my best."

Clark paused in the doorway and watched as Rick flipped the video feed back on and began scanning the recent entries to the building. The man was a machine. Clark couldn't imagine how he could take in all of that information every day. He had to be a mutant--or insane. Clark was betting on the latter.

He decided that a detour by the police station on the way home was in order. He could eavesdrop on some conversations and borrow a few more files if anything new had been discovered.

The police were coming to dread his visits; he knew this by the way they eyed him warily when he walked in the door. He didn't give a damn. They weren't moving fast enough. Clark had to make sure that every angle was being explored, that every potential witness was hunted down, that every last bit of evidence from the penthouse was analyzed. He didn't care if they hated him. All he cared about was finding James Morgan.

His fantasies supplied various outcomes then. Glorious visions of torture, blood and death that Clark had never known lived inside of him. But the blackness was there--ugly, horrific and overwhelming.

It consumed him.

Martha checked to make sure Lex's shower was still running before lying down on her bed and dialing Jonathan. Clark was out and Lex, when he left his room, had a habit of sneaking up on her, silent in his bare feet. She wanted her privacy for this call.

The phone rang four times and Martha nearly hung up. She slumped in relief as her husband's deep voice answered.

"Jonathan--"

"Martha! How's it going over there, sweetheart? Need me to come and kick some sense into those two?"

Martha shuddered at the thought of Jonathan stepping into the middle of this highly volatile situation.

"No, honey, things are going as well as one might expect. They've got a lot going on and Lex is still in some pain. It's been--" She took a deep breath and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. Her voice was tight as she continued, "It's been hard, Jonathan, really hard. They're both hurting and scared and they won't talk to anyone about it."

"Martha, maybe you need to come on home. Take a break. You can't help them if you're tired and run down emotionally. They're grown men; they'll figure it out." Jonathan didn't sound very sure of that even as he tried to comfort her. Martha smiled through her tears at her husband's attempt at faith in her son's relationship.

"I can't leave yet. Clark needs me." She wiped at her eyes. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too. The cows miss you. The house misses you. Our bed misses you."

Martha chuckled. "I bet it does."

"It's cold and lonely and doesn't see nearly so much action as it did in the past."

Martha laughed outright. "Yes, well if it is mourning its glory days, it must be remembering a very distant past."

Jonathan huffed in mock offense. "You come on home and I'll demonstrate just what I'm talking about."

Martha giggled and turned over onto her side. The bed in the penthouse was comfortable, but it didn't have the familiar lumps and the warm body breathing softly next to her.

"I'll be home. Not too much longer. I promise."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Don't cry over them, Martha. They'll make it. I know they will."

Martha blinked in surprise at Jonathan's words. That was the best he'd ever managed to fake certainty when it came to Clark and Lex.

"I know they will, too."

"All right, then. Goodbye. Hurry home."

"Goodbye, honey. I will."

Martha hung up the phone, cradled the pillow against her breast and closed her eyes. She missed her husband and her home. But she couldn't leave yet. Not until she could no longer feel the threat hanging in the air.

Clark entered the penthouse quietly through the front door. He walked into the living room and dropped his jacket onto the chair beside the coffee table. Everything was quiet and he turned to look out at the blinking city.

Nearly a month had passed since he'd last made his rounds. Part of him itched to return to the job, but he refused to let his focus waver. Until he had James Morgan, or whatever he called himself now, in his hands, begging for mercy that wouldn't come, he wouldn't let himself be distracted. No matter how loud or how long they screamed.

He shuddered as an especially terrified voice reached his ears. He glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight. He slid the doors to the balcony open and stepped outside. Two minutes. He could be back.

"Clark?"

Clark turned and Lex stood in the doorway, pajama bottoms and no shirt, pale skin glowing in the moonlight, bandaged arm hanging lose.

"Are you going out, Clark?"

Clark shook his head. "No, I just got home. Why aren't you asleep?"

Lex shrugged and stepped out onto the balcony. The world shimmered below them. "You should go out. You have work to do."

Clark stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Lex's chilled skin. "It's freezing out here, Lex. The only work I have to do is to put you to bed and keep you warm."

"Where have you been? You don't have your mask on." Lex's voice was careful and slow.

"I was working on something else. For the case."

Lex's eyes narrowed and he nodded out to the screeching city. "It was a night like this. I was on the balcony and thinking that the city was beautiful. I went into the living room and the door burst open. It was all so sudden and I kept thinking that at any moment..."

Clark stiffened, understanding the implication of Lex's last sentence.

"What?" Lex asked softly.

"It's nothing. They'll never hurt you again, I promise. No one will ever hurt you again."

Clark guided Lex to the bedroom and peeled the sheets back, tucking Lex between them. He pulled off his own clothes and stepped into the bathroom. After quick ablutions he returned to the bedroom and crawled under the covers.

He closed his eyes and waited for Lex to fall into dreams. But he didn't. Clark could feel Lex fighting sleep. He rolled over and saw the gleam of Lex's eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Lex?" he whispered.

Lex said nothing but sighed deeply.

"You can close your eyes, Lex."

Lex shook his head.

"It's going to be all right." He watched him in the dark. "I can still see your eyes. Go on. Close them. I'm here." He reached out to stroke the pale forehead lightly. "Close your eyes."

Finally, with a groan of defeat, Lex allowed his eyes to shut. Clark curled up next to him and whispered, "I promise, it's going to be all right."

And he swore to himself that he would never leave Lex alone at night again. He whispered under his breath, "He's going to pay, Lex. I'm going to make him pay."

Martha blinked into the light as she flipped the switch. She padded sleepily to the refrigerator pulling out a bottle of water, opening it and taking a long sip. She had awakened thirsty. A glance at the clock over the stove told her it was 3:30 a.m.

She caught herself before screaming as she turned to see Clark sitting at the kitchen table, staring at her darkly.

"Clark?"

He didn't answer, just continued to stare at her with eyes that she nearly didn't recognize.

"Honey? Couldn't sleep?"

Clark blinked a little then, shifted in his seat and remarked cryptically, "I can hear them."

"Hear who?"

He gestured toward the window across the kitchen, the blinds open revealing the blinking lights of the city below. "All of them. Screaming for help. Calling out for someone to save them."

His voice was hollow. Martha shuddered. This man wasn't her little boy, this man was something dark and black with emotions she feared.

"Can you help them, Clark?" she asked tentatively.

He laughed bitterly. "I used to. Before. I'd go out at night and try to make a difference." His eyes turned even blacker. "Now, I'll never leave him. Never."

"So, instead you're going to sit here and listen to it all, do nothing and go crazy?"

"I deserve it."

Martha stumbled toward the table, caught herself on the edge and pulled out a chair.

"Baby..."

"Don't call me that."

Martha was startled into silence at the vehemence in his voice. She didn't speak again for several moments, just staring at him.

"Okay," she finally said with as much kindness as she could.

Clark looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry." He looked up at her with eyes that begged her to understand.

"I know, honey. I heard you call him that...in the hospital."

Clark nodded.

Martha took a deep breath, decided to approach from a different angle. "What does he call you?"

She hit a nerve. She watched the hard edge melt away from Clark as he literally crumpled in front of her, his head in his hands, his body curving in on itself.

She barely heard his whispered answer. "Babe."

She smiled. She'd never heard Lex use that term for Clark. "It's special, isn't it? He doesn't use it often."

Clark's shoulders started shaking and she scooted closer to take her crying son into her arms. She held him as he shook and felt hot tears soaking her shoulder.

He came apart over many minutes and she felt the pieces clicking into place as he put himself together again. He pulled away from her and wiped at his face, turning his head away to look at the window again.

"I can't leave him alone."

"I'll be here. There's a whole new security team."

Clark shook his head. "It isn't enough at night."

Clark turned his head and his eyes were amber and angry. She shivered at the depths of rage she saw there.

"I'm going to kill them, Mom. When I find them, I'm going to kill them."

She grasped her robe more closely around her and prayed for words that could reach her son. Platitudes that her husband would have no problem voicing ran through her head and she discarded each one. Finally she said the only thing she could.

"I know."

Lex sat on a sunny bench in the Metropolis Gardens waiting for Martha to return with the hot cocoa she'd purchased from the little cafe that saw most of its activity in the summer with the impromptu picnics of business people needing a break from the corporate atmosphere. Lex had been known to meet Clark here more than once for lunch.

Now it was winter and the Gardens were brown and virtually empty. Martha had insisted they both needed fresh air and they had walked from the penthouse to the Gardens in amiable silence.

Lex looked at his watch and saw that it would be another two hours before Martha allowed him another dose of OxyContin. He hated the feeling as he came down, the gnawing sensations that seemed to itch every part of him. The doctors were weaning him off of it now. They had been vigilant in monitoring his usage because of his past history of abuse. Martha and Clark had been ruthless about his doses, even in the first few days when he would sometimes sweat with pain before it was time for his next pill.

He had never had so much silence in his head. Even after the...incident, when he was fifteen, he hadn't felt this level of nothingness. He didn't know if it was the drugs in his system that kept him so numb. But he suspected it was Clark's fault. Lex had never allowed himself to be so open, so vulnerable as he had been with Clark over the last several years. He'd almost let himself believe he was safe. He'd been wrong.

Lex lifted his head at Martha's light step. He looked up at her and nearly smiled at the red glow in her cheeks, the pink of her nose and the crisp way her hair shone in the sun. Instead, he relieved her of one of the hot chocolates, steadying his one-handed hold with the stump of his right arm. He hoped one day it would become less repulsive to him.

Martha settled into the seat next to him sipping at her steaming styrofoam cup. He looked out across the Gardens toward the brown twigs stretched over the rose bower. The prior spring he had sneaked a kiss from Clark beneath the shade of the green leaves and the red blooms.

"So, I suppose you are going to give me some sort of 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' speech?"

Martha shook her head. "No. I'm going to point a few things out to you, Lex." Her voice was firm and verging on angry. Lex had heard that tone before when he'd disappointed her.

"Clark is losing it." Martha didn't pull punches; she just went straight to the point. Lex had always admired that about her. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Clark is nearly out of his mind. I barely recognize my own son."

Lex swallowed hard and looked down into his cocoa to avoid Martha's eyes.

"You haven't even noticed, have you? He barely leaves the penthouse. He stays up most nights just watching you. He hasn't slept in four nights now. Did you even know that, Lex?"

Lex shook his head. He didn't know, he hadn't been watching. He hadn't been thinking or doing or feeling anything.

"Getting him to go to class is almost impossible. The only time he leaves the penthouse - well, you - willingly is when there is new information on the attack or a break in finding the assailants."

Lex sat the cup of cocoa down at his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, wanting to hide the stump from his own sight. It was mocking him now.

Martha paused, took a breath and continued, "Normally, I'd say this," she indicated Lex with a sweeping motion of her hand, "is something between the two of you. But this is changing him, Lex. This is killing him, making him crazy."

Martha moved to crouch in front of Lex, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"He's planning on killing them when he finds them. You know he is."

Lex looked away and was surprised at the harsh hand on his chin, gripping it until he met her eyes again. The blue was sharp but gentle.

"Let me make this very clear for you, Lex. You can either give up and die, leaving Clark to face the horrors of this world alone, or you can live and be at his side when he comes home with blood on his hands."

Lex spoke bitterly, "Blood that should have been on my hands, you mean." He swallowed hard and averted his eyes again and amended, "Hand."

"What?" Martha snapped.

"Blood on my hand. I've only got one."

Lex gasped in shock at the burst of pain across his cheek. He hadn't seen the slap coming. Tears of startled pain stung his eyes and his hand rose automatically to his face.

"Your version of love is going to destroy him," Martha bit out, her teeth clicking together angrily. "Get it together, Lex. For the love of God, get it together." This last was whispered with venom Lex hadn't known Martha could harbor.

He said nothing as she walked away, leaving him alone in the Gardens.

Lex pretended to sleep and felt Clark's eyes on him. He'd skipped his afternoon and evening pills. He didn't really need them for the pain any more. Without the interference of the narcotics, Lex felt clarity he hadn't experienced in weeks.

He breathed in and out steadily, focusing on Clark's presence. He could feel the heat of Clark next to him, feel the steady energy that seemed to radiate from him, pooling around Lex and holding him in the most intense regard that Lex could imagine. There was little sanity in this obsessive behavior; there was only something animal and dark, possessive and possessed.

"I know you're awake, Lex." Clark's voice was quiet and so very gentle.

Lex opened his eyes and turned his head to gaze at Clark. "I miss you, Clark."

"I'm right here, Lex. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." Lex rolled onto his side to face Clark. "I don't blame you. You know that, right?"

Clark turned, aligning his body across from Lex. He didn't say anything, just reached out his hand to stroke Lex's cheek.

"Clark, I don't want you to blame yourself. It wasn't your fault."

Clark nodded, but Lex could see the depths of fear and anger in his eyes, the rage that smoldered inside. He didn't know how much of that Clark directed at himself and how much was for James Morgan.

"Clark--"

"I love you, Lex."

"I know. I love you, too."

Lex watched Clark watching him for a little longer. Something was going to snap. Lex couldn't let it be Clark; he wouldn't lose Clark to this blackness.

He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep with the heat of Clark's gaze still on him.

Clark stopped in his tracks when he entered the penthouse to find Lex dressed, pacing and on his cell phone, obviously issuing directives to Mitch.

"Yes, Mitch, and arrange for the Board of Directors to meet with me first thing next week for a thorough debriefing." Lex turned his head to Clark and a half-smile crossed his face.

Clark stepped across the room and flung his backpack across the floor, stopping in Lex's path. Lex halted directly in front of him and stated into the phone, "I've got to go. I'll call you again later."

Lex flipped his cell shut and tossed it onto the couch.

"I'm glad you're home."

Clark stared. It was the first thing to sound like enthusiasm from Lex that Clark had heard in weeks.

"Lex, you're up and moving around and--working."

"Yes. I think it is time that I stop feeling sorry for myself." Lex moved towards the bar and poured a stiff drink, steadying the decanter with his bandaged forearm . "How were your classes?"

"Um. I didn't go."

Lex frowned deeply. "Why not? You're going to be behind enough this semester."

Clark ignored the question and looked around for his mother. He wondered if she'd given Lex some uppers or something. "Where's Mom?"

"She went out for awhile."

"She left you alone?" Clark growled. She knew that Clark had specifically said that Lex was never to be left alone. Never.

"Don't worry she took the pills with her. I haven't had any drugs since yesterday." Lex's smile was more crooked than usual from disuse.

"No. You can't be left alone. I told her not to leave you alone." Clark couldn't keep his voice from reflecting his inner darkness; it dripped with fear and rage.

Lex's eyes widened. "Clark? What is your mom going to do if he comes back? Do you think she can protect me from someone who can take down two armed guards, bypass a security system and physically incapacitate me?"

Clark shifted on his feet. He knew Martha couldn't protect Lex, but--obviously, he couldn't even trust his mother. His eyes narrowed.

"Clark, we need to talk." Lex gestured at the sofa in a silent request that Clark sit.

Clark held his ground and didn't sit.

Lex sighed. "All right. Clark, you're letting this change you. You don't sleep. You aren't going to classes; you treat me like I'm going to break--"

"You did break. And--" Clark's voice broke and he grimaced at the memory of Lex unconscious, half-dead, covered in more blood than he'd even imagined could be in a human body. "He broke you and--I want him to die for that."

Lex swallowed and clenched his jaw. "I know. I want him to die, too. I want him to die for what he did to me and for hurting you through me. But, Clark, you're losing it and I need you--I need you to smile and laugh and--I need you to go out and save people. Clark--"

"I can't--you can't--" Clark took a shuddering breath, his eyes turning dark and dangerous. "I won't let anything happen to you. Never again. I'll do anything to protect you. Anything." Clark saw understanding dawn across Lex's face.

Lex stared into Clark's eyes and spoke with quiet urgency. "I'd do anything to protect you, too, Clark. That's why you have to let this go. You can't risk your secret for vengeance."

"He raped you, Lex. He hurt you when you were just a kid. Now he's violated our home and hurt you again. Every time I look at you, I see what he did and--I can't let it go. I won't let it go."

Lex's heart rate was loud in Clark's ears, his rhythms launching into the rapid snaps and rushes of high anxiety. "I need to know if my Clark is still in there somewhere, because right now all I see is a man obsessed with revenge."

Clark narrowed his eyes. "Tell me you wouldn't do the same thing. Tell me you wouldn't kill for me."

Lex clenched his jaw. "Clark--"

"You can't deny it."

Clark was startled when Lex stalked toward him, dropping his drink on the floor and pulling Clark's head down for a ferocious kiss.

Clark pulled away, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Lex's. "Lex, will you fuck me? I need you."

Lex kissed him again before pulling away and unbuttoning Clark's jeans slowly with his unpracticed hand. Clark buried his face in Lex's neck and just breathed.

Clark sat in his history class for the first time in over a month. The teacher had given him an odd look and asked him to come see him during office hours when Clark had first walked in. He figured this would be the same lecture he'd received from every other professor--"Get your act together or fail." It was amazing the lack of sympathy they had for the boy-toy of a billionaire who'd just had his hand chopped off.

Clark had just decided to drop the entire semester and start fresh in the fall when his cell phone rang. The professor shot a look in his direction that would probably have killed a lesser being. But death glares bounced off of Clark, especially now that the only things he even gave a damn about were Lex and finding James Morgan.

Clark grabbed his book bag and took off out of the room. He answered his cell as he shut the door noisily behind him.

"Hello?"

He hadn't had time to check the caller ID before answering so he was surprised when Rick Benister's voice blared in his ear. "Mr. Kent, kid, I've got some video feed clips you might wanna take a look at and then maybe hand them over to the cops."

Clark stepped up his pace. "Really? Great. I'll be right there. In fact, I'm just around the corner. I'll be there in just a minute."

"See ya, kid."

Benister had already disconnected and Clark shoved his cell into his pocket before finding a deserted spot to break into top speed. He arrived in the alley two buildings down from LexCorp Towers within moments and he wasted a few moments pacing back and forth before he jogged around the corner and up to the front door of LexCorp. He pulled out his ID and pressed it up to the window of the booth. Jody, the black haired woman who ran the inspection operation on Tuesdays, grinned at him and greeted him over the intercom.

"Hello, Mr. Kent! Tell Mr. Luthor we miss him around here." Jody smiled brilliantly.

Clark nodded and turned to wink at the camera. He at least knew he was doing it this time. His heart was pounding in his chest as he made his way to Rick's office. He knocked and opened the door at the bellowed greeting. This time Rick was watching a live feed as Clark walked into the room.

"Hey, Rick, what did you find for me?"

Rick held up his hand for silence as he leaned forward and closely examined the screen. It depicted a man who looked completely normal to Clark but something about him made Rick pick up the phone.

"Alpha Two on the suit that just came in." Rick nodded his head and hung up.

"Alpha Two?"

"That means keep an eye on 'em. That was Mr. Montaigne. I don't like him. He smells funny."

Clark lifted a brow. "Literally?"

"Both." Rick turned to a small stack of videotapes. "These are all cued, but the first two are the ones I'd pay most attention to. The guy came by here twice and I've already passed the clips by Jeff Cates--the security guard that I kept from your old detail at the penthouse--and it turns out he'd come by there as well."

Rick tapped the screen with his index finger. "He didn't ask questions about Mr. Luthor, though, apparently all of his questions were about you. Said he was an old pal from Smallville. Probably trying to figure out when you would and wouldn't be home."

Clark grabbed the tape and turned to pop it into a machine sitting to his right. He watched as a large, burly man about 6'4" came into view and pressed an ID up to the glass. Jack Margot. The address was smaller, but Clark could still make it out: 12112 Bright Tomorrow Avenue Apt. 12

It was the rough side of town. Clark knew it well.

He paused the tape and stared at the man. The room spun around him in a shimmering moment of excitement, everything swirling into the vortex of the man's face on the video screen. This was it! This was the man he'd been looking for!

Clark almost laughed but bit it back as he memorized each feature. His breathing picked up. His heart pounded. This man holding his ID nonchalantly, unaware of the video tape recording his every move, this was the man who'd raped Lex, who'd had three other guys rape him, too.

Clark's fingers flexed into fists and he could hear his teeth grinding together. This round face, pig-eyed prick had broken into his home and violated Lex, hurt him, almost killed him. Flashes of Lex's bloody body seemed to superimpose over the frozen screen. He nearly choked on bile that rose to his mouth.

"We should call the police, Clark." Rick spoke softly.

Clark didn't move. He took two long shuddering breaths and an eerie stillness descended on him. A calm that was as fierce as his rage.

"What would you say, Rick, if I told you that Lex has tried to teach me that I shouldn't always do what I 'should' do?"

"I'd say that I agree with him."

Clark didn't take his eyes from the screen as he nodded slowly. "Then don't call the police, Rick."

"You're the boss, Mr. Kent." Rick's voice was quiet and sober.

Clark stared at the paused image on the screen--the face of the man he was going to kill.

Two days of surveillance that tried his patience and he knew their movements. He followed them invisibly, learning their names and addresses. Once he was done with James Morgan an anonymous tip to the police would allow the others to be arrested and charged as accomplices.

Morgan was charismatic. Clark watched his movements and noted his grace. Even beneath the heavy folds of skin and fat, he moved like an athlete, like a man used to having his way. There was a hint of brilliance about him, too. Something that pulled people in and made them trust him. Clark watched, feeding his hatred, as Morgan charmed several local dealers into running their business through him.

The sun had been down for two hours; the streets were unnaturally quiet. Clark listened from the corner. He overheard James Morgan watching television, heard him grunt his way through a short masturbatory session and overheard him discussing Lex. The man was patient. Clark would give him that. Morgan wanted to wait two years before going back for more--"Maybe a foot this time, Georgie."

His paid henchmen had laughed before leaving. They murmured under their breath as they walked to their cars about their boss' bizarre Luthor obsession. "If he pays us, I don't care if he wants us to chop Luthor up into little bits over the next twenty years."

Clark clenched his fists, biting down on his cheek. He could be patient, too, and he had a bigger score to settle.

He waited until the moment felt right, rage pulsing in his veins as he crossed the street at a speed beyond human vision. He climbed the fire escape up to Morgan's window, jangling with adrenaline. His teeth chattered and his hands shook as violence coursed through him. He slid the window up and crawled through. He followed the blip of a heart that he would feel pulsing in his hands.

Morgan was stretched out on a leather sofa, oblivious. Clark stood behind him for a long minute breathing in the stench of Morgan's breath, x-raying his body, and reviling every inch of bone, muscle and tendon. He imagined the best way to take the man apart. His stomach hard and his hands steady now as he reached out.

Morgan whipped around to face him.

"Who the fuck are you?" Morgan's voice was not at all frightened. Clark would change that. Clark would make him beg, make him scream the way Lex had screamed.

"You know who I am."

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "Luthor's whore."

Clark smirked, not even feeling the first crunch of bone as he grabbed Morgan's wrist, didn't care that his response was drowned out by Morgan's scream.

"Wrong. I'm the Angel of Death."

Martha was nervous. It was late, nearly 10 pm and Clark wasn't answering his cell, nor had he called home. She sat drinking tea and staring at a novel but she hadn't turned a page in over an hour.

Lex leaned back in his leather seat and took another sip of his scotch. Martha had clucked at him as he'd poured it but since he'd forgone his evening dose of narcotics, she didn't complain too much. She could tell by the way he shifted restlessly that he was unnerved as well.

"Maybe you should call the police, Lex?"

Lex shook his head. "They require a person to be missing for 24 hours. Clark is only a few hours late. They won't see that as something to be worried about."

"But Clark hasn't left you alone at night since the assault. He's always home by this time."

"He did this once before. He said he'd been working on the case."

"Lex--you don't think--"

Lex looked at her sharply. "I don't know what to think, Martha. We're in uncharted waters. This isn't Clark that we're talking about, not really. This is something primal and dark--an unstoppable force."

Martha nodded. "So you see it, too?"

"Yes. Thanks for making me look." Lex's voice was hushed and some of his shame bled into it.

Martha she simply nodded, not knowing how to respond.

"Why don't you go on to bed, Martha. I'll wait up for him. I'll wake you if there is a problem."

Martha nodded and stood up with a stretch. She didn't really want to go to bed; she didn't think she would be able to sleep, but she should give Lex the chance to speak to Clark alone. She knew the importance of the conversation the two of them needed to have.

She tried to calm her nerves as she walked down the hall and into her suite. Her bedroom was a respectable distance from Clark and Lex's room. She'd only had the misfortune of overhearing their activities once in the many nights she'd spent in their home. That had been an embarrassing breakfast the next morning with Jonathan huffing and grunting and generally making everyone uncomfortable. Of course, Clark and Lex had been rather loud. Jonathan was easy to send over the edge; they should have been more considerate.

But it had just been the one time.

She sank down onto her bed and idly stared at her book for a few more minutes before deciding to get into the bed and at least try to sleep. Only moments after turning out her bedside lamp she had drifted off, exhausted after weeks of anxiety.

She didn't know if it was the sound of the door shutting that woke her up or if it was her mother's sixth sense, but she found herself peering into the darkness and trying to make out sounds in the penthouse. Clicking on the lamp, she found her robe and her slippers. She padded down the hallway to the living room, telling herself that she was just going to check to see if Clark was home. She froze in the doorway, hidden in the shadows.

Clark knelt by Lex's left hand as Lex stoked fingers through his hair. The silence in the room was deafening. Martha couldn't move. She held her breath as she waited for something to break open.

As her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room, she saw the Clark's hair was wet with some substance that was leaving red streaks on Lex's fingers and hand.

Blood.

She raised her hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp and bit down on her lip to keep from running forward to gather her baby into her arms.

Lex's face was ashen and she realized that there were wet paths on his cheeks.

"I never wanted--" Lex's voice broke.

"It's over. It's done." Clark sounded hollow and vacant. "I did it."

"Clark--"

"Forgive me."

Lex's face crumbled and Martha watched in fear and awe as sobs began to wrack Lex's body. Clark's head came up and she saw his face in profile, staring up at Lex and then he drew Lex to his chest, cradling him there.

Martha shook as she saw the red splotches staining Lex's white shirt and the blood dripping from Clark's hair onto the floor, coalescing on the wood. She gagged and felt tears well in her eyes at the chunks of yellow and white flesh that fell from his shirt. He was completely covered in gore.

"Forgive me, please." Clark's voice was desperate.

Lex turned his face into Clark's neck and red smudges gleamed on his scalp. Clark's wet hair dripped onto Lex's head and shoulders, large bright drops.

"I forgive you, Clark."

Martha backed away slowly from the sight of the two of them comforting each other, the blood spreading from one to the other. The guilt shared, the love too strong for them both, the blood of destruction and of devotion staining them both forever.

Clark trembled as Lex washed him carefully. The blood swirled in the warm water and ran down the drain. The flashes of memory backhanded him regularly, causing him to lose his footing and nearly fall. The smell of the blood on his skin even after the thorough scrubbing, the smell of the blood on Lex's skin, too, made him fall to the floor beside the toilet and dry heave.

But moments later Clark could hold his nose against the pulse point on Lex's neck and smell Lex's scent, smell Lex's blood beating in his veins, smell Lex's life. It didn't end the horror to know that this was his, so much his and forever, but it helped him to push away the horror for a second, to remember why he'd done it. Why he'd never do it again. Because this was his and Lex was his and now who was he? He was lost and he held on tight to the body in the bed next to him alternately begging forgiveness and begging to be punished.

Lex cooed and stroked and soothed him like an infant. Clark barely understood that he was forgiven, that Lex had never wanted him to do this, but he was forgiven and loved. Visions of bones, muscle and broken pieces haunted him when he shut his eyes, screams echoing in his ears, death brought about by his hands and there was still blood there, under his nails. But not Lex's blood. Never Lex's blood. No one would ever take Lex from him.

He didn't know he could vomit this much; he didn't know if he would live through the waves of guilt that pulsed through him. He felt primal and raw, as though his most deeply held alien nature was set free.

"No, Clark, it' inside all of us. The wolf, the predator--we just have to control it. But sometimes we can't, sometimes it gets away."

Clark shook his head. He couldn't let himself believe that this was in everyone. This was singular, only in him; this was his burden and his alone.

Lex was his life and this had been Clark's sacrifice.

Lex was drunk. He didn't care. He didn't need focus right now; he needed compassion and strength. He found strength in liquor when he couldn't find it in himself.

"I should turn myself in, Lex." Clark's voice was raw from vomiting and broken from the wrenching sobs.

"No fucking way, babe. No fucking way."

"I killed him. I'm a murderer."

Lex's fingers twisted in Clark's curls. Clark's head in his lap, tears that Lex wasn't sure would ever end making his pants damp. "I killed a man for you. We're both murderers."

Clark shook his head. "It was different. You know it was different."

"I know nothing of the kind. I know that anyone who comes close to your secret should fear for his life. I know that you're a good man, that you help people. That you've saved more lives than God himself. That you are selfless and loving. That you've saved me from myself. That I'd be a different man without you. That's what I know."

Clark sat up. "Lex--I can't say I won't do it again. Maybe not like this--" Clark looked at his hands like they weren't his own. "But if someone were to hurt you--I can't promise--I won't--"

Lex shook his head. "I know. I won't ask you to promise. But--I don't want you to do this again. I am not a good man. No, don't deny it, Clark. I need you to keep me in line. I need your black and white, your right and wrong, your sense of justice--I need it for me. It's part of who you are and this greyness is my world encroaching on you."

"I've always been grey. You just don't want to see that."

Lex closed his eyes. Clark's head lowered to his lap again and Lex's stump rested against Clark's cheek. He felt soft kisses against the bandage and he opened his eyes. Clark stared up at him and kissed the bandage again.

"No more talk of turning yourself in."

Clark nodded slowly.

Epilogue:

Martha stayed at the penthouse for six more weeks. Clark spent the first week in a daze. She hadn't pressed. She knew what she would do to protect Clark. Clark, who was unique and precious and the only one of his kind. As was Lex. As was everyone. As was the man that Clark had killed.

But he never told her that. She never spoke of what she saw and lies were handed out to her with an air of nonchalance. Sometimes she convinced herself that she believed them.

"The police found the perpetrator. Someone had murdered him. I've asked them to keep it out of the news. I don't think there will be a connection with me," Lex had intoned dully at breakfast one morning and Clark had excused himself quickly afterwards.

She watched as Lex put Clark back together again. She never knew what he said or what he did to make her baby boy forgive himself, to make him laugh again and start to look alive. The haunted look never left Clark's eyes entirely, but three weeks later Clark was murmuring about dropping his classes for the semester and starting over next fall. Three weeks after that he and Lex had discussions about personas and mission statements. If it hadn't been so scary, it would have been funny.

"Clark, if you are going to be a superhero, like in the comics, you have to have a mission statement. Something to ground yourself when you are in a tricky or morally ambiguous situation." Lex tilted his head a little as he spooned sugar into two coffee mugs. The kitchen was sunny and warm; Martha sipped her tea and listened quietly.

Clark blinked slowly, the twisted look crossing his features for a moment and then he nodded. "Okay, like what?"

Lex carefully poured cream into their coffee. "I don't know. It needs to be short and snappy, like a campaign slogan. What was your campaign slogan in high-school that time you ran for class president?"

"The Man of Tomorrow."

Lex shook his head and pushed Clark's mug over to him. "Hmm. No, that's no good. What was your platform? What did you stand for?"

Clark smirked. "Truth, justice and other stuff."

Lex's eyebrows quirked up. "Other stuff?"

"Yes. Other stuff." Clark sipped his coffee and didn't meet Lex's eyes over his mug.

"Elaborate."

Clark sighed and plunked the coffee down on the table. "I don't know. Other stuff. That was my platform."

"Clark, that's pathetic. This is America! You can't run for president of any office with something as uninspired as that. No wonder you lost."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Lex, this is America! No one ever believes the stuff politicians spout to get into office. It's all lies. It's the American way."

Lex's head snapped up. "Truth, justice and the American way. I like it."

"Lies? I'm supposed to ground myself against morally ambiguous positions by reminding myself that America is founded in lies?"

"Is America founded in lies, Clark?"

"No. No, America is founded in the principles of liberty, justice, the pursuit of happiness, democracy--"

"Great. Whatever. So, there you have your mission statement and it will go over well in the press, too."

"When will the press be hearing my mission statement?"

"You'll have to grant an interview someday, Clark."

"When?"

Lex smiled and took a long sip of his coffee before speaking. "Well, according to my twenty year plan, the year 2015 would be a good year."

Martha left the room before the bickering over which year, which paper and which reporter could begin.

The End.