The Memoirs

Clark was halfway home when he turned directions.

Guilt and pain were eating a hole through the lining of his stomach--could aliens get ulcers?--and Clark thought he'd had much to much of that in his life. It was Friday afternoon, the birds were singing, he was likely going to lose his job, and the last thing he wanted was to go home thinking Lionel was so upset with him.

So he turned, and ran to the hospital, making it in record time. After catching his breath and moping his brow, he made it upstairs, and was soon quietly knocking on Dominic's door.

"Come in," Lionel called softly. He was sitting by Dominic's bed, as usual, working on the laptop on the files he'd picked up earlier while talking to Clark.

Dominic had been asleep--again--by the time he'd gotten back, and rather than wake him up, Lionel had just settled in to go back to work.

Clark opened the door quietly, taking in the site of Dominic completely asleep and Lionel beyond him, and his throat closed. He didn't move from the door, just closing it behind him, and shifted his weight. "I came to apologize."

"Then you've wasted your time, Clark. I told you back at the house that your apology then was accepted."

He swallowed. hard. "I yelled at you. I am sorry, Lionel. I don't want you to... to talk to me like you talk to Lex. I'm sorry."

"You should be honored that I talk to you like I talk to Lex. It means you're a real part of the family now. Isn't that what you wanted?" He didn't look up from his laptop as he worked. "Get on the inside of the family before you started writing? Congratulations."

Clark wouldn't lose his temper. He wouldn't. "why do you keep saying those things to me?"

"Because they're true."

"You think its true that all I ever wanted from you was a story?"

"No, Clark, I think it's true that you wanted to be a real part of the family, and now that you have it, you can't use it to get what you want, which is me to agree to interview with you." He flipped the page of the bug report he was working on, comparing it to what was on his screen.

Clark's temper was about to go in overdrive. He was keeping it silent, just barely, but his teeth grit as he stared at the man in front of him. "That's the biggest bullshit I've ever heard. You said you trust me, and you care about me--why would you think that's all I am? You're judging the situation before you even understand it. You mistook my intentions towards you. I told White that I didn't want the stupid assignment, but he made me take it. And I agreed, only because I thought you could use me. Not the other way around. You honestly think that badly of me?"

"No, Clark, I think that badly of the press," he answered baldly. "You just happen to now be among their number."

"You dodged every single question I asked you. You have a habit of it. Answer me." Clark demanded.

"I did answer you, Clark. I told you that it's not you I think lowly of, it's the press."

"Just because I write free lance reports on being gay for the Daily Planet makes me lowly, and one of them?"

"Because you write for the Daily Planet makes you one of "them," Clark," Lionel answered. "It, by definition, makes you a journalist, and a member of the press."

"And the enemy."

"Unfortunately, yes."

Well, Dominic had enough of that. He'd woken up to hear the latter half of whatever Lionel and Clark were talking about, and he opened his eyes at that to finally glare at Lionel's head. "S..tupid...ol..d...fuck." He muttered, still glaring, as he looked up at Clark. "Ig..n..ore...h...im."

"I am not a stupid old fuck," Lionel said automatically, and then did a double-take when he realized Dominic had said that. "Dominic! You're awake! I didn't realize."

"A..re...too." Dominic answered, and shifted in his half raised position to peer up at Clark. "Ignore...hi..m." He cleared his throat softly, and peered at the young man standing before him, who looked miserable. "Wh...at...abou..t..Perry?"

Clark bit his lip, tightly. "Dominic... its better that... this... between Lionel and I."

"Perry White wants him to interview me about our situation, for the delectation of the public."

Dominic turned his eyes to Lionel, turning his head as much as he could, to regard his husband. "Int..erv..iew?" So that's what was wrong. And why Lionel looked murderous. He glared at his lover, knowing full well Lionel would know why, before looking at Clark again. The poor boy looked like he was about to either piss himself, bellow, cry, or all three. "Cl..ark. W..will do. Inter..view."

Clark felt a little ill. "What?"

"Absolutely not," Lionel answered quickly, even though he wilted a little under Dominic's glare. "There is going to be no interview."

Dominic glared. Just... glared.

Lionel glared back, but it was losing its potency.

"Am...be..st...PR...ever." Dominic said, glaring at Lionel all the more. "C..an...thi..nk...on...own. W..ant..to d..o...this."

"No. This is one of the many reasons I said no to it in the first place. I refuse to have you put this kind of stress on yourself and you've barely begun your recovery!"

That stung. What was he, a wilting flower? He glared, stubbornly, at his husband, then at Clark. "Go..g...et...ques..tions. W..will answer."

"He will not, and Clark, if you know what is good for you, neither will you."

"Am...n..ot...dis...ABLED!" Dominic croaked, as loud as he could, and glared furiously at Lionel. "W..will..answer if...I...w..ant to!"

"No you are not disabled, but what you are is injured and recovering!" Lionel roared back. "And I won't have you setting yourself back for the whims of this boy's questions!"

"Not...wh..ims! Have...t..tell..wh.." He was absolutely frustrated he couldnt get it out, and his throat was tight as he continued trying. "Have t..to tell...what...h...appened t...o...me. Lut..horCor..p...stock h..olders a..nd part..ners...de...serve...explina..a...tion."

"And they've gotten one!" Lionel shouted back, forcing his voice to stay as quiet as possible. "They've been told the pertinent details of everything, up through and including your recovery."

Dominic hadn't even noticed Clark was gone until he turned to look at him, and found the room empty. "Dr..ove..him o..ut! Should....b...be..shamed!" Dominic cried back, glaring all the more furiously.

"Absolutely not! I will not be sorry for protecting you or your health! I will not be sorry for protecting you from the vultures who only want to throw this story in the paper for their own reasons! I will not feel sorry for it, Dominic, and I will not apologize for it."

"Are...n..ot...my...keeper!" Dominic cried, just as angrily. "Is...son..in l..aw! Not..vulture!" He was missing several pronouns in his anger but he did. Not. Care.

"No, I am not your keeper, but I am your husband, and I am someone who loves you," Lionel shouted back. "And yes, he is a vulture, he is one of them now, and I will not have him grilling you."

Dominic's anger escalated to fury as he struggled to find his words, and struggled to keep up with the conversation. "Not... VULTURE! Is...son..in law! You… ashamed...o-of yours..elf, should be ashamed. H...he lo..loves, too!"

"I have no doubt that he loves you, Dominic, and as such, he should never have done this in the first place. He should have known not to ask, and as he didn't know, he has to be told so!"

"I..is...nine...teen..yea..r..old boy!" Dominic cried, his voice going hoarse from overusing it like this, and he knew he'd pay for it later but he didn't give a fuck irght at the moment. "Is...young...m..an! W..wasn..t..self..ish wh..en he asked. Clark...doesn't...kn..ow how...to...b...e selfish."

Lionel didn't answer, just got up and brought the water glass over, holding it out for his lover. "Drink," he said shortly.

At that, Dominic's very carefully constructed pride crumbled, and his ego almost broke. He snarled at his lover and turned his head away, glaring at the door and ignoring him totally.

Lionel held the water out for several more moments, and when Dominic went back to ignoring him, Lionel slammed it on the dresser beside the bed and stalked back over to the laptop, cradling his now-throbbing headache in his hand as he stared at the computer.

Dominic, for his part, fell completely silent. What a fantastic way to remind him of his utter and complete lack of mobility, and his emasculation as he lay here having to pee through tubes and be fed through wires connected to his side. He felt more machine than man, and he kept his eyes trained on the wall until he could gather himself up, and speak. "A...m...able..to..t...ake ca..re...of...th..ings...myse..lf."

"Yes, I'm quite sure you are," Lionel answered.

Dominic turned to look at him, half unbelieving he'd said it, before turning his head again and not answering. He stared at the wall until it blurred, and he closed his eyes as the lump rose and fell in his throat.

He wished to God they'd let his mother pull the plug. The abyss was better than his existence, living day to day, being treated like an invalid, a baby, unable to move or speak or think properly. Hate was a burning vortex in his gut, where he couldn't do anything. This was hell. It had to be. He was in hell.

Lionel didn't even look up at the glare he felt coming his way, just ignoring it as he sat there working. His hands raked through his hair every so often, shoving it out of his way as it dragged his head down, just making the pressure in his head hurt worse.

He didn't think he'd ever walk again. He didn't think he'd ever get out of this bed again, truth be told, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to live like he had again. His brain was too broken now, too mushed up after the holes they'd driven into his skull and the strokes he'd had. He doubted if he'd ever again be able to work again, while he was at it. All he saw for the foreseeable future was pity and being reminded of his place by his husband, who was all too willing to do everything himself and make sure Dominic knew it. He was working fine, wasn't he? Going on about his daily life? Dominic was awake now--his problems were his own.

It had been so close. All of it. Rest. It had been so very, very close.

Lionel finally slammed the laptop shut and glared at the silent, unmoving lump that Dominic had turned himself into. "You can sulk about the interview all you want, Dominic, I am not changing my mind. I would be grateful if you would attempt to acknowledge the fact that I am still in the room at least, even if you have no interest in further conversation with me."

Yes, everyone knew who wore the pants in this relationship. There wasn't really any need to go more into that, now was there? What Lionel said ruled, no matter what anyone else wanted or didn't want. Fuck anyone else's feelings. It didn't even matter, anyway. Lionel would do what he wanted because Dominic knew he was as good as dead. What use was there in a man who was bed bound, unable to move alone, or think, or use the bathroom, or even eat? Shave, brush his teeth, sit up on his own? Scratch an itch he couldn't reach with the barely moving right hand?

He didn't look at Lionel. Didn't. Refused.

Lionel let out a loud sigh. "I am going to go home for a few hours, Dominic. I need to change, and bring you clean pajamas and take the others home to be laundered. Do you want me to call someone to stay with you?"

At the words Dominic felt like he was going to throw up. The only that that kept him from doing it was the fact that there wasn't much in his stomach to throw up, and that someone would have to clean it up. He had enough problems with bodily fluids to be going on about, he didn't, and wouldn't, accept more problems.

He didn't need anyone to stay with him. He was a thirty six year old man, not four.

He didn't need clean pajamas while they were at it. If he was going to be here for a long time, it was no use to keep putting him in the ones from home. What a hassle.

"Dominic? If you do not answer me, I am going to assume that something is wrong and call the nurses and the doctors in here." Lionel's voice started to hold a note of panic.

Oh, wasn't that lovely. More drama. He turned his head and regarded Lionel silently, without a hint of expression on his face. "W..ill...be..fi..ne." His voice was grating like sandpaper and it hurt to speak, but he'd be damned, goddammit.

Lionel exhaled quickly at that. "You're all right. Thank God. Do you want anything to drink before I go?"

"No."

"I'll be back as quickly as I can." He sighed again. "Do not give any interviews while I'm gone," he said, and the corner of his mouth quirked tiredly.

This ceased being amusing when he realized he was as good as dead. He did not return the smile. "Will... b..e... fine." He said again. Go away.

Lionel just sighed, and packed up the computer too. "Yes, Dominic... I'm sure you will be." He felt, at the moment, supremely helpless and utterly useless. "I will see you shortly."

He'd rather not, but he knew there was no getting out of it. He shifted his head as much as he could to find a comfortable spot, and closed his eyes again, willing God to let sleep come and take him into oblivion for a while.

When Dominic didn't bother to say anything to him, Lionel didn't bother to say anything in return, and closed the door to Dominic's hospital room rather harder than he'd meant to as he walked back down the hall he was thoroughly sick of, and went back to his car.

Once he was in the car, he cranked it quietly, and just started driving as soon as he pulled out. He didn't have a particular destination in mind this time, he was just... driving. To get away.

Dominic waited five minutes after Lionel closed the door.

Ten.

And then he rose his hand, the one he could still move, and pressed it against his face as the first sob escaped him.

- = -

Clark had crossed the line.

He knew it. Lex knew it. Lionel knew it. He'd crossed the line, and he wasnt so sure there was a way to come back.

He loved Lionel so much. Unspeakably, completely. He adored the man. Lionel had become mentor and friend, hero and idol, all rolled into one coifed, elegant ball of hair. Clark loved him more than anything, expect Lex of course.

And now he'd fucked up.

He mulled that over, desperately unhappy with himself as he did it. He had gone home again, after seeing Lionel and Dominic, and after ten minutes of self loathing and fury at himself, he booted up the computer, swallowed his guts back down to where they belonged, and ignoring the lump in his throat. He signed into his Daily Planet account easily from his desktop and quickly drafted a simple, but professional, email, that was his resignation. If his job was going to ruin his family, it wasn't a job worth having. Nothing came between him and his honor. Nothing.

Using a signature machine Lex had, he hooked it up to his lovers laptop and signed his name, transferring it to the document, and hit send.

Fuck. That hurt.

For all that Perry White bellowed, it's a miracle he didn't have daily coronaries. But, he didn't, maybe because he'd worked since he was a kid, was healthy as a horse, and the bellowing kept him in shape anyway.

But he was in mid-tirade at one of the copy boys, who had fucked up an entire printing of the Entertainment section, and his email box pinged. He barely heard it over his own voice, but opened it anyway as he was yelling, reading at the same time.

And the volume of his screaming went up about five decibels, and his face got red. He scrabbled to loosen the tie around his neck as he choked and wheezed, and the terrified copy boy shot out of the office in a panic, thinking his boss was having a heart attack.

He was, it just wasn't a literal one. He was gasping for breath as he picked up the phone, finger stabbing each number on the telephone keypad as he put the receiver up to his ear.

Clark had long since leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes, as the profound sense of complete and total loss overtook him. The job had come as a surprise, but it had become so much a part of who he was. He had found his niche, writing for it, researching, calling and talking to people. He loved his job.

But he loved his family more.

He absently scritched Artie's ears, the only of the pups who'd climbed into his lap as the other two were asleep, and stood up, Artie in arms, to pick up the cordless beside the bed. "Luthor residence, Clark speaking, may I help you?"

"WHAT IN THE HELL IS THIS RESIGNATION CRAP THAT I JUST GOT IN MY INBOX, KENT?"

The puppies awoke with a start on the bed, barking madly, Clark almost dropped the phone, and he all but jolted and fell over.

Then actually did when he tripped over one of the dog bones the puppies had left lying around, going ass over tit and thumping onto his back on the floor. He wheezed, eyes wide as he fought for his bearings, before gasping out, "What?"

"DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT SOME NAMBY PAMBY EMAIL IS GONNA MAKE UP FOR YOU NOT SHOWIN' YOUR YELLOW-BELLIED BUTT IN MY OFFICE AND TELLIN' ME TO MY FACE THAT YOU'RE A QUITTER?" Perry's voice went up in volume again, and he was fanning his beet-red face with a file folder from the desk.

So this was misery. "I can't get to your office in the fifteen minutes I've got left to get Lionel Luthor to do an interview, and I will not jeopardize my family again to do it!" Clark cried back. Or maybe it was a whimper. He couldn't even get offended over the yellow bellied part; Clark was much too busy being horrified over the man's screaming to do anything about it.

"THEN IF YOU CAN'T RESIGN TO MY FACE, I'M NOT GOING TO ACCEPT THIS PISS-ANTY EXCUSE FOR A LETTER I JUST GOT IN MY EMAIL! YOU'RE STILL WORKIN' FOR ME, KENT, AND I WANT THAT INTERVIEW IN BY MIDNIGHT!"

"You're NOT getting it!" Clark roared back. Oh. So this was anger. He fought to stay in English. "I will not ruin my family, I will not ruin the trust my father in law has for me, I will not make him believe I am not worthy of his son! I will not hurt him, I will not hurt his partner, and I will most certainly not hurt his pride or integrity or HIS TRUST IN ME!"

Perry cackled. "THAT'S THE FIRE, BOY! NOW GO GET ME THAT STORY, AND TELL LIONEL LUTHOR TO STOP BEING A JACKASS, YOU HEAR ME?"

"YES!" Wait! "NO!" FUCK! "You're not understanding me, goddammit! Mr. White, I'm not going to hurt him like this! I can't. He and Lex and Dominic are my family, I can't hurt them like this. He doesn't want to talk to the press for a reason, and I won't. And since I can't, I just...I can't, and I can't work for you."

Perry thumped the receiver of the phone against the table, wishing it was Clark's head. "BOY!!! YOU LISTEN TO ME, KENT! YOU KICK THAT OLD COOT IN THE BALLS AND TELL HIM TO GET OVER HIMSELF, AND YOU BRING ME IN THAT STORY OR SO HELP ME, YOU'RE GONNA BE ON PERRY WHITE'S BAD SIDE AND I TELL YOU SON, THAT'S SOMEWHERE YOU DON'T WANNA BE!!!"

"Don't you threaten me!" Clark roared back, appalled that the man had the very nerve. He was sure the next parts he growled weren't in English, but he pushed them that way as he hissed, "He is not an old coot, Tukon is proud and honorable and I messed with his pride and I WON'T do it AGAIN!" Clark bellowed, and Cleo was crying but he couldn't quite be bothered with it right at the moment, sprawled on the floor among socks, shoes, and chewy bones. "I won't make him doubt me again!"

"He's barmy old coot that needs a kick in the balls!" Perry roared, still fanning his face and gave the receiver another few whams against the desk for good measure. "Now you go and kick him and get me that story!"

"No! I won't!" Clark cried, and pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes. "I can't hurt him. I can't. I'm sorry, Mr. White."

Perry thumped the receiver against his desk again and took in a few deep breaths, trying to cool himself off before his head exploded. "Now you listen to me, Kent, and you listen to me good. I've gotten stories out of some of the most notoriously closed-mouthed bastards this side of the world. From Richard Nixon right on down the line, and I didn't have half the pair you've got, boy! Now, if I can pry the dirt out of old Tricky Dick, then you can get me the story on Luthor!"

"You weren't related to Richard Nixon, now where you?" Clark hissed, and felt a headache coming on behind his left eye. Christ. He rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax, or he was going to laser a hot, fiery hole through the side of the manor, four foot stone walls be damned.

"If I was, you think I'd damn well admit to it?" Perry demanded.

The sound that came from Clark's throat was part laugh and part sob. "Mr. White, look, I know you want this interview, and I know I'm as good as fired if I ever manage to get it anyway, because of all the hell I put you through. Look… just accept my resignation, and everyone's happy. I'm sure Julia Roberts or President Bush would look nice in the section you want. You've got Lois Lane, after all."

"I don't want Lois Lane, Kent! Lane's got her own stories to deal with! And hell no you're not fired! I'm not accepting your resignation, why in the hell would I bother to fire you? You're workin' here at the Planet until I say otherwise, and I expect your story by the late deadline, are we clear on this, Mr. Kent?"

Clark was ready to start tearing his hair out in chunks. "What... PART of I CAN'T get this interview do YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?!"

"THE PART WHERE IT SAYS YOU'RE GIVIN' UP AND QUITTIN' ON ME, KENT!" Perry bellowed back, slamming the folder he'd been fanning with down on the desk.

"I'm not giving up. I didn't even start enough to give up. Mr. White, I can't. Get. This interview. I can't. My family means more to me than anything. I can't let his trust in me be ruined."

"You're giving up! You're quittin'! It's getting hard to get the story and you're quittin'!" Perry just scowled at the phone. "Thought you had more of it in you than that, Kent. Thought you were gonna make a hell of a reporter."

Oh. Oh, now "That's just not fair, dammit!"

"You walkin' out on your assignment? Sure ain't fair."

"This is an impossible assignment!" Clark cried. "And I'm not doing it! I'm not hurting my family! I made him and Dominic fight over it, and I'm not doing it again!"

"You're walkin' out when the goin' gets hard! You're quittin', Kent, and I'd thought more of the kid who told the world to fuck off if they didn't like him being gay."

"Mr. White, no offense, but telling the world I'm gay is easier than getting Lionel Luthor to do anything he doesn't want to."

"HA! MY POINT EXACTLY!" Perry bellowed. "You're not afraid of doing the easy work, but when it comes to the hard work, you're runnin' off with your tail tucked between your legs!"

"NO I'M NOT!" Clark roared, surprising himself with the fury of his words. "I'm not running ANYWHERE!"

"THEN WHY'S THERE A RESIGNATION IN MY BOX, BOY? IF YOU'RE NOT RUNNIN' AWAY FROM THE ASSIGNMENT, WHY'RE YOU TRYIN' TO QUIT??" Perry bellowed back.

Why was he? Oh, right. "Because he's my Father in Law and I" want him to love me! "don't want to upset him!"

"Bullshit! You're afraid of dealin' with the pissed off monster!" Perry shouted back. "He's got you so damned scared of him that you don't wanna piss wrong!"

"YOU WOULD BE TOO IF YOU LIVED HERE!" Clark yelled back, then slapped a hand over his face, horrified over what he'd just said.

"HA!" Perry said again. "I thought so! Get your ass out on the street, Kent, and you get me that story, and you remember that Lionel Luthor puts his pants on the same way you do and worries about zipper burn too!"

Clark didn't worry about that. But he didn't dare say a word. Misery? Thy name is Clark. He clicked the phone off and threw himself back on the floor, spread eagle, to stare at the ceiling.

Fuck.

He lifted the phone, typed in Lex's number, and set the phone to his ear, eyes closed.

Wally glared at the phone that hadn't stopped ringing off the hook. "Lionel Luthor's office, Lex Luthor pro-tem, how can I help you?" He was going to kill Bruce. Just... kill him. This had to be the WORST. INTERNSHIP. EVER.

"Hey, Wally. it's me. Is my boyfriend around?"

"Sure is, sweetcheeks, but he's on the crapper right now. Want to waste five minutes with me or call him back?" Wally leaned back in his chair when he heard Clark, taking the chance to relax for just a second.

"I can waste five minutes." Clark let out a deep sigh. "Life sucks ass, Wally."

"You just came to this great realization, Clark? Slow, my man, slow. I knew that by the time I was five."

"It used to be tolerable. But dude, when you're told by your boss to get the skinny on your father in law, who right at the moment hates your damn guts? Life. Sucks."

Wally let out a whistle at that. "So that's why Perry White's been ringin' Lionel's phone off the hook today."

"Probably. MY ass is in a slinger. Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"Not a word, my man, not a word." His voice was entirely sympathetic. "Want to hit the Wild Coyote after--wait, never mind. You're not legal around these parts and sadly they know it. Let's zoom out to Keystone City tonight and get properly shitfaced. I know some people back in my 'hood that'll hook you up with ID fast as you can say Wally West is the best you'll ever have."

"Wally, man, you forget that my lover owns a booze shack in his basement." Clark snorted. "We can get shitfaced tomorrow. Today, I've got to spit out an article. He wouldn't even accept my resignation."

"Yeah, Lex owns the shit, but you miss the whole ambience of going out to a smoke-filled room, meeting the dark eyes of some slim-hipped honey or some wide-shouldered hunk of a man and disappearing into the back of said smoke-filled room for... ah, getting acquainted." Wally grinned.

"Got all the acquaintanceship I need," Clark smiled, though, anyway. "I'll leave the partying to you."

"C'mon, man, you wouldn't leave me hangin' like that," Wally wailed plaintively.

"Yes, he would," Lex said, leaning against the door. "Transfer Clark into the office, and hold all my other calls until I tell you otherwise." He disappeared back into the office, and waited for the phone to light up.

It did, after a few seconds, and Lex picked it up. "Hello, Clark."

"Lex, baby, I'm dead. Help. Heeelp."

"Who do I need to kill, and how much do you need to cover it up?" Lex asked seriously.

"Your father, and a bathtub of spaghetti." Clark answered back, just as seriously.

Lex laughed softly, and relaxed. "How about we bury my father in the tub of spaghetti, and then feed him to the dogs?"

"If you make it a pack of them." But Clark didn't laugh, his throat tight for a moment. "Lex... how can I get your dad to open up to me?"

Lex paused. "Wait about twenty years, nearly kill Dominic again, then deck him in the jaw. That's what worked for me."

"In two words, when hell freezes over."

"That's four words, actually."

Clark choked on the half laugh, half sob. "White wouldn't accept my resignation."

Lex blinked. "That's... not-quite-illegal, but close enough that he shouldn't be doing it, but I'm glad. Clark, why on Earth would you resign from a job that you love?"

"Because I can't hurt your dad."

"Because Dad's being a bitch about interviews, you mean," Lex translated.

"I don't know what to do. Help me, Lex. I've never had to make a decision like this... I feel like I'm standing on a precipice. Do I get this interview from your dad, no matter what? Do I try and tell Perry no, again? Do I do nothing?"

"Who says you have to decide, Clark? You can interview me about Dad and the situation, and I'll give you the skinny willingly, and if he doesn't like it, Dad can fuck himself in the ear, because I'm in charge of LuthorCorp right now, and that includes public relations."

"I don't want to be underhanded, Lex. I don't want to defy his honor like that." Clark said, very very quietly, and thought his throat was going to close in on itself. "I don't want to hurt him."

"And what about the fact that he's hurt you?" Lex asked softly. "I felt everything he said to you before, and I told you in the office when you came over before lunch, that you should write it yourself, or interview me. He's being a bastard, and when someone obviously loves him as much as you do, then he doesn't deserve the courtesy in return."

Clark thumped his head back against the carpet, and stared up at the ceiling, biting his lip tightly. "Fucking hell."

"Do you want me to call Perry's office and take care of it through Dad's office?"

"No. I can do this on my own. Would you be willing to give me an interview, though? He's going to hate me."

"Of course I would. I can clear my schedule in half an hour and give you my whole afternoon, if you need it."

Clark felt so bad about doing this. Terrible. He didn't know what to do, he was running in circles, and he rolled over onto his stomach, cheek on his own sock from that morning. "Not yet. I'll call you in a bit, okay?"

"All right." Lex smiled softly. "Give me half an hour from the time you call to cancel and clear, and I'm all yours."

"Alright. I love you."

"I love you too, aushna'."

Clark set the phone down on the bedside table and, after shoving Samsons butt out of the way, climbed on the bed. He had a fantastic inner clock, and he told it to wake him in an hour.

He rolled over, determined to nap, and closed his eyes, passing into uneasy dreams.

- = - = -

As soon as Perry slammed the phone down on Clark's dial tone, he picked it up again, spun through his rolodex of Questionably Acquired Numbers, and found the one filed with Lionel Luthor's cell phone, scribbled on the back of one of Senatori's business cards. He dialed it with a snarl, waiting for the old bastard to pick it up.

Lionel was just driving. Aimlessly, winding through nearly every street in Smallville, every dead end and every main thoroughfare, and he almost didn't answer the telephone ringing persistently from the glove compartment. Only the thought that it might be Lex, or someone from the hospital with news about Dominic moved him to pick it up and answer. "Lionel Luthor."

"I know who I called, you old coot! I haven't lost that much of my mind yet!"

Lionel just blinked. "I'm... sorry, who is calling?"

"It's Perry White, and why the hell are you being so mean to a kid who's just trying to do his job? Kent resigned this morning, all in a twitter because you're being a codger!"

Lionel just blinked again. "Kent? You would be referring to Clark Kent, my son in law?"

"No! I'm talking about Davy Kent the swimmer! Yes, I mean Clark Kent! He's been resigning all morning because you won't talk to him!" Perry was glaring at the phone.

"Let me see if I understand you properly," Lionel said, pulling his car off the side of the road. "You are telling me that Clark Kent has resigned his post on your staff because I refused to grant him an interview?"

If Perry could have reached through the phone and throttled the man, he would have. "Don't matter how you fancy it up, Luthor, bottom line is, whatever you said to that kid, he's takin' it personal enough to resign because doesn't know any better! Now you better give him that damn interview, or I'll make it my next headline that Lionel Luthor ran a nineteen year old kid off a reporting staff!"

"I most certainly did not run Clark off your staff," Lionel said, highly affronted. "I merely refused to do the interview."

"THAT'S NOT LOIS LANE YOU'RE TALKING TO, DUNDERHEAD!" Perry bellowed. "That's a kid fresh off the farm who's tryin' to get his first story! You're a hard nut to crack, Luthor, I'll give you that, but I thought you'd help out your own damn kin!"

"Mr. White, that is quite possibly more than enough," Lionel answered. "If you raise your voice to me one more time, this phone call will be terminated. I will not stand to be spoken to in such a manner, do you understand me, sir?"

"I'll talk to you any damn way I please, Luthor! I don't have to live with you! You're a coot and a codger and a bastard to boot, and the whole world's gonna know it!"

Lionel rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. White, but those epithets have already been hurled by people far better than you. Have no fear, I will have a few words with young Mr. Kent and clear up this attempted resignation issue."

"You better! The kid's a crack shot, and I don't wanna lose him! You got that?" Perry slammed down the phone before Lionel answered.

Lionel sat there, quietly in the car, staring at the telephone in his hand, and sighed.

He hadn't had a clue that Clark was going to resign, hadn't had a clue that Clark might have taken a single thing that he'd said more seriously than he ever did, and he just... sighed again. He looked at the telephone again, and dialed through the numbers that had been programmed in until he found Clark's cell phone and dialed it, hoping the boy would have it with him.

Which he did.

In his pocket.

He groaned and rolled onto his back, opening his sticky eyes where he'd been half asleep, and fumbled for the singing thing in his pocket. He lifted it, only glancing at the caller ID along the front, before opening it and muttering, "lo?"

"What is this ridiculous nonsense I hear about you trying to quit your job?" Lionel asked.

Go AWAY. Trying to SLEEP. Regardless, Clark's stomach fell through his knees. "I'm sorry," he said meekly.

"Sit up, wake up, wash your face, get dressed, and meet me at the coffee shop," Lionel snapped. "And bring your laptop and your tape recorder."

Clark went quiet. Now, instead of feeling like shit, he felt guilty and miserable and terrible and did he mention the guilty part? He swallowed, hard, and sat up enough to look blearily at the wall across the bed. "Lionel, you don't have to. I understand."

"Of course I don't have to. I'm doing it anyway. Be there in fifteen minutes." He frowned at the phone. "Unless you no longer wish to do the interview."

"Its n-not about that." Shit! Fuck! Dammit! "I don't want you... to feel obligated, that... I don't... what made you change your...?...its not... not even about that." Clark shook his head, firmly. "I've already told Mr. White no, Lionel."

"Believe me, Clark, I have heard precisely what you said to Mr. White, from various sources, and you and I need to have a nice long talk about not shunning your responsibilities and being able to tell when someone is truly angry with you, and when someone is taking their frustration out on the first available target, which just happened to be you."

Clark frowned, deeply, and looked down at his lap, to absently pick at an invisible thread on the blanket under him. "I'm not shunning anything." He answered, softly.

"You are attempting to resign from your job, Clark. That is shunning the responsibility you shouldered when you accepted it," Lionel said sternly.

"My work won't get between me and my family," Clark said, sternly, firmly, swallowing at the lump as he swung his socked feet off the side of the bed and thought, sadly, about his almost-nap.

Lionel didn't quite sigh. "I see that the talk we are to have will include a clear delineation of work and family."

"I don't need you to tell me. I already know," Clark said, just as firmly, as he rose, glared jealously at the snoring puppies, and shoved his shoes on.

"No, you do not, because if you did, we would not have this problem with you resigning your job," Lionel repeated again.

"I had to. I don't want you to think that the only reason I even talk to you is because I want something from you." The words burned leaving his throat. "Because I don't."

"No, my boy, that is shirking your responsibility to YOUR family, and by that I mean the one that you form with my son and whatever offspring you will have. They are the family that you have duty to, Clark, not to me and my frustrated whining."

"I don't want to talk about this here." Clark said, quite suddenly. "I'll be at the Talon in about a half hour."

"Be there in fifteen minutes," Lionel reiterated from earlier. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

"Fifteen minutes." Clark muttered, and hung up the phone. As soon as he did he gave a shrill, loud, bellowing cry of frustrations, ran his fingers through his hair until they fisted, and snarled at the bedroom as if it was its fault. Well... it sort of was! Too much... PURPLE! Yes! That was it!

He glared at it, furiously, grabbed his satchel, the voice recorder, and a notebook. On the notebook he jotted down questions that came to his head, writing fast and utilizing his gifts to do it, and after he was done, or sort of, took off running.

Lionel put the car back into gear and eased it back out onto the highway. He kept the accelerator to the floor, guaranteeing he'd get there well before the fifteen minutes were up, and as soon as he got to the coffee shop, he parked and went in, glaring at the waitresses and anyone who came near him as he went up to Nell and brusquely ordered coffee. He drummed his fingers on the counter as he waited, then took it, and headed to the back of the restaurant, towards a large round table in the farthest corner, away from the rest of the people in the shop, and waited.

And little did Clark know that only moments after Lionel sat down, he stepped through the door. The heat of the day was at its peak, the sun all but baking the earth as it neared four. He rubbed his forehead and sighed softly, looking around the small coffee shop...and saw Lionel, scowling like a thundercloud, in his corner. He made his way to him and plunked down in the seat across from the man, and couldn't meet his eyes.

"Would you like something to drink?" was Lionel's first enquiry as Clark sat down. "I opted for hot coffee, but I believe today's special involves something iced, if you're warm."

He shook his head, firmly, and swallowed tightly as he looked up. "Kinda embarrassed about talking to Nell. Got fired."

"I believe the cause was, at the time, sufficient. However, if you're worried about it, have one of the waitresses fill your order."

"No, its alright." Another uncomfortable shift. "I'm sorry."

"If you apologize once more, I might be moved to physical violence," Lionel said pleasantly, sipping his coffee.

"I am. I can't help but be," Clark answered, staring down at his hands. Alright. Time to put his cards on the table. "I love you. I don't want to disappoint you."

"You don't disappoint me, Clark. If anything, you make me proud." Lionel sighed, and looked down into his coffee for a moment, letting it fog his glasses so he would have the pretext of taking them off and cleaning them to give him something to do with his hands.

"Why did you think I wanted to pry into your life?" He said softly, unable to look at the man as he spoke. "Do you really think I want to hurt you and Dominic?"

"No, Clark, I don't think you do. I do think that you might be used to, simply because you don't know everything yet, but I don't believe you want to hurt either of us."

Clarks' throat was vice-tight. "I just wanted to help you. If I knew...I would have told Mr. White no, first thing."

"He just wanted to help you, Clark," Lionel answered tiredly, sliding his glasses back on. "He didn't realize what a frustrated ass I was going to be."

"I shouldn't have asked in the first place. I am sorry."

Lionel sighed. "I abhor these two words, Clark, and you will likely never hear them pass again from my lips, so do make sure there is a record of it." He paused, and then went ahead and spat them out. "I'm sorry." He made a face. "You... didn't do anything. I was frustrated and angry with other situations, and you were a convenient target."

He frowned, but nodded. "I'm not angry or anything. I just don't want you to think...you know, that I'm like, a spy or whatever, for the paper. I don't want it to be that you can't trust me. I'd never say anything that wasn't... that wasn't what you were okay with."

"I know that, Clark. You are too honorable, too much driven by that, to ever do otherwise."

With those words, the tension seemed to deflate out of his shoulders, and he sagged into a more comfortable position against the table. He didn't say anything for a moment, chewing on his lower lip, before opening the satchel and going in for notebook and voice recorder quietly.

Lionel reached out and covered Clark's hand gently, before it pulled out the recorder. "Clark... I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. Know that."

"I know. I do, to you, too. I didn't want to hurt you. I didn't want any of this to happen. The only reason Perry even asked me is because Lois is too scared to get close, though she says its cause she's not allowed." Clark shifted a little, but his fingers closed around Lionel's, too, squeezing tightly.

"No, Clark," Lionel said quietly. "The reason Perry asked you is because he knew you could do it, and that I would help you, by agreeing to the interview because I trusted you. Which is what I should have done."

"It doesn't have to b-be about anything," Clark swallowed as hard as he could. "I just...he wants...how you're doing, how Dominic is, stuff like that. I wouldn't... I'll make it very flattering. Leave out all the 'no baths for two weeks at a time' phase, and everything."

Lionel smiled at that, and nodded. "You can ask anything you like, and I will answer fairly."

Clark smiled a little, though he really didn't feel like smiling, and cleared his throat as he pulled out his pen and shifted in his chair. "Alright. Um..." He clicked the 'record' on the little handset. "Um… hi. I'm Clark Kent, interviewing Mr. Lionel Luthor, LuthorCorp CEO. Hello, Mr. Luthor."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kent," Lionel said calmly, settling back in the chair. "How are you today?"

"Okay. I guess. So.." He cleared his throat again, twin lines of pink rising up onto his cheek bones. "Would you like to tell me what happened?"

"Which time?" Lionel asked, with a little amusement. "There's been several happenings that are noteworthy; the fall, the awakening, and the road to recovery. Which one shall we address first?"

Clark had a total deer in headlights look for a moment, eyes wide, before clearing his throat and shifting uncomfortably. "Well then, how did you feel about it at first, when you still thought Dominic had a chance of waking up?"

"I was surprisingly optimistic," Lionel admitted frankly. "And, thoroughly tired of the nay-sayers and the people who said that Dominic would never recover. At that point, it was merely a waiting game, to see how quickly he would wake up and how quickly he'd be back to his life."

"What went through your mind when you found out he wouldn't?" Clark asked, softly, training his eyes up on Lionel now.

That was harder to put into words, and the silence stretched for a moment, the only sound the rolling of the tape wheels. "Denial, at first," Lionel answered, finally. "A lot of despair, determination that my willpower alone was going to decree the outcome the way I wanted it." Another thoughtful pause. "Frustration, because I felt the doctors weren't doing all that they could do, despite the fact that they obviously were."

"Did the frustration ever end?" Clark asked, softly. "You seem like a man who wants to always be in control... how did you feel when you realized you weren't?"

"No, it didn't end. It still hasn't ended," Lionel agreed. "And yes, I do always want to be in control. Helplessness is an intangible thing, but it makes me feel very... angry. Because I can't control anything in this situation, and people close to me have been unfairly bearing the brunt of my frustration and angry."

Clark fell silent for a moment, looking at Lionel quietly, and realized that the man had to be sorry, or else he wouldn't say things like this. He reached across the table to squeeze Lionel's hand tightly, before looking back at his notebook. "How long did you fight the doctors over ending Dominic's comatose state?"

Lionel returned the forgiving squeeze gratefully, and listened to the question. "For a month, nearly. They started to make noises about doing it after the first strokes--TIAs, they're called, transient ischemic attacks--but I refused to entertain the notion until I was legally forced to do so."

Clark frowned, deeply. "What made you change your mind?"

"The law," Lionel said honestly. "Dominic's mother found an old living will and a do not resuscitate order that forced me to remove Dominic from the life-support machines that he was on. Otherwise, I would not have done so."

"How did you feel about that?" Clark asked, tipping his head. "Surely you must have been furious."

"I was. I was utterly furious, disturbed that this woman had so little value for her son's life that she would have gone out of her way to search for these documents, and in the end, I was more disgusted than anything else. But above everything else, I was angry, and at the same time, despairing, because I had exhausted every means at my disposal to fight her."

"You must have been thrilled when he woke up." Clark looked at him. "What did you tell her when he did?"

"That she was no longer welcome at the hospital, and that I didn't want her as part of his life until he was recovered enough to make his own decisions. That I didn't want her in my house, or even in Smallville, though her family is here now and I sincerely don't think she'll move."

"Well, let's switch gears a little bit. Can you tell me how Dominic's doing?"

Lionel's eyes turned sad. "He's... physically doing well, but I have my doubts about the emotional side of it, to be honest. He... seems like he's closing off."

"What do you mean?" Clark looked up at that, sharply.

"Like nothing that anyone says is worth anything," he said softly. "Not caring about what is going on around him, refusing to answer when he's spoken to..., things of that nature."

"How do you feel… all of this, all of what's happened, is going to affect your relationship, if at all?" Clark asked, studying the man in front of him and jotting notes as he spoke, though he didn't need it, not really. He had a perfect memory.

"I honestly do not know, and that is not a concept that I am comfortable with," Lionel answered. "I'm not sure what the long-term effect is going to be. I wish I did know. I think that, when everything is said and done, we will be stronger for it."

"I think so too." The first thing he'd said that wasn't a question, and was paired with a little beam at him. "How is LuthorCorp standing up through all of this?"

A wry chuckle. "LuthorCorp is standing tall and successfully, just as it always has. However, this is quite probably a question you should be asking my son, Lex. He has taken over as CEO until my leave of absence is over."

"Lex Luthor? Handsome man," Clark said wryly, the first smile of the day crossing his face. "Has your relationship with your son changed at all now that he's taken up temporary control of LuthorCorp?"

"I see him less, if that's what you're asking," Lionel said and gave it a bit of a laugh. "I don't know if it's changed it yet, but when this is all done, I hope that we will emerge with better understandings of each other through the ways we work."

"Of course. From what I've heard, he's doing a wonderful job. Your staff deserves raises fro dealing with him, though," Clark said sweetly, smiling again as he looked down at his notebook. "What about the future? After Dominic's well, do you think LuthorCorp's goals and priorities will change at all?"

"No, dealing with my son is like a vacation. They will all need raises when I return to remind them why they deal with *me.*" He cocked his head. "I'm not sure what you mean by goals and priorities, but no, I don't think the company's general direction will shift all that much."

"I meant, after your daughter is born." Clark said, with a small wince. Yeah. Muck it up now, Kent.

"Well... I'm not anticipating that Aurora's birth is going to significantly alter the business paths that LuthorCorp has been set on, but I do see it shortening the amount of time that Dominic and I both devote to our work, leaving it in the hands of people who are just as capable as we are--ideally, my son, and other trained personnel."

"How have your feelings changed since Dominic has begun to recover?"

"At the moment, they're much more optimistic than they were, but that's started to be a guarded optimism as I see the long road that's ahead, and I worry about the toll it's going to take on him."

"Is there anything else you would like the American public to know?" Clark asked quietly, reaching for Lionel's coffee and taking a sip from it before pushing it back, as he studied him.

"Just that my family hasn't been given nearly the credit they're due for surviving this crisis without having killed me," he said with a wry grin. "They've all had to put up with the brunt of, as I've said before, misplaced anger and frustration, and they definitely deserve recognition for that."

"Thank you, Mr. Luthor, for this interview." Clark said, firmly, nodding as he clicked the tape off.

And then reached across the table and hugged Lionel, tightly. "Are we cool?"

Lionel hugged Clark back, and nodded against his shoulder. "I think the answer is, we are cool."

"I promise I won't do anything to disappoint you." He said softly, squeezing Lionel's shoulders once more before letting go. "I promise. I'll do good."

"You never have disappointed me yet, Clark," Lionel said. "I don't believe you'll do it now."

"I'm glad." he said softly, and swallowed tightly as he looked up at the man. "I'll do good. But...are you really worried that much about Dominic? Honestly? What's he been doing that makes you scared like that?"

"Yes, I'm really worried that much about Dominic. When Elaine came to visit earlier, he broke down crying, for no reason, and refused to answer when I asked him about it. Then, after you came and left and Dominic and I fought over this interview, he refused to answer me at all until I threatened to get the doctors and he didn't want anyone staying with him."

Clark's brows furrowed tightly. "I didn't mean... to make you fight. But why… he wouldn't answer at all?" it seemed so unlike Dominic. His brow furrowed, tightly. "Lionel, if you need anything, Lex and I are here."

"I know, Clark," Lionel said with a sigh. "But I think that had it not been over the interview, then it would have been something else."

"Have you told the doctors?" he asked, tipping his head and frowning again.

"No, I haven't. And I don't know that I will. They don't need to be poking and prodding him for a few days of bad temper."

"Sometimes mood swings are the first sign of cranial pressure, Lionel." Clark said, firmly, and peered at the man across the table. "You should say something. Just in case."

"If he hasn't improved his mood in the next day or so, then I will, Clark. Believe me, I'm taking no risks with his health, but I won't have him subjected to unnecessary procedures at this point."

He nodded, sadly. "Thank you again, Lionel. For this."

"You don't have to thank me, Clark. I should be thanking you for still being willing to talk to me."

"I only want to help. I can take care of any media hounding on my side...the other newspapers should leave you alone after this goes live. I think."

"Yes, they should, but Clark... don't worry yourself if it doesn't. It's something that we are used to living with."

"You know I never meant for this to be selfish, right?" was he panicky? Just a little.

"It wasn't selfish, Clark," Lionel said, hastening to reassure him. "It wasn't at all."

"Alright." He reached out to squeeze Lionel's hand again, and bit his lip. "Um...later, I'll let you read what I wrote, kay? And...Jimmy is probably coming, to take a picture or two."

"That's quite all right; he'll be able to find more than one photo opportunity, I'm sure." Lionel shook his head. "I don't need to read what you write, Clark. I have all the trust in the world that you will write fairly, honestly, and to the best of your ability."

Yay! Oh! Clark beamed at him. Just… beamed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Lionel said, returning the smile. "Are you going to work here, or can I give you a ride somewhere?"

Clark took an uneasy glance at Nell's back at the counter and winced. "Er... where are you headed?"

"At the moment? I don't have a destination in mind. I will, at some point, return home to send the reports to Lex via email, and to pick up clean clothes for Dominic and myself, but that's not my immediate goal."

"Well hey, wherever you say, I say. I don't mind." Clark stood, shoving his things back into his small backpack.

Lionel looked at the young man across the table from him. "Clark... how hungry are you?" he asked, feeling his own stomach rumbling and churning with acid.

"Lionel, no offense, but I'm nineteen." Which kind of spoke volumes. He was always hungry.

"Ah. Then how would you like to come and join me for a late lunch at the small Italian eatery near here? I believe that spaghetti and wine is called for, don't you?"

"Sure. Except I'm not legal. But the spaghetti part sounds good." Clark answered, climbing to his feet and offering Lionel a hands up as he put the bag over his head and hung off his shoulder.

"True, true. I suppose then in your case it will be spaghetti and soda while I have a glass of wine," he said with a smile, and rose to his feet beside Clark. "and it will be my treat."

"Nope. Let me pay, its the least I can do." Clark answered, nodding firmly as he picked up Lionel's Styrofoam cup and sipping from it again as they left the Talon. "That place is suffocating. Christ."

"Clark? When this article is published and you receive an expense account to which you can charge meals like this as a business expense, then I will gladly allow you to pay for lunch. However, until that time comes, I will not have you spending money that should go for your continuing education on lunch with me, when I have more than I can possibly spend in three lifetimes."

"Oi. You're terrible about money," Clark answered, peering at him before grinning. "Alright, that's fine. But I'm making dinner tonight."

"I am not terrible about money, Clark, I am practical about it. I have more of it than I can hope to spend, no matter how many late lunches I buy." He raised an eyebrow. "Why are you making dinner tonight?"

"Because." Clark rose a brow. "The doctor ordered Dominic's first meal tonight, remember? I already asked them what he's eating, and I'm making the same. I'm gonna bring it by, and we can eat with him, so he doesn't feel alone."

Lionel nodded. "That's right. I'd forgotten it was today; I had down in my appointment book as being tomorrow, for some reason." He sighed. "That still doesn't answer why it is you preparing the meal, rather than the darling Ms. Bird."

"Ms. Bird has the day off. Doctor's appointment, she told me."

Lionel blinked. "I do hope that she's all right," he said with a frown, and made a mental note to remind himself to check.

"Dunno… she muttered something about being tired of chu all, and needing a vacation to Maui," Clark smirked, eyes dancing. "Don't blame her, poor dear."

Lionel merely rolled his eyes. "If all she wanted was a vacation, she merely needed to ask. It's not like we can't live without her." He paused. "We can. Really, Clark."

The smirk flew away and his eyes widened. "No, we can't! Don't even think about it!" he cried in horror, shaking his head as he walked down the street to Lionel's car behind the man.

Lionel just rolled his eyes again. "Come along, Clark. Let's have a last good meal before we let you loose in the kitchen. I do assume that Lex will be assisting?" Because Clark's cooking skills? Sometimes left a lot to be desired.

"Nope. Just me!" Clark chirped, ignoring Lionel's wary glance as he shifted the bag to his other side and followed along like an over-exuberant puppy.

"Oh, let God help us all as you make your solo excursion into the kitchen." Lionel put his hand on Clark's elbow. "If you cause the kitchen to explode, don't feel bad. Lex did that in his second year of biochemistry, and that precipitated his first trip to the Swiss boarding school he was part of."

"I haven't--" He stopped. Bit his lip. "Well, I set a barn on fire, once, and the Talon, though Lex doesn't know the specifics of that. But I won't blow up the kitchen! I promise!"

Lionel just laughed softly. "If you ask me nicely, I will help you cover up the damage."

He grinned. "About the Talon, or what'll be left of Ms. Birds kitchen?"

"Both," Lionel answered, grinning back and opening the car door. "Although I think he'd be less worried about the damage at the Talon if he knew what happened--I had my theories, at the time, though I'm not quite sure if they were true."

"Really? What did you think it was?" Clark asked, as he climbed into the car himself, slightly gangling, all arms and legs and knees and elbows.

"I didn't believe you were an arsonist, if that's what you're asking," Lionel asked with a secretive smile. "It was one of the first things that helped me formulate the theory that you might have... special abilities. When I saw the barn burning, I began to knit together the story of your adoption and everything else, because two incidents that close together could not have been mere chance."

"Oh. Yeah, I suppose so. I didn't do it on purpose, it just sort of… happened." Clarks lips twitched with a grin. "I was lighting candles. And... it all sort of blew to shit."

That brought another laugh from Lionel, as he cranked the car and looked over. "Yes, I can just imagine how it did. Let's do try not and have any accidents like that in the kitchen, shall we?" But he was teasing.

"I'm not making any promises, especially depending on if the stoves gas or electric," He teased right back, and beamed across at his seat mate. "I'm so glad you don't hate me."

"No, Clark, I don't hate you," Lionel reassured. "I don't hate you at all. You were, I am sorry to say, merely the closest target. And for that, I apologize."

There was pride in being a target though, cause that meant the man cared, and that made Clark very, very happy. So he grinned anyway, and leaned back against the seat, getting comfortable as Lionel drove. "It's cool."

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Clark." Lionel said it with a smile, because he was. He was glad that Clark understood, which in a way was something monumental, because he doubted that Lex had ever understood what Clark seemed to easily comprehend. "I think you're going to be very, very good for my son." Then he shook his head, and smiled. "Come on. I promised you spaghetti."

- = - = -

Lex was... hovering. That was the best word for it. Hovering outside the kitchen door. Clark had all but forbidden him to cross the threshold, and so he hadn't.

Instead, he was pacing back and forth, staying just on his side of the swinging doors, flinching at every pan that hit the floor, at every clang of metallic cookware that bounced off one of the kitchen surfaces, the barks, yips, whines, and cries of three dogs, the bellowing music that Clark always listened to, Clark himself tunelessly bellowing out lyrics to the song, the meows of two cats--and Lex still hadn't figured out where the second meow was coming from.

To sum it all up? It sounded like all hell was breaking loose behind those doors. "Um... Clark? Are you sure... you don't need any help in there?"

"Positive!" Clark crowed, over the loud music coming from the CD player. He sang along, bopping as he danced down the counter, "Biigg girls don't crryyyy--yyy--yyyyyy! Big girls dooon't cry!" He wailed, using a batter covered spoon as a microphone. The kittens, Frederick and Ms. Birds, who Clark couldn't remember the name of, were hiding under the counter. The puppies were hyper, bouncing around his feet, and every inch of counter space was covered in pots, pans, and dishes. But?

He had made meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn, and biscuits without a lick of help.

He beamed.

Lex cringed as another utensil bounced and crashed off another surface. "You, uh, sound like you could use another pair of hands?" Lex called out sharply.

"Nah, I'm good!" Clark sang back, though he moseyed over to the door and opened it anyway. "Wanna be my taste tester?"

Lex closed his eyes. "Is it going to kill me?"

"Nah, it'll be great!" he beamed out at his lover and held the door open. "Watch out for the floor, I dropped some butter earlier and its still slippery."

"...butter?" Lex opened his eyes and was almost terrified to look down at the floor, picking his way carefully among the spilled butter, splotches of... he didn't look too closely, there was a splash of ketchup here and there... well, everywhere, and carefully Lex made it over to the counter.

Clark beamed, and rubbed some salt from his nose as he pointed, beaming, at the plastic Tupperware full of food that HE had made. Everything LOOKED edible, and it tasted fine to him, but he still beamed.

"I'm..." shocked. "Proud of you, Clark," Lex said without pausing. "Do you need help... cleaning up? Packing this up to take to the hospital?"

Anything to distract him from the tasting.

"Nope! Taste!" Clark beamed again, like the sun, and pushed a little plate he'd made with all the things that needed to be tasted on it. "That's meat loaf; be careful if there's anything crunchy, I dropped an egg shell in it. I think I fished it all out, though. The potatoes are good, though!"

Lex made a little face. "Eggshell. Eggs? Meatloaf? I'll... pass. Thanks." He poked a fork at the mashed potatoes, and was half shocked when the tines didn't bend back. He speared a little forkful and brought them to his mouth, sniffing gently then putting them into his mouth.

"HOT!!!!!!"

"Really?" Clark dipped his finger into the little pile and licked it off his finger. "Tastes good to me." But he winced, anyway, and pushed a can of half empty Dr. Pepper toward his lover.

"HOT!" Lex yelled again, grabbing the soft drink can and chugging, panting to get the cool air onto his tongue. The soda was flat, but it didn't matter, it was cool and it was relief. "Clark... human tongues? Can't eat food right out the stove like that."

"I can't really tell. Sorry." he winced again and kissed Lex's abused mouth, gently peppering that wonderful tongue with gentle sucks and kisses. "I got it out about ten minutes ago."

Lex kissed back, and put his head on Clark's shoulder, just so he didn't have to look at the unholy mess in the kitchen. "Cool. Fifteen minutes. That's the general rule."

"Check." Clarks gentle lips twitched with mirth he was trying to hide, anyway. "Tasted good before you got your tongue burned off?"

"Yes, yes, they did. Just a hint of garlic, actually, that was very delicious, and probably better than what they'll be feeding Dominic."

"I just want him to feel like we're all eating the same thing. Makes it seem less like hospital food." Which it was, there was no denying. Poor Dominic. "At least he gets to eat more than that medicine they've been pumping into him. Any news when they'll be removing the tube?"

Lex just shook his head. "It depends on tonight. If he can eat on his own, and he can take in enough calories on his own? Then he'll have it out in a few days, and he'll be able to come home about a week after that. If tonight doesn't go well? He'll be stuck with the tube for a few more months, until they try again."

Clark made a face at his lover, and squeezed his arm lightly. "He's going to hate being fed. You realize that." He thought for a moment. "Don't let Lionel do it. You do it. Alright? it'll make him feel less like a child, because Lionel's too much older than him. You do it. As his step son."

"Yes, I do, I realize that. But I don't think he's quite able to hold up the fork quite yet, not for a whole meal." Lex nodded. "All right. If he'll let me, I'll do it."

"It'll be different with you. You're only a few years younger than him, not nearly thirty older." Clark nodded. "He's not going to want anyone to touch him, but if Lionel and I leave... he might let you. He loves you to death."

Lex just nodded. "He might let me, just because I brought him back," Lex agreed. He just might. I'll try, Clark. I'll see what I can do for him."

"Fantastic. In the meanwhile, lets get this packed up!" Clark beamed, happily, and covered the still-hot food in the Tupperware containers. "Where's your dad?" he moved over, pulling his apron over his head and dropping it on a dollop of ketchup on the counter.

Lex immediately reached out, picked up the apron, and hung it on the hook by the door. "He's out in the study laughing and snickering at me for worrying. He said, and I quote, don't worry, Lex, he won't blow up the kitchen this time."

"This time." Clark beamed rather than be insulted, his eyes dancing. He and Lionel had had a wonderful lunch together, trading stories and barbs and Clark had been so thrilled, so overjoyed with it, that he'd come home and started to cook immediately. Of course that had been 5 hours ago, and he had long since thrown away most of what he'd started with, but after a run to Rubenstein's grocer and another hour of experimentation (and Ms. Birds German cookbooks), he was done. And happy. And beaming at his lover. "Have faith."

Lex almost cried at the five hour thought that darted through their link, and he sighed. "Faith. No. I have no faith. At all. The kitchen is a few steps from exploding, leave it for Enrique to clean up and earn his extravagant paycheck for once, and we'll go pick up Dad and leave." He pointed to the insulated food carriers, and the cooler. "Let's go."

"I'm not leaving this for Enrique. I don't want him to cry when he sees it. Give me ten minutes. Get the car started and I'll be ready."

"Clark Jerome Kent!" Lex yelled it. "He's hired to do this. Let him do it for once." He clamped his hand around Clark's wrist.

"But… but," Clark stuttered, "Its a mess! its terrible! LEX! it's my mess!"

"It's your mess. Just like the towels on the bathroom floor is your mess. You let Enrique pick those up. He can pick these up too."

"I DONT LEAVE MY TOWELS ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR!" Clark roared, in indignation, even as Lex dragged him.

"Yes you do. There's one on the floor from your shower this morning," Lex pointed out, grabbing the cooler with one hand and making Clark pick up the other end. "There we go. Out. March."

 

-fin-

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