It was warm in the apartment when Clark got up. Used to early farm mornings, it was strange to pad, barefoot, into the empty kitchen at 10 a.m., with no sense of guilt about the luxury of such a late rising.

There was, however, an undeniable sense of displacement. After all, Clark's whole life -- or at least as far as his memories went back -- he'd woken up in his bedroom at the farm and gone downstairs to find his mother making breakfast for him. This was an unfamiliar place, an unfamiliar hour for breakfast, and Clark was utterly alone in his quest to find a cereal bowl in strange cupboards, wondering where they had unpacked the Froot Loops.

Once the battle was won, Clark turned to the small kitchen table and was surprised to see a stack of papers waiting there. Someone must have been by the apartment while Clark was out with his parents the previous day. A bright purple post-it note adorned the top sheet. Clark spared a moment to be amazed post-it notes came in that shade before reading the message. Someone's careful writing requested that Clark sign the documents today. The anonymous writer had even left a pen, uncapped, at the ready.

Clark supposed he should be very careful with these papers. He should photocopy them and run them over to Bill Ross. He should peruse them himself, checking for possible loopholes, making sure there was nothing untoward. That's what a smart person -- even a nineteen-year-old guy -- would do.

Instead, Clark picked up the pen and scrawled his name next to every `sign here' tab, then pushed the papers aside and applied himself to eating his Froot Loops.

There is nothing strange about this moment, Clark told himself firmly. The voice of reason seemingly held little sway, though, because immediately, his rebellious mind began to wonder if he should have worn a suit jacket. Lex was wearing a suit jacket, after all.

But then, Clark had seen Lex exactly four times before, and each time, Lex had been wearing a suit jacket. If he hadn't worn one now, it would have felt like something of an insult.

Which begged the question, was Clark's choice of attire -- newly pressed khakis and a blue dress shirt Chloe had liked -- inappropriate? Insulting, even? Maybe he should have been more ... dressy.

Lex had said this was only a formality, only an unusual aspect of the contractual agreement they had made. He had said it in this smooth, rational voice that made Clark nod even when he wasn't expecting it. So why was this such an out-of-body kind of moment? Why was Clark inwardly panicking about his clothing?

"Clark, will you repeat after me, please?" Clark started unwillingly, regaining awareness of his surroundings, of the sweatiness of his palms and the comparative coolness of the hands he held between them.

"I, Clark Jerome Kent," said the man, and it took Clark a moment to remember that he was to repeat the words. He did so, haltingly.

"Take thee, Alexander Joseph Luthor, to be my lawfully wedded husband," prompted the man. The panic re-emerged, but Clark glared steadily at the pale fingers clasped in his own and forced himself to parrot the words. The justice, apparently sensing Clark's nervousness, limited himself to a couple of words at a time, which effectively turned the vow into nonsense bursts of sound. It made the process indescribably simpler.

"And Alexander," the justice continued, turning his scrutiny to the man opposite Clark. "Please repeat after me. I, Alexander Joseph --"

That smooth, logical voice which Clark remembered overrode the justice's words, taking over. "I, Alexander Joseph Luthor, take thee, Clark Jerome Kent, to be my lawfully wedded husband. Before these witnesses I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you, with all your faults and your strengths, as I offer myself to you with my faults and my strengths. I will help you when you need help, and will turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."

Clark was caught off-guard by the level of Lex's nonchalance. How did he do that? How did he sound so certain? Clark looked up to see Lex smirking at him, like this was a joke. Like they were friends. Like they, two complete strangers, hadn't just vowed to love each other all their lives.

This is not a big deal, Clark reminded himself firmly. Contractual agreement, remember? Just a formality.

There were rings, and Clark wondered stupidly if Lex would provide him with a bill for his own ring. Maybe that was in the pre-nup he'd signed that morning. They were plain gold bands, nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that indicated Lex was a billionaire's son ... except seeing the ring on his hand reminded Clark of his father. And he'd promised himself he wouldn't think of his parents today.

Then it was almost over. The justice was saying something, addressing the two men in dark suits whom Lex had brought as witnesses. "Inasmuch as Clark and Alexander have this day consented together in the state of matrimony,and have given and pledge their faith to each other in the presence of this company, by virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the state of Kansas,I now pronounce you husband and --" Here the justice faltered, and Clark bit back a semi-hysterical snort. "Erm."

"Husband and husband?" Lex suggested, still smirking. Obviously this was the first same-sex marriage the Grandville justice had officiated.

"Married," corrected the justice with great dignity. "I now pronounce you married. Lex, you may kiss your bride. Groom."

Lex laughed outright, and so did Clark, overcome by the ridiculousness of the situation. Clark was still laughing when Lex's lips suddenly covered his mouth, only for an instant, so Lex was already halfway to the registry table by the time Clark understood what had happened.

"Cheer up, Clark," Lex exhorted, holding out a white and gold pen. "I'll have you know I've done this before and lived to tell the tale."

Clark shot a startled glance in the direction of the justice, who was trying not to look shocked, then realized the man wasn't exactly going to rescind the ceremony at this point, no matter how irreverent Lex seemed.

Clark leaned over to sign the paper, biting back another giggle when he saw he was signing on the space marked "Bride". Apparently the Kansas clerk of court's office in Grandville had yet to order in the new, politically correct licenses.

Well, he was the one wearing blue. Borrowed, old, and new would just have to fall by the wayside ... along with his dignity and his adolescent notions of tradition.

They had dim sum in the downtown Chinese restaurant for their wedding feast. Lex spent most of the meal on his cell phone, cussing out LexCorp underlings (Clark presumed), while Clark tried to make small talk with the witnesses.

"So, um, you're Lex's. Chauffeur?" Shit. Was that the right title? Or was it like saying `secretary' instead of `assistant', or `waiter' instead of `server'?

A nod. No sign of offense. Then again, other than the nod, there was no visible sign of higher thought of any kind.

"And you're his ... assistant?"

Another nod from the other man. Lex, apparently momentarily noticing that there were actual live people around him, raised an eyebrow at Clark and went on in his rant. Clark tried for righteous indignation, but he couldn't help feeling more of an intruder than the two witnesses were.

"Have you been to Grandville before?"

One nod, one grunt.

Clark grinned hesitantly. "I grew up in Smallville, about an hour away. Grandville was, you know, the big city. I used to get so excited when my parents brought me here for the day."

Another grunt. Apparently the excitement of a seven year old farmboy was of little interest to these two.

"And now I'm actually living in Metropolis. It's ... weird." Yes, Clark, that's the weirdest thing about this situation. Not the chatting with corporate flunkies, not the eating dim sum with a billionaire's son, not having just gotten married to a man in freaking Grandville of all places. No, it was the fact of living in Metropolis.

"I have to. Um. Pee." That statement having established Clark as a blithering idiot, he bolted up from the table and made his way to the generically dirty washroom, the same one he remembered from when he was a kid and his parents would take him here for lunch after a long day of shopping amid the heady business of the Grandville Shopping Center.

Right. Not thinking about the parents. Clark glared at the ring on his left hand before pulling it off and stuffing it in his pocket. Then, with a quiet sigh, he extracted his cell phone and dialed the farm.

"Kent residence, Martha speaking."

Clark smiled to himself. Mom was always so formal on the phone. "Hey, Mom."

"Oh, hi, honey!" Her voice melted instantly. "How's Metropolis? Are you settling in okay?"

"It's fine," Clark answered, wondering if the echo factor in the tiled room would provoke a comment. "I mean, Pete's made this detailed schedule of all the things we're gonna do tomorrow. He's, like, drawn out routes between our classes and the beer gardens."

Mom laughed. "Sounds like Pete. It's good you have a friend there, Clark. How's the new roommate? Are you guys getting along?"

Clark stuck one hand in his hair, the tacky feel of gel reminding him that he was, by his standards, dressed up. "Oh, yeah. I mean, he's a grad student in biochemistry. I don't think we'll see much of each other, really."

"I don't suppose you would have that much in common with him," Mom commented almost wistfully. "It's too bad ... You both having the LexCorp scholarship, you could benefit from his experience."

Clark released a breath of laughter. "I'll be okay, Mom. Met U's a big college. I'm sure I'll find my niche."

Mom returned the chuckle. "I'm entitled to brood, you know. You've only been gone for two days."

"I'll ... I'll run home for a visit tonight, okay?" Clark offered, overwhelmed with guilt and something sharper he couldn't name.

"No," Mom countered unexpectedly. "No, honey, you should stay there for the first couple of weeks. Give yourself time to get used to things."

Clark fingered the weight of the ring in his pocket. "Right. You're right. It's just ... new."

"I'll tell Dad you called. He's out in the west pasture right now."

"Yeah, okay. I love you, Mom. Tell ... tell Dad." The sound of the door opening made Clark glance up. In the mirror over the sink, he saw Lex sauntering in.

"Love you too, sweetheart," Mom answered, almost distractedly. "Call anytime."

"Yeah, I will. Bye."

He hung up and tucked his cell phone away again, wondering if Lex was going to wait until he left before going to the urinal. If they were married, shouldn't they be able to pee in front of each other? Mom and Dad's bathroom door was pretty much permanently open into their bedroom. Clark wasn't even sure the hinges worked anymore. Which was, you know, gross ... but it said something about the two of them. Something nice.

Lex was just standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Not moving towards the urinal, but effectively blocking Clark from leaving. "How's the old homestead?" he asked.

Oh, great. Meaningful marital conversation time, apparently.

"Okay," Clark answered briefly, looking anywhere but at his ... God, his husband.

"Too bad this is all a big secret. I'd like to meet your parents sometime," Lex went on, leaning against the door. His tone wasn't exactly insincere, but it was laced with a wry humor that had something in common with sarcasm.

Lex hadn't sounded this way when they met, at the scholarship interview. Clark distinctly remembered his first impression of Lex -- smooth, sleek, glossy. Impossibly manufactured, like the girls on Chloe's magazines. Like Lana Lang's hair. Like the waxy, evenly colored commercially-grown produce his parents disdained.

Now? Lex seemed rougher around the edges, more immediate, more real.

"I don't think they'd ..." Clark began, thoughtlessly. "I mean, my dad. He isn't your father's biggest fan."

Lex shrugged, bonelessly shifting against the fake wood-paneled door. "Something we have in common, then."

There it was. The difference. When Clark had gone for the LexCorp scholarship interview, Lex had been presenting a version of himself, inhumanly immaculate. Then, it had been all about Clark, all about his transcripts and his extracurriculars (or lack thereof, thanks to Chloe). About his home life and his aspirations. Lex then hadn't been cold, exactly. They had even laughed about Clark putting `certified cattle insemination technologist' on his application. But Lex had been distant, perfect. Adult. Other.

This Lex, the one Clark had met at the apartment yesterday, the one who was now watching him with interest, was a different creature entirely. He was real. And he seemed almost ... hurt by the intimation that Clark's father would dislike him.

"You and your father don't get along," Clark stated baldly, opting for a shift in focus.

Lex snorted quietly. "That's putting it mildly. Surely you've read the papers. You know he's disowned me. Set his little puppet up in my place."

"Lucas?" Clark supplied, remembering a color photograph in the Ledger of a darkly handsome man not much older than himself.

Lex nodded. "My father saw to it that Lucas grew up poor and unloved while I grew up rich and unloved. Guess he decided to trade our roles for a while."

Clark suddenly became aware they were having this conversation in a bathroom ... a rather smelly bathroom. He made a move towards the door, but a slight gesture from Lex stopped him.

"Clark." Lex's eyes were interesting -- almost blue, but not quite. Their steady gaze was both mesmerizing and disconcerting. "I ... I appreciate this. What you've done. I know it's not going to be easy for you."

Clark stared stupidly for a moment. "If it wasn't for you, I would be helping Dad with the harvest right about now," he said, and it almost came out as accusatory rather than grateful.

Lex licked his lips, betraying nervousness that Clark had never expected to see. "I just. There aren't many people I could trust with this kind of ..." He trailed off, but kept his gaze locked on Clark. "What I'm trying to say is," he tried again, and though his voice sounded perfectly even, the words betrayed a sense of helplessness.

"You don't have many friends," Clark said, then was horrified with himself for sounding so pitying. "I mean. I'd like to be a friend. If you want."

Lex's gaze flickered away at last, but not before a tiny smile flared on his lips. "I'd ... like that."

"After all, we are husband and husband," Clark joked, unspeakably relieved by that tiny chink in Lex's armor.

Lex laughed, then led the way back out to the restaurant.

The apartment alone almost made the whole thing worthwhile. A far cry from Pete's closet-sized dorm room (shared with a freshman from Kansas City with a kind of worrying obsession with Justin Timberlake), the two-bedroom suite was complete with hardwood floors, 10 foot ceilings, a dishwasher and a laundry room. Clark's bedroom was slightly smaller than Lex's, but it could still comfortably fit Pete's room inside its walls. There was an almost-private bathroom, shared with a guy who didn't even need room for shampoo or shaving cream. Since Lex made it clear he didn't clean house, they had even hired a woman to come in on Saturday mornings to take care of the things Clark hadn't gotten around to doing.

Mom would go to her grave ignorant of that last bit. She'd been upset enough about the dishwasher.

There was also a big television, not enormous, but flat-screen and attached to an obscene home theater system. Clark had spent the best part of an hour blasting Radiohead through nine speakers and a subwoofer after his parents left for Smallville on Friday evening.

Lex's personal belongings hadn't arrived until today, Saturday, but the cupboards were full of dishes and the place was stocked with dishwasher detergent, laundry soap, even garbage bags. Mom had found depressingly little to do, and Dad, who had brought his toolbox in the expectation of a ratty falling-apart hovel, had instead engaged in a vigorous debate with himself about whether the hardwood was real or laminate.

"LexCorp certainly treats its scholarship recipients like royalty," Mom had sighed enviously. "Clark, I lived in a studio apartment halfway across town from campus for two years. I had rats."

Clark had leaned back on the futon sofa and grinned. "Well, you should have been brilliant in school, like me."

"It was certainly generous of the committee to overlook your lack of extracurriculars for your senior year," Dad had contributed later, pacing out the length of one wood strip.

"I was on the Torch for three years, Dad," Clark had submitted as he gleefully uncovered a stash of videogames for the PS Platinum system secreted in a niche of the entertainment center. "Lex -- Mr. Luthor -- didn't seem to think it was very strange that I ... left."

"I just hope there isn't a hidden price tag on all this," Dad had said gloomily, by which Clark deduced that the hardwood was indeed genuine.

Mom had kissed him on the cheek as they left, exhorting him to call often and reminding him Smallville was only a five minute sprint away.

Now Lex was flicking on the lights and tossing his set of keys onto the counter by the door. Clark caught a slight moue of distaste on the older man's face as he surveyed the place. So far, Clark had been an immaculate housekeeper, so nothing could really be amiss but -- "Guess this isn't exactly like what you're used to," Clark hazarded, trying to smile and regain the sense of ease they'd had in the restaurant washroom.

But Lex's shield of perfection seemed to be back in place. He only smirked distractedly in Clark's direction, then headed straight for the television and flipped to CNN. Clark stood in the entryway awkwardly for a few moments before taking his cue and slipping down the hall to his bedroom.

Clark perused the four blank walls of his room -- he'd been too scrupulous with the fresh paint to put up posters -- and sighed. "So much for my wedding night."

"No, that's completely unacceptable!"

The voice rang through the apartment, shaking Clark from sleep. He rolled over to see his clock displaying the time as 10 a.m.

"Look, who's the fucking CEO here?"

Clark stared at the ceiling, wondering if this was going to be a regular occurrence.

"Dammit, I needed that file yesterday!"

Clark tumbled from his bed, blinking sleepily at his reflection in the mirror over his dresser. After a quick pit-stop in the bathroom, he made his way into the kitchen, the boundaries of which were demarcated by a stretch of counter at the edge of the living room area. He poured himself a bowl of Froot Loops, watching Lex pace and shout. Even though they had a perfectly serviceable land line, Lex was cupping his tiny cellular to his ear. The phone was so small as to be obscured by Lex's slender hand, giving the impression he was holding a conversation with the voices in his head.

Clark slowly settled down on the sofa in the living room, balancing his cereal bowl on his knees and pretending to watch the muted CNN on television.

"Just ... get them. Soon. It's not just my ass on the line, you know."

Clark suddenly wondered if his ass was the other ass Lex was referring to. Maybe Lex had some romantic notion of marriage which involved fiercely supporting his more financially vulnerable partner. And, you know ... said partner's ass.

This notion was quickly banished with Lex's next exclamation. "Mark, you're taking a chance on LexCorp. That means I need you to give it all you've got ... if we screw this up, we're both looking at Burger King as our next place of employment."

There was a pause, then Lex continued. "I know you're worried. We all are. Just ... get me those numbers, okay?" The shift in Lex's voice was amazing -- he had gone from vitriolic to coaxing in a bare instant. His whole physical aspect had changed, too -- his shoulders had settled down and his free hand was now tucked into his pants pocket. Maybe Luthors received training in acting from a young age.

Clark watched as Lex almost smiled, then concluded the phone call.

"Sorry if I woke you," Lex said, offhanded, studying the television screen and tucking his phone into his pants pocket.

Clark shrugged. "Time to get up anyway."

Lex sat down next to Clark, but clearly his mind wasn't on the television -- for one thing, it was still muted. Clark felt tense just sitting near Lex.

"So ... trouble at work?"

Lex's eyes narrowed for a second, not noticeable unless one happened to have super reflexes. Then he smiled more easily and inclined his head. "LexCorp is at a critical stage -- we need to show potential investors that we're viable, but in the meantime, we have little to no capital to do it with."

Clark fought an urge to squirm. If Lex couldn't afford to keep his company afloat, how could he afford the money he was giving Clark?

"Investors are a bit hesitant to throw in their cards right now -- I mean, not only am I relatively young and inexperienced, but they're worried that siding with me might bring Lionel's wrath down upon them."

"Your dad would do that?" Clark asked, disbelieving. Dad had always spoken about the Luthors like they were corruption incarnate, but it seemed fantastic in the extreme for a father to treat his son like that.

Lex smirked. "No. But not for the reasons the investors think ... mostly, he just thinks it's beneath him to meddle in my affairs. He'll save that for when LexCorp's really getting on its feet. It'll be more spectacular that way, and I'll be more humiliated when I have to crawl back to him for a job."

"But you won't, right?" Clark prompted hastily. "Because he doesn't know about ... about the plan." He waved his hand in the direction of the wedding band Lex was still wearing.

Lex nodded slowly, apparently lost in thought. "He's been very careful in cutting me off from all the angles he can reach ... but my mother's attorney assures me my father was never apprised of this particular fund."

Clark sighed with relief. "And by the time he finds out ..."

"Even if he found out now, he couldn't stop me from inheriting the thirty million," Lex continued. "The only way he could do that is by proving our marriage is a sham." With an abrupt motion, Lex twisted the wedding band off his finger. "And since no one even knows we're married in the first place, that's not likely to happen. All we have to do is play it close to the chest for twelve months, and I'll be in a position to properly launch LexCorp with my own money."

"And I'll be able to finish my degree without resorting to prostitution to make ends meet," Clark added with a grin.

Lex pocketed the ring, smiling. "All thanks to your generous LexCorp scholarship."

Clark allowed himself to feel the teeniest bit self-satisfied. A year-long sentence in this apartment with a seemingly cool roommate was a small price to pay for a college education. Clark was very resolutely not thinking about what his parents and friends would say if they ever found out ... but, as Lex said, there was no need to divulge the information. Even in a year's time, when he had to reveal this secret so Lex could collect his money, Clark could carefully couch it in the same terms as Lex had -- 'business arrangement', 'unusual contractual obligation'. Yes, the way Lex had said it, it had sounded so reasonable, even though Clark, reflecting later, after he'd agreed, had been beset by doubts and questions. But by then, it had been too late. Besides, he reflected, he and Lex were in this together, and even if he didn't know Lex very well, he at least knew the other man wasn't likely to endanger his business. That wouldn't make sense, would it? Clark quickly shelved each worry as it arose with this kind of logic.

"Lex?" Clark spoke, just as Lex made a motion towards the television remote. "Why did your mother make that bequest? I mean, why would she care if you got married and stayed married for a year?" The terms of the bequest had seemed strange, to say the least, but the strangeness of marrying Lex Luthor had overridden the idea until this moment.

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Clark was afraid he had overstepped his bounds. "My mother wanted me to be happy," Lex spoke, quietly, then hit the 'mute' button.

Clark couldn't stop himself -- he blurted, "But she couldn't have intended this, could she? I mean, surely she wanted you to marry someone for ... other reasons. This isn't making you any happier, is it?"

Lex muted the television again and turned a cold gaze on Clark. Clark knew he had gone too far this time, with a sick falling feeling in the pit of his stomach. "She was the one who suggested I go along with my father to Smallville on the day the meteors hit," Lex spoke in a clipped tone, running a hand over his bald head. "She wasn't really known for her great ideas." With that, Lex turned his attention back to CNN, his posture indicating not only that this conversation was over, but also that he and Clark might never have another conversation again in the whole course of their marriage.

As helplessly as though Lex was forcing him out the door with a node of kryptonite, Clark rose to his feet and left the room feeling like a giant asshole. Lex was angry and hurt, and rightly so.

Lex left the apartment half an hour later, giving no excuse or explanation, only returning shortly before midnight. Clark was already in bed in his own room. The honeymoon was definitely over, and not even twenty-four hours had passed since the ceremony. Clark sucked at being married.

If Chloe had been around, she would have met Clark first thing Monday morning with a fat file on Lex Luthor -- all the unsavory details of his youth, clipped from the tabloids that never made it as far as the Kent farm. She would have warned Clark against dropping his guard too far, then she would have linked her arm through his and guided him into his first college class without allowing him time to panic about the milestone moment or anything else on his mind. Everything about Chloe was matter-of-fact like that.

Clark, left to his own devices, was considerably less cool. Not only was he still reeling from his recent change in marital status, Clark was unable to keep from noticing the throng of students around him. They all looked so adult ... so sure of themselves, of their direction of travel, of their direction in life. There was, Clark noted bleakly, not a single plaid shirt to be seen. No one else's father could possibly be as full of platitudes as Jonathan Kent. And Clark was almost positive he was the only Met U student who'd woken up to the discovery that Lex Luthor took a surprisingly long time in the shower for a guy with no hair. The only good thing about his day so far was that the long shower had allowed Clark to slip out of the apartment without having to confront Lex after the previous day's encounter. Of course, it also meant that Clark was sporting come serious bedhead, as he hadn't waited around for his turn in the bathroom.

"Clark!" Clark heard Pete's voice, but couldn't immediately pick him out of the milling crowd. "Clark, man!" Pete's hand slapped down on Clark's forearm.

Clark pasted on a giant smile for Pete, turning to face his friend.

"Clark, man, where were you this weekend?" Pete grinned, playfully smacking Clark's shoulder. "Freshman orientation was a blast. I think I puked every color under the sun."

"Sounds ... cool, Pete," Clark managed, still holding onto the smile. "I was just ... you know. Unpacking."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Girls, Clark. College girls. And we're college guys! Stay with the tour!"

Clark nodded, his mouth fighting the smile somewhat now. "Pete, why didn't you tell me that no one wears flannel to college?"

Pete shook his head balefully. "Clark, no one wears flannel except you and your dad, even in Smallville. I thought you noticed that."

Clark resisted the urge to use his superspeed to bolt underground. "Do I look like a total geek?" he hissed, pulling Pete closer.

Pete's face did an interesting contortion as he wrestled between truth and consolation. "Not any more than usual."

Clark's smile faded away completely. "God, it's just like freshman year in high school."

Pete patted Clark on the shoulder and gently shoved him towards the humanities center entrance. "You'll be fine, man. Just ... try not to trip over anything."

Clark kept his eyes firmly fixed on his giant feet and focused on steering himself inside the lecture hall without injuring himself or anyone else. College sucked.

"Rules," Lex announced, startling Clark as he entered the apartment that evening. Clark had been watching bad Monday night reality TV, and he now hastily changed the channel to Discovery, sensing instinctively that Lex was not a fan of "Supermodel Search".

Lex didn't appear angry, which relieved Clark. He merely seemed slightly distant and supremely businesslike as he removed his coat and set down his briefcase.

"One -- neither of us answers the landline unless we recognize the caller ID as one of our contacts. Two -- don't bring visitors over without giving me prior notice so I can be out of the apartment. Three -- you refer to me as 'Alexander' to your friends and family. If they ask, my last name is 'McLaren', but try not to go that far. Four -- neither of us can date anyone over the next twelve months. If my father's keeping tabs, it'd make it too easy for him. Five --"

"That's not an issue," Clark interjected, trying desperately to seem amenable.

Lex stopped, looking surprised as he hung his coat up. "What's not an issue?"

"The dating thing," Clark explained, blushing. "I don't. I mean, I'm kind of ... on hiatus from that sort of thing." And that was more information than Lex Luthor needed to know about Clark Kent. Clark flipped through the channels furiously, heading for the cartoon network. "Uh. Go on."

"Oh." Lex sounded vaguely disconcerted, as though he had forgotten what he was saying. "Five ... five was that you don't fill in marital status on any forms you have to submit. Just leave it blank. Six -- anything I say about LexCorp stays in this apartment. Even a casual slip could lose me my company."

"Loose lips sink ships," Clark said, then promptly wished for death. It seemed he was doomed to geekhood forever. "No talking about LexCorp, got it."

"I think that's it, for now." Lex suddenly seemed to lose his sheen of formality, making Clark wonder if he'd ever get used to Lex's mood shifts. "Isn't that supermodel thing on about now?"

Clark shot a disbelieving glance in Lex's direction, but Lex seemed sincere. "So you ... with the supermodels ... I mean ..." Great. Just when Lex seemed to have forgiven Clark for his blunder yesterday, Clark was ratcheting his foot right back in his mouth.

But Lex smiled and sat down on the sofa next to Clark. "I'm not gay, Clark, if that's what you're asking."

Clark felt himself blush from the tips of his ears down. He'd assumed, with Lex marrying a man ... but that was a stupid assumption, now he thought of it, because it wasn't as though he and Lex were doing it, and, after all, it was probably better that Lex wasn't gay because then it wasn't like he secretly wanted Clark and that's why he'd offered Clark this deal. And, God, that idea had just occurred to him for the first time and now he was blushing even more. Clark didn't know what to say to Lex to make him understand that Clark didn't even care, because what with all the blushing, he clearly did care, and would this be an inappropriate time to mention casually that Clark himself was of the straight persuasion? Because maybe that should be established now, while the topic was current. Because Clark was. Straight. And why did he feel almost disappointed that Lex was, too? Clark opened his mouth, needing to speak in order to banish that last thought. "I --"

"I'm bisexual," Lex interrupted smoothly. One hand descended into Clark's lap area and for a wild instant, Clark thought Lex was about to make an inappropriate grab in an area no one but Chloe had ever grabbed, but then Lex had scooped up the remote from between Clark's legs and hey! There were potential supermodels on TV and that was probably a safe place to look right about now.

Did Lex just say bisexual?

It was disappointingly easy to keep Pete away from Clark's apartment. All Clark had to do was drop a few hints about his roommate being older and not exactly friendly, and Pete seemingly lost all interest in viewing Clark's digs. Actually, Pete had apparently lost interest in anything that didn't either involve beer or freshmen girls. Since Clark himself wasn't noticeably affected by beer, and he'd actually agreed to stay clear of girls until the conclusion of his marriage term, Clark saw very little of Pete outside of lecture halls. The few times he did see Pete, Clark was alternately fighting jealousy and boredom as his friend recounted tale after tale of drunken dorm room sexcapades.

Classes were boring and really not much different from the AP courses Clark had taken during his senior year. He wondered occasionally if Chloe was more challenged over at Columbia, but every time he sat down with the intention of e-mailing her, he lost his courage and sent a note home to his parents instead.

Unlike Pete, who seemed to be best friends with everyone he saw, Clark was overwhelmed by the sheer number of students around him. He didn't have a single class with fewer than a hundred students. Clark seemed unable to remember any of them from one lecture to the next. Only a few girls had made friendly overtures, and even fewer guys, but Clark couldn't seem to make his mind accept the notion of casually befriending people he'd only known a few days (which was kind of funny, since he'd casually befriended his husband of a few days with much less difficulty). It wasn't like Smallville, where he knew not only every name, but the family history of each student. It wasn't like Smallville at all.

The worst day was when Lana Lang sat four seats over from him in Introductory Sociology. Clark had spent the lecture trying not to vomit from pain induced by her ridiculous kryptonite pendant. Then, adding insult to injury, she'd smiled and called him 'Cliff' as she swept past him on her way out. Sure, it had been a few years since she'd moved from Smallville, but he'd been her next door neighbor for thirteen years -- surely she could have learned his name in that time. Clark was beginning to think Chloe was right about Lana -- she was kind of self-centered.

It was strange, but really, par for the course in Clark's life, that the best thing in his new college existence was going home to his bisexual marriage-of-convenience husband. This wasn't to say that things were exactly comfortable between him and Lex -- but they were a far cry from the constant din and shuffle of Met U.

Lex was unlike anyone Clark had ever met. He should have expected that, since Lex was also richer and more urbanized than anyone else he knew -- but Lex wasn't different in those predictable ways. Lex wasn't obviously spoiled. Even in undeniably reduced circumstances of living, Lex displayed no resentment about sharing his living space with Clark, or about parking his Porsche in the car-park beside Toyotas and Fords. He didn't comment on Clark's rural background or make Clark feel inferior because of his financial circumstances.

Lex's differences were in some ways more subtle, and in other ways, more complete. He could be just any guy, most of the time, albeit a bald guy wearing really expensive shoes. Then he'd have one of his dizzying shifts of mood, or he'd make some bitter comment about his family, and suddenly Clark didn't know where to put his limbs and how to formulate a meaningful sentence. Clark was used to feeling like a klutz and an outsider, but Lex could throw him in a way no one else ever had. One moment they'd be eating dinner, companionably discussing Clark's coursework or Lex's car, then suddenly Lex would close down somehow, withdraw without moving a muscle. It could go the other way, too -- in the middle of an awkward silence, Lex would unexpectedly burst forth into a stunning smile and crack a joke about Clark's inability to leave for school on time.

Lex also had this weird way of working Greek mythology into almost every conversation.

The day of the Lana Lang Incident, Clark came home to find Lex glaring menacingly at the clothes dryer. Said dryer was open, wet clothes dangling from it like innards pulled from a fallen prey animal. "Is it broken?" Clark asked, setting down his backpack and eyeing the machine.

"I'll call the repairman," Lex announced, prodding at a damp knit shirt. "These clothes have just been going around for three hours, and they're barely warm."

"No, wait," Clark urged, stepping forward. "I might be able to fix it myself."

"I need these clothes for tomorrow, Clark," Lex said dryly.

Clark grinned and chose not to take offense. Instead, he dramatically rubbed his palms together and knelt down to examine the dryer. "Hey, did you check the lint trap?"

"What's that?" Lex asked, somewhat irritably. Most likely he wasn't eager to appear ignorant about the inner workings of a domestic appliance.

Clark tugged at the mesh frame and held it up. It was thickly layered with grey lint. "This is the lint trap. You have to clean it off after every load or the heat won't come through as well. That's why it's taking so long to dry your clothes." Neatly disposing of the lint and replacing the trap, Clark stood up and tugged at the machine. "Also, if the dryer gets pushed back too far, it can block the dryer hose."

Clark pushed the wet clothes back into the drum, closed the door, and twisted the start button. "Should work now."

Lex stood still and watched the dryer, ostensibly to make sure Clark was telling the truth. When the dryer showed no signs of exploding, he stuck his hands in his pockets and smiled over at Clark. "My hero."

It was something Chloe always used to say, in just that tone, when Clark did some small task for her. The familiarity made Clark blush with confusion, inordinately pleased at this teasing praise. "Growing up on a farm, you learn how to make things work," he commented lamely. "Because they don't always. Work." Stop, Clark. Stop it now. The voice in his head sounded as disconcertingly like Chloe as Lex had a moment earlier.

Lex just laughed, kindly overlooking Clark's attack of spazzitude. "How was school?" he asked, heading back towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge and tossed Clark a bottle of the expensive water Lex kept in constant supply.

"It sucked," Clark replied, twisting off the bottle cap and sitting at the table. "Just like it sucks every day."

Lex sat down opposite Clark and flicked his own bottle cap across the surface of the table. "Still no luck on the friends-making front?" he said sympathetically.

Clark shook his head. "I just ... in Smallville, I was this big dork, right? But I had my place as a dork and people didn't mind I was a big dork and here, it's like I'm wearing this invisible nametag that says, 'Hello! My name is Big Dork! Shun me!'."

Lex chuckled. "It can't be that bad, Clark. You're a nice person, you're smart, you're attractive --"

"Yeah, right," Clark interjected gloomily.

Lex did that thing, that thing where it was like someone offstage flipped some switch and Lex became a totally different person. He shifted forward maybe an inch in his seat, moved his elbows some infinitesimally small distance, and said, in this low purr, "You're attractive, believe me."

Clark had just enough time to feel his pulse skyrocket and his body freeze with shock before Lex powered down the Sexy Generator and continued with a casual, "I wouldn't marry someone who wasn't."

And when Clark looked up again, it was like it had never happened. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing, invested it with some sort of meaning that wasn't there. Clark must still be subconsciously freaking out about the whole 'Lex is bisexual' thing, because he'd never known anyone bisexual before, not really. Sure, Chloe had said that thing about how she'd go for another girl, but Clark had always suspected she mostly said that because she liked Clark's reaction. That reaction, in fact, hadn't been wildly different from how he'd felt just now, when he'd imagined Lex was coming on to him.

Clark seized his water bottle and made for the Playstation, trying for a friendly smile at Lex as he beat his retreat. Clark knew from experience violence didn't solve anything, but video game violence was extremely useful in preventing troublesome thoughts from resurfacing.

Chloe had once called Clark the Master of Denial. At the time, Clark had thought it entirely unjustified -- they were fighting about her occasionally bendy morals when it came to investigating a kryptomutant's medical files. Chloe had accused Clark of avoiding the truth, whereas Clark was simply unwilling to break certain federal laws.

Now, however, Clark felt he had truly earned that title. Even his ever-patient parents had begun to hint that he should move on from Chloe, while Clark could barely make himself comprehend that things weren't as they had always been. It'd been a year since he was involved in journalism. Detective work and puzzles and saving people -- all those things were wrapped up with Chloe in Clark's mind. The search button on Google held a strange poignancy Clark couldn't conquer. He'd completed his senior year in a haze of matriculation and farm chores, certain Chloe would forgive him any moment and life would return to normal. The day had never come.

Clark had been in Metropolis for almost a month now, which meant he'd been married for a month. School hadn't gotten any better, or any more difficult, so when Lex finally suggested (in an almost exasperated voice) that Clark join a club, Clark had sighed and agreed.

The problem was, he wasn't Buddhist, West Indian, into role-playing games, anime porn, marching band, or Star Trek. Intramural sports were out of the question. Really, the pickings were kind of slim.

Which was why he now found himself standing in front of the offices of the Met U Monitor. Met U was known for its journalism program and as a result, the college boasted several student newspapers. The Monitor was the biggest and most prestigious -- even profs read the paper on a regular basis. It was a well-known fact that a position as a regular volunteer on the Monitor was practically a ticket to an internship at the Planet or the Inquisitor.

It wasn't much like the Torch. For one thing, they seemed to use PCs instead of Macs.

For another, there were at least a dozen people moving around inside, none of whom had short spiky blonde hair paired with the aura of a megalomaniac. As Clark had suspected, getting involved in journalism again was going to mean finally forfeiting his title of the Master of Denial. It seemed he was going to have to accept that Chloe was gone.

"Right. We'll need a sample of your work, a C.V., and two reference letters. One should be from a professional in the field. If you pass muster, we'll see about giving you some assignments. And if those work out, we might find a regular beat for you."

Nope, Wayne here wasn't about to be mistaken for Chloe. Chloe had wheedled a bit more.

"Reference in the field?" Clark stammered, staring at the goldenrod information sheet Wayne had slapped into his hand. "You mean, a real reporter?"

"Reporter, editor, journalist, anchorperson, or a journalism prof. Not some switcher for cable access who's a bigger expert on Big Gulps than on syntax." Wayne's swivel chair was suddenly half-way across the office. Clark realized he'd been dismissed.

"Um. Okay," Clark spoke weakly, then hiked his backpack up and left the office without much expectation of returning.

"Why not?" Lex was stirring something on the stove that reminded Clark of the time that kid with the ulcer had downed some kryptonite-laced Pepto-Bismol. The concoction smelled only slightly better than the mess that had resulted from that unfortunate incident.

"What's in that?" Clark asked, wary to approach in case there was kryptonite involved.

"Milk. And noodles. And some tuna," Lex replied casually, but a little line near his mouth told Clark he wasn't completely sure of his answer.

"Should I order pizza now?" Clark asked, lunging for the portable phone on the counter beside the stove.

"You didn't answer me. Why aren't you going for the position on the Monitor?"

Clark tried to remember the expiration date on the milk. He had a bad feeling it had passed a few days earlier. "Extra cheese, right?" he asked, hitting the talk button.

Lex's hand descended on Clark's, slender fingers grasping firmly. "Clark."

Clark sighed and put the phone down. "They want a C.V. And a sample. And two references, one from someone in the field."

"So?" Lex had returned to stirring the putrid mess, which now appeared to be breathing smoke.

"So? A C.V., Lex? Mine's called a 'resume' and you know what it says? 'Helped parents with organic produce' and 'worked on school paper'."

Lex was trying not to smile. "I think it also says something about cattle insemination, if I'm not mistaken."

"Oh, yeah, that'll impress them," Clark groaned. "Besides, the articles I wrote for the Torch are really stupid. They're about new gym mats and cafeteria menus and stuff like that. The only good stories were ... they were co-written. I can't submit something that's only half mine."

"They won't care about the subject matter, Clark. They'll be looking for delivery. I'll help you polish your C.V. and we'll choose your best-written article." Lex seemed to notice the smoke and turned down the burner.

"That still leaves the issue of the reference," Clark added gloomily. "Who am I gonna put, my folks?"

"Well, you could put me down. I selected you for a very prestigious corporate scholarship." Lex lifted a spoonful of the pot's contents to his lips, then seemed to think better of it.

Clark frowned. "You can't be a reference. We're married."

Lex laughed outright, nudging Clark with his elbow. "The Monitor doesn't know that, remember?"

Clark shook his head. "But it's still not right."

Lex's brows came together as he turned his head to scrutinize Clark. "You really care about that? Even if they'll never know?"

Clark shrugged. "I just ... it's not right."

"The world is full of shades of grey, Clark," Lex said, becoming serious.

"Doesn't mean there aren't still some black and white areas around," Clark persisted. "Thanks for the offer, Lex, but I can't accept." Since Lex seemed surprised and even a little disappointed by Clark's refusal, Clark hastened to add, "Besides, I don't have a reference in the field."

Lex's shoulders were rigid as he resumed his stirring. "I have a few friends at the Daily Planet. I'd offer to introduce you, but that might fall into the black zone." His voice was teasing, but Clark saw Lex wasn't entirely playful in his delivery. "A few enemies there, too, come to think of it. Perry White isn't overly fond of me."

Clark's head snapped up in surprise at the name. "Perry White? I know him! He came to Smallville a couple of years ago. I kind of gave him a hand with something, and he said if I ever needed help, to look him up."

Lex allowed himself a half-smile at this, raising his eyes to meet Clark's gaze. "Sounds like you don't need my assistance after all."

Clark couldn't hold back a grin of relief. "I wouldn't say no to the help with the C.V. and the sample article."

Lex's smile spread a little wider. He prodded at the mess on the stove, then asked, "Do you think peas would make this taste better?"

Clark eyed the bubbling substance, which seemed about to take its revenge on its creator. "You know, I hate peas. So it's not a good thing when I say 'yes'."

"Extra cheese," Lex said simply, with a final prod. "But it might be a while before this smell dissipates, so maybe we should go out for pizza and leave all the windows open. Bring your C.V. and samples ... we'll make it a dinner meeting. Then I can write it off as a business expense."

Clark laughed and agreed, happy that the tension seemed to have melted away. But as Lex pulled his coat on, he paused. "Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"This ... marriage. How do you fit that into black and white?" Lex was keeping his eyes averted, but a tremendous amount of energy seemed to radiate from him even as he pulled his keys from his pocket.

Clark bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed, then decided on honesty. "If I hadn't gotten a scholarship for college, my parents would have mortgaged the farm to pay for it. My dad loves that farm and they'd probably lose it, especially without me around to help out. I figured ..." He trailed off, afraid to see Lex's reaction.

"Shades of grey," Lex said softly, then laid a hand on Clark's shoulder, briefly squeezing it before he opened the door and exited the apartment.

"You said you've been married before," Clark said, eyeing the last piece of pizza.

Lex nodded, pushing the piece across the table towards Clark. "You must have a stomach of steel, to eat so much of this greasy crap."

Clark didn't waste time in scooping up the slice. "Cast iron, actually," he corrected, which made Lex smile. "Was it a woman?"

Lex nodded again. "I was too young. It was an impulse decision that ended badly."

"How old?" Clark asked around a mouthful of crust. "Younger than me?"

Lex frowned, as though trying to remember. "No. I was ... I must have been just twenty-two. Three years ago."

"Is twenty-two too young?" Clark said, surprised. "My parents were that age."

Lex shrugged. "Maybe you're never old enough to marry a psychopath."

Clark laughed, but stopped abruptly when he saw Lex was deadly serious. "She was ... crazy?"

"Tried to kill me," Lex clarified, prodding at a leftover cheese globule. "She was a school teacher, gorgeous, perfect breasts." He lifted his hands from the table and mimed a slight cupping motion, as if seeking to recapture the sensation. "Legs up to ... And christ, could she kiss. Made the whole world melt away."

"She --" Clark had been momentarily distracted by Lex's long fingers stroking the air, but now his mind seized on the salient point. "Tried to kill you?"

Lex grinned ruefully. He'd been surprisingly open since their conversation over the ruins of dinner. Clark considered it something of a victory that he'd managed to ask a personal question and Lex was still smiling. "Convinced some LuthorCorp security guy he should kill me, that they'd run away together. She just wanted my trust fund, of course."

Clark suddenly found it hard to swallow. "That's ... terrible, Lex."

Lex's eyes were still sparking with memory. "Nah, another guard stopped him in time. She went to prison. The marriage was annulled. I escaped all the wiser." Lex took a moment to wipe his hands off on a paper napkin, then continued. "Never trust someone just because they want you to, Clark. Always make them give you a reason."

Clark set down the rest of his pizza, his appetite gone. "Does that include you?"

Bright blue eyes met Clark's. "Of course it does." Clark found himself unable to look away, mesmerized by Lex's sincerity, his fearlessness. Then a noisy group of preteens barged into the restaurant and the moment was broken. Lex sat back in his chair and extracted his wallet. As he tossed a twenty onto the table between them, he shook his head regretfully.

"You know the best thing about Desiree? Her lips. I have a weakness for beautiful lips."

Clark was unreasonably glad he was wiping his mouth when Lex made this announcement.

Wayne tapped a pen on the plain manila file folder as he searched his computer screen. "Kent. Here, let's see ... how are you with technology and science?"

Clark frowned. "What ..."

"I've got an e-mail here, says that one of the more prominent members of the microbiology faculty has recently sold the rights to a new product. Find out what it is and possible applications. Probably dull as shit, but if you can make it read well, we'll see if we can't find you a better assignment next time."

"You're ... giving me an assignment?" Clark's carefully assembled application package was still tucked into the manila folder. Wayne had barely cracked it open before offering Clark this story.

"Perry White's on your side, man. I'm not arguing," Wayne said, face stoic. "Besides, between you and me, most of the other freshmen who applied spelled 'Curriculum Vitae' wrong. We'll give you a shot ... due Monday by 4 p.m. We need time to get it through the copy editor before it goes to press for Tuesday."

Clark nodded, stunned, then took the e-mail print-out that Wayne extended. "Um. Thanks. I mean ... I won't let you down."

Wayne was unmoved. "4 p.m. Not an instant later."

Clark couldn't suppress a grin as he headed back out the door. Sure, there was a serious dearth of cute girlfriends at the Monitor as compared with the Torch, but he couldn't deny he'd missed this. The search field on Google seemed less threatening now.

Clark and Google were on the outs again. He had asked one simple thing of it -- one -- and this was the treatment he received?

Leading the list of search results for the buyer of Dr. Nicholas Uyeda's latest discovery was www.lexcorp.com. The future of LexCorp is bright! insisted the jaunty splash banner at the top of the page. Further down, under the heading "Subsidiaries and Holdings", there was a link to the mysterious Cadmus Labs.

The page was very purple.

Clark distracted himself by clicking on the link labeled "Our CEO", then spent a moment smirking back at a very posed picture of Lex. The caption read, "Lex Luthor, CEO, chairman, and founder of LexCorp is a dynamic and ambitious businessman whose goal is to build a corporation that truly cares for its employees while maintaining the highest standards of success and sustainable growth."

What Clark really should do, was turn this assignment back in and make some excuse about conflict of interest. But then, Wayne would want to know what Clark meant. And Clark couldn't exactly explain. He'd simply have to do the best he could and hope he didn't uncover anything that ... that Lex didn't want him uncovering.

Clark reluctantly hit the 'Back' button and followed the link to Cadmus Labs, then to recent press releases. The newest release was almost three weeks old and mentioned nothing about Dr. Uyeda's discovery. The Met U webpage and Dr. Uyeda's departmental page had proved equally unfruitful. He would have to wait until morning to call Uyeda's lab and make contact with Cadmus. It would probably be much simpler to walk into the living room, where Lex was engrossed by The Return of the King, and just demand information ... but Clark felt he'd drawn some pretty solid lines between his home life and his school life, and now was not the time to blur those lines.

Clark sighed, then glanced down at the e-mail that Wayne had given him -- Hey Wayne, blah, blah, blah, don't have time to track down this lead, but thought you might be interested, blah, blah, blah, Cadmus, blah, Uyeda, blah, Yours, L. There was a confidentiality clause at the tail of the message that declared that the message originated from the offices of the Daily Planet. Clark flicked his gaze back up the page, curious to see who Wayne knew at the Planet.

"Oh, shit," he said aloud, disgusted that he hadn't noticed until now.

The e-mail was from one Lois Lane.

"I don't know where you heard about this, Mr. Kent, but I can assure you, I haven't had any dealings with Cadmus Labs at any time. The Dean of Research will confirm it for you."

"So you're willing to go on record, that LexCorp hasn't recently paid you --" Clark consulted his e-mail -- "two million dollars for the results of your research into immunoboosting microbial agents?"

"Of course, you're welcome to print my statement, Mr. Kent, but I'm not convinced you have a story to write, since there is no such deal."

Clark sighed, wondering how quickly he could befriend an undergraduate lab tech from Uyeda's department. The man was far too defensive for his story to have the ring of truth. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Uyeda," he concluded politely.

Lucy Sikora was really pretty. And, judging from the stack of research and long-titled textbooks on her desk, she was really smart too. Something about people who were both beautiful and intelligent always scared the crap out of Clark, but he tamped the feeling down and forced himself to pretend he was perfectly equal to the situation.

"It's for a story, for the Monitor," he explained, sinking into the rolling chair opposite the junior. "I'm doing the science beat for this article and to be honest, I'm not exactly an expert in this sort of thing. Could you maybe give me a layman's definition of what Dr. Uyeda's doing?" Cue brilliant smile, the one Chloe couldn't ever resist kissing away.

It worked. Lucy smiled back and opened up a notebook. "Okay, microbial immunoboosters are agents that supplement a person's natural immune defenses but don't provoke an immune reaction against themselves."

Clark let his expression -- which was hopefully communicating 'speak English' -- do the talking.

She laughed indulgently and began to draw a diagram. "The human body doesn't react kindly to anything it doesn't recognize as belonging to it. That's been a major obstacle to fighting diseases like AIDS and cancer, because even when we can come up with something that might help, it either indiscriminately attacks healthy and diseased tissue, like chemotherapy drugs, or it is broken down by the body's immune system, which decreases its effectiveness."

Clark nodded slowly. "So Dr. Uyeda's come up with something that discriminates between healthy and diseased tissue, but doesn't get broken down by the body?"

"Not exactly." She tugged a file out from the stack on her desk and opened it. "He's found that applying a certain treatment to this viral vector, then packaging it in a bacterium, has the effect of supercharging the subject's immune reaction. Nothing fights disease so well as the body itself, you know. That's why this is so effective."

"So, what, this cures AIDS and cancer?"

Lucy laughed again, her hand touching Clark's as she closed the folder. "No. Someday, with a lot more development, it might help, though. So far, all it's done is make some lab rats live longer than they should. Clinical application is years down the road. You wouldn't believe the hoop jumping we have to do before even considering human subjects. I'm surprised Dr. Uyeda didn't drop the research sooner."

"He's dropped it?"

Lucy shrugged. "They don't tell us undergrads much about stuff like that, but he mentioned something about focusing our attention on another aspect of his research. I understand, though. I mean, it's hard to get funding when you're fighting the FDA every step of the way."

"Is the FDA really stalling something that could help people this much?"

Lucy's expression closed down immediately. "There are some ... unknowns in this research."

"Like what? Something dangerous?"

Lucy glanced around the empty lab. All the other students and researchers were gone for lunch. "It's the treatment for the viral vector. I only saw them doing it once -- and only the post-docs are allowed -- but there was some sort of green phosphorescent liquid. I would guess it was a radioactive compound, except they didn't seem to be taking any of the usual precautions -- no Geiger counter, no plexiglass, no fume hood. They weren't even wearing latex gloves, and we wear those for almost everything around here. It's as though ... as though they were convinced that it was as harmless as water."

Clark swallowed hard. He might not have paid much attention in biology, but Smallville High had definitely taught him that green phosphorescent anything was bad news.

Cadmus Labs was an unimpressive squat little building. It certainly didn't look like the mysteries of life and death were being investigated within its walls. It looked more like the community center where Clark went to story-time as a kindergartener in Smallville.

Security here was considerably tighter. The guard at the desk didn't believe Clark when he explained that he hadn't yet gotten a press card from the Monitor.

"We don't answer inquiries from the press without the proper verification, sir."

Clark glanced desperately at the clock over the guard's shoulder -- it was five minutes to five o'clock on Friday afternoon. If he didn't talk fast, he'd have to wait until Monday to hear Cadmus' side of the story. And with a story deadline of 4 p.m. Monday and not even a paragraph's worth of story, Clark couldn't afford to wait that long. "Um, could I give you the number of my editor? He could tell you --"

An abrupt head shake at this juncture convinced Clark it was a lost cause. "Well, do you have any investors' information, a quarterly report or something that I could look at?"

"You'd have to contact our head offices at LexCorp for that, sir. This here is just a research facility, not a corporate headquarters."

Clark took a last chance. "Well, maybe you could just answer one question -- do you ever get deliveries here from a place by the name of Smallville?" He tried on his boy scout grin, the one that had worked so spectacularly on Lucy Sikora earlier in the day. "It's my hometown and I heard that it might be getting a little business with Cadmus. I know the economy there could sure use the boost."

"Smallville?" repeated the guard, still unfriendly, but not as dismissive. "I wouldn't know -- it's the nights that get all the deliveries. Isn't Smallville where that fertilizer plant is, the oneLuthorCorp owns?"

Clark nodded, maintaining the smile even as his face began to ache. "Biggest single employer in town."

The guard grimaced. "LuthorCorp ain't exactly my kind of corporation. Say what you like about Lex Luthor, but at least he's human. Can't be so sure about his father."

"Guess that's why I'd be glad to hear LexCorp was pouring some money into Smallville for a change," Clark segued smoothly, feeling very proud of himself. Chloe would have been flashing her cleavage by now.

The dimmest hint of a smile flickered under the guard's severe mustache. "Well, how about I give you the number for the night guard and you can call tonight after eleven and ask him yourself?"

Clark nodded enthusiastically and left one minute later, clutching his final lead in his hand.

Lex wasn't at the apartment when Clark got home. He'd left a note, though, saying he didn't expect to be home in time for dinner. Clark felt a moment's regret, reflexively, then realized that Lex's absence was something of a blessing. After all, Clark hadn't yet discovered anything conclusive about Cadmus' dealings with Uyeda, but his experience in Smallville made him more than a little suspicious of Met U's conspicuous silence and Uyeda's mysterious treatment. Clark didn't know yet if Lex's company was involved in something shady -- and even if it was, there was no way of knowing if Lex was party to it -- but, when he considered it, Clark preferred not to spend the evening in Lex's company when the matter was weighing so heavily on his mind.

Pete called and demanded that Clark join him at a club on campus. When Clark politely but firmly refused -- he couldn't for a second imagine himself in that atmosphere when his brain was whirring away like this -- Pete muttered something about boring aliens, then hung up. Clark had forgotten how rotten it felt to lie to his best friend.

He then spent an hour clearing the fridge of all the food that had recently gone bad -- for some reason, Lex seemed irresistibly drawn to spoiled food -- and tidying the apartment. Lex wasn't messy, exactly ... but he did tend to forget that when he put things down, they didn't automatically migrate to their proper location. Clark had gotten into a daily habit of shifting Lex's briefcase from the middle of the living room next to the couch, where Lex collapsed after work, to the front hall closet, where Clark's knapsack lived.

Clark actually put the briefcase away and was halfway back to the living room, intent on folding up the knitted afghan his mother had given him, before he realized -- Lex's briefcase was LexCorp's briefcase. The solution to Clark's investigative difficulties could well be contained in its depths. It would only take a quick x-ray scan to confirm or refute the theory, and Clark wouldn't have to use the evidence he found within -- he could simply take the direction indicated, maybe pluck out a few choice contact names or research directives. So he wouldn't precisely be breaking Rule Six -- the loose lips sinking ships clause. He'd just be ... making the most of his available resources. He'd done it dozens of times in Smallville, all in the name of a story, in the name of Truth and Justice and also, Making Chloe Happy (which, coincidentally, often led to Clark Getting Laid).

But ... this was Lex. Lex, whose money was being made off of enterprises like Cadmus. Lex, whose money was currently paying for the apartment in which Clark sat, not to mention Clark's tuition.

More importantly, this was Lex who burned rotten food and listened to Clark's stories about home and used elaborate classical analogies to describe board meetings and helped Clark get this assignment in the first place. Clark couldn't quite believe that this Lex -- the Lex Clark knew -- could willingly involve himself or his company in anything that might be dangerous or irresponsible.

But if he called the night guard at Cadmus and found out the lab was receiving kryptonite from Smallville? Clark wasn't sure he could conclusively prove to Monitor readers that meteor rock was harmful, but he was almost certain it wasn't the sort of substance the FDA looked kindly on. Lucy's hesitation had said as much. And if Cadmus was using kryptonite in their research, then the lab was a danger, clear and simple. But did that danger justify Clark's intrusion into Lex's private documents?

Clark sank down onto the sofa, suddenly paralyzed with indecision.

"Don't know exactly what it is, son. I just sign the forms. All's I can say is we got a truckload of something from Smallville last night, and it got put straight into a storage vault."

"Was it --" Green? Did it glow? Would you say it would make you violently ill if you were, for example, an alien? "Was it a hazardous substance?"

"Nope, we don't take anything dangerous on night duty. Only the senior researchers receive the radioactive things and specimens ... and those things usually come in little bitty boxes. This here was just a bunch of metal containers, about the size of a microwave."

This wasn't particularly helpful, since the EPA had sworn up and down and sideways that meteor rocks were harmless, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Still, if Clark had to guess what was being delivered to Cadmus from Smallville, he wouldn't bet on it being fertilizer. And Smallville only had one other export.

Just one quick peek. Just an instant's glimpse, and not even a human instant, but a Kryptonian instant, the kind where rain stood still and bullets hung in mid-air. People's lives could be in the balance, and Clark's scholarship and his sham marriage and even his tentative friendship with Lex couldn't stand in the way of public safety. Clark guiltily made his way to the front hall closet, pretending to rehang a coat just in case Lex should walk in the door during the Kryptonian instant. With a quick, decisive exhalation, Clark focused on Lex's briefcase and --

Who the hell owns a lead-lined briefcase? Clark was so taken aback, his Kryptonian instant stretched into about thirty human seconds before he realized it was no use. Either he'd have to break the briefcase open -- 'Sorry, Lex, I accidentally tripped and broke your titanium, digitally locked, and, oh yeah, lead-lined briefcase' -- or he'd have to find some other way to pursue this story.

Which, unfortunately, left Lois Lane. She was the one who'd provided the tip, so she must have uncovered something Clark hadn't found. And if Lois was anything like her cousin, she had probably sunk a lot lower than breaking open a briefcase to do it.

"You have reached the editorial offices of the Daily Planet. If you know the extension of the person you are trying to reach, please enter it now."

Clark tapped his fingers on his mattress, trying not to contemplate what he was going to say.

"Please enter the first three letters of the surname of the person you are trying to reach."

Clark had never thought of his fingers as being particularly fat, but somehow they managed to spell out "LAW" instead of "LAN".

"Hi, this is Alvin Law, assistant to the chief copy editor for the Daily Planet. I will be in the office on --"

Clark hung up. No, there was no way he could call Lois Lane. It would have to be e-mail. E-mail was cool and impersonal and had the added advantage of being able to put forethought into what was said.

Right. Forethought. Clark glanced at his clock -- Lex had come in about half an hour ago and had since gone into his bedroom. It was 2 a.m. But the late hour should only serve to convince Lois that Clark was wracking his brain to break this story.

Dear Ms. Lane,

I am a Met U student on assignment for the Monitor. My editor Wayne gave me the lead you sent him, regarding Dr. Uyeda's research and Cadmus Labs. I have investigated this information and have not been able to gather any evidence to support your claim. Could you please tell me where you heard about this sale?

Sincerely,

Clark Kent

p.s. Yes, I am that Clark Kent, from Smallville, so we've sort of met before. About that time ... I guess I wasn't really myself, or at least not at my best-- see, my mom had just lost her baby and I was kind of out to forget all about myself and Smallville. Maybe Chloe told you some of this ... I don't know how much you guys talked about me. I mean, I don't think you ever told her about that night, but then I don't know because, as it turned out, Chloe knew a lot of stuff she never told me she knew. She's a lot better at keeping secrets than you might think for someone in the field of journalism. Actually, you might not even have made the connection between Clark Kent and the guy from that night, because I was calling myself Kal, which is a long story. But maybe Chloe showed you a picture or something when she was in Metropolis looking for me. She said something about you helping her find me, so I guess I'm just assuming you figured out it was me that night. It was only chance that I remembered that Lois Lane was her cousin, and honestly I only remembered the next morning, and at that time I didn't really care because, like I said, with my parents ...

Okay. E-mail was also not an option.

Somehow, Clark didn't think he could face Lois Lane in person, so tracking her down -- aside from being a difficult proposition on a Saturday morning -- was pretty much out of the question. He didn't get much rest that night, only lying flat on his back and asking the ceiling if there was a quick way out of this situation that didn't involve tossing back a couple of shots of kryptonite.

When Lex made the first quiet sounds of rising in the morning, Clark got up to join him. Considering that Lex -- or his corporation -- was the source of Clark's problem, it didn't exactly seem like the logical thing to do. Still, Lex wasn't just a CEO and an indirect pain in the ass. He was also an excellent conversationalist and, as Clark had discovered, Lex was actually good at making scrambled eggs.

"Good morning, dearest spouse," Lex said in his low morning voice. He was fiddling with the coffee maker. "I swear to god, I set this thing to start brewing half an hour ago." He, like Clark, wasn't dressed, and stood barefoot in a plum bathrobe. Except Lex probably called it a dressing gown or something funny like that.

Clark looked over Lex's shoulder. "It's set for 7 p.m., not a.m.," observed Clark.

"No, it's not!"

Clark jabbed a finger at the digital display. "Unless it says 'a' beside the time, it's p.m."

"You know, that's flawed product engineering."

Clark grinned and rolled his eyes. "Here, let me."

Lex obediently moved out of the way and let Clark set the coffee to brew, heading for the fridge (and, Clark hoped, the eggs).

"Where were you last night?" Clark asked, annoyed that his fingers seemed perfectly capable of accurately pressing these buttons.

"Charity function. Booze and schmooze," came Lex's answer from inside the fridge.

"Any luck?" And hey, why's your briefcase lined with lead, anyway?

Lex backed out of the fridge, bearing the egg carton and a pitcher of orange juice. "Did you throw away the milk?"

"It was four days past the expiration date."

"Oh." Lex set the food on the counter and pulled a skillet down from the pot rack. "The evening went pretty well until my father showed up. God knows how he heard I was going -- the affair was pretty low-key, so I doubt he was even invited. Anyway, he made an appearance and I spent the rest of the night avoiding him."

"Can I have three eggs?"

Lex acknowledged Clark's question by cracking a fifth egg into the bowl. "How about you? Any wild college parties I should know about?"

Clark shook his head, watching the coffee maker as it began to produce a stream of wonderfully-scented coffee. Lex bought these really expensive beans and ground them himself.

"What about your new Monitor friends? Don't they even get together to smoke up and shout about left-wing politics?"

"Lex!"

"Oh, like you've never tried an illegal substance," Lex chuckled, eyeing Clark's shocked expression.

Red kryptonite wasn't illegal, but Clark didn't want to seem like a complete prude, so he just let his blush speak for him.

"Speaking of newspapers ..." Lex abandoned the eggs for a moment and went to the front door, returning with the fat weekend edition of the Planet. Clark watched, downing a glass of orange juice, as Lex studied the front page, then flipped to the city pages.

"What are you looking for?" Clark asked, wondering if Lex was going to ruin the one dish he had seemed competent to cook. The eggs were beginning to look a bit like they needed active scrambling, but Clark was loath to point that out. Lex was very territorial about his cooking, such as it was.

To Clark's relief, Lex set the paper down on the counter and turned his attention back to the eggs. With a wry smile, Lex looked over at Clark.

"I floated a lead to one of the Planet's more ambitious cub reporters, about a week back. I've been checking the paper all week for her follow-up, but it doesn't look like she bought it."