Damn him, the boy had no sense of timing. Or perhaps too finely honed a sense of timing. An instinct for inconvenience, one might say. And at his age, there was absolutely no call for it.

Lionel had ordered a car as soon as he'd received Dr. Foster's call. The hospital was only a half hour outside the city, but he'd spent the journey from the deep canyons of downtown Metropolis lost in thought. He was doing far too much micromanagement lately, especially regarding his interests in Smallville.

The Sullivan girl was neither doing her job, nor staying bought. It was irksome to think he'd overestimated her ambition, but then, teenagers were notoriously fickle creatures, and her reaction hadn't been completely unexpected. Hopefully his appearance yesterday morning had made an impression sufficient to get her back in line.

Even more inconvenient, Lex was apparently growing closer than ever to the Kents. Lex was certain to have his own investigation of Clark in progress; but Lex was also sure to be protecting his interest in them, whether or not he yet realized Clark's potential value, assuming his suspicions were correct. So far, Lex hadn't revealed his hand beyond his affection for them...which was gallingly old news.

Unfortunately, Smallville itself was a strategic nightmare. It was too small, too insular, and now that he'd lost his chance to get the plant back, each new move Lionel made in the town was an increasingly risky venture. Whereas Lex...Lex had made the place his home. No matter how much they alienated him, the boy's tenacity was paying off. He was their alien now.

Things would be so much easier if Helen had simply killed him right the first time. There was no reason for her to have failed twice. A car bomb. A plate of bad oysters. Poisoned brandy. Sleeping pills followed by a barbituate enema, and wouldn't that be the ultimate commentary on the boy's conspiracy theories? Primetime television was teeming with inventive ways to kill a man, as if her years working in hospitals hadn't instilled upon her the fragility of human flesh. Or if she insisted on being a coward about it, she could have skipped the plane crash entirely and hired someone to drown him during a honeymoon scuba dive. Stupid woman.

The takeover fiasco would never have happened if not for Helen's rank amateurism. To think, she'd hoped to take LexCorp for herself. That bit of greed had forced him to vouchsafe her cooperation with an excruciatingly detailed description of how she would be remembered by her family and colleagues: as the victim of a horribly tragic head-on collision with a very large vehicle.

It could still happen if she ever made her way back to civilization; but he hoped she'd died screaming, preferably with sharks ripping her limb from limb. In economies of scale, a shapely ass and talented mouth weren't of much value at all. Especially when legal gymnastics and stock downturns had cost the companies millions. All because of her.

But the immediate concern was Lex, apparently delusional and violently self-destructive only two days after their public relations coup at the gala. Lionel couldn't help but wonder if he were faking it...except that Lex would be insane to fake a mental breakdown at this point. He was just beginning to recover from the career damage done by his absence. His offshoot company was finally beginning to gain a smidgeon of respect. Any hint of bad press right now would undermine all their effort.

On the other hand, Lex would know Lionel would never allow a psychiatric condition to reach public ears.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to fly to Smallville twice in two days. He'd gotten back to Metropolis on Tuesday morning in time to be fashionably late to the board meeting. An offhand remark about late night carousing sent the executive vice presidents to the water cooler in a tittering frenzy. Lex had rolled his eyes. Of course, Lex had spent the night in his own Metropolis apartment, probably jerking off to some suitably bucolic boy-porn. Not that Lionel knew for sure. That apartment wasn't monitored as closely as the Smallville estate.

And yesterday. Watching Lex attempt to throw him down in favor of the Kents. It was amusing at best, but in truth, it was deeply disconcerting. Something was going on there that extended far beyond a simple crush on an attractive teenager. Whatever it was demanded further investigation. Which meant selecting yet another pawn to operate within Smallville.

Lionel was also annoyed that the boy had gotten him to admit that Pamela hadn't left of her own volition. Lex's success in forcing him into an emotional reaction and using it against him was a pleasing development. It raised the stakes, and Dr. Foster's call implied that either the boy had genuinely lost his mind, or this was the next phase of the game.

Lionel wasn't sure which to hope for.

He hadn't known how to deal with Lex after Julian...much less after Lillian, when he was trapped in his own grief and Morgan was doing his damnedest to undermine his less legitimate holdings. He'd been far too busy to think about...anything, much less the boy's mental health.

It was almost two more years before Lex's breakdown. The psychiatrist who went to the school to interview his classmates ascribed it to accumulated stress, but Lionel knew better. The boys were covering their blueblood asses, fearing he'd tell their parents what affluent boys of the '90s did after curfew. As if it were significantly different from what their fathers had done decades before.

The trouble was, with Lex it could have been anything. Drugs. A bad breakup. Another betrayal by a so-called friend. Lionel had dealt with repeated photographs and videotapes of his glassy-eyed son sucking dick in dingy alleys next to abandoned warehouses pulsing with laser light, frenetic music, and hundreds of kids flying on the cartoon-stamped pill of the moment. Usually Lionel simply wrecked the extortionist's life. Sometimes he sent Dominic to make an impression on a loved one. It never took anything more than that.

But he'd made a grave error in judgment. He'd failed to appreciate the extent of the damage done to Lex's psyche by his mother and brother's deaths. Not to mention the potentially traumatic effects that apparently lingered from the meteor shower.

Lionel had arranged the best care, the best medications, the best of everything. And he'd swallowed down bile at doing so. In his place, his own father wouldn't have bothered, not unless there was money in it. But then, Lauchlan would have sold him to the madhouse as a guinea pig if there'd been a buck in it. And if not, he would have tossed him out into the streets, where he would have...fallen on Mrs. Edge's gin-soaked mercy. Morgan would've berated her into taking him in, as he pretty much had done anyway those last few months, as they gathered the final pieces of their plan. Their 'declaration of independence', they'd called it. They'd risked everything and won, all to make a better life, to get the hell out of the slum once and for all.

Lex was an ungrateful little snot.

*

When the limousine pulled up to the hospital entrance, Lionel was grimacing. The squat concrete walls of the complex sprawled more like a prison than hospital. Not a good omen, not that he believed in such things. Beyond that, the routine was all too familiar. Lionel, sailing in, coat flapping dramatically. Nurses scurrying to find the good doctor. The good doctor arriving, scowling a reminder of whose turf he was now treading on. An answering scowl intimating cancelled grants and investigation by the appropriate board of medical examiners. Then, the pair of them sweeping down labyrinthine corridors until stopping a dozen predictable feet from a room in a cinderblock hallway. And here, the briefing. One would think the first meeting could take place in an office or private waiting room; but no, those were always later sessions, meetings called to discuss treatment and progress and goals. Or they had been with Lillian's heart and Lex's coma. And the first breakdown. If this in fact counted as a second.

Dr. Foster was more sincere in person. Based on the fees she was charging the company for her services, he'd expected dollar signs in her eyes. Instead, she seemed deeply concerned for Lex's welfare. Lionel played along, donning his Worried Father face and tempering it with a heavy dose of confusion. It wasn't a complete falsehood. And it did disguise his suspicion.

The doctor was asking for medical history, psychiatric history, making a list of ER visits, hospital stays, throwing in questions retracing Lex's last week. Wanting to know, confidentially of course, if the Luthor reunion in the Planet's business pages were real or merely a farce to fuel a holiday stock surge.

It wasn't what he'd expected.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, he'd imagined being ushered into a room, standing next to his son's bed, and after an exchange of painful banter, Lex would sit up and announce that while Lionel had been distracted by sentiment, Lex had bought the Malaysian operation out from under him. That would have been a move worthy of a Luthor. But if that were the case, Dr. Foster would not be bothering with any of this, much less with the overview of her treatment plan, or the gentle suggestion to let it quietly be known that Lex planned an Australian tour for the holidays.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Mr. Luthor, I know this is a lot to take in, but your son is very ill."

"I need to see him."

She nodded and guided him to a window in the wall about ten feet away.

*

And then he knew that it was real.

Lionel hadn't seen that look on Lex's face since the last hospital visit to his mother before she came home for good. Their visit on the day after she'd said her final goodbyes -- while she was still lucid enough to get the words out. The visit during which they'd stood at her bedside in silence, helplessly redundant and horrified at the notion of waiting around to watch her die.

Lionel had escaped to the office almost immediately, but the boy had stayed with her, bound to her side in his devastation. And in the weeks that followed, that look never left him. That hollow-eyed gaze, the circles under his eyes. Nightmares he pretended not to have had, though his cries woke both Pamela and the junior valet every night.

Through the glass, he saw that they had him restrained. Loosely enough for him to curl to his side on the flat white bed, but restrained wrist and ankle all the same. His eyes were unfocused, half-open, and lost. His lips were moving slightly.

Lionel shivered. The face was that of Lillian on her deathbed.

"He can't see us, can he?"

"No, sir. It's one-way glass."

Lionel nodded. "Doctor, perhaps we could go to your office."

*

Lionel stood in the hallway speaking quietly into his cell phone. He peered though the pane of safety glass, nodding and pinching the bridge of his nose. He was trying not to be obvious about trying not to pace.

"I can't. I already explained this. Will you please stop being so paranoid? No, I'm not lying. Listen, I'll call you right back."

Martha Kent was barreling down the hallway at him, steps echoing loudly off the institutional tile. He saw that Jonathan and their son hung back by the benches at the head of the corridor.

"What did you do?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to," he said, realizing she wasn't there for tea and sympathy at all. Her eyes were blazing.

"Lionel --" she started, voice rising.

"Martha, don't be absurd. Calm down."

"Tell me what happened to Lex," she said in a lower voice.

He answered in a placating tone. "I don't know. I got a call that he wasn't coming for lunch, that he was seriously unstable, and that I needed to get here quickly. I --"

"Please don't patronize me. Who called you?"

He paused, pursing his lips. "I think I might ask you the same question."

"Lionel."

"Yes?"

"For better or worse, our families have been linked together since the day of the meteor shower. I realize this is a difficult time for you, but there's nothing more important to me than being here right now. So, please, get me into the loop."

Lionel opened his mouth, and then shut it again quickly. He'd never seen Martha Kent so determined, and she really was beautiful when she was furious. She was also unlikely to be thinking clearly. He could hardly ask for a better opening.

He smiled indulgently. "I'll consider it, if you come back to work for me."

She froze, taken aback. "That isn't possible."

"Anything is possible," Lionel said, spreading his hands wide. "Come on, Martha, I know you found your position with me more fulfilling than playing pie queen of Smallville."

"I can't believe you're trying to make this about me," she stammered. "Your son is in a psychiatric hospital with God only knows what wrong with him, and you're trying to lure me back to LuthorCorp?"

"Martha --"

"What kind of parent do you think you are?" Her voice was low, struck with horror.

Pamela had said something similar before she left, and in just that tone. Perhaps...no, that couldn't have been the trigger. Lex was stronger than that.

"You don't know the hell he put me through after his mother died," he shot back.

"Only because he was a child who needed love." She was wearing her heart on her sleeve in the most annoying way possible.

He stared down at her. "Never assume anything about my family."

She raised her eyebrows. "I know that Lex has had more than his fair share of trouble, and you need to realize that nothing is going to drag me away from here." She nodded pointedly toward the window, where they could see Lex tossing in his sleep.

"Your gratitude to him for purchasing your farm is touching, Martha, but this is wholly unnecessary. Go home. You wouldn't want all that turkey to go to waste."

"Please don't push me." She was entrenched in her position and looked frighteningly like Lillian had before she'd lost her strength. It was unnerving...which wasn't to say unpleasant. He understood why Lex was so vulnerable to her, but he still wasn't sure what Martha thought she was playing at.

Lionel shoved his hands in his pockets, rearing up inside his overcoat. "I want to know why you're so invested in my son."

"He needs me." She said it like The sky is blue. It was maddening.

"The boy needs his father," he replied.

"Lex made his choice. I'm not going to throw away his trust."

Her determination was endearing, but it wasn't telling him enough. "I could make this unpleasant for you, Martha."

She pursed her lips, chin jutting. "I think I could do the same for you."

Aha. Lionel feigned surprise and watched for a telltale glimmer of triumph on her face. "That, I'm afraid, would be a breach of a fifty-year confidentiality agreement."

"I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that the global press would eat you alive."

"You know that I would ruin you. And your family."

"And if anything were to happen to any of us, that would make headlines, too." She stopped and looked up at him earnestly. "You have a very long way to fall, but I'm just a small-town cottage baker."

He knew that once she'd set her mind, she would do everything in her limited capacity to accomplish her goal. They were similar in that regard, which was part of why they had made such a good team during his recovery. Working with her had been a dream, like well-oiled gears working in tandem.

Except that this was about his son's care, not coordinating a bidding war. And they were, in fact, treating him like a key acquisition. Complete with threats, however unlikely, of destroying each other to attain the prize.

Running a hand through his hair, he tried on a hoarse laugh, though he was careful to keep the amusement out of his voice. "I don't understand you, Martha. Not at all."

"You're right," she said, softening slightly. "You don't."

"You're not his mother."

"He's still family."

"I've spent Lex's entire life trying to do what's best for him, so he would be prepared to take over when it's his time. Do you have any idea how many Fortune 500 companies have been ruined when bratty, silver-spoon heirs took over?"

"Lionel, he's not a child anymore!" she said, with an exasperated look. "After so many years of estrangement, there's only so much you can do. Let me help."

Frowning, Lionel stepped toward the window and considered. Martha just might have a point about the family bond. If the Sullivan girl were right, and the evidence suggested she was, the meteor shower had done all manner of strange things to people. Why not this, too?

And if that were the case, he suspected he could work the situation to his advantage. If he could simply lure them in and observe, then there would be no need for further complicated spy-games. Simplicity was definitely the best plan; he would be able to figure out the big Kent secret whether the Sullivan girl chose to cooperate or not. And that might tear down enough of Martha's leverage to force her out of the game.

And if not, then other, less subtle, options would present themselves.

He couldn't help but think that Morgan would find this endlessly amusing, but then Morgan had far less patience with women than he did. Lionel could imagine him pacing, waiting for him to call back and repair the mess they'd made at the river during that ludicrous gunfight. The police still believed he was dead, though they were idiots to be so willing to underestimate him. On the other hand, Lionel apparently was fool enough to underestimate Martha Kent, since she was obviously ready to stand here until either hell froze over or he procured a restraining order to have her forcibly removed.

And then? If it weren't a bluff, Lionel had no doubt she would run to the media in a heartbeat. Not to mention the Federal Trade Commission, EPA, and possibly the FBI, depending on how many of the dots she'd connected while she'd been his assistant. There was no telling what confidential files she'd gotten into before he'd regained his sight. And Lex. If he were in on this, then the files were already awaiting distribution. And somewhere there would be a secret nest egg to get them all out of the country before he could retaliate.

The problem was an excess of speculation. The easy solution would be to order a termination of the whole family. But if he did that, the great enigma would be lost, and he would have nothing more on Lex than he did now. Cottage baker, indeed. Stupid, sentimental fool. Both of them.

"What is it you want, exactly?" he asked her at last.

"Complete access to him as a family member. Including input on his treatment."

Lionel glanced at her, then up the hall to where the other Kents waited restlessly. The boy looked desperate, and Jonathan had several times forced him to sit back down. Lionel stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'Access' and 'input' did not signify 'control'. However, allowing access would provide him a ready point of surveillance. He frowned away the beginnings of a smile. She was offering him everything on a silver platter, and she was completely unaware of doing so.

Looking back at Lex, he shook his head abruptly. "Impossible."

"Lionel," she said, the warning back in her tone.

He counted off the seconds, then stepped back from the glass and made a show of relenting. "That would be up to Dr. Foster."

"I'm certain she would respect the wishes of his next of kin."

Lionel scowled and nodded. "I'm not happy about this."

"Lex is the only thing that matters right now, and he deserves all the help we can give him."

"All right, you've made your point. Let's go find the good doctor."

*

After explaining his wishes, Lionel loitered outside Dr. Foster's office skimming the conference announcements stapled to the huge bulletin board in the hallway. He was shamelessly eavesdropping, as there hadn't yet been opportunity to get this office bugged. That would be remedied tonight; in the meantime, he could see light under the door, and the scrim of institutional carpet underfoot did nothing to muffle their words.

After a few pleasantries, Dr. Foster began, "Martha, perhaps you can help me better understand this situation."

"I'll do my best."

"You obviously have strong feelings for Lex."

"Yes. He's like family."

"How did you find out he was here?"

"His housekeeper told Clark when he stopped in after running a last minute delivery to town for me. He came home in a panic, so I called the Manor to get the full story -- not that it made much sense. Then we came here."

"You were expecting him for Thanksgiving dinner?"

"That's right."

"I'm trying to understand the triggers here, Martha. Were you aware of him being under undue amounts of stress?"

"No, when he came over Sunday, he seemed happy...he said it was a relief to be fully in charge of LexCorp again. He was also excited about Thanksgiving. He said it was going to be his first in about fifteen years."

"Were you aware that Lionel called him back to Metropolis for lunch?"

"Not before Linda told me today, no."

"How did you feel about it?"

"Really upset. Angry. He had no right to expect him to drop everything like that."

"I understand you used to work for Lionel. Was there animosity when you left?"

"Well, he didn't want me to go, but I felt like I had to choose between working for him and being there for my family. I made the right choice."

"But Lionel didn't agree."

"No, he thought I was wasting my skills on the farm."

"How do you think Lex felt about the situation?"

"Well, he wasn't involved, but he supported my priorities."

"You seem very protective of Lex."

"I am. After everything he's been through, he needs a loving family around him."

"And you don't think Lionel provides that."

"Dr. Foster, I'm sure he wants to do what's right for Lex, but we have...very different ideas of what that should be."

"What about your son's relationship with Lex? I understand that they're friends."

"Good friends. You wouldn't expect it from their backgrounds, but they're kindred spirits."

"The age difference doesn't bother you?"

"Well, it used to. Then I began to understand just how alienated Lex felt from everyone, and Clark relates to that on some level. They're good for each other."

"Would it be out of line for me to suggest that you might be trying to give Lex a bit of a second childhood?"

"I'm sure you know that everyone he ever cared about went away. I don't think it's a bad thing to try to give him the family he never had."

"You see how Lionel might disagree."

"Yes, but it's Lex's decision. After he was rescued, he wanted to be a part of my family. He asked us for that. As far as I'm concerned, Lionel doesn't really get a say in the matter."

"Martha, I have to tell you that I have deep concerns over this. It's difficult any time we have families with internal conflict."

"I understand that, and I don't want Lex to be caught in a tug of war any more than he already is. But the fact is, we're the family he chose, and I can't let him go. I couldn't live with myself."

Lionel's cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He walked further up the hallway and answered, hissing, "Give me two minutes," then hung up as he punched the button for the elevator.

*

In the car, he drained his usual late afternoon scotch and decanted another; Morgan's rant poured through the earpiece.

Exhaustion showed in Lionel's voice. "For the last time, I didn't cause the explosion."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because if I wanted you dead, I would have done it twenty or thirty years ago."

"You would've tried."

"And if I had -- which I didn't -- I would never have chosen anything as unpredictable as an exploding moving van or a gunfight in an uncontrolled setting. You know me. It's not my style."

"I'd hope you would have had more subtlety. A drug-induced heart attack or some shit like that. Unless you were trying to frame someone else."

"For God's sake, I didn't do it! You should be trying to figure out who did."

"Who says I'm not?"

"Christ, Morgan, if I'd wanted you dead, you'd be dead. You're alive and well, so fucking get over it already."

"Fine," he said after a long silence. "So what about this weekend?"

"I can't. I already explained this."

Morgan sighed and chuckled ruefully.

"What?"

"Twenty-seven years, you know? That's a lot of trips together."

"You're not still threatening to expose me, are you?"

"Explosion, gunfight, me getting thrown into the river? What do you think?"

"I think you have more than enough enemies who would be glad -- no, thrilled -- to see you knocked off."

"The fact remains, you were there."

"And I've got at least as much on you as you do on me."

"I need to see you, Lionel. It's the only way we're going to resolve this."

"I can't leave him now. I can't let that be held against me, too."

"You know I would come to you, but I can't be seen in Metropolis."

"I know."

Morgan sighed. "We'll figure something out."

"Yes," Lionel said, and sank back into the leather seat. There were too many words, and yet nowhere near enough. Too much water under the bridge...and yet. The sound of Morgan's breath was more comfort than he remembered possible.

"Tell me you miss me," Morgan whispered.

"I do."

"Don't lie."

Lionel snorted softly. "Given the choice between doing the West End with you, or sitting on my hands in a foul-smelling psychiatric hospital...you know where I'd rather be."

"Mmm, now that I believe. Will you think about Christmas?"

"Once we see how his condition improves...."

"He's a resilient kid. He'll be okay."

"I raised him to be a survivor," Lionel answered hollowly.

"That you did.... Listen, we'll figure this out. We always do."

"I hope so."

"Hey. Happy Thanksgiving."

Lionel chuckled dryly, but after it should've died away, he was still shaking with laughter, helpless to stop, though he knew it was obscene and weak. "God, can you believe it? Thanksgiving!" he crowed, wiping the corners of his eyes. "What a nightmare."

"Christ, Lionel, you need to get out of there. Meet me somewhere. Anywhere, just not in Kansas."

"I can't," he snarled. "There's too much at stake."

After a long pause Morgan whispered, "Okay, I hear you. I just wish there was something I could do."

A moment passed. Lionel cleared his throat once and murmured, "Three weeks until Christmas?"

"Yeah."

"London's too cold."

"Then we'll go someplace warm."

"If he gets...better."

"He will."

*

Lionel walked back down the hall to Lex's room. Through the observation window, he could see that Lex was on his back now, staring into empty space. As always, the resemblance to his mother was unnerving, but even more so here...like they were caught in a time warp between decades and hospitals. The way those haunted eyes stared so intently at nothing.

He did the only thing he could. He dialed a number and initialized a contingency plan...touring Australia, indeed.

*

An age passed in the green cinderblock timelessness of the corridor. Martha was standing next to him again after noisily banishing the Kent men to the cafeteria. Clark had spent an unsuitable amount of time with his forehead pressed to the glass. His body language spoke volumes, though Lionel couldn't yet tell if the boy's parents understood.

"As soon as he's stable," she began, "I want to get him out of here."

"Oh, really."

"Nothing good has ever happened to him in connection with hospitals. Most recently being Helen...surely you understand that."

"He needs professional attention, Martha."

"I agree with you one hundred percent," she said with a small, satisfied smile.

A long moment passed. He studied her reflection in the glass as she watched Lex thrash against his restraints in his sleep. "You want me to arrange at-home care for him."

"I'm sure an environment where he feels safe would help speed his recovery."

"You're presuming they can stabilize him in the first place."

"Faith, Lionel."

"Faith?" he said faintly. "I've buried a wife, a son, my parents, friends. Lex is all I have left."

"I'm going to make sure he comes out of this."

"That's very compelling."

She smiled wryly. "Have you ever lived in a world without ulterior motives?"

"Has anyone?" He met her dubious gaze with puppy-dog eyes and blinked innocently. "Martha, everyone has an ulterior motive. Especially if they plead otherwise."

"Lionel --"

"Goodnight, Mrs. Kent. I imagine I'll see you again tomorrow." He glanced once more at Lex, then headed back through the dim maze to the hospital entrance.