Follows "Mindmap" and "Arrow." Vague crossover. Another house fantasy.

In a certain yellow farmhouse one early Kansas morning, a farmer's wife shuffled downstairs to begin her morning routine. It was still dark; the only sounds were the sough of wind rustling through the crops and the sleepy snuffling of cattle. In the dim light from the stove she didn't notice the dark shape looming in the kitchen. At first. Yawning, she had just started to run the water for coffee when she got the feeling she was not alone. She turned around slowly, then gasped as she saw the large figure sitting silently at her kitchen table. She stumbled back against the sink in fear, noticing only the sheer size and bizarre attire of the intruder at first, but her fright swiftly turned to joy as she realized who it was.

"Clark! Oh, Clark! You're back!"

Shortly afterwards, Clark was happily inhaling his Mom's pancakes and scrambled eggs, trying to ignore the looks his parents were giving him. After a couple of months of ingesting nothing but Kryptonian supplements provided by the AI, his mom's cooking was the best thing he had ever tasted. Well, Clark thought, it usually was anyway, but today it tasted especially good. Glancing over the table to where his parents were sipping coffee and trying not to stare too openly, he put down his fork and sighed. "Thanks, Mom. You don't know how much I missed that."

"Well, it doesn't look as if you missed any meals, son. I mean, you look like you've grown several inches," said Jonathan, looking him up and down.

"You really have grown, haven't you? Even your hair, and . . ." unable to contain herself any longer, Martha blurted out," . . . and what are you wearing? My god, I thought a circus performer had invaded my kitchen!"

Clark looked down at himself and grimaced. The brightly colored fabric hugged his body in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. And that wasn't even considering the ridiculous boots and cape. "Yeah, I know it's weird, guys, I'm sorry. It's just that none of my other clothes fit. I mean, the shirts were all way tight across the shoulders, and the pants, well . . . ." He sighed. "It's based on traditional Kryptonian costume. And I really haven't been eating, not the way you think. Mostly it was just nutrition cubes--kind of like the Kryptonian version of MREs, I guess. Or else I was given supplements when I was - sleeping."

His parents looked at each other. "It wasn't that bad, guys. Just that mostly I was in a kind of a trance, receiving instruction directly from the AI. Like sleep learning."

"So did you learn anything?" his dad wanted to know.

"Yeah, I learned plenty." Clark made a noise that could be construed a chuckle. "A lot of it is just loaded into my brain waiting for me to access it, though, which isn't exactly learning it. And I'm supposed to take dance classes and study martial arts and a whole bunch of other things."

"I don't know if that's the best idea, son," said Jonathan, worriedly. "You know how strong you are."

Clark looked at his dad solemnly, and with a slight touch of resentment. "I know, but that's precisely why I have to do that, so I can feel more comfortable with my body and my control. It will be all right, I just have to find the right teachers."

Martha's agenda was a bit different from her husband's. "But are you all right, honey?"

The concern in his mother's voice warmed a place of him that he hadn't realized was cold. The Fortress was a beautiful place: Serene, crystalline, and ethereal. But cold. He essayed a smile. It felt strange on his face. "Yeah, Mom, I'm fine. I feel tired, which is strange since I've done almost nothing but sleep, and a little weird--like my head has been stuffed with too much information and it will dribble out my ears if I'm not careful. But, hey! Maybe it will be good practice for college." His parents, smiled, relieved. So why didn't he feel the same sense of relief?

"Speaking of college, aren't you going to open that?" his father asked, cocking his head toward a FedEx envelope conspicuously propped against the toaster.

Clark knew it was a letter from Lex, since he could see the LexCorp return address easily from where he was sitting. "Can't it wait? I'd like to get a real shower and see if I can find something to wear that won't be too tight on me."

"Honey, it's been driving us crazy! It arrived about two weeks after you left," his mother said, "and we almost opened it several times."

"But it wasn't for us. It's for you, and I'd appreciate you opening it so we don't die of suspense," his father said.

Clark knew his parents were teasing him, and the cold place inside him thawed a little more. "Well, okay. I mean, if you insist." Standing, he moved over to the counter, ignoring his parent's flummoxed expressions at the cape swirling around him and his sheer size. Clark actively pushed away the little voice in his head that was saying, "See? Even your parents think you're a freak."

He picked up the envelope and tore off the little paper strip. Inside was a heavy cream colored envelope, with Clark's name written on the outside in Lex's handwriting. He opened the envelope with his finger and pulled out a single sheet of Lex's personal stationery, the one with the purple "AJL" embossed on the top. On it were taped a gold VISA card with Clark's name on it, and a key. The note read:

Dear Clark,

Here is the room and board I promised you. The card is the "board" part. It should be used for your day-to-day living expenses, like clothes, food, entertainment, books, and utilities. It should also be used for emergencies. I know you won't abuse it. The key, obviously, is the "room" part. The address is 48-A Buggy Whip Lane, Gotham City. Call me when you get there. I want to hear all about Alaska.

Lex

"He sent me a key and a credit card for my room and board." Pulling the items off the note, he showed it to his parents.

His father said, "Well, it could have been worse, I suppose. There could have been a million dollars in there or something."

"Dad! I think a million dollars would be a little bulkier, don't you? Besides, we don't know what the limit on that card is," he said, waggling his eyebrows. He was glad to be joking with his parents, but still felt weary. Could he escape now upstairs?

"Buggy Whip Lane? What kind of a name is that?"* puzzled Martha.

Jonathan commented, "There's not much information here. It says, 48-A. Does that mean you'll be living in an apartment?"

"Well, I guess I'll find out pretty soon."

"How soon are you planning on leaving? Classes start in two weeks, don't they?" Jonathan couldn't keep the anxiety out of his voice.

"I guess next week sometime. Let me know what you need me to do around here in the meantime. I, uh--I think I'd better order some new clothes to wear. Can't exactly show up looking like this, can I? Mom, can you measure me later so I know what size to buy?"

"Of course, sweetie." Martha cast a worried glance at her son, picking up on his distress.

"It's okay, guys. I just feel a little tired. Hey, you would be too if you flew all the way from the North Pole," he joked, flapping his arms as if they were wings to make them all laugh. Even so, there was worry underneath the laughter. Clark guessed his parents would always worry--parents just did that, didn't they? Opening his arms, he initiated a group hug, relishing the contact and feeling everyone's worry ease just a little. "I'm just going to go upstairs now, and take a shower; maybe rest a little. It's not so much that I'm tired, really just - I don't know how to explain it. Like I haven't had any real sleep at all, just dozing all the time. I'm sure I'll be as good as new in a few days."

And he had been. After sleeping for 30 hours (and worrying his parents even more) Clark woke up feeling much refreshed. His new skills in meditation and biofeedback techniques also came in handy in getting back to normal, although his day-to-night rhythms still seemed a bit off.

Furthermore, he was extremely dismayed to find that even his loosest sweats and biggest shirts were too short and too tight. When his mother measured him, they determined that he had grown three inches taller. He'd also gotten bigger around in his neck, chest, shoulders -- basically everywhere except for his feet, which he had finally grown into -- all of it muscle, as if he had spent the summer body building instead of mostly dozing in Theta state. He ordered just enough clothes over the internet to get him by for a couple of weeks. He figured he would wait until he got to school to buy the rest so he could scope out what the other students were wearing. He might as well try to shed the dork image and start fresh. His hair was also a problem; it had grown, and he ruined several razors and pairs of scissors before he gave up for the time being. It now hung lustrous and thick, and darker than it had before, just shy of his shoulders.

For the next several days, he helped his mom and dad around the house and got his things together for college. He talked to Chloe and Lana over the phone, making up exaggerated tales of his summer in Alaska based on the cover story he had worked out with his parents. And he sent an email to Lex's personal account:

Lex. Thanks for the "room and board" and I'll call you, as promised when I get there. I plan to leave next week. Hope everything's ok w/you. Alaska was very - educational. Be good!

Another dawn, another city. Clark touched down on a tree-lined street in the darkness. He was still getting used to the Kryptonian mental disciplines taught to him over the summer, and it took him a moment to sort through the maps of the world's major cities which the AI had downloaded into his head. When he found the map of Gotham City, he double-checked the address Lex had given him. It should be right around here, he thought, looking around. He hefted his duffels more securely over his shoulder and started to search for the street number. His superior vision enabled him to see older homes, well-maintained, standing back from the street. On the left side of the street, he came upon an open grassy space with a handsome brick and bronze sign that said, "Smallville Square Townhomes. 48 Buggy Whip Lane." Smallville? Well, this was obviously the place.

On either side of the open space stood a row of townhouses. Clark walked down the driveway, which appeared to go all around the property, and began scrutinizing them, looking for Unit A. "That's weird," Clark thought, "All the units have numbers, not letters." 1, 2, 3 . . . Looking closer, into the buildings, he noticed another anomaly - all the units were empty. His x-ray vision revealed no people in apartments - no furniture either, except for the one closest to the end. Strange.

Examining the complex more closely, he saw two rows of townhomes facing each other across a large rectangular lawn. They appeared to be newly constructed in a contemporary style; he could smell the new wood and sheetrock, and there were other indications of recent construction. Clark groaned to himself. Lex couldn't have built this whole thing just for him, could he? The townhomes were two-story, staggered so they formed an uneven line in two groupings of five on each side. He could clearly identify each unit by the fenced patios oriented toward the driveway. On the other side of the driveway were covered carports. There was a large building at the short end of the rectangle, which Clark couldn't immediately identify. A clubhouse, perhaps?

However, none of this was helping him find 48-A. Now, what was back here? As Clark neared the back of the property, he saw another structure, partially screened by trees and the large building. He rounded the corner of the last townhome and stopped to look at the building; a split level, contemporary bungalow. In front of the house was a sign, "Manager's Office. 48-A Buggy Whip Lane."

"Oh, no," thought Clark, "what have you done, Lex?" Cautiously, Clark approached the house, checking it out with his vision. Like the townhomes, the dwelling contained no life forms inside. Unlike the other units, however, it appeared to be fully furnished. Stepping up to the wide front porch, he noticed a chalkboard/message board combination hung next to the front door. A flyer on the message board advertised the Smallville Square Townhome Condominiums, stating that sales would begin after September 5 and providing the number of a real estate firm for further information. The chalkboard portion held a message, in Lex's unmistakable handwriting, which said simply, "Welcome Home, Clark."

Gingerly, Clark fished the key Lex had given him out of the pocket of his jeans. "Well, here goes nothing," Clark thought as he inserted the key into the front door.

The interior of the home was shadowy and dim, illuminated only by the rising dawn through the windows, but it was enough to let Clark see some of the details. To the right was a door which sported a small sign reading, "Office"; to the left, large wooden double doors were closed. Directly in front of him was a large open living space facing on sliding glass doors leading to the outside, with a kitchen and stairs leading up to an open railed area on the right. Clark zeroed in on the large dining table situated in front of the patio doors. There was an expandable file folder sitting there, with another one of Lex's envelopes on top. Setting down his duffels, Clark headed for the kitchen to see if there was any chance of coffee. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

He was right. It took him three cups of coffee, made from the completely stocked kitchen, to go through most of the documents in the folder. Clever, clever Lex. Clark had had a feeling, back when he first read the note with the key and credit card attached, that there had to be more to Lex's offer of "room and board." It had been too simple, and Lex was never simple. If Clark interpreted the documents correctly, not only was Clark the resident manager of the Smallville Square Townhome Condominiums, but was also part owner of the whole complex, along with Lex. In the note, Lex had explained that he could contribute "sweat equity" to the partnership by managing the property and doing routine maintenance; this way he could tell his parents that he had a job in exchange for his housing. Clark decided not to mention the partnership arrangement to his parents just yet.

"I can't believe that Lex built this whole thing for me," he thought. And yet, it was undeniable. Looking around the house now in daylight, Clark tried to comprehend that not only had Lex demolished whatever was standing on this lot before and built him a house and an entire condo complex just so he could tell his parents he had a job, but the entire set-up was built with him in mind. Specifically. He gazed at the comfortable furnishings proportioned for his frame in the living room, the casual dcor, and unsophisticated color scheme. Not Lex's style at all, but it was certainly his.

Clark thought back to what the AI had told him about Lex. It seemed that Clark and Lex had formed a tentative mating bond which would grow over time and exposure to each other. If this was the result of a tentative bond, Clark thought, he wondered what would happen with a full bond. Then again, maybe it was just a manifestation of Lex's obsessive personality.

Setting down his coffee cup, he decided to explore a little before he made some phone calls.

"Martha! Get that will you? I'm kind of in the middle of something here." Jonathan grunted as he struggled with a tractor part spread messily over a carefully spread tarp on the kitchen table.

Martha came in from the living room and picked up the phone. "Kent Farms."

"Oh, hi, honey, did you find the apartment okay?" Jonathan looked up immediately.

"Really? Oh, that's sounds great, honey. Yes." She put her hand over the receiver and stage-whispered to her husband, "He says it's a condominium complex and he's the manager."

"Uh huh. Uh huh. Really? A house?" She listened further, avoiding her husband's frantic swipes at the phone with his greasy hands. "Wow. It sounds nice. Okay, what's the number?" Grabbing a pen and notepad next to the phone, she scribbled something. "That's sounds fine, dear, just let us know how things go. Don't forget us, okay?" Glancing at her husband, she added, "Love you honey. Dad sends his love, too. Bye." She hung up the phone.

"Martha!"

"What? You don't think I was going to let you touch the phone with your hands that way, do you? Relax, everything is fine. Apparently Lex has set him up to be a resident manager of an condominium complex, and he has his own separate house, with a fireplace, a washer and dryer, and everything. He says it even has a guest room in case we want to visit him. It's really very clever of Lex, don't you think? I'm sure he did it that way for us. That way, Clark will be working in exchange for his room and board."

"Huh. I suppose. Did he sound okay?"

"Of course, Jon. He may be our baby, but he's really quite capable. After all he's been through, a little thing like going away to college isn't going to phase him. Now quit worrying and give me a kiss. No! Not your hands! Jonathan!" Maybe this empty nest thing had some hidden benefits, after all.

Well, that wasn't so bad, thought Clark. One down, one to go. Of course, he hadn't told his parents all the details about the house, and he was planning to hold off on that as long as possible. Like, forever if he could manage it. Details like the hot tub on the covered patio. Like the big screen plasma TV in front of the fireplace in the living room. And then there was what was sitting out in the carport adjacent to the work shed. A brand new Chevy Avalanche and a classic, cherried out, midnight blue 1967 Pontiac GTO, just like the one Vin Diesel drove in XXX (sans rocket launchers), carefully covered with a tarp. The insurance info, title papers, and keys to those had been in the expandable file, and when Clark had seen them, his eyes had practically bugged out of his head. He had immediately dashed outside and spent several minutes running his hands over the vehicles and drooling. Well, who could blame him, really? It looked like Lex had finally managed to give him a truck. And more. No, he was definitely not going to divulge that information to his parents right away.

Other little details of the house were revealed when Clark took a tour. As he had told his parents, there was a spare bedroom on the ground floor decorated perfectly for them. His own bedroom was in the "loft" upstairs overlooking the living area and mostly contained a gigantic bed. He had a cool bathroom, too, with a huge shower, a compact laundry area, and one other, very interesting feature: A door; cleverly camouflaged and leading nowhere except out to the roof. Something no one could get to unless they, well, flew. Clark had just shaken his head when he saw that. That was another feature he was definitely not mentioning. To anyone.

Everything was fully furnished and ridiculously complete. The kitchen had all the appliances, utensils, and cookware that he would ever need. All the fixtures were top quality, of course, from the hardwood floors to the granite countertops to the sub-zero refrigerator. The shelves, refrigerator, and pantry were jammed with food, including a small amount of beer and wine. There were sheets and towels, cleaning supplies and common household items; even pizza delivery menus. Trust Lex to think of everything. He was almost afraid to look at the home theater system.

And then there was the study, which was waiting for him behind the double doors. Clark remembered that long ago conversation with Lex about his experimentation with study methods, and obviously, Lex did too. There were two long tables which ran to either side of the study perfect for spreading out books. A new, state of the art desktop and laptop computer were sitting at a desk at the head of the tables, and there was a chair he could slide around the whole U-shaped configuration. A complicated series of cork boards and white boards were layered along one wall, as well as a cable system for pendent lights and hanging items, all perfect for putting up his mind maps. Bookshelves and storage areas lined the outer walls, except for where the greenhouse window along the front of the house gave him a view of the lawn in the center of the complex. Reference books were already sitting there waiting for him. Everything in the study, and indeed the entire house, spoke of exactly how much care and attention to detail Lex had taken to make the place suitable for him.

Clark glanced at his watch. Okay, it would be . . . just about dinner time in France. He picked up the new cell phone which had been waiting for him in the house, and hit speed dial number 1.

Lex carefully set his soup spoon down before he could drop it at the sound of Clark's ring. He hadn't spoken to his friend since the beginning of summer. Composing himself, he answered, as always, "Luthor." Unaware of the wide smile that graced his face, he continued. "Clark! How are you? Are you in the new place? . . . Well, it seemed like a good idea. That way, you can tell your parents that you're working for your bread and butter. . . .You didn't? Well, that's up to you. What they don't know won't hurt them, right? You know I don't tell my father everything. . . . Yes, I know that's different. . . . So, you really like it? . . . . Yeah? I'm glad. . . . No, no, nothing of intrinsic value, just an ugly old fixer upper, believe me." He didn't mention that he had determined the optimum location for Clark's dwelling, based on area of the city, amenities, and proximity to the university, and then simply bought the first suitable piece of property available in that area.

Lex looked out his window, not seeing the elegant apartment around him; not even seeing the famous lights of Paris spread out below. His mind, and his heart, was with a transplanted farm boy thousands of miles away.

"Yes, of course. If there's anything that you need, or want changed, just let me know." He laughed. "I'm just putting those in your keeping, Clark. I ran out of parking spaces. . . . Sure they are. I buy trucks. Well, I bought one before. . . . domestic, too. Yeah, sucky movie. Great car. Oh, you like bald guys? Well, that's good to know." His face was beginning to hurt; he wasn't used to smiling this much. The ache in his heart, however, was all too familiar.

"As far as the selling the units, you'll have the help of the real estate agent, Laurie Miller. Her paperwork's in the office. . . . Well, because I wanted you to be involved and you have my power of attorney for the partnership. . . . No, I don't care about that; I trust your judgment. . .you don't have to worry about the paperwork much, she'll take care of that . . . You can do anything you want with the landscaping, etc. . . . yeah. So how was your summer? . . . Okay, I understand--when you're ready. Are you excited about your classes starting soon?"

He leaned back in his chair as he listed to his friend obfuscate about his summer and enthuse about his upcoming college classes. He was happy just listening to his voice. When it appeared that Clark was winding down, he said, "Now, you have my email address. I expect frequent progress reports! . . . Yeah, I know. Oh! and I asked Bruce to look in on you, so you should be expecting to hear from him soon. . . . What? Yes, you do, Clark, be nice. I know you know how. . . . You're welcome, Clark. . . . I -I miss you, too. . . . I don't know, for a while I expect. . . . Okay, I will, bye!"

Clicking the phone shut, Lex sat at his dinner table, feeling more alone in his elegant apartment in that elegant, lively city, than he could ever remember feeling. He couldn't know that his feelings were mirrored almost exactly by a lonely not-so-normal farm boy far away.