*Part I: Martha*

It's positive.

After years and years of trying to get pregnant, of wishing for a child--of finally getting that child, getting Clark--she finally understands why she couldn't conceive. After all the hurt and feelings of failure, the reasons are coming into focus.

How ironic that, more than anything, she wishes that she could go back to ignorance.

The real truth, she knows, is something that could tear her family apart. After all this time of thinking that there was something wrong with her, she's been proven wrong by the pregnancy test in her hand. It was never her that couldn't conceive--it was her husband. Jonathan Kent.

Because the baby she's apparently carrying isn't her husband's.

Desperately, she wishes it were.

Her time with Lionel was a mistake. A terrible, horrible, wildly pleasurable and freeing mistake, yes, but still a mistake. It's a mistake that, presented with the opportunity, she knows she'd make again. It's quite possible that she will--she's still working for Lionel after all. It disgusts her that she's not even strong enough to quit. She should be stronger--she knows that. Everyone thinks she is.

She's not.

She never was, and maybe when she'd taken the job as Lionel's assistant, some part of her had been aware that this would happen.

She'd taken the job anyway.

Leaning back against the toilet seat, Martha wraps the pregnancy test in toilet paper and buries it deep in the wastebasket. For a little longer, at least, she can hide this. Until she knows what she's going to do, she won't tell anyone. She has until she starts showing, after all. She's only three weeks along--she won't show for a little while.

She'll think of something before then.

Making love with her husband with Lionel's baby growing inside of her is difficult. More and more often, she finds herself turning over in bed, pushing her husband away with a lie. "I'm not feeling well tonight," she'll say. Or, "I'm tired, Jonathan. Tomorrow, maybe." On the nights when she does sleep with him--when she can think of no excuse, or when she's used them too often--she'll pretend to enjoy it. Part of her still does. After all, she truly does love her husband.

Her son is asleep down the hall. Clark. She loves Clark more than she's ever loved anything or anyone. In some ways, she knows this new baby won't compare to him. She'll love it just as much, but things will be different. Clark is her baby, her everything--her miracle. No matter what happens, she'll love Lionel's baby--there will be no way for her not to--but Clark will always be hers and Jonathan's. Lionel's baby is a product of her mistakes, of adultery--Clark is the child of nothing but fortune. Her two children will be different, but some part of her will always feel like she owes Clark that little bit more, simply because he was supposed to happen--because he's supposed to be here.

Sometimes, she hates herself for thinking like that.

Lionel finds out before Jonathan does. Ironically, it's when she runs for the bathroom at the smell of his morning coffee while she's filing papers in his office. She's two months' pregnant--she's already experiencing symptoms. Jonathan doesn't notice the telltale signs--he doesn't see the mood swings or the cravings, or understand that the morning sickness is more than just a light flu. Martha doesn't resent him for that--how would he know any better? He's never been around a pregnant woman before. Lionel--Lionel notices everything, and this is no exception.

When she finally looks up from the toilet, he's standing calmly at the door, his dark glasses removed from his face. He's watching her.

"You're not blind, are you?" She knows it should shock her more than it does.

He gives her a wry smile. " How far along are you, Martha?"

Martha may not be as strong as she'd like--at least not in the ways she'd like--but she's still unwilling to try to hide from a man like Lionel. She'll face this head-on. "About two months."

"And it's mine," he says, like there was never a question.

She merely nods. "How long have you been able to see?"

It's a little disturbing to see the amusement in his eyes. Lionel finds it humorous to manipulate and fool others--she knows this. But even knowing that, it's unbalancing to see it so plainly. "I regained my sight nine days after I lost it."

"You hired me even though you could see."

Lionel's smile broadens. It's a rare moment of openness--how strange that, though their whole relationship is based on a lie, he still seems genuinely relaxed when in her presence. He's not putting on an emotional front for her--she's been around Metropolis' elite for enough of her life to sense that he's not.

"We have a lot to talk about, Martha. If you're feeling better, I suggest that we do it in my office."

"I hired you after I saw your son catch bullets."

If Martha was inclined to swear, she'd do it now. As it is, she mentally runs through a whole list of curse words that she'd wash Clark's mouth out with soap for ever using. Clark caught bullets. Was that in the folder she destroyed when she and Lionel were held hostage? "You must have been imagining--"

Lionel chuckles. "Martha, I have it on tape."

She falls silent.

"You have nothing to fear from me. I have no desire to expose Clark."

"I'll kill you if you try to hurt him," she says calmly. She's not running on reckless emotion--she shows no anger. It's a calmly stated declaration, one that she's thought out beforehand. For Clark, she'd do anything.

Lionel appears unsurprised as he looks away with a small, nearly imperceptible grin. "We're a lot alike, you and I," he says slowly. "I wonder if Jonathan is aware of this side of you? Does he understand that you'd kill for your son?--and I have no doubt that you would. You're strong, Martha, and I appreciate that part of you. There's a side of you that's as ruthless and vindictive as anyone I've ever met."

"You make it sound like a compliment."

"It is."

Strangely, she believes him. In his world, it would be. "What do you want me to do?"

"Leave your husband."

Lionel's face is emotionless as he gives his order. She wonders if this is how he deals with things in business. Ripping people's lives apart--it's nothing for him.

"I love my husband," she says slowly, her tone dark. She does, but sometimes she's still discontent. Jonathan is from a different world than she is--he doesn't understand her desire for the faster, more intense life of the city. He doesn't see why she'd want a job off the farm. He can't understand why she wants new challenges.

"As much as you love Clark?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Touch my son, and I will kill you."

Lionel smiles. "You'll try to kill me. There's the possibility that you'll fail, and where will that leave Clark? Because as much as I care for you, Martha, that is something I would not tolerate." Reaching out, he carefully takes her hand. His touch is warm, and though his hands are lightly calloused, they're nothing like Jonathan's work-roughened ones. "Trust me, Martha, this is your best option."

She doesn't shake his hand off. Even now, she craves his touch. "You said you didn't want to expose him."

"When did I suggest that I'd expose him? I wouldn't, but please don't forget who arranged his adoption. It would be tragically easy to alter things to suggest that Jonathan had kidnapped him--had taken him from his rightful parents on the day of the meteor shower. There are thousands of scenarios. Perhaps I could even claim him as my own bastard child. Though, I'm not certain Lex would appreciate that--even for him, incest might be a bit much."

Martha isn't surprised that he's seen the affection between their sons. Most everyone has. Even Jonathan--she sure it's why he hates Lex.

"Your son would be smart enough to see through your lie," Martha replies.

"I suspect he would," Lionel says, laughing. "It doesn't matter. I don't want it to come to that." Pausing, he leans in a little closer to her. "Leave your husband, Martha. You're pregnant with my child, and I want to be an influence in the child's life. I want to raise the child."

Logically, she understands that he's not doing this out of love. Maybe he does love her--it's not something she would rule out--but she also knows that, no matter what he says, Lionel wants to keep Clark close. This situation has a whole variety of benefits for him. A child of his own blood, the opportunity to keep a boy with amazing abilities under his control, a woman he's attracted to--the situation benefits him in nearly every way.

"I won't do that to Jonathan. I'd rather see him dead." It would be kinder to just kill him than to subject him to the pain of seeing his wife leave with Lionel Luthor. As soon as she sees Lionel's eyebrows rise at her words, she knows he can make that happen. "I would never leave him for you--because I love my husband more than I'll ever love you."

There's silence. As they merely look at each other, she finds that she can't ignore the fire in Lionel's eyes. She may love Jonathan, but there's something so alluring about Lionel. All that power, all that challenge--she can't deny her attraction, and she knows that, given the chance, she'll be unfaithful with him again. It goes against every ounce of better judgement that she has, but the urge is still there, as undeniable as it ever was.

"Go home, Martha."

The words don't surprise her, and she gets up, immediately heading for the door. It's that simple--she merely walks out, never looking back. It's easy to pretend that everything's all right.

It's odd how simple it is to make herself believe that her world hasn't just fallen apart.

What a pity it is that it's a lie.

Clark is the one to find his father. That is something Martha knows she'll regret to the day she dies. It's something for which she'll hate Lionel forever: pulling into the driveway to see her baby a little way out in the field, sobbing, covered in his adoptive father's blood. Maybe it wasn't Lionel's intention to be this cruel to Clark--she doesn't know, but she'll always hate him for it.

The sobs of shock and grief that spring up in her when she sees Clark holding his father's lifeless body are very real--she loves this man, has loved him for years. If she'd had the choice, she'd have done anything to stop this.

Anything except sacrifice Clark.

She could have never left Jonathan if he was alive--she's sure of that. She would never have been capable of looking in his eyes and leaving, and she'd have never been cowardly enough to leave without telling him the truth. She never would have left, and Lionel must have known that.

She has to wonder if she was always this kind of person. It scares her that she's capable of this.

Martha's not sure how Lionel effected the murder. She's certain that in the police records, it will read as what it looks like--an accident with farm machinery. Jonathan fell under the tractor. Clark found him.

"Clark, baby, let go," she sobs, reaching to pull her son away from her husband. It's sickening to see his body--to see it crushed and sliced. So much blood, and Clark shouldn't be seeing this--

"NO!" he sobs, clinging tightly. There's no light in Jonathan's face. He's handsome, even now, and Martha feels the vomit rise in her throat. She loves this man, loves him so much, and it kills her that she was responsible for this crime. Lionel might have ordered this, but she let it happen.

Her mistakes. Her fault.

Taking a deep breath--she'll never be able to compose herself, but she's got to try--she flips open the lead box in her pocket. She's been carrying it ever since Lionel found out she was pregnant, because while she's willing to live with blood on her hands, she's not willing to let Clark do the same. She'd feared an attempt on Jonathan's life, and she knows beyond any shadow of a doubt that if Clark had found out about it, he wouldn't have allowed it to happen. He would have stopped it, at all costs. Martha isn't willing to let her son have that on his conscience.

The effects are instantaneous--Clark gasps and doubles over, still trying to cling to his father. It's a huge effort to drag her son away, but she can't let him keep hanging on to his father's body.

There's a shout in the distance. A few seconds later, Martha hears the sound of someone running into the field from the driveway. She doesn't look up, focused on pulling her son further away from his father's body.

"Martha, what happened?"

Lex. He's pale--whiter than she's ever seen--and he looks horrified. Slowly, she sees him look over at Jonathan. "Shit--"

"Get Clark out of here," Martha tells him, acting on auto-pilot. Swallowing down the bile rising in her throat, she hands Lex the box. They'll be family soon, anyway--he might as well know Clark's secrets. "Keep this open. The rocks hurt him, but he'll come back here if you don't keep him exposed to it. Get him out of here."

Lex nods, and through the overload of her own emotions, Martha feels sorry for him. Ideally, she wouldn't have wanted him to see this, either.

For a few moments, Martha continues to watch as Lex puts the box in his pocket before reaching down and slipping his hands under Clark's knees and back. She's always suspected Lex was stronger than he looks, but as he lifts all two hundred plus pounds of Clark up into his arms, she's surprised by just how much.

Jonathan is covered with blood. His eyes are closed, and as she sinks down next to him, she thinks that she'd give anything to see them open--to see him look at her and smile, one more time, so full of life and love for his family.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers, choking on her own sobs as she pillows her husband's head on her lap. Already, his body is cooling. How could this have happened...?

She knows how it happened. It happened because of her.

She's never hated herself more.

Clark's sleeping on the couch when she returns to the house, tell-tale streaks of tears on his face, head pillowed on Lex's chest. The coroner's crew has come for Jonathan's body. Martha has already given her statement. Everything is done. It's over.

Bitterly, she wonders when Lionel will show up.

Lex glances up as she moves from her vantage point at the screen door and comes into the kitchen. Even he looks weary, probably from worrying about Clark. Right now, Martha is thankful for Lex's presence. After everything she's done--all that's happened--she doesn't quite trust herself to take care of Clark herself right now. Maybe Lex will do a better job.

"I gave him a bath," Lex says without emotion. "He was covered in blood. I put his clothing in the garbage."

Good. She doesn't want Clark ever to see that outfit again.

"I--if there's anything else I can do--"

"You can help with Clark," she says immediately. Clark will need someone else who cares, and Lex has lost a parent himself--he knows what Clark's going through. Martha hopes it will be enough, because while she's Clark's mother, she doesn't think she can be all that he needs anymore. With everything she's let happen, she won't be able to provide enough emotional support for Clark any longer. She can feel that truth inside herself.

Lex nods slowly, glancing down at the head resting on his chest. "Martha, what happened out in that field?" he says slowly, stroking a hand through Clark's hair.

She sighs, running a hand through her own hair. It's tangled, and the smell of blood hangs in it. She needs a shower badly. "I imagine that you'll find out very soon, Lex. Please try to keep Clark from doing the same."

She sees the coldness in Lex's eyes, iciness freezing over into determination. Lex understands what it's like to live in the Luthor world, and as much as she wishes she didn't, Martha does too.

Clark doesn't.

Lex, seeming to understand her meaning, pulls Clark a little closer. It's a purely protective gesture, and for that, Martha is thankful.

"I'm--I don't want Clark to see blood on me," she says, heading for the stairs. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Lex nods, and Martha starts up the stairs. If Clark wakes up, she knows Lex will be there. When she gets out of the shower, she will be too. By then, she'll have gotten herself together.

By then, she'll be able to pretend for her son that everything will be okay.

Clark wakes up an hour later, once Martha is out of the shower and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a shirt. Even though she stood under the spray for half an hour, she's still imaging that the scent of blood is hanging on her. She knows it's not really there, but she's sure she'll never stop smelling it. She desperately hopes it's not the same way for Clark.

The moment Clark opens his eyes and sees her, he begins to sob. "Mom--" he chokes, tangling his hands in Lex's shirt. It's odd to see how natural Lex is with him--there's nothing awkward about the way Lex wraps his arms around Clark and holds him while Martha sits down on the couch next to them. There's barely any room, but she manages.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she whispers, leaning down to hold him. Lex lets her, and Clark turns over so that his back is to Lex's chest. It's clear that he still wants the contact, but that he wants his mother, as well.

"Dad--what happened?" he gasps. The heartbreak in his eyes is tragic. The suspicion in Lex's is expected.

"Baby, don't think about it right now," she tells him, feeling tears rising in her own eyes. She doesn't want to cry--she's cried too much already.

Clark cries, and Lex hold hims until he cries himself back to sleep. Watching him lie there, so broken, she feels ill.

She hates herself for what she's allowed to happen.

Martha doesn't go back to work. Officially, she's on paid leave. Unofficially, she can't face Lionel yet.

One month after Jonathan's death, he shows up at the farm. She's three months pregnant now, and just barely starting to show. Clark is oblivious to the changes in her body--he's lost in a world of grief, desperately wanting a father that isn't coming back. Lex is a different story. She's seen his eyes flickering to her midriff more than once, and as much as he's around the farm--which is quite often--it's become clear that he suspects Jonathan's death wasn't as accidental as it seems.

Thank God he hasn't told Clark.

Martha is at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, when Lionel shows up at the door. It's the side door--the one by the kitchen, the more informal of the two. That gesture alone says more than she'd like it to.

Lionel doesn't wait for an invitation to enter--they both know one isn't needed. "You're beginning to show," he says, opening the screen and walking inside. Pointedly, his gaze drags down over her body. "Have you told Clark?"

Clark is at school. He's already missed a good few weeks, and she knows that in high school that can be difficult to catch up on. Truthfully, it broke her heart to have to make him go back at all, but she knows it's the best thing for him.. She can't let him hide. "No. Even when he does, I don't ever want him to know the baby wasn't his father's."

Lionel smirks as he moves further into the kitchen. Barely taking his eyes off of her, he goes over to the stove where the water for the tea is heating. Immediately, the kettle begins to whistle. Martha isn't surprised--she wouldn't be shocked if even the forces of nature have come to obey Lionel Luthor. It certainly seems like everything else has.

"Lex knows," he says conversationally, reaching out and getting an extra cup from the cabinet. Carefully, he beings pouring the water.

Martha nods. "He suspects I'm pregnant. I can tell from the way he looks at me. I'm sure he suspects the paternity." She still can't bring herself to refer to Lionel as the father. It seems so wrong. "It doesn't matter--he'll never tell Clark."

Lionel's smirk widens into something broader, though still not quite a smile. "Innocence has always attracted my son. He'll never admit it, but most everyone he's ever truly cared about has needed protecting in one way or another."

Clark can stop bullets with his skin, but Martha knows better than anyone that, emotionally, Clark needs that protection. "He's helped my son," she says simply. "Whatever that may entail, I trust that Lex has nothing but Clark's best interests at heart."

Lionel places the tea bags into the cups before bringing them over to the table. "Don't fool yourself, Martha--my son is also attracted to beauty. A face like Clark's--I'm sure it stuns him. He'll want more than friendship."

"Clark will give it to him." There was a time when she worried about the nature of the relationship between Lex and her son. Now, a month after her husband's death, she's watched Lex devote his time and his emotions to caring for her son. Clark has been with Lex nearly as much as he's been with her. Lex's devotion is genuine--not merely a ploy to get in her son's pants.

Silence falls between them. Eventually, Martha takes her tea bag from her cup. The tea is good, and as much as she hates to admit it, she's enjoying Lionel's company, too. There's always excitement in the air when Lionel is around. Now, it's a welcome relief--since Jonathan has died, everything has seemed stagnant, as though she's inside a bubble, watching life go on around her. It's good to feel alive again.

"I want you and your son to return to Metropolis with me next week," he eventually says, pushing away his empty cup. It's impossible to completely discern his motives, but more than likely, he wants to have things firmly engrained in normalcy for when the baby comes. It's not something for her comfort--she's not nave enough to think that--but rather a firm way to insure that she won't leave with his child.

She finds herself nodding. She's been prepared for this for a good few weeks. There's no reason to take time thinking now. "I want the farm to be kept up. It should be here for Clark, if it's what he wants when he gets older." Pausing, she glances up at him. "It's the only connection he has left to his father."

There's an unaccustomed pause as Lionel considers.

"If you don't agree, I'll go to Lex," she adds, an edge in her voice.

It's a little frightening to see Lionel grin, almost as though he's pleased that she's still willing to challenge him. "No need--I'll hire hands to keep it going, as long as your son comes to Metropolis for the time being." There's no fear in his voice--he's not afraid of Lex. Truthfully, she's thinks he allowing this because she was willing to argue back, and that's something that he finds attractive.

Clark would have to leave school here in Smallville. All his friends, everything he knows--she knows it will tear him apart, and she can already feel the self-loathing burning up in her again. She hates that she's put her son in this position.

"I'll choose his school in Metropolis," she bargains, pushing her mug aside.

Lionel inclines his head, a spark dancing in his eyes. He's enjoying this bargaining of sorts. "Fair enough," he replies.

"And you don't tell him that the baby is yours."

"You have my word that he won't hear the truth from me." Lionel's word isn't worth much. She's not naive enough to think it is. It wouldn't be a surprise if he somehow revealed the truth indirectly, if he thought he had something to gain from it. Still, it's a start--something to throw in his face if he goes back on his word.

"Let Clark finish out this week here in Smallville. We'll be ready to leave on Monday."

Lionel possesses a type of grace that Martha could never hope to imitate, and as he stands up and moves towards the door, she's almost reminded of a bird of prey--dark, imposing, and dangerous, but beautiful in a strange way. It's unthinkable that she's attracted to this man.

It's odd how the unthinkable sometimes happens.

"Monday," he repeats, his voice rumbling over the word as he pauses in front of the door. "I'll send the limo for you and arrange for your goods to be transported to Metropolis."

Lionel departs. She's left sitting in the kitchen, alone, as though nothing has ever happened. Only the memory of the conversation and two empty mugs are there to remind her of what took place in this room-of exactly what took place here.

More than anything, she wishes she could forget.

*PART II: Clark*

Clark's thoughts and emotions were reeling. His life, while always complicated, had still been as normal as it could ever be for someone like him: a teenage alien from a doomed, destroyed world. He wasn't sure he'd ever understand why the universe had picked the moment his father was killed to wash his life away as effectively as the waves of the ocean did shifting sand. Why did his relative normalcy shatter at that particular moment? Why had everything happened then?

Standing in the driveway as he watches his possessions--his bed, his books, his pillow. His life--being loaded into a moving van, he doubts he'll ever get answers. Fate is strange like that. Things change when you least expect them to. Fate shakes things up and leaves destruction in its wake.

Clark isn't sure anything will ever be right again.

"Clark?"

Lex sounds worried, as though he thinks Clark might be about ready to commit suicide at any moment. Clark hasn't bothered to dissuade him of that notion. He likes how attentive Lex has been, and if he's honest with himself, it makes him feel secure to know that, should he snap, someone will be watching him closely enough to talk him out of doing anything horrific.

"Yeah?" he asks quietly, turning away from the van.

"We need to go."

His mother is already waiting beside the limo. He can tell she's as concerned about him as Lex is, though she has an entirely different way of showing it--she's so much more overt in her worry. Lex is subtle, watching him quietly and taking everything in. His mother is far more obvious, always looking at him with that clear concern. She's his mother--her concern for him will always be different from everyone else's, and even if she's dealing with as much as he is, he knows she loves him the way only a mother can.

Clark allows Lex to lead him to the limo and guide him inside. All he's been told is that they're going to Metropolis--that without his father, his mother doesn't feel like she can run the farm. They'll be keeping it, but it will be run by other people in their absence. According to his mother, Lionel has graciously offered them a place to live. She's his personal assistant, after all--Lionel provides only the best for Luthor Corp employees.

Clark feels his stomach roll over.

They ride in silence for the first ten minutes. Clark loses track of time after he curls up in the corner, Lex beside him and his mother seated across from them. He likes the silence. It gives him time to think, and he's thankful that Lex understands that sometimes words don't make things better. His mother doesn't usually see that--she believes in talking things out--but she's quiet for the time being.

He's not surprised when she's the one to break the silence. "I need to tell you something, Clark," she says quietly.

Next to him, Lex stiffens.

"Okay," he says blankly. It's probably another concern about life insurance or about him switching schools in the middle of the year. Maybe it's another talk about how she's sorry all the change is coming at once, but that they just can't wait. There have been a lot of those talks lately.

"I--three months ago..." she begins slowly, like she's not quite sure what to say. "Clark, I'm really not sure how to tell you this."

Three months ago, his father was still alive. Suddenly, Clark is marginally more interested. Enough, certainly, to recognize how still Lex has gone beside him.

"I thought I couldn't have children," she begins again. It's odd how drawn and pale her face looks. Clark wonders if that's just happened recently, or if maybe he just missed it before. "I--"

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" Strangely, the accusation comes from Lex. He sounds angry.

Clark freezes, even as Lex sits up straighter next to him. Pregnant? No, not now. This can't possibly be happening now...

His mother's eyes lock with Lex's. "Yes."

"Convenient timing, isn't it?" Lex says slowly. The way he's talking--Clark can tell he's choosing every word deliberately. Clark doesn't understand what's going on. Logically, he knows that something is happening that is beyond the conversation--that there's an inside conversation occurring--but he still can't get beyond the obvious.

His mother is pregnant.

"Lex..." she says, her voice low and filled with warning.

Just like that, Lex leans back. Clark doesn't like how he does it--how he's bitterly smirking and looking at her with the least respect Clark has ever seen him regard her with. "Don't worry," he replies, his voice dripping with bitterness. "It wouldn't be worth it, and I intend to be faithful to the people I love."

Just slightly, his mother winces.

"Pregnant?" Clark repeats, leaning back into the seat. "How--now?" Fate is a cruel, cruel thing.

"I'm three months' along."

Clark can feel a lump rising in his throat. "After all the time you and dad wanted a biological child, how can this happen now that he's... dead?" He hates how that sounds. It's like saying the word makes it real. "He'll never see his child, never meet--"

Clark leaves off, stopping before his voice becomes too choked up to continue. He hates his weakness, hates it so much that sometimes he hates himself for having it.

Lex's eyes are icy cold as he looks at Clark's mother. Clark doesn't understand why, but he doesn't feel like he can think about it right now. He knows there's something there that he needs to consciously realize, but some part of him doesn't feel ready. He doesn't want to know.

"I can't--how?" he gasps, feeling the tears coming again. He hates crying. He's done it so much lately, and it makes him feel like a girl, but everything just hurts so much, and--

Lex pulls him in against his chest, rocking him gently. It feels good, comforting in a way he needs. He wouldn't have ever thought Lex was capable of it, but he's so glad that he's proved that he is. He needs Lex right now.

"Everything is going to be all right, Clark," he whispers, more determined than Clark has ever heard. "I'll make it all right," he murmurs, still rocking him.

Clark wants to believe him. It would help to believe him. He'd feel better. So badly, he wants to believe, even if he knows that Lex is promising something that's nearly impossible.

He believes anyway.

Clark doesn't like Lionel Luthor. He doesn't like how he speaks to Clark's mother; how he leans in just a little too close to her; or how he pauses over her name, like he's particularly enjoying the way it feels on his lips. He's a lying snake, and Clark can't understand why his mother would bring them here to live with him. Maybe, if he felt more up to it, he'd protest.

Honestly, he's not sure he needs to. Lex seems to be engaging in enough subtle emotional warfare for the both of them. The sharp words to Clark's mother--the hints that this isn't the best place for Clark seem to be a constant thing. The looks alone are enough to get Lex's point across.

Clark is oddly thankful that he's protesting enough for the both of them.

Clark has never been more thankful for Lex. Before this, he's never seen Lex as a particularly demonstrative person, but now he's so willing to give Clark his affection--a simple hug, a smile when Clark needs it, even time where Clark curls up against him on the couch while they're watching a movie--any time and any place that he needs it. Maybe, if things were different, it would have been awkward. The way things are now, it's just a relief.

"Lex?" It's one in the morning, the night of the day he and his mother moved in here at the penthouse. Lex has come to stay with them also, citing the reasons that it was just as easy--if not easier--to work from Metropolis, and that, more importantly, Clark needed help adjusting.

Clark has been lying awake in his own room for three hours, memories rushing through his head. It probably won't help to wake Lex up, but he'd like to hear something other than the ghosts of memory in his mind and, in all honesty, it was just so easy to leave his room and come seek refuge in Lex's.

"Clark?" The reply comes too quickly for Clark to believe that Lex was really asleep. "What's wrong?"

"I can't sleep."

Just like that, Lex peels the covers of his bed back. Grateful, Clark takes the invitation and slips down in next to him.

"I'm sorry to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping, Clark."

"You too, huh?"

The situation likely should be awkward, but Clark feels nothing except relief when Lex begins to stroke his hair. He's well-aware that these actions fall in a category that is very clearly not platonic, but he doesn't need another thing to analyze right now. His relationship with Lex is what it is. It'll become whatever it's meant to be.

"What were you thinking about?" Lex asks him after a few minutes.

"How much I hate your dad."

Lex snorts softly. "I'd imagine."

"I don't understand why Mom would move us here."

The stiffening of Lex's muscles is barely perceptible, but Clark catches it. Lex has been doing that a lot when Clark has brought up his mother's motives. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asks slowly.

Lex laughs and gives him a friendly pat on the cheek. "Clark, I'm not quite sure that's a question you have the right to ask me."

It's not. It's really, really not, and all of a sudden, Clark is sick of the lies. Lex has been there for him--has all but taken care of him since Clark's dad died. Why the secrecy? If Lex wanted to betray him, he'd probably have done so by now. If he were to release the findings of the accident to a lab--if he confided his suspicions to them--Clark would be under the microscope.

Even if he does betray Clark's trust, Clark can barely find it in himself to care. If Lex betrayed him, he'd probably wish he was dead anyway.

"You hit me on the bridge," he says. Just like that--no preamble, no nothing.

Just truth.

Lex's hand stills in his hair. "Clark--"

"I can bench press the tractor. I can run faster than you can see. I can see through walls. I can start fires with my eyes."

"Oh, fuck, Clark--"

"If you want, I'd let you."

"Clark, stop." Carefully, Lex shifts until he's on his side. He pulls Clark with him, holding him tightly enough so that if Clark was human, he'd probably have bruises. "Don't do this just because you're upset. I want you to want to give me these secrets."

"I do." It's the truth. The circumstances might have dictated it, but he wants Lex to know everything about him.

Lex nods, leaning down and beginning to laugh against Clark's shoulder "All right," he says a little breathlessly. "It's not funny, I know, but why now, Clark? After everything I've done to try to get you to tell, why would you choose a time when I didn't want to pry the information out of you? I truly didn't want to use this situation to get your secrets, so why would you choose to give them to me now?"

Clark sighs. "Truth? Because I need you. Because I owe you the truth. Most of all, because you're important enough to me that you need to know. You've done so much for me--you have the right to know."

Lex's mouth opens just a little, as though he's about to speak. Clark doesn't want to hear . Sometimes, there are better ways to express things.

He leans in and presses his mouth to Lex's.

Lex's intake of breath is sharp, but when he realizes what's happening, he immediately gives in and begins kissing back. Clark gives up control of the kiss instantly. Lex won't hurt him--he trusts that he won't--and he wants Lex to make him feel safe. He likes feeling like he's not in control of this.

"Don't do this because you feel like you're obligated," Lex murmurs when he finally breaks away. "This is only if you want it, Clark--"

Clark silences him with another kiss. When they break away, he whispers, "I want it."

To be completely honest, he's not sure he's ever wanted anything more.

Clark is sure that his mother knows what he's doing with Lex. He sleeps with Lex, after all--from the first time that she went in to check on him in the morning only to find his bed untouched, she must have realized something. He worries about it a little, because he doesn't want to make things any harder for her. She's suffered, too.

She finally addresses the issue when they have been at the mansion for one week.

His mother walks in on him while he's watching TV in the entertainment room. She's still dressed from work--her position with Lionel--except that she no longer looks quite as crisp as she once did. He considers that it may be due to her growing stomach. "Does he make you happy, Clark?" she asks as she walks in front of him, blocking his view of the TV.

He doesn't have to stop and wonder what she's talking about. He already knows. His relationship with Lex is the only thing it could be." "Yes."

"And you trust him?"

"You do," he points out, turning off the TV and sitting up. He's well aware that his mother delegated Lex to take care of him while she called in the coroners to take care of his father's body. She trusts Lex with him.

"But do you?"

"Yes." He trusts Lex with his life.

She nods absently, looking away from him as she comes to sit down on the couch. He moves his feet out of the way to make room for her.

His mother looks tired, he realizes. She's pregnant, yes, but there's something more to it than that. It's the loss of her husband, definitely, but maybe even something more. Clark isn't quite sure.

"I--Clark, I've tried to be a good mother, but I've made mistakes. Sometimes I... think I should have done things differently. Especially now, I'm happy that you have someone to trust."

So is he. He trusts his mother, certainly, but since his father's death, it seems as though there's been an irresistible force pulling them apart. Clark doesn't know how to stop it and, quite clearly, neither does his mother.

They're silent for a few moments. It's not comfortable silence such as he often shares with Lex. "What am I going to do about school?" he asks finally, just to break the silence. He hasn't thought a lot about school, really. It feels so secondary and trivial after everything that has happened. He does miss his friends, but with all the problems in his life, he hasn't had much time to dwell on it.

"I thought of home schooling. You've only got a little less than three years left. It's enough to start you somewhere else, but I just don't know..."

The thought of going to a new high school is revolting. He doesn't want to make new friends, and the idea of having to try to fit in with new people in a new place isn't appealing. It hardly seems worth his time to try.

"I like the idea of home schooling."

She smiles tiredly. "Good. If it's what you want, I'll have Lionel set something up with a tutor--"

Lionel. Always Lionel. "Why are you spending so much time with him, Mom? Why did we even accept his offer to stay here? I could have kept the farm running."

It's impossible to miss the look of guilt that darts over her face. "Oh, baby, I know, but living on the farm without your father--I'm not sure I could have done it. It would have hurt too much. Lionel--Lionel has helped."

Helped himself, most likely. Clark refuses to believe that the man does anything without an ulterior motive.

"He has, Clark," she says softly, reaching down to brush his hair back. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but he's been good to us."

Clark forces himself to nod. He doesn't understand why his mother seems to like Lionel, but he doesn't want to argue. It's just not worth it.

"Sometime this week, maybe just the two of us could go out for ice cream?" she suggests, giving him a small smile.

He nods--getting ice cream was what she used to do with him when he was younger and was upset. He doesn't really want to, but it's clear she wants to spend time with him. "Sure."

"Okay," she says, rising from the couch. She moves slowly, as though reluctant to bring their conversation to a close.

Clark doesn't say anything more, but merely watches her leave the room. Even after she's gone, he still doesn't turn the TV back on. There's too much to think about.

Maybe, someday, he'll get it all figured out.

When Martha insists that Clark gets a new wardrobe that's more appropriate for the city than jeans and flannel, Lex is the one who takes Clark shopping for clothes. While it likely would have been comfortable at any point in their friendship, it's especially so now. He spends minutes at a time kissing with Lex--he sleeps in Lex's bed. Letting Lex pick out clothes for him is something at which Clark scarcely bats an eye.

"Green is a good color on you," Lex says absently as he smoothes out the fabric over Clark's shoulders, chasing away the wrinkles of the expensive button-down shirt Clark is trying on. "Brings out your eyes."

Clark feels a tiny smile pull at his lips. He hasn't smiled much since his father died, but when he does, it's typically for Lex. "You really are gay, aren't you?"

Glancing up at the mirror, Clark sees Lex smile behind him. "Clark, my father could tell you the same thing. When you belong to a family as prominent as mine, you learn how to dress. You should be thankful--you certainly need the help."

Clark's grin widens. "You like it when I wear flannel to bed." When he wears flannel pajama pants, Lex seems incapable of keeping his hands away from Clark's legs.

Clark wears his flannel pajama pants every chance he gets.

"We're buying this shirt. Try the red one on," Lex says with a soft smile.

Clark undoes the buttons, pulls the shirt off and casts it aside. He could care less about these clothes. He doesn't even like them--he's only letting Lex buy them for him because he's not allowed to dress in flannel anymore. His mother never gave him a reason, and when he brought it up to Lex, Lex had gotten a troubled look on his face and had told him not to ask. He knows he should press the subject further, but he's afraid the answer will hurt.

He doesn't want to hurt any more.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Clark knows there's a large piece of information that he's missing. He's sure it's vital--is sure that, whatever it is, it would let him see the whole situation with Lionel, his mother and her pregnancy in a different, clearer light. He's also sure it would hurt more than anything he's ever felt, and for that reason, he's not working to discover what he's missing.

He knows that when he finally does find out what's happening, things will never be the same.

"What's wrong, Clark?"

Clark glances up at Lex, who looks worried. "Just thinking. About everything, you know?" If possible, Lex's expression darkens more, settling into something halfway between pity and anger. Clark knows the anger isn't at him. It never is. "There's more about what happened that I don't know, and I'm aware of that. Sometimes, I think that maybe I should try to figure out what it is. Other times, I don't want to know. Most times I don't want to know."

"Because the knowledge would hurt," Lex deadpans, helping Clark slip on the red shirt.

Clark nods. "You know what it is, don't you?"

"You know that I do. You also know I won't tell you. If you're willing to accept the hurt that will come with knowledge, you'll have to do it yourself. I won't do it to you. I won't hurt you like that."

"But there is something to know."

"Clark, you don't need to ask me that question. You already know the answer."

There's a sharpness in Lex's voice that lets Clark know the conversation is closed. Lex isn't angry with him, but there certainly isn't room for Clark to push. He's gotten all the information he's going to get today. Pushing any further now will just get him silence... or maybe a twisted, glazed-over version of the truth that would be no better than a lie.

Regardless of their past, Clark doesn't think Lex would lie to him now unless he feels that he absolutely has to. Even if he's wrong, Clark doubts he'll ever know it--if Lex is lying, Clark will likely never be able to tell.

He'd rather have no answer than a half-truth. He stops pushing.

"I think that's enough shopping for now," Lex announces. "Let's take a break for lunch."

Clark allows Lex to help him out of his shirt. The thing is cashmere--or so Lex tells him--and while it's smooth against his skin, he feels uncomfortable in it. It's some designer label sweater that he's only ever seen in Lex's closet--it doesn't seem right for him. What would his father think if he ever saw him dressing like this every day? If he ever saw him living life in the Luthor world?

Sighing, Clark hands Lex the shirt and follows him out of the dressing room. It's in situations like these that he misses his father--his judgment, his morals, his understanding of how Clark is uncomfortable wearing upscale things--so much it hurts.

*Part III: Lex*

Lex has always thrived on information. All his life, he's pushed for more. In everything, he wanted concrete evidence--he's always wanted to see with his own eyes. Theoretical knowledge was never good enough for him. He's always needed proof.

Watching his father on top of a desk with Martha Kent, Lex suddenly wishes he could go back to just knowing.

She looks good like that, sprawled on top of the desk, her face flushed and her mouth slightly open. Lex is not so disgusted that he can't objectively say that. She looks wide and open, like she's enjoying it. She probably is. Lex has to wonder just how much she enjoyed sex with his father before her husband died.

There's no doubt in his mind that this baby isn't Jonathan Kent's. Oddly, as little as he liked the man at times, the thought causes something inside of Lex to curl with anger. Jonathan Kent deserved better. After all he did for his family--the single-mindedness with which he protected his family--he shouldn't have been betrayed like this.

Martha probably deserves his father. With everything that she's done, maybe she deserves the kind of complications a life with someone like Lionel Luthor will bring. Maybe she deserves being with the man that Lex is unfortunate enough to call his father. Clearly she's proven she wasn't the fine, upstanding woman he thought she was.

Clark doesn't deserve it. Clark could never deserve to have his mother betray him like this.

Martha is clearly showing now. At five months along, her stomach is obvious, even with the way her skirt is pushed up over it, giving Lionel easy access.

"Yes," Lex hears her whisper, sharp and breathy, like the wind when it whips across the Kansas plains. It's something like how her son sounds when he and Lex are making love, except that Clark's voice is heavier, more desperate, like he'll die if he doesn't get what he wants.

Lex never intends to test that. He'll always give Clark what he wants, in all the ways that he's able.

Lex closes his eyes when his father comes. It's not that he's squeamish--although he never really wanted to see his father have sex--but there's something about the situation that repulses him beyond anything he's ever felt. Having walked in on them unexpectedly, he's aware that he could leave without suffering any real consequences--though he's sure his father knows he's there--but there's something inside himself that won't allow it. If Clark has to live with his mother doing this, Lex won't let himself deny that it's happening.

Still, Lex doesn't have to watch his father find his release inside of Martha Kent. Once, Lex had thought she was the epitome of goodness. Seeing his father inside of her--coming inside of her--would be like taking away the last vestiges of a good, but thoroughly shattered, dream.

For the time being, Lex wants to hold on to whatever traces of faith he's got left.

Having seen enough, Lex moves to turn away. He doesn't need to know about whatever might happen next. The picture is already clear enough for him. Martha has betrayed her husband, her son, and even herself. The picture couldn't be any more obvious, and even if it could be, Lex doesn't need more clarity.

Except, as he turns around, he realizes that he's not the only one who had a clear view of what was happening.

Clark is standing a few feet behind him in the hall. Every line of his posture is harsh and angry, bordering between rage and hurt. Seeing him--seeing the look in his eyes--Lex knows with complete certainty that Clark understands the depths of the situation.

"Clark--" he murmurs, moving towards him and reaching out to touch him.

Clark's gone. There's nothing but air in front of Lex.

Slowly, Lex closes his eyes and lowers his hands. Clark will come back when he's ready, and when he does, Lex knows he'll be the first one that Clark comes to.

After all, who else does he really have left?

Clark comes back that night. Quiet and gentle, he slips down into bed next to Lex. Neither of them says anything as Clark curls in curls against him, accepting the embrace that Lex offers.

"You knew."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to be the one who made you see it. I didn't want to hurt you like that."

Clark nods against his chest, apparently accepting his explanation. "The baby isn't my father's." It's not a question--it's merely an attempt at confirmation. Lex is more than aware that, logically, Clark probably knew this all along. What's he's asking for now--it's a last chance to be told he's wrong. It's a last attempt at denial.

As much as he wants to, Lex can't let him do that.

"No."

"Why would she do this?"

"It's a chance at a life she could have lived. My father is what she could have married. This life--it's what she could have had from the beginning. It fascinates her, and in all honesty, she's good at living it. She was a city girl at heart, Clark--she may have never truly been meant to be a farmer's wife."

"Please don't say that," Clark chokes out, the first chink of emotion in his otherwise impenetrable armor. Lex knows it won't last long--once the emotion starts, it will keep flowing until Clark has cried himself out. In all honesty, Lex doesn't look forward to watching that happen. "Damn it, Lex, did she ever really love me? I thought my parents were happy! I thought she loved my father. I thought she loved me! Why would she let all this happen? Doesn't she love me enough to put her family first?"

Lex feels something in his chest constrict, tightening until it's almost painful. "She loved you, Clark--she still does. She just..." He truly doesn't know why she did it. With someone as perfect as Clark for a son, Lex can't imagine why she'd ever be tempted to turn to a man like Lionel.

To turn to a man who could destroy everything, including the son she's raised.

"People can be selfish," he finally whispers, raising a hand to stroke Clark's hair. "It's not that she doesn't love you--more than likely, she never thought about how it would affect you when she cheated on your father. It's not you, Clark. She couldn't not love you--no one who knows you like she does could possibly not love you."

"Lex." It's only one soft word before Clark is crying, harsh sharp sobs that Lex knows he's been holding in for a long time--too long. Clark has let himself hurt for too long.

"Clark," he whispers, rocking his friend gently as he sobs. "Clark." Just his name, over and over. A good, strong name, a family name, a tribute to people Clark has never really known. It's all a lie, just like everything else, but it feels good on Lex's lips, because it's Clark's name. Clark makes his own name good, just like he does with everything else. Even when something is so wrong, Clark makes it right just by existing. For Lex, Clark makes everything right, just because he's himself.

Lex would give anything to be able to make things right for Clark.

It kills him that he can't.

Clark can barely look at his mother. He avoids her eyes at breakfast, looks down when he passes her in the hall, and offers her short and clipped answers when she tries to talk to him at dinner. It's clear that his inability to interact is bothering her. Lex hopes it hurts. He hopes it eats at her every moment of her life.

Martha doesn't deserve a son like Clark. Fate gave her something so perfect, and as far as Lex is concerned, she should have appreciated it. Instead, she's hurt Clark in ways that leave Lex disgusted. She's undeserving, and that knowledge leaves him bitter and angry.

Clark deserves better.

It's difficult to watch Clark struggle through life, knowing what he knows. He has sessions with his tutor--a decision Lex doesn't agree with; Clark should be going to school and making friends his own age--he eats meals, and he goes to bed, but beyond that, he's withdrawn and hurt.

Thankfully, he's not that way with Lex.

With Lex, he's still hurt, but he's at least willing to talk. He's not withdrawn. He likes to be touched--likes to have Lex's assurance. Lex gives it as often as he's able. If it's what Clark needs, he'll make sure he's providing it.

"You look as though you're thinking deep thoughts."

Glancing up from the spreadsheet that he's stopped concentrating on a few minutes ago, Lex is faced with Martha Kent. The look on her face is... not quite accusing, exactly, but it's certainly not warm. She used to look at him warmly. Now, she's more wary of him than anything.

"I've got a lot on my mind."

"My son?"

"Clark is going through a difficult time. Someone needs to be there for him." It's a thinly veiled accusation. He hardly even cares if she realizes it.

"In bed?" she asks coldly.

"You do know what they say about stones and glass houses, don't you, Martha?"

She at least has the good grace to blush. "Have you told him?"

"I haven't told your son anything. He doesn't need to be told. He's not blind, and even if he was, he could still hear you fucking on my father's desk." The look of shock on her face is satisfying. She hadn't thought they'd been caught. How interesting. He suspects that his father knew he'd had an audience. After all, everything Lionel Luthor does is a performance--sex isn't any different, and Lex knows that leaving the door open--allowing him to see--was likely a personal dig. Once again, his father has taken something Lex cares about--the Kents--and proven that he can take control of it. "Next time, exercise some common sense and close the door."

"Did Clark see?" she asks, her voice low and worried.

"Yes."

"How much does he know?"

"He's smart, Martha." It's a little worrying to think that she's underestimating Clark to this extent. More than likely, she just doesn't want to think that her son could know what's going on. "He knows why you made him move here, and he knows the baby isn't his father's."

"I wish I could have stopped him from finding out."

Lex merely rolls his eyes. "You could have stopped that from ever being necessary. Whether or not he and I generally saw eye to eye, Jonathan deserved better "

"I loved my husband," she says fiercely.

Oddly, he believes her. "I know you did. Clearly, not enough. I doubt it will be enough for Clark, either."

"What are you suggesting?"

"You want to fuck with my father in plain sight? Personally, I don't care. I only care when Clark sees. He doesn't need to see it. Let me take him home to Smallville."

It's a possibility he's thought on for some time. He has business in Smallville--a fertilizer plant and a fledgling company--that's important enough to justify his continued presence there. It would be good for Clark. At the very least, it would let him retain a small sliver of normalcy.

More importantly, it would keep him away from Lionel Luthor. The man only destroys the things he touches, and Lex doesn't want Clark anywhere near someone like that.

"I had a feeling you might ask that," she says slowly.

"Then I'll assume you have an answer."

She nods. "I love my son. I want what's best for him."

"As insane as it seems, I believe you."

"Right now, I think letting him go is what's best."

Whatever doubts Lex has that Martha truly loves her son--they vanish right then. She does love him--she's just gotten caught up in something that's beyond her control. She'll never get out of the situation on her own, and more than likely, she doesn't want to be saved. She wants to stay with Lionel Luthor.

She clearly also recognizes how detrimental that would be to Clark.

Lex has no doubt that Martha sees what this life would do to Clark, and as much as it's going to hurt her, she's going to send him away. She's getting Clark out of the situation at the expense of their relationship, in spite of Clark's opinion of her--of everything her life was until her husband died. She's letting him go, because she loves him enough to recognize that, while she's warped her life irreparably, the same doesn't have to happen to Clark.

At least not to the same extent.

Looking back at her, Lex sees a flash of the woman he once so admired. For just a moment, he's reminded of the person he thought was so like his own mother. "You could come with us, Martha."

She glances up at him sadly. "I've gotten myself into this, and we both know your father isn't going to let go--not when he's getting everything he wants. This isn't about me anymore--I'm not the one who matters. Get my son out of here. Take care of him."

Slowly, Lex nods. She's made her decision. He only hopes she can live with him.

"We'll be leaving on Monday," Lex says quietly, already turning and heading for the door. He has no doubt that Martha will handle any objections by Lionel--as odd as it is, he seems truly attached to her, enough that Lex thinks his father will give in on this. She was the one he had to convince. If she agrees, Clark will be coming with him.

He forces himself to ignore the quiet sobs in the room behind him. There's nothing he can do to make Martha's loss of her son easier. She'll be another life his father has ruined, and there's not a damn thing he can do to stop it. In this situation, there's only one variable.

Clark.

In all of his life, Lex is sure he's never been entrusted with something so important. It's a heady feeling--one he never wanted if it meant replacing Clark's parents--but he's going to be sure that he lives up to the responsibility. Martha Kent might not be able to be helped, but Clark can be. If Lex does things right, Clark won't have to live a life that will destroy him. He won't have to become like his mother. His life can be his own.

Lex won't let it be anything else.

*Epilogue: Martha*

It's the right thing. She knows it is, but it's still agonizing for her to watch the limo pull away from Luthorcorp towers with her only son inside. Clark. Her son, the answer to her keenest wish. Her son, whom she'd wanted more than anything, all those years ago.

It disgusts her to think about what she's done to him.

Lionel's hand is warm on her back as they watch the limo from the lobby of Luthor Corp. He's always there, always attentive--always proprietary. His attention is constantly present, never failing to let her know that she's his. The baby inside of her is his. Like anything else in his world, he intends to run their lives his way .

Lionel wasn't keen to let Clark go. He hadn't said it outright, but Martha knows that he wanted Clark nearby, where he could be influenced. He'd easily countered her threat to go to the police with what she knows about Jonathan's death, smiling and telling her he'd expose Clark. She'd then pointed out that, if he did, Lex would have Clark out of the country before Lionel could do anything, and then where would he be? He'd be exposed, and Clark would be safe. Considering she only wanted to let her son go back home, she'd recommended that he didn't push her to do something so rash. Mutually assured destruction really wouldn't help anyone.

Lionel had seemed almost impressed at her threats. Martha suspects that he allowed her what she wanted more because of that than because of any fear of what she'd expose. Besides, Clark was still close enough for him to keep an eye on.

Martha hates that that's the case--she hates that Lionel always has to be assured of control.

She knows that need to dominate is why Lionel and Lex clash so violently. Lex is similar to his father. They're both strong-willed people, both used to being obeyed, both used to getting what they want. When Lex refuses Lionel's order, they fight, because in Lionel Luthor's world, everyone belongs under his thumb. The irony is that, should Lex accept his father's rule without question, Lionel would pick him apart. He raised a strong son--a strong successor. He raised someone as ruthless as himself. Anything less would be disappointing. It would be a disgrace.

Lex is like his father in so many ways.

Martha is thankful that, where it counts, he's very different.

"We should go back inside," Lionel says quietly, a small smile playing at his lips. It's a cold look. He's not being considerate--he's playing his hand. She doubts it matters anymore. She's lodged so tightly under his thumb that she knows she won't be able to get out. At this point, she can barely bring herself to care.

Her husband is dead.

Her son is safe.

When the child inside her is born, she'll find ways to protect it.

Beyond that, she doesn't care. It's not about her--she doesn't deserve for it to be, not anymore. Her mistakes got her husband killed--lost her son his father. For now, Lionel can have his power.

For now, she'll let him think he's won everything he wanted.

It won't last forever. She knows there will be a time when he tries to hurt Clark--and when he tries to mold the child she's carrying into his own image. When he does, God help him. Because while she doesn't care for herself anymore? She'd kill for her children. She would do anything for her children.

If it comes to that, she will.

Martha allows Lionel to guide her back into the penthouse.

Her time hasn't come. Yet.

END