Eighty-eight Nights and Counting
This story came about because scribblinlenore decided to start a round robin starring an alien overlord Kal-El who was bored. You might care to check it out since the result so far has been lots of lovely porn, courtesy of kyanoswolf and rose_etta. I believe it might be friends-locked, but here's the link.
http://www.livejournal.com/users/scribblinlenore/137000.html#cutid1
However, the idea of a bored alien overlord appealed to me and since I love Alien Overlord fics, I stole borrowed her idea. This is what resulted. Unbeta'd, so please forgive the abundance of errors.
Eighty-eight Nights and Counting
Kal-El was bored. The conquering part had been interesting and some of it had even been downright exciting, but the ruling part? That he could do without. Everyone was always whining, pleading, or demanding something of him. He'd just spent eight hours sitting on his throne and listening to representatives of different countries of the world appeal to him as the last resort over some perceived slight or injustice.
When the last of the petitioners had finally finished filing out, Kal let out a sigh loud enough that it echoed off the crystal walls of his palace. His life was becoming boring and he'd only been doing this for a few years. He couldn't imagine how bored he'd be in a hundred years.
A guard approached his throne and bowed down. "A representative from Kansas has arrived with a gift for you."
Kal-El perked up. Kansas was at the heart of the last and most effective of the resistance movements. His troops were now concentrating all of their efforts there, having subdued everywhere else on the globe. The latest reports Kal-El had received indicated that only a ragtag group of resistance fighters remained.
Hoping that this gift was a trick and he'd have some excitement at last, he waved his hand and said, "Show him in."
The doors opened wide and Kal-El was surprised to see that the representative was a girl with short, spiky blonde hair. He was even more surprised at the gift.
"We caught him," the girl said, shoving her prisoner forward so hard that he stumbled.
Kal-El rose to his feet, his eyes roaming over the male before him. It was the leader of the resistance. The one that always seemed at least two steps ahead of his troops. The man that had single-handedly almost turned the tide of the Battle of Metropolis.
"Lex Luthor. At last we meet."
Blue eyes looked up at him and, for a moment, Kal-El could have sworn he saw pain flash through them. The man straightened up as much as he could, chained as he was. Those who'd captured him must have feared him greatly for there were manacles on his wrists and ankles and a collar around his neck. Lengths of chain were threaded through them so that he could barely move his legs to walk. His clothing was ragged and it looked as if he had been severely beaten.
With what appeared to be a great effort, Luthor spat on the floor and said contemptuously "Alien."
"Please," the girl was saying, "All we ask for is peace."
"If the resistance is over, if my troops are no longer attacked, then you shall have it," Kal-El said, never once moving his gaze away from Luthor. At a motion of his hand, the guard escorted the girl away, and then closed the heavy doors behind them so that Kal-El and Luthor were left alone.
Slowly, Kal-El began to circle Luthor, amused at how the man tried to watch him constantly but was hampered by his chains.
"Beg for your life," Kal-El said casually, as if commenting upon the weather.
"Never."
"I could make you beg." Again, there was the casual tone, but this time there was a smooth air of menace layered over it.
Luthor just straightened as much as he could and glared defiantly.
Kal-El ran a fingertip over a cheek and watched the muscle ripple as Luthor did his best not to flinch. "I've heard of you, you know. That you're some sort of meteor mutant. That you heal remarkably fast."
The finger slid down Luthor's neck and caressed the band of metal that lay there. "It would make things interesting. To experiment. To see how long it takes you to heal from certain injuries."
Leaning forward, Kal-El let his breath ghost over Luthor's ear. "Tell me," he whispered conspiratorially, "if I were to cut something off, would it grow back?"
There was no answer, but a bead of sweat rolled down the side of Luthor's face.
"And, if it did grow back, how many times would I have to cut it off again to get you to start begging?"
Pulling back, Kal-El smiled, then turned his back on Luthor and walked to his throne. Sitting down, he eyed Luthor, who seemed to have lost a touch of his arrogance.
"Come closer," he ordered. After a slight hesitation, Luthor did so, shuffling along, his chains clanking as he moved.
"Kneel."
There was hate in the glare that Luthor sent Kal-El, but, with a grimace, he dropped to his knees.
"Now tell me why I should spare your life."
For a moment, Kal-El believed that Luthor wasn't going to answer. There was a tic near his eye and he was biting his lip. Finally he took a deep breath. "Once upon a time, in a small town in Kansas--"
"What are you doing?" Kal-El interrupted. "In case you don't remember, I said for you to tell me why I shouldn't kill you."
"I'm telling you. You never said to do it in ten words or less."
Was Luthor smirking? Scowling, Kal-El indicated for him to continue.
"Once upon a time," Luthor began again, "in a small town in Kansas lived a farmboy. A very special farmboy. Although his parents were poor they were very happy, for they had always wanted a son and now they had one."
Kal-El let out a snort. "Is this going to take long? I do have things to destroy, people to conquer."
"I was under the impression that except for the resistance forces in Kansas, there were no more people to conquer." Luthor said.
"People to terrify, then."
"Oh. Luthor looked at Kal-El for a moment, then started again. "Anyway, they were very happy despite living in the middle of nowhere, having a large mortgage, and possessing a rundown truck that couldn't do over fifty downhill. One day the farmboy was standing on a bridge looking at the river below when a rich boy in an incredibly beautiful piece of machinery came roaring up, going way too fast--"
"So, it's going to be one of those stories."
"What stories?" asked Luthor.
Kal-El rolled his eyes. "You know, a variation on the traveling salesman and the farmer's daughter only this time with a rich boy and a farmboy."
"You," accused Luthor, "have a dirty mind."
"Wouldn't it be faster just to ask me to spare you because you have a wife and thirty-two kids?"
"No, since I have neither a wife or children. So you're going to have to shut up and listen."
Kal-El let out a put upon sigh. "Very well. Continue."
Luthor opened his mouth then stopped. "I forgot where I was."
"The rich boy going way too fast."
"Right. The rich boy was driving much too fast and lost control. His car spun, hit Farmboy, sending them both over the rail into the water below."
"Well, that ended a lot faster than I thought it would."
"It's not done yet." Luthor's teeth were clenched as he spoke so it sounded almost like a hiss.
"Oh."
"They lived."
"You're just dragging this out. You just said that he hit Farmboy and went over a bridge."
"They lived," Luthor repeated. "Farmboy pulled the roof of the car back and rescued Richboy. After hauling him up the riverbank, he performed CPR, breathing air into Richboy's lungs, bringing him back to life."
"This is going to be a really, really long story, isn't it?"
"Yes. It is."
"I'd better order something to eat, then."
"Could you get me a Scotch?" asked Luthor. He thought for a moment. "Ask them to bring the whole bottle, will you?"
* * *
"Wad ah minude," Kal-El said, mouth still full of the bite of pie he'd just taken. Swallowing, he spoke more clearly. "She was wearing a piece of the meteor that killed her parents?"
"Yes."
"That's... that's weird. Maybe she should be called Creepygirl instead of Prettygirl."
Luthor, for some strange reason, seemed fairly pleased with this remark.
* * *
"So, let me get this straight. Farmboy's strung up in a field where Richboy saves him, then he runs off to stop the jerks who did it to him from being killed by Electricboy?"
"Well, his friends were there, too."
"Now explain this part, because I really don't understand. Why again am I supposed to spare your life?"
Luthor widened his eyes. "You don't think this is the end, do you?"
"It isn't?"
"Not even close."
Kal-El leaned back in his throne and ran a hand over his face. "Please tell me that you didn't lead your forces like this."
"My plan for the Battle of Metropolis was five hundred and sixty-six pages. Not counting maps, footnotes, or bibliography," Luthor said proudly.
"Fine," Kal-El said on a huff a breath. "It's getting late and I do have a world to run. I'll spare you for today. But tomorrow, we are finishing this."
Summoning the guards, Kal-El pointed at Luthor. "Take him to a cell for tonight."
"But," one of the guards stammered, "We don't have any cells."
"Then take him to one of the guest bedrooms and be sure that he doesn't escape."
The guards reached down to haul Luthor to his feet.
"Get him some new clothes." Kal-El ordered. He thought for a moment, then added, "And make sure he takes a bath."
"Thank you," Luthor said.
"Don't mention it." Kal-El tapped the side of his nose. "Super-powered sense of smell you know."
* * *
The next day, Luthor was brought before him clean, but bare-chested and wearing a sarong around his waist.
At Kal-El's questioning look, Luthor rattled the chains he still wore. "I think your people were hampered a bit by these."
Reaching out, Kal-El grasped the manacles at Luthor's wrist and tore them off. He did the same for the ones at his ankles. When he moved to do the same to the collar, Luthor stopped him.
"Leave that one on. I'd hate for people to forget that I'm a prisoner."
Feeling a bit hurt, Kal-El nodded. He let his eyes scan down Luthor's body. "You are looking better."
"You knew I healed fast."
The problem was, Luthor was looking extremely good. In fact, healthier, clean, and bare-chested, he was a sight to behold. Shifting a bit on his throne, Kal-El indicated for Luthor to take a seat at his feat.
"Continue to tell me why I should spare your life."
Luthor smiled at the question. "There was a young boy in this town who loved two things - bugs and Prettygirl."
* * *
The time passed quickly and Kal-El realized that once again he'd spent far too long listening to Luthor talk of Farmboy, Prettygirl, Richboy, and other assorted characters such as Spunkette, Bestfriend, Topmom, and Dadage.
"One question," Kal-El said, before sending Luthor back to his guarded room. "Why did Richboy talk so much about the Trojan War?"
"He was just explaining about the set that Nastydad gave him."
"But did he have to discuss at length battle strategies?"
"Yes," said Luthor.
"And recite the names of all the Greek heroes?"
"Yes," said Luthor, his voice rising a bit.
"Including the where they were from and how many soldiers they brought with them?"
"Yes!"
"I still do not understand, but if it was necessary, then it was necessary," Kal-El finally conceded. "You will come back tomorrow and tell me more."
Luthor bowed deeply. "Your wish is my command."
* * *
More days passed and the more Luthor talked about Farmboy and his friends instead of explaining why Kal-El should spare his life. Luthor now sat on a pillow near Kal-El's feet as he spoke. When his mouth became dry, there was always a blue bottle of water nearby for him.
One day, as Luthor was describing how Richboy was donning a bulletproof vest to enter a factory where Farmboy was being held hostage Kal-El lunged forward in his seat.
"I knew it," he crowed triumphantly.
"Knew what?" asked Luthor, confused.
"That Richboy was in love with Farmboy."
"He is not!" denied Luthor, completely shocked. "I said nothing of the sort."
"Richboy is risking his life for Farmboy," stated Kal-El.
"They're friends," Luthor said hotly. "Best friends. Besides, Farmboy has saved Richboy's life."
"But Farmboy knows he won't get hurt no matter what he does. It is more a matter of getting there in time, though he does seem to care a great deal for Richboy. But when Richboy enters the factory, he could die. He knows he could die. But he does not care as long as Farmboy is safe."
Luthor was staring at the floor as if trying to see something that wasn't there and shaking his head slightly. "But Farmboy loves Prettygirl. They belong together."
"When has Prettygirl saved Farmboy? Prettygirl is too busy thinking about Prettygirl and her boyfriend, Whitshisname."
"I... I... " Luthor stammered, then gave Kal-El a dirty look. "Who's telling this story, anyway?"
Kal-El leaned forward and patted Luthor's shoulder. "You are."
With a haughty sniff, Luthor continued his tale, only pausing at the point where Farmboy saved Richboy from falling to his death to glare at Kal-El. Kal-El ignored it and continued whispering "in love, in love, in love."
* * *
"What are you doing here?" Luthor asked as Kal-El entered his room.
"I was busy and missed your daily plea for your life." Kal-El sat heavily on the edge of the bed. There was soot on his face and he smelled of smoke.
"Why should I even bother?" Luthor snapped. "Evidently you've just come back from torching some place. Did it not bow to your rule? Did it not send enough tribute?"
Kal-El looked at him for a long moment before climbing to his feet. "Right," he said wearily. "That's exactly what happened." He'd almost reached the door when Luthor's voice stopped him.
"Did I tell you about the man who could get anyone to do anything he wanted with nothing but a simple touch?"
Turning his head, Kal-El saw Luthor studying him. "No. You haven't," Kal-El said slowly.
Luthor patted the bed next to him. "Sit down, then and listen."
The story for the night was only halfway done when soft snoring could be heard. Luthor sat there, looking at the sleeping overlord. His hand rose to his collar, hesitated for a moment, before lowering again.
Standing, Luthor grabbed a blanket and tucked it around the Supreme Ruler of the Earth.
* * *
Sometimes Kal-El would still send for Luthor and he'd appear in the throne room. More often than not, though, he would call for him while he ate and the time would pass pleasantly as Luthor continued to spin his tale between bites of food and sips of wine. Once in a while, though, Kal-El would appear in Luthor's rooms, dirty and exhausted.
This was one of those times. When Kal-El had appeared he'd been so filthy that Luthor had insisted that his plea for his life could wait until Kal-El showered. Almost pushing him into the bathroom, he ordered Kal-El to get clean and to use lots of soap because even without possessing any super powers, everyone in the palace could probably smell him.
When Kal-El emerged, Luthor gulped. The only thing the alien wore was a towel wrapped around his waist. His body still glistened with moisture.
Reclining on the bed, Kal-El listened to the beginning of the story and wondered why Luthor was facing away from him. Then he heard something that made him sit up.
"No! You're getting it wrong."
Luthor turned to face him then quickly averted his eyes to the bedspread. "What do you mean?"
"You just said that Richboy was getting married to Ladylust. Richboy can't get married. He's in love with Farmboy."
"He is not in love with Farmboy. And who's the one telling it, anyway?"
"But you're messing it up. The two of them have a destiny together. Richboy even said so."
"Not that kind of destiny."
"But--"
"Stop it, Cla--"
Luthor broke off the last word. There was a long pause and a heavy silence filled the room. At last, he spoke, this time more calmly. "It's my story. And this is the way it goes."
Kal-El only nodded in reply. He stayed silent when Farmboy stood next to Richboy as they took their vows and continued to hold his tongue when Lustlady tried to seduce Farmboy into killing her husband. When Luthor finished that evening, he let out a soft satisfied sigh and said, "I knew that couldn't be right."
* * *
"Come on, Luthor." Kal-El tugged harder. "If you don't start moving, I'm going to carry you."
"You wouldn't dare," Luthor said, but hurried his pace while attempting to avoid appearing as if he were actually doing so.
Flinging open a door to a room, Kal-El pulled Luthor inside. "Ta-da!"
In the center of the room sat a pool table. Nearby, on the wall, was a rack filled with cues.
"How did you get this?"
Kal-El smirked. "Alien overlord, remember?"
"Let me rephrase that question - why did you get this?"
Kal-El looked down at the ground before glancing up at Luthor from underneath his lashes. "In a lot of your tales, you mention Richboy and Farmboy playing pool together. I'd never played before and was curious."
Striding over to the table, Luthor racked up the balls, then tossed a cue to Kal-El. "Then I think it's high time someone taught you.
Ten minutes, Luthor shook his head. "Let me show you how to do it."
"I've already watched you do it. I'm just not getting it."
"Maybe this will help." Luthor moved behind him, his mouth next to Kal-El's ear. "Bend over." He placed one hand on the table for balance while guiding Kal-El with the other.
The instructions he spoke teased Kal-El's skin. "Line up the shot carefully. You're holding your cue too tight. Try to relax. That's it. You're doing great."
When the cue struck the ball just right and it ricocheted off the sides before rolling into a corner pocket, Kal-El excitedly turned in Luthor's arms.
"I did it."
A smile lit Luthor's face. "You sure did."
It was then they both seemed to notice how close they were. How the front of their bodies were pressed together. Color rising in his cheeks, Luthor stepped back. "Sorry."
"Don't be," was the reply. "Now I know why it's Richboy and Farmboy's favorite game."
* * *
Once again, Kal-El came to Luthor's room looking exhausted and collapsing on his bed.
"Are you okay?" Luthor asked, moving to stand over him.
His only answer was a weary nod.
"Would you like me to plea for my life or would you rather sleep?"
"I was wondering," Kal-El ventured softly. "A few days you started to call me by another name. It sounded like Cla. "
"Clark. I started to call you Clark."
"Who is Clark?"
"Was," Luthor corrected. He turned his back to Kal-El and took a few steps away. "Clark was my best friend. My only friend." Swallowing hard, he continued. "Clark's dead."
"I'm sorry."
"You should be." Luthor spun around. His eyes were filled with such anger that Kal-El flinched. "You killed him."
"I... I'm sorry." Kal-El repeated. He stood and moved to where Luthor was breathing shallowly and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know that I can't bring him back, but perhaps I could be your friend."
The hand was flung off. "You're not my friend," Luthor snarled. "You'll never be my friend."
Kal-El backed away, but Luthor pursued him. "You know nothing of being a friend. You know nothing of being human. Until you do, don't ever talk to me about being my friend."
As Kal-El walked down the halls after leaving Luthor's room, he began to wonder if he was really invulnerable. For some reason, deep inside, he hurt.
* * *
Kal-El let out a small moan. "Not again."
Since their most recent argument, Kal-El and Luthor had returned to using in the throne room for Luthor's daily plea. Kal-El was seated on his throne, but Luthor was refusing even his usual pillow as he sat on the crystal floor.
"What's wrong?" Luthor asked.
"You're talking about Creepygirl again."
"Her name is Petty... I mean Prettygirl."
"Can't you skip these parts?"
"No," Luthor snapped. "So stop asking."
"Fine." Kal-El's lower lip stuck out in a pout. "But if this plea to spare your life doesn't work, you can blame Creepygirl."
"Prettygirl," Luthor said, before starting up again on his latest tale.
Kal-El let his mind wander and found that he was studying Luthor as he spouted on about Creepygirl, stalkers, and for some reason, the Peloponnesian War. He'd tried enticing Luthor back to sharing his dinner, but that had been a disaster. The man had simply sat there, refusing to touch his food or wine.
Additionally, throughout the dinner he'd watched Kal-El, acting as if he were amused. As if Kal-El was doing something wrong whenever he sipped from his large glass of milk or hid his peas under some mashed potatoes.
Kal-El much preferred the way Luthor used to stare at him. It had made him feel self-conscious, but in a good way. His skin would heat up and he'd be filled with energy and happiness.
Luthor paused in his story and licked his lips. Kal-El watched that tongue flicker up over the scar he bore and wondered what that scar would feel like against his mouth. Or how it would feel on his chest. Or on his...
"Shit!" Luthor shouted, scrambling to his feet.
Heat vision had scorched the floor, barely missing Luthor's head.
"You really don't like hearing about Prettygirl, do you?"
"Um... no." Kal-El kept his eyes closed, trying to restrain his power. He could just imagine Luthor standing before him, eyes wide, chest heaving. He felt more heat threatening to burn through his lids. "I think you should go back to your room," he said, hoping desperately if Luthor were gone he'd be able to regain control.
As he heard footsteps moving away, he could picture the way Luthor walked. Purposeful, hips gliding, and that ass...
Seconds after the door closed, a burst of heat vision swept through the room.
* * *
"Okay, there's something else I don't understand."
Luthor sighed. "I already told you how Hannibal crossing the Alps relates to this story.
Kal-El shook his head. "No, that's not... well, I still don't understand that either, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's about the legend on the cave walls where the Evilthing lives. How it states that Segeth and Naman will become enemies."
"Right," Luthor confirmed, not sure where this was headed.
"And you've talked about how it could be interpreted as Segeth become evil, but it could also be interpreted as Naman becomes evil."
"Go on."
"What I don't understand is why anyone believes anything on the cave walls."
"It's... it's a legend."
"A legend on the walls of a cave where Evilthing lives. So, Evilthing can do all sorts of powerful things but it can't make a few marks when it's home decorating?"
"But... "
"And do they even know who Evilthing really is? They know who he says he is, but have they asked for any rock-solid proof?" Kal-El paused for a moment and a smile lit his face. "Hey, I made a joke. He's a cave thing and he needs rock-solid proof."
Luthor was no longer listening.
"It's not true."
Kal-El shrugged. "I didn't say that. I just said it didn't have to be true."
There was joy on Luthor's face. "Do you know what this means? It means they don't have to be enemies. They can stay friends. They... " Lex halted and stared at Kal-El. His shoulders slumped. "No. It was true."
Luthor looked so lost and disappointed that Kal-El did his best not to interrupt his daily plea for his life. The next day, he still looked sad, so Kal, again, didn't say anything. Not even when he heard how Richboy married Doctorho. He did feel vindicated in his dislike for the woman, however, when he found out how she betrayed Richboy.
* * *
Kal-El knew that something was going on. Each night, Luthor related his tale in a voice that was growing more and more devoid of emotion. The story, itself, was becoming heartbreaking.
"Does Nastydad die?" Kal-El spat out at one point.
"What?"
"Nastydad. Does he die in this story?"
"Yes," Luthor answered flatly.
"Good. When you get to that part, feel free to embellish it with plenty of gruesome details of Nastydad's suffering."
Luthor looked up at him, startled.
Later, when Luthor finished and stood to return his room, Kal-El said quietly. "I would have saved him, you know."
"What?"
"If I had been in your story, if I'd been there, I would have saved Richboy from being hurt like that."
Luthor shook his head sadly. "No. Believe me, you wouldn't have."
* * *
"I thought you weren't going to ever come in here again."
Despite it being past three in the morning, Luthor had awakened to the sound of Kal-El entered his room and becoming instantly alert.
"You should fear me," Kal-El said quietly.
As he walked across the room towards the bed, moonlight spread across his face. His expression was cold, distant, reminding Luthor of how alien he truly was.
"I could kill you in so many ways." Kal-El stood next to the bed, his voice empty of emotion. "With these hands, I could squeeze until your bones turn to dust. My eyes could sear through you, cooking your flesh to ash. A whisper of my breath could turn you to ice. Everywhere I go death and destruction are my companions. They walk beside me, knowing that neither can touch me, so attacking those all around instead."
"What is it?" Luthor raised one hand to Kal-El's chest in an effort to reach out to him, and then quickly pulled it back when he encountered something tacky there.
"A young girl died in my arms tonight," Kal-El said calmly. "Witnesses would tell you of how I dug my fingers into her chest and crushed her heart."
"What did you--"
"Finish your tale," Kal-El said harshly. "Finish it tonight and be done with your plea."
Steeling himself, Luthor began to talk. He spoke of how Farmboy and Richboy began to grow apart. How the depth of their caring was twisted with hurt feelings, mistrust, and anger.
The evil that lived in the cave spun a horrendous spell, one that caused Farmboy to not see the reality around him but view his worst nightmare instead. Of all the people he knew, it was only Richboy that was unaffected by it.
"He came to Richboy," Luthor said quietly, "crippled by grief, asking why, how his parents and friends had died. Even though Richboy knew that hadn't happened, he bargained with Farmboy - information for information. Richboy asked for the truth.
When all the lies and the half-truths had been stripped away, I..." Luthor paused and took a deep breath. "Richboy laughed and told Farmboy that he deserved to be alone.
Luthor glanced up at Kal-El. "Richboy didn't mean it. He didn't. But even half a second later, when he already regretted his words, he couldn't repair the damage they'd caused for Farmboy had left. Disappeared. Richboy contacted everyone, searching desperately for Farmboy, wanting to undo what he'd done. It was too late. Farmboy had gone to Evilthing. Evilthing had won.
There was a long silence.
"Your request has been granted," Kal-El finally said quietly. "Your life is spared."
Luthor looked at him, stunned.
"Go," Kal-El ordered. He turned his back to Luthor and left without once glancing back.
Luthor stayed where he was for several minutes. At last, muttering a curse, he stood and stalked towards the exit. He'd only gone a little ways when he halted and retraced his steps. With slow deliberateness, Luthor reached up to his neck where the collar, evidence that he was a prisoner, was still fastened. With a flick of his fingers, he opened a hidden clasp and removed it. Another flick and it came apart in his hands revealing a hidden cache of green Kryptonite hidden within.
Laying it on the bed, Luthor left the Palace of the Overlord.
* * *
"I thought you were dead."
Luthor took another sip of his Scotch, scowling as he did so. There was no comparison between this bottle that he'd managed to scavenge and Kal-El's stock.
"As you can see, I'm alive and well."
Sitting in a ratty chair on the other side of the desk, Chloe studied him closely. "Perhaps a bit too well," she mused. "Not to mention that your assassination attempt flopped. And you returned without the kryptonite."
"Stay out of it, Chloe. If you want to talk, tell me the status of operations."
"As per your instructions, on the day you went into the palace, we disbanded everything but the monitoring station."
Rising to her feet, she strode over to a wall that was covered with articles and photos of destruction. "The alien's acts continue to have no pattern that we can discern. While you were gone, he caused a fire to consume a good portion of a neighborhood in New Delhi before several buildings collapsed and the fire was extinguished. He forced part of a hillside down upon a town in Chile. There were a few other more minor incidents. The most recent when he knocked a small passenger plane from the air. Witnesses said that there was one survivor, a small girl, but the alien killed her."
With slightly shaky hands, Luthor placed the tumbler down and straightened up in his chair. "Witnesses said that?"
Chloe nodded. "Several of them."
"I have a question - before the Kal-El, before the Alien Overlord, Ruler of Planet Earth existed, did small passenger planes ever go down?"
She arched her eyebrows in surprise. "All the time. You know that, Lex. You were in a couple of them."
"And since then," Luthor said, looking into her eyes, "how many have crashed? How many have run out of gas, hit a mountain, flown into a storm, pilot error, you name it?"
There was a long pause. "Shit," Chloe breathed out. "He's been playing us."
"Look now how mortals are blaming the gods, for they say that evils come from us." At Chloe's questioning look, Lex shrugged. "Homer. The Odyssey. I suppose a population who believes the ruler is all-powerful tends to be a easier to control."
"But... he's there. Wherever the disaster is."
"And what was Clark well-known for?"
Chloe inhaled sharply. "He's saving people?"
"Or trying to, is my guess. He may not ever remember being Clark, but inside, it's still him."
Luthor stood and headed for the door.
Chloe hurried after him, following him out of the room and down the corridor. "Where are you going?"
Halting long enough so that she could catch up, he answered her. "Don't you think it's about time somebody saved him?"
* * *
Kal-El awoke when he felt a weight drop down onto the bed next to him. Rolling onto his back, he used the heel of a hand to rub at his eyes.
Luthor was sitting next to him, watching him as if he wanted to memorize every detail.
Propping himself up against the headboard, Kal-El scowled at the intruder. "Do I even want to know how you got in here?"
"Probably not. Also, it might not be something you want known - that the leader of a resistance group managed to crawl into your bed." Luthor thought for a moment. "Actually, that's not something I think either of us wants known."
Kal-El sighed. "Why are you here?"
"I forgot something."
"If you mean the kryptonite, it's already been disposed of."
Luthor edged closer. "No, Clark. That's not what I'm talking about."
"You called me Clark again. I am Kal-El, last son of Krypton."
Luthor scooted over some more. "You're also Clark Kent, son of Martha and Jonathan Kent."
Kal-El contemplated the slowly disappearing space between them. "I do not know who those people are."
"You're also," Luthor added, as he brought their bodies into contact, "Farmboy."
"I'm Farmboy?" Kal-El's face screwed up in thought. "Are you sure? Farmboy doesn't seem too bright."
"That's all right," Luthor replied as he raised a hand to stroke down Kal-El's cheek. "Richboy still cares for him. Very much so."
Kal-El's eyes widened for a moment as understanding hit. When Luthor leaned forward, he did so as well, so that their lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. Breaking apart, Kal-El breathed out a quiet "I knew it."
"Knew what?"
Kal-El beamed. "Richboy and Farmboy belong together."
"Of course," Luthor replied. "They have a destiny."
The End
http://www.livejournal.com/users/scribblinlenore/137000.html#cutid1
However, the idea of a bored alien overlord appealed to me and since I love Alien Overlord fics, I stole borrowed her idea. This is what resulted. Unbeta'd, so please forgive the abundance of errors.
Eighty-eight Nights and Counting
Kal-El was bored. The conquering part had been interesting and some of it had even been downright exciting, but the ruling part? That he could do without. Everyone was always whining, pleading, or demanding something of him. He'd just spent eight hours sitting on his throne and listening to representatives of different countries of the world appeal to him as the last resort over some perceived slight or injustice.
When the last of the petitioners had finally finished filing out, Kal let out a sigh loud enough that it echoed off the crystal walls of his palace. His life was becoming boring and he'd only been doing this for a few years. He couldn't imagine how bored he'd be in a hundred years.
A guard approached his throne and bowed down. "A representative from Kansas has arrived with a gift for you."
Kal-El perked up. Kansas was at the heart of the last and most effective of the resistance movements. His troops were now concentrating all of their efforts there, having subdued everywhere else on the globe. The latest reports Kal-El had received indicated that only a ragtag group of resistance fighters remained.
Hoping that this gift was a trick and he'd have some excitement at last, he waved his hand and said, "Show him in."
The doors opened wide and Kal-El was surprised to see that the representative was a girl with short, spiky blonde hair. He was even more surprised at the gift.
"We caught him," the girl said, shoving her prisoner forward so hard that he stumbled.
Kal-El rose to his feet, his eyes roaming over the male before him. It was the leader of the resistance. The one that always seemed at least two steps ahead of his troops. The man that had single-handedly almost turned the tide of the Battle of Metropolis.
"Lex Luthor. At last we meet."
Blue eyes looked up at him and, for a moment, Kal-El could have sworn he saw pain flash through them. The man straightened up as much as he could, chained as he was. Those who'd captured him must have feared him greatly for there were manacles on his wrists and ankles and a collar around his neck. Lengths of chain were threaded through them so that he could barely move his legs to walk. His clothing was ragged and it looked as if he had been severely beaten.
With what appeared to be a great effort, Luthor spat on the floor and said contemptuously "Alien."
"Please," the girl was saying, "All we ask for is peace."
"If the resistance is over, if my troops are no longer attacked, then you shall have it," Kal-El said, never once moving his gaze away from Luthor. At a motion of his hand, the guard escorted the girl away, and then closed the heavy doors behind them so that Kal-El and Luthor were left alone.
Slowly, Kal-El began to circle Luthor, amused at how the man tried to watch him constantly but was hampered by his chains.
"Beg for your life," Kal-El said casually, as if commenting upon the weather.
"Never."
"I could make you beg." Again, there was the casual tone, but this time there was a smooth air of menace layered over it.
Luthor just straightened as much as he could and glared defiantly.
Kal-El ran a fingertip over a cheek and watched the muscle ripple as Luthor did his best not to flinch. "I've heard of you, you know. That you're some sort of meteor mutant. That you heal remarkably fast."
The finger slid down Luthor's neck and caressed the band of metal that lay there. "It would make things interesting. To experiment. To see how long it takes you to heal from certain injuries."
Leaning forward, Kal-El let his breath ghost over Luthor's ear. "Tell me," he whispered conspiratorially, "if I were to cut something off, would it grow back?"
There was no answer, but a bead of sweat rolled down the side of Luthor's face.
"And, if it did grow back, how many times would I have to cut it off again to get you to start begging?"
Pulling back, Kal-El smiled, then turned his back on Luthor and walked to his throne. Sitting down, he eyed Luthor, who seemed to have lost a touch of his arrogance.
"Come closer," he ordered. After a slight hesitation, Luthor did so, shuffling along, his chains clanking as he moved.
"Kneel."
There was hate in the glare that Luthor sent Kal-El, but, with a grimace, he dropped to his knees.
"Now tell me why I should spare your life."
For a moment, Kal-El believed that Luthor wasn't going to answer. There was a tic near his eye and he was biting his lip. Finally he took a deep breath. "Once upon a time, in a small town in Kansas--"
"What are you doing?" Kal-El interrupted. "In case you don't remember, I said for you to tell me why I shouldn't kill you."
"I'm telling you. You never said to do it in ten words or less."
Was Luthor smirking? Scowling, Kal-El indicated for him to continue.
"Once upon a time," Luthor began again, "in a small town in Kansas lived a farmboy. A very special farmboy. Although his parents were poor they were very happy, for they had always wanted a son and now they had one."
Kal-El let out a snort. "Is this going to take long? I do have things to destroy, people to conquer."
"I was under the impression that except for the resistance forces in Kansas, there were no more people to conquer." Luthor said.
"People to terrify, then."
"Oh. Luthor looked at Kal-El for a moment, then started again. "Anyway, they were very happy despite living in the middle of nowhere, having a large mortgage, and possessing a rundown truck that couldn't do over fifty downhill. One day the farmboy was standing on a bridge looking at the river below when a rich boy in an incredibly beautiful piece of machinery came roaring up, going way too fast--"
"So, it's going to be one of those stories."
"What stories?" asked Luthor.
Kal-El rolled his eyes. "You know, a variation on the traveling salesman and the farmer's daughter only this time with a rich boy and a farmboy."
"You," accused Luthor, "have a dirty mind."
"Wouldn't it be faster just to ask me to spare you because you have a wife and thirty-two kids?"
"No, since I have neither a wife or children. So you're going to have to shut up and listen."
Kal-El let out a put upon sigh. "Very well. Continue."
Luthor opened his mouth then stopped. "I forgot where I was."
"The rich boy going way too fast."
"Right. The rich boy was driving much too fast and lost control. His car spun, hit Farmboy, sending them both over the rail into the water below."
"Well, that ended a lot faster than I thought it would."
"It's not done yet." Luthor's teeth were clenched as he spoke so it sounded almost like a hiss.
"Oh."
"They lived."
"You're just dragging this out. You just said that he hit Farmboy and went over a bridge."
"They lived," Luthor repeated. "Farmboy pulled the roof of the car back and rescued Richboy. After hauling him up the riverbank, he performed CPR, breathing air into Richboy's lungs, bringing him back to life."
"This is going to be a really, really long story, isn't it?"
"Yes. It is."
"I'd better order something to eat, then."
"Could you get me a Scotch?" asked Luthor. He thought for a moment. "Ask them to bring the whole bottle, will you?"
* * *
"Wad ah minude," Kal-El said, mouth still full of the bite of pie he'd just taken. Swallowing, he spoke more clearly. "She was wearing a piece of the meteor that killed her parents?"
"Yes."
"That's... that's weird. Maybe she should be called Creepygirl instead of Prettygirl."
Luthor, for some strange reason, seemed fairly pleased with this remark.
* * *
"So, let me get this straight. Farmboy's strung up in a field where Richboy saves him, then he runs off to stop the jerks who did it to him from being killed by Electricboy?"
"Well, his friends were there, too."
"Now explain this part, because I really don't understand. Why again am I supposed to spare your life?"
Luthor widened his eyes. "You don't think this is the end, do you?"
"It isn't?"
"Not even close."
Kal-El leaned back in his throne and ran a hand over his face. "Please tell me that you didn't lead your forces like this."
"My plan for the Battle of Metropolis was five hundred and sixty-six pages. Not counting maps, footnotes, or bibliography," Luthor said proudly.
"Fine," Kal-El said on a huff a breath. "It's getting late and I do have a world to run. I'll spare you for today. But tomorrow, we are finishing this."
Summoning the guards, Kal-El pointed at Luthor. "Take him to a cell for tonight."
"But," one of the guards stammered, "We don't have any cells."
"Then take him to one of the guest bedrooms and be sure that he doesn't escape."
The guards reached down to haul Luthor to his feet.
"Get him some new clothes." Kal-El ordered. He thought for a moment, then added, "And make sure he takes a bath."
"Thank you," Luthor said.
"Don't mention it." Kal-El tapped the side of his nose. "Super-powered sense of smell you know."
* * *
The next day, Luthor was brought before him clean, but bare-chested and wearing a sarong around his waist.
At Kal-El's questioning look, Luthor rattled the chains he still wore. "I think your people were hampered a bit by these."
Reaching out, Kal-El grasped the manacles at Luthor's wrist and tore them off. He did the same for the ones at his ankles. When he moved to do the same to the collar, Luthor stopped him.
"Leave that one on. I'd hate for people to forget that I'm a prisoner."
Feeling a bit hurt, Kal-El nodded. He let his eyes scan down Luthor's body. "You are looking better."
"You knew I healed fast."
The problem was, Luthor was looking extremely good. In fact, healthier, clean, and bare-chested, he was a sight to behold. Shifting a bit on his throne, Kal-El indicated for Luthor to take a seat at his feat.
"Continue to tell me why I should spare your life."
Luthor smiled at the question. "There was a young boy in this town who loved two things - bugs and Prettygirl."
* * *
The time passed quickly and Kal-El realized that once again he'd spent far too long listening to Luthor talk of Farmboy, Prettygirl, Richboy, and other assorted characters such as Spunkette, Bestfriend, Topmom, and Dadage.
"One question," Kal-El said, before sending Luthor back to his guarded room. "Why did Richboy talk so much about the Trojan War?"
"He was just explaining about the set that Nastydad gave him."
"But did he have to discuss at length battle strategies?"
"Yes," said Luthor.
"And recite the names of all the Greek heroes?"
"Yes," said Luthor, his voice rising a bit.
"Including the where they were from and how many soldiers they brought with them?"
"Yes!"
"I still do not understand, but if it was necessary, then it was necessary," Kal-El finally conceded. "You will come back tomorrow and tell me more."
Luthor bowed deeply. "Your wish is my command."
* * *
More days passed and the more Luthor talked about Farmboy and his friends instead of explaining why Kal-El should spare his life. Luthor now sat on a pillow near Kal-El's feet as he spoke. When his mouth became dry, there was always a blue bottle of water nearby for him.
One day, as Luthor was describing how Richboy was donning a bulletproof vest to enter a factory where Farmboy was being held hostage Kal-El lunged forward in his seat.
"I knew it," he crowed triumphantly.
"Knew what?" asked Luthor, confused.
"That Richboy was in love with Farmboy."
"He is not!" denied Luthor, completely shocked. "I said nothing of the sort."
"Richboy is risking his life for Farmboy," stated Kal-El.
"They're friends," Luthor said hotly. "Best friends. Besides, Farmboy has saved Richboy's life."
"But Farmboy knows he won't get hurt no matter what he does. It is more a matter of getting there in time, though he does seem to care a great deal for Richboy. But when Richboy enters the factory, he could die. He knows he could die. But he does not care as long as Farmboy is safe."
Luthor was staring at the floor as if trying to see something that wasn't there and shaking his head slightly. "But Farmboy loves Prettygirl. They belong together."
"When has Prettygirl saved Farmboy? Prettygirl is too busy thinking about Prettygirl and her boyfriend, Whitshisname."
"I... I... " Luthor stammered, then gave Kal-El a dirty look. "Who's telling this story, anyway?"
Kal-El leaned forward and patted Luthor's shoulder. "You are."
With a haughty sniff, Luthor continued his tale, only pausing at the point where Farmboy saved Richboy from falling to his death to glare at Kal-El. Kal-El ignored it and continued whispering "in love, in love, in love."
* * *
"What are you doing here?" Luthor asked as Kal-El entered his room.
"I was busy and missed your daily plea for your life." Kal-El sat heavily on the edge of the bed. There was soot on his face and he smelled of smoke.
"Why should I even bother?" Luthor snapped. "Evidently you've just come back from torching some place. Did it not bow to your rule? Did it not send enough tribute?"
Kal-El looked at him for a long moment before climbing to his feet. "Right," he said wearily. "That's exactly what happened." He'd almost reached the door when Luthor's voice stopped him.
"Did I tell you about the man who could get anyone to do anything he wanted with nothing but a simple touch?"
Turning his head, Kal-El saw Luthor studying him. "No. You haven't," Kal-El said slowly.
Luthor patted the bed next to him. "Sit down, then and listen."
The story for the night was only halfway done when soft snoring could be heard. Luthor sat there, looking at the sleeping overlord. His hand rose to his collar, hesitated for a moment, before lowering again.
Standing, Luthor grabbed a blanket and tucked it around the Supreme Ruler of the Earth.
* * *
Sometimes Kal-El would still send for Luthor and he'd appear in the throne room. More often than not, though, he would call for him while he ate and the time would pass pleasantly as Luthor continued to spin his tale between bites of food and sips of wine. Once in a while, though, Kal-El would appear in Luthor's rooms, dirty and exhausted.
This was one of those times. When Kal-El had appeared he'd been so filthy that Luthor had insisted that his plea for his life could wait until Kal-El showered. Almost pushing him into the bathroom, he ordered Kal-El to get clean and to use lots of soap because even without possessing any super powers, everyone in the palace could probably smell him.
When Kal-El emerged, Luthor gulped. The only thing the alien wore was a towel wrapped around his waist. His body still glistened with moisture.
Reclining on the bed, Kal-El listened to the beginning of the story and wondered why Luthor was facing away from him. Then he heard something that made him sit up.
"No! You're getting it wrong."
Luthor turned to face him then quickly averted his eyes to the bedspread. "What do you mean?"
"You just said that Richboy was getting married to Ladylust. Richboy can't get married. He's in love with Farmboy."
"He is not in love with Farmboy. And who's the one telling it, anyway?"
"But you're messing it up. The two of them have a destiny together. Richboy even said so."
"Not that kind of destiny."
"But--"
"Stop it, Cla--"
Luthor broke off the last word. There was a long pause and a heavy silence filled the room. At last, he spoke, this time more calmly. "It's my story. And this is the way it goes."
Kal-El only nodded in reply. He stayed silent when Farmboy stood next to Richboy as they took their vows and continued to hold his tongue when Lustlady tried to seduce Farmboy into killing her husband. When Luthor finished that evening, he let out a soft satisfied sigh and said, "I knew that couldn't be right."
* * *
"Come on, Luthor." Kal-El tugged harder. "If you don't start moving, I'm going to carry you."
"You wouldn't dare," Luthor said, but hurried his pace while attempting to avoid appearing as if he were actually doing so.
Flinging open a door to a room, Kal-El pulled Luthor inside. "Ta-da!"
In the center of the room sat a pool table. Nearby, on the wall, was a rack filled with cues.
"How did you get this?"
Kal-El smirked. "Alien overlord, remember?"
"Let me rephrase that question - why did you get this?"
Kal-El looked down at the ground before glancing up at Luthor from underneath his lashes. "In a lot of your tales, you mention Richboy and Farmboy playing pool together. I'd never played before and was curious."
Striding over to the table, Luthor racked up the balls, then tossed a cue to Kal-El. "Then I think it's high time someone taught you.
Ten minutes, Luthor shook his head. "Let me show you how to do it."
"I've already watched you do it. I'm just not getting it."
"Maybe this will help." Luthor moved behind him, his mouth next to Kal-El's ear. "Bend over." He placed one hand on the table for balance while guiding Kal-El with the other.
The instructions he spoke teased Kal-El's skin. "Line up the shot carefully. You're holding your cue too tight. Try to relax. That's it. You're doing great."
When the cue struck the ball just right and it ricocheted off the sides before rolling into a corner pocket, Kal-El excitedly turned in Luthor's arms.
"I did it."
A smile lit Luthor's face. "You sure did."
It was then they both seemed to notice how close they were. How the front of their bodies were pressed together. Color rising in his cheeks, Luthor stepped back. "Sorry."
"Don't be," was the reply. "Now I know why it's Richboy and Farmboy's favorite game."
* * *
Once again, Kal-El came to Luthor's room looking exhausted and collapsing on his bed.
"Are you okay?" Luthor asked, moving to stand over him.
His only answer was a weary nod.
"Would you like me to plea for my life or would you rather sleep?"
"I was wondering," Kal-El ventured softly. "A few days you started to call me by another name. It sounded like Cla. "
"Clark. I started to call you Clark."
"Who is Clark?"
"Was," Luthor corrected. He turned his back to Kal-El and took a few steps away. "Clark was my best friend. My only friend." Swallowing hard, he continued. "Clark's dead."
"I'm sorry."
"You should be." Luthor spun around. His eyes were filled with such anger that Kal-El flinched. "You killed him."
"I... I'm sorry." Kal-El repeated. He stood and moved to where Luthor was breathing shallowly and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know that I can't bring him back, but perhaps I could be your friend."
The hand was flung off. "You're not my friend," Luthor snarled. "You'll never be my friend."
Kal-El backed away, but Luthor pursued him. "You know nothing of being a friend. You know nothing of being human. Until you do, don't ever talk to me about being my friend."
As Kal-El walked down the halls after leaving Luthor's room, he began to wonder if he was really invulnerable. For some reason, deep inside, he hurt.
* * *
Kal-El let out a small moan. "Not again."
Since their most recent argument, Kal-El and Luthor had returned to using in the throne room for Luthor's daily plea. Kal-El was seated on his throne, but Luthor was refusing even his usual pillow as he sat on the crystal floor.
"What's wrong?" Luthor asked.
"You're talking about Creepygirl again."
"Her name is Petty... I mean Prettygirl."
"Can't you skip these parts?"
"No," Luthor snapped. "So stop asking."
"Fine." Kal-El's lower lip stuck out in a pout. "But if this plea to spare your life doesn't work, you can blame Creepygirl."
"Prettygirl," Luthor said, before starting up again on his latest tale.
Kal-El let his mind wander and found that he was studying Luthor as he spouted on about Creepygirl, stalkers, and for some reason, the Peloponnesian War. He'd tried enticing Luthor back to sharing his dinner, but that had been a disaster. The man had simply sat there, refusing to touch his food or wine.
Additionally, throughout the dinner he'd watched Kal-El, acting as if he were amused. As if Kal-El was doing something wrong whenever he sipped from his large glass of milk or hid his peas under some mashed potatoes.
Kal-El much preferred the way Luthor used to stare at him. It had made him feel self-conscious, but in a good way. His skin would heat up and he'd be filled with energy and happiness.
Luthor paused in his story and licked his lips. Kal-El watched that tongue flicker up over the scar he bore and wondered what that scar would feel like against his mouth. Or how it would feel on his chest. Or on his...
"Shit!" Luthor shouted, scrambling to his feet.
Heat vision had scorched the floor, barely missing Luthor's head.
"You really don't like hearing about Prettygirl, do you?"
"Um... no." Kal-El kept his eyes closed, trying to restrain his power. He could just imagine Luthor standing before him, eyes wide, chest heaving. He felt more heat threatening to burn through his lids. "I think you should go back to your room," he said, hoping desperately if Luthor were gone he'd be able to regain control.
As he heard footsteps moving away, he could picture the way Luthor walked. Purposeful, hips gliding, and that ass...
Seconds after the door closed, a burst of heat vision swept through the room.
* * *
"Okay, there's something else I don't understand."
Luthor sighed. "I already told you how Hannibal crossing the Alps relates to this story.
Kal-El shook his head. "No, that's not... well, I still don't understand that either, but that's not what I'm talking about. It's about the legend on the cave walls where the Evilthing lives. How it states that Segeth and Naman will become enemies."
"Right," Luthor confirmed, not sure where this was headed.
"And you've talked about how it could be interpreted as Segeth become evil, but it could also be interpreted as Naman becomes evil."
"Go on."
"What I don't understand is why anyone believes anything on the cave walls."
"It's... it's a legend."
"A legend on the walls of a cave where Evilthing lives. So, Evilthing can do all sorts of powerful things but it can't make a few marks when it's home decorating?"
"But... "
"And do they even know who Evilthing really is? They know who he says he is, but have they asked for any rock-solid proof?" Kal-El paused for a moment and a smile lit his face. "Hey, I made a joke. He's a cave thing and he needs rock-solid proof."
Luthor was no longer listening.
"It's not true."
Kal-El shrugged. "I didn't say that. I just said it didn't have to be true."
There was joy on Luthor's face. "Do you know what this means? It means they don't have to be enemies. They can stay friends. They... " Lex halted and stared at Kal-El. His shoulders slumped. "No. It was true."
Luthor looked so lost and disappointed that Kal-El did his best not to interrupt his daily plea for his life. The next day, he still looked sad, so Kal, again, didn't say anything. Not even when he heard how Richboy married Doctorho. He did feel vindicated in his dislike for the woman, however, when he found out how she betrayed Richboy.
* * *
Kal-El knew that something was going on. Each night, Luthor related his tale in a voice that was growing more and more devoid of emotion. The story, itself, was becoming heartbreaking.
"Does Nastydad die?" Kal-El spat out at one point.
"What?"
"Nastydad. Does he die in this story?"
"Yes," Luthor answered flatly.
"Good. When you get to that part, feel free to embellish it with plenty of gruesome details of Nastydad's suffering."
Luthor looked up at him, startled.
Later, when Luthor finished and stood to return his room, Kal-El said quietly. "I would have saved him, you know."
"What?"
"If I had been in your story, if I'd been there, I would have saved Richboy from being hurt like that."
Luthor shook his head sadly. "No. Believe me, you wouldn't have."
* * *
"I thought you weren't going to ever come in here again."
Despite it being past three in the morning, Luthor had awakened to the sound of Kal-El entered his room and becoming instantly alert.
"You should fear me," Kal-El said quietly.
As he walked across the room towards the bed, moonlight spread across his face. His expression was cold, distant, reminding Luthor of how alien he truly was.
"I could kill you in so many ways." Kal-El stood next to the bed, his voice empty of emotion. "With these hands, I could squeeze until your bones turn to dust. My eyes could sear through you, cooking your flesh to ash. A whisper of my breath could turn you to ice. Everywhere I go death and destruction are my companions. They walk beside me, knowing that neither can touch me, so attacking those all around instead."
"What is it?" Luthor raised one hand to Kal-El's chest in an effort to reach out to him, and then quickly pulled it back when he encountered something tacky there.
"A young girl died in my arms tonight," Kal-El said calmly. "Witnesses would tell you of how I dug my fingers into her chest and crushed her heart."
"What did you--"
"Finish your tale," Kal-El said harshly. "Finish it tonight and be done with your plea."
Steeling himself, Luthor began to talk. He spoke of how Farmboy and Richboy began to grow apart. How the depth of their caring was twisted with hurt feelings, mistrust, and anger.
The evil that lived in the cave spun a horrendous spell, one that caused Farmboy to not see the reality around him but view his worst nightmare instead. Of all the people he knew, it was only Richboy that was unaffected by it.
"He came to Richboy," Luthor said quietly, "crippled by grief, asking why, how his parents and friends had died. Even though Richboy knew that hadn't happened, he bargained with Farmboy - information for information. Richboy asked for the truth.
When all the lies and the half-truths had been stripped away, I..." Luthor paused and took a deep breath. "Richboy laughed and told Farmboy that he deserved to be alone.
Luthor glanced up at Kal-El. "Richboy didn't mean it. He didn't. But even half a second later, when he already regretted his words, he couldn't repair the damage they'd caused for Farmboy had left. Disappeared. Richboy contacted everyone, searching desperately for Farmboy, wanting to undo what he'd done. It was too late. Farmboy had gone to Evilthing. Evilthing had won.
There was a long silence.
"Your request has been granted," Kal-El finally said quietly. "Your life is spared."
Luthor looked at him, stunned.
"Go," Kal-El ordered. He turned his back to Luthor and left without once glancing back.
Luthor stayed where he was for several minutes. At last, muttering a curse, he stood and stalked towards the exit. He'd only gone a little ways when he halted and retraced his steps. With slow deliberateness, Luthor reached up to his neck where the collar, evidence that he was a prisoner, was still fastened. With a flick of his fingers, he opened a hidden clasp and removed it. Another flick and it came apart in his hands revealing a hidden cache of green Kryptonite hidden within.
Laying it on the bed, Luthor left the Palace of the Overlord.
* * *
"I thought you were dead."
Luthor took another sip of his Scotch, scowling as he did so. There was no comparison between this bottle that he'd managed to scavenge and Kal-El's stock.
"As you can see, I'm alive and well."
Sitting in a ratty chair on the other side of the desk, Chloe studied him closely. "Perhaps a bit too well," she mused. "Not to mention that your assassination attempt flopped. And you returned without the kryptonite."
"Stay out of it, Chloe. If you want to talk, tell me the status of operations."
"As per your instructions, on the day you went into the palace, we disbanded everything but the monitoring station."
Rising to her feet, she strode over to a wall that was covered with articles and photos of destruction. "The alien's acts continue to have no pattern that we can discern. While you were gone, he caused a fire to consume a good portion of a neighborhood in New Delhi before several buildings collapsed and the fire was extinguished. He forced part of a hillside down upon a town in Chile. There were a few other more minor incidents. The most recent when he knocked a small passenger plane from the air. Witnesses said that there was one survivor, a small girl, but the alien killed her."
With slightly shaky hands, Luthor placed the tumbler down and straightened up in his chair. "Witnesses said that?"
Chloe nodded. "Several of them."
"I have a question - before the Kal-El, before the Alien Overlord, Ruler of Planet Earth existed, did small passenger planes ever go down?"
She arched her eyebrows in surprise. "All the time. You know that, Lex. You were in a couple of them."
"And since then," Luthor said, looking into her eyes, "how many have crashed? How many have run out of gas, hit a mountain, flown into a storm, pilot error, you name it?"
There was a long pause. "Shit," Chloe breathed out. "He's been playing us."
"Look now how mortals are blaming the gods, for they say that evils come from us." At Chloe's questioning look, Lex shrugged. "Homer. The Odyssey. I suppose a population who believes the ruler is all-powerful tends to be a easier to control."
"But... he's there. Wherever the disaster is."
"And what was Clark well-known for?"
Chloe inhaled sharply. "He's saving people?"
"Or trying to, is my guess. He may not ever remember being Clark, but inside, it's still him."
Luthor stood and headed for the door.
Chloe hurried after him, following him out of the room and down the corridor. "Where are you going?"
Halting long enough so that she could catch up, he answered her. "Don't you think it's about time somebody saved him?"
* * *
Kal-El awoke when he felt a weight drop down onto the bed next to him. Rolling onto his back, he used the heel of a hand to rub at his eyes.
Luthor was sitting next to him, watching him as if he wanted to memorize every detail.
Propping himself up against the headboard, Kal-El scowled at the intruder. "Do I even want to know how you got in here?"
"Probably not. Also, it might not be something you want known - that the leader of a resistance group managed to crawl into your bed." Luthor thought for a moment. "Actually, that's not something I think either of us wants known."
Kal-El sighed. "Why are you here?"
"I forgot something."
"If you mean the kryptonite, it's already been disposed of."
Luthor edged closer. "No, Clark. That's not what I'm talking about."
"You called me Clark again. I am Kal-El, last son of Krypton."
Luthor scooted over some more. "You're also Clark Kent, son of Martha and Jonathan Kent."
Kal-El contemplated the slowly disappearing space between them. "I do not know who those people are."
"You're also," Luthor added, as he brought their bodies into contact, "Farmboy."
"I'm Farmboy?" Kal-El's face screwed up in thought. "Are you sure? Farmboy doesn't seem too bright."
"That's all right," Luthor replied as he raised a hand to stroke down Kal-El's cheek. "Richboy still cares for him. Very much so."
Kal-El's eyes widened for a moment as understanding hit. When Luthor leaned forward, he did so as well, so that their lips met in a slow, gentle kiss. Breaking apart, Kal-El breathed out a quiet "I knew it."
"Knew what?"
Kal-El beamed. "Richboy and Farmboy belong together."
"Of course," Luthor replied. "They have a destiny."
The End