Smallville BigBang - Being Born Luthor (Chapter 1)

[maigie2010]

Chapter 1

Scrabbling from the slums of Smallville, Lionel Luthor had begun his rise in the business world by cutting deals in Edge City with his business partner, Morgan Edge. These deals were just to the left of sleazy and not to his liking because Lionel hungered for two things: respectability and power. Respectability he gained when he married the right girl. Lillian Berger was from a distinguished Metropolis family with no money and more importantly, no relatives. Immense power was not yet his and he wanted that; he yearned for it, planned for it and dreamed of it.

He knew that money would allow him entrée into the exclusive club of Metropolis high society but not without finding the right sponsor. Unfortunately, the wealthy of Metropolis had grown up together and knew each other and trying to join that club was almost impossible without the proper cachet. Marrying Lillian would smooth his path and he would then be connected to the power brokers who ran Metropolis.

Remaining Edge’s silent partner allowed him to begin doing business in Metropolis. Within a few years he had established his base there. The deals he made in Metropolis were without Edge. If he were to claim respectability, not one whiff of unsavory business dealings should be traced back to him.

That wasn’t to say that there wouldn’t be arm-twisting and blackmail as his business expanded but those aspects would be buried carefully under the patina of propriety and he would not leave loose ends-ever. Still, the money financing his empire continued to flow from Edge City. Acquisition of the creamed corn factory in Smallville with the surrounding cornfields was central to Lionel’s business strategy. It would end his reliance on funds from Edge City and catapult him into the big leagues once he converted the factory into a fertilizer plant. If there was one thing Lionel Luthor could say with certainty, it was that every farmer needed fertilizer; creamed corn was less universal.

And it was this acquisition that had him standing in the unforgiving Kansan sun while trying to convince two backward Kansas farmers about the wisdom of selling their factory to him.

Casting an eye over his first born, Lionel cautioned, “Don’t go too far, Alexander.”

His son’s response was lost as the businessman plunged back into the spirited discussion he was having with the Ross brothers over the sale of their creamed corn factory.

Alexander Luthor looked up into the bright sunlight. He turned slowly around in a circle. Smallville was flat with endlessly waving corn plants. From the helicopter, the cornfields were a restless green sea, leaves rippling with the slightest breeze. On the ground, the plants stood tall, slender guardians protecting linear pathways that appeared to extend forever. He could smell the rich, tart scent of farm animals and their waste. Patting his pocket to check for his inhaler, Alexander wandered toward the boundary of the Ross’ backyard.

Lured on by the rolling waves of green separated by precise rows, young Luthor walked between the swaying plants. Whispering through the leaves, Alexander thought he heard something. He looked around but he didn’t see anyone else. Then he heard it again.

“Help…” The sound trailed off, blending with the wind soughing through the corn stalks.

Glancing back helplessly at his father, Alexander recognized that he was about to close the deal with the two men. His father was holding a sheaf of papers in one hand while making sharp emphatic hand gestures with the other. Torn between losing sight of the three men and wanting to give assistance, the red-haired boy strode forward in the direction of the faint plea for help.

Another cry for help spurred him on and Alexander began running. It was a surprise when he slammed into something solid. Planted on his butt, he looked up at a man strung up on a wooden cross. Blinking rapidly, images of Sunday school sermons crowding into his mind, Alexander thought the resounding boom he heard at that moment was particularly apt.

The Kryptonian life pod crossed the terminator into day. The AI had identified a life form whose genetic signature was the closest match to Jor-El’s specifications. Not the original Kent but most likely the offspring, the AI confirmed within a 0.0000001% margin of error. Every system on the AI was fully engaged as the life pod was directed to an open area where it would intercept a conveyance carrying the life form with the required genetic structure. In order to mask Kal-El’s arrival on planet Earth, a distraction was required. Intensifying the gravitational hold on some of the debris closest to the pod, the AI released its hold on the rest. The result was immediate as formerly icy extraterrestrial fragments of varying sizes turned into fireballs screaming through the atmosphere. Inexorably, the AI guided the life pod to its destination even as it catalogued the destruction left in its wake and noted the human casualties of its passage.

Martha and Jonathan Kent were chatting idly as they drove to the Kent farm located quite a distance from the downtown area of Smallville. They were returning from their weekly shopping trip when the first meteorite slammed into the acreage behind them. Jonathan lost control of the wheel for an instant but he wrestled the vehicle back into the correct lane on the blacktop. A second later the truck was clipped by an inbound space fragment and it spun and overturned. It would be years later that Jonathan and Martha would be told that the collision and its impact had been carefully calculated. The AI needed the Kent offspring immobile while Kal-El would be released from the life pod to find his caretaker.

Opening her eyes slowly, Martha realized that she was alive. The blood rushing to her head and giving her a pounding headache was because she was trapped by the seat belt, upside down in the truck. She turned her head to the left to check on her husband. His eyes were closed; his breathing even and he appeared to be unconscious. Turning her head to the right, she blinked in surprise, and then blinked again. A pair of bare small feet obviously belonging to a toddler was approaching the window on her side of the truck.

“Jonathan. Jonathan!” She said sharply as the youngster squatted and her eyes met his.

Brilliant green eyes and a wide toothy smile on a naked youngster silhouetted against a still smoking backdrop made the moment surreal. The child, whom she estimated was probably about three years old, stretched his hand through the open window and rubbed her cheek gently with a dirt-smudged finger.

“Hrggh, wha…what? Martha?” Jonathan Kent answered his wife and from his surprised tone, Martha guessed he was seeing the youngster also.

Hearing Jonathan struggling beside her, Martha smiled at the child. She might not be a mother yet, but she had good instincts and she wanted to keep that happy smile on the toddler’s face. For all she knew the child’s parents might not be alive, so it was important to keep the boy focused on her until they could locate his folks.

A thump, a muffled oof and the creaking of the truck door told her that her husband had freed himself.

Smiling at the toddler, she murmured, “What a good boy you are. What’s your name?”

The youngster dug his hands into the rich Kansas soil and chuckled. Taking two clumps in his hands, he rubbed them together and crowed delightedly as the dirt drifted to the ground.

Approaching the other side of the truck, Jonathan crouched and assessed the situation quickly. Martha was a slight woman and only the seatbelt was holding her and protecting her from falling some six inches onto her head inside the cab of the truck. Martha buried a smile as Jonathan exchanged a glance with the youngster and in the way that men decided things; the toddler moved out of the way allowing her husband to open the cab door. He braced her while she fumbled to unclasp her seat belt. Moments later she was seated on the ground hugging the naked boy.

Martha looked up at Jonathan and asked in an even tone, “I’ve never seen him around here. Where’s his family?”

“I don’t know Martha, but we’ll find them. First I have to get this truck upright.”

Scrambling to her feet with the young boy, Martha asked her husband. “What can I do to help?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to try and push the truck towards the ditch over there by the embankment off the road. Do you think he’ll stay if you set him down out of the way and then we can try to…” Jonathan broke off speaking as the little boy tried to launch himself from his wife’s arms.

Tightening her grip on the child, Martha turned to follow his gaze as the young boy tried to free himself from her arms. Martha considered the options. Righting the truck was probably going to take a little while and the youngster’s parents might be bleeding to death somewhere close by. Judging from the child’s insistence to leave her arms, they might as well follow him to wherever he wanted to go and see if they could render assistance.

As she set him down, the boy slipped his hand into hers confidently and tugged her with him. Heading into the flattened cornfield where the lingering scent of smoke remained, Martha hoped that the child’s parents were unharmed. Less than a minute later, Martha had the answer to one of the pressing scientific questions of the century. The child had pulled her along almost a quarter mile of scorched track that ended with the dull gleam of a small, half buried conical object. The teardrop shaped craft was on its side with its arched top partially retracted. A brightly colored red blanket lay crumpled within the curved cradle inside the ship. There was an inherent alien cast to the vessel that Martha Kent could categorize as not of Earth. Moreover she did not see wings, wheels or any obvious method of propulsion. Martha silently confirmed that there was extraterrestrial life in the universe.

Stumbling to a stop, she turned to her husband, “Oh my goodness, Jonathan. He’s not-“

“-from around here.” Her husband finished flatly.

Giving in to the insistent tugging from the youngster trying to pull her forward past the ship, Martha continued walking behind the child and murmured to her husband, “Maybe he’s taking us to his parent’s spaceship. That little pod looks as if it would only fit him.”

A few steps further the youngster released Martha’s hand and ran towards a crumpled form on the ground. Large green eyes implored Martha for help. Walking forward swiftly, Martha dropped to her knees. She dusted the cloud of vibrant, red hair away the figure exposing the bald, fragile head of another boy. Carefully slipping her hands underneath the still figure she turned him over and gasped. Though she lived in Smallville, Martha had been born and bred in Metropolis and knew all the prominent families. Being a Clark meant that she had gone to school with other affluent children and as an adult had attended the grandest catered affairs. She followed the exploits of Metropolis’ cream in the Sunday Style Section of the Daily Planet. Immediately, she recognized the young boy; he was Alexander Luthor, son of Lillian Luthor, née Berger, and Lionel Luthor, crass upstart.

Checking his vitals, Martha turned her attention from her task briefly to say to Jonathan, “He’s alive, but you can bet that Lionel Luthor wouldn’t have his son out here alone. Check around the area, Jonathan. Maybe you can locate his father,” and practicing discretion, which would become the hallmark of the Kent family, Martha tilted her head and continued, “and his companions.”

Inching forward, the naked youngster reached out and patted the cheeks of the unconscious child and then tucked into the side of young Luthor while resting his head on the boy’s thin chest, which was exposed through the torn black blazer and ripped white shirt. As a shadow fell over her, Martha looked up into the grim face of her husband. She followed his eyes to the bald youngster she held and closed her eyes in resignation as he shook his head sharply.

Jonathan bent and picked up the naked child who protested being separated from his body pillow with a loud wail. It was the first cry they heard from him and it shocked both Martha and Jonathan. Chuckling unsteadily, Jonathan said, “He’s got quite a set of lungs on him but we need to get the truck righted and his ship hidden before people find us.”

Martha rose to her feet with some assistance from Jonathan. She did not find it difficult to hold Alexander Luthor. He was a slight young boy. Searching her memory she unearthed a snippet she had read about the boy’s party coinciding with the opening of the Luthor Wing of the Metropolis Museum last year. Alexander had been celebrating his eight birthday. Fitting her body against Jonathan and leaning into him for support, the two adults began walking back to the truck. Once the screaming child realized he was not being separated from the Luthor boy, he stopped howling as Martha and Jonathan walked together holding the children close to each other.

Arriving back at the truck, Martha and Jonathan laid the boys on the ground a short distance away using her large handbag, which her husband had fetched for her, as a pillow. Looking at her husband for direction, she positioned herself where he told her as they prepared to push the truck to a better position. Turning around to check on the boys before she began to push the truck, she noticed that the black haired urchin was sitting up; the red blanket from his ship they had wrapped him in was now covering the Luthor boy.

“Stay there,” Martha cautioned with a smile to her young charge, and then she turned to Jonathan who had braced himself on the far side of the overturned truck. “Tell me when.”

“Now,” Jonathan gasped, readying himself for the effort of pushing the dusty pick-up truck.

Beginning to push, Martha was surprised when the truck moved away from her and her push became a lunge, which landed her face down on the unforgiving Kansan soil. She was even more shocked when she lifted her head and the truck turned from upside down to lying on its side and then in slow motion it rotated again to right side up.

Blinking in amazement, Martha tried to make sense of what her eyes were telling her. The 1960 Ford truck Hiram Kent had owned and bequeathed to his son, Jonathan, before he died, with its faded red paint had definitely been upside down. After all, she had crawled out of it less than twenty minutes before. Without crane or pulley, that truck, weighing hundreds of pounds was in motion. Pressing her palm to her open moth, Martha stifled a gasp at the unearthly sight.

Instinctively she looked behind to the boys. The little space boy was missing. She turned and caught the shocked gaze of her husband. A delighted chortle from behind the truck told her who was responsible for righting the vehicle. As the truck began a second revolution accompanied by a mischievous chuckle, the charged glance the Kents exchanged acknowledged that from this moment on their lives would never be the same.

“We can’t keep him, Martha.” Jonathan pronounced from where he sat on the ground, having collapsed from his braced position when the truck was lifted away from him.

Scrambling to her feet, Martha marched confidently around the truck to the smiling youngster. She did not deign to answer Jonathan. There was going to be no discussion about this matter. This was her child from the stars and Jonathan could just…well, he could just lump it.

“Down, put the truck down, young man.” She gestured with her hands indicating what she wanted and the truck was set on the ground with a gentle thump. The young boy looked up at her inquisitively as if to ask what next needed to be moved. Inspired, Martha mimed dragging the space pod to the truck. With a quick blur, the boy ran off and returned with his ship. It had taken her longer to mime than for him to fetch the teardrop pod.

“Oh, my, you’re a quick one. Naked, but quick.” Martha indicated where the pod should be placed in the truck bed. “Jonathan, cover the ship with a tarp and let’s get Alexander Luthor to the Smallville hospital and then we’ll go home.”

“Martha, how’re we going to explain a young boy who came from quite a distance away?” Jonathan inquired, inadvertently using a euphemism he and Martha would employ whenever they were asked about the birthplace of their adopted son.

Opening her arms the naked toddler leaped trustingly into them. Walking towards the still unconscious Luthor child, Martha answered her husband briskly, “He’s not from around here. He’s the son of my second cousin’s sister in Wyoming. We can’t use a relative of yours, you grew up in Smallville; everyone knows everything about you. I’m a Clark from Metropolis - an unknown quantity.” Bending gracefully she reached for the red blanket and continued speaking, “There’s no one to take him in - too many mouths to feed - so he’s come to stay with us for a spell. We’ll probably end up adopting him eventually.”

Picking up the older boy, Jonathan asked, “But, what about letting the authorities know about him?” He jerked his head towards the youngster Martha was settling in the center of the truck seat. “They might know more about how to take care of him. He isn’t…errr…y’know…like us.”

Martha grabbed her husband’s sleeve and said fiercely, “Tell the authorities that a young boy came to us from so far away? He’ll be lucky if he ever sees sunlight again. Are you crazy, Jon? They’ll lock him up and probably us. Look at him; he’s barely older than a toddler.”

Pressing his lips together Jonathan Kent nodded agreement. He had an outdoorsman’s dislike of strictures and rules and a Midwesterner’s loathing of government interference in his affairs. He would not wish confinement on anyone. Jonathan placed the child he was carrying in Martha’s lap. Somehow, she managed to hold both children close to her. Checking the tarp and making sure it was securely tied down, he slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine.

A few minutes later as Jonathan drove towards the Smallville General Hospital, Alexander Luthor gasped for breath and he began to flail in Martha’s arms. Even as Martha opened her mouth to ask her husband to stop the truck, the little alien child, turned into a partially kneeling position and smoothed Alexander’s cheek with a grubby hand. The older boy’s breathing appeared to even out and his thrashing became an aborted movement. A tiny sliver of blue showed as Alexander’s eyes blinked open, drowsily fastening on the youngster patting his face. In the silence, the two young boys held each other’s gaze solemnly and Martha could swear that something-some essence of thought-was exchanged between both boys. Just then Alexander’s eyes drifted shut as he appeared to slip into untroubled repose and Clark slid back into a seated position against her side and fell asleep also.

Clark did not like clothes. Her little boy loved the outdoors and if he were naked and outdoors streaking around the yard, he was in heaven. But she would not trade the last three days for anything. Settling down for the evening with Clark, freshly bathed and clothed in a plaid nightshirt Jonathan had unearthed in an old chest in the attic, Martha would begin to read from the primer Jonathan had used when he was just starting kindergarten. Thus, it was startling when the authoritative knock sounded at the front door. She exchanged a look with Jonathan, sitting on the other side of their son, and he pushed off the comfortable sofa and went to the door.

“Ethan, what brings you out here so late?” Jonathan addressed the sheriff and stepped back to allow him entrance into the farmhouse.

Glancing back nervously, Ethan muttered, “Evening, Jon. It’s me and Miz. Luthor.”

Expensive perfume wafted in and a slender redhead of average height walked in behind the sheriff. The muted click of high heels on the pine floors of the Kent farmhouse announced her entrance. Lillian Luthor was dressed in a pencil thin, dark blue skirt and a long sleeved pale lavender blouse. In her right hand she clutched a tiny black purse.

“These’re the people I told you ‘bout Miz. Luthor. They’re the ones who took your son to the hospital.”

Inclining his head, Ethan nodded in Jonathan’s direction. “This is Jonathan Kent.”

Martha lifted her son into her arms and prepared to stand. She had been doing her best to teach Clark to slow down and not use his speed. But at this moment she did not want to tempt fate and see if her teaching held. She thought it prudent to keep Clark in her arms.

With a comprehensive and sweeping glance Lillian Luthor assessed the homey farmhouse before cataloguing the two faces before her. The woman standing with the child was a redhead and it brought back a rush of memories when Lillian suddenly realized who it was.

“Martha? Martha Clark?”

“It’s Kent now, Lillian. How have you been?”

“Oh my goodness, Martha, thank you for finding Alexander.” With those words Lillian’s haughty demeanor collapsed as she closed the space between them and hugged Martha and the limpet she was holding.

Stepping back, Lillian brushed away the tears and asked, “Who’s this? Is this your son?”

In that moment, with Lillian looking at her inquiringly while Ethan and her husband stared at her waiting for an answer Martha Kent lied outright.

Discarded was the original explanation of a second cousin’s son. Lillian had been her best friend from pre-K to Grade 6 when they began attending different schools because the Berger estate was bankrupt and her family could no longer send her to the exclusive Graderton Academy.

Smiling brightly, Martha said proudly, “This is our son, Clark. We were heading home with him when the meteors landed. One clipped the truck and it was while we were trying to get it back on the road that Clark found your son.”

“Your son?” Ethan questioned.

“Yes, we didn’t want to tell anyone we had put in an application at the orphanage, right Jon?” Forcing a deprecating chuckle, Martha continued, “You know we’ve been hoping to increase our family but Jonathan finally convinced me that we should look at alternatives. I’m so glad I listened to him.” Extending, a free hand, Martha clasped her husband’s wrist and urged him towards her.

Jonathan suddenly came to Martha’s aid and he rubbed his head as if weary before saying, “We were hoping to get to town these past few days and introduce him to folks, but with everything that’s been happening and the farm needing attention, we just hunkered down until we could find the time.” Continuing jovially, he stated, “Martha has been enjoying motherhood so much that I don’t know if we can separate her from Clark just now. As it is I barely get to hold him.”

“Jon!” Martha protested laughing. “I let you bathe him tonight.”

“If by bathing, you mean lifting him into the tub and out of the tub, then yes I bathed him.” The Kents exchanged a loving glance and their audience of two did not notice their smiles didn’t match the fear in their eyes.

Turning back to Lillian, Martha deemed it necessary to change the topic. She did not want to go into details of an adoption that did not exist in reality. “How’s your son, Lil?”

“He’s doing extremely well. He’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow. No bumps, bruises.” Lillian stopped speaking for a moment and took a deep breath. “He lost his hair.”

Suddenly the slender woman crossed her arms across each other and hugged herself. “My baby is bald. I’ve been trying…” she burst out and then sniffed, “I want to be strong for him. But his hair, his beautiful curls…and *HE* keeps trying…trying to comfort me.”

Martha looked at her husband and handed Clark over to him and then jerked her head sharply toward the still open front door of the farmhouse.

Swinging Clark in his arms, Jon said to Ethan who had taken a step back when Lillian Luthor started becoming emotional, “Ethan, come meet Clark. He likes swinging in the rocker on the porch.”

“He looks like a fine young man. Gonna be a football player like you, I’m sure.”

The men’s voices faded and Martha said to Lillian, “Let me get you a drink and we can talk about this. OK, Lil? Have a seat on the couch.”

Almost as if she were standing outside herself, Martha saw the solution to the pesky problem of legalizing Clark in the form of Lillian Luthor who was now hugging her tightly. Martha Clark was the only child of successful attorney William Clark and she had been raised on the tenets of the law. Initially when she opted to get a business degree, her father wondered where he had gone wrong with raising her. Even as she claimed Clark as the son of her heart, Martha knew that he would need a slew of official papers starting with a birth certificate. This world ran on legal documents. Jon was overwhelmed by the recent events and that detail had not occurred to him yet, but she fretted over it. Unexpectedly, a way out was presenting itself.

Passing a tissue box to Lillian that she had picked up from the end table next to the sofa, Martha walked to the kitchen.

“Jonathan stores his liquor under the kitchen sink. I think we might have some whiskey.”

Sniffling tearfully from the comfortable sofa, Lillian said softly, “You’ve always been a true friend, Martha. You treated me better than anyone else did after I left Graderton. I’m sorry I didn’t return the favor later on.” The woman drew a deep breath, blew her nose and then continued speaking in a stronger voice. “I married Lionel thinking he was my Prince Charming and he didn’t want me associating with the people he considered beneath us. When I found out you were to marry a farmer, I guess some of his stupidity rubbed off on me.”

Because Martha’s back was to her reaching for a glass in an upper kitchen cabinet, Lillian never saw the bittersweet smile twisting her friend’s lips.

“Lil, it’s fine. I was too busy making my life here in Smallville to think about Metropolis. Why I think in the first year of my marriage I only went to Metropolis once.” Finding the whisky bottle, Martha splashed two fingers into the glass. “Jon had some idea that I missed Metropolis and I should go every weekend. I knew we needed the money we would spend there to invest in the farm. Let me just say that there were some memorable battles.”

Sharing a conspiratorial grin, the two women intoned together, “The curse of the redhead.”

Sobering, Lillian said firmly, “I’m still sorry I never attended your wedding, Martha. You’re an extremely forgiving person.”

Making her way to the sofa, Martha handed Lillian her drink before she lowered herself onto the wingback next to her sofa.

“I’m sorry about Lionel. Jon found him right after we found your son.”

Lillian had a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m glad he’s dead.” She turned to look at Martha and asked seriously, “Is it wrong that I’m glad my son survived and his father didn’t? That I’m sorry the Rosses lost family along with my late, unlamented husband but I don’t give a rat’s ass that he’s dead?”

Martha was not sure what to say so she remained silent while Lillian continued speaking.

“I’m going to hold a large funeral for that bastard tomorrow. Alexander and I will stand next to each other and the tears I shed will be tears of thankfulness because my baby is alive.”

Martha leaned forward and clasped her friend’s hand. She urged, “It’s OK, Lil. Let it out. Whatever you say won’t leave here.”

Gathering herself, Lillian confided, “I can’t…I can’t talk about him now. But, Martha, anything I can ever do for you, any time, just let me know.”

This was it; the moment had materialized and offered itself to her. In a low voice, Martha said, “There is something, Lil. But, let’s discuss it tomorrow. After the funeral, you and Alexander come by and I’ll talk to you then.”

Jonathan walked back into the farmhouse. From the doorway he noticed both women were positioned closely, leaning towards each other and talking softly.

He cleared his throat and said, “Clark’s conked out. I’m going to take him up to bed now.”

Recognizing their private conversation had come to an end, Lillian dabbed at her face with the tissue. “I know I’ve said a lot of thank yous tonight but I want to add one more. Thanks for listening without judgment and without asking.”

With those words, Lillian Luthor, widow of the richest man in Metropolis, stood gracefully. Immediately her posture stiffened and her face assumed a slightly haughty mien.

“There you are Sheriff. Please get me back to the hospital. Martha you have a lovely son and I will see you soon.”

Ignoring the stiff stance of the woman who was now embarrassed because she lost control, Martha stood also and hugged her friend. “Ethan, take care of her, Lillian’s my oldest and dearest friend in the world. Nite, Lil. Please accept my sincere condolences and good thoughts for you tomorrow. I hope you’ll forgive my absence but Clark has had quite a bit of turmoil recently and-”

Interrupting her friend, Lillian Luthor stemmed the flow of words. “No, Martha, it’s absolutely not necessary that you attend. However, we will come by for a visit later on tomorrow. Alexander would love to add his thanks to mine.” Hugging her friend tightly, Lillian whispered, “Thanks so very much, Martha, for everything.” She then freed herself and walked rapidly toward the sheriff.

Ethan stood at the door watching the interplay between the two women. He knew there was something he had missed but since it concerned women it was probably unimportant. He shrugged stoically and followed Lillian Luthor who was walking briskly to the police cruiser.

Martha was cleaning Clark’s face when she heard the low rumble of a heavy car coming to a stop in front of the farmhouse. Her son had the strongest aversion to green peas and took great delight in smearing them on any clean surface when she served them.

By the time the knock sounded on the front door, Martha felt as if Clark had become a slippery eel as he tried to wriggle out of her grasp while she struggled to wipe his face.

Ignoring the second knock, Martha stooped until she was near eye level with her son. “Clark, slow only. Remember like the turtle,” Martha pointed at the terrarium wedged into the bookcase across the room, “you’re slow like the turtle.”

Standing, Martha held her son’s hand and walked to the front door. She opened it wide and said, “Come on in, Lil.” Looking at the pale, serious boy dressed in a black suit next to her friend, she extended her hand, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’m Martha Kent and this is-”

“I know you.” The young boy’s voice was hoarse.

“Alexander?” Lillian looked down as her son suddenly found himself rocking back from the impact of Martha Kent’s young son taking a running jump towards him.

The two mothers looked bemusedly at each other as their children became totally absorbed in each other. Alexander was staring intently at his burden trying to match this vibrant young boy to the face he thought was a dream. Clark settled himself comfortably in Alexander’s arm and was crooning softly while patting the rounded cheeks of his transporter.

Looking up helplessly at his mother, Alexander said, “He wants me to read his favorite book.”

Martha stifled a startled gasp. She forced a smile and said to her friend’s son, “Why don’t you sit on the window seat over there? The sun warms up that side of the farmhouse in the morning so it’s still nice and toasty even though it’s turned bleak outside. I’ll bring you Goodnight Moon.”

Smiling shyly, Alexander said, “I loved that book too. I memorized it. I used to read it to-” A quick glance at his mother stopped the flow of speech.

Martha caught the byplay between her guests and filed away the thought that the Luthors also had their secrets.

Once the boys were settled with an assortment of books including the requested one, Martha guided Lillian to the kitchen. Taking a seat where she could see the front door and nip any spontaneous exploring the boys might decide upon, Martha placed her hands palm down on the table.

“I wasn’t honest with you last night, Lil.”

Lillian’s face fell, “What do you mean? You don’t accept my apology; but you must. You don’t understand how it was when Lionel put pressure on me. I wanted to come to your wedding.”

“Lillian. Pay attention!” Martha said sharply and then she gentled her tone when she saw the absolute look of terror cross Lillian’s face. ‘Oh yes,’ she thought to herself, ‘the Luthors have a lot of secrets.’

Taking Lillian’s hands and cradling it between her own, Martha forced herself to look straight at her friend and lie. “Clark is ours but it’s not exactly legal. There was this young girl from Grandville who got into a spot of trouble recently. Clark was her child and she gave him to us.”

Pausing as if to gather her thoughts, Martha went over the tale she had spun out for Jonathan last night that she would use to convince her friend to help her. “There were irregularities-like where she had the baby-the baby’s father, information she never shared with us except to say that he was a long way away-how she lived and supported herself for the last three years. We gave her money to help her leave town and get a head start-on another career choice-shall we say.”

Martha thought of how her father had taught her than any deception must be wrapped in a thin veil of truth. “Some people might try to take Clark away if they ever found out how we got our child. They might say we found this child and maybe we did, but we-no, that’s not true-I want this child badly.”

Staring directly into her friend’s blue eyes, Martha begged, “Will you help us, Lillian? We need paperwork for Clark so that no one will ever challenge us and try to take away our son.”

Lillian’s face lit up with fervor. She could repay Martha for saving her beloved son. Selfishly, she also wanted an ally and her former best friend would do nicely. With Lionel gone she would manage Luthorcorp. She would also correct many of her husband’s mistakes and clean up his business dealings. Lionel had tried to hide his unsavory past bullying her into silence with fear and intimidation. Yes, she was going continue the business, not for the reasons that many would attribute, but right now she had a mission. Legalize Martha Kent’s son.

Lex finished reading Clark’s favorite story for the third time. Sitting in the window seat, pushed up comfortably against the colorful cushions with Clark sitting next to him, patting him occasionally and making those rumbling croons, he was warm and relaxed for the first time in days. Sliding down onto the window seat he thought about the funeral earlier today. Attending the funeral had been dreadful. The intrusive photographers were there taking pictures of the tragedy-struck Luthors. He refused to cover his bald head; he would not hide his successful brush with danger.

Abruptly Lex noticed that the comforting croons coming from his companion changed tenor. They were worried questioning noises. He felt that if he listened carefully he could almost make out the words. Clark locked his arms around his neck and began to rub his cheek against the boy’s bare scalp.

The tight knot of despair and anger which he had had since he regained consciousness and heard that his father was dead and that his hair loss was permanent seemed to melt away as Clark’s crooning became soothing. Lex gave in to the command he could almost hear. He curled into his companion and lulled by the hypnotic murmurs, he soon fell asleep.

Lillian sat at the kitchen table quietly as Martha puttered around the room while she prepared an early dinner. The conversation between the women had lapsed once the pleasantries were exchanged.

Finally she roused herself and said softly, "This is what I've missed."

Reaching into the white standard two-door refrigerator for milk, Martha questioned, "What?"

"The first year of my marriage was interesting." Lillian stared into the middle distance as she recalled that confusing time. "I had already done a good job of cutting myself off from my friends - you included - and Lionel took care of the rest. If I didn't let him know where I was going, who I was seeing, there would be consequences."

Adding milk to the flour and sugar mixture in the bowl on the counter, Martha tilted her head curiously, "Consequences? Did he...?"

The other woman lifted her hand and rubbed her cheek and answered with a harsh whisper, "Yes, he did." Tiredly, she continued, "It's not a new story; I was a classic abused wife. I had no money of my own and I was isolated. He broke me Martha. It wasn't easy. I couldn't tell you how many doors I ran into in those early days, or how many stairs I slipped on." Rubbing at her face with purpose, Lillian wiped away her tears with her knuckles. "When the injuries were bad and I had to go to Metropolis clinic I would be the clueless dimwit who couldn't explain how those skis were there and I just tripped over them, or the empty headed socialite who had one drink too many and misjudged the distance to the bed."

"Oh, Lil, I'm so sorry. I wish you'd have called me."

The open look of total surprise in Lillian Luthor's face distressed Martha.

"I couldn't, in fact, I wouldn't have called you. I didn't want your pity or your help and I was terrified about how I would be punished for any act of rebellion. I wasn't thinking straight, you see. Did I mention I was a classic victim?"

Martha continued to mix the dough for the raisin bread. It was an automatic process to her so her attention was focused completely on her guest. "I would've still helped, no matter what. You know my father’s a lawyer."

Lillian continued as if Martha hadn't interrupted. "Then I was pregnant. Everything stopped at that time. I had to protect the heir, of course. It was my first child and Lionel kept me at home and secluded. Only the staff was allowed to see me and the only time I left the mansion was to see the doctor. So, I spoke to my little 'tadpole' all the time."

Lillian caught her friend's eyes and they both exchanged brief smiles remembering a long ago biology lesson when their teacher illustrated the similarity of a human fetus to a tadpole. After that lesson, over lunch that day, they had teased each other that they would carry tadpoles and spawn froglets.

"When Alexander was born Lionel was thrilled. He was ecstatic when my son was tested and we were told his IQ put him at a genius level." Sighing, Lillian continued, "That joy and with it the peace ended when he discovered that I had tainted Alexander with my softness."

"What?" Martha gasped.

"Oh, he didn't abuse my son - he was still the heir - damaged as I'd made him, but my accidents started happening again."

"I’m so sorry, Lil. I’m even angrier he wounded you so deeply that you didn’t feel you had options-that you could come to me."

Absorbing her friend’s anger, Lillian’s said wryly, "What I did next will probably make you even more upset. I made a deal with the devil." The sun peeked out from behind the clouds for a moment and shone brightly in the kitchen illuminating the stark lines of age on the elegantly dressed woman seated at the oak table.

"I would have another child. He would be Lionel’s to mold and Alexander would be mine." Lillian continued, still staring into the distance, not wanting to see the pity on her friend’s face.

Suddenly she felt Martha’s warm hands curving around her shoulders, pressing down comfortingly. "It’s OK, Lil. You did what you had to do; you were a mother bargaining for her safety and that of her child."

Nodding jerkily, Lillian persisted with her explanation wanting to clear the air completely. "As long as I was pregnant, Lionel didn’t hurt me. Moreover, he left my baby alone. I had five miscarriages and then Julian came along. From the first, Julian was his. Lionel hired Rachel Dunleavy to be my jailor. He was sleeping with her, naturally, because I was indisposed,” she finished sarcastically.

Drawing in a deep cleansing breath, Martha thought of all the names she could use to label Lionel. Bastard was the most inoffensive one. That he had abused her friend was not in doubt, but that Lillian had essentially prostituted herself to him to prevent herself and her child from more suffering, was intolerable.

Lillian seemed to gain strength from Martha’s closeness and she continued in a firmer tone. “When Julian was born, my Alexander became his shadow. He loved his brother dearly.” Lillian stopped speaking; she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she started talking again, her voice was wobbly, “And then Julian died. The doctors warned me that I couldn’t have any more children. Lionel went insane. I think I, too, went a little insane and Alexander was inconsolable. Can you imagine three crazy people locked up in the Luthor mansion?” Wiping at her eyes, she said coolly with forced calm, “The agreement between Lionel and me was void and Lionel took over the rearing of my son. His trip to Smallville was supposed to be educational; just another lesson where Alexander would learn how to screw people out of their life’s work. ”

Some slight movement of air caused Martha to turn sideways. Lex stood there with Clark next to him. They were holding hands and both were looking at her solemnly.

Shoving aside the questions she had, Martha smiled at the youngsters. She cast her mind for some task that would keep her son from showing his lightning fast speed to their visitors. “Clark Jerome Kent, is that your stomach rumbling? I have some fresh bread left over from breakfast. I’ll make you and Alexander a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches in a few minutes. Come here and get some trail mix and fruit. That should tide you over until dinner. After that you and Alexander can play in the vegetable garden; Lillian and I will supervise.”

Taking in Alexander’s formal wear, Martha turned to Lillian, “Jon has tons of clean used clothes. I don’t think Hiram Kent threw away anything so we can find a pair of pants for your son. This way he won’t get his dress clothes dirty. Clark knows where the trunks are.”

Bobbing his head energetically, he pulled Alexander along with him as he surged forward to get the treat. Clark’s wide smile banished his somber expression and he tugged his friend’s hand.

Taking the snack, Lex said politely, “Thank you, Mrs. Kent. However, since the meteor shower I call myself Lex .”

Moments later Martha heard the young boys thundering up the stairs.

While the children were upstairs, Martha took the opportunity to check on the beef and vegetables simmering in the slow cooker. Like most farmers’ wives, Martha Kent had learned to be prepared for all eventualities. The slow cooker was very forgiving of culinary mistakes and it had been indispensable in the early days of her marriage.

Lex was dragged into Clark's room. The child's room was a collection of hodgepodge items. It had obviously been a storage room, or Lex guessed, a sewing room because of the number of partially completed needlepoint pillows tossed on the wooden extension of an old step-pedal sewing machine in the corner. The room was being converted to a child's room. An old-fashioned daybed with thick curved wooden hand rests and solid planks making up the backrest was positioned in the center of the room. A decorative quilt patterned with red and blue trucks was thrown over the iron rail along the top holding the laths of the backrest in place. Six large open trunks lined one wall; the word clothes was printed in black marker on the front of each.

Clark rushed to an open trunk and almost fell head first into it. Chuckling gleefully, he dug out garments and flung them at Lex.

Lex ambled over ignoring the growing piles of clothes and knelt near to Clark.

"Squirt, that's not helping. I need to find a pair of pants that’ll fit me."

Although Clark looked up at him inquisitively he did not stop tossing clothes from the trunk.

"No, Clark. Don't do that." Lex tried to hold the youngster's hand and restrain him.

That did not work and Clark kept on with his game. Casting a glance around the room, Lex saw a partially covered truck.

Stepping between piles of thrown clothing, Lex picked up the truck, waved it and said loudly, "Hey, Clark, wanna play with the truck."

That caught his companion's attention and the young boy turned. With a joyful smile, Clark sped across the small room.

Lex blinked. He hadn't seen Clark move but here he was in front of him tugging at the truck.
Releasing the truck into tiny hands, Lex waited to see what the youngster would do. He wanted to confirm that it was not a mental trick and Clark had moved that fast.

Oblivious to Lex’s intense interest, Clark placed the truck on the wooden floor and pushed it forward. His croons rumbled in a deeper register as he urged the truck across the wooden floor rolling it along a one of the long pine planks. Unexpectedly he stopped and looked around.

Lex was sorting through the clump of clothing closest to him and did not pay attention.

When Clark's croons changed to distressed sounds Lex’s head snapped up and he looked across at his friend. Clark was looking around as if he had lost something.

"What're looking for Squirt?"

The noises erupting from Clark were definitely not happy ones.

"Lost something, huh?"

Clark rocked back on his heels and sat on the floor with a small thump. He looked over at Lex expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll look for whatever it is." With those words, Lex stood up clutching a pair of brown pants. Tossing the pants onto the daybed, he energetically began to fling clothes back in the trunk.

Catching onto this new game Clark started helping. This time Lex knew he was not mistaken. Clark moved way too fast. He zoomed from pile to pile; the only evidence of his passing was the items of clothing flying through the air to land in or near to the trunk.

Lex was fascinated and deeply moved.

When Lex had awakened in the hospital a day ago he was in a featureless, private room. It was there a grizzled doctor, short on sleep and patience owing to the influx of casualties from the Smallville meteor shower, informed him that his baldness would most likely be permanent and that Lionel Luthor was dead. Contemplating his reflection in the mirror, Alexander Luthor smoothed his hand over his pale, bare head. That his father had shuffled off this mortal coil was a source of joy. If being bald was the price he paid to end the cruelties Lionel had meted out on him and his mother over the years, then he would celebrate their freedom and not mourn the loss of his bright red curls.

The meteor shower represented rebirth for him. Touching his fragile skull in wonder, Alexander Luthor made a momentous decision. He had always disliked how his father drew out the syllables of his name, Alexander. It was usually the prequel to what his father called a life lesson. Those lessons were mainly about humiliation-his. Alexander no longer wanted those reminders. From now on he would be addressed as Lex Luthor.

Waiting for his mother to arrive, he spent the time wandering through the halls of Smallville General. He soon found refuge in the children's ward. The room was currently unoccupied. A program Lex was not familiar with was playing on the television positioned in the center of the room. Lionel Luthor had not encouraged frivolous pursuits. Lex was only allowed to view carefully selected educational offerings in the media room at the Luthor mansion.

Drawn to a bookshelf on one side of the long room, Lex examined its contents. Most of the books he'd read already. But then he made the greatest discovery. Pulling out a brightly illustrated comic book, Lex’s attention was captured. Lionel Luthor did not want his son’s genius to be tainted by the banal, which he considered comics to be. The young Luthor had never experienced the visceral pleasure of reading a comic book. Luthor, the elder, may have been right but he had passed on from the earthly realm and could not prevent what happened next. His son’s attention was riveted on the lurid cover - a very muscular, yellow-costumed, bald headed hero with arms outstretched as he flew upwards, away from the scene of a battle, as depicted by the crumbling buildings on the lower section of the illustration.

Warrior Angel connected with a new fan and a lifelong love affair was born.

Seeing Clark zip around the room Lex experienced the same connection.

Chortling with triumph, Clark pointed a finger. He found what he was looking for and it was under the daybed.

What came next would be forever imprinted in Lex's memory.

Clark knelt and from that position, with his right hand, he lifted one end of the wooden daybed above his head, while his left reached out for the toy he had found. Lex’s gaze traveled from the uplifted daybed to the dull metallic train lying on its side to the extraordinary, uncommon boy connecting these common items.

Chapter 2