Homestead

Summary: Times change. People change. Childhood’s lost.

Author’s Note: I know I’ve been away from this fic. It’s only my second one for this fandom after a previous one died a death of neglect. Flames will make me cry, or at the very least bury my head in my Archie comics and not log on for a week. To anyone reading, thanks!

“All clear!”

The sounds of pick axes and lanterns scuffing over the rubble as they were laid down echoed slightly in the dark cave. Several miners adjusted their kerchiefs over their faces to keep the dust out of their throats and lungs. They began their ascent to the mouth of the cave.

A familiar baritone the despised made the roll call.

“Repeat when I call your names. Ross.”

“Here I am, sir.”

“Ford.”

“Accounted for, sir.”

The men continued to struggle out into the open. They heard the crunch of long sticks of dynamite being pressed into crevices of rock. A box of lambs’ wool was passed around the crowd. They scrabbled through it, taking handfuls of it and wadding it up as makeshift earplugs.

A second voice, similar to his father’s, rose over the other sounds of the site. “All clear!”

They suffered the younger Luthor, barely. A few of the older miners remembered his mother fondly, but most of them had little love for the seemingly spoiled boy home from his fancy school.

But at nineteen, he could hardly be called a boy.

Alex’s childhood was long gone and scarcely missed. Alex the man stared out at the world through hard, slate-gray eyes. He scanned the crowd, watching his father complete the roll.

“Are we all accounted for, Alexander?”

“Nearly.”

“Go,” Lionel snapped. His eyes ordered him to show his peers how the job was done.

Alex nodded briefly, feeling no need for a verbal reply. He felt the crew watching him, even as he willed himself to look through them as he walked past.

His rakishness was replaced by an invisible armor meant to intimidate as well as shielf him from shame. Alex’s stylish suits were carefully packed away in trunks. Lionel ordered a modest handful of plain work shirts, in striped calico or serviceable flannel for his son, nothing that would engender envy in his peers. It stood at odds with the way his mother presented him as a child, previously dressing him in the best selections the catalogs had to offer, setting him apart. A few of the men sniggered at him brought so low, in his wool cap reminiscent of the one he wore at age ten. He no longer swaggered; Alex stalked.

He didn’t recognize the hard eyes staring back at him in the mirror every day.

Alex strode into the mine, descending into the left branch where the tunnels forked.

“Are we all clear?” he called.

“Clear!” He admired the exposed veins of green stones as he made his way into the hub of Lionel’s mines. He absently rubbed his palms, probing the thick calluses, wounds he’d earned with his own sweat. Alex took up an abandoned lantern, mindful of the splash of kerosene as he walked.

He made a final pass of the excavated site, satisfied that no one replied to his calls. When he emerged, he nodded to Lionel.

“All clear, sir.” His father nodded, then turned his back on him.

“Now,” he ordered with a gesture of his gloved hand.

Armageddon. It was a barrage of sound, smoke and flying rock. Alex didn’t even flinch as the men around him ducked and took cover, crying out in panic.

There was something majestic and satisfying about witnessing such destruction, knowing you had a hand in changing the face of solid rock that stood untouched for decades. One tiny stick of dynamite could eviscerate several tons of stone; score one for man’s inventions. Nature, zero.

It took several minutes for the men to get their bearings while the smoke cleared. They retreated from the site long enough to refresh themselves from the water barrels and lunch pails.

Whitney Ford lazed beneath a tree, gulping a small tin cup of water and rubbing a wet hand over his nape to cool off. His dark blond hair was plastered to his forehead when he removed his cap, fanning himself with it.

“I won’t miss that,” Pete remarked as he bit into a chicken sandwich. “That noise haunts my sleep. Feels like I’m waking up from a trip to hell.”

“Shut your mouth!” Whitney snapped. “You afraid of a few firecrackers, Pete?”

“Maybe you can tuck him in at night,” Jason suggested rudely.

“Twisted bastard!” Whitney spat, but he grinned, shaking his head.

The boyhood friends seldom had time or the interest for baseball anymore. A great deal of Smallville’s livelihood depended on the railroad and on several businesses Lionel Luthor operated within its limits. On the one hand, the citizens didn’t trust him. On the other, they needed him. Farmers’ sons with little inclination to attend colleges in other towns, even other states, made inquiries at the general store. The gold rush gave way to the need for gem stones instead. Dealers came from a wide radius for the emeralds rumored to have nearly perfect clarity, rivaling any delivered from overseas.

Alex watched his former classmates with something akin to envy. He was never truly one of them, he reasoned; what did he care that they ignored him? He retreated from the plank tables and took a brief stroll through the desiccated grass, sipping a cup of lemonade.

His days were a struggle; at night he retreated into himself when he was alone, occasionally picking out notes on the piano once his father left for his “exploits.” He awaited Oliver’s letters, which were few and far in-between, and frustratingly short.

Bought a new vest. Dinah said the dark green brings out my eyes. I don’t miss Smallville’s heat. Makes you wish you were headed on a boat to Paris with me, doesn’t it?

Of course it did. Lucky bastard…

Oliver still monopolized his dreams, fading memories of a happiness that was becoming vaguer, rarer to him. He needed his flamboyance and frankness; Oliver never let him take himself too seriously. Alex didn’t know what bothered him more: That Oliver left him alone in a dark void, bereft of his humor and warmth…or that he was growing increasingly used to it.

Alex frequently stalked his father’s study, ensuring he didn’t divert or destroy Alex’s correspondence. He took his letters by hand to the post each week, hating that he felt like an errant child sneaking candy from a jar.

Jason doused his hair with water and let it dribble down his hot neck. “Hot as a witch’s tit out here.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you swearing like that,” Whitney reminded him.

“This is no place for women. Don’t be fooled just because they let Pete in here,” he joked. He ducked as Pete tossed an empty cup at him.

“Teague,” Whitney said, “you going to the social?”

“Mother says I am,” he answered with disgust. Whitney smirked. “Might ask Lana.” His smile dropped.

“Don’t waste your time. I’m taking her.”

“Don’t tell me you beat everyone to the door.”

“I didn’t say that. But she’s going with me.”

“No. You think she’s going with you.”

Pete watched the exchange, resigned. He had his own feelings about who Lana Lang should accompany to the town social coming up within the week. He nursed a fond regard of his own for the lively brunette, but Whitney and Jason distracted her with their bold brand of confidence and swagger.

Pete Ross had grown into a bright, easygoing young man. He did passably well in school, but he was hardworking and reliable, one of the best workers at the mines. When his father passed away, Lionel approached him with a job offer and paid for the coffin, his boon to the grieving family.

He was handsome in a puckish way, medium height and built like a ranch hand. His fair skin was slightly mottled with freckles and his bright, carroty hair darkened to auburn. His bone structure was strong, promising him good looks in his golden years. Pete’s eyes smiled before his mouth did.

But unfair comparisons were always made between him and Clark Kent, still his best friend. If he didn’t like him so much, Pete would gladly shove him into a lake.

He didn’t throw his hat into the ring, letting Whitney and Jason out-boast each other.

Chloe Sullivan enjoyed making it difficult for him. She clung to Lana like a burr, both a bosom friend and eternal nuisance. Pete didn’t stand a chance at having a moment alone with her. It didn’t help that any time he spent with Clark in town was plagued by the eager blonde, since she was still infatuated him, even if her infatuation took the form of them fighting like siblings.

Alex listened from a distance to his father as he spoke to the foreman at the site. They began to count the day’s yield, estimating the price once they had the stones assessed. Alex kneaded a burning knot in his shoulder, strangely satisfied with his efforts for the afternoon.

The men spent the next few hours picking and hacking through the rubble, desecrating the cave like a temple. Nothing was sacred in their pursuit of fortune. Living off the land in Smallville no longer meant walking behind a plow.

*

“Pa?”

“Come in here, son.”

“What do you need, Pa?”

“I want to talk to you. Sit with me.” Clark’s father looked worn in his wing chair. Martha worked on her quilt in the sitting room after lighting the lantern for Jonathan in the bedroom.

Clark felt strange as he watched his father lean forward in his seat, propping his elbows against his knees and letting his weathered hands dangle. He seemed smaller than he remembered as a young boy. Unease crept through him, provoking unwelcome ideas.

“There’s something I need to show you. It’s been on my mind a long time, and I can’t rest easy until I share it with you. I don’t want you to tell anyone about this, Clark.”

“What’s the big secret, Pa?”

“Don’t sass me, Clark.” His father’s voice was grave and his lips became a thin, humorless line.

He bundled them into the wagon and they headed west, admiring the setting sun. Steam rose from the parched earth as it cooled with the approaching night. Jonathan swatted mosquitoes that never bothered Clark; his skin was flawlessly smooth and firm, but he’d never suffered so much as a cut or scratch throughout his childhood, despite sometimes careless exploits with Pete or Chloe.

They approached a clearing. Clark eyed their surroundings with a sense of déjà vu.

“Pa…what is this?”

“I’ve been meaning to tell you about it. This place is special.”

“Why?”

“It’s where I found you.”

Clark’s stomach turned to lead, seeming to fall into his shoes.

“Pa…that’s…I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t, at first. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, more than usual, lately.” Clark knew things had changed considerably after Jonathan had his heart attack two years ago. Clark rightfully assumed more of the heavy chores and spelled him when Jonathan grew weary, sometimes handling the reins of the wagon to allow his father a chance to doze.

They didn’t need a lantern yet, and Clark’s vision was sharp enough to pick out smaller details, particularly odd burn marks in the soil. It became more scarred as they approached the shattered remains of several caves.

“Pa!” Clark cried, stopping his father just before he could trip and fall into a shallow crater gouged into the earth. Jonathan caught his breath sharply and gripped his chest. “Pa, please!”

“I’m all right,” he told him soothingly, clapping Clark’s shoulder. He looked resigned. “It’s over here.”

They reached the same heap of rubble that was now overgrown with weeds and moss. Clark was silent as his father began to clear it away, tossing aside clumps. Gradually he exposed something shiny and smooth.

Metal.

“What is it?”

“You’ll see.”

Clark began to feel sick with anticipation.

“You were always special, always different. You were blessed with certain gifts, Clark. No one else your ma and I have ever met can do what you can do.” Jonathan continued to dig, getting his fingers under the long, shining plate of silvery alloy and tugging it forward.

With a grunt, he freed a capsule as long and wide around as Clark’s trunk. It was worn and dented, and the front panel was loose, as though it had been pried open before.

“Pa…what is that?”

“Your cradle,” he explained quietly. “That’s the only way I can describe it, son.”

“No,” Clark whispered. “Pa…that can’t be.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you, son. I love you. I’m telling you the truth when I say that I found you trapped inside this contraption one night during a storm. It was the most fearsome thing I ever experienced. I thought the stars were falling down around my ears. I took shelter here,” he said, gesturing to the cave, “until the crashing stopped. The ground wouldn’t stop shaking. There was so much fire and smoke. I couldn’t see clearly, but I could hear you. You sounded so helpless. I couldn’t turn my back on you, Clark.”

His son’s clear, jade green eyes pinned him, shining with disbelief and unchecked tears. They slipped like quicksilver down his cheeks. “Pa…I don’t understand. You mean…I…”

He was overwhelmed. Clark, normally so strong, crumpled to the ground.

“Son!” Jonathan tripped forward and caught him beneath the arms, gathering him against his chest.

Clark wept. He hated himself again, the way he had that horrible night in the house while his mother tended to Jonathan following his frightening spell in the barn. He felt weak. Something else had been taken from him, something he only realized was precious once it was gone. He was no longer innocent.

He was no longer normal. He felt disconnected.

His parents weren’t his blood.

“We love you. Ma and I love you,” Jonathan murmured, rocking him and combing his fingers through Clark’s soft waves of hair. He took tangible comfort in holding him, offering the affection it became harder to give him in the effort to toughen him, preparing him for impending manhood. “So much. We don’t know where you came from, son. All that matters is that you’re here now. You’re our son.” Clark was numb; he felt his father’s arms around him, still strong despite advancing age, and the press of his lips on top of his head.

“Someone couldn’t keep you. There was a purpose in you coming here. I think someone wanted to save you, Clark.”

“What if…what if they didn’t want me, Pa?” His voice was muffled and cracked in the folds of his father’s chambray shirt. His blunt fingernails dug into Jonathan’s shoulder.

“That’s ridiculous. They didn’t want to let you go. That’s how your ma and I feel. It probably killed them.”

“I don’t belong here,” Clark whimpered.

“Yes, you do.”

*

Three days of soul-searching and contemplation found Clark at the creek, wading into the cool water. Every scent, every feeling was different, sharper and needing more explanation than it did before. Did Pete feel any colder when he swam than Clark did? What did a bee sting feel like? How long would Clark have to work, or run before he felt tired? Did his father see everything they way he did, seeing the individual colonies of atoms in a grain of soil? The spectrum of colors in a drop of rain water?

Suddenly Shelby snorted, awakening from his nap.

“What is it, boy?” Then Clark listened, too, relieved to give up his frustrated musings and welcoming the distraction.

Roughly a half mile away, he saw a familiar figure, tall and lean and wearing a worn gray cap. Clark emerged from the water, heedless of his state of undress. His white breeches clung to him, a stark contrast to his rosy, burnished skin. The sun felt good on his bare back, as did the faint breeze rustling the surrounding brush.

Clark smiled, cupping his hand around his mouth. “LEX!” The young man paused, holding up his own hand to shield his eyes from the glare.

“CLARK?” he called back.

“Come on over! The water’s nice!”

Alex ambled across the clearing, walking only slightly faster than he did before Clark spied him.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be here,” Alex remarked as he approached. Clark sat down on the bank, curling his toes in the cool mud while the water lapped at his ankles. Alex joined him, seating himself on the rock instead. He set down his cap, rubbing his scalp thoughtfully. “You’re going to burn. You’ll look like a red Indian.”

“I never had a problem before. C’mon. Come swim.”

“It’s not that deep.”

“So?”

Alex “hmphed” briefly and sighed, before he stood and stretched. He unbuttoned his shirt, which was already rolled at the sleeves. Clark watched him with hooded eyes. Alex was tall, roughly the same height as Jonathan before he’d grown more stooped, and his body was lean and hard, more than Clark would have expected from someone who’d spent long years behind a desk.

Alex’s skin was still moderately fair from spending so much time at the mines. Clark silently counted the freckles sprayed over his shoulders when he turned to unfasten his work pants. The breeches he wore weren’t any finer than Clark’s, another fact that surprised him. Alex smoothly cut through the water, standing in it up to his waist. He cupped his hands and splashed some over his shoulders.

“Whoof! Still chilly,” he complained.

“Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not used to it yet.”

“Well, here, then!” Clark launched himself to his feet and barreled into the water.

“What…wait!” Alex yelped, holding out his hands to stop him, but it was futile. Clark was grinning like an imp, green eyes holding little mercy and a surplus of amusement, entirely at Alex’s expense.

That was the last thing he saw before a huge wave of water swamped him, a shining arc of drops that all found their target. Alex bellowed in surprise and outrage.

“CLARK! Ooooooooo!”

“Are you used to it now?” Clark asked innocently.

“That’s…dirty pool!”

“Aw, c’mon, Lex, you’re nice and cool now!”

“I’ll show you nice! Prepare for battle, Mr. Kent.”

Alex could swear there was hardly any water left in the creek several minutes later. They were gasping with laughter, throwing a wet barrage back and forth. It was a rush.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

His sides ached as he beckoned to Clark. “Truce?” Clark’s hair was slick and shone like a seal’s. He watched him warily.

“Sure, Lex.” He came forward and reached for Alex’s hand to shake it.

Alex sniggered as he splashed Clark in the face at close range, sending a jet of water up his nose. “ACK!”

“HA!”

“Sneak! Liar!”

“You just have to be sharper, Kent-“ Alex’s words were stolen from his throat as Clark grabbed him, hoisted him up in the air, and tossed him several yards away into the creek.

Alex was so startled that he choked on several mouthfuls of water. While he was under, Clark realized what he’d done, and his smile faded.

Lex! He hurried to him, reaching down and gripping his fair shoulder through the rush of bubbles. Clark jerked him above the surface, and Alex looked as shocked as he did. Clark was horrified.

“I didn’t mean it!” he blurted out. Alex panted for breath. Clark looked pale.

“Easy…*kaaarrgh*…Clark! Damn it!” Alex held his nose, pinching it to expel some of the water. He wriggled his pinkie in his ear canal to free some of the water there, too. He was breathing hard. “What was that about?”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

“You still don’t know your own strength, do you, Clark?”

“Lex…I…I…”

“Clark? It’s all right.”

“I could have hurt you,” Clark whispered miserably. His hand still gripped Alex’s upper arm, gently this time. He was reluctant to let go of him, something that warmed Alex.

“You didn’t.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s all right. I’m all right. See? No harm done. I just won’t be thirsty for a while,” he joked, but Clark still looked upset. He finally noticed that he was still holding on to Alex and abruptly let go. He spun on his heel and waded out of the water, leaving Alex in his wake, confused.

“Wait.”

“I’d better go. Ma’s waiting for me.”

“It’s still early. C’mon, Clark, come back and swim for a while. You haven’t turned into a prune yet.”

“I probably won’t, anyway,” Clark muttered as he fought his way into his dry shirt, difficult with his skin still being damp. “It doesn’t matter how long I stay in it. I don’t get cold. It doesn’t dry out my skin.” Alex listened to him thoughtfully. “Nothing seems to hurt me the way it does anybody else. That-“ His voice drifted off.

“That makes you different,” Alex finished for him softly. Clark whirled on him.

“Please, don’t-“

“You think I don’t know what it’s like to be different, Clark? I can’t explain what happened to me. I don’t know why I look like this. It happened when I was young. I almost can’t remember when things were any different before.” Alex ran his hand over his smooth scalp. Clark’s expression softened, no longer full of self-disgust. “You asked me once if my hair would come back if I was a good boy, Clark. I don’t think I’ve been good enough yet.”

“I guess it doesn’t work that way, then,” Clark corrected him sourly. Alex chuckled.

“Guess not.”

“You haven’t been that bad, Lex.”

“My father would beg to differ.”

“I don’t agree with him.”

“Brave words, Clark.”

“I’m sorry,” Clark offered. “I know he’s your pa. I have to respect him. But-“

“I know. I won’t tell you how to feel about my pa, Clark. I’ll only say that he isn’t like yours. You’re very lucky.” Clark’s eyes clouded over as he turned away from him again and began to button his shirt.

“Clark? Did I say something wrong?”

The secret nagged at Clark, burning within his chest. He bit his lip.

“No. You never do, Lex.”

“Then stay,” Alex suggested. “I could use the company.”

“You sure?” Clark sounded doubtful. “I’m not Oliver,” he pointed out. “I’m not as old as you are. I can’t go everywhere that he can with you.”

“You’re hardly a child. You’re how old now?”

“Fifteen.” Alex was taken aback. Clark was taller, broader and had a deeper voice every time he heard him, it seemed. His jaw was more square, face completely devoid of its baby fat, and he had a charming cleft in his chin.

“I remember when I had to carry you.” Alex’s voice was full of disbelief. “From the caves.” He retreated and sat back on the rock, musing.

“I still don’t go into them. Ma forbids it.”

“I don’t think it’s the best place for someone your age, anyway.”

“Hogwash. Pete works there,” Clark reminded him.

“I still don’t think-“

“One of these days, Pa might need me to work. Maybe I could work for your pa.”

“I forbid it!” Alex shouted, startling him. He was up in a shot, grabbing Clark and spinning him to face him. Alex’s face was florid. Clark had never seen him in such a fit of pique. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Clark, but let me cure you of such aspirations right now. You don’t ever want to work for my father. You don’t ever want him to own you! And he would own you. Do you understand?”

Clark absorbed Alex’s anxiety from their contact, breathing taking on the same depth and pitch. Alex’s fingers bit into his shoulder. “Promise me,” he insisted again.

“I promise, Lex.”

Much like Clark had while they stood in the creek, Alex released him quickly and turned away.

“Alex?”

“Yes, Clark?”

“Come swim?” He peered over his shoulder, then faced him fully as Clark once again let his shirt drop to the ground. Alex silently joined him, picking it up and folding it neatly.

“Don’t ruin it. Your ma worked hard on it.”

They waded and chatted, floating on their backs and lying out on the banks until the sun grew low in the sky.

Their thoughts were in sync, even if they never said as much. Alex remembered the roll of Biscuit’s long back beneath him and how still Clark lay in his arms; Clark recalled the uneven beats of Alex’s heart through his coat as he cradled him.

*

Alex arrived at his home after dark. Mrs. Perry was quiet as he entered the kitchen and hung up his cap.

“Supper’s still warm,” she murmured.

“Thank you, Mrs. Perry.”

“Your father would like to speak to you, however. He’s in his study.”

Alex stiffened, then walked in long strides to join him.

“It’s about time.” His father didn’t look up from his cognac as he entered.

“What do you need of me, Father?”

“You’re coming with me tonight. Get your hat.”

“Where are we going, Father? We have an early day tomorrow.”

“You can surely stay up a while longer, Alexander.”

“May I eat first?”

“If you like. Don’t be long.”

Alex wandered back into the kitchen. Mrs. Perry already had a plate of roast beef, tomato salad and boiled potatoes ready for him. It was well-prepared, but it stuck in his throat.

Wordlessly, they climbed into the coach. The night air was cooler but still slightly humid, making Alex long for the creek.

He was puzzled when Perry pulled the coach up to the curb of saloon. He let them out, but Alex hesitated, loath to leave his seat.

“Come, Alexander.”

“Father…why have you brought me here?”

“You don’t need to know why. Don’t make Perry wait here, son. Come out.”

The denizens of the saloon were just as surprised to see him as he was to be there. Several of them looked up from drinks or cards, eyeing him with speculation. Lionel led them to the table he had reserved in the rear lounge, more sumptuous than the main parlor. The furnishings were more lavish, and a woman heavily made up, garishly dressed in a striped rose frock approached them.

“Good evening, Mr. Luthor. Drink for you and your guest?”

“This is my son, Ruby.”

“Handsome as his father,” she agreed, even though her eyes roamed over him, looking for similarities and finding none.

“Cognac,” Lionel said simply.

“Two?”

“Two,” he confirmed.

Before she went back to the bar, Alex noticed Ruby pausing at the foot of the stairs, beckoning to another young woman wearing a scandalously low-cut dress, this one in bold royal blue taffeta. It was edged in black lace, and she wore rouge on her cheeks. She turned to stare at him, and she gave Alex a brazen smile. He flushed and looked away.

“Are we here to play cards, Father?” he asked hollowly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lionel snapped. “Does it look like it?”

“Perhaps you could explain it to me.”

“I shouldn’t have to,” Lionel shrugged. “I’m going to make a man out of you.”

“Father…”

“It’s past time, Alexander. I’ve had an unfavorable feeling about you for a long time that I’ve neglected my duties in teaching you the way of things between men and women.” Alex tried to swallow around a cold ball of lead in his gut. He regretted his supper.

“The way of what things, Father?”

“A woman’s place, but more importantly, her role behind closed doors.” Burning shame and hatred coursed through Alex’s veins as the implications of his father’s words set in.

“You want me to engage the services of a whore,” he said hollowly.

“No. I intend to pay for those services myself, and you will partake of them.” Lionel looked up with a smile as Ruby brought their drinks. He nodded to Alex to take his. “For courage.”

“Bottoms up! Enjoy,” Ruby told them cheerfully before she swept away.

“You’ll have a half an hour,” Lionel instructed him crisply. “Learn from her. Make the most of it and get my money’s worth.”

“I won’t accept this,” Alex said. His eyes were flat, slate gray chips.

“Yes, you will.” Lionel took a gulp of liquor and savored it. “I won’t have a homosexual under my roof, Alexander. I know how you behaved with your friend Oliver. I can just imagine what you talk about when you write to him.”

“It’s our business, Father.”

“Your business is my business, son.”

Alex felt naked and exposed. He retreated inside himself, but only heard the echoes of his father’s deep, lilting voice singing into the darkness. Oh, Susannah, don’t you cry for me… Despite the warm night, he was chilled and felt his fingertips grow numb.

“If you don’t do this, you won’t have a home. You won’t have your birthright. It’s about time you’ve learned this, Alexander. High time. You’re a man, and you’ll act like one.”

“This isn’t right. You’d keep the company of prostitutes, and force me to do the same!” he whispered roughly.

“You won’t tell me what’s right!” Lionel’s control snapped for a moment. His face was florid and stiffened with anger. “How dare YOU tell ME!”

He mastered himself once Ruby returned. She turned a bright smile upon Alex. Too bright.

“You haven’t even tasted it yet, sugar.”

“He’s a bit young yet to appreciate quality cognac,” Lionel said, saluting her with his own glass before he swallowed what was left. She took it from him and beckoned to Alex.

“Go on ahead and finish it, darlin’. Don’t be shy. We’ve planned something special for you.”

Alex wanted to vomit.

He kept his hand from trembling as he reached for the glass. He closed his eyes, and then swallowed the cognac in one burning gulp. Dutifully he handed her the glass. She beamed.

“That’s a good boy,” she encouraged.

“He’s hardly a boy anymore,” Lionel bragged.