Homestead

Summary: Alex adjusts to life in Smallville, with new complications.

Author’s Note: Don’t hate me.

“I lit the stove, Mother.”

“Don’t turn it up too high, Alexander,” Lillian chided as she bent over the crib. Julian ceased his sobbing as she gently lifted him to her shoulder and patted out a gas bubble. His answering belch was loaded with the promise of spit-up but made Alex giggle. Julian chewed his tiny fist as he stared over his mother’s shoulder at his elder brother. Alex made a silly face.

Julian gave him a gummy smile and ducked his face into his mother’s neck.

Alex heated the baby’s milk in the tiny pot on his mother’s gas stove, watching it carefully to make sure it didn’t overheat. He prepared the bottle and wrapped it in a tea towel.

“There’s a dear, Alex, set it down there,” she replied, gazing at him fondly as he stood it on the settee. Lillian found a willing helper in Alex when Julian was born. He spent any spare time when he wasn’t applying himself to school work or his piano lessons with his baby brother, carrying him about on his hip when he was cranky and awkwardly rocking him in his mother’s chair near the fireplace.

Julian was uncomplicated. His plump, soft little hands stroked his brother’s bald pate and reddish-gold eyebrows, and he’d coo in wonder at the quirks of his face when Alex talked to him.

Julian was the true blood son of Lillian and Lionel Luthor, but as the oldest son, Alex held the birthright to Lionel’s estate and properties. Nevertheless, Lionel always let Alex know his place in the family: At his feet.

Julian was fussy; his mother looked at her wit’s end.

“Mother, can I have him, please?”

“Julian, be a good boy, go with big brother Alexander, now,” she cajoled wearily. Alex took the baby and bounced him lightly as his mother handed him the embroidered flannel blanket.

The mood of the Luthor household had been tense ever since Alex’s first day of school. His father came and went, often showing up only for supper and leaving for much of the night. Alex often lay awake in his bed, musing and listening for his father’s heavy footsteps at the front door. Every night his mother asked the same question.

Where have you been, Lionel?

Every night the response was the same.

It doesn’t concern you where I am. What matters is that you’re where you belong, under this roof when I come home, Lillian. There was little variation, except for the occasional threat growled in too low a tone for Alex’s ears. Every morning found his mother looking forlorn until they started the day. More specifically, until she retrieved Julian from his crib and inhaled the toasty, sweet scent of his skin.

Alex continued to excel in his studies, perhaps even to the point of becoming bored. He won no friends following the skirmish with Jason, but the boys were not as quick in coaxing him to fight.

Most days in the schoolyard found him alone, nose in a book, or taking a walk in the field, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it. He became the inevitable subject of gossip among the girls, and they delighted in picking him apart.

“He’s mean,” Chloe insisted one day. “He told me to mind my own beeswax when I asked him why he doesn’t have any hair.”

“Maybe it’s a secret,” Lana suggested helpfully. “Maybe a wicked witch put a spell on him!”

“There’s no such thing as witches, dummy,” Pete Ross cut in, looking up from his marbles. “Alex is just funny-looking, that’s all.” Then he nodded over at Clark, who was trotting across the yard to follow the loner beneath the trees. “I don’t know why Clark thinks he’s so great.”

“Probably because his pa has money,” Chloe sniffed. She and Lana sat side by side, drawing patterns in the gravel with a stick.

“I don’t think so,” Lana mused.

“But he does!” Chloe insisted.

“No, silly. Clark. He doesn’t care about things like that.” She stared at the two of them. “Maybe it’s because he’s a big kid.” Alex was taller than many boys his age, despite his slender frame.

“Everyone calls him queer,” Chloe pointed out. “Why would Clark want to play with someone like that who’s so odd-looking?”

“Maybe it’s because everybody needs someone to play with,” Pete mumbled. “C’mon,” he piped up as he dusted off his pants.

“Why?” Lana asked.

“Let’s go see what Clark’s up to.” Before Alex arrived at the Smallville school, he and Clark were thick as thieves. Pete’s reticence to befriend the new boy and risk ridicule had created an obstacle to spending time with his best friend. Clark was nonplussed. He liked who and what he liked, and that was that.

“Whitley and Jason are mean,” Lana complained. “Whitley dipped my ponytails in the inkwell.”

“He tripped me and made me step in a mud puddle,” Chloe added, wrinkling her pert nose. “He and Jason think they’re better than everyone else.”

“Their pas have money,” Lana said, as though that explained everything.

They watched Pete descend upon Clark and Alex in the distance. He approached them with his hands tucked in his pockets, waiting to be acknowledged.

From where they stood, Lex looked as strange as ever, but they couldn’t take their eyes off of him.

“What’re you doing?” Clark turned away from Alex a moment to face his friend, and his familiar smile widened with joy.

Alex stared at them and felt a pang of jealousy in the pit of his belly.

“Nothin’,” Clark replied. “Siddown, Petey!”

“Petey?” Alex’s voice held a note of sarcasm. “That’s your name?”

“My name’s Pete,” he huffed. “Petey’s a baby’s name!”

“Maybe you are a baby.”

“Am not!” His face reddened.

“Lex, stop it,” Clark admonished. Pete looked mollified until Clark added, “Pete, stop acting like a baby.”

“AM NOT!”

“You act just like my brother Julian. He wears diapers and spits up his milk, and cries,” Alex taunted, just to get the younger boy’s goat.

“Why are you here, anyway? You’re the mama’s boy, Jason said so!”

“So?” Clark was staring at Pete like he had grown a second head. “You don’t like Jason, anyway.” It was true. Nevertheless, Pete still wanted his approval to avoid skirmishes in the schoolyard and to ensure a place on the baseball field.

“I bet you can’t even pitch,” Alex goaded.

“Bet I can!”

“Prove it.” Alex’s expression was sly. He produced a ball from the pocket of his baggy pants. He implored his mother to allow him some suitable clothes to fit in at the school. They were ordered from a catalog and made from richer fabrics, but they made him stand out less like a sore thumb.

Alex rolled the ball in his hand, challenging him with his slate blue eyes.

“Go over there,” Pete barked. Alex backed up a few feet. “You heard me! Way out there!”

“You should just hand me the ball, baby,” Alex jeered.

“Let him throw it, Alex!” Clark said impatiently. “I wanna play, too!” He was beginning to feel left out, and it wasn’t fair. Alex trotted back a few more steps.

“Sissy,” Alex snorted, grinning.

“Fine! HERE!” Snap! Pete drew back his arm and threw with all his might, face determined and flushed.

Alex grunted as the ball hit him squarely in the breadbox, stinging him with the impact.

“Blast,” he muttered. That hurt! Pete caught the look of surprise and pain flitting across his face and stood a little taller. “Next time, try that when I have a bat!”

“Fine,” he promised. And he made good on his word.

The next day, Alex brought along a bat.

His leisure books lay neglected on the bench outside as the three boys began a daily ritual of playing baseball, or something like it, since there were only three. Lana and Chloe were their reluctant “outfield,” whenever they impatiently threw back the ball that rolled into their game of house. Pete and Alex suffered each other’s presence. The common thread binding them was Clark.

Clark’s invitations to bring Alex to his home on the farm were met with excuses and blank looks.

“Come and see Shelby,” Clark nagged. “He’s a good dog! He brings home rabbits and leaves ‘em on the doorstep!” His mother found the habit annoying until she found a recipe for rabbit stew.

“I can’t,” Alex sighed. “I have piano lessons.”

“You always have piano lessons,” Clark whined. “You have to see Shelby.”

“No, I don’t, Clark,” he dismissed, but he really did want to see the dog, and the horses, and the big red barn on Mr. Kent’s property. Alex lived within the bustle – if it could be called that, since Smallville had a population of roughly five hundred people – of downtown. He bemoaned that fact to his mother occasionally back when they lived in Metropolis City. There was nowhere for children to play and run. Even when he didn’t ride in his father’s coach, he had to hurry on quick feet down the walk, holding fast to his mother’s hand.

~0~

“You’re awfully quiet, Alex,” Lillian remarked as she stirred the chicken soup. Alex was on the floor, dangling one of Julian’s rattles just out of the baby’s reach. He’d shake it just within centimeters of his fingertips while the baby lay on his back, but before he could snatch it, he’d yank it away. Alex usually stopped just shy of when his giggles turned into wails of outrage.

“Mother,” he said thoughtfully, “I have a friend.”

She beamed. “That’s nice, Alexander. What’s his name? Who are his mother and father?”

“His name’s Clark Kent. They live on a farm.”

“You don’t know his parents’ names?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Kent,” he replied simply, shrugging. Lillian chuckled.

“I assume he comes from a good family, then?”

“I guess,” Alex shrugged again. He wasn’t comfortable with his own parents’ insistence that he only consort with the children of “reputable” families. “I…I was wondering…”

“Yes, Alexander?”

“Could I…could I let him come over to play?” Lillian put down her spoon and her eyes darkened with concern, and something akin to fear.

“Oh, Alexander…I don’t think so. No, I truly don’t think that would be appropriate. We don’t know his family, and your father…it isn’t a good idea, son.” Her heart broke when she saw how crestfallen Alex looked. The boy bowed his head, staring at his lap. Beside him, his brother cooed plaintively, wanting more games of peekaboo and the rattle. “Mother, can I go practice my piano now?”

The invisible wall between them rose up once again. He read the intent in her face: Don’t provoke your father. Don’t let anyone see how we live. Please.

“Have you finished with your studies, Alexander?”

“Yes, Mother. I would really like to go, now.” He stood up straight and waited for his mother to dismiss him. Julian wriggled and screwed up his cherub face as the object of his adoration prepared to leave.

“Play something lovely, Alexander.”

“Yes, Mother.” He bent down and handed his brother the rattle. Julian squawked with protest as he left before cramming the end of the toy into his mouth. Lillian sighed miserably.

By no fault of his own, Alex was no longer her baby. And it burned.

Her only consolation was that Alex had a lifelong friend and the staunchest support a boy could ask for from Julian. His needs were uncomplicated, and he would never consider Alex a disappointment.

~0~

In the downstairs parlor, Alex labored over an adagio that had always given him trouble, watching his sheet music for the change in time on the fourth measure. The piano was lovingly finished and exquisitely constructed, and it stood as the centerpiece of the room. Golden sunlight streamed in through the windows and caressed him; his fair skin seemed to glow with inner light, and his face was so serene that it would have broken his mother’s heart, had she not been abovestairs napping with the baby.

He forgot about everything when he played. He wasn’t a freak. He wasn’t unloved. He wasn’t a disappointment. He reveled in the music, drawing succor and letting it heal his ills. He immersed himself in it, and everything else drifted away…

Tap. Tap. Whap! “Oh!” he cried under his breath, jerking up in surprise.

Something sparse clattered against the parlor window. When he looked up, Clark’s eyes and gappy grin peered back at him. Alex began to smile in spite of himself, but that look turned to worry when he saw the grandfather clock about to chime four. Lionel was due home for supper.

He rushed to the window and mouthed “C’mon! Go to the door!” Clark nodded eagerly and rounded the corner, stomping his way onto the front porch.

“LEX!” He was bursting with excitement. “I came to see you! Let’s go!” He was wringing his hands and practically dancing. Clark’s cheeks were rosy, clearly having run all the way there. Alex wondered how far away the Kent farm was from town.

“What d’you want, Clark?”

“The caves! The caves! Come with me and Petey!”

“Aw, Clark,” Alex muttered in disgust, even though craved the time outdoors, “I have to stay here. My father’s about to come home. Mother’s asleep. I can’t leave my house. I’ll get in trouble.” He couldn’t define what kind, thinking about Clark’s sensitive ears. Clark’s mouth twisted in disappointment, and the wind left his sails, making his little shoulders sag.

“Awwwwwww,” he groaned, scuffing his boot against the wood planks. “You can’t come? Honest?”

“Uh-uh,” Alex sighed, and his face was a mirror of Clark’s, one of commiseration and resignation until his friend suddenly brightened.

“Where’s your pa?”

“At the store. In the back with his books.”

“We live close to the caves. My pa can give you a ride home on the wagon. It won’t take long for us to get there, either.”

“Clark, it’s five miles away!” Alex wasn’t fond of walking that far, and he was often grateful that his father insisted on the coach as their way of getting around.

“It’ll be easy,” Clark assured him. “C’mon, Alex!” His voice was petulant, but his smile was winning. Clark was a stinker.

“You’re such a snot,” Alex muttered, but Clark’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Alex’s smile returned.

“Hey, Lex, what was that you were playing?”

“Beethoven.”

“What’s that?”

“Not a what. A who. He wrote music and he played piano.”

“Was he good at it?”

“I guess,” he replied simply. “My mother likes it.” Lillian adored it.

“So are you coming?”

“Clark…my father…”

His father wasn’t home. His mother and brother safely ensconced upstairs. Dinner was ready on the stove…

The caves.

They were the stuff of boys’ imaginations and more taboo than swearing. Alex’s father was a vocal supporter and patron of extending the railroad to run through town and increase the traffic of customers and revenue to his businesses. Smallville’s modest mining company riddled the surrounding outcropping of rock with dynamite and sheared open a new entrance to the caves. Luthor Holdings was already top bidder on the right to mine the unusual green emeralds discovered by sheer luck once the dust cleared.

Jason and Whitley speculated about it.

Clark was offering him an advantage over the two braggarts who made his life miserable.

“I need my coat. Wait here.”


~0~

Alex felt a bit more secure bundled in his wool coat with his cap pulled low over his face. He felt they would attract less attention with his characteristic fair, bare scalp hidden from view. It would be the first of a lifetime of covert acts Alexander Luthor would commit, and the only one he’d ever own up to.

Clark was quiet until they rounded a corner in the road, once the storefronts and houses were out of view.

“C’mon, this way!” he beckoned, leading them down a hill. Alex stumbled to keep up with him. Clark was agile and spry.

“You better not get us lost!” Alex hissed, but excitement thudded in his chest.

“I won’t,” he promised. “Here.” He led them to a butter-colored horse with a blonde mane.

“You brought a horse,” Alex tsked. “Clark, we’re gonna get into so much trouble! You can’t just hide a horse!”

“I did,” Clark argued proudly. “This is Biscuit. She likes me, see?” As if to prove him correct, the horse whickered and bowed her head to nose Clark. He giggled and stroked her muzzle affectionately.

“She might not like me,” Alex countered, eyeing the horse uncomfortably.

“Here,” Clark offered, reaching into his pocket and handing Alex something hard and cold.

Carrots.

“Give her one.” Alex inched forward.

“Uh…hello, Biscuit. H-here,” he stammered, gesturing with the food. The mare’s nostrils flared gently as she nosed and sniffed his hand. Gingerly she lipped his hand and snatched up one of the carrots, crunching and grinding them between scary teeth. Alex nearly jumped back until Clark stopped him.

“Don’t SCARE her, Lex!”

“She’s scaring me!” he protested, but gradually, the horse began to nose him again, looking for another treat.

“Pet her,” Clark prodded. “Give her another one. Like this, see?” He copied Clark’s act with the carrots and gently stroked the nose that was taking a peremptory journey around his face and coat.

She won him over, but lost interest in him once the snack was finished.

“Let’s go to the caves. Get on.”

“You can’t ride a horse!” Alex exclaimed. He was only six!

“Can, too! Pa taught me.” Clark had a natural affinity with animals, something he couldn’t easily explain to Alex, but he meant to take them on the trip he’d planned. He nodded to the stirrup and pommel. “Let me help you.”

Through some struggling, Alex climbed onto Biscuit’s saddle and sat dizzily from the higher height than he was accustomed to while Clark urged him to move back.

“Give me room, Alex!”

“Fine, already!” he grumped. Clark hoisted himself up using both the stirrup and Alex’s strong, cool hand. Clark was seated comfortably in the saddle in front of his friend and was content at the feel of the older boy’s bulk at his back, warmed by his wool coat. Clark made a clicking sound with his teeth and Biscuit turned herself toward the winding gravel road. Everything was fine while they rode slowly along, letting Alex find his seat in the bulky saddle, until Clark said “Let’s go faster!”

He kicked the horse’s sides lightly, and suddenly, they were trotting!

“Oh, no! CLARK! CLARRRRKKKK!!!”

“We have to get there!” he cried out over the sound of Biscuit’s clopping hooves.

On the one hand, the horse could kill him.

On the other hand, his father would kill him anyway, the longer he stayed out late.

He suffered the bouncing, jolting stride of the horse, even when she decided to canter. He held on tightly to Clark while the younger boy guided the reins. The road wound through a heavily wooded thicket. Biscuit slowed down to avoid stumbling over exposed roots and large rocks. Sunlight dappled the ground through the branches overhead, and Alex saw pink and orange patches of sky, telling him they were running out of time despite their quick journey.

Unease warred with anticipation. He was dying to know what was in the caves, even as his stomach twisted at the thought of his father’s reaction to him being gone. Would he hit him again? With a belt? With his crop? Would he be angry at his mother?

Worse, would he send him away? Cold fear ran its fingers down his back.

They finally reached the rocky crags, stopping Biscuit near a tall oak. Clark insisted he help him tether her to its lowest branch, since Alex was tall enough to reach. The cave loomed large and dark, seeming to yawn open like a mouth of piercing teeth, waiting to swallow them up.

“You scared?” Clark inquired. His tone wasn’t mocking, and concern pinched his small face.

“No,” Alex scoffed. “I never get scared.” Considering his experience with the horse, he felt it better to just leave it at that. “Luthors never get scared,” he amended, as an afterthought.

“I don’t get scared, either!” Clark boasted, throwing out his chest. A snort of laughter burst from Alex’s lips.

“Sure. Sure you don’t.” Their argument lent them both bravado as they trekked toward the entrance and plodded through the brush.

“Do NOT.”

“Do TOO.”

The cave was slightly uphill; Clark hurried ahead on light feet and pulled Alex up by the hand, surprising him with the wiry strength he had.

His feet crunched over gravel and jagged stone as they made their way inside. The fading sunlight lit their way about fifteen feet of the way in. Alex ran his hand over the cool, rough stone. I don’t see what’s so great about it, he thought.

“D’you think Indians lived here?” Clark wondered aloud.

“Why?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just because. Someone drew on the walls.” Alex scowled curiously as he joined his friend.

“Where?”

“Here,” Clark pointed cheerfully. “They’re gonna get in trouble for writing on them,” he sniffed.

Alex suddenly wondered if they were the ones looking for trouble. Clark was right. There were pictures on the walls.

“What’s that one?” Clark whispered, pointing and tracing the chalky, bluish-white scrawl with his stubby finger.

“It looks like a big face.” His own hand crept up to follow Clark’s, not caring when their hands bumped. “And that one looks like a star.”

“Oooooo,” Clark murmured in awe. He shrugged closer to Alex to stave off the faint chill. Alex felt him shiver and huddled against him, sharing the warmth of his coat.

“You don’t have a jacket. That was dumb.”

“Was not.”

“You want to share my coat or not?”

Sheepishly he admitted, “Yes.”

“Then say it was dumb.” Clark’s sigh was heavy.

“Guess it was dumb.”

“Told you.” He didn’t take umbrage for it, choosing to huddle against him. His friend’s chest felt warm and solid against his cheek, and Alex had an overwhelming surge of protectiveness toward Clark. In a moment of weakness, he hugged him more snugly as they continued to study the drawings.

“Alex?”

“What, Clark?”

“Is your pa mean?” Alex scowled.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” Alex asked impatiently.

“Because you get mad. When you say ‘my father,’ you look mad and mean.” Alex sobered, and his brows relaxed.

“I dunno,” he murmured. “He’s kind of mean, sometimes. We’re Luthors,” he offered as an explanation. “We have to do things different. Better.”

“Why?” Clark screwed up his face again in wonder.

“Because. Just because.” Alex honestly didn’t know why. “He gets mad when I don’t do things well enough.”

“You can do some things better than me,” Clark decided. It was a humble attempt, but Alex smiled.

“No, I can’t,” he corrected him. His insides felt warm.

“Alex?”

“What?”

“Your heart sounds funny.” He released Clark and moved back in surprise.

“What d’you mean, funny?”

“It just does. It makes a funny noise.” Alex stared at him, scowling again as Clark explained “I can still hear it. It sounds like you just tripped and fell.” Alex searched for something to counter that wild statement.

“You can’t hear my heart,” he declared. His pulse raced.

“Can, too,” Clark insisted as he began to wander further into the cave.

“Can, not.”

“Can, too. It just tripped again.” Clark was twenty feet ahead of him. Alex stared after him, incredulous. It had tripped.

“We need to go back.”

“You wanted to see it,” Clark fussed. “I’m not done yet!”

“Your father will be mad,” Alex reminded him, picturing dire consequences if his strong-looking, stern pa got wind of their trip to the caves. Alex had to be responsible. Clark was a sturdy boy, but he had to look after him, just like he would look after Julian. It was his duty.

“My pa’s not mean,” he said simply, but Alex felt his face flush. He grew indignant.

“So what, then? Get in trouble if you want, Clark. I want to go home, so you have to come, too!”

“Do not!” Clark grinned back at him and ran. His laughter echoed off the cave walls.

“CLARK! DON’T!” he cried, trotting after him in a panic.

The cave’s interior was darker the deeper they ran. Alex was squinting in the near-blackness and gloom as he followed the sounds of Clark’s steps. “You’re gonna get in trouble, Clark!”

“Will not,” was his petulant reply. Alex was running his hand along the cave wall for support and balance. He stubbed his booted toe sharply and smothered a swear.

“LEX! You said a bad word!”

“Did not! CLARK! COME BACK!”

He felt moisture along the walls, and the air felt chillier and damp. Once again he feared that Clark would get too cold as he shrugged more deeply into his coat and cap. Just when he thought Clark’s taunts would work his last nerve and steer them wrong, a faint, glowing light permeated the darkness.

“CLARK! CLARK…oh!” His voice died in his throat as he followed the light into a cavern that was surprising broad and high. The walls were slicker and more damp here, gleaming in the faint glow from a source he couldn’t detect.

“Clark, look!” he cried out, then felt a strange foreboding as he was greeted by the echo of his own voice, and nothing else. “Clark? Where are you?”

His heart tripped again and his stomach twisted into a knot. “This isn’t funny,” he insisted. “Don’t hide from me, Clark! Clark!”

“Boo!” He nearly died of a heart attack as Clark launched his body at Alex’s waist. He took him down without even trying, knocking them both into the gravel.

“OOF!” It was like hitting a tree!

How did a boy Clark’s age get so strong?

“Scared you,” Clark goaded, green eyes dancing as he let him up, then guiltily extended his hand.

“That was mean,” Alex barked, shaking off Clark’s helping hands and dusting off his coat. “I’m telling your father!”

“Aw, Lex!”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“LEX!”

“Let’s go get Biscuit now and go home, and I might not tell.”

“Promise?”

“Only if we go now,” he sang over his shoulder. He heard Clark’s footsteps behind him for a moment, before they suddenly stopped. “C’mon, Clark, lets go before…Clark?”

He turned back to find his small body huddled and curled up in a tight ball. He was wheezing and gasping for air. His normally ruddy face was white as a sheet, and groans of pain clawed their way from his throat.

“CLARK!” Alex knelt down and shook his narrow shoulder. “Get up! Stop fooling, Clark! It’s not funny anymore.”

“Ow,” Clark moaned. “S’hurting me! Lex, it hurts!”

Alex didn’t have a clue what could be hurting them. Clark didn’t look hurt; there were no scratches on him, and he wasn’t holding his limbs as though he’d broken anything. Alex knew what a broken arm felt like following one of Lionel’s rages. He tried to soothe his friend, but then he noticed something odd.

The rocks gleamed with small green stones. Emeralds, he thought. His father mentioned emeralds.

If he could bring one back, he might end up in his good graces. Perhaps everything would be all right.

“Help me,” Clark sobbed, piercing his reverie and his heart. He looked pitiful, crouched over like that. His green eyes were watery and luminous, and he was trying to be brave. He was shaking. He was cold, Alex realized.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “Here. It’s all right. Put this on.” He removed his coat, shivering at the immediate chill of the cavern, and he wrapped it around Clark’s huddled form. “Give me a minute.”

“I want my pa!” Clark whimpered.

“I know. We’ll go home to your pa,” Alex huffed. His eyes wandered the cavern until he found what looked like a loose rock with a sharp edge. He kicked at it until a piece broke free. He used the jagged point to chip at one of the green nodules of rock.

A crusty piece broke free. It didn’t look like the emerald earrings his mother wore, but it certainly gleamed. Its colors shifted when he turned it this way and that. It was iridescent and cool. He dusted it off and tucked it into his pocket.

“Let’s go now.”

“Don’t feel good.” His pallor was slightly gray, and to Alex’s horror, long blue veins striated his delicate face.

“You look awful, Clark!” He tried to pull him to his feet, but Clark still moaned in pain. “Fine then, here!” He crouched down and levered the boy up a bit by his arms, then ducked down low enough to wrap them around his neck from behind. He rose up and carried Clark piggyback style, holding his limp legs under the knees. Alex was cold, but Clark felt warm against his back, once again sharing the wool coat.

He worried about how Clark was jerking and twitching against his back, and he heard his teeth chattering by his ear.

“Make it stop, Lex,” he pleaded in a low voice. “Please, tell my pa to make it stop.” He felt hot tears drip onto his neck and seep into his shirt.

“I can’t. I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Let’s get Biscuit, then we’ll go home.”

It seemed to take forever for Alex to plod out of the cave. He didn’t take time to wonder why Clark, who felt so solid and heavy against him when he collided with him before, felt so light and limp now. All he could do was fret.

Dusk had fallen when they finally saw light again. Biscuit nickered accusingly at him when he tried to hoist Clark up into the saddle first. “Hold still, horse!” he nagged. She sputtered and flicked her tail, but she allowed his fumbling attempts. Clark groaned and rubbed his face as he struggled to sit upright.

“Lex?” he whimpered.

“I’m coming, Clark,” he promised, and he hefted himself up by the stirrup. He no sooner seated himself behind Clark again when his body once again went limp. Alex caught him before he could slide free and hit the ground. “Oh, no! CLARK! Please don’t do this!”

Clark felt too limp and too light, and his skin was still far too pale. His hands were clammy as Alex took them and wrapped them along with his around the reins.

“Hyah!” he cried to Biscuit, kicking her sides. She eased them into an uneasy trot. Both boys felt sick the entire way out of the woods.

They reached the hill where Clark had led him before. Alex made out the glow of lanterns and saw several adults wandering the area, looking worried. One of the men turned and saw their horse heading their way and he pointed.

“There they are! JONATHAN! There’s your son!”

“CLARK!” bellowed Mr. Kent’s familiar voice. “CLARK! Oh, Good Lord!” He face was stricken and determined as he sprinted toward them, mindful of the skittish horse and her burdens. He reached up and grasped the reins, taking them from Alex. “Where have you two been? Do you know how late it is?”

“Mr. Kent,” he began. Alex’s mouth felt dry, and his lips quivered.

“Clark’s just a little boy, son, you’re older, and you know better! Where did you two go? Out in the dark like this?”

Alex swallowed a lump. “To the caves, sir. Clark thought it would be a good idea if we –“ Jonathan cut him off. His face was stony and grim. He gently collected his son from the horse, curious for a moment about the expensive wool coat wrapped around him. All he saw was Lionel Luthor’s son looking guilty and tears welling up in his slate blue eyes. His stomach lurched when he saw Clark’s poor color and felt his weak slump against his body.

“Pa!” he cried joyfully. He felt a tiny measure of relief when his slender arms wrapped around his neck.

“I’ll take you home, young man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I mean to speak to your father.” Alex stared at his hands, clenched tightly in his lap.

“Yes, sir.”

~0~

The wagon ride back into town was quiet. Alex gave up on trying to explain that Clark had fallen sick in the caves. Jonathan seated them apart, keeping Clark bundled beside him in a thick blanket while Alex sat in the back, once again wrapped in his coat. The lines had been drawn.

Clark periodically stared over his shoulder at him, and his face was full of anguish.

His mother’s front parlor was well lit as Mr. Kent peered inside the window. He caught Lillian’s eye just as she was hurrying past, looking frantic. She clapped her hands over her mouth and smothered a cry.

“Mother,” he moaned as Jonathan helped him from the wagon. Clark started to climb down from his perch.

“Stay, son.” He beckoned for his friend, a burly man who rode Biscuit beside the wagon, to watch Clark for a moment as he strode onto the porch. “I want to speak with Mr. Luthor. Come along, Alex.”

“Yes, sir.” He dragged his feet as though he were ascending a gallows.

All of the joys of the day evaporated and left him aching and empty. Alex was filled with dread, and it grew worse when his mother opened the door. Her eyes were bleak and knowing when they fell upon him, seeing his dirt-streaked cheeks.

“Alexander,” she whispered, and he fell forward into her arms, burying his face in her neck.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Clark,” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean it, Mother, I swear.”

“Don’t ever swear, Alexander,” she scolded, but she adjusted her expression as she met Jonathan’s gaze. “Do come in.”

“I need to speak with Alex’s father.”

“Lionel is in the dining room,” she beckoned. Jonathan studied Lillian thoughtfully. She was nothing like Martha. Her skin was fair and creamy, and she wore her hair in an upswept Victorian style that left pin-curled tendrils falling softly around her face. Her dress was a deep, rich green that enhanced her eyes and sable hair. It had a nipped-in basque and pearl buttons, and the short train in the back was puffed, rustling gracefully as she walked. A pearl choker graced her slender neck.

“Who’s there, Lillian?” Lionel boomed. Jonathan watched Alex’s body tense, and he looked like he was about to tuck tail and run, but suddenly he straightened and preceded his mother into the room. She hovered protectively over him as though he were an errant chick.

The entire mood in the dining room became oppressive. Lionel eyed Jonathan as he stood from the Chippendale and extended his hand.

“We haven’t met.”

“Jonathan. Jonathan Kent. I live a ways out of town with my wife and my son Clark. He was with your son today.”

“I see.” He was staring at Alex all the while.

“I found them in the clearing outside the woods, near the caves. They were on my mare and both of them looked cold and scared. I think they gave themselves a fright with their foolish prank.”

“My son doesn’t play pranks.” Jonathan sighed.

“My son knows those caves are forbidden.”

“He rode out there on your horse,” Lionel pointed out smugly. “So how much does your son know?”

“Father…” Alex cut in.

“Alexander,” Lionel told him silkily, “might I remind you that children should be seen and not heard. Don’t say anything until I ask you, son.” Alex stood back. His mother busied herself with helping him out of his coat and hat. Once again, Alex felt exposed. Weak. The fragrance of his mother’s chicken soup had been appetizing before he left, but now it sickened him and made the air in the house feel heavy.

“I think the boys have learned from this,” Jonathan explained. “I intend to have a long talk with my own child and explain why what they did was wrong.”

“How diligent of you,” Lionel purred. Jonathan narrowed his eyes. “My son will never do anything of this nature again, so you won’t have to worry about any talk I have with him. Nor will it matter what you say to your boy, since Alexander will have nothing more to do with him.”

“The boys attend the same school, Lionel!” Lillian gasped. “Surely they will still see each other from time to time! Mr. Kent, we realized that this was all just a mistake! Your son persuaded Alex to join him in a bad idea and to go to those dangerous caves!”

“Lillian,” Lionel warned. “Take Alexander up to his room.” She was chastened.

“All right.” She said nothing of the fact that he hadn’t eaten yet.

Lillian’s steps were heavy as she followed her son to his room. She hovered over him reproachfully as he sat on the bed and removed his boots.

“I was so frightened when Julian and I found you gone, Alexander.” He felt small and ashamed. He just sat with his head bowed, and tears trickled down his cheeks. “You know how this kind of antic affects your father, and that it angers him. You know better, Alexander. I don’t know why you did such a thing.” She didn’t touch him, nor make any attempt to sit with him.

“We live a privileged life, Alexander. People have certain expectations of us, and this is the sort of incident that draws the wrong kind of attention. The people who live around us will see that farmer in his wagon approaching our house looking as though he has an issue with your father. People will talk. How long do you think it will take for someone to talk about how they found you at the caves?” She watched him fumble in his pocket. “Alexander?”

“Here,” he mumbled hoarsely. He wiped his face on his sleeve and handed her something small and hard.

She gazed down at the odd green stone curiously. “What’s this?”

“I want Father to have it. I found it.”

“In the cave?”

“It’s an emerald, isn’t it? One of the ones he wants to look for? There were lots of them, Mother.” His voice held shallow hope. She fingered the stone.

“We can take it to be assayed tomorrow, I supposed, but did you boys go to all that trouble for a stone?”

“No,” he said feebly. “We went because we just wanted to see the cave. Just to say we saw it.”

“So you did this to impress the other children at school.”

“I guess.” He’d never tell her about the jeers and taunts that he was a baby that he lived down every day. His heart was too soft, and his mother was too fragile.

Downstairs, Lionel was escorting Jonathan out the front door. He treated himself to a long look at Kent’s young son in the wagon. He was a pretty child, but he hardened himself against the imploring expression on his face.

“Stay away from my son,” Lionel ordered harshly. “I mean it, young man. You’re not welcome here.” He turned to Jonathan. “Rest assured, my son won’t bother you in the future or engage in any further, dangerous shenanigans with your boy again.”

“We’re understood, then,” Jonathan agreed, even though his eyes held sadness.

“Pa,” Clark cried. “Alex and me didn’t mean it! I promise! Alex! ALEX!”

“Let’s go home, son. Your mother’s worried about you.” He whistled for the horses and they were on their way, with Biscuit trotting after them.

Jonathan didn’t envy that man one bit. Amidst the trappings of wealth, his home held no love or tenderness, and he felt a pang at having to leave Alex there with his father as they rode back to the farm.