Crossroads - Chapter 16

by a campbell

Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, PG-13

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Lionel Luthor paid scant heed to the green spring countryside trailing by outside the limousine window, Metropolis still a half hour away. Leather squeaked as he shifted and settled back in the seat, slender fingers stroking and smoothing his chestnut beard.

It was time to get back on track. He’d allowed other matters to distract him these past months, most particularly, the pursuit of newly-widowed Martha Kent, however worthy a use of his time, and however rare a prize awaited him upon success. He’d made greater strides lately in that arena than even he might have expected of himself, had even surprised himself with his selfless heroism in the troublesome Lincoln Cole affair. Fueled by the grandiosity of peril, he'd have given his life for Martha that day. Fortunately, they'd both survived, and he himself emerged having won her admiration--permanently, with luck. A major triumph.

But then, he’d always been sure of success. Martha was drawing closer to him daily, body and soul. Fulfillment would surely come soon, for both of them.

But now: time to shift and tighten the focus, narrow, and zoom. To turn his attention back to Clark Kent. The main quarry. Now that an inroad to the Kent family was established and well-traveled. Now that the lad’s secrets had fallen into his waiting hands.

**

With Lex’s hands more than full with the Lang girl these days, Lionel was confident he would have the freedom and scope to concentrate, to close in for the coup.

Daily, he expected news of his son’s engagement. In the newspapers, of course; he wasn’t so naïve as to expect Lex to inform him personally. If Lex played his cards well, he’d be a husband by summer, and, with further luck, a father not long after. When he himself was finished with Clark, Lionel mused, he’d mold that grandson into the son he’d hoped Lex, and then, all too briefly, Julian---would be, ensure that his success would be greater this time. Lex was a son to be proud of, but he’d no intention of letting him know that. It would turn him soft, and weakness in his son, his only legitimate son, the only son that mattered, regardless of where his own heart might primarily lay--was to be avoided at all costs.

If Lionel had it in him to be regretful, he’d almost be sorry that the truth about Julian’s death had come too late. He believed Lex, of course, though it had been a shock to learn after all these years that Lillian was the one responsible for his youngest child's demise. But mulling it over years after the event, he wasn’t surprised. Lex, trained by Lillian, was always led by his emotions. Emotions that betrayed both of them in the end.

As emotions always did. It wasn’t till he himself let go of his emotions that he began to rise in the world.

But how to convey that to his son? He’d worked on that for years. Lex had too much of his mother in him. Lillian, so beautiful, so weak. Defeated by life. A shame.

It took some time to let go of the grief, the revulsion at the deed which was a habit of long-standing--a change not to be made overnight. Even anger with his son for assuming the blame, depriving the two of them of years spent awash in bitterness, years they could have spent working together, training together. Moving forward without tabloid nonsense, bail, emergency rooms, expulsions. Lex could have learned so much from him.

Foolish boy, Lex. His misplaced devotion and soft heart had robbed him of many advantages. But he was a man now, and, with irresponsibility finally behind him, ready to move forward.

Lana Lang. Pretty wisp of a girl, slight. Self-absorbed and a little drama queen, but a reasonably good choice as a wife for Lex, now that he and the Kent boy had acrimoniously fallen out, the gulf at an irreparable stage. At least she’d provide him some amusement for a while. Lionel wasn’t convinced she’d be a good breeder, but these days, when cost wasn’t an issue (and it wasn’t) modern medicine could do wonders.

Grandfather or not, he’d be the one with power over the child if and when it came and as it grew, whether Lex realized it or not. There would be a second chance to leave his mark on the world, a mark that would endure long after he was gone. Lex’s child would be an adequate backup if his plans for Clark Kent failed. But they would not fail.

**

The lad wouldn’t admit it, but those troubled, guilty looks of his were proof enough. As were the photos--even in present-day when photos were no longer as trustworthy as once they were, Lionel was sure.

He was a wonder from another world. A powerful force. Superhuman. A god.

But a bit skittish, much like Ms. Lang. He must be gentled, reassured, pacified. Before--

Lionel punched in a series of numbers on his cell.

"Send me your report."

**

That night in his Metropolis office, Lionel pondered the situation over one glass of iced, well-aged scotch after another.

Clark Kent: seen daily in the mansion over the past several weeks. Lana Lang: the same.

Lana Lang and Clark Kent. Both birds now suddenly, inexplicably flown. Lex left alone, rattling around in that place alone, except for a few servants. And planning what?

Lionel set down his glass, stood, and walked to the window to look out over city lights, gaze fixing on nothing.

Information was sketchy. Large portions of the video feed were scrambled and scratchy; his spies must have been dozing on the job, or generally incompetent, and some dismissals were likely in order. He should never have gone abroad to Berlin for three weeks on business, should have sent someone else, should have stayed in better contact with his investigators. Even he could make the very occasional mistake, and admit it, if only to himself.

What had transpired? Only the barest details could be sifted from the mess.

Lana and Clark had met and argued while Lex was absent. Lex and Lana had met and quarreled after Clark’s departure. Both conversations were ninety per cent inaudible. Now Lana and Clark—both vanished, with crucial information lacking.

He would try again.

He would know.

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