'No Specific Age' Mutant Possibly-Ninja Tortoise

Bernice


Lex watched his father sprawl on the couch; Lionel's feet were on the armrest, his head on the hard little cushion, and his arms folded across his chest. It was an uncharacteristically relaxed post for Lex's father, but he knew that Lionel was only trying to show that he was just a touch more nonchalant than Lex. It was Lionel's philosophy to always be that little bit more at ease and in control than his enemies – and Lex - at all times.

Keeping his own body language one of complete insouciance, Lex linked his fingers behind his head. It wouldn't do for his father to find out that Lex was leaning back with his feet up on his desk not because he was feeling relaxed and in control, but because he was afraid to put his feet on the floor. Once more he surreptitiously scanned the floor of his office, looking for the creature he’d rescued from the roadside, but the ungrateful beast was well hidden – probably just awaiting its next opportunity to savage Lex’s feet.

He'd considered hiring exterminators to take care of the problem, but until then he didn't want to have to go into details with his father about why he'd been so sentimental as to rescue the animal in the first place.

He stared at the ceiling as his father talked. For once, it wasn't a rant on the disappointments of the Luthor scion - how bitterly disappointed Lionel was with the seed of his loins. For once, it was mostly just business; a company that Lionel had managed to destroy, leaving thousands out of work, and a few jokes about the CEO who had committed suicide, leaving three young children and a beautiful, fully-bought-and-paid-for bride that Lionel was considering taking for a ride on his private jet. Once she had had enough time to sufficiently mourn for the cameras, of course.

Lex tuned out the worst of his father's gloating, and listened for the tell-tale sounds of the skirting boards being eaten, or another of his chairs having the legs chewed off

But everything was quiet except for the endless dialogue his father seemed to be running with himself.

The phone ringing was a welcome distraction, and Lionel hid his jump at the sudden intrusion with a smile, as if he knew all about who was calling and why.

"Lex," he answered, not bothering to angle his body away from his father's happy eavesdropping.

"Ms Sullivan? Yes… I… No, what?"

She interrupted him with peppered, frantic questions.
"Hunter?" He didn't repeat 'Alien Hunter'; the last thing he wanted his father to overhear was anything about aliens.

"No, Ms Sullivan, Chloe, I don't-" Noise in the background, crashing, what sounded like a wall being smashed down.

"Chloe! I have no idea what you're talking about. I've been in Metropolis until an hour ago. I've only just arrived back in Smallville-"

She snapped out, "Sorry, got to go!" and then the line went dead.

"Lex, Son," Lionel started as soon as Lex flipped his phone shut, "do tell me ARGH!" Suddenly Lionel shot up off the couch, screaming, clutching his privates like he'd decided to do a particularly enthusiastic Michael Jackson impersonation.



Someone had sent some sort of alien hunter after Chloe or the kids at Smallville High or people who worked at the Torch, or maybe the hunter was after Clark, and Chloe had phoned to ask for help, or maybe Clark had asked her to phone and hurl an accusation. They were obviously in trouble and but before he could help Lex had to watch his father dance and scream and clutch his crotch.

"Dad?" Lex raised one cool eyebrow, staying calm in the face of his father's fury and surprise.

"There's something in the couch, Lex," Lionel accused, as if it was Lex's fault. "Something attacked me!"

Lex sighed as languid a sigh as he could manage before strolling the few steps to the couch, making it look like the longest walk possible, making it look like he really didn't care, wasn't interested, and his father was a massive waste of time and resources.

A small head poked up from between the couch cushions, mouth snapping angrily.

"It's a tortoise, Dad," Lex said, keeping his voice bored.

"A tortoise!" Lionel's face was red with both rage and pain. "Why do you have a tortoise in this house?"

Lex shrugged. "It's just a tortoise. You probably sat on its head and it was merely defending itself from being smothered. I really don't have the time for-"

"Have you started your absurd, childish quest to have a pet again, Lex? I told you when you were ten-"

"Hardly, father. I have neither the time nor the inclination to care for an animal, and should I ever desire a pet, it would be highly unlikely I should choose a tortoise." Lex remembered his father's comments that only those who were barely above animals themselves kept animals - race horses exempted - and Lex had lately been too concerned over being compared to the James Bond villain Blofeld and his cat - or worse, Dr Evil - to bring home any kind of pet.

"Then what the hell is it doing here?"

Lex raised an eyebrow at his father's language. Lionel must be in a lot of pain to lose control like that, and in fact, Lex could see the slight glitter of tears in his father's eyes.

"I found it by the road where it had apparently been hit by a car. I was in the process of boxing it to take it to the vet for treatment and re-homing when you arrived. If you had only let me know you were coming, I could have made arrangements for the animal to be safely away from here before you came in, but as it is you gave me no opportunity."

Lex wasn't going to admit that the tortoise had eaten its way out of the box, damaged his car, bitten Lex rather viciously on the arm, and that Lex had dropped it on the floor earlier to escape further bites and had about to take refuge on his desk when his father had come blasting through the doors like a very hairy hurricane.

Lionel hobbled out of the room, still cursing under his breath in pain, and Lex gathered up his phone and made to leave. He dismissed his father from his mind and focussed on the odd phone call he'd received from Chloe.

As he left, he had to do some odd little sidesteps and skips to avoid the tortoise, which launched itself from the couch and chased him – mouth snapping like a rabid Pac-Man – from the room. It was not only vicious - his Porsche still showed tortoise beak marks on the upholstery - it was unnaturally fast. For a tortoise.

At the Torch, there was no Clark, just Chloe punching at the keyboard of her computer as if she could bring up the answers she wanted through sheer physical force, and a gaggle of students, even one teacher, sticking their heads out of the doors or following him down the corridor to get a glimpse of the local celebrity.

"Did you call them here? Did you bring them?" Chloe snapped out her questions as soon as she saw Lex.

"Call who?" Lex asked, practiced and nonchalant.

"The man who… There's a man here, and he's chasing Clark. I'm trying to find out why…" Her eyes didn't quite meet his, she was trying not to give away any information Clark wouldn't have wanted Lex to have, and she covered it by gesturing at the computer. She knew her own tells, but her attempts to cover them were, then, tells in themselves.

"Do you have any idea why?"

She bit her lip and shook her head. "Clark's trying to find out." Again she looked away. "If you don't know… if… I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you. You didn't need to come all the way down here."

Before he could pin her down for more answers, his phone rang, the unique tune he used to signify his father. Darth Vader's 'Imperial March'.

"Yes, Dad."

Chloe stared openly, her curiosity pinning her in place.

"You're going to sue me? For a tortoise attack?" Lex didn't bother to put his hand over the phone but repeated what his father had told him so Chloe could overhear. "Chloe, it's my father. He was bitten on the balls by a tortoise and plans to sue me for injuries received."

Her eyes got huge and round, her mouth pursed in an 'o' of surprise.

"Chloe Sullivan. You know her, Dad, from the Smallville High newspaper? Blonde? Yes, that's the one. I was just telling her that you were bitten on the balls by a tortoise. Yes, that's right. I'm sure we can come to an agreement. Perhaps you could send me photographs of your injuries so that I could send them on to my lawyers. Please make sure that both your balls and your face are in the same photograph, for identification purposes. You could fax them to me here at the Torch, care of Chloe Sullivan. The number is… Dad? Dad?"

Lex listened for a moment, and then flipped his phone closed. "He hung up. I dare say the injury wasn't as bad as he originally suspected."

Chloe boggled, caught between laughter at Lex's father, and her obvious concern for Clark, then her journalist zeal won out. "Please, Lex, I'm begging you, if he does go ahead and sue-"

"You shall have exclusive rights to the story and the photographs, Chloe," Lex promised solemnly. "Although he just swore at me that it was his inner thigh, not his balls."

She laughed, then sobered. "As brilliant as that would be, I'm not sure I want to see your father's balls - or even his inner thigh - under any circumstances, Lex."

"Nor should you," he agreed, and shuddered at the thought.

"Why do you have a tortoise, anyway?"

"I rescued it from the roadside. It has been very ungrateful." He pointed to the small flecks of blood on his shirt sleeve. "And it has proven too vicious to remove from my office. It's abnormally strong and fast. For a tortoise. I actually fear it may eat its way through the walls and then terrorise the house staff from within the Manor's wall cavities."

He watched her trying not to ask if it was a mutant, worried as to what he knew, what he knew she knew, what she could give away about her Wall of Weird and how it related to all of Clark's tempting, tantalising secrets, but Lex let her off the hook. "Still, since it has savaged my father, I dare say I owe it a continued offer of protection."

She snorted with laughter and tried to cover it with one hand, although her eyes watered a little. "Your poor father…"

"My father is never poor and would be horrified to hear himself referred to as such. Now, what can we do for Clark?"

"I'm sure he'll be fine, no need to worry." She bobbed and weaved around him and with a final "See you later," she was off down the hallway and away.

A visit to the Kent farm under the pretence of 'just dropping by to see Clark' was unproductive. At least, it was unproductive as far as discovering Clark's whereabouts. It was obvious that Martha Kent assumed Clark was just visiting Pete or Lana or Chloe or someone, she was sure he would turn up again soon, once he got hungry. Martha's lack of guile and her husband's lack of anger told Lex that neither of them was lying. She always looked guilty and her husband always got angry, when they were lying.

It was productive, however, on the pie front, and Lex left with a cherry pie on the front seat of his car, a muffin in his stomach and a motherly band-aid applied to his still bleeding tortoise bite.

The band-aid had a picture of Warrior Angel on it, which was cool.

Clark would be fine. Chloe had said so. Clark was always fine. Unless he was, once again, on whatever drug it was that made him unpredictable and mean. But that was rare and it wasn't the case now. Alien hunter. Someone, for whatever crazy reason, was hunting Clark. And Smallville had far too much of the crazy, as far as Lex was concerned. It seemed that someone was always hunting something or someone around here, and the mutant mindset behind those hunts was often dangerous and unpredictable. Lex couldn't simply turn his worry off.

Walking into his office, he flipped his phone open and shut, open and shut, trying to think who he could call, threaten, bribe to come to Smallville and help Clark. How he could help Clark himself. Even knowing that his involvement would lead to his blame, and that the only help Clark was usually willing to accept was financial or illegal.

He slammed his office door open, hurrying too much to be paying attention, only to be confronted by Clark himself, standing with his hands up, looking ill and terrified. He looked more terrified for Lex than of him.

"Clark, I-"

"Hands up!"

Lex put his hands in the air almost on reflex – he'd heard those words often enough to know it was better to comply than argue – and turned around.

The man standing behind him with a gun didn't look like anything special. He looked like a high school English teacher, from his ill-kept hair to the patches on his jacket elbows, to his brown suede shoes. The only things that made him stand out were the rather large gun, the glowing green lapel pin, and the maniacal look in his eye.

The man was shaking violently – with excitement over anger, with mental illness over drug use, Lex thought.

"He's an alien!" the man snapped at Lex, pointing his gun at Clark, gesturing with it like it was an accusing finger. "You're in danger! We're all in danger!"

"Interesting," Lex said, nodding and smiling. "My name is Lex Luthor-"

"I know who you are!"

"And I wonder how you came to that conclusion?"

"Space ships! Everyone knows it! People saw the space ships coming down with the meteors!" Lex pursed his lips. He'd spoken to people who saw a space ship - or ships - but none of them, even if what they had to say was the truth, were reliable witnesses. Some of them spoke to god. Some of them spoke to Elvis. None of them would stand up in court.

"I saw them! I saw them land! And the day the space ships came, the Kents adopted him!" The manic man again pointed accusingly at an ill-looking Clark. "Their child, they say he's a gift from god! They think they're being funny, but they're harbouring an alien!"

Lex wasn't too concerned about the gun. He'd been shot often enough to know that he could recover from most bullet wounds, but he certainly wasn't going to encourage any further tests of his healing ability. He also knew that Clark had been shot a few times and suffered no ill-effects. Healing ability, Lex had always thought, on a par with or superior to his own. It was the green glowing lapel pin and Clark's obvious weakness that bothered Lex. He'd known right from the first time they'd spent some time together, when Lex had tried to give Clark Lana's necklace, that Clark couldn't abide the meteor rocks. Under their weakening influence, who was to say how badly Clark could be injured if this mad man fired off a shot?

"Now, I'm sure we can all be calm and rational about this-" Lex started again, ignoring the begging tone of Clark's pained, "Lex…" behind him.

"Calm? They're coming - you know it!" the mad man said.

"Perhaps. I'm sorry, but we haven't been properly introduced. May I ask your name?"

"Er, Mike. Mike Tanner," said Mike Tanner, looking discombobulated at Lex's polite enquiry.

"Mike. Please, won't you take a seat? I'm sure we can all discuss this like civilised human beings."

Mike shook his head, eyes wild, "He's not human! He's an alien!" Then he turned febrile eyes on Lex. "You know it, don't you! You know what they're planning! You're on their side!"

"It's not a matter of being on their side, Mike," Lex said, keeping his voice soothing, playing along, "They're just people, you know."

"People?" Mike's voice hit an impressive high note. "They are invading! They are going to make slaves of us all! He's the first, a scout! I know there's only one now, but there will be more, you wait and see, they'll enslave the planet!"

"No, no, Mike, you have it all wrong," Lex called on all of his skills as a talented bullshit artist to try to appease the angry, frightened man. "Yes, there are aliens amongst us, you do have that right."

He heard Clark gasp behind him, and now he had all of Mike's attention. The gun wavered away from Clark's chest back toward Lex, but as a consequence of Mike's focus, not as a threat.

"But, you see, they have always been here. One in four of the people you see every day is an alien. It's not just one person. It's not just Clark."

"What?" Lex could see the red veins of Mike's eyes as they bugged out like those of a frightened horse.

"One in four people who currently reside in the USA were not born on this planet. But the majority of them are currently citizens, recognised by our duly elected government. They're not here to invade, they…" Lex nearly fumbled as he searched for more bullshit to lay on Mike, "they're like Mexicans. They just come here to work."

"Mexicans?!" Mike's voice was high pitched and strangled, his expression going from manic anger to angry disbelief.

"Mexicans?" Clark asked as well, his voice sounding more puzzled.

"They're not a threat, Mike. Can I offer you a drink?" Mike waved the gun instead of saying no. "They just come here to work, to improve their lives and that of their families. Without our aliens, where would we get all of our farm workers and ditch diggers?"

"Farm workers!" That was Clark again, sounding, if anything, offended, despite his pain.

"You see, Mike, the aliens are extremely strong, but not terribly smart. Which is not a comment on Mexicans, of course, as they are just as smart as anyone else, but the aliens are a little different. They come here from their home planet looking for work, where they can put their extra-ordinary strength to good use. If they didn't do that kind of work, well, humans can't do it, so we'd have to use robots. And then who would pay tax? Without the taxes the aliens pay, our entire social services system would collapse. You don't want that, do you, Mike?"

"No… but… I've been watching him," Mike said, his voice lower now, confused, "I've seen him do… things. Strange things. Things no one else can do."

"Indeed. Whenever you see anyone very strong, or very fast, there's a good chance they're an alien. Many of our top athletes, for example, are aliens."

"Athletes?"

"Oh yes, Mike. Think about it. The USA has the fattest and laziest population in the world, and yet we score more gold medals at the Olympics than any other country. Why do you think that is? Aliens! And well, just look at Denis Rodman." Lex threw in a little self-effacing shrug as he shamelessly ripped off several science fiction movies at Rodman's expense.

Mike's eyes bugged out a little, and Lex couldn't help the small smirk. Mike was totally buying it. If he could just get Mike to trust him enough to put the gun down, Lex could get security in here and have the guy locked away in Belle Reve before he could hurt anyone. Before he could say anything more about Clark to the wrong people.

"How do you know all this?" Mike turned the gun on Lex again.

"I'm wealthy, Mike. Very, very wealthy." Lex decided to play into another common conspiracy theory, lying as hard and fast as he could. "Have you heard of the Illuminati?"

Mike almost smiled, tilting his chin up sharply, like someone had just told him that Santa Clause was real. "Yes."

"Everyone in my income bracket is a member of the Illuminati. At my level, we know everything about the aliens amongst us. Only one in four people can taste aspartame, did you know that? Did you consider what that means?" Lex took a step closer, keeping himself between Mike and the obviously weakened Clark. "And did you know, if you stand very close to an alien, you can hear them…"

Lex stepped even closer, nearly close enough to grab the gun, lowering his voice conspiratorially to force Mike to lean in to hear him, "… buzz."

"They buzz?" Mike's voice was soft and full of wonder as he listened to Lex, but his eyes were still wild and manic.

Lex was so close now, only another step and he could knock the gun out of Mike's hands. Clark lurched forward, "Lex, don't! He'll shoot you!" and Lex took the opportunity to try to grab the gun, but he moved too soon, and with Clark moving at the same time, Mike panicked and fired off a shot.

Lex threw himself to the ground, but he wasn't hit. He turned to Clark, fully expecting him to be bullet-proof – since he'd been car-proof and mutant-proof ever since Lex had known him – but Clark was on the ground, a deep red stain spreading over his stomach.

"We have to kill him!" Mike was screaming. "I saw him throw a cow!"

Lex crawled over to Clark, trying to stem the bleeding with his hands. Clark looked up at him with agonised eyes. "Sorry, Lex," he whispered, "I think I screwed up."

"It's not your fault, Clark. Just lie still, security will be here, they'll have heard the shot." Lex didn't know if Mike had already attacked or disabled Lex's security force or not, but it sounded good, competent, and Lex thought it might be of comfort.

"You'll have to pull the bullet out," Clark gasped. "I'll be fine, it only went in because of the meteor rock on his lapel pin, just pull it out."

"No! He has to die! He's dangerous!" Mike stepped forward and Lex realised he was going to kill Clark. He was going to shoot Clark point blank in the face, and he would have no choice but to use himself as a shield again.

Before Mike got off the shot, though, he suddenly screamed and tried to take a step or two away, before collapsing, his leg going out from under him.

Mike turned and started firing at the ground and Lex realised that Mike had been bitten by the same damned tortoise that had attacked Lex's father.

This time the damage looked severe; as far as Lex could see, the tortoise had bitten through Mike's Achilles tendon, crippling the man.

Lex grabbed a small statue from a plinth behind him and brought it down sharply on Mike's head with a wet squelch, then once again for luck, rendering the man unquestionably unconscious. The tortoise wasn't moving.

He dropped down on his knees by Clark again, "Clark, I-"

"Pull it out. Use your hands," Clark gasped, sweating, his eyes glassy with the pain, his veins pulsing with a sickly green throb. "Quickly. Please, just… I can't explain…"

Lex took a moment to compose himself, thought about bacteria and septic infections from unwashed hands, then plunged his fingers into Clark's abdomen. Clark screamed as Lex felt around for the bullet, blood pouring out of the wound. He would never be able to get all that blood out of the floorboards, Lex thought, trying not to think of the pain he was causing his friend.

The bullet was a hard little nut, not too far in, and Lex pulled it out and hurled it away. He took the green lapel pin from Mike and threw that into the fire as well, and once it was far away he sat back on his heels to watch the hole in Clark's stomach heal over in seconds.

Mutant, he wondered, or was Mike Turner not quite as insane as he appeared?

Clark sat up and stared at Lex with the same begging expression he used whenever he wanted Lex not to ask. The expression Lex thought of as "I'm lying to you, we both know it; please don't call me on it". An expression that usually enraged Lex, but right now he didn't want to deal with it while he had Clark's blood on his hands. He ignored Clark, he didn't even say, "I'm glad you're all right," he just scooted sideways to pick up the still tortoise.

Its head came out of its shell for a moment to snap half-heartedly at Lex's hand, but then disappeared back inside again. Two bullet holes in the shell told why.

Your security is coming, Lex. I should…" Clark gestured vaguely. I should leave? I should lie? "I guess they'll take care of Mike Turner, right?"

Lex nodded. "He shot my tortoise."

Clark tucked his head into his shoulders for a moment, then stepped forward as he appeared to come to a decision, wrapped his arms around Lex, and then they were moving so fast Lex couldn't even see the countryside. He gripped the tortoise to his chest as if that would save him from windburn or fear.

They came to a sudden halt, and Lex refused to react as Clark set him on his feet again. Lex had never worked so hard at being cool, and he had never found it so easy not to ask Clark any questions.

"Vet," Clark said, pointing to a sign on the wall when Lex didn't react.

Lex looked up at the sign: a dog, a cat, some kind of rodent. He pushed through the door, Clark on his heels. The vet nurse was brisk and kind and fat, took down his details, and when she asked Lex for a name, he didn't have one ready so he just gave a description instead. Clark snorted with laughter but stopped when she asked if he was all right. Of course - they were both still covered in blood.

"It's not ours. Please ask the vet to hurry. I can pay-"

"It's fine, we're free to take emergency cases immediately. Please have a seat. It might be a while, would you like us to phone-"

"I'll wait," Lex said. "Oh, nurse? Please warn the doctor that the tortoise bites."

She nodded, put the tortoise in a box and carried him through. Lex sat on the padded bench and stared at the floor.

Clark sat beside him. Lex wasn't surprised and he didn't suggest that Clark go home. They had unfinished business. Clark hadn't lied to him yet and it was well past time for Clark to be telling Lex lies. He hadn't tried to tell Lex some outrageous story about why Mike Turner thought he was an alien, or why he'd thrown a cow, or why he'd healed up from a bullet wound in the gut in just a few seconds. Clark wouldn't leave until he'd begged Lex to believe his lies- maybe threaten him - maybe abuse him over the whole Denis Rodman/Illuminati crap. Lex sat, stared at his hands, and waited.

Some attempt had been made to make the place seem less like a sterile hospital, not so harsh, but even the paintings of clouds and rainbows on the walls couldn't hide the stark lighting and the smells of antibiotics - and the softly piping muzak didn't cover the frightened yelps and lonely cries from the back rooms of the surgery.

The plastic chairs were cold and uncomfortable, but Clark's shoulder was solid and warm against his own so Lex leaned against it, unashamedly absorbing Clark's strength. A woman sat opposite them, looking shocked, eyes red and tears dropping onto the large cardboard box she held on her lap. Lex's instinct was to ask, to offer help, but he knew there was nothing that anyone could do for her. A smelly hippy sat near the door, reading pamphlets while his heavily pregnant goat ate a Popular Mechanics magazine. Pica expressed as a desire for driveshaft articles.

Clark flipped through a woman's celebrity magazine, threw it aside, flipped through another. He pressed his shoulder harder against Lex's and said, "I'm sure the tortoise will be all right."

Lex nodded but said nothing. He ground his teeth, waiting for the lies.

Clark leaned in again, bumping shoulders, bumping thighs. He did it again, knocking Lex's leg with his, trying to get him to look up, trying to get Lex to acknowledge his little smile. Lex did, and couldn't look away, and he pre-forgave Clark the lie he was probably going to tell.

Clark finally whispered, "Lex. I am an alien, you know."

He didn't. Well, he hadn't. Maybe he'd guessed, a little. But he nodded anyway, wanting Clark to think he was totally cool with it, and gifted Clark with a small, knowing smile, all the while biting down on his questions so hard the inside of his cheek started to bleed. For the first time since they'd met, Lex had a feeling Clark had just really told him the truth. Clark looked at him with a small smile on his lips and a look of absolute terror in his eyes. Lex smiled reassuringly, and still asked no questions.

"That's cool," he finally said, and Lex thought he was just about the coolest guy on the planet to have said that.

"Cool?"

Lex nodded. "Cool."

Clark took a deep breath and let it out in a slow shudder, relaxing muscles that Lex thought had probably been tense for years. Clark breathed in, out, in, out and whispered under his breath, "Cool."

Lex leaned a little closer, too, letting his own knee bump into Clark's thigh in a mirror of Clark's attempt to comfort him over the damned tortoise.

"Savage Bastard?" The doctor called out, a tiny woman with long black hair in a braid.

No one in the waiting room reacted, so they'd obviously heard worse names for animals.

Lex stood up and went over to the vet. "Is he all right?"

"He's a she, and yes, she'll be fine. She was very lucky," the doctor held up a small, glowing green crystal. "She had some of this under her shell and it blocked the bullets from penetrating deeply. I've removed the bullets and the crystals, and she should be fine. In fact, you can take her home right now, if you'd like."

Lex looked into the carry case she offered, where Savage Bastard was resolutely chewing her way through the metal bars. Lex would have to get a special home created for the tortoise, something it couldn't chew through. It was possible – if he could safely house dangerous human mutant, he could safely house this thing. He owed something to the tortoise – not only for saving their lives, but for having the audacity to bite Lionel Luthor – he'd always owe it for that.

"I'd like that." He collected the care instructions for the injury, and the pamphlets on keeping tortoises as pets, paid his bill, and tucked the rapidly deteriorating tortoise cage under his arm. Clark stood at his shoulder, smiling brightly, and they walked out of the office together.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked. It meant: are we okay, will you keep my secrets, will you still be my friend?

He thought of his father's bitten 'upper thigh' and the lunatic who'd soon be locked away and finally finding out Clark's secret and the trouble he'd have with this new, rather unpleasant pet. "Yes, Clark," he said, and it meant yes and yes and yes.


Post Notes:

1. The Warrior Angel Band-aid is dedicated to Devil Doll who likes Spider-Man band-aids. Those are also cool.

2. Yes, there's a Once A Thief reference in here. Buzzzzzz.

3. This is the longest, stupidest title I have ever given a story.