Disclaimer: Smallville is property of the WB, its use here generates no profit and no infringement is intended.

Rating: PG-13. (I'm so sorry.)

Summary: Clark Kent, better known as Superman, had been the proverbial wrench in Lex's life plans.

Adaptability

by Pru

Lex Luthor was a creature of adaptability; sudden changes in direction and unexpected roadblocks never phased him. He didn't try to do anything as cliché as expect the unexpected: Lex Luthor made sure the unexpected never occurred.

It had been, at least, a good policy before he'd taken up with a superhero.

Dating a captain of justice created certain interesting and problematic truths, among them being secret identities, press conferences, and comforting said superhero when he had a fight with his parents and sulked into all hours of night, eating Rocky Road ice cream.

Clark Kent, better known as Superman, had been the proverbial wrench in Lex's life plans.

But Clark Kent was also quite pretty, with long, dark lashes, green eyes, and an enviable physique besides being the love of Lex's life so Lex made certain allowances. Clark was given amnesty for tardiness three nights of the week, could get soot on Lex's clothing depending on what he'd been doing when it'd gotten there (taking off Lex's pants with his teeth: acceptable; trying to strip out of his supersuit and rush off to a meeting with the evil parasite Lane: death), and Clark was the only person who was allowed to watch Lex asleep and drooling on their couch, sprawled out in front of their obscenely large flat-screen television with the sound muted on reruns of Batman Beyond.

Lex felt he was already quite magnanimous with Clark, which was why the sight of Clark pensive at their kitchen counter threw him off.

"What's wrong?" Lex asked.

Clark blinked, and turned, as if finally registering that Lex was in the room. "I thought you were in Singapore?" he asked, blinking large, green eyes.

Lex dismissed it and started to roll up his shirtsleeves, feeling the warm breeze come in from the opened windows. An early heat wave had hit Metropolis and the city was topping out at seventy degrees in early February. It was enough to make him considering investing money in controlling the weather -- or making Clark do it.

"I called off the talks," Lex said. "I realized it'd be more cost effective just to buy his company out from underneath him." Clark made the disapproving face he made every time Lex made a major conquest, and Lex made a show of ignoring him flagrantly. "But like I asked before, What's wrong?"

Clark tried to smile innocently. "Nothing, Lex."

Which meant that there was something horribly, terribly off, as Clark had never learned to bite back any complaints, and could be frequently found whining about everything from how his supersuit was too tight to how everybody hit on him to why was Lex gone so often, anyway?

Lex strolled casually to the refrigerator and tugged out a bottle of Ty Nant, which, despite Clark's assertions otherwise, was not actually clear dirt.

"So," he said lightly, "are you regretting it?"

Clark blinked again, green eyes widening until he realized exactly what Lex was talking about. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed, opening his hands, and then folding them against the countertop again. He smiled, sweet and content and so genuinely happy that Lex couldn't help but smile back. "I'm very happy to be here. With you."

The move had been a big decision. After three years of fighting the same battle with Clark about living in the MetU dorms or getting an apartment and about how Clark refused to let Lex pay for him to have an apartment outside of the slums -- Lex had thrown up his hands and popped the big question: why weren't they living together, anyway?

The fights ensuing were Kent family only, but were just as epic, Lex heard over many tubs of Rocky Road.

The end result, however, was rather favorable, and Clark moved the remaining clothes and books he had in his dorm room to Lex's sprawling penthouse apartment and was another very attractive fixture in Lex's day to day landscape. Lex found the entire arrangement very agreeable, and endeavored to let Clark know that as frequently as possible, in every room of the apartment, with sucking, hot kisses to that spot behind Clark's ear, and the inside of Clark's knee.

"Then what's the problem?" Lex asked.

When Clark didn't answer, Lex said easily, "It's a big change, I know. If you'd like, you could have your own bedroom and we could slowly work up to -- "

"I think I'm pregnant!" Clark blurted out.

" -- sharing a bed every what the fuck are you talking about, Clark?" Lex demanded.

Clark stared at his hands and looked terrified. "Pregnant," he said morosely.

Lex rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Clark," he started haltingly. "I -- I know your human health and reproduction teacher was a little preoccupied with seducing me and then plotting to have me killed, but I hope you're peripherally aware men cannot actually gestate."

Glaring at him in vehemently, Clark said, "Lex, I'm not joking."

"I'm not either," Lex insisted, deadly serious. He made a mental note to begin petitioning for public office, as it seemed apparent that the sex education curriculum in Kansas was abhorrent and the only way he'd be able to do anything about it was to strong-arm his way onto the local government. There were, naturally, a few problems that came with becoming involved in politics, as the old adage to decide to become involved in civic service at five and then behave accordingly had only made itself known to Lex when he was in jail for giving five dollar blowjobs one random Thursday night in Metropolis. But Lex had money, and people were afraid of him, which was almost as good as having a spotless record, anyway.

Clark looked doleful. "Lex -- I'm an alien."

Lex breathed out. Better that than pregnant, at least, he thought darkly. "Yes, I know," he said.

It had been one of the earlier roadblocks, one which had led to many lies and much intrigue, so Lex made a sure that Clark never forgot about it either. Clark claimed that it was emotional extortion, but didn't seem to mind so terribly much when he was forced to skip Friday classes in favor of going on exotic business trips with Lex and making out in the back of limousines and in the butler's pantries of various conference rooms.

"So, I think I'm pregnant," Clark said simply.

Lex set down his drink and stared at his -- at Clark; he'd die before he used the word "boyfriend."

"Clark," he said, "men do not have babies." Clark stared at him. "You see, every month, females go through a process called 'menstruation,' when their ovaries release a single -- "

"I know how reproduction works!" Clark argued, flushed red. "But I might be pregnant!"

Lex had never been more grateful that they only had part-time household staff than at that moment.

"You're drunk," he concluded.

Clark scowled.

"Stoned?" Lex tried.

Clark looked aghast, and Lex rolled his eyes, remembering all over again how much Clark Kent was truly Jonathan Kent's son.

"I never do that stuff," Clark admonished, frowning as if remember all over again how much Lex Luthor was a child of the Metropolis club scene. "Besides," he added in a mumble, "it'd be bad for the baby."

Lex was getting a headache. "Did anyone spray you with anything?" he said, growing desperate.

Clark threw a wadded up piece of paper towel at Lex and it missed by a few inches, shouting, "Lex, you suck! Take me seriously!" A pause, and then, "I haven't left the house all day. I've been -- I've been trying to figure this out."

Lex said, "Clark, if this is a joke, it's really not funny anymore."

Clark scowled. "I knew it. I knew you weren't going to be supportive."

Lex went to answer his email and prayed for the universe to regain equilibrium by the time he returned.

-----

Three hours later, after almost sending off four emails that had "baby" written somewhere in them where they didn't belong, Lex growled, threw off his headphones and walked very quickly back into the living room, where Clark was watching Lifetime, Television for Women. Lex nearly had a heart attack.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, terrified, eyes fixed on the screen, where women were bustling around, being feminine and female, doing female things and acting out female fantasies.

Clark said importantly, "There's supposed to be a special on motherhood. After this."

Lex forced himself to remain calm. "Clark, can we talk about this?"

His -- Clark brightened immediately. "Yes," he said cheerfully. "I know it's a big surprise, but, you know. We got through all the other stuff, too."

Lex wanted to say that all of the other stuff didn't involve hypothetical and totally impossible offspring and Clark having some sort of psychotic break. It was saying something about their relationship that one of them had already had an extended stay in a mental institution and the other was obviously seeking one.

"Why," Lex started carefully, "exactly do you feel that you are pregnant, Clark?"

This was, Lex decided, the single weirdest moment of his life. It was enough to make him want to take up drinking again. There was no harm in a beer; his father was too haughty to drug anything domestic that foamed, he'd be safe with a Bud.

And Lex was obviously headed toward yet another psychotic break if he was considering drinking piffle from a microbrewery.

Clark looked at his hands. "Remember last month?"

"Yes, Clark, I've heard of January," Lex said sarcastically.

Clark glared. "You know, you could be a little more supportive. This is a big deal."

Lex knew all the best psychologists in the world, and was more than capable of making some of the best mind-altering substances in the world -- this entire episode would only be a big deal for as long as it took him to make a batch of the Purple Ones.

"Of course," he said through gritted teeth. "Forgive me. Yes, I remember."

Reddening, Clark said, "Remember how we got our test results back?"

Lex blinked. Had Clark tested pregnant? Did they even test for that with males? Maybe, by "pregnant," Clark was making some sort of bizarre allusion to "syphilis."

"Yes, I do, Clark is there something you want to tell me?" Lex asked, and this time, there was a slightly dangerous edge in his voice.

It wasn't as if he was possessive -- except that he was, utterly -- but he prided (flaunted, really, but only when it made Jonathan Kent turn that particular shade of red) that Clark had remained much "untapped" until he'd come into the picture freshman year of college. If Clark, by some sick delusion, had decided to tempt fate and the iron fist of Lex Luthor by experimenting with other people while eating Lex's ice cream and then contracted some sort of crotch rot, then there would be hell and more to pay.

Clark's eyes got big again and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "No! Not like that," he assured Lex, shoulders relaxing just a beat before a kind of naughty smile came to his face. "Remember how we decided to celebrate?"

Lex remembered their overindulgence in dark, German lager, the kind he had special ordered, and then how they'd tried to burn their stash of condoms, which hadn't worked out quite like they'd expected. But after they took the batteries out of the smoke alarm and assured building security that nothing was wrong, really, and no, they didn't really want to come into the apartment and yes they were wearing pants, they'd barreled into bed and had not emerged until noon the next day.

"Vaguely," Lex said, just to be infuriating.

"You do that," Clark said darkly, "on purpose."

"How about we focus on why you think you're pregnant," Lex suggested.

Clark clutched a pillow to his stomach, and his eyes drifted over to the television again, expression softening to a smile as the program switched to a pink background, and twinkling nursery music filled the room. Lex felt something in his chest lurch in fear.

"Well," Clark said, shy and more happy than he had a right to be if he thought he was carrying offspring, "well -- you know, Lex."

Lex narrowed his eyes. "No, I don't, Clark."

Clark sighed in annoyance, tossing the pillow to one side and moving around until he was facing Lex, sitting cross-legged on the couch, dark jeans worn at the knees, the zip up hoodie he was wearing open and revealing his PROPERTY OF LEXCORP t-shirt, which improved things, but not much.

"So I'm an alien, right?" Clark said tentatively. Lex decided to nod, just for the hell of it. "Well, the thing is, I didn't find the AI until recently, and last time I visited, I tried to put in some contact information and it told me there were some corrupted information files and so I can't really check -- "

"Wait," Lex interrupted, "that thing managed to carry you across the cosmos and had disc failure the first time you touched it?"

" -- what my exact physiology is -- Lex, shut up -- and I am the last of my kind."

"None of that," Lex said, "made any sense. At all."

Scowling, Clark threw the pillow at Lex. "What that meant, your highness, is that there's no reference guide for me to check or anything. And we did have unprotected sex." Clark looked at him, green eyes imploring. "I mean -- there's a chance."

Lex clutched the pillow so tightly in his hands he thought he could feel the cloth tearing beneath his fingertips. "Clark, you're male. Males don't give birth."

"Well how do you know for sure?" Clark argued. "I could be female on my planet." He paused, thoughtful. "My mom did look pretty butch in that hologram -- but that could have just been a bad picture of her."

Deciding not to even bother processing that last sentence, Lex pressed forth bravely. He said reasonably, "Clark, you're male. I'm gay. I am not attracted to women."

"Oh!" Clark said angrily, crossing his arms over his chest. "I see how it is Mister Don't Be So Sexually Inhibited, Clark. Try This, Clark. Why Don't You Take Off Your Pants And Do Everything I Tell You, Clark."

Correction, Lex thought gloomily, this was the moment he was most grateful he did not have a full time household staff.

"Clark, you're not a woman!" Lex yelled. "We are not having this conversation!"

Sulking, Clark threw himself into the couch cushions and glared at the television, until the first pregnant woman emerged, glowing and talking about the miracle of having a child inside of her, at which point he began to smile again, misty-eyed. Lex thought about a mercy killing.

"I so could be a woman," Clark muttered under his breath.

"And besides which," Lex said loudly, "just because we had unprotected sex and even if you were capable of giving birth, one time doesn't necessarily mean that you're pregnant."

Lex had taken a lot of drugs when he was younger, and this was still the most bizarre conversation he'd ever had.

Clark bit his lip and looked at the television screen before glancing back at Lex.

"But," he started, paused, and then finally added, "there've been cravings."

Lex stared at him for awhile before he went to answer his voice mail.

-----

Lex stepped out of his office at half past eleven to find Clark chewing raw spinach and zoning out while watching a TBS rerun of Three Men and a Baby. Tempted to step back into his office and arrange for some sort of medical attention, he nevertheless took a deep breath, and walked over to Clark, sitting down and smiling brightly.

"So!" he said.

Clark glowered at him and waved the spinach. "Cravings," he said with great finality.

Lex scowled, and almost gave up, but said, "Is that all?"

Clark shook his head, "no." "I was chewing on paper yesterday," he said.

Lex dug his nails into his leg to stop himself from clawing at his own face. "I meant, aside from cravings, have there been any more indications that you're -- " he made a hand gesture that may or may not have been rude in Bolivia " -- you know."

Setting down the spinach, Clark went to the refrigerator and filled a cup with crushed ice, bringing it back and saying between pieces of ice and loud, rude, and strangely erotic sucking noises, "Well, I've been really tired recently. You know, drowsy all the time." He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "Fatigued, just like Mary Lou."

"Mary --?"

Clark pointed at the television and said, "Lifetime, Mothers and Mother -- "

"Right," Lex said. "So you're been tired. And?"

"And dizzy," Clark said. He looked self-satisfied, before an expression of fear came over his face and he looked at Lex urgently. "Lex?"

"Yes, Clark?" Lex said, coaching himself to breathe in and out.

Clark was paling. "Can I have a C-section?" he asked breathlessly. "I mean -- I know there's going to be a big scar, but…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Lex said, "Excuse me, I think I hear my cell phone."

This time, he locked his office door and made himself comfortable.

-----

Lex woke at three in the morning at the insistent shouting at his office door. Tumbling off of his office couch, he thought, somewhere distantly in his mind, that he was glad Clark remembered at least their rule about not hitting things anymore, given the sheer number of doors they'd had to replace in the early days of their relationship. Lex had a tendency to walk away, and Clark had a tendency to follow him until doors fragmented into tinder.

He opened the door, wild and barely awake. Clark was staring at him, red-eyed.

"Yes?" Lex asked.

Clark took a breath. "This is about me getting fat, isn't it?"

Lex slammed the door in his face.

-----

Six hours later, after convincing himself that it was some horrible hallucination brought on by the substandard sushi he'd consumed at lunch the previous day, Lex rushed through his shower and changed, tiptoeing by a sleeping Clark still sprawled out on the couch.

The office was a welcome change, where everything made sense, and Lex could afford to purchase peace of mind and did so at an hourly rate from an assistant who was both trained in the art making fine coffees as well as killing a man in two seconds flat. He smiled to himself and sat in his desk chair, being exceedingly wealthy and in control of his environment, thinking kindly of Hope and her skill with concussions. Though, it would have been fine if Clark hadn't --

Lex growled, refusing to think about it.

He implemented his Zen techniques. He was giving serious consideration to installing a rock garden in one of his more annoying accountants' offices, partially for his own use and partially for entertainment purposes when Ron realized that large men were emptying sacks of sand over his mini-golf setup.

He breathed in, and when Hope's contralto voice sounded through the intercom, he breathed out.

"Mister -- Luthor."

The was a brief pause spoke volumes.

Lex immediately put his finger on the panic button and considered retrieving the launch sequences for the missiles that were -- naturally -- not installed on the roof, and grabbing the Smith and Wesson taped underneath his completely decadent desk chair.

Pleasantly, he said, "Yes, Hope?"

Another pause. Lex was growing genuinely concerned. This problem might take both Hope and Mercy, not that he'd mind; Mercy was getting antsy, and the trainers were starting to complain about developing stress-related disorders from the way she stared at them as if they were prey.

"Mister Kent on line three, sir. He wanted to know how you feel about lamaze."

Lex reached for the gun.

-----

It was not his day.

Hope, for all her education in high security and discretion had not thought that Jordon, the largest legal thorn in Lex's side would spend so much time stalking Lex's reception. Nor did this lead her to plot his assassination prior to Jordon's buying Lex a gift basket in honor of Lex's forthcoming offspring.

"I feel," Howard Jordon said seriously while Lex thought seriously about stabbing him through the eye with one of the sharper paperweights on his desk, "that the decision you and your partner have made is so brave." Howard had smiled meaningfully and bushed the basket forward. "If you need someone's shoulder to cry on, Dave and I just went through it last year."

He had then offered Lex baby pictures of "Dean," beaming.

Lex had boggled at how red the creature was, and how little it had improved with him. It was like one of those train wrecks in slow motion: he couldn't tear himself away, and he listened to Howard talk about Dean's colic and diaper rash, as if Lex wasn't going to speed home and strangle his -- Clark with something, through sheer force of will.

Later, he had Hope show Howard out of the room, and gave serious consideration to never interacting with his employees on a personal level again. Mental note number two was to remove the public relations bullshit about being friendly with his peons from their employee handbook: it wouldn't do to raise their hopes.

If Lex wasn't so terribly composed, he would have kicked the elevator doors open as they took four and a quarter microseconds longer to open into his penthouse.

The doors opened.

He threw his coat on the ground, he tugged off his tie, he yelled, "Clark!"

A dark, tousled head popped out from the media room. "You're home early," Clark said.

"Lamaze?" Lex shouted. He stalked forward, and crossed the room as Clark backed into the doorway, only looking a tiny bit sorry about ruining Lex's life and for forcing his -- Lex to commission a Zen garden. "Lamaze?"

Clark appeared pale and shaky. He said sullenly, "Sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

Lex stuck his hands in his pockets to keep them from waving about in panic. "Clark! Is this not registering? You are not pregnant. It just doesn't work that way and I don't care about you -- "

From inside the room, there was a flicker on the television, with a reddish cast, and a terrible screaming. Clark winced. Lex narrowed his eyes, and then he paled. The screaming continued, coupled with ecstatic enthusiasm from someone who referred to himself as "Daddy Dan."

Lex gritted his teeth. "Clark."

"They're just for research," Clark explained.

He hurried over to the enormous television, where some horrifying female orifice was being stretched beyond human comprehension by something bloody, covered in white-goo, and would remain white and stinky for an unacceptably long amount of time thereafter. Lex was vividly reminded why -- after two homicidal wives -- he did not do "the girl thing."

Waving his hand before the screen, fingers splayed and pointing at "Daddy Bob" who was crying emotionally and bobbing around with his Sony camcorder, saying things like "Feel your breath!", Clark said, "So."

Lex said, "You're insane. I'm getting you tested for drugs."

Clark ignored him. "I was only doing research about the Lamaze because you didn't sound so keen on the C-section." Frowning, he added, "I was hoping we were past the part of our relationship that depended on physical appearances so much."

Staring, Lex asked, "Do you hear the words that are coming out of your mouth?"

"Why can't you be more supportive?" Clark whined.

Lex gripped his thighs through his pants. It wouldn't do to scar his face.

"Clark, you are not having a baby," Lex explained one more time. Perhaps, it was only lack of frequency that was the problem. If he said it enough, maybe it would permeate Clark's skull.

Clark crossed his arms over his chest. "If you're having second thoughts about us just say it."

Lex didn't even know what to say to that.

"I mean, you were the one who asked me to move in," Clark continued, sulking now. "But if the thought of a baby is too much for you to handle -- I mean, if my being here and our raising a child together is too much for you."

Clark fell silent, glaring, hurt and discomfited, as if he'd caught Lex trying to weasel his way out of their relationship and not what Lex was actually trying to do. Which was to secretly use his mind to outsmart the alien mind control beams that had obviously pervaded their penthouse and were driving Clark to madness. Lex was very clever, he felt confident that he could do it.

He suddenly felt very sorry that he had turned down Howard's invitation to dinner.

And because there was nothing else to do, Lex sighed, and said, "Clark, I'm not having second thoughts about us. You're right. I asked you to move in, and I meant it, all right?"

Green eyes brightened, but only marginally, and Clark's body language was still all standoffish annoyance. It boded ill for Lex's chances of getting any action that night, but then again, if Clark thought he was pregnant, then Lex's cock wanted nothing to do with that until this entire episode was sorted out. Lex thought about his left hand affectionately.

"And I've managed to deal with you being an alien and a superhero besides forgiving you for all those head injuries you gave me," Lex went on as Clark colored darkly. "Trust me, I'm not trying to get out of this."

It would be too much of a hassle to have the penthouse redecorated yet again to accommodate for Clark's belongings not destroying Lex's carefully planned color scheme (he was a "winter"), but felt it was probably unwise to mention it.

Clark's smile was back, and wavering, "Aw, Lex. I love you."

"Yes, naturally," Lex said, businesslike. He hazarded a glance at the television screen out of pure morbid curiosity just in time to see Howard Jordon's face fill the screen: sweaty and with large pores at high definition, red-cheeked and crying just as hard as Daddy Dan. Lex felt his head swim. "Clark?" he asked. "Where did you get this tape?"

Clark beamed. "I went to that center for alternative families downtown. This was in their tape library." Clark appeared to grow giddy just at the memory. "It's these two guys, Howard and Dan, they -- "

" -- Howard works for me," Lex said, haunted. His legs were feeling weak, and he sat down just in time for an extreme close-up or something that was bright red and fleshy and that terrified him. "He bought be a fruit basket today."

Clark blinked twice before settling at Lex's side, dropping his head to Lex's shoulder.

They watched the video in horrified silence for a while before Lex said, "C-section."

"Oh thank God," Clark said, and turned off the tape.

-----

Reality was warping. Lex was convinced. He could contrive no other reason for why when he woke up the morning of Saturday, February the twelfth that Clark was sprawled out across the bed, flipping through a Martha Stewart Living magazine and humming to himself.

Lex rolled over and ran his hands over his face.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

Clark shut the magazine, and Lex saw the glossy cover filled with hand-stitched teddy bears with blocky white letters spelling out BABY. "You know, Lex, we're going to have to do something about your language."

Lex stared at him. He decided to process one thing at a time. "Where did you even get that magazine?" he demanded. "Isn't she in jail?"

Flipping the magazine open, again, Clark read from it, "'A loving home environment is vital to baby, and the anger and force behind some common vocabulary can be detrimental to young ears, not to mention forming bad habits with age.'" Lex noticed that there were Post-It Notes stuck throughout the pages and debated the merits of throwing himself out the window. It would do no good, he concluded, Clark would just fly out and save him before complaining about how the penthouse wasn't baby proofed.

"Is it legal for her to still be selling magazines while in jail?" Lex said. At Clark's blank expression, he said sarcastically, "Maybe she's dispensing bad information about babies."

Clark looked unforeseeably concerned and turned to the magazine in a whole new light.

"Hah!" Lex said, triumphant.

It was short-lived, as Clark set down the magazine and rounded on him to say, "You still need to cut down on the swearing." Clark pushed himself to sit leaning against the headboard. "We'll start a jar," he decided. "A fifty for every regular curse word, and a hundred for the f-word."

"Fifty?" Lex balked. "A hundred?"

Clark leveled a stare at him. "You're one of the richest men in America. You wouldn't be able to find a dime if your life depended on it."

"That is not true," Lex argued. "That is patently untrue and why the fuck are we talking about this, Clark? You're not pregnant!"

Clark's face went scrunched. "Love starts in the womb, Lex. The baby can feel your negativity."

"There is no baby," Lex insisted. "No baby!"

Nodding distractedly, Clark gravitated toward the magazine again. Lex gave up and took a shower, during which he repeated the four passages from the Art of War he'd memorized at fourteen to make his father shut the hell up about reading it. They formed a comforting mantra in his head, a buzz to keep out the memory of the twinkling music and Clark's voice asking about the baby and cravings.

Lex frowned. Cravings. Spinach, he remembered. Clark was saying that he had caught himself chewing paper, and then he'd started eating ice, vast amounts of it. It sparked a memory, and he wasn't sure from where. Research, Lex decided, was necessary.

When he returned, Clark was sitting on the edge of the mattress beaming.

"Lex, I was thinking about cream yellow," Clark started, excited. "When we do your office."

"Firstly, cream yellow is the world's most horrible color," Lex said. "Puce mocks cream yellow. And secondly, why are we "doing" my office?"

"For the nursery," Clark bubbled.

It was the wrong question, but Lex felt very strongly about the issue, and so asked, "Out of all the rooms in this penthouse, why my office?" A pause. "Also, there is no baby."

"It has such wonderful sunlight," Clark said.

"Clark," Lex said, as lovingly as he could manage, "I am going to fashion a large dildo."

Looking scandalized, Clark put his hands over his belly protectively. "He can hear you!" Clark hissed, eyes wide in horror, as if Lex had just mutilated baby animals in front of him.

"Out of Kryptonite," Lex went on, voice increasing, "and then I am going to beat you about the head with it! There is no baby! Do you understand? No baby!"

Scowling, Clark said, "And are you going to deny this baby when we have it, too?"

Lex glared. He wished he had hair so he could tear at it. He wished he was superhumanly strong that he could tear at Clark's hair. He wished that he did the girl thing, so that if his -- significant other started this train of thought the most Lex had to worry about was rewriting his will and hiring 300% more security as opposed to having his lover checked into some sort of institution.

Lex rubbed his face and said, "Clark, I am going to work. And when I get home, if there is any, and I mean any more talk about babies that you are not having, I swear to God."

Clark threw himself into bed and glared at the ceiling.

"My mom," he declared, "is going to be so pissed off at you when she hears about this."

Lex figured that cursing his luck was moot; given his youth, he probably had this coming to him.

-----

He had Hope cancel all his meetings for the day, and had given permission for Mercy to come upstairs and stand at his closed office doors and to use deadly force if necessary to keep people from bothering him. Both women had nearly sparkled at him. Lex had no doubt that Mercy would be at her best; she always operated better when she was showing off for Hope.

Hunched over his desk, Lex made a list, writing out each of Clark's supposed symptoms of pregnancy in purple Pilot Precise pen:

Fatigue.

Cravings.

Dizziness.

Alien.

Lex stared at the list for a moment before adding:

Prettier than he is smart.

Satisfied, he set down the pen, and placed the gun on the desk within easy access.

Lex launched his browser.

-----

Lex was King of the Universe. Zeus only wished he was this cool. Roaring crowds bowed before his glory, and not just because he signed their boss' boss' boss' deity's checks. Lex was all that, and eschewed the bag of chips as he was too cool for even them.

He was nearly buoyant, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he left the office, giving jubilant nods to the straggling employees that littered the hallway in the executive branch on a Saturday. They did a double-take at Lex's luminous smile, but the two that opened their mouths to ask wisely stopped themselves before any permanent damage could be done. Even Lex would have trouble explaining why he was so thrilled Clark wasn't pregnant. Any given part of that sentence could cause mass pandemonium and much terror.

The drive home was fabulous; Metropolis sang around him: busy and prosperous, and mostly his. Lex enjoyed the thought that he owned just about everything and everyone in the city, almost as much as he liked the idea that his penthouse would continue to be creature-free, that Clark would suffer no stretch marks, and that after he got home and explained a few things, there'd be no need for Clark to browse the internet for gay parent support groups anymore.

He reached the penthouse just in time to see Clark appear with another cup of ice.

Triumph, Lex thought, was unbearably sweet.

"Lex!" Clark said, smiling. "You're back! I think I felt the baby move!"

"It's anemia," Lex said, beaming like the sun through the clouds. He leaned against a wall and looked glorious, he knew it, it had to be true. "You're not pregnant."

Frowning, Clark asked, "What are you talking about?"

Lex pulled out the printouts he'd accumulated throughout the day, folded in half lengthwise and tucked into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He handed them over with an easy smile and said, watching Clark scan the symptoms, "Anemia. You're suffering some sort of iron deficiency. It explains the Pica."

Clark glanced up at him, eyes a little wild. "Pica?"

"Eating nonfood substances," Lex explained. "Like, the paper." He paused. "You haven't been eating glue, have you?"

Clark scowled.

"Anyway," Lex went on hurriedly. "They're all indicators of iron deficiency. It explains the fatigue, and the dizziness. Also, why you were eating that spinach that day."

Lex waited for Clark's excitement. It did not come. Instead, Clark set the papers down very quietly, and when he finally looked up again, he looked -- upset, and it was the only word that was a fair approximation of the frown around the corners of his mouth.

"Clark?"

"This is really," Clark paused, and finally added, "really, really mean-spirited of you, Lex."

Lex gave up. "I'm so confused."

"I mean, I didn't expect you to be thrilled about being a father," Clark said bitterly. His green eyes narrowed at Lex in a way that made the mental crowds roaring about Lex's omnipotence falter a bit. "But I didn't think you'd go so far as to -- to try and make our child some sort of disease, from not eating leafy vegetables."

"There is no baby!" Lex shouted. "There never was one to begin with!" He threw up his hands. "What the hell is wrong with you? Did I go on a bender? Is this a drug-induced hallucination?"

Clark crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I want a sonogram."

Lex said, "You're out of your goddamned mind."

"Now," Clark enunciated.

"Your goddamned mind!"

"Lex," Clark said very carefully. "I want. A sonogram. Right now."

Lex sulked all the way to the hospital.

-----

If there was one thing Lex was grateful for, sitting in the waiting room of Maternity with a dozen expectant mothers alternately glaring at him or staring in curious wonder, it was that he knew how to kill Clark. The only thing that would wash this hideous stain of embarrassment from his mind was blood.

Lex flipped through dated copies of People and Time before giving up, pulling out a ballpoint pen, and writing inappropriate things in the margins of Highlights. If he was going to suffer, then at least one child would have to tug on his mother's sleeve and ask what "spit or swallow" meant.

It'd taken them an hour and a half to get to the hospital, mostly because Clark kept insisting that they go to Metropolis General and Lex kept insisting that they go to his private physician, and not one who would treat Clark like some sort of medical oddity. Clark, on the other hand, felt that the very suggestion of trusting Dr. Madison's discretion and medical know-how was tantamount to falling into Lex's devious plans to convince him that their child was imaginary, and to somehow undergo an abortion on the sly. He had made a face that informed Lex he was the lowest creature on the face of the planet while saying, "Murderer."

So Lex had driven to Metropolis General, but not before he'd called in advance and bought off a doctor. Years and years, and he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the sheer amount of crap he took for Clark's benefit.

By the fifth sexually explicit message Lex had penned into the corners of various games and puzzles for children eight and under, a nurse appeared from the swinging doors, looking very confused.

"Mr. Luthor?" she said. "Your -- um, your partner is asking for you."

Lex threw down the magazine and smiled with satisfaction as he spied a little boy picking it up as he walked toward the examining rooms.

-----

He and the doctor exchanged a curt nod as they crossed one another in the hallway.

"Mr. Luthor," the doctor said.

"Doctor."

"He's not -- "

Lex grimaced and held up a hand. "I know."

The doctor raised an eyebrow before smiling indulgently. "Ah."

Lex scowled. Too many people in Metropolis already thought that he kept Clark as some sort of large, very attractive pet. And while on Sunday afternoons when Clark was prone to passing out across Lex's lap and refusing to move for sex or work or phone calls, it seemed true, for the most part, it was getting old.

"Thanks for humoring him," Lex said politely. "Can I just go in?"

The doctor waved him on. "Go on."

Clark was sitting in a paper hospital gown, head drooping, hands folded in his lap.

Lex said, "Hey."

Glancing upward Clark frowned. "Get out."

"Come on," Lex said. "I told you that you weren't pregnant. You just didn't listen." He pulled up a chair and sat down in front of Clark's knees, which were red and sort of ugly, but Lex liked them anyway, despite their being attached to Clark, who was more than a little bit insane. But likeable, in a sincere, earnest sort of way. The kind of person who'd -- who'd get a little excited about being a Mommy, even if he couldn't possibly. Endearing, Lex thought in bewildered surprise, freakish but endearing.

"You're probably laughing at me right now," Clark said, flushing and glancing away. He was wringing his hands in his lap. "I bet you're thrilled."

Lex sighed. "Clark, I'm not -- " Clark leveled a stare at him " -- that thrilled," he admitted. "I just…do you know how weird that was? To hear you suddenly declare that you thought you were pregnant?" Lex shuddered. "And then you got dogmatic about it."

"I was not dogmatic," Clark said.

"You were threatening to redecorate my office in cream yellow, that's beyond dogmatic. I'm pretty sure that's a war crime."

Clark sighed and covered his face. "Oh God, I'm so embarrassed." He sounded it. "I was just…I don't even know. I was so sure. And the more I thought about it, the less it sounded completely stupid." He groaned. "I'm sorry, I've been such a freak."

Lex debated what to do at this point. He could, potentially, hold this over Clark's head for an extended period of time, making him irritable and jumpy, which would be fair and just deserts for nearly making Lex suffer some sort of hemorrhage over the past two days. Or, he could be sweet about it.

"Well, you've always been a freak," Lex said.

Clark's head whipped up, mouth opened to protest.

"But I've always loved you anyway," Lex finished. "We'll just add this to your tab."

Clark looked so grateful it was nearly worth the hospital stench in Lex's clothes that would undoubtedly never wash out. It was such a pity that he'd have to burn his pants; at least he had three other pairs exactly alike, but his alternate-Saturday's-on-even-numbered-month's pair had always been had favorite.

"Oh!" Clark said, as they were stepping out of the Maternity ward, garnering weird looks. He dug through his pocket and produced a white prescription slip. Looking sheepish, Clark muttered, "He said I should probably be taking a multivitamin."

"You were right," Lex remarked later, "your mom is going to be pissed. Man of Steel lives with me for a few weeks and he's taking Flintstones."

Clark said, "Lex, you suck."

-----

Lex woke up February the fourteenth feeling vaguely queasy. He wasn't sure why until he rolled over and discovered that Clark was no longer in their bed, and that the dent he'd made was already cool to the touch.

Lex vowed that if Clark was setting up something complicated and embarrassing for Valentine's Day, he'd do the Kryptonite dildo thing for real.

But instead of a flowers and candy or balloons or a singing telegram, Lex found Clark sprawled out in an ocean of documents on the living room floor, sifting through them all with great interest.

Lex was turned around to go back to sleep but Clark said, "Lex! You're up."

"No, I'm not," Lex tried. "You're imagining things. Those Flintstones were laced."

Clark laughed. "Happy Valentine's Day to you, too." Lex resisted the urge to throw something at him. "You're so cute when you're grumpy." Clark patted the empty space on the floor next to him. "Come over here."

Lex looked afraid. "You're not pregnant," he said, just for emphasis.

"No, no," Clark said cheerfully, smiling. Lex breathed out, and picked his way through the printouts, each one filled top to bottom with tiny text. "But I was thinking."

Lex made to leave, but Clark put one hand on his thigh and trapped him.

Green eyes turned on him, loving, warm, rapacious.

"But," Clark said, "maybe you could be."

-----

The end.

-----

Author's Notes:

I'm -- I don't even know what to say about this one. I'm really, really sorry about this.