Clara Kent Superwoman

Chapter 26: Lex Reads the Article

Lex Luthor slammed the door of 5 star hotel room as he stormed in, roughly pulling off his bow tie and slinging it to the floor, slightly choking himself in the process. His £5,000 dollar tuxedo jacket followed the tie onto the floor. The sun was peeking through the lofty buildings, pouring light into the panoramic windows of Lex's suite. He'd spent hours trying to get in to see his father last night, finally having to resort to bribing one of the orderly's with a crisp $100 note.

Lionel had still been unconscious when Lex entered his private room, a luxury not afforded to the regular patients in Gotham General, some of which were still on gurneys in the hallways and in far worse shape. Lex had been stunned by how old his father looked, he'd never thought of him as old. But in the harsh florescent light of the ward he could clearly see the toll time had taken on his father, the lines gouged into his face, the gray emerging from his temple, and the gradual sagging of skin under his eyes and jaw. This didn't make Lex pity his father, he was long past that. Instead, it gave him a sense of triumph, if one of Lionel's many enemies didn't end him, time would.

One day, this would all be over.

The beeping of the heart monitor had been steady, and despite attempts to rouse him Lionel didn't budge. After an hour a nurse came in, and startled to see him, called security. He'd left willingly, but was frustrated. The chart on the bed said his father was sedated in order to keep him immobile due to a broken collar bone. He hoped it hurt, badly.

But, that meant the reason for his father avoiding him, and the problem of the Luthor Corp facilities that had been broken into remained unsolved. The only pleasant thing about last night had been the unexpected appearance of Clara.

Clara, she'd been truly beautiful last night, not that she wasn't always, but tonight he'd seen another side. She'd been simple but elegant, and so out of place in that sea of fakery. He'd watched her with Queen, and been gratified that she thought of him even when the blonde fool was trying to charm her. She wasn't like any other woman he'd ever met, at her core she was a kind soul. Her reaction to the Orphan video had proven it, he'd never seen her cry, and hoped he never would again. Those crystal tears shined more brightly than the jewel on display, they had wrenched at his heart until the purpose for his time at the party, getting to his father, became secondary to comforting her.

A part of him hoped she still had his handkerchief.

Grabbing a shot of scotch from the mini-bar, he collapsed onto the couch next to the coffee table, and not feeling like sleeping, picked up the edition of The Gotham Times that waited there, he always ordered the newspapers at hotels. Ten minutes into reading, part way into the paper, the headline blared at him:

"Beauty and the Billionaire"

There on the page was a photograph of him kissing Clara on the cheek. It seemed so intimate, their body language was very involved, he could see how people would misconstrue it. Still, Clara might not be so accepting, she didn't have the history with the press he did, she was used to being on the writer's side of the paper. As articles go it wasn't even that juicy, he wasn't being portrayed as a cradle snatcher, if anything, they were calling him domesticated.

Domesticated, looking at his life since he met Clara, movie nights, football games, pizza and comic books, not one night on the town, one sleazy blonde, or one bender, he supposed he had calmed down. Glancing at the scotch in his hand, he realised he hadn't had a real drink in weeks. If this was domesticated, it wasn't so bad. Domestication had always brought up images of a white picket fence, 2.4 children, a wife and a dog. The image of him, Clara, and a red headed little boy, an earlier fantasy, re-emerged unbidden in his mind. New ones bred from it, driving the red-headed boy to soccer practice in a bright red truck, Clara baking in a country kitchen, a sparkling ring on her finger, the three of them playing with a Golden Retriever by the Kent farm... Before he met Clara, when he imagined his future, it had consisted of board meetings, extravagant apartments and travel. But seeing the simple way the Kent's lived, how at peace and happy they were, someday, he'd like to be like them. When Lex was younger domestication seemed like something for the weak, the stupid, being put out to pasture. But it depended on who you were with. He looked at the photograph again, and saw the photographers name scribbled into the caption. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he dialled his publicist.

"Michelle...yes I've seen it...no, no rebuttal, in fact, I have a job for you. Contact the cameraman involved, I want the original and any others he has, compensate him accordingly. Once you have them, get in contact with my silversmith, I want a frame, take the dimensions from the photographs you get and e-mail the pictures to me, I'll tell you which one to use."

Even if Clara didn't end up liking the implications of the photograph, it didn't mean he couldn't.

After all, it was the first picture of him and his greatest friend.

But it was fast becoming clear to him that he and Clara were on the border of friends and something more, something wonderful, but he wouldn't push it, she was only 18.

Sic Parvis Magna; that was the motto of one of his childhood heroes, Sir Francis Drake. It meant "Greatness from Small Beginnings", perhaps Sir Francis Drake was right.

He had a feeling Clara and he were at the beginning of something great.

...

Two miles away, in Gotham General Hospital, Lionel Luthor was now awake and sat with the same newspaper, smirking at the picture.

It seemed everything was going to plan.

The Luthor dynasty would be the greatest.