So Lex got thrown into jail for a bit. Big whoop, he’s a billionaire—the law doesn’t exist for people like him. It’s just a few weeks and then he’s out again, new and improved and perfectly calm. And sure, his image and reputation is in the dirt, but again. Billionaire. Who gives a shit? He can buy the media he doesn’t already own and get it all fixed in a few months, tops. It’s all good.

Still. He does admit that he obviously miscalculated.

Lex makes a point of knowing himself, flaws and weaknesses and vices and all. To not know oneself is just begging to be manipulated, and he’s too ambitious to let himself be toyed with like that. He’s going to take over the world one way or another, and it doesn’t much matter to him how he does it.

The miscalculation hurt his pride, sure. But his pride is disposable in the face of his envy, his bone-deep jealousy, his certainty that the only thing standing between him and world domination is Superman. And he was proven right, wasn’t he? It was Superman who stopped him! It was Superman who somehow managed to get rid of his parents’ taint and still be the hero who saved the day.

So Lex can admit he miscalculated, and he’s pivoting. Obviously. He’s not going to continue on a course of action already proven broken, and he’s not going to try and fix it. The whole clone business worked well enough for a while, but obviously had a fatal flaw.

Obedience is all well and good until it gets to the point where they’re incapable of independent action, and frankly, Lex had overestimated himself. He’d assumed the cameras were enough. He should have put internal cameras and audio-receivers into Ultraman or something. External dependence was clearly a mistake. And Lex can recognize that, and go beyond that.

Still, just making a new clone with internal communication systems seems… well, it’s clearly following a failed trajectory. Superman already proved that he can beat them, and in the end, Lex isn’t thrilled at the idea of sinking all that manpower and money into a replication of an already trashed project. What would be the point? How much further can he realistically take the concept? Clones without brains of their own clearly aren’t good enough, but clones with some brains would be prone too stupid for his tastes and clones with all the brains would run the risk of realizing they don’t need him. There’s no acceptable there.

“Update,” says Lex as he steps into the new state-of-the-art lab, nice and cozily designed because fuck you, he’s not a minimalist monster. And he’s trying to sow a very careful, specific image here, and something about homeliness will sink underneath his lab-techs’ skin like lead. Background impressions are important: he doesn’t need to tell them he cares about this project as long as the environment does it for him. And frankly, that’s better, because then their conscious minds aren’t available to argue with it.

“Everything is going well,” says Sydney, staggering over with an oversized cup of coffee that he desperately drinks out of. He blinks at Lex. “What day is it?”

“If you don’t know what day it is on such a vital project, I’m firing you,” says Lex, because he has standards. “Go home and sleep, you’re an embarrassment to this honorable institution.” Sydney smiles at him and claps him on the back because he’s under they impression that they’re friends: Lex lets him because it’s a useful impression.

“I’ll do that. Don’t scare the lab people too much, they’re working hard.” Sydney walks away, and Lex smooths out his suit.

Turning back to the lab-techs, researches and scientists practically living in the lab, he raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

They stumble over themselves as they update him while he heads to the chamber holding his latest project. His best project. This will doubtlessly be his crowning achievement, and he almost salivates. He doesn’t, of course, because he’s not a heathen and he can control himself. But still, as he stares at the baby floating in the amniotic fluid, listening to the heartbeat blowing up on one of the dozen monitor’s, he smiles.

“Good,” he declares. The lab people deflate in relief, scrambling back to their jobs, and he sits down on a chair in front of the chamber and picks up his tablet, explaining everything he does to the unnamed baby.

He’s heard it’s important. Something about bonding. Now, Lex isn’t going to do something so trite as to read parenting books, but there’s still something like common sense. Babies can react to external stimuli, so they’re obviously aware on some level. If that’s the case, and considering that this baby is half Superman’s DNA, than some pre-birth bonding just seems like a good idea. And even if he’s totally wrong and just making assumptions, that’s fine, too. It reinforces the idea that he’s doing this humanely, for perfectly ethical reasons like really wanting a child, and not, you know, to kill Superman.

It’s all part of changing his image and reputation again. He’s going for something more like ‘misunderstood’ instead of a straight-up good guy, because that ship’s probably sailed. The ‘genius with a heart of gold is just too blunt’ approach, if you will. It’s working on his employees, at least.

“Now, where were we?” He pulls up another set of data. “Yes, you’re almost at the twenty week mark of development. You’re of course developing faster than a human baby, so we’re thinking you might be ready to be born, so to speak, at around thirty weeks. Maybe even earlier. You’ll have to tell me if I’m wrong after your born, baby.” He calls it baby because it’s a literal baby. And he’s not going to name it unless it survives—talk about a waste of time.

After the allocated two hours spent ‘bonding’ with the half-human, half-kryptonian baby he’s got growing in a lab, Lex gets back to work. He has a lot of it. It piled up while he was incarcerated, not to mention all the PR crises, all the people wanting to pull contracts and the boycotts and the… well you get the picture. There’s a lot. Lex is too busy mooning over his greatest accomplishment, and also he’s not a simpleton that completely loses it over baby cheeks, or whatever. The baby isn’t even born yet—it’s not very ‘cute’ in its current state of development. And from what he knows of newborns, he shouldn’t expect it to be ‘cute’ then, either.

Time passes quickly, now that he’s out of jail and so busy he’s catching an average of three hours of sleep a night. He’s hopped up on caffeine and energy drinks (the depths’ he’s sunk to) in order to keep up, and he’s storming from one end of the earth to the other to drag it all back together. New contracts are negotiated, other contracts are intimidated into staying intact, and he reminds the US government of all those sweet government contracts he holds. Good luck canceling them, folks, because then those weapons can go to whoever the fuck he wants (he’s very good at negotiating, and quietly frankly those folks weren’t that bright and also very bribable).

The baby keeps growing. Development is as steady as can be. Lex spends a few too many nights monitoring it after thing’s go wrong for his peace of mind, but it’s worth it. It’ll all be worth it once the baby has grown up and dethrones Superman. And sure, that’ll be 20 years in the future, but Lex is a patient man. Long-term schemes are his favorite ones.

And then, finally, it’s time.

“Lex!” Sydney yelps as soon as Lex accepts the call, but it’s unnecessary.

“I’m already on my way,” he barks into the phone, almost tossing it away as he runs out of his office and to the elevator, a gaggle of people following. The veritable armory of alerts he has about the project keeps him constantly apprised of it’s status. The tiniest anomaly is reported to him for him to spend hours investigating. He’s examined everything. He’s kept aware of every status change. He’s not let a single thing go by him. This is far too important—it’s vital to their planets survival, truly. Lex isn’t going to let it all go pear-shaped just because he got distracted.

He gets a running commentary by Sydney on the phone and the data streamed to his tablet, juggling it all the way down to the lab. It’s underground, with a roof made entirely of reinforced glass. The windows and the magnifiers installed below them allow the maximum amount of natural sunlight to reach the baby. Of course, there’s a whole heap of artificial sunlight for night-time, too. Lex wasn’t going to take any chances.

While humans and kryptonians obviously have some degree of compatibility and must surely share some DNA somewhere in the family tree—the similar appearances otherwise imply otherworldly meddling, it’s so statistically unlikely—there are several significant physiological differences that presents serious hindrances during a hybrid’s creation.

It proved, during the previous attempts, to be absolutely vital to have enough sunlight. To get their DNA mixture to ‘cook’ for a lack of a more tasteful analogy—pun unintended—a certain degree of boiling was proven necessary.

They’ve managed to deploy the net below the floating baby when Lex arrives. The baby is squirming, swimming with far more conscious purpose than ever before, and it’s eyes are open, it’s little face twisted in displeasure. “We started the artificial labor process two hours ago,” says Jenine, needlessly. Obviously, he’s well aware. He’s the one that gave the go ahead.

“Good. It’s time. Everyone, get ready for the birth!” Lex gets claps and whistles, and Max unveils a banner reading IT’S A BOY. Carol puts jazz on the speakers. Lex lets the unprofessionalism slide in favor of directing the camera crew while he goes up to the baby.

Placing his hands on the glass, he smiles. Everything he’s worked toward since getting out of jail has led to this moment, he thinks. Everything is about to be worth it.

Sydney hands Lex a specially made hammer, and he raises it. The baby looks at him, blinking slowly even as it turns and tumbles, getting more and more entangled in the umbilical chord. “Soon, baby,” murmurs Lex, grinning as he smashes the glass.

It takes four hits, in the end. Only four hits for his child, his demi-god, to be born.

The nets catches the baby as the liquid is drained from the chamber. When the glass is broken—technically, he could have just hit a button to open it, but let it never be said that Lex Luthor doesn’t have a flair for the dramatic.

He drops the hammer. He couldn’t care less what happens to it.

Somebody hands him a scissor for the umbilical chord, and he goes down on his knees before the baby. His baby. “Hello,” he greets it, smiling and ignoring the cameras hovering around them. Every part of this is going to be immortalized, studied, become enshrined. He’s done it. He’s succeeded.

Lex cuts the umbilical chord, gathering the baby in his arms and holding it to his chest. It’s… ugly. Pink and scrunched and sticky, but the eyes are bright and the hands pat him with purpose. Sydney hands him a suction. “For the baby’s airways,” he says.

“Mhm.” Lex gets them cleared, then he just sits there on his knees, studying the baby. It’s studying him, in turn. He heartily approves—it’s only minutes old and already displays a scientific curiosity that he fully intends to nurture. It’s soft and squishy in hands hands, entirely dependent on him, and it blinks at him wide eyes. It keeps patting him, too. Smacking every part of him that it can reach, legs kicking and toes curling.

“It must be cold,” Lex decides, frowning. He holds it closer, undoing the buttons of his upper clothes until he can stuff the baby against his bare chest. A bit undignified, sure, but he’s not going to let his very, very expensive creation perish due to something as banal as freezing. His frown grows, as the baby clearly seeks his heat, burrowing as close to him as it physically can. It must be colder than he’d feared.

Standing at last, Lex clears his throat. He doesn’t bother to make sure the cameras get a good view of his miraculous child: if his camera crew can’t even manage that, they’re clearly not worth the money. They’ve had meetings about this. Everybody involved in this production, from the scientists to the engineers to the camera people to the PR crew, all know their parts to play.

“Congratulations, Lex,” says Sydney, sniffling a little as he stares at the baby. “He’s beautiful.”

“As is only to be expected,” says Lex. He raises his eyebrows. “Is everything ready?”

Sydney straightens his back, pretending like hius nose wasn’t almost touching Lex’s baby. “Of course, Lex. All according to plan. Your brain wins once again!”

“As was only to be expected,” says Lex, preening. He’s not ashamed of it. This is an extraordinary accomplishment that will net him another Nobel Prize (if the idiots picking aren’t too scared of the optics of his… ah, recent and unfortunately public actions). Some preening is honestly expected.

He carries the baby over to a table, and a team of doctors—the best pediatricians in their fields, flown from all over the world—descend upon his creation. Lex hovers, he can alos admit. He keeps a clear eye on everything they do, from the clearing to the weighting and measuring and every single test. There’s a lot of tests. Lex isn’t leaving anything to chance. He’s demanded a full work up of the baby’s health, and they’re all very understanding.

“He’s healthy,” says Dr. Park, turning to Lex and smiling. “An extraordinary feat, Mr. Luthor. He is perfectly healthy.”

Grinning, Lex grabs his baby, now swept into a blue onesie. “Hear that, baby?” He holds it close to his chest again. Even with the soft onesie, it must still be cold, because it tries to practically fuse together with him again, it’s little body a furnace as it clings to him. The tests confirms that it’s already stronger than a human baby, with far greater grip strength and muscle formation. It should be able to sit up on it’s remarkably quickly.

They retreat to Lex’s penthouse.

The baby’s bedroom is already set up, but Lex retreats to his bedroom. There’s a bassinet by his bed, and he stares down at it, baby still held tight to his chest. They’re alone, now. Even Mercy have left, for once not shadowing him as she retreats to whatever she does in her free time. Probably professional bone-breaking or something equally horrendous.

The baby fusses. Lex stares at it, sitting down and laying it on his lap. It grabs at his finger, holding tight enough it might even bruise. It’s looking right at him.

Lex has, in fact, read a few parenting books. (He lied, so sue him.) But he knows that human babies have blurry vision for a while, if those books are to be believed. And to be clear, he highly doubts it. Some of the nonsense in there genuinely made think they might really all be better off if Superman conquered Earth. But his baby isn’t so boring—it has perfect vision, as far as the rudimentary tests could tell.

“You’re not cute,” Lex tells it, poking it’s squishy cheek. It grins at him, tugging on his finger. Lex presses his lips tight. “But I suppose you’re the best a baby can look like.” He pokes its cheek again, and the baby scrunches it’s nose. Lex sighs, and stands as it starts fussing again, trying to eat his finger.

The formula has been specially made for him and his physiology. They have a lot of data from Ultraman, at least, so they’re not working on nothing. Lex heats it up and feeds the baby while pacing around the living room, quietly telling the baby all about his most impressive exploits. The baby never seems to stop staring at him, whining every time he doesn’t hold it close enough.

It isn’t cute. No baby can be cute: they’re tiny little deformed monsters that can do nothing but eat, sleep and excrete. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be anywhere near this thing. But the personal touch still works, and if the impersonal one has failed (as it clearly did) than Lex will just have to adapt. It’s what makes him so good at his job.

“If you like Superman more than me,” Lex tells the baby as he lies down on the bed, letting the baby rest on his bare chest because every time he tried to put it in the bassinet it started crying. “I’m going to revoke your license to pick your own college.”

The baby just flops a little closer to his heartbeat, eyelids shut and chest puffing on every breath.

Lex lets it sleep on him. Just tonight.

It’s been a big day, after all.

The baby goes everywhere with him. This is by design: Lex isn’t going to let it out of his sight, and anyway it can barely crawl, it’s not like it would stick to him so tightly of its own volition.

Lex takes it to board meetings, to share-holder meetings (he’s the only share-holder, so it’s really just an excuse to take a power-nap) and carts it to and fro every inch of the company. He flies it over half the world as he meets and dines and manipulates his way back into billionaire status. He had to pay astronomical fines to the fine city of Metropolis for the whole Rift business (it was partly how he got out of jail so quickly) and then the product development of the baby easily numbered in eight digits. Lex isn’t the least bit ashamed of carting the baby everywhere. He has a very stylishly, custom-designed baby carrier, and anyway the baby is basically a doll. Certainly, people call it that often enough. He supposes it’s meant to be a term of endearment, but considering it’s part-legacy of clones that led to the baby’s ultimate creation, Lex doesn’t really think of it like that. It’s honestly a bit demeaning.

“You’re a perfect person of your own and you cna make your decisions,” Lex tells it, holding up two pairs of socks. “Which would you like to wear today?”

The baby’s gaze goes back and forth. He’s 100% certain that it’s already picking up language: it clearly knows when Lex is referring to him, looking at him every time he says baby, and it displays reactions that makes him certain it knows what he’s saying half the time. It has picked up patterns, at the very least. It understands action and consequence. It’s figured out object permanence. It’s well on its way to forming its own personality, which is the whole point of letting it be a baby and not just aging it up to kill Superman instantly.

The baby points at the pink ones. Lex puts the pink socks onto the tiny feet, and hoists the baby onto his hip as he waltzes out of the bedroom. “Good taste,” he tells it, because positive reinforcement is important. Lex didn’t get any of it while he was growing up, and his various lovers’ armchair psychology is certain it’s why he’s so fucked up. And while Lex doesn’t want to credit them with any undue intelligence, he’s also not willing to take the chance. “I commend you on your quick and decisive decision-making skills.” He kisses the baby’s cheek. It likes that, for some reason.

Positive reinforcement, he repeats over and over in his mind.

He’s an hour into a meeting with Bruce Wayne, pretending as he’s not well aware the man’s Batman in a furry costume, and Wayne pretending that he doesn’t know that Lex knows. It’s the kind of trite, dull act that gets on his nerves, and Wayne’s particular persona seems tailor-made to frustrate him.

“And who’s that little thing you’ve got in your lap?” Wayne coos, because he’s an utter disgrace of a human being. He even winks at the baby. The baby, once more displaying it’s excellent taste, ignores Wayne.

“None of your business.”

“He’s at our meeting, so it kind of is, though?” Wayne winks again. It’s shame Lex needs this deal. Oh, he’s sure Wayne is only doing it as an in with LuthorCorp to investigate something or other. Lex has more important things to worry about. Like how to manufacture toys that won’t break at one of the baby’s touches.

“What’s his name?” coos Wayne again.

Scoffing and rolling his eyes, Lex says, “It doesn’t have one.”

Wayne blinks. Lex might have honestly surprised him. “Whyever not?”

“You wouldn’t understand, your parenting is archaic,” says Lex, waving a hand. But because he’s got a bit of a flair for melodrama, he adds, “If the baby wants a name, it’ll tell me so.”

“That’s… certainly an unusual approach!” Wayne laughs. Lex grits his teeth.

At least they get back to business. Even if Wayne does keep insisting on talking to the baby. But Lex has raised him well: the baby doesn’t respond to Wayne at all.

Lex isn’t dim. Of course Wayne is going to figure it out. And if Wayne figures it out, then it’s only a matter of time before Superman knows. So Lex is perfectly prepared when the Superman-proximity alarm goes off at nine in the evening. Before the baby, Lex would still be out and about in the company at this time of evening. With the baby, he’s still working. But he’s doing it on the tablet in his bedroom while the baby sleeps beside him.

It kept getting woken by his keyboard, so he ditched the computer. It’s a little more cumbersome, but Lex has adapted very well. As was only to be expected, truly.

Lex is a genius, after all.

Superman knocks on Lex’s window, and Lex pushes the button to open it, staying right where he is. Mercy and the horde of bodyguards at his disposal are already alerted, ready to react at the slightest hint of trouble. But for a minute, Superman just stares at the baby slumbering peacefully by Lex’ side. It has a good grip on one of his fingers, practically plastered to his leg.

“What is…?” Superman quiets, walking carefully closer. Lex keeps one eye on him and the other on the baby. “He’s…”

“Mine,” says Lex. He straightens, putting the tablet away. Raising an eyebrow, he hums. “And why are you gracing us with your esteemed presence tonight, Superman? Here to do a surprise audit? I assure you, I’m keeping to the very letter of the law.”

“I can hear it,” says Superman, bending to his knees before Lex’s bed and staring wide-eyed at the baby. “His heartbeat is…” Wetting his lips, Superman tilts his head back to stare up at Lex. “How did you do this?”

“What makes you think you have any right to know?”

“He’s mine, isn’t he?” And the only reason Lex doesn’t shoot him full of kryptonite bullets right then and there—they’re gold, but that should still do something, right—is because Superman looks like he’s going to cry. It’s pathetic. It’s humiliating. For Superman, obviously.

“He’s mine,” says Lex again, picking up the baby and settling it against his chest. It slumps against him, still refusing to let his finger go. It’s been displaying remarkable tenacity of late. “My DNA, Superman. And you don’t have any legal rights, remember? So no one’s going to even bother letting you take it to court.”

“So he is mine? Batman wasn’t…” And fuck, why does Superman look so hopeful? This doesn’t have anything to do with him!

“You have no claim to it.”

For a while, nobody says anything. Lex isn’t all that eager to start a firefight if Superman isn’t attacking. That’s not because he’s being merciful or anything—it would just do nothing but scare the baby. If Superman isn’t an active, direct threat to him, than Lex supposes that… well, he’ll grit his teeth and bare the stupid alien’s stupid existence. As much as it pains him. Long-term victory will be sweeter than just getting into a brawl with him.

Even if Lex somehow did win, it’d still just be a hollow victory.

No, Lex wants to measure himself against Superman when they’re both at their best. When they’ve done everything they can to destroy each other. He’s not interested in some half-assed battles.

“Can I touch him?” whispers Superman, peering so intently at the baby it’s a wonder he’s not setting it on fire. And that’s an actual possibility, Lex remembers, and turns to hide the baby behind him.

“Why on earth would you do that?” he snaps, brushing the baby’s hair when it fusses. All the noise must be disturbing it. It needs a certain amount of deep sleep, and Lex isn’t relishing the possibility of this meeting disrupting that. “Is that the only reason you came here? To gawk? Don’t you have anything sensible to say?”

“Lex, I don’t understand why you would do something like this,” says Superman, hushed. He doesn’t move to look at the baby, staying where he is on his knees. He looks good on them. If Lex knew that this was all he needed to do to get Superman kneeling for him, he might have gone straight for the baby and disregarded the whole cloning thing from get-go. It obviously didn’t work, anyway.

Glaring down at Superman, Lex laughs. Quietly, so he doesn’t wake his baby. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“He’s mi—” Superman stops, shaking his head. “If he’s got my DNA…”

“None of your business,” insists Lex.

Superman keeps looking at him. It’s not even a vrey intense look. But it’s long, and it doesn’t waver, and it doesn’t bed. Superman really has nerves of steel, Lex thinks, scoffing. Well, it’s not going to do him any good. There’s no court that reward him custody of the child—he doesn’t even have a legal identity on earth! And with Lex money? No, even with his previous actions, Lex is confident he has the legal upper hand here. Which is a funny place to be, in a showdown with Superman.

But Lex isn’t going to let his guard down. “I don’t see why you even came here. I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m not hurting him. So shoo.” He waves Superman off like a bird. It should be insulting. But Superman just smiles a little.

Infuriating.

Everything about this man is utterly infuriating.

“I’m not going to disturb his rest.” Superman looks regretful as he stands, still staring at Lex, and then the baby when he gets a view of it from higher ground. He floats above the floor. His eyes glint inhumanly. That symbol is branded on him like a neon sign of loyalty, still. “What’s his name? Batman didn’t know.”

“It doesn’t have one, of course.”

Superman stares at him. Lex has never seen him look so flabbergasted. (And it’s honestly offensive he has Lex using words like flabbergasted.)

“But he needs—”

“It’ll come up with one if it wants one,” says Lex. As far as he’s concerned, that’s that. He has no particular inclination to argue about it. He’s already battling against the baby’s army of doctors and scientists and interns monitoring his development—Lex doesn’t need to argue about it with Superman, too, of all people.

“And you call him it?” Superman floats closer, peering behind Lex. Lex leans back over his baby to block his access. Stilling, Superman backs off a little.

That’s infuriating, too.

“Gender is a social construct.” Superman blinks. Lex rolls his eyes. “This has been lovely, truly, Superman. But I have work, so if you don’t mind?” He shoos again. This time, Superman obeys, floating back out the window. Lex wastes no time shutting it behind him, staring through the glass until Superman is out of view.

“Is he gone?” asks Lex, lying back against his pillows and picking up his baby. It’s awake, blinking sleepily at him, starting to fuss and whine. It reaches for him, and he lets it close, nuzzling the top of its head. It seems to crave closeness, touch, even his heartbeat, he sometimes thinks. He doesn’t mind indulging it, considering what it will one day do for him.

“He’s out of immediate vicinity,” says one of the night-time guards, Jerome. Lex nods, grunts something about work, and lies down on the bed.

He doesn’t pick the tablet back up.

Lex just stares at the ceiling, feeling the baby’s body relaxing as it falls back asleep on top of him.

Now, Lex isn’t an idiot. He’s actually won awards for his genius. So he’s well aware that he’s getting somewhat… attached to the baby, shall we say. He suppose that it was inevitable: he’s with the baby almost 24/7, and it’s showing a dependence on him that nothing else ever has. It unconditionally likes him—loves him, as much as a baby is capable of.

It does things like smile at him, look at him when he enters a room, reach for him, laughs at his shitty jokes, puts up with him spending four hours explaining a spreadsheet to it. It recognizes his voice, and his face, and his name. It knows who Lex is in relation to it, Lex thinks.

So Lex has gotten a bit attached to it, in return.

But only mildly.

Like a pet hamster, he thinks. It’s hardly an attachment worth mentioning, but for the hamster it must seem like true love. For the hamster, it’s care and affection while being asked nothing in return. It just spins in the wheel. And this baby will spin in Lex’s wheel, too, one day. When it’s older and can appreciate the complicated interplanetary politics of it.

Lex isn’t going to force it to fight Superman. He’s just going to present his side of the situation. And if the baby has any sense—which it will, as he’s the one raising it—then it’ll take his side.

But nothing beats loyalty.

True loyalty—not that blindness that Ultraman had. Choosing to be loyal, even knowing Lex’s faults? His failings? That’s the kind of loyalty that’s harder to break than diamond. That’s the kind of loyalty he needs to beat Superman. That’s the kind of loyalty that will carry Lex’ child to the stars themselves.

And for that, there needs to choice. The baby needs to decide on its own to be loyal to him—otherwise it’s just a pale imitation. So Lex will raise it well, give it all the options it wants. He’s not going to hurt it. He certainly won’t raise it like his father raised him. No, Lex is going to be the best damn father in the multiverse.

And nothing will stand in his way.

So a little faint affection on his part can only be a good thing, truly. They say children can sense things like that, when they’re not truly wanted. His slimmer of affection will aid in the child’s own affection of him.

It’s just math.

Superman doesn’t stop bothering them, of course. That would be too much to ask for. But he does knock every time, and he shows up at more reasonable hours in an attempt to not bother the baby.

On his second visit, the baby is awake.

It looks up when Superman knocks, blinking curiously at him. Superman waves a them like an utter pedestrian. Lex sighs, but opens the window. Superman floats inside, hovering over the floor and looking around for traps. Lex just says, “I’m not going to booby-trap my child’s home with kryptonite.”

“So he is mine.” Superman gulps. His feet hit the floor and he does down to his hunches in front of the child’s specially-designed playpen. It kept breaking the human ones. Cape spreading out on the floor, it doesn’t take the baby long to reach for it, and Superman holds it out for it. The baby grabs the edge, and smashes its whole face in it. Sighing, Lex picks it up, settling the weight onto his hip and staring down at Superman with a challenging glare.

“What’s it to you?” he asks, and he recognizes that he’s being purposefully snappy.

Superman rises, too. He holds the cape out again, and the baby is a traitor—it grabs it, giggling and biting it. It at least doesn’t have any teeth yet, though Lex is curious if it could damage the cape with them. He has a lot of data about Superman, but jaw strength and teeth durability isn’t one of them. Superman just doesn’t spend a lot of time biting during battles. Honestly, Lex is getting a bit worried about how the baby’s teething will go: so far, his lab people haven’t come through on a good teething ring for it.

“How did you make him?” asks Superman, floating again as he hovers closer. He holds out his hand and the baby, traitor that its turning out to be, grabs one of Superman’s fingers. It even gives Superman a gummy smile, cheeks rosy and eyes sparkling.

It’s textbook manipulation, and Lex is proud. “I expect a Nobel Prize for my efforts. There’ll be a documentary released upon the official announcement of my new fatherhood. You can find out that with the rest of the rabble, if you insist on placing yourself among them.”

“Lex…” Superman wets his lips, looking at Lex in that way that makes Lex wants to punch him. A mixture of pity and understanding that can’t possibly be real. What he does know of Lex’ mind? Sure, he spotted the ency easily enough—but let’s be real, Lex’s envy is obvious to anyone with any modicum of sight or common sense. He’s not shy about it. He’s not ashamed of it. It’s part of what drives him, what’s gotten him so far.

And the other part is spite and pettiness and relentless dedication to the bit.

“What do you even want? Why are you here, Superman?” Lex glares at him, ignoring the baby stuffing its hand into his mouth. He bites it softly. It giggles, pressing closer. Lex bites once more, this time with sound-effects.

It’s all for the ultimate development of the baby. That’s all. Lex is just indulging it, helping it learn the world and get attached to it. He sees no reason why a person would voluntarily protect a world they don’t know, so really, it’s just good sense to introduce the baby to all the parts of it. Obviously, it’s very selfish of him.

He’s taking it to the aquarium (that he bought) next week: it’s sure to be a formative, important memory—which is important if the baby’s memory turns out to go back this far. Lex isn’t going to let down his guard, no matter how attached to him the baby seems to be. It could go always go wrong at the last moment; as superman has already proved. And the baby is half-kryptonian—there’s no such thing as being too prepared.

“He’s not a clone,” says Superman.

“Obviously.” Lex frowns at him. Superman looks at the baby, hovering closer. The baby is starting to fuss, wanting to be put back down and resume it’s playtime. It’s a curated session meant to increase hand-eye coordination, and Lex is loath to deprive of it. He puts it back down, nudging it. It goes back to its toys easily enough, lifting each and every one for his inspection.

“They are fabulous toys, you are very right, baby,” he says, patting it’s head.

When he looks up, Superman is staring at him again, eyes disgustingly wide. “It’s not a clone,” he repeats. “Lex it’s… he’s my son. My child.”

Rolling his eyes, Lex sits down in the playpen and for some reason Superman follows, sitting down next to him. It’s not cramped, because Lex is rich and the playpen is the size of half the room, but it still makes his body tingle, to be so close to Superman. He still remembers how easily he was defeated: how he was tossed around by the alien’s dog of all things. The sense memory of staring up at Superman and knowing he was utterly defeated is still buried in his bones.

But the baby has no such compunctions, and goes right to playing without any concerns. As is only right. Lex is right here, and he’s not going to let anything hurt it.

“It’s my child,” says Lex, and ignores Superman’s noise of complaint. “Take it up with legal department if you have any issue. Of course, that requires you to have a legal identity. So the question is, do you, Superman?” Lex stares challengely at the alien.

And finally, Superman’s shoulders droop. His head bends.

He’s still not going to reveal it.

“You claim he’s your child, and you’re not even going to reveal your human identity to him,” drawls Lex. He smiles, cutting. “How nice it must feel to be on such a high horse.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” mutters Superman. It’s probably the least perfect thing he’s ever done.

Lex laughs.

The baby laughs, too, clapping it’s hands. It doesn’t know why, of course, but it’s displaying flawless intuition of Lex’s moods. Lex pats its head in positive reinforcement.

“I’m sure there’s nothing I can do to stop your visits,” says Lex. He ignores Superman’s gaze upon him, deep though it is. “But still, do be considerate. The baby’s on a schedule.”

Superman doesn’t reply.

He comes back, of course.

Again and again, and again.

Lex puts up with it, because he truly has no way of stopping Superman’s visits without compromising the baby in the process, and that would be counterproductive on a truly ridiculous level. At least the baby is alright with it, and is displaying it’s great intellect as it ignores Superman most of the time. Lex always praises it, careful to make sure that every accomplishment and milestone is rewarded. His own memories of childhood afforded no such things, and the fact that he’s a failed product in the fight against Superman has already been proven. Following in his parents footsteps would be true stupidity.

“Again?” asks Lex when he wakes to find Superman playing with the baby in the playpen. The baby has found the button for the window, of course, and has learned the relationship between the button and Superman playing with it. He’s not sure it understands yet that Superman comes first and the button after: sometimes the baby will press the button and frown when no Superman appears.

Lex is getting closer to the official announcement. The baby is approaching it’s first birthday, which feels like a good day for the it’s reveal. It can walk, crawl, get through doors (by breaking them), and has displayed a remarkable vocabulary. It doesn’t fly yet, but he’s spotted it floating an inch off the ground when it thinks he’s not looking.

And of course, it has exceptional hearing.

It repeats things he’s said in other rooms. It shows emotional reactions to things it overhears, too. When it heard him mentioning the zoo to Mercy, it got so excited it broke the door as it ran to him, tiny feet pitter-pattering on the expensive floors.

Superman asks, “Will there be a party on his birthday?”

Lex, still sleepy, pushes himself onto his hands and stares down at them. The baby—and as loath as he is to admit it, as it’s clearly been functioning fine until now, it will need a name for the announcement—is finger-painting on the floor. It’s fine, the cleaners are alrerdy used to it.

When Lex doesn’t answer, Superman says, “My parents have been wondering when they’ll get to meet him.”

“Your parents? Your ‘conquer the world with a secret harem’ parents wants to—”

“No, not them.” Superman even smiles at Lex, like they’re in on something together. They very much are not. They have nothing in common. The only reason Lex puts up with him is because 1) it’s doing wonders for his image and 2) he can’t hurt Superman without hurting the baby, and that’s intolerable. “My human parents.”

“You have human parents?” demands Lex, tossing himself out of bed and stalking over to baby and alien.

“I do,” says Superman, without self-consciousness. Lex glares at him. Superman sighs, brushing his hand through his hair. It’s the most human expression Lex has ever seen from him. “My parents raised me when I crashed here, Lex. You must have realized that I can’t have raised myself, right? And there were no other kryptonians here, then.”

“I’m not letting you just abscond with my baby.”

“Of course not.” Superman sounds almost indulgent, but at least he’s looking at the baby when he says it, so Lex will let it slide. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“So what? After all this time, you’re going to reveal your human identity to me?”

“I suppose so.” Superman smiles, holding his finger out for the baby. It grabs it, squeezing with strength it’s learned not to use with anyone else. On a human, the grip would be strong enough to break bones. It has broken bones before, including Lex’s. The meltdown had been legendary, but had at least assured Lex that the baby had developed a pretty deep emotional attachment and dependency on him, absolutely panicking when it realized how deeply it’d hurt him.

It hasn’t broken a bone of his sense. It hasn’t even bruised him. It’s always remarkably careful, now. It’s hardly a year old, and already displaying such awareness of the itself and the world.

Lex is proud.

“You’re an utter disgrace,” says Lex, and Superman just laughs.

“Now, I’m going to say a series of names, and you’ll say when you hear one you like, correct?” Lex stares at the baby in his arms in the office. They’re only two days off from the announcement, but the baby hasn’t yet been presented with a name it likes well enough. And Lex isn’t going to saddle it with a sup-bar name just because they have a deadline. If all else fails, he’ll call it Alexander Jr. But that’s a last resort. He wants it to have an identity of its own, after all. Not just one dependent on him.

Though Mercy insists he needs to leave the baby more to it’s own devices, if that’s going to happen. He’s apparently ‘smothering’ it.

Lex disagrees and really, his is the only opinions that matter.

“Barnaby?” He looks at the baby. It’s not even paying attention. “I understand. It's important to have standards, and I’m proud of you for not succumbing to peer pressure.” He kisses it’s head, wrinkling his nose at the hair tickling him, and turns the pages in the baby names book. His gaze drifts over it. “Colin? Cody? Conner?”

The baby giggles.

“Papa,” it says, smacking him on the chin. Softly. “Bite,” it demands, and he bites down gently on its strong, half-alien fingers. It giggles again.

“Connor,” says Lex again when he’s no longer got baby fingers in between his teeth. He really does not understand this preoccupation with biting.

The baby looks up at him with large eyes. His mother’s eyes. Luthor eyes, if Lex has anything to say about it. “Conner Luthor,” says Lex, testing it out. He’s made an agreement to go to Superman’s human parents with the baby after the announcement. They’re heading there right after, in fact. But Superman has, in an uncharacteristic display of cunning, decided not to reveal where they’re going, his parents identities or his own human one, until they get there.

Lex is both pleased and annoyed by this. Pleased that Superman at least has sense. Annoyed that Superman is being difficult when they’re about to find out, anyway. And it’s not like Lex isn’t going to have a variety of tracking technology on both him and Conner—even if they’re not conscious on the journey (a possibility he can’t discount)—that still won’t stop Lex from knowing where they were and how the got there, afterwards.

“Conner?” he asks, and the baby looks at him. “Conner Luthor it is, then.” Lex smiles, and baby Conner claps his hands, then grabs his pen and draws all over the contracts he’s reviewing. It’s fine, they’re only paper copies.

And it’s goof exercise in hand-eye coordination, color recognition, and simple dexterity that is so often overlooked, but a vital skill for any burgeoning world conqueror.

“I’ll never hear the end of this from Superman,” mutters Lex, though, frowning. Superman is the kind of arrogant do-gooder that will doubtlessly assume that this is proof of Lex caving. Superman’s never stopped hinting that the baby really should have a name. He’ll need to preempt the assumption that Superman had anything to do with it

In the days leading up to the announcement of Conner’s existence, they don’t see Superman. This is partly by design—Lex engineers a few conflicts to keep him away—and partly because Lex really is genuinely that busy. He’s almost always in one meeting or another, and if he’s not, then he’s at a doctor’s appointment for Conner.

But at last, it’s time.

In front of the press, a hundred cameras capturing his every angle and expression, Lex holds up his child—the greatest accomplishment of his life—and grins wild. “Behold, my heir!”

The cameras flashes almost blinds him. This is why he’s wearing sunglasses. He put on mini-sunglasses on Conner, too, but they’re obviously not good enough: Conner whines and turns to his face in Lex’s shirt, clinging to him. “Papa…” that’s the manipulate begging that Conner has learned will make Lex give him chocolate candy even though he really shouldn’t. Lex is just as weak to it now, holding his hand over his child’s eyes and glaring at the cameras.

“At least turns the flashes off if you’re going to be so vulgar in a child’s presence,” he snaps.

“Lois Lane, The Daily Planet!” Lois Lane jumps up with her mic ready, a ferocious expression on her face. “What’s his name? Who’s his mother? How old is he?”

“Firstly, don’t just assume it’s a he. I’m waiting on it to figure out gender and let me know what it is.” Lex frowns at Lane but she just back at him, utterly unimpressed. That’s the thing about her that gets under his skin, and the only reason that she sticks out enough for him to remember her; she always seems unimpressed with him. Oh sure, suspicious, too. She’s clearly decided he’s a bad person and will twist anything he does to that end (not that she’s wrong but still, it’s the principle of the thing). And yet in that suspicion there’s always a kernel of ‘unimpressed’ that makes that suspicion just a bit more… well-earned, shall we say.

“Alright,” she says, shifting and leaning forth. “So what is their name? Who’s their mother? How old are they?”

Lex holds his head high, ignoring the fact that Superman is hovering right beside him. As he’s been doing all day. It’s really starting to get annoying. Doubly so because nobody is paying it any mind, just taking it as Superman doing his ‘watching Lex Luthor for signs of Evil’ duties.

“My heir is Conner Alexander Luthor,” says Lex, patting Conner’s back. More camera flashes go off—they evidently don’t have any dignity to speak of. “Conner has no mother, and today is their first birthday.”

“Ah,” says Lane. “Congratulations are in order, then.”

“Quite.”

Lane’s eyes narrow. “So the mother—did you buy her off? Was it a one-night stand? A surrogacy?”

“Conner has no mother, that is all,” says Lex, a bite to his tone. Superman bends down next to him, waving his fingers in front of Conner when the baby pulls his head back to stare up at Lex. It’s already recognizing it’s name, despite only having had it for two days. It’s clearly a genius.

“Conner doesn’t look like they’re only a year old, if you don’t mind me saying,” says Lane.

Rolling his eyes, Lex says, “In today’s day and age, what’s a bit of mutation here and there. Conner’s mine: that’s all that matters.”

Superman smiles, Lex sees in the corner of his eyes. It’s horrible: so perfect that Lex wants to take a knife to it. He angles himself away from the alien, and yet Superman doesn’t seem discouraged in the least. It’s the most frustrating thing about him—even when the whole world is against him, hates him, judges him, doubts him… he’s still not discouraged. He still fights.

Things would be so much easier if he was a little more human.

“That’s all the questions we have time for,” says Lex, waving his hand as calmer erupts, questions tossed his way by the dozens at a time. “I’m afraid we have a birthday party to get to, so we can’t stay. Do enjoy the complimentary punch.”

He sweeps out with Superman on his heels, closer than even the half-a-dozen sycophants working for him. “You picked a name,” says Superman, voice almost right in Lex’s ear. Groaning, Lex rolls his eyes and waves him back, frowning at him.

“Conner picked it,” he says, glaring at Superman. Superman hums, looking down at Conner.

“It’s a good name,” he says. “Though I feel a little bad…”

Lex tries to resist. He really does. It’s so obvious. But alas, he is only human, and an excessively curious one at that. “Bad about what?” he asks, stepping into the elevator. He holds a hand up to stop his sociopaths from following. “Back to work,” he barks. They run away as they obey. He rolls his eyes again.

Superman waits until the elevator doors are closed and they’re moving before he says, “Bad that he doesn’t have my name, too.”

“I’ve told you—”

“I’m sorry, I know.” Superman bends his head. “It’s a good name. I just thought… maybe they could have one of mine, too.”

“Super? Or Man? What, do you want Conner to be named Conner Luthor-Man or something? Don’t be dumb, it doesn’t suit you.” Lex scoffs, finally getting off the elevator onto the helicopter pad. It’s waiting for them, their supplies already packed and loaded. Mercy is standing by the helicopter’s door. “How long is this going to take, anyway?”

“I can’t say.” At Lex’s look, Superman smiles and shrugs—shrugs!—and says, “I’ve never gone by helicopter.”

Lex doesn’t deign to respond to that.

It touches down in farmland. Lex is in the middle of work by the time Superman puts his hand on Lex’s knee, palm warm even through his clothing, and says into the headset, “We’re here.”

Looking up, Lex can confirm that they are, indeed, here.

Wherever here is.

Well, he’ll get a complete report on that later. For now, he concentrates on getting out without handing Conner over to Superman, as the man is clearly hoping for. To date, Lex isn’t aware of Superman actually holding Conner once, though he’s hugged Conner plenty of times. They do hang out sometimes when Lex is sleeping—Conner has gotten really good at letting Superman in without waiting for Lex’ permission which he approves of in theory (better to ask for forgiveness than permission, as it goes) but which is proving troublesome in practicality—but Lex always goes over the video with a fine-toothed comb afterwards. Plus, he has guards whose sole job is keeping track of Superman, and naturally they do so even when Superman is inside Lex’s home.

“Is this it?” asks Lex once he’s on the ground and the helicopter has lifted off. It’s moving away to find a more conspicuous hiding place, which really just means one of the places that Lex owns that close enough. Lex squints into the sunlight. “How… quaint.”

Superman laughs. “Yeah, this is it.” He smiles at Conner, but the baby is too busy marveling at everything. Lex supposes that obvious fascination alone makes the trip worth it, even though he’s already regretting it. Still, he is curious about who raised Superman. About how he was raised. He needs to know what not to do, of course, so they don’t just end up with another one of him in thirty years.

Lex has been doing the man. He’d assumed, first, that Conner would debuting as a hero sometime in his tweens, but then he doesn’t want to sink to the same levels as Batman. Plus, this way he can run a campaign about child soldiers and child endangerment targeting Batman, which is always so much more impactful when you practice what you preach.

So then he assumed teens. But teens are strung up on hormones and puberty, and Lex has no idea how that will be impacted by half-kryptonian biology. It just seems like setting up to fail. So then he thought early twenties. But obviously Conner is going to college and university, and he’ll need time to intern at LuthorCorp’s various companies and factories and whatnot.

Then Lex thought about late twenties, but Conner will of course have a rebellious period. Lex has that scheduled for late twenties. It’s inevitable, after Lex has ruled it’s whole life. Conner will want to get out and do it’s own thing.

So now he’s thinking it’ll be early thirties. Conner will have gotten the rebelliousness out of its system, and will have realized that Lex is right about everything, and of course, he’ll be a proper adult with lots of experience. He’ll be in prime shape to kill Superman.

It’s a flawless plan.

“Come, I’ll show you around,” says Superman, nodding toward the farm. Lex’s lips curl, but he assents. For Conner, of course. The little thing seems so curious. And well, as a fellow person of curiosity, Lex can’t help but indulge it.

Lex doesn’t bother to hide his judgment as he’s shown around. It’s a farm. What’s there to be curious about? And anyway, Lex hasn’t seen anything alien here other than Superman, so he’s really not sure what it is that’s making Conner so excited. But he lets Conner pet the cows, and pick berries, and feed the chickens.

And they’ve at a house, and Superman runs ahead just as the front door open and two people run out, hugging Superman tightly. “Clark!”

Clark?

…Clark Kent?!

As in the dopey reporter that always gets tongue-tied when he’s at Lex’ press events, and that keeps showing up to every event thrown by Wayne?

Actually that makes a lot of sense. It was odd how Kent seemed to get so easy access to everything Wayne did. Kent isn’t even from Gotham, and everybody knows how biased Wayne is.

Lex is almost impressed by how smooth the deception’s been working.

Mostly, though, he’s pissed off.

Then Clark Kent’s—Superman’s—mother turns to him and coos, hand over her mouth. “Oh, my darling,” she says, walking up to him and smiling at Conner. She’s always smitten. “Oh, you are lovely. I’m so glad you’re here, finally,” she says, holding up her hand. Conner takes it and shakes it carefully, because Lex shakes people hands and it’s picked up on it. Lex is pretty sure it doesn’t know the whys of it.

“I’m Martha Kent, Clark’s mother,” she introduces, smiling at Lex and shaking his hand, too, after she’s pulled herself back together. She doesn’t look anything like the mother of an alien. She’s just… disturbingly human. Is this why Superman insists he’s human, too?

She nods to the old man as he joins them. “This is my husband, Jonathan.”

She’s smiling at him.

Lex finally clears his throat. “Right. I’m Lex Luthor. This is Conner.”

Superman puts himself next to Lex, and says, “Ma, Pa, I would like to introduce you to my child, Conner.” He’s grinning bright, reeking with excitement. Lex rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re so proud of, you didn’t do anything,” he grumbles.

Conner crosses his arms over his chest and looks at Superman with puffed cheeks. “Tha’ ‘ight,” Conner says, and looks at Lex for confirmation. Lex smiles at him and kisses his cheek. Conner giggles.

“Oh, you’re just precious,” says Martha, smiling at Conner. Conner grins back, always delighted to be the center of attention.

They head inside, where it’s cozy and homey and everything rustic. Lex feels out of place, but of course doesn’t show it. He sits down on an old couch with a grimace and places Conner in his lap, but it doesn’t take Conner long to get curious. It tugs on Lex’ hand, legs flopping as it frowns at him.

“Fine, explore, baby,” says Lex, putting it down. Martha coos. Lex does her the favor of pretending he’s not witnessing her sad smitten state.

Though of course, it’s only what Conner deserves.

It is a feat of technology that will change the whole world. He’s already started crafting his Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

“You know you’re not the one who’s getting the Nobel Prize, right,” says Superman, out of costume and in flannel and cargo-pants of all things. It’s a disgrace.

“What are you talking about?” demands Lex, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a genius, and if you think I outsource the whole project, you’re sorely mistaken. Sure, other people had a hand in it, and it’s not like I was the one doing the minute day-by-day operations. But the head scientist never is. You think any lab can run without assistants? Don’t be daft. No, it’s my prize and everybody knows it.”

Superman hums. He nods. His hair is all floppy and curly. It’s distracting.

Conner must think so, too, because it toddles over and demands to be picked up. Superman at least has the decency to look to Lex, then, and wait for Lex’s nod. Then he picks Conner up.

Conner instantly snags a handful of Superman’s hair and tugs harshly. Superman’s head follows with the pull, and he hisses in pain. “Careful, Conner,” he says, and sounds almost besotted.

He has absolutely no dignity.

To think, this is the most powerful being on the planet.

“Superman,” says Conner and pulls again. Superman grins, wide and bright and fuck, Lex looks away before he gets blinded. He shouldn’t have come. He shouldn't have let Conner come. If Conner remembers this, it might compromise its conviction that Superman is solely an alien threat.

Which, of course, Lex knows to be the truth.

He doesn’t have a shred of doubt.

Jonathan sits Conner on his lap after lunch, showing Conner how to fix a radio. Conner seems enthralled, so Lex pulls back a little to a corner of the room. He’s practicing this whole ‘don’t just hover over Conner’s shoulders all the time’ thing. But still. He keeps looking over.

“They’re perfectly safe,” says Martha, smiling at him. Lex starts, looking over at her. She’s next to him, knitting something. “It’s a gift for Conner,” she says and she smiles a little crookedly. “I’ve already made a bunch, ever since Clark told us.”

“You weren’t upset?” asks Lex. He doesn’t know why.

But she shakes her head. “We were shocked, of course. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. But Clark has told us so much about you and Conner. He was hesitant at first, I’ll admit. There were concerns…”

“That I made it to be a weapon? That it’s all a big scheme?”

“I know better now,” says Superman, and it really is odd to think of him as such when he looks so… so… so disarming. So human. So normal.

So plebeian.

Nothing at all like Lex’ greatest foe. Like his toughest adversary. Like his most humiliating defeat.

Turning away from him, Lex focuses on Martha. “And then?”

“He got to know you. He saw you with your child.” Martha smiles, clapping him on his leg. “You’re a good father. Clark knows that. So you don’t have to worry so much; he’d never take a child away from a good parent.”

“But he would a bad parent?”

“Wouldn’t you?” She keeps smiling at him. Then she looks over his shoulder and her face lights up at something, and she hurries over to Jonathan and Conner. Lex, for once, doesn’t look to see what Conner is doing. He stays still.

Clark sits down beside him, in his mother’s empty seat. He looks so harmless. “Lex, I know you love Conner,” he says. He’s so soft, and gentle, and he takes one of Lex’s hands and holds it in his bigger, warmer one. “I wouldn't take them form you. You know it, too. How much I care for Conner.”

“You’re just monitoring it, making sure I don’t fill Conner’s head with my evil.” Lex sneers. But Clark shakes his head and he’s so close, he’s blotting out the whole world. Lex can hardly think, for once in his life.

Clark smiles at him, gently. He squeezes Lex’s hand. “Maybe at first,” he admits. “I was worried, about where they came from and what you wanted with them. But Lex, I’m not blind. You treat Conner better than you treat yourself. You’re one of the most committed parents I’ve ever seen.”

Clark shakes his head. “It’s a violation, of course, that you’ve done this without asking me, without telling me. And I’m not saying I don’t have a problem with that. But after Ultraman… I should have searched harder, for your trial. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t the problem everyone was telling me it was. I wanted it to be easy, for once. So I ignored it. And then you got out and you did… this.”

Clark looks at Conner, so Lex does, too. Exhaling deeply, Clark shakes his head. “Conner’s a wonder. I love them, Lex. I’ve spend a lot of time thinking about it. I’ve talked about it a lot, with my parents and Lois and my friends. They kind of hate you right now. But… I do love Conner. They’re my child, and you’re their father.”

Lex is, for once in his life, without words.

Clark keeps looking at him.

In the afternoon, there’s a cake for Conner. It’s just Lex and Conner and the Kents, and it might be the most genuine birthday celebration he’s ever been to. Conner deserves it, of course. It deserves the world—and Lex is going to make sure it gets it, no matter what it takes. But for now, there’s cake.

Lex lets Martha and Clark alternate feeding Conner. He sips at his coffee, black like his soul. It’s disgusting, but Lex didn’t have the heart to correct Martha. And neither did Clark, apparently, because Superman definitely knows Lex’s standing coffee order.

Conner is delighted at the cake. It’s doubly delighted at one sip of lemon soda that Lex lets it have. It’s triply delighted when people start pulling out gift-wrapped packages out of hiding holes. Lex crosses his arms and sits down on the floor with Conner. He holds out his gift bag. “This is the deed to an island,” he says, and Clark groans. Martha giggles. Jonathan is fiddling with their gifts, trying to decide in which order to give them. “However, I understand that you don’t know what an island is yet, so I also got you toys.”

Conner seems to love all them, and Lex puts up with the hit his image takes in the Kents’ eyes.

Martha and Jonathan’s gifts are mostly farming related. Conner gets a cow plush, too, which it instantly falls in love with. Lex can practically see hearts in those dangerously pretty eyes. Conner is going to be a heartbreaker, when it grows up.

As is only to be expected: it’s Luthor eyes, after all.

Clark gifts Conner only a single toy. It’s a toy keyboard. “I didn’t know what to get,” he says under everybody’s judgment eyes. “I thought it’d be cute. Conner likes art.”

“Fine,” says Lex. Conner is already poking at the keys on the package cover. Lex smiles. “Almost right, Conner. Good job.”

Conner grins at him.

After cake, they watch TV. Conner ignores it in favor of banging on the keyboard—it’s already broken a key, but ‘Pa Kent’, as he told Lex to call him, fixed it while Conner sniffled in despair. It took almost half an hour to calm it back down. The news are playing the video from the press conference, zooming in on Conner’s face. Lex frowns.

“Are you staying the night?” asks Jonathan. Lex tears his gaze away from the TV.

“I’m afraid I have an early morning,” he says. Conner is still playing with the keyboard, Clark trying to teach him a lullaby. Lex has entirely forgotten about lullabies: he hopes it’s not a detriment. But Conner seems to be enjoying the music lesson, so Lex resolves to find a good one to use that isn’t too sappy.

“You’re welcome to visit whenever you like,” says Martha. She has a pie in hand, placing it on the coffee table. They just finished the cake not long ago, thinks Lex. “This is for you to take home with you, if you’d like. I thought Conner might like it.”

And Lex of course doesn’t care at all for her opinion, or wishes. But he does agree that Conner might like it: Conner certainly loved the cake. And it does smell pretty appetizing, not that Lex is going to try it himself, of course. “Thank you, Mrs. Kent,” he says.

She waves her hand. “Ma, please, you’re family.” He must certainly is not. But he’s not going to argue about it again.

It was embarrassing enough the first time.

Clark returns with Lex and Conner, walking into Lex’ home lik he belongs here. Lex watches him. “I’m not going to suddenly change, you know,” he says, tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. He’s sure Superman has ulterior motives for being here so often, not just visiting Conner. He’s sure part of it is just keeping an eye on Lex, making sure he doesn’t do anything too evil again.

Which, of course he is. He’s a billionaire. That doesn’t happen without unethical business practices.

“I know,” says Clark. He puts Conner down on the bed, the toddler soundly asleep, body all floppy. Conner draws itself to Lex’ normal sleeping space, burrowing into his pillow. Lex lets it, walking over to the padlocked mini-bar. He pours himself a shot of bourbon, staring at the liquid.

“I really won’t,” says Lex again. He glares at Clark. “So I don’t know what you’re playing at, but it’s no use. I’m not going to suddenly denounce my actions or reform.”

“I know, Lex. I’m not expecting you to suddenly be a different person,” says Clark. He joins Lex by the bar, leaning against it opposite him. Lex stares into his eyes, and he waits for the illusion to break. For Clark’s open expression, his kind eyes, his gentle appearance, to reveal the ugliness underneath. Because surely, there must be something.

He can’t really be… be this…

He just can’t.

It’s a stupid thought, and Lex feels his intelligence drop just by indulging it.

“I know you think of me as living in a palace and watching the world, separated from it. But I am a part of it, Lex, as much as you. Arguably more.” Clark smiles, huffs a little laugh. Was that a joke? Should Lex have laughed? But Clark smooths over the silence, continuing, “Just give me a chance to prove myself, Lex. Like I’m giving you. Let’s do something, go bowling or something. Just the two of us.”

“That’s utterly banal and stupid.” Lex unclenches his jaw. He thinks of Clark in that tiny farm in the middle of nowhere, human parents fussing over him. “Fine. I own a bowling alley, of course. It’ll be just the two of us, as you want.”

Clark smiles. “Thank you, Lex.”

Rolling his eyes, Lex swallows the bourbon and turns away.

Conner is with Mercy and its doctor, in case something happens when Lex isn’t there. He’s really starting to get what Mercy meant about the whole ‘leave Conner alone for an hour a day’ thing. But he has the video feed from the nanny cam, so he comforts himself by watching it in the car to the bowling alley he owns. It’s been closed for them, not even leaving any employees. Lex is traveling incognito in a low-key car, foot tapping on the floor.

Superman at least isn’t waiting in costume outside the bowling alley. Lex gets out of the car as Clark Kent walks up to him, greeting him with a simple and yet crudely effective, “Hello, Lex.”

“Right,” says Lex, bypassing him. He leads the way inside, ignoring the heavy weight of Clark’s gaze upon his back. Clark catches up effortlessly, of course, and Lex just sighs.

The bowling alley is impeccably clean, having been shut down the whole day for ‘maintenance’. Lex heads straight for the counter and sat his hands down upon it, ignoring the quivering look of the employee. He doesn’t have time to worry about each and every minute detail of his companies. He owns dozens of them and have investments in dozens and dozens more: he barely has the time to manage LuthorCorp, never mind caring about each and every one of them.

“Set it up,” says Lex.

The employee gulps. “What’s your shoe size, Mr. Luthor?” he asks in a squeaky, trembling voice.

“If you think I didn’t bring my own shoes, you’re too dumb to work here,” snaps Lex.

Clark places his hand on the small of Lex’s back. “I’ll need a pair, though,” he says in that charming, mid-western accent. Lex shudders. He puts his weight on Clark’s hand because if Clark is going to be this forward, he’s damn well going to have to commit to it. Lex doesn’t have the patience for half-measures.

Go all in or don’t even bother is basically his motto.

Lex lets Clark keep his hand on him, though. It sends a shiver down his spine, the weight of it, the closeness of it. It’s just because Lex has gotten so used to Clark in his space. Sometimes he wakes up and Clark’s already right there, sitting on the floor and entertaining Conner. Lex just… it’s just acclimation.

It’s nothing special. Nothing to think about.

He really should stop thinking about it.

Lex lets Clark go first.

It’s a break, and an opportunity to gather himself. Clark doesn’t seem to mind, stepping away with an expression of concentration. Picking up his ball, Clark smiles at Lex over his shoulder. “Cheer me on?”

“In your dreams.”

Clark winks.

It shouldn't be so attractive.

Sinking deeper into the cheap plastic chair, Lex grouches. But he doesn’t take his eyes off Clark.

Clark steps up, and takes position. “You’re terrible,” says Lex, instantly able to spot it.

Clark laughs. “I kind of have to make sure I don’t break anything, and I don’t go bowling that often.”

“Excuses.” Lex waves him off, crossing his legs and splaying out, forcing his muscles to relax. Eyelids hooded, he watches Clark toss the ball with a truly pathetic form. Lex laughs, eyes crinkling.

Stilling, Clark watches him, too.

After a while, Clark says, “Your turn.”

Lex does excellently, after all. He doesn’t engage in activities he’s not an expert in. Well, in public, at least. He does need practice to become an expert. It’s unfortunate, but he’s just a human.

As much as he hates it. And fully intends to change it, one day.

He’s just waiting for science to catch up.

“You're good,” says Clark when Lex sits back down, as if it’s a surprise. Lex glares at him, and Clark laughs. “I don’t mean anything by it,” he says, and Lex takes personal offense at his soothing tone. Lex isn’t that bad. Sure he’s got a temper, and sure he’s demanding, and sure he doesn’t tolerate tomfoolery, but… he’s not that bad, is he?

Fuck.

“Fuck you,” says Lex, and kisses Clark.

Clark makes a startled noise, but grabs Lex’s waist and kisses right back and truly, fuck him. To think that he has the audacity to play games with Lex, trying to what, show Lex he can be a better person? Trick him into not doing bad shit? Fuck you, Lex is the way he is on purpose: for his parents, for his legacy, for himself. He’s going to go down in history.

Fuck you.

“Asshole,” mutters Lex into Clark’s mouth, and Clark groans.

“Takes one to know one.”

Lex almost laughs, keeping it to a huff at the last second. Clark’s lips are soft, and he kisses back as harshly as Lex kisses him. His hands are gentle, too, careful. Lex would be infuriated if he didn’t know that it’s because Clark is ridiculously strong, and could easily hurt him. That’s infuriating in a different way, though.

Mercy is never going to let him live this down.

She’s going to be so judgmental.

Pulling back, Lex untangles himself from Clark and wipes his mouth. Under Clark’s hot and heavy gaze, Lex nods toward their arena of battle. “Your turn. Show me what you’ve got.”

“You know exactly what I’ve got,” says Clark, and steals another kiss.

His next attempt at bowling is somehow even sadder. Lex is almost embarrassed he’s apparently into this man, including this painfully average version. But at least he’s attractive, when he sighs and brushes hi hands through his curly hair. And when he smiles at Lex as he slumps into the chair, the thing creaking under him. Lex even deigns to pat his shoulder in faux-commiseration.

He’s really losing his edge, Lex thinks.

He resolves to set off an international crises tomorrow. Just to keep himself sharp.