The clinical glow of the LuthorCorp lab was a sharp contrast to the predawn mist clinging to the fields of Smallville. Lex sat in his Porsche, the engine idling with a low, expensive purr, as he watched the sunrise catch the red paint of the Kent barn.
He hadn't slept. The data from the woods—the PSI required to crush aircraft-grade aluminum, the sheared carbon fiber of the stun-batons—was burned into his retinas. He knew now that the boy who had pulled him from the river wasn't just a hero. He was a force of nature.
Lex shifted the car into gear, the gravel crunching under his tires as he pulled into the driveway.
…
Clark was already out, hauling a heavy feed bag toward the stables. He looked exhausted, his flannel shirt damp with the morning dew, his movements sluggish in a way that Lex now recognized as a practiced, careful performance of human fatigue.
"Lex," Clark said, stopping mid-stride. His voice was cautious, guarded by the secrets Lex was now determined to dismantle. "It's a little early for a social call."
Lex stepped out of the Porsche, adjusting his coat against the morning chill. He didn't lead with questions about the woods or the "miraculous" strength. He led with the one thing Clark couldn't refuse: a hand held out in friendship.
"I couldn't sleep, Clark," Lex said, his voice brimming with a rehearsed, flawless sincerity. "I saw those men in the clearing last night. I saw the equipment they were carrying. Professional bounty hunters, hired by a 'family' that views a ten-year-old boy as a proprietary asset. It's been weighing on me."
Clark set the bag down, his eyes scanning Lex for an ulterior motive. "The Sheriff has them. Ryan is safe for now."
"For now," Lex countered, stepping closer into Clark's personal space. He stood near enough to see the lack of a single bruise on Clark's skin—not a scratch from a fight that had left three grown men hospitalized. "But Ryan's step-parents have deep pockets. They'll hire the best legal teams in Metropolis. They'll tie this up in red tape until the state is forced to hand that boy back to the people he's terrified of."
Clark's expression darkened, his jaw tightening with a tension that Lex knew could snap iron. "I won't let that happen."
"And you shouldn't have to do it alone," Lex said firmly. "I've already instructed my personal attorneys to take over Ryan's defense. All medical bills, all relocation costs, the best trauma specialists money can buy—it's all being handled by the Luthor estate."
Clark blinked, the sheer scale of the gesture hitting him like a physical weight. "Lex... I can't ask you to do that. My parents, they'd never—"
"This isn't about your parents' pride, Clark. This is about a boy who deserves a chance, and a friend who shouldn't have to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders." Lex smiled—the warm, disarming smile that had won over boardrooms and enemies alike. "You saved my life on that bridge, Clark. Let me save this boy for you. Let me be the shield so you can just be... you."
Clark looked at Lex, the suspicion in his blue eyes finally beginning to melt into a profound, dangerous gratitude. "Thank you, Lex. I don't even know how to pay you back for this."
"You don't have to," Lex whispered, his hand clamping onto Clark's shoulder. He felt the unnatural, granite-like density of the muscle beneath the fabric. "Just know that I'm in your corner. Always."
As Lex walked back to his car, he felt the hum of triumph in his chest. He hadn't just bought a legal defense; he had bought a front-row seat. By becoming Clark's ultimate benefactor, he had ensured he would be present for every "accident," every "miracle," and every slip of the tongue.
He didn't need to steal the secret anymore. He was going to wait for Clark to trust him enough to give it away.