"I should have known better with a girl like you, that I would love everything that you do, and I do, hey, hey, hey, and I do. Whoa, woah, I never realized what a kiss could be, this could only happen to me; can't you see, can't you see? That when I tell you that I love you, oh, you're gonna say you love me too, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, oh, and when I ask you to be mine, you're gonna say you love me too," John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

"I have to admit, my father has excellent tastes. Never would have thought I'd say so. Never thought I'd think it," I hear myself say to Clark. Two days since we came home. Seventeen days since the transplant. Clark, and Dad, and I made love every night. Feeling mostly strong. Tired, sometimes. Still officially on bed rest. A big bed. Big enough for three. Healing well, despite the pain.

"You would feel much more," Dad pauses, searching for a word that won't offend me. "Comfortable, if you would take the pain medication the doctor gave you. There's nothing wrong with that." He reaches out to stroke my face. It must be 3:00. Had this fight about a hundred times.

"It's not terrible," I lie. I'm not sick. My incision is almost healed. Almost three weeks have gone by. Should be feeling better now. Dad senses this. Damn. Thought I could hide the pain. Should have known better. Even he seems to be getting well faster. Maybe Clark was right. Healing touch…just not with his hands.

"Regardless of what you tell yourself, me, Clark, or anyone else, you've just had major surgery. Pain is normal. You need to relax, allow your body whatever time it needs to—recuperate." He takes a couple pills from the bottle, presses them into my palm.

"I think your dad is right," Clark informs me. Big surprise. I take the pills. Easier than fighting. They're both right. I feel better even after just a few minutes. Clark might have told me that I was his favorite, but the way he acts around my father, you'd never know it. Even when we fuck it's always me and Clark and Clark and Dad or Clark and Dad and Dad and me, if you get what I mean by that.

"I didn't expect to feel like crap for this long," I admit, whispering, after Dad falls asleep. It's late, and we've just finished a night of Luthor/Kent marathon sex. "He seems to be getting better faster than me, which isn't even remotely fair, and the two of you are like a couple of love struck teenagers. I'm just the third wheel, screw-up of a son who he owes his life to now. If it weren't for that, you'd have kicked me out a long time ago." Damn, I did not mean to say any of that out loud. I guess the pills made me more relaxed than I expected them to.

Clark stares at me blankly, and then he pulls me into his arms, kissing me over, and over, saying I love you, about a million times. I feel myself giving into him because as angry as I'd like to be with him, I'm about a hundred million times more in love with Clark, and we both know it. I feel him slipping inside of me, ever so gently, and our bodies convulsing together, his breath on the nape of my neck, he's exploding inside of me, and then I fall into his arms.

"You should have said something," Clark tells me, even though he doesn't have to. The two of us curled up together only take up about a quarter of the bed, and we've rolled all the way to one side, with my father on the other. I turn to look at him. "I love you so much, if I had to make a choice, there wouldn't even be a contest. It's you, always you, and if you ever wanted, only you." He's whispering, because Dad's a light sleeper and I would like to keep this conversation private, we both would.

When I turn back to Clark I don't even bother trying to hide the tears in my eyes, but the weird thing is, I'm actually feeling better. I don't know if it was Clark, or the painkillers or the combination of both, but I am better. AT least, I think I might be.

"I love you too Clark, I think I just needed to hear those things out loud, and I needed to let my stuff out too. Do you think that maybe from now on you could sort of—I need you to—what we just did, it helped me. I think it helps Dad too, and I'm sort of babbling here." Clark nods, quickly, pulling me even closer to him than I had thought possible.

He holds me for a long time, just whispering, I love you, over and over, even after he's sure I heard him, and believe it. Laying here in the late night darkness with rays of silver moonlight shining down on his body, Clark is even more beautiful than ever, which I didn't think was something that might be possible—okay that was the painkillers.

Yes Clark is beautiful, and he looks even better than usual, but well let's just say it's a good thing I don't have to draw up any official documents, because frankly I can't even put together a coherent sentence. I don't like feeling sick, in pain, uncomfortable, weak in front of my father, and I practically had a melt down this afternoon at least he was asleep when I actually did lose it.

"If you want," Clark tells me, taking my face in his hand and turning it so we can look each other in the eyes. "We can make a pact that I only do-you know—with you, I mean with you, and me" his voice sort of trails off and he looks into the distance.

"No, I think—I think you were right when you said that you could help and—I think you were right. I think that there is something inside of you that is making him better. I can feel it making me better, even after just one time. Maybe when he's healthy for then we can talk about changing things but if we—If you can—it would be better for both of us to be able to—you—I'm not shy like this, not ever, except with you and sometimes with my father."

"I have more than enough strengh for that," he promises, looking me in the eyes once again, and kissing my cheek softly. "And I think you were right too, before, about not telling your dad that I…about not telling. It's not that I don't trust him, but it's just not the right time."

"He's sneaky, and manipulative, and he loves me, which makes everything a hundred times more complicated. I love him with—I love him completely, but I don't always trust him. Which is sort of why I think that might be why things don't always work, but he's not always honest with me, how can he possible expect anymore than what he gives?" Wow that' even more pathetic than it sounded in my head. No wonder we don't get along. No wonder Dad never trusts me. No wonder things never work between the two of us. How can he trust me if I don't at least show him the same courtesy? My father loves me, all he wants is for us to get along, and I keep screwing that up.

Or is that just how he wants me thinking? You this, this is exactly why our relationship sucks so much. Everything is fucked up. I've always wanted to trust him, wanted us to get along, and I suspect—I hope—he wanted the same thing, but things have always been difficult. He used to say he wanted me to be strong, like him. He used to say he wanted me to be a Luthor, and I used to think I wasn't cut out for it.

When I was little I thought he was man. When I was twelve I though he was just a jackass who treated everyone like crap. Even when we started sleeping together, he wasn't nice to me all the time, just—sometimes. So now, I'm not sure how I feel about him, whether or not I can trust him. It's not that I'm afraid of him, or rather I'm not afraid that he'd physically hurt me, just of what could happen between us, what would happen to me if things don't work out, if things change.

What if he gets better and stops loving me, and leaves and what if Clark goes with him and I have nothing? My god, I've done it. I've actually gone and done it. I have completely and utterly lost my mind. We all knew it was bound to happen one of these days, what with my father, the way he raised me, everything. It was only a matter of time and now it's really happened.

"You shouldn't feel bad for thinking those things. You're not sure whether or not you can trust him, because he lied to you for so long. He's hurt you so many times, and you're just scared, confused—and you guys need to work on that. It's gonna take time, and it isn't going to be easy, but I think you can do it." He pulls me even closer, which seemed impossible before, but he finds a way, rubbing my back, shoulders, stomach, arms, legs, touching me everywhere.

"I love you Lex, and if for some reason things don't work out between you and your—between you and Lionel, I'll stick with you. We're gonna be together forever, and I'll never leave you," he promises.

"You shouldn't say never. You don't know what could happen a year from now, five years, ten, twenty years. I know you care about me, which helps, even with the paranoia, but uh—but sometimes, I'm gonna need you to tell me, over and over and over. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he tells me, kissing the top of my head. "I will tell you a hundred times a day, every day, for the rest of our lives, if you need it. I will tell you that I love you so many times, you'll be sick of it." Then Dad makes a soft sort of moaning sound, as he wakes, sitting up. He turns to look at Clark and me, awning softly.

"Are you boys alright?" At first I can't even figure out why he is asking, but then I remember how Clark and I have moved over to the very edge of the bed, the two of us curled up, whispering to each other so he wouldn't hear, so I'd feel safe, so we can have some privacy.

"We just—I mean uh—we were talking and you were, resting…sleeping. I want—I didn't want to wake you up. So we moved over here and we were just—talking," I manage to get out, all but stuttering. I know he can see straight through me. Dad probably knows exactly what we were talking about, and he's not just gonna call me on it he's going to, well I don't know what he's going to do, but it is going to be bad.

"Would you come here for a moment?" my father reaches out to me with his left hand. "Lex, I would like some time to talk to you privately. Is that okay?" he asks, when I don't move any closer to him. At least he's doing this in private. It'll only be about half as mortifying with just the two of us. Clark looks me over for a minute, watching my face, my reaction, studying Dad, trying to figure out just what's going on here. He leans down to whisper in my ear.

"Are you gonna be okay?" his voice cracks just a tiny bit, but the statement is on e of strengh none-the-less. "I don't wanna leave you alone with him right now. I don't know—I'd just hate to see you get hurt."

"He wouldn't do that," I whisper back. "Not in any way you think. He might…he won't hurt me. You don't have to worry, I'll be okay. I promise." Clark looks back over at my father for a moment or two, and then nods.

"I've gotta go back to the farm for a while—do my chores. I'll be back around 9:00 or so. We can have breakfast or something then. Okay?" My father smiles, softly stroking his temple.

"I'll be sure to call down and have something special brought up then." Clark kisses me and then stands to leave. "Clark, aren't you forgetting something?" he asks, touching his beard. Clark gives my father a confused look. "The helicopter will take you back to Smallville, alright?"

"Oh yeah…thanks. I'll try and take care of everything as fast as possible, so I can get back here soon," he tells me with another hug and another kiss. Then he's gone and for the first time since the operation it's just me and Dad. He reaches for me again, fingers tickling my arm.

"Alright, Lex. Something is wrong. You've been behaving as though something were bothering you. Tell me what's going on. It's okay, Son. You can tell me." I shake my head vigorously. No I can't tell you, you won't love me any more. I'm weak—I'm so weak. I'm sorry. Please don't hate me. "Lex, talk to me. Tell me what is wrong. I won't be angry with you."

"I know you won't get mad, that's not what I'm worried about. I'm just scared you're gonna—I mean nothing is wrong. I'm fine. Everything is fine," I lie, and again badly. I suck at lying, at least where he's concerned, but what does he expect me to do, just blurt out twenty-odd years of pent up frustration and mistrust and whatever else is locked up in my sub-conscious.

"Lex, there is no sense in avoiding this. Something is bothering you. I want our relationship to work this time around, and that cannot happen if we aren't honest with each other. Relax. I am not trying to trick you. This is not a setup." That's not true, I wanna scream at him. I don't mean to say anything, but for the second time today something just slips out, and I just let everything out.

"But I'm scared, Daddy—I'm scared that you're starting to—that you're gonna stop loving me soon and fast and then everything's gonna go back to the way it was before. You don't trust me, and you've never give me any reason to trust you, and I don't know how I'm supposed to act around you or—I just feel like the whole thing was a scam so you could take advantage of me, and break my heart and," my voice trails off then, and I look away.

Then, just as I'm about to get off of the bed, stand up, and run out of the room in tears, but he grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me to his chest as tight as humanly possible.

"I'm sorry, Lex. I never meant to hurt you. When you were a little boy, all I wanted was for you to grow up to be strong, happy, and healthy. I wanted you to be like me, but I made—I made mistakes. I hurt you, and I'm sorry for that. All I can do now, is love you and protect you and try to undo the damage I've already done. I am not trying to trick you, hurt you again, but I understand your hesitation. I love you, and I want to help."

The whole time he's stalking to me, my father is rubbing my back and shoulders, gently massaging me, and kissing the top of my head and cheeks, like Clark was. Maybe he's right. Yeah, okay, things haven't always been great between us, in fact sometimes they down right suck, but if he's willing to try and work things out then so am I.