Lionel had underestimated the strain that his descent from the ill-fated helicopter would put on his heart, still recovering from his myocardial jailbreak. It was the second time that night he'd miscalculated a risk, a fact which left him feeling distinctly unsettled. He loathed any disquieting thought that made him question his own competency - he liked to reserve such questions for those in his employ.

He had behaved rashly, he knew - though he admitted it bitterly even to himself. In the space of a few hours he had learned the truth about Clark, ordered an abduction which failed, escaped from prison and fabricated the appearance of his own death. Productive hours, yes, but reckless. Haste makes waste, the old adage said, and it proved true on this occasion. His quest for the truth about Clark had activated a hair trigger, and he impetuously moved in on the boy, trying to trap him in his home before giving himself time to fully examine the situation.

Careless. If he'd been one of his minions, he'd have fired himself for being so impulsive. It was decidedly out of character. Now he'd lost the upper hand and revealed his cards to his adversary. He couldn't afford to have his next venture falter because he hadn't fastidiously plotted every footstep. He could not permit another wildcard to come into play.

Clark was wildcard.

Unyielding.

Impassable.

What mattered was the girl, Miss Blake, and the new life contained within her. A life the likes of which had never been born on Earth, the study of whom could answer all the questions that young Mr. Kent never would. A life that Clark would most certainly fight diligently to keep from the clutches of a man like Lionel Luthor. That left Lionel with but one course of action. There was only one way he would be able to control the child.

He must kill the father.

This has got to be the most irritating place I've ever been. Lois was waiting impatiently in an exam room that was painted an absurdly bright shade of blue. Aren't hospitals supposed to be nauseatingly pastel? Supposed to be soothing aesthetic, right? It wasn't really the color that bothered her - it was just a scapegoat, because she couldn't express her annoyance at being ignored for over an hour as - of course - there was nobody to complain to. She was subconsciously trying to remember how to spell "aesthetic" when a dark form with a contrastingly pale head filled the open doorway.

Lois waited for her visitor to give some form of explanation as to his presence, but he made no move to do so. "Sure, forego the conventional pleasantries one usually expects when a person walks into your room uninvited, sans knocking I might add. What do you want, Luthor?"

"My apologies," Lex offered, bowing his head slightly forward, his hands thrust into the deep pockets of his svelte black coat. "Though, I'm a bit wounded by the greeting, considering it was me who went to the trouble to bring you here." He ventured into the room and closed the door behind him.

Lois smirked. "Oh, that's right! In that case, I was too nice. I'll forgive you though, if you'll get me out of here." As Lex moved closer, she marked something in his expression that betrayed something wilder, something all at once more bold and more subdued than when she'd seen him last. One hour's interval had altered him.

"Now, Miss Lane, you don't strike me as needing anyone's help to post bail from Smallville Medical Center."

"Miss Lane?" Lois repeated. There was something foreboding about his formality. Lois shook her head. "You're right, I can take care of myself." She moved to pass him, but he caught her by the arm.

"What are you doing?" Lois hissed. This time she detected an errant flash in his eye. He seemed… detached.

Lex smiled and loosened his grip, giving her arm a gentle pat. "No need to deploy your defenses just yet, Lois. All I want to do is talk."

Lois yanked her arm back. "Talking doesn't require physical restraint," she spat.

Lex seemed to find that amusing. "That implies there's a way to restrain you."

Lois rolled her eyes. "Okay, flattering as this is, I'm not interested in hearing you keep saying things I already know about myself. Get to the point, or get out." She didn't especially want to stay herself, but for the time being she had a place to throw him out of if she felt it was necessary.

Lex nodded concedingly and turned away from her. "Have you ever considered the bond between a parent and a child?"

"Challenged it, mostly. What are you getting at?"

"There's something binding in blood, isn't there? A sameness that's undeniable. Inevitable." Lex knew he was being cryptic. It was part of his method.

Lois was getting frustrated. "Are we getting to the point soon, 'cause scratching at the surface doesn't seem to be uncovering anything."

"Ah, but you've just come to it."

"To what? The point?"

"Precisely. All this time, I've been - we've been scratching at the surface, and never really uncovered anything at all."

"We who? What surface?"

"My father."

"You're father…"

"My father is dead."

"Dead?" Lois assumed she'd misheard. Lionel Luthor was an iconic, larger-than-life villainous man. He'd be the one to buy his way out of death, if anybody could. "I'm... sorry, Lex."

Lex turned back to her, his visage far too serene to be that of a son grieving the loss of his father. "Is there some reason you should be? I myself feel no guilt."

Lois couldn't fathom how to respond to that. "What is it you want from me, Lex?"

Lex took a breath and began to circle her. "My father is responsible for the hostage situation last night."

"You're sure about that?"

"His long-standing obsession with Clark leaves little room for doubt."

"Again, exactly what does this have to do with me"

"My father died early this morning in the explosion of Med-Evac helicopter, after he suffered a heart attack." He delivered the news as if he were reading a particularly insipid stock ticker.

Lois was struck by how coldly he spoke. "An explosion?"

"Interesting timing, wouldn't you say? Clark's house is under siege, he believes my father to be responsible, and in the middle of the most daring strike he's ever initiated, he dies. Endgame. Checkmate. All for nothing."

"I'm still not sure I understand why - "

"Clark wasn't there. He wasn't at the house, but he was evidently supposed to be."

"Well it's a good thing he wasn't."

"Things happen around Clark, Lois. Inexplicable things."

Lois' eyes widened. "Are you saying that Clark killed your father?"

Lex smiled eerily. "Not without reason." He stepped toward Lois, backing her against the door. "I want to know everything that happened at the Kent farm."

"Dad, get the door!" Clark shouted as he ran up the porch steps with Marin in his arms.

Jonathan held the front door open for Clark and the stranger. "Clark, what happened? Who is that?"

Clark didn't answer at first. He rushed Marin to the couch and looked into her eyes. "Something's wrong - she reacted to the Kryptonite like I do, but she's not recovering as fast. I'm not sure she's recovering at all." He spun frantically and searched his mother's face. "Was I ever like this?"

Martha shook her head. "Not just from exposure, no - only when you were shot." Martha walked over and knelt next to Clark. "Marin, honey," she soothed. "Can you hear me?"

Marin focused her bleary gaze on Martha's warm face. She could understand everything, she just couldn't seem to form words.

"She seems to be alert," Martha assessed. "Marin, try to breathe, calm down, just breathe slowly, the Kryptonite is gone, you're okay now." Martha, always solid in a crisis, kept her voice at an even, lulling tone.

"Someone want to tell me what's going on here?" Jonathan tried to keep the demanding color out of his voice.

Chloe stood by, curious but not yet surprised by another strange occurrence on the Kent farm.

Clark trusted his mother to care for Marin as she'd always done for him when he'd been afflicted by the meteor rocks, so he stood and turned to his father. "Her name is Marin Blake, she's a research assistant - she works for Dr. Swann."

Jonathan rubbed a hand over his forehead and tried to grasp the situation. "Why is she here?"

Clark shook his head. "I have no idea, Lana dropped her off, and -"

"Whoa, wait - Lana was here? Just now?"

"It's okay, Dad, I heard them coming and met them down the road. Lana didn't see anything."

"What's this about the Kryptonite?"

"I don't know, she - she didn't seem to expect it, 'cause she offered to help get rid of it, and then she just collapsed. Dad, she reacted just like I do - Mom saw her veins."

Both Clark and Jonathan turned back to Marin, and Chloe edged closer to the group clustered around the couch. "How can she have the same reaction but not get any better?"

"I think she's recovering, just much more slowly," Martha surmised. Marin's breathing was less shallow and her complexion was regaining some color. "Can you sit up if I help you?" Marin managed a weak nod and held Martha's right hand while she used her left to help the girl up. "Clark, run and get her a glass of water, would you?"

Clark returned with the glass almost before his mother finished the request, offering it to Marin who accepted it with both hands. "Thank you," she mouthed silently from beneath her heavy eyes.

Being the subject of group scrutiny was markedly uncomfortable, so Marin took momentary solace in slowly draining the glass of cool water. The four expectant faces surrounding her did nothing to assuage her distress.

Clark knelt in front of her when she finished, taking the empty glass from her hand. He searched her eyes for an answer, but couldn't yet pinpoint the question. "Marin, is there something you haven't told me?"

Marin felt as if her heart had leapt into her throat. Am I so transparent?

Clark's mind was racing through possible explanations. "You're not… well, are you? No, of course - you're not… right?"

Marin's pulse raced, and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or terrified that he might have already guessed it. "Not what?"

Clark could hardly dare to speak it, almost hoping it were true but finding the idea ludicrous. "Kryptonian?"

Tears brimmed Marin's eyes as looked into Clark's, so open and hungry to not be alone. "No," she choked. "No, I'm not."

Clark smiled, half-sorrowfully. "Of course." It was almost flippant, as he was trying so hard to conceal his disappointment. Since he'd learned that Jor-El had once visited Earth, an unspoken notion had played in the back of his mind that there may have been someone else visiting before Krypton was destroyed. Someone who never made it home again. It was a dream he never divulged. "So why did you react to the Kryptonite?"

Marin bit her lip and begged herself to stop crying. "It never happened before, when I worked with the samples."

Clark recalled then the use of Kryptonite in the lab, when he was exposed to weaken his flesh enough to draw samples. She hadn't reacted then. "Did something happen to you?"

There was no hiding the tears from such a direct question. She could only nod in response and cover her face, praying for the strength to give up her secret.

Clark gently pulled her hands away from her face and held them in his in an effort to ease her anguish. He was still regretful about how things had gone between them in Metropolis, and felt he owed her some small measure of comfort. "Can you tell me what happened?"

She wanted to tell him, she needed to, the flood of tears still thundering in her head begged her to release the pressure, but she just couldn't bring any words to adequately meet the truth. She shook her head and sobbed.

"Marin," Clark implored, sympathetically stroking his thumb over the back of her trembling hand. "Marin, whatever it is, you can tell me. It's something I need to know, isn't it? This is the reason you're here?"

The tears flowed freshly as she nodded.

"Then just tell me."

Marin closed her eyes and took liberal use of the expectant pause before she swallowed heavily and painstakingly spoke. She kept her eyes closed and barely gave voice to the words. "I'm carrying your child."