The long-denied existence of Luthorcorp Fertilizer Plant No. 3's third level had made it useful for testing conducted under less than compliant standards. It was no longer a secret itself, but it still held a few.

"I'm not sure I understand why we're here, Mr. Luthor," Philip Sawyer whispered as Lionel led the way through a hidden access door in the rear of the plant, obscured by waste containers. The narrow staircase behind it led directly to Level Three.

"Of course you don't, I've not yet told you why," Lionel retorted. He was no longer going to give more information than was necessary to an underling. Not after the botched attempt to abduct Clark Kent. "You'll know what I want you to know, when I want you to know. Not before."

Sawyer nodded glumly. "Yes, sir," he said, though he wasn't certain he wanted to know. He had no illusions about Lionel Luthor - he knew the man dealt underhandedly, often despicably, but it was the first time he himself had been involved in the extinguishing of a human life - three human lives, actually, and he feared there would be more if Lionel's unfettered ambition was let loose.

"Pay attention now, Sawyer. We can't afford any missteps at this juncture."

"Yes sir," Sawyer repeated. He was a good yes-man. Lionel found him tedious, but compliant.

"There's a door at the bottom of the stairs to the left. Everything I need is just beyond it." Lionel descended the metal steps slowly, still recovering from the near-fatal experience of counterfeiting his own death.

Sawyer ran his eyes over every inch of the concrete cinderblocks to the left of the landing, but saw no sign of a door. "Sir, are you sure this is where the door was?"

Lionel grunted and nudged the younger man out of his way. "Of course I am. You don't think I'd have my secret vault secured behind an ordinary door, do you?" He turned and knelt before the staircase, pulling out the steel facing of the bottom step to reveal a glowing access panel. He entered a series of numbers, and suddenly an entire three-foot length of the thick wall began to sink away, leaving a two-foot gap to step through. "Hydraulic press," Lionel offered by way of explanation.

Sawyer followed his employer through the narrow opening and stood aghast at what lay before him. Everything Lionel had ever denied possessing was here, along with things that Sawyer couldn't even try to name. Antiques, rare artifacts, hoarded cash - some of it counterfeit - weapons, computers, Kryptonite, and strangest of all, a wall covered in charts and scraps of paper bearing some kind of foreign symbols. "What is this place?" he queried in wonder.

"Close your mouth, Sawyer, you look like a child at Disneyland. It's just a vault, one of several, and we have business to attend to."

"Yes sir," Sawyer replied predictably.

"Now," Lionel began, setting the bag he'd had strapped to his back on a cold metal table, "we have to formulate our next maneuver." He pulled out the stack of discs from Dr. Ripley and inserted one into the optical drive of the nearest Powerbook. "And thanks to the legacy of the late Dr. Ripley, I know exactly what that will be."

Sawyer stepped up behind Lionel and looked over his shoulder at the screen. "Is that all?"

"Is that all?" Lionel repeated. "Your penchant for overkill notwithstanding, Sawyer, what more is required - in your humble opinion?"

"Nothing, sir," Sawyer answered swiftly, shaking his head.

"Indeed," Lionel gave the man a terse nod, then turned back to the screen. "You don't use a cannon to kill a mosquito, Sawyer."

"Forgive me, Mr. Luthor, but I wouldn't call Clark Kent a mosquito."

"Precisely," Lionel said bitingly with a gleam in his eye. "He's never been treated like one. But he's expecting my move now, he anticipates it, thanks to your ineptitude. My tactics must evolve with his expectation - no full-scale invasions this time, just one, small pinprick of an advance."

"But as soon as the morning news reports your death, his guard will be down, right?"

"Don't underestimate Clark Kent. He's smarter than you'd expect. That's why the only way to approach him is with a simple, uncomplicated operation. He's less likely to see it coming."

Sawyer furrowed his brow in confusion. The information on the screen had been about a firearm. "I thought shooting him wouldn't do anything."

Lionel sneered, as much in annoyance with Sawyer as with glee over his devious plot. He pulled the stack of printed data from his bag and dropped it on Sawyer's lap. "I suggest you study that. I found the account of young Mr. Van McNulty to be of particular interest."

Chloe and Marin remained at the table when Martha moved to comfort Clark.

"Clark, sweetheart, we'll figure this out," she said tearfully, trying to give her son assurance that she didn't feel herself.

"It's all my fault, I shouldn't have gone to the lab. This would never have happened if I - " At that moment his eyes met Marin's. "Oh God Marin, I'm so sorry."

Marin shook her head. "It's not your fault, Clark. You can't blame yourself for any of this."

"She's right, Clark," Martha agreed, and dropped onto one knee, momentarily forgetting the remnants of the window that covered the floor. She cried out involuntarily when a sharp pain pierced her skin, and she stood again to reveal blood seeping through her jeans.

Clark looked from his mother's bloodied knee into her benevolent face, tears marring its luminous surface. She deserved all the best things that the world could offer her, all the happiness it could afford. He stood and reached out to wipe away a tear that had trailed over her cheek. "See?" he whispered chokingly. "It doesn't matter how - anybody who gets close to me gets hurt in some way." He stepped backward, inadvertently biting into the wall below the window with his heel. I only bring destruction.

Clark nodded, seemingly in silent agreement with himself, then looked at each face in the room in turn, seeing pain in each of them. He didn't yet realize that their pain was largely a reflection of his. Without a word, he exited through the broken window and headed for his loft.

Martha was transfixed by a sight she'd never seen before. Clark always behaved as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders, but she'd never seen him stoop beneath it. He'd always stood tall, even in uncertainty, striking an imposing profile. But now, as he slowly, painstakingly advanced toward his fortress of solitude, his back was bowed under a yoke hung evenly with fear and guilt.

In the absence of some other productive task with which to occupy her overrun mind, Martha bent to pick up the remaining glass, ignoring the blood dripping from her knee.

"Let me help you with that," Marin insisted gently, bringing a large bowl from the center of the table to collect the fragments.

"You should go lie down," Martha said quietly, not looking up from the floor.

"It's okay, I feel fine, really - let me help." Marin couldn't explain it, but physically, she'd never felt better.

Martha raised her face to reveal fresh tears streaming over it. "Marin, I'd really rather do this myself, if you don't mind. You go get some rest."

Marin nodded her assent and advanced up the stairs before she realized she didn't know where she was supposed to go. She tried the nearest door and found herself in Clark's room. Her throat closed and her lungs deflated at the sight of it, with its plaid bedspread and curtains his mother chose, a lava lamp and a rack of CDs, a TV, an American flag tacked above the bed, and a multitude of other testaments to the promise of youth.

She was certain she'd robbed him of that promise.

Chloe had waited awkwardly until she was certain that Martha didn't remember that she was there before she slipped quietly through the kitchen door and took tentative steps toward the barn. Clark obviously wanted to be left alone, which Chloe took to mean that he desperately needed a friend.

So now she found herself standing in silence at the top of the loft's stairs, her hands absently tugging at the zipper on her jacket while she tried to think of a way to make her presence known. Clark was stretched haphazardly across the couch, one arm on the floor and his face pressed into the cushion.

"I can hear you, you know," he spoke with muffled words. "Before you even left the house I heard you coming." He turned over and sat up, looking at Chloe almost challengingly. "Are you here to give me some magic words to make it all better?"

He'd never looked so alone before, not even in the mad solitude in which Chloe had found him in Metropolis after his parents lost their baby. Knowing what she knew now that she didn't know then, she realized he must blame himself for that too.

Chloe smiled, and felt sick for it. It was one of those painful smiles that jumps into your face when you're too shocked or mortified or hurt to react any other way, an involuntary personal treason, your body behaving in contrast to your orders at the most inappropriate time. She covered her face and shook her head.

"I don't think there is anything to make it all better."

Clark huffed and nodded, the same achingly traitorous smile pulling at his mouth. "You know what the really sick part is?"

"Aside from all of it?" Sensing she'd been right about Clark needing someone to talk to, Chloe crossed the stretch of floor between him and herself and took a seat beside him on the sofa.

Clark grimaced and clutched his head. "This is crazy, but - " he paused and looked up at the ceiling. "My first thought - actually my first feeling - when she said she was pregnant - I was happy about it. Before I even thought about how or why, for just a second before the words really set in - I was happy to hear it. How messed up is that?"

Chloe gave his words considerable pause before she answered. "I wouldn't say it's messed up, and I bet if you think about it, you wouldn't either."

"I've been thinking about it," Clark sighed.

"And?"

"And I guess I know why."

"Why then?"

Clark exhaled and leaned against the sofa, letting his head fall back. "Because it answers questions, you know - things I've wondered about myself." He stood abruptly and went to the window, leaning out to look up at the sky. "For the last couple of years I've wondered now and then about whether I could ever be a dad, you know? Someday, I mean. Whether it was even possible." He turned around to face Chloe. "Is that weird?"

"No, of course not," Chloe affirmed and walked over to join him. "And I think you'd be a great dad."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You know - someday."

"Someday is… kinda now."

"Yeah." There wasn't much to be said to lighten that.

"And the other thing - " Clark began.

"What other thing?"

"It's a little selfish."

"Spit it out."

"It's just that - well, you know I love my parents, they're the best family I could ask for, but -"

"But what?"

"But… well just imagine not having a single blood relative. Not one. Even if I were adopted under normal circumstances, just a normal kid, there'd be somebody out there that shares my blood. I guess… you know, this baby is the only person on Earth that I'm actually related to." Clark looked sideways at Chloe, as if he expected her to scoff at him.

"That isn't selfish, Clark. It's natural to want to belong, we all do that."

"So… you don't think this is weird?"

"What, that my best friend is an alien and a mad scientist stole his sperm to make an intergalactic baby? What's weird about that?" For what felt like the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours, Chloe felt her attempt at levity fall flat. "I'm sorry, bad joke."

Clark smiled at her. "It's okay. It's an insane situation."

"Yeah," Chloe nodded and looked up at Clark. She'd never thought of him as fragile, but he really was. There were times she'd have gone so far as to say he was heartless, moments that she'd thought were unforgivable - but she always forgave him. And now she understood why all of those things happened. He was vulnerable in ways that nobody could empathize with. Chloe raised herself up on the tips of her toes and tried to wrap her arms consolingly around his neck. "You know, it would be so much easier to give you a comforting hug if you were a foot shorter."

Clark laughed - a true, heartfelt laugh - and slid to the floor.

"There's that smile I was looking for!" Chloe exclaimed and settled beside him. "And this is a much better hugging height."

Clark pulled Chloe against him and gratefully accepted her embrace. "Thank you, Chloe."

"For what?"

"Just - for everything. For being who you are, for being here now. For knowing I need to talk to someone, even though I didn't."

Chloe smiled. "That's what friends are for, right?" She was surprised to find that she uttered that phrase sincerely, without a trace of a subtext. Days earlier she would have had to push her breath past the lump of resentment in her throat in order to choke the word "friends," but now it didn't feel like something she'd have to settle for. "There's somebody else you need to talk to though." She looked up at Clark pointedly.

"Marin," he spoke with a nod.

"Marin." Chloe repeated. "Do you know what you're gonna do?"

Clark shook his head. "No idea. I still have to figure out what to do about Lionel. And Lex - I don't know what to do about any of it."

"But you're going to go talk to her, right?"

Clark looked down at Chloe, puzzled. "Are you worried about her?"

"You're not?"

"Of course I am, it's my fault she's in this mess."

"Clark, we're not going to play the "all the ills of the world are on my shoulders" game again. You did not drug her or implant her, you were taken advantage of just as much as she was. Why do you always see somebody else's amoral ambitions as being your fault?"

"Because me being who I am is what give people those ambitions."