“Kansas?” demanded K.

“Oh, man, we are being punished. This is so unfair.”

“Find the kid and quit whining. E and N are standing in Filar shit up to their knees because a merchant from Betelgeuse claims the Filarish ambassador ate his shuttle pod. I gave you this job instead.”

J’s brow furrowed in disgust. “Yeah. Okay. I think we’ll go, uh, find this Kal El dude. When’s our flight leave?”

“Flight?” Zed laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Oh, no. You boys are driving.”

“What?”

K clapped J’s shoulder sympathetically. “Our stuff’s in the car, sport.”

Zed held out a heavy box that had been sitting on the corner of his desk. “And you’re taking this.”

K took the box and grimaced. “Christ, what’s this thing made of, lead?” He lifted the lid slightly and peeked inside. “What is it?”

“A gift from the Tenarrians to Kal El. It’s a necklace of some sort. There’s also a message you’re supposed to relay when you see the kid.”

Frowning, K opened the box further. The necklace was beautiful, a square-cut pendant of some shimmering green stone between two rows of smaller stones. “And we’re sure it’s just a necklace? Not a necklace that’s really a bomb, or a necklace that’s really a small planet, or a necklace that’s really the throne of Antares?” They were still taking shit for that one.

Zed shrugged. “Near as any of us can tell, it’s just a necklace. The stone has some weird properties, but nothing you need to worry about.”

“Yeah. Where’ve I heard that before?” J muttered.

“C’mon, hotshot; let’s roll.” K steered his scowling partner towards the door.

Zed walked around his desk and settled into his chair. “Agent J?” Both men turned back. “Keep your ass out of trouble, would you?”

J saluted flippantly, and the agents left the building at a near-run.

“Hey, K, lemme ask you something.”

“What’s Kal El, Last Son of Krypton, doing in Smallville, Kansas?” K slid into his side of the car.

“No – though, that’s a good one, too. I’m thinking, does Zed have some weird thing about my ass?”

The seat belt slid from between K’s fingers with a whiz and a thwump. “Shit, ace, you’re gonna have to expand on that, really damned fast.”

“I mean it, man. That’s, like, four times this morning he’s mentioned my ass. Has he got some unhealthy obsession with it or something?”

K shrugged helplessly and fastened the belt. “I hadn’t noticed. And I’m not the guy you want to be asking if an obsession with your ass is unhealthy.”

J raised his eyebrows and put the Merc in drive. “You’re sick, dude. Sick.”

K chuckled and gestured expansively. “Drive on, my good man. Kansas ain’t getting any closer.”

“I’m chasing down the sole survivor of Krypton, somewhere in Kansas, with a man obsessed with my ass.” J shook his head. “I gotta get a new job.”

(~(~)~)

SMALLVILLE

They spotted the house at the same time. Coming around a dramatically placed bend in a road that had been completely straight for at least a dozen miles, they were confronted with the sight of an enormous, looming castle stuck in the middle of a cornfield. J, now in the passenger seat, poked K’s arm. “Hey. Check it out.”

They grinned at each other. “He’s got a decoy.”

J pulled out their newest toy, the ESK (“electronic Swiss Army Knife,” the nickname he’d given the multi-function gizmo that had become its unofficial name) and punched a couple of little blue buttons. Nothing happened. “Hey, K, wasn’t it the blue buttons that pulled up the archive files?”

“Uh-uh, sport. The orange one in the corner.”

“Huh.” J stared at the console. “Wonder what I did. Oh, well.” He pushed the orange one in the corner. “Alexander J. Luthor.”

K whistled. “Lex Luthor. He owns ‘bout half the Midwest. And his father owns the other half.”

“They ours?”

“No, these boys’re all human. Freaks, but definitely Earthlings.”

“Least we know we’re in the right place.”

“Sure. How does the last remaining member of the Kryptonian race end up in the middle of Kansas?”

J shut the gadget and slid it back into his pocket. “I don’t know, but I bet his travel agent didn’t get a commission.” K laughed. “Think they’re home?” J asked, peering at the castle.

“Nah. And even if they are, we’re not going in.”

“We’re not?”

K pushed the accelerator to the floor. “We’re on vacation.”

J looked at him incredulously. “The hell we are. You feeling all right? Mission, remember? Last Son of Krypton? Zed pissed as hell at us? Any of this sounding familiar to you?”

“Work with me, slick. We’re on vacation.” By now they were very close to town.

J’s eyes widened, and then he grinned, sliding down in his seat. “Riiiight. We’re on vacation.”

(~(~)~)

J wasn’t sure about a place called The Talon. Too many run-ins with taloned aliens. Those things could take a chunk right out of a guy. K had this one scar, under his—

Find Kal El. Find Kal El. Find Kal El. Never mind where K’s scars were.

The aliens who immigrated to Earth, J thought sometimes, came because Earthlings were kinda dumb. As many times as they went out in their MiB garb – the crisp black suits, the mirrored shades – no one ever noticed them. No one noticed how out of place they looked – and they looked out of place pretty much everywhere they went. He understood that their entire look had been designed to be forgettable. “We don’t exist,” K kept telling him; “we’re figments of their imaginations, shadows half-caught from the corner of their eyes.”

Of course, a lot of the time J figured K said shit like that to get him into bed, ’cause J thought the dude was fuckin’ hot when he tried to get poetic in that tight-assed, unemotional way that only he could really pull off.

But, seriously, how forgettable could they be? Two good-looking guys in designer suits and reflective sunglasses, driving that car, didn’t happen every day.

Except that maybe it did, in Smallville, Kansas.

“Yo, K, check this shit out.”

K slid his sunglasses down his nose slightly. “What am I looking at?”

“You’re looking at the 2003 Aston-Martin Vanquish, that’s what you’re looking at.”

“Huh.”

“No shit. Think we can afford the coffee?”

K grinned. “We’ll put it on the expense report.” When J’s eyes widened, K shrugged. “We’re on vacation.”

A softly pretty dark-haired girl waited patiently as K stared at the large chalkboard proclaiming the day’s specials and twenty different kinds of espresso drinks that could be iced, decaffed, made with soy milk, or brought to you by a dozen live nude girls (well, no, and K had firmly vetoed going into that particular Martian club). J stared around the Talon to see if any of their other buddies had drifted this far from the city.

Everybody sure looked regulation. Except— “Psst!”

K jumped. “Shit, kid, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”

“Look what I found.”

K looked over and grinned. The guy was three shades paler than the pale Midwesterners, and bald, and ludicrously overdressed, like he wasn’t familiar with the customs of the place. Slate-gray eyes that saw everything. Feline grace. He looked every inch the alien. “Nice work, slick. Looks like we got ourselves a decoy.”

They took their coffee to a small table with a good view and waited for the Last Son of Krypton to show up.

(~(~)~)

“Lex, you have to let me drive the Vanquish home.”

Luthor shuddered. “I do not. In fact, after the incident of the Bentley, I don’t know that I should let you anywhere near the Vanquish.”

“The ‘incident of the Bentley.’” Clark rolled his eyes. “It was a ding, Lex. A little tiny ding. Barely noticeable. Stop making it sound like a missing Jeeves and Wooster episode.” He took a drink of his mocha. “Seriously, Lex, you’re too attached to your cars.”

“Says the man with a hard-on for the Vanquish.”

The kid didn’t blush; didn’t blink; didn’t deny a thing. “It’s an Aston-Martin, Lex, in case you’ve forgotten. You wouldn’t have bought it if it didn’t give you a hard-on.”

Across the room, J was spluttering into his coffee. K rubbed his back sympathetically. “Don’t forget to breathe, ace.”

J glared and ripped the amplifier from his ear. “Have you been listening to what they’re talking about over there?”

“The car.” K shrugged.

J kicked at the table leg. “That’s obviously our guy. Can we do this thing and get out of here?”

“You in a rush, junior?”

J’s black eyes dropped to the table-top. “It’s just, you know, they’re talking about that car like it's sex incarnate, and the Marriott wasn’t exactly...conducive to anything.”

K laughed quietly. They’d spent the night in a drab motel outside Indianapolis, and the beige comforter and washed-out watercolors on the walls, combined with a damned long drive from New York, had pretty much killed any mood they might’ve had going. “We can’t move ‘til they do, sport. You know that.”

“Yeah, but they’re not going anywhere, are they? I mean, besides back to Luthor’s mansion.”

“We’re not ditching the mission to have sex.” K did that eyebrow wiggle that always had J scrambling for the nearest available cold shower. “Not that I wouldn’t love to, a’ course.” Oh, and, damn K’s accent, too. And that slow smile.

That’s how they almost missed noticing when Kal El (or ‘Clark,’ as the decoy kept calling him) and his decoy (or ‘Lex,’ as Kal El said – was it too much to ask that people around here call each other by the right names?) stood up to leave. K’s eyes flicked towards the door, and he cursed roundly. “They’re moving. Let’s go.” They slipped on their sunglasses and followed the two young men out of the Talon. Clark, J saw with amusement, was driving the Vanquish.

J slid into the driver’s seat of their own car, and he and K pulled away from the curb on their way to the next phase of their trade mission. At least this one involved a really, really rich guy’s house.

(~(~)~)

A man in the twenty-first century equivalent of livery opened the door. J and K flashed badges that didn’t say anything. “I’m Agent King; this is Agent Jackson. We’re looking for Clark Kent.”

Livery Dude frowned. “Wait here, please.” And slammed the door in their faces. Well, it wasn’t really a slam – doors that heavy don’t slam – but he definitely closed it, and they were definitely on the outside of it.

“Agent Jackson?” J hissed. “Like Michael ‘I can be Agent M’ Jackson? ’Cause I’m just not cool with that.”

“I was thinking Tito, really.”

“Asshole.”

Livery Guy returned, looking slightly less made of ice. “Mr Luthor will see you in his office,” he said.

“Naw, it’s okay, we need – ow!” J glared as K’s heel connected with his toe.

“Thank you,” K said, not bothering to glare at J as they followed the guy into the mansion.

J tried not to look dumbstruck, but, let’s be honest. He was dumbstruck. He’d been in a lot of impressive houses since he joined the MiB, but nothing quite like this. This was impersonal, cold, and completely human. He didn’t know what they’d gotten themselves into, but any alien important enough to have a decoy like this was obviously someone they didn’t want to fuck with.

Livery Boy showed them into a room with an enormous red stained-glass window set high in the wall. “Mr Luthor will be with you shortly.” He withdrew, and J shuddered at the huge circle of blood-red light the window cast on the floor.

“Uh, K, you got any idea what’s going on here?”

“You didn’t expect to talk with Kal El directly, didja, ace?” K asked, perusing the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined the room. “We want the kid, we’ve gotta go through the decoy.”

“You know how to handle this guy, then?”

K grinned at him from across the room. “Not a clue.”

The double doors to the office blasted open, admitting Lex Luthor. Damn, this guy’s sexy when he’s pissed, J thought, then snuck a guilty glance over make sure K hadn’t been looking this way. Nobody’d ever said the dude could read minds, but some days J wasn’t sure. After all, K had gone to that symposium on Vega, and those guys did some freakish shit. Who knew what they’d taught him?

“Agent Jackson, Agent King.” Luthor stormed around his office, opening and closing folders on the desk, pounding furiously at his computer keyboard, barking orders at someone on the other end of his phone line. J rolled his eyes; he knew the ‘I am busy and important’ act. Zed pulled it all the time.

“Mr Luthor,” K said respectfully. J crossed to stand behind him. Unified front – and a nice view of K’s ass.

“I assume you’re from Child Services. Let me assure you, gentlemen: whatever my father may have told you, there is no need to remove Clark from his parents’ house. I was under the impression that the matter was resolved last time. If I have to speak to your superiors again—“

“Lex.”

The three men turned towards the door. None of them had noticed the kid come in behind Luthor, but his soft voice got their attention fast. Luthor crossed quickly to where Clark stood beside the door. “Clark, I told you to wait in the den.”

“They asked for me, Lex. I have a right to know what they want.”

“Things might get ugly again. If it’s anything like the last time—“

“Mr Luthor,” K interjected smoothly, “we’re not from Child Services.”

Luthor’s head came up fast, and he spun to face them. “Then who are you?”

J frowned and looked over at K. He hated this part. How much to give away; how much to conceal – they could always do the old memory wipe on Luthor, but it wouldn’t work on the kid, and he wouldn’t appreciate them messing with his decoy’s memories. And J hated doing that to people anyway.

He hadn’t expected K to pull out one of their business cards and hand it over. Not that the things did a damned bit of good; all they said was ‘MiB.’ No names, no addresses, no indication of what the hell MiB was or did. Still, K had five hundred cards, and in all the time they’d worked together, J had seen him hand out exactly three. Counting the one Luthor was now holding.

But the real shocker – in a day that had been full of them – was the look on Luthor’s face. Disbelief and snide humor without a trace of confusion. “The Men in Black?” he asked, looking from K to J. “Gentlemen, I don’t know what kind of imbecile you take me for, but I can assure you that you are mistaken. If this is my father’s newest ploy to check up on me, then I have to ask: what’s fallen on his head lately that would suggest such an asinine plan to him?”

K huffed. J knew all too well how short the man’s string was – and how close Luthor was to the end of it. “Mr Luthor, if we could have a few moments alone with Mr Kent, I’m sure we can clear this up,” K drawled as calmly as he could.

“No.” Again, the kid had caught them napping. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Lex.”

“Uh, Mr Kent—“ J began. The kid glared at him, and he shut his mouth, looked at K, and shrugged. “I’m outta diplomacy. Sorry.”

K nodded. “I agree.” He stepped towards Kal El and gestured at Luthor. “You sure you want him to hear this?”

The kid set his chin. “I can’t think of a single thing you’d have to say to me that Lex couldn’t hear.”

K glanced over his shoulder at J. “All righty, then.” He took a deep breath and relayed the message they’d spent most of the drive memorizing. “Te’pek nar. Kar leet Kal-El na’a’rahn; te-ret ne kar jahn.”

Four sets of eyes regarded each other, waiting for someone to make a next move. Should’ve been Kal El. He should’ve translated that mess of hard stops as “The trade delegation of Tenarris IV greets the Last Son of Krypton and wishes devoutly for his continued good health.” At least, that’s what the scrap of paper the message was transcribed on claimed it translated as – knowing the Tenarrians, J wouldn’t have been surprised to find out it said, “Krypton sucks; go, Tenarris IV!”

The kid looked completely bewildered. “What?”

“What the hell?” Luthor said quietly.

“That’s your message,” said K. “From the trade delegation from Tenarris IV.” No recognition whatsoever. “To you,” K added, as though that would clear up any misunderstandings.

“To...to me?” Clark looked from K to J. “I don’t – did Mr Luthor send you? I told him already—“

“Clark, I don’t think my father sent them,” Luthor said, his voice tinged with awe. J finally noticed that he still didn’t seem shocked.

J pulled out the ESK and pointed it at the kid. Again, the two little blue buttons got him nothing. “Okay, so they don’t pull up the neural scans, either.”

“Red. Lower half.”

J pushed the red buttons and was instantly presented with a lovely picture of Clark’s brain functions. “Aw, shit,” he muttered. “K?”

K looked over, and J held the ESK so he could read the screen.

“Goddamnit.” K sighed and looked at Clark. “Well, son, looks like you’ve been neuralyzed.”

“Show him the necklace,” J suggested.

“Sure.” K reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. “I don’t know if this’ll jog your memory, but orders are orders.” He held the box out to Clark. “To Kal El, Last Son of Krypton, from the trade representatives of Tenarris IV.”

“To who?” demanded Clark.

“Kal El. The last son of Krypton.” K looked at the kid’s blank face. “You.”

“Dude,” whispered J, “he’s been neuralyzed. Go easy.”

“Right. Sorry. Anyway, this is for you.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on here,” Clark protested, “but I’m not the last whoever of whatever.”

“There’s a spaceship in your storm cellar, Clark.”

Clark turned to stare at Luthor. “How do you know about that?” Again, J noted that he made no attempt to deny it.

Luthor met Clark’s gave unwaveringly. “Roger Nixon. He was working exclusively for me, and you were his only assignment.”

“He – you – you lied to me, Lex! For a year you’ve been lying to me.”

“And you’ve been lying to me,” Luthor said harshly.

Clark looked like he was about to throw up, and it only got worse. He waved his hand between himself and Luthor. “Is that...is that what this has been about? You and me? Was it one more way of finding out my secrets?”

Oh, you poor bastard, J thought, unsure if he meant Clark, whose heart was clearly one step from breaking, or Luthor, who faced an assload of alien wrath if it were true.

“No!” Luthor was at Clark’s side instantly, his hand on Clark’s arm, his eyes seeking Clark’s with as much candor as a Luthor could manage. “I already knew about the ship when you and I started this.” He held Clark’s gaze for a moment longer, and finally Clark nodded. Luthor didn’t sigh in relief, but J could tell he wanted to. “And now I think you need to hear these gentlemen out.”

Clark turned hesitantly to J and K. “I was about three when I landed on Earth,” he said. “I don’t remember anything.”

“You don’t remember anything because your memories were wiped at some point after your departure from Krypton,” K said, “possibly by something in the ship itself, set to activate when you crashed. But believe us when we say that you are Kal El, formerly of the planet Krypton, and that a trade agreement between Earth and Tenarris IV may depend on proof that you’re doing okay here.” He looked around the office, not trying to conceal his wry smile. “From the look of it, I’d say you’re doing great.”

J prodded K with his elbow. “The necklace.”

“Right.” K held out the box again, and this time the kid took it. “From the Tenarrians.”

Curiosity warring with fear warring with nausea on his face, Clark opened the box. Instantly he was on his knees on the floor, doubled over and grasping his stomach. Luthor hit the ground five seconds later, his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “Clark? What’s going on?” He turned his head towards the two agents, who drew back at the fury in the gray eyes. Whoever picked this guy as Kal El’s decoy had fucking good taste. “What the hell did you do to him?”

For thirteen diamond-cut gems, kelly green was a lovely shade. For the skin of the Last Son of Krypton, it was revolting. Angry green lines snaked across Clark’s face and hands like a second set of veins. J turned on K with wide eyes. “K! You turned the dude green!”

“Who reminded me to give him the necklace in the first place?”

“I don’t give a damn whose fault it was,” Luthor hissed. “Just get it the fuck away from him before it kills him.”

K leaned down, pulled the box from Clark’s shaking hands, slammed it shut, and stuffed it into his pocket. Immediately, Clark’s breath came easier, the green lines slithered back to wherever they had come from, and he sat up straighter, releasing his clench on his stomach. “That’s a gift?” he asked weakly.

K stared grimly at the young men on the floor. “Call Zed,” he barked at J. He crouched beside Clark and Luthor. Clark cowered down towards the floor, and Luthor tried to muscle in between them. K smiled crookedly. “Mr Kent, Mr Luthor, we are very sorry about this.”

J was fiddling with the ESK. “K, dude, do these little blue buttons do anything?”

“Communicator’s the green one at the corner of the screen, ace.” He looked again at Clark. “We’ll have to ask you a few questions for our report, but after that we’ll be going.”

“I should say so,” Luthor sniped.

“Lex.” Clark put his hand on Luthor’s shoulder. “They didn’t know the necklace was going to do that to me. It must be made from the meteor rocks.”

Luthor stood. “Agent King, would it be possible for us to keep the necklace? To study?”

“Lex, there’s about a metric ton of meteor rocks around Smallville.” Clark hauled himself up from the floor, grabbing Luthor’s offered hand about halfway up. “Why do we need this one?”

“Because I’m guessing the people who sent it to you didn’t get it from a field in Kansas.” He looked at K. “Am I right?”

K shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but I’d bet they got it from Krypton.”

Clark’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

Behind him, J had finally convinced the ESK to transfer his call from the Heche house (“Sorry, Anne; hit the wrong speed-dial button”) to MiB headquarters. Zed’s face looked ornerier than usual squished in the tiny screen. “Agent.”

“Zed, listen. You gotta call it off with the Tenarrians.”

Zed’s immense but squashed head shook in disbelief. “If I find out you’ve done something – the negotiations are in progress, Agent, and by the end of the month the treaty will be a done deal.”

“Yeah, well, get it undone, ’cause we’re in Smallville, and the delegates’ gift turned Kal El a real funky color.” He held the communicator towards Clark. “Tell him.”

“I, uh—“ Clark stared at the screen.

“He looked like shit, Zed,” K called.

Clark nodded in agreement. “And felt even worse.”

“Shit.” Zed ran a hand over his face. “Why didn’t I take the 70-and-out? I could be lounging on a beach on Delforia Prime.”

“Dude, nobody goes to Delforia Prime.”

“My point exactly, Agent. Get your asses back here. Bring the necklace. Zed out.”

J mouthed ‘asses’ to K and turned off the communicator. “I guess we have to take the necklace.”

“We’ll need it as evidence in the tribunal that will assuredly be convened against the trade delegation from Tenarris IV,” K told Luthor. “But I promise that as soon as we’re done with it, we will return it to you.”

“Thank you.” Luthor and K shook hands, and Luthor inclined his head towards J. “Agent Jackson.”

J nodded back and looked at Clark. “Sorry about the whole green thing.”

Clark nodded and smiled.

“Good bye, Mr Kent,” K said gently. J’s eyes popped. Damn! The man was going to go fatherly on him. “Take care of yourself.” Well, that was about as emotional as K got.

“I will.”

That’s when J noticed K reaching for his jacket pocket. The one where the neuralyzer lived. J shook his head quickly. K grinned sheepishly and reached into his other pocket instead, pulling out his sunglasses. “Thanks, kid. Force a’ habit.” He looked at Clark and Luthor again, then turned to J. “Let’s roll.”

(~(~)~)

INDIANAPOLIS

They were crashing in their room when J pulled out the ESK and called Zed again. K had sprung for a better hotel (“Expense report, junior,” he insisted), and J was trying to shield the audio function so their boss couldn’t hear K singing “Hound Dog” in the bathroom. “We’re in for the night,” J informed Zed.

“Good. Don’t waste time tomorrow; I want your asses in the office the instant you’re back in New York.”

“Will do.”

Zed frowned. “Three times today, the new zero-g feature in my office was switched on, without warning, from an external location.”

J tried to cover his spluttering laughter, but he knew Zed didn’t buy it. “Wow. That sucks.”

“Yes. It does,” Zed replied flatly. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you?”

“Nuh-uh.” Only then, a wicked thought crept into J’s mind. “Three times, huh?”

“Yeah. Once early in the afternoon, and twice more a couple of hours later – almost right on top of each other.” He sighed. “Another glitch in the new goddamned system. I hate modern technology. Take care of yourself, Agent.”

“You too, sir. Good night.” J shut down the ESK and flopped back on the mattress, surrendering the battle against gales of laughter.

K appeared in the doorway to the bathroom. When it looked like J could breathe again, he asked, “You okay, slick?”

J started laughing again. “Well, I think I just figured out what the little blue buttons do.”