I think a lot of it is that Kristine Sutherland is a good actress. Goodness knows, over the years she didn't have a lot to do. A line here, a look there. But whatever it was written for Joyce to do, Sutherland was right there, up to the mark. She did good work, and she made Joyce breathe.

Don't pay full price though.

I don't intend to. Second hand bookshops exist for a reason.

deb, lovely. sniffle

I think it's KS too--she's just stunning, man, and a bag-up actor.

Slightly odd policy question-- if one happens to have written a Buffyverse/Smallville crossover, does one post in Bitchy Fic, or PPO, or in one's LJ with links in both, or what? It probably doesn't matter a lot, I just thought I'd see what people think.

Either would be fine. I'd post in Bitchy 'cause there's more people.

Connie, that was hilarious!

Am, I'd put it right here.

deep breath Here goes, then.

- - -

Clark had been angry.

On reflection, Lex supposed that he'd had every right to be.

"You spied on me!" he'd said, hurt and accusing and speaking the simple truth, as if he didn't understand that it was the way the world worked. "You spied on me, and mom and dad, and… everyone! Get out my sight before I…"

Lex hadn't waited to hear the threat. He may not have known as much as he'd like about Clark Kent, but the 'has superhuman strength' part was quite obvious, especially when you'd had sex with him.

At first, he'd tried to go out drinking, but after a few glasses he'd realised that anywhere in Smallville was a place he'd seen Clark, or been with Clark, or taken Clark, or thought about Clark while he danced with someone else. Drinking in Smallville was only going to lead to moodiness and brooding and the sort of crying-into-your-drink behaviour that just wasn't right for a Luthor.

Instead, he drove.

He took the midnight blue Ferrari because something about the notion of driving romantically off into the sunset required an open-topped car. Of course, you had to have hair for the wind to ruffle dramatically, but he'd settle for feeling the hum of the engine shake through him and the warm dry air turn chill as he sped through it. While he was driving he could just concentrate on the road, and he didn't have to think about anything else.

He was driving very fast, and that seemed good. He had a sneaking suspicion that before he'd given up on drinking, he'd drunk more than enough to stop him driving safely; and he knew that if he was caught, there'd be hell to pay—not the money, but explaining to his father.

Neither thought made him slow down.

He drove west because that was where you went when you were trying to escape the world and its troubles. He had no idea where he was going except for the vaguest idea that he'd like to see the sea again.

If anyone else was driving that night, he didn't notice them.

When dawn came—and it insisted on arriving, although he'd driven hard and fast from the east—he checked into a motel, telling the bored girl on the desk that his name was Mr. Kent. She didn't query it, even when he handed over a credit card that clearly gave his name as Luthor. The signatures matched, and that was enough for her.

He didn't sleep much—he expected one of his father's goons to appear at any moment, asking just what he thought he was doing, and demanding that he return home at once. He hoped, but didn't let himself expect, that Clark would somehow turn up instead.

Nobody came, and by mid-afternoon he was on the road again.

• * *

When Clark calmed down—he was a little surprised by how quickly he went from rage to despair, once Lex was gone—he went round to Pete's house, and told him what had happened. All of it. Pete was his best friend, his oldest friend, and he already knew that Clark was an alien. Finding out that Clark was a gay alien who'd had sex with the morally ambiguous son of a billionaire was… well, it seemed to be sinking in. Slowly.

"You're *gay*?" Pete said, frowning as he tried to understand. "But… but what about Lana?"

"I… I thought I fancied her. But… I don't know," Clark said, a little desperately. "I do like spending time with her. Just… not like that."

"So—you're gay. Okay. Um… I… you don't… me, right?"

"No," Clark said. "You're my best friend, Pete. I don't want you any more than Chloe."

Pete nodded—the 'why Lana and not Chloe?' question was familiar. "Okay. I'll… deal with that. What was the next part?"

"I slept with Lex," Clark repeated.

"You slept with—in a…"

"In a bed, Pete. In a sex way."

"You had sex with… who again?"

"Lex Luthor," Clark confirmed.

"Right." Pete was still nodding, as if he could settle the information into his head more easily if he kept moving it. "Do your parents know?"

Clark shook his head. "I needed to tell someone, but they… I couldn't face that. That's why I'm here instead of at home."

"This has been going on a while, hasn't it?"

"Yeah. Two months—since a couple of weeks after my birthday."

"So why now?" Pete persisted.

"Because…" Clark shrugged. This was the hard part, the part he didn't want to think about. "I broke it off. This evening. He was spying on me—and not just on me—and I…"

"Did the right thing," Pete said, firmly. "I don't understand all of it, Clark, but I think you were right to end it."

"It's not going to be easy, Pete," Clark whispered. "For me or him."

They sat together for a while, enjoying the dark and the companionship. It didn't make Clark any less upset, but it made the upset easier to bear.

• * *

Cars, Lex thought, were a good way of measuring his time in Smallville.

There was the mangled Porsche. The Lincoln Limousine in which they'd first kissed. And now, the Ferrari.

He wondered if Alexander the Great had been as sentimental about his horses; and on the basis that he named a city after his favourite, Boukephalas, decided that he probably was. Maybe he'd name something after one of the cars. No, that seemed silly. Better just to name something after Clark and be done.

His father wouldn't approve, but that was all the more reason to do it.

Aware that his thoughts were wandering, Lex tried to pull them back to the road, tried to decide where to go or what to do. He had no idea.

All he really wanted was Clark—as a friend if not a lover—and that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

He reached the edge of Los Angeles. The sea didn't seem attractive any more. Lex turned north, bought more gas, and kept driving.

Time passed. Lex noticed he was driving uncharacteristically slowly—nobody had found him. There didn't seem to be any reason to hurry.

He hit the coast road at last, and stuck with it, dawdling through the sleepy Sunday afternoon of the little towns along the route.

As the sun went down, he drove into yet another. He didn't know where he was, and there didn't seem to be a sign. He'd never know it, but there had been one, but he'd missed it because another love sick driver had recently knocked it over. It said, "Welcome to Sunnydale."

Lex soon found out that it was a *very* small town. There were just two places selling drinks: The Bronze, a big, sweaty building filled with teenagers who all seemed to look or talk or move like Clark; or Willy's, a nasty, dirty cave where most of the patrons weren't human.

Later, Lex would remember being glad that the—Trekkies, or whatever show they were mimicking—didn't remind him of Clark, and appreciate the irony.

He elbowed his way to the bar, gathering some dirty looks—some of the "desire to punch" variety, some of… other kinds—and bought a drink. Glass in hand, he turned slightly to lean on the bar and survey the room, to find himself eye to eye with a stranger.

"Hi," the guy said, raising a glass of something red and sticky in mockery of toast. Lex noted the blue eyes and blond hair approvingly. He could let himself be picked up (he was pretty confident that's what the guy was doing. The way he was smiling, the flirting eyes…) and be sure that it wasn't just because he was missing Clark. Different body type entirely.

"Hi," Lex said, and drained his glass, enjoying the slight sting of alcohol.

"Trying to get drunk?"

"It seems like the best plan."

"Love troubles?" the guy asked, sliding closer to Lex.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only because I'm looking for it. In the same boat, you see."

"That right?"

"Yeah. I'm leaving town in the morning, going to set things straight with my dark princess."

"You know how?"

"Torture, I'm thinking." Ah, Lex thought, he's into S+M stuff, and probably some Goth as well. The black and red clothes, the tomato juice that makes remarkably convincing blood. And probably poly as well. Ideal.

"Step outside with me," the stranger went on, voice low and British accent getting stronger, mouth only inches from Lex's ear.

"I don't even know your name," Lex said, deliberately playing coy, while at the same time leaning back into the arm that had managed to slide around and into his back pocket.

"Spike. Pleased to meet you." Okay, so the dictionary entry for 'sexy voice' probably mentioned this guy.

"I'm Lex. Shall we go?"

Spike put down his glass and guided Lex out, arm still possessively round his waist. Lex was pleased and a little scared to note that they collected a fair number of envious glances from other patrons as they passed. More of them wanting the something else than wanting a fight, now.

In the dingy alley, Spike shoved Lex against the rough brick wall, and captured his mouth in a high-impact kiss. Lex noted the extra strength, forced himself not to think of Clark, and kissed back, hard and eager until he could taste blood in his mouth. When Spike pulled back, Lex looked at the blood running down his chin from a bitten lip, and realised that not all the blood in his mouth was his own.

Confused, Lex swallowed, and tried to say something. No time. Spike's hands were in his pants, jerking him off. Face buried in his neck—sharp teeth, pain and pleasure, moans from both of them… and then blackness.

• * *

Lex's death was the biggest new story Chloe had ever covered.

She came round to see Clark, saddened by the news but excited by the prospect of dedicating the whole front page, and a good chunk of the rest of the paper, to the one story. Clark hadn't heard—when she finally found him, still working in the fields despite the impending darkness.

"What? Nobody told you yet?"

"I've been doing farm chores all day," he said, a little dazed. "What… how?"

"Nobody's sure of the details. They found him in a back alley of some little town near LA, with puncture wounds in his neck—he bleed to death, the police say. Probably for his money, because there wasn't a wallet on him, and his watch had been taken."

"Oh, God, Chloe. I…" Clark took a deep breath, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. I should have been there. I could have helped him. I shouldn't have made him leave. I'm to blame for this.

"I'm sorry, Clark," Chloe said, a little belatedly. "I know he was your friend."

Clark nodded, taking deep breaths. "T… thanks for letting me know, Chloe. I… when's the funeral? Where?"

"Probably here in Smallville—nobody knows when, yet, because this is a murder case. Maybe a week or so. Lionel made them bring… bring the body back to the mansion."

"Okay." There were tears trying to form in his eyes, and he didn't want Chloe to see. "Look—later, okay?"

"Clark, are you…"

"I'm fine, Chloe. I just need some time to let this sink in."

Chloe looked at him, concern in her eyes, but she could see that he didn't want her there. And the work called her, the story of a lifetime waiting to be written. After one last searching look at him, she turned and walked away.

Once he was alone, Clark let himself relax, but the tears didn't fall. It was too much to take in, too much to be true.

When he'd told Lex to get out of his sight he'd assumed it would be a temporary thing; in a town as tiny as the aptly-named Smallville he wouldn't manage to go long without bumping into Lex. He'd steeled himself to see Lex again and still reject him. He'd been trying to prepare himself for the torment of knowing that what he wanted was only a few minutes walk or a phone call away—he'd never thought that he might get what he supposedly wanted.

It wasn't true. He did want to see Lex again, desperately.

Whoa. More now.

And I don't even watch the show.

Dayum.