When he got back to Smallville, the first thing he did was find every mutant story the Torch ever published online. The second thing he did was break into the high school to view the Wall of Weird. As it was ridiculously early on a Sunday morning, he was in and out without seeing anyone. His research revealed that the meteor freaks all seemed to have a few factors in common.

The first was that pre-existing medical conditions tended to fix themselves. In his case, there was nothing serious. Well, nothing at all, really. His first meteor encounter had taken care of those already. Except the bald thing, but that wasn't life-threatening or even something he wanted to change anymore.

The second was powers granted to assist ambitions, for example getting thin or understanding bugs. His ambitions were to rule the world by age 30 and/or beat his father. He didn't really know what powers he might have gained toward that end. More specifically, he didn't know of any relevant abilities that would center around the abdominal area, considering that he intended to go about the whole take-over-the-world-and-dethrone-Dad thing through financial and political means.

The third and final possible factor that would affect his mutation was what he was doing at time of mutation. In this case, sex. There were a number of possibilities here. Phermones were already a documented case. But, again, that wouldn't affect his gastronomical system. Reproductive, maybe, but not - wait. Shit. Crap. No, fuck, please, no.

He almost dropped the cell phone in his panicked first attempt to pull it out of his pocket and open it. The second try worked better, and he managed to punch in the memorized phone number without shaking badly enough to enter it wrong. When the other party picked up, he was proud of how calm his voice was. "Toby, I'm going to send you a blood sample, and I need to you to tell me if the subject is pregnant."

Surely, he was wrong. He was probably able to go days without food or he produced caffeine in his gall bladder so he never had to sleep. Those would help both of his ambitions quite a bit. He didn't need evidence of what his father did to him, not this kind of evidence. But it never hurt to check facts.

And he had a really bad feeling that he was right. What he'd seen of the meteors' wish-granting abilities tended toward unfortunate affects not unlike the Monkey's Paw. You got what you wanted, but not in the way you wanted it. It probably wasn't coincidence that this mutation occurred just as he ferverently wished he could blackmail his father.

He was right.

Toby's text message, three days later, was short and to the point. "+" For all its breivity, there wasn't much room for misinterpretation, either.

His first and most urgent thought as he deleted the message was that his father must never find out. While blackmail potential did exist, it could be turned back on him far too easily. He was far more at risk if this got out than his father was. Being bald at nine and being a pregnant male were two entirely different species of freakishness.

For the first few months, the hardest part (aside from not getting killed or seriously injured by other mutants or newly discovered half-brothers) was hiding the fact that he wasn't drinking any alcohol.

The nausea was no picnic either, but that thankfully limited itself to the hours after Helen went to work and before he showed up at the Plant. That critical timing issue was made easier by a new resolve to not get out of bed until Helen was gone or come in to work until noon. The combined smells of coffee and crap were too much to take before then. Nobody really noticed. He was already notorious for not being a morning person. Besides, he was a Luthor. Luthors were allowed their little eccentricities because they owned the plant and what was anyone going to say to him anyway? Gabe's jokes didn't really count.

As much as he liked Helen, he was almost thankful when the Johns Hopkins invitation came. Under other circumstances, he would have fought to keep her, but she would have been the first person he needed to tell. The excuse to break up on her terms was an almost welcome repreive. He didn't think she would take too well to the knowledge that he'd had sex with a man while they were dating. Anger management hadn't been very effective for either of them.

As he started to notice almost negligible visible changes, he began taking entire days off. Well, not entirely off, but he worked from the mansion. He'd come in for a day, then not come in for two, until he felt his presence was sufficiently culled. If anyone from the plant needed him, they knew his phone number.

Clark was a little a harder to hide from. He'd stopped going into town after a period of increasingly fewer appearances, instead sending servants for the usual errands he had to run and opting to invite Clark to the mansion rather than seek him out at the farm or coffeeshop. Now, it was getting to the point where he wasn't comfortable getting out from behind his desk for fear of Clark noticing his extra weight. He wasn't really huge or anything; people looking at him would know he was gaining pounds, but it wasn't yet obvious why.

Of course, it added a whole new awkwardness to their friendship when he kept a large piece of furniture between them. The first time he tried it, it took only ten minutes before Clark gave him a profoundly hurt expression and asked, "Are you mad at me for something, Lex?" Apparently, the laptop getting closed and pushed aside wasn't enough to appease him.

"Of course not, Clark," Lex assured him, but the fact that he didn't get up probably cast doubt on his words. Despite his own self-assurances that being male meant his shape would be interpreted as the unfortunate beginnings of a beer gut rather than a fetal home, Clark's mother was also pregnant, so there was a chance Clark might make an unwelcome realization.

"Then why are you avoiding me in town and how come when I come to visit you, you won't even leave your desk?"

Lex frowned at an empty mug with the Luthorcorp logo on it. He debated his options, reached the conclusion that the problem wasn't going to go away no matter how hard he wished it to, and looked back up at Clark. "It's not just you, Clark. I've decided to be a hermit." He honestly was not certain whether he was seriously trying to pass that off as the truth, or if it was merely deadpan humour. He supposed it would depend on Clark's reaction.

A look of confusion crossed the farmboy's too-expressive face. "Huh?"

Lex laughed. "A hermit, Clark. A person who has withdrawn from society and lives a solitary existence; a recluse."

"That's crazy, Lex," Clark told him, shaking his head. The bewildered half-smile on his face stated quite clearly that he obviously didn't believe him. But Clark was probably gullible enough to persuade him otherwise.

Lex met his gaze evenly and corrected his termonology with extreme seriousness, keeping his options open on whether the hermit comment was joke or lie. "I'm rich. That makes the plan eccentric, not crazy."

"It's crazy," Clark reiterated. "You're not cut out to be a hermit."

Frowning, Lex slouched a little lower in his chair. He was no longer inclined to joke, but, upon second consideration, the lie didn't stand much chance. He sighed and tried anyway. "For the next five months or so, yes, I am."

Clark was starting to look concerned. "Why?"

He laughed again, but it lacked humour this time. "I've been a freak since I was nine, Clark, but even I draw the line at letting people see this mutation." He waited until he saw Clark's mouth begin to ask 'what mutation' then stood. Clark stopped talking, but understanding did not dawn on his face. He opened his mouth again, and got as far as forming the 'w' sound before Lex managed to state, "I'm pregnant, Clark."

Clark's eyes widened in surprise and what might have been horror. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Lex."

Lex shook his head, faintly amused by his friend's response. "Not your fault, Clark. I get full responsibility for this one."

Clark looked about to protest before suddenly turning bright red and looking away. Lex almost didn't hear the mumbled question, "But doesn't it take two . . . ?"

The billionare laughed again, this a little time more genuinely. "Yeah, but, trust me, that was my fault, too."

Clark stole another glance at Lex's girth, then turned deliberatly elsewhere, as if he thought it was impolite to look. Lex decided to remove the 'temptation' and sat down again. "So, um, have you thought of names?" Clark asked the wall, as he hadn't turned to look back yet.

He was glad he'd already reclaimed his seat. Until that moment, he hadn't really thought about it. He'd been too worried about people finding out, too worried about his own medical condition. But there was going to be consequences from this. There'd be a new person in the world. A baby. A child. A person. A person with a name. He gripped his desk, overwhelmed suddenly to the point of physical dizziness. "Oh, God."

Clark looked back, and was silent for a long moment, then he ventured softly, "I know its going to be a Luthor, but naming your kid 'God' seems a little pretentious, even for your family, doesn't it?"

He figured he could be forgiven if his laughter sounded just a little hysterical. The hand on his shoulder made him tense briefly, until he recognized it as belonging to Clark. "Shh, Lex, it'll be all right," the teenager said soothingly. Lex found this absurdly hilarious. Firstly, because, no, nothing was ever going to be all right again, and secondly because Clark was sixteen, in high school, a farm boy, and currently engaged in the difficult task of reassuring Lex Luthor, CEO of LexCorp and heir of Lionel Luthor, evil bastard demon personified into human form.

Dimly, he was aware that his laughter was frightening Clark and that it was undignified to be held and rocked back and forth like an upset child. But it wasn't until Clark said something about calling his mother and reached for the phone that Lex snapped out of it. "No! No, that's not neccessary," he insisted, grabbing hold of Clark's hand and pushing the phone back down into its cradle. "I'm doing much better now, thank you." He should probably apologize for his behaviour as well, but he wasn't sure how to do it.

Clark gave him a dubious look, clearly not believing him for a second, but he gave up the idea of calling Martha. Lex relaxed back into his chair.

"Who else knows?" Clark asked carefully, watching him as if he expected Lex to break down again.

Lex shook his head. "Nobody. Toby knows someone is pregnant, but I neglected to label the blood sample I sent him. My father suspects I'm hiding something, but that goes without saying. My staff know I'm irritable and don't want them where I am. My cook knows I'm eating more than normal. But people who know this?" He waved down at his swollen stomach. "Just the two of us."

"You don't have a doctor?"

Lex smirked in amusement at Clark's worried tone, then shook his head, amusement vanishing. "Clark, in case you haven't noticed, I'm male. I can't risk the media finding out. I mean, it would be bad enough if I got a girl pregnant. But if they knew it was me that was going have the baby? That's at least one headline for being a freak, one headline for being gay, one headline for speculation on the father and commentary on my loose ways, and one headline for a Luthor being a single mom. LexCorp would drop so many points that I'd be vulnerable for a hostile takeover."

Clark sighed. "But you need a doctor. What about Helen?"

Lex shook his head. "Are you insane? I'm not bringing this to an ex-girlfriend who I was dating at the time of conception. Just don't worry about it, Clark. I'm doing my research about what to expect. People have been having babies unassisted for a long time."

"Yeah, but they were women, and some of them died." The worry was touching, but irritating.

Lex sighed. "If I promise to find a midwife I can trust will you drop it?"

He didn't look happy about it, but he did nod.

"Good." That was settled. And Clark hadn't even noticed he didn't promise.

"So. Names?" Clark asked, almost hesitatingly.

"Shit, Clark, I'm not even sure I should keep the kid. I mean, really, besides my father, can you think of anyone less likely to be a good parent?"

Clark frowned, shaking his head, "Lex," he said in a disagreeing tone, "I think you'd make a great dad." Then he grinned, "At least you know everything you shouldn't do, right? Though I could be wrong if you're really thinking of naming the kid 'Shit' or 'God'."

He probably should have thrown something softer and less breakable than the coffee mug at Clark's head, but the teenager dodged it easily enough and it shattered harmlessly on the floor behind him. Lex didn't like that mug anyway.