Heroic-Like
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"Did you know that Florence Nightingale invented the pie chart?"
"What?"
Lex looked up from his reading (Warrior Angel number 113, "Devilicus Controls
Time!") and blinked several times at Clark. "I thought you were
researching."
"I am. It came up in the Google search on
statistics."
"Well, I'm sure that will be useful in your
article."
"You're just jealous because I knew a bit of inane historical
trivia that you didn't."
Exercising heroic restraint, Lex refrained from
rolling his eyes and went back to his reading.
"Oh, shit," Clark said a
few minutes later.
"What? Did you find out Lord Byron invented the
standard deviation?"
Clark gave him a blank look that Lex planned to use
against him for some time to come, then shook his head. "No. Fire alarm." He
concentrated. "About four blocks away. But there's something weird-you'll be
okay here without me, right?"
"It's my apartment," Lex
said--
--but Clark had already zipped out the door.
Lex glared
after him for a moment. He looked back down at his comic. Devilicus was about to
subvert time, creating a mountain of paradoxes for Warrior Angel to untangle and
a lot of cool blue swirling effects. Or he could take an afternoon walk and
watch Clark being, as Pete had once put it, "heroic-like." He sighed and climbed
to his feet.
"Four blocks which way, I wonder...?"
***
Lex
ambled down Hamilton Street, admiring the architecture of the townhouses that
had been renovated into upscale businesses and practicing his look of surprise. What a shock; I was just taking my evening constitutional and running across a
fire. Who would've thought?
About a block from the sirens even he could
hear by now, a black van parked across the street caught his attention. He
passed it and kept heading toward the fire, trying to figure out why it seemed
so out of place. It was running, but maybe the owner was just inside grabbing a
jacket. What was it...
A few feet later, he stopped short. It was the
spray-painted windows in the back and the artfully smudged license plate. Of
course.
He started to turn, hoping to get a better look at the make and
model if not the plate number, when--wham!--something slammed into him from
behind.
Lex, fortunately, hit the lawn next to the sidewalk and not the
curb. He pushed himself up, wincing at the burn in his palms. "Excuse me," he
said with maximum sarcasm.
A black-gloved hand and even blacker gun
appeared in the corner of his vision. "Shut up," a man said.
Something
about it struck him as exceedingly funny. Of course he would run into a group of
criminals. Of course.
***
They'd set Clark's fire, naturally, as
a diversion so they could rob the jewelry store next to it. The sight of
Superman had sent them all into a panic, and they were practically bouncing off
each other inside the van, trying and failing to keep their voices low while
they argued. What a bunch of amateurs. Lex was surprised the van was upright and
pointed in the direction they wanted it to go.
He could just yell for
Clark, of course. His eyes slid in the direction of the gun pressed to his
temple. He wasn't sure he was ready to take that risk just yet. Besides, Lex was
a little tired of Clark always pulling him from raging waters and zipping him
away from huge explosions and ripping the roofs off expensive cars. It was
thoughtful, certainly, and he appreciated it, but he was beginning to feel...not
inadequate, certainly. Less self-sufficient than he'd like.
He launched
into another round of "please don't hurt me" just to keep up appearances and
edged a few inches to his left. Wait for it...wait for it...
A light
ahead of them turned red. The driver swore and slammed on the brakes. The second
the gun wavered, Lex grabbed the wrist of the man holding it, jerked it to the
side, and squashed his finger over the other man's on the trigger.
The
bullet went straight into the steering well. Lex braced himself as best he could
as the wheels seized, spun, and squealed. They bounced off another car, bounced
the other way, hit what might have been a brick wall-Lex had his head down by
this point and was mostly hoping they were smart enough to not try shooting
anything until the car stopped-and rolled.
Finally, they skidded to a
stop. Lex breathed a sigh of relief and began working his way out of the pile of
thieves. He stopped with his elbow in the ribs of the one who'd been holding a
gun on him. "Thank you," he said, taking it away.
He stood outside the
van, gun ready, but the robbers hadn't even begun to figure out what had hit
them by the time the police arrived.
***
Superman arrived just as
Lex was finishing his statement to a very bemused detective. He hovered on the
edge of the scene, wearing such a guilty expression you'd think he had been
their wheelman. Lex waved a hand in his direction, hoping he'd translate it
appropriately as I'm fine, stop blowing your cover, moron, and got a nod and a
half-smile in return before Superman checked in with the paramedics and then
zoomed away.
Clark Kent shoved his way through the crowd a few minutes
later. "Lex? Lex, are you okay? The police radio-they said you'd--"
"I'm
fine, Clark," Lex said. The nervous squeaking of Clark's voice nearly made him
laugh, but there was honest concern in the hug Clark gave him, and he hugged
back. "I had a little adventure while you were off...ah...researching
statistics."
"So I see." Clark looked over his shoulder at the mess of
turned-over van, confused and injured robbers, and frankly amused emergency
services. "Wow, I don't know why Superman bothers to rescue you. You seem to do
just fine on your own."
Lex smirked. "It was rather 'heroic-like,' wasn't
it?" He slung an arm around Clark's shoulders and ignored the suppressed
laughter that made them shake. "Eat your heart out, Last Son of Krypton."