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     Rain was beginning to spit down as Clark ran back to his truck across the deserted parking lot.  He tugged his collar up and dug out his dad's keys as the skies rumbled ominously.  So far the gloomy day had lived up to all its promises.

   With the keys in the ignition Clark sat behind the wheel and watched the windshield wipers sweep back and forth, back and forth.  He knew that, technically, he should hold up his end of the bargain he'd made with his dad.  He'd done what he came to do, and the sooner he got home the sooner he could reassure his mother that nothing bad had happened.  But he still hadn't shaken the unsettling feeling in the bottom of his stomach, the feeling that something was wrong.  He just couldn't put his finger on what it was.

   God, he hoped he wasn't developing some sort of weak power of premonition.  On top of his other powers that would be the last thing he needed.

   He finally settled for digging through his backpack until he found his address book.  Thumbing through it, he found the number he was looking for, but he had to drive to a nearby convenience store to find a payphone.  His parents wouldn't let him have a cell phone, no matter how much he begged or argued that he was the last teenager on earth without one.

    Fortunately, with the storm approaching the convenience store was deserted, and he was able to punch in the numbers without getting more than a little wet.

    "Luthor, here."

   "Hey, Lex, it's me, Clark.  Listen, are you still in Metropolis?"

   "I am."

   "Good, I caught you…"

   "Actually, I've been trying to reach you, Clark.  Your mom said she didn't know where you were."  There seemed to be a slight question in Lex's voice.

   "Yeah, I'm in Metropolis, too.  What's up?"

   "I don't think we should talk about it on the phone.  Do you know where the LuthorCorp building is downtown?"

   Clark though of the multistory steel and glass structure visible from the interstate.  Even for Metropolis, the building dominated the skyline.  "Everyone knows where that is, Lex.  It's kinda hard to miss."

   "Do you think you could come down here?"

   "Yeah, sure.  Give me, what, ten minutes."

   Clark followed Lex's directions about where to leave his car, although since it was the weekend the huge downtown parking structure was mostly deserted.  He was surprised, though, to see a security guard on duty in the building's plush lobby.  But then the Luthors were known for being paranoid about that kind of thing.

   He scuffed his sneakers across the glossy marble floor, feeling as out of place as he looked.  The guard called upstairs, and after a few terse words with someone on the other end directed Clark to the bank of elevators. 

    "Fortieth floor," he said gruffly, clearly a little suspicious of the scruffy kid being granted admittance.  Clark thanked him politely anyway.

    The elevator ran silently, not even Muzak to distract one from the task at hand.  Finally the doors opened with a soft whoosh.

    Lex emerged through a set of double glass doors behind an unoccupied secretary's desk.

   "Clark, great.  C'mon back."

   He dutifully followed his friend down another plush hallway.  The whole office screamed of subtle but expensive decorators, from the pale rose carpet to the wood paneling.   Clark knew Lionel has never spent much time in one place; like the house in Smallville, this place was probably more for show than anything else.  Although he supposed all the hundreds of people who worked in various other Luthor enterprises probably occupied the lower floors.

    Lex showed him into a large corner office; the two outer walls were glass, giving a stunning view of Metropolis.  Clark felt a little nervous being so high, but the view was amazing.

   "Wow," he admitted sheepishly.  "It's like being up in the clouds; like flying."

    "A little hard to fly when you're surrounded by steel and glass, Clark.  Want something to drink?"

   "No, thanks."  Clark noticed this office not only boasted a huge and very heavy-looking desk, but also a mini fridge and a wet bar.  "This your office?"

   "Yeah," Lex shrugged.  "Never spent much time here, but my father feels it's important someone be seen around the building until he recovers.  Keep the plebeians on their toes, so to speak."

     "Makes sense, I guess.  What's up?"

   "Clark, have you been to see Ms. McKay?  I've tried to reach her by phone but I haven't had any luck."

   "Yeah, it was kind of bothering me that we never found out what was in Roshenko's letters.  But she still won't tell me anything.  I just made her angry."

    "I'm sorry to hear that," Lex sighed.  "But you may be the least of her troubles."

   Clark frowned.  "What do you mean?"

   Lex leaned against the corner of his desk.  "LuthorCorp's office in St. Petersburg has done some checking into Dr. Roshenko's past for me, Clark."

   His heart seemed to stop beating for a minute.  "What did you find out?"

   Lex rubbed his forehead.  "You and Chloe were right.  He's not who he claimed to be.  According to official Soviet records Evgeny Roshenko died in Stalingrad in 1947 at the age of nineteen."

   "Died?"  Clark thought of the miniature photographs he and Chloe had found.  "How is that possible?"

   "If I had to guess I'd say someone else stole his identity after his death.  Who knows why?  But the man calling himself Dr. Roshenko was definitely not the real one."

   "Man," Clark sat down.  "Do you think Angela knew about it?"

   "If she didn't before he died, she does now.  Why else would she be so insistent that no one else sees his letters?"

   Clark felt a little queasy.  What Lex said sounded so reasonable, and yet…he still couldn't believe Angela would be mixed up in something like this.  On the other hand…

   "She still has them, Lex.  The letters--I wasn't able to get them away from her."  Some reporter he was.

   Lex shrugged.  "If I was her I would have destroyed them by now."

    Remembering something, Clark shook his head.  "No, she still has at least one—I think she was reading it this afternoon.  She stuffed it in her pocket when I came in."

    Lex looked at him thoughtfully.  "Clark, I'm sorry.  I know you like her a lot but this does mean she is probably the one who killed the doctor."

   "I know, Lex, but I still can't see it.  So Roshenko wasn't who he said he was—was that worth killing over?"

   "You're forgetting the money, Clark.  People have killed for far less.  And I imagine Dr. Hamilton was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." Lex's lips twisted in a wry smile.  "Who would have thought it?"

   "Yeah.  Do you think the D.A. will drop the charges now?"

   "If Angela destroyed the evidence we don't have any proof to give him, Clark.  Just a lot of speculation."

   "But the Soviet records…"

   "There could conceivably have been an error there.  I've got a call in to the State Department to see if they can check their records against what I found out.  They've got a lot more access than I do.  In any case, the prosecutor isn't going to give up a pretty solid case because we tell him too."

   Clark stood.  "I'm going to go talk to Angela again.  She's got to know this won't stay hidden forever.  Maybe I can get her to hand over whatever she still has."

   Lex looked at him silently for a long moment.  "You really feel strongly about this, don't you?"

   His words so neatly mirrored Jonathan Kent's that Clark almost laughed. 

   "Look, Lex, I know you probably think I'm an idiot…"

   "I don't think you're an idiot, Clark—you know that," the older man corrected.

   "Chloe says I just never want to think anyone is the bad guy.  If Angela did this I do think she should be held responsible.  But I just want to give her a fair chance, too."

   "I understand, Clark."  Lex smiled.  "Truth be told I kind of admire how much faith you have in people.  A lot more than I have.  But I'm coming with you anyway."

   "You are?"

   "You don't think I'd let you take on something like this alone, do you?  Besides, Chloe would kill me if she found out I didn't watch your back."

     p

     Clark decided to let Lex drive; he was too upset to want to pay attention to his driving.  They took Lex's Porsche, the one Lana had nearly crashed when she'd been poisoned by the Nicodemus flower, now neatly detailed and repainted.

    Clark couldn't help but think about all the secrets people kept. Lana that she was maybe (maybe) a little bit attracted to him; Pete about how jealous he was of Lex; and Lex, well, Lex kept more secrets than Clark would ever be able to fathom.  But what none of them knew what that he, Clark, was keeping the biggest secret of all.  Like Dr. Evgeny Roshenko, or whoever he was, Clark was living a lie.  Only in Clark's case he had no idea what the truth might turn out to be.  He wondered if maybe that was why Angela had done what she had—maybe the lies had built up until she couldn't stand it anymore.  He sighed audibly, and Lex glanced over at him.

   "Relax, Clark," he advised.  "And let me do the talking, ok?"

   Clark nodded glumly as Lex's cell phone rang and Lex answered it.  The rain was coming down a bit heavier now; still not the full force of the storm, but enough to make the horizon seem like a blurry smear.  He thought about the first time he had met Lex.  It had been answering his cell phone that had contributed to Lex's losing control of his car and smashing through the guardrail.  If Clark hadn't been who he was Lex would have died that day.  Yet, if he told Lex right now the truth, about who he was and what he had done, would Lex react as Angela had?  The thought made him shiver a little even in the warm car.

     Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lex' left hand tighten a little on the wheel, and Clark looked at him.  He seemed very involved in what the person on the other end was saying.  After a moment Lex looked over at him.

   "It's my contact at the State Department.  He says they ran a full check and what they found matches what we've found out.  Roshenko definitely wasn't who he claimed to be."

     Clark stared out the windshield, but then after a moment turned hastily back to his friend.  "Lex, ask them if anyone else can request the kind of check you did."

    Lex regarded him a little oddly, but dutifully repeated the question, then the response.  "Yes, if it's a legitimate inquiry relevant to business or public safety."  His eyes widened slightly as he understood the gist of Clark's question.

    "Abermarle, has a woman named Angela McKay made any similar inquiries, say, in the past year or so?"  Lex listened thoughtfully, and then nodded.  "Thank you," he said tersely, hanging up and returning his cell phone to his coat pocket.

   "Well, what did he say?"

   "No inquires from our friend Angela," Lex shrugged.  "Of course she may have gotten the information from somewhere else.  The only inquiry related to Roshenko came in about ten years ago, and that person never even bothered following up."

   Clark felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.  "Did he say who that was?"

     Lex was looking at him strangely again.  "Somebody named Carroll at the University.  Why?"

    "Oh my god."  Clark breathed out loudly.

   "Clark, what's wrong?"

   "Oh my god, Lex."  Clark shook his head.  "I left her alone with him."

p

      Angela re-read the letter again, gently smoothing the old-fashioned onionskin paper.  The letter had been typewritten, no doubt on the old machine in Dr. Roshenko's office.  When his lawyer had brought it to her it had been sealed neatly in an envelope, with her name written across it. 

     She couldn't help but tear up a little, thinking of her old friend hunched over his typewriter to provide her with this one last message, and then going to all the trouble to give it to his lawyer for safe delivery in case of his death.  Of course, reading it, she didn't get the feeling the doctor had known just how sudden and untimely that death would be.  It seemed more like the words of a man who just wanted to get his accounts in order than a confession.

   It all made sense now: the love letters, the forged documents.  Why Roshenko never talked about his past.

   Because that past had been a lie.  He admitted it, openly.  He had not been born Evgeny Roshenko, but rather Janus Illyovitch.  The love letters had been his, one of the few pieces of his past he couldn't bring himself to part with.  Illyovitch had been a petty criminal, forgery mostly, working in cities across Europe.  During the war he'd been drafted into the Red Army, where he'd made the acquaintance of a boy about the same age named Evgeny Roshenko.  The two teenagers became friends, bonding over a mutual distaste for Stalinist Russia and an interest in science.  They talked about possibly emigrating to the west after the war, but soon found that to be impossible in the repressive climate of the day.  No Soviet university would take Illyovitch because of his criminal record.  His life seemed to be at a dead end.  Then his friend Roshenko had been killed in an industrial accident, and Illyovitch hatched a plan.  He would take his late friend's name, and defect to the west.  There, the hostility of the Cold War would ensure he would be free of any connection to his criminal past.  His plan worked, and the American government helped him resettle in the United States, never knowing he was not who he claimed to be.  The new Evgeny Roshenko was allowed to attend American universities, building a distinguished career and growing more and more distant from the man he had once been.

   "Now, I am a tired old man, Angela," he had written.  "My work stands on its own; and after I am dead it will no longer matter who knows the truth about me.  I am sorry to hand you this burden, but as my last student you are entitled to know the truth.  I would tell you to do whatever you feel is right with this knowledge."

    Angela carefully wiped away her tears before they could stain the delicate pages. 

   Poor Dr. Roshenko.  She couldn't imagine keeping a secret like that for so long.  Was that why he had never married, so he wouldn't burden another person with it?  What had happened to the woman, Mina, who had written him such passionate letters?  Had he been forced to leave her behind, along with everything else?

   The door behind her opened, and she looked up, hastily running a hand across her eyes.  "Oh, hi.  I'm almost done here."

   "Yes, I imagine you are, Ms. McKay."  Dr. Carroll smiled at her.  "What are you reading?"

   Angela folded the letter back up.  "Oh, nothing, just a letter."

   Carroll stepped closer to her, and Angela nervously stood up.  There was something about the intensity of his expression that unnerved her.

   "The one Roshenko's lawyer brought you?"

   "How did you know…"

   "The walls of a university have ears, Angela.  You should know that by now."

   She edged nervously to one side.  She'd never seen Dr. Carroll like this; most of the time the man didn't seem to have any emotions at all.  "You were eavesdropping."

   "I'm entitled to know what happens in my department, Ms. McKay.  Dr. Roshenko never understood that and I'm afraid he passed that bad habit on to you."  He held out a neatly manicured hand.  "I'd like to see it, please."

   Angela was starting to get angry.  "No."

   His hand flashed out much quicker that she would have thought possible, connecting with the side of her face and knocking her to the floor.  She lay there for a moment next to the lab table, too dazed to do anything but touch her face gingerly.  Her hand came away with blood on it, and she tasted blood.  He must have split her lip.  She stared up at him in surprise. 

   "What…?"

   She wasn't able to finish the expression because he bent down and grabbed her by the collar.  His eyes looked glazed as he shook her.  Hard.  Angela was suddenly struck by the memory of those blue fingerprints around Roshenko's neck.  She kicked out as hard as she could with her bent leg, feeling it connect solidly with his solar plexus.  Twisting out of his grasp and stumbling to her feet, she lunged for the door but didn't get more than a few steps before he grabbed her by the waist, knocking her to the floor.  Angela reached out for something to defend herself, only succeeding in knocking over one of the racks of test tubes and landing amidst the shattered glass.  Before she could swing her arm up for another blow she felt something cold and hard press against her temple.

     His lips were wet with saliva as he stared into her face, nearly nose to nose. 

   "What are you going to do?"  She was almost unable to believe what was happening.  Almost.

   "I'm afraid I can't leave you here for them to find.  Especially not when you've been so clearly wracked with remorse over killing your friend.  You're just going to have to disappear, Angela."  In spite of his appearance he spoke as calmly as if they were at a faculty budget meeting.  That was Dean Carroll--always rational, always in control, always with a plan. 

     And clearly Dean Carroll had gone insane.

P

     It was raining harder by the time Lex pulled up alongside the science building, and Clark had to squint to see that the windows were dark.

   "Damn."  Lex put down his cell phone; he'd been trying to reach the lab repeatedly, but without success.  "Still no answer.  I'm calling the Metropolis P.D."

   "I'll go see if I can find Angela or Dr. Carroll," Clark said, quickly jumping out of the car.

   "Clark, wait, it isn't safe…"

   Clark ignored his friend, circling the building.  With the rain and the coming darkness he was disoriented, trying to remember which door would lead down to the lab quickest.  There were too many floors full of offices and furniture between here and there for his x-ray vision to be much good—he just saw a jumble of images, none of them moving.

   The main doors had been locked, and Clark hoped again what he'd been repeating on the drive over: that everyone had gone home.  He didn't dare just smash thorough the glass.  Clark tried the side doors as well, with no more success.  He did, however, locate the door that he seemed to remember led directly to a stairwell.  His vision confirmed this, and as gently and quietly as he could he turned the knob in his hand until the steel lock gave way and the door unlatched.

   He nearly jumped out of his skin when someone laid a hand on his shoulder.  It was Lex—how long had he been standing there?

   "The police are on the way.  Did you find a way in?"

   Clark nodded.  He wished he knew of some way to distract Lex, but there was no hope for it. 

   Cautiously they descended the stairs to the basement.  They came out into the dim hallway.

   "Do you hear anything?"

   "No.  She must have gone home."

   In spite of his words Lex kept walking, and Clark didn't dare stand still long enough to focus and use his vision.

   They cautiously opened the double doors.  "Lights are still on," Clark observed.  "She wouldn't have gone off and left them on, would she?"

   Looking around the room Clark could see that Angela's bag and the cardboard box were still on the floor by her worktable.  He scanned the room as carefully as he could, but couldn't penetrate many of the larger machines and cabinets.  Of course, this was a laboratory—most things would be shielded with lead to protect them from radiation leaks.

   "Clark, look."  Lex pointed to shards of glass scattered across the floor, clearly from a large and heavy-looking test tube rack that had been upended.  

   He sensed movement a split-second before Lex did, and turned around to see Dean Carroll step out from behind one of the large cabinets lining the side of the room.  In one hand he held a small but still very lethal looking gun; the other he had wrapped around Angela McKay's throat.

   Both Clark and Lex froze where they were; the gun was pressed quite firmly against Angela's temple.

   Lex was the first to recover.

   "The police are on the way, Dr. Carroll.  You had better let her go."

   The doctor made a clucking sound with his tongue, and pressed the gun hard enough against Angela's head to make the woman wince.

   "I don't think so.  They always take ages to get here.  More than enough time to deal with all this unpleasantness."

   Clark noticed Angela's lip was bleeding, and he balled his hands into fists.  He could move fast, but fast enough to stop a bullet fired at point-blank range?  "Angela, are you all right?"

   "She's fine, for the time being," Carroll answered, "and if you want her to stay that way I suggest the two of you move."  He gestured for the two men to move back and to the right, so that they were in effect circling each other.  Apparently Carroll wanted the security of the lab table at his back.

   "Would somebody please tell me," Angela said out as best she could with the doctor's arm across her windpipe, "what the hell is going on?"

   "I'm afraid we've all been wrong," Lex explained gently, careful not to raise his voice and startle the other man into further violence.  "It wasn't Dr. Hamilton who killed Roshenko.  It was Dr. Carroll."

    Angela twisted to look at her assailant, clearly horrified to have her fears confirmed.

   "It was a good enough scheme on the surface, I suppose—blackmailing Dr. Roshenko to keep his secret.  What did you do, threaten to tell the feds?  I doubt they'd care much after all these years. But why kill him, doctor?  Wasn't bleeding him dry for years enough?"  Only Lex could sound so lackadaisical when there was a maniac with a gun in the room.

   "Enough?"  Carroll laughed, making his gun hand tremble even so slightly.  Clark winced.  "I've run this department for fifteen years.  I'm the one who's held it together, even with budget cuts and student enrollment increases.  I'm the one who fights with the administration so men like Roshenko can sit down here and build their own little worlds.  Why shouldn't he pay me back for all that?  Oh, it was bad enough that Roshenko just did whatever he wanted, but then he had to bring Steven Hamilton back into the picture.  There's no way we could weather another scandal like that one."

   "What did he do, doctor?"  Clark was beginning to understand what Lex was doing—trying to keep the man talking so he couldn't harm Angela before the police arrived.  "Did he decide to come clean?"

   "In a manner of speaking.  He was tired of paying up, and told me that the next time I came to him for money he'd go to President Brooke and tell him the truth, tell him about me."  Carroll glanced myopically at the young woman he held.  "You can understand why I couldn't permit that, can't you?" 

    Angela only shuddered.

   "But for your plan to work Hamilton had to take the fall," Lex explained.  "How are you going to explain three more bodies?"

   "You know, I don't really care anymore, Mr. Luthor," Carroll said calmly.

   Clark still couldn't decide if he should try for the gun.  He knew he could get to it in a split second, but if something went wrong and the man fired…

   "And there are three of us and only one of you," Clark said with false bravado.

   "I've got the gun, young man."  The dean smiled indulgently.  "But I suppose you're right."  Before even Clark could react Carroll lifted the gun and brought it down against the side of Angela's head.  He dropped her, unconscious, to the floor, and stepped over her.

   "You son of a…"

   "Temper, temper, Mr. Luthor," the doctor chided.  He now held the gun straight out in front of him, forcing Lex and Clark to back up a little more.

   "Now, I grant you, I'm not sure how I'll explain the two of you.  Maybe you broke in here intent on pursuing justice against poor Ms. McKay.  Or maybe you'll just disappear like she will."

   Glancing at where Angela lay next to the table, Clark felt a tremendous surge of relief.  At least she was out of harm's way.  Now he could get the gun without worrying she'd get caught in the crossfire.  Unfortunately that meant doing so in front of Lex, but since he still couldn't hear any sirens he was out of options.  Carefully he shifted his feet into position.

   "I'm sorry, Lex," he offered.  He wasn't really sure what he meant—sorry for the lies?  Sorry you had to find out this way?—but Lex clearly took him to mean he was sorry for getting him into this mess in the first place.

   "It's ok, Clark," Lex said.

   Clark was about to dash forward and seize the gun, when something extraordinary happened.  A piece of steel pipe came down hard against Carroll's right shoulder, and with a cry of pain he dropped the gun.  He turned around to see his assailant and the pipe connected with his jaw.  The man dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap.

   Behind him stood a bleeding and wobbly Angela McKay, brandishing one of the steel connectors from the test tube rack.  Clark had been so focused on what he was about to do, and all of its implications, he hadn't even seen her.  Fortunately neither had Dr. Carroll.

     Clark rushed forward and grabbed her by the shoulders before she fell.  Angela reached up under her blond hair.

   "I'm bleeding, Clark," she said randomly.

   "Yeah, you sure are."  He did his best to steady her on her feet, unsure what to do.

     Lex reached down and with a handkerchief carefully removed the gun that had fallen from Dr. Carroll's outstretched hand.

   Angela nodded towards the unconscious figure.  "Check his pockets."

   Lex tentatively reached into the man's suit jacket and produced a folded letter from an inside pocket.

   "My letter," Angela explained, swaying a little. "From Dr. Roshenko."

   Clark decided he needed to do some first aid.  "Angela, sit down before you fall down."  She half sat, half fell against the table, and sat propped up against the side of it looking at him dazedly.  In the distance Clark could finally make out the sound of sirens.

   "Better late then never, I guess," he smiled.

   Lex pressed a clean handkerchief against Angela's temple to stop the bleeding.  "I think she's going to need stitches, Clark.  She probably has a concussion from the blow to the head."

   "I'm fine," Angela lied.  She seemed fixated on Carroll's form.  "He killed Dr. Roshenko."

   "We know, Angela," Clark said gently.  "We heard him, too."

   "Hum," she said distractedly.  "Bet you two thought I did it."  With that sage proclamation she closed her eyes and slumped against Clark.

   "She's out cold this time."

   "No wonder, really."  Lex opened the letter and scanned its contents, the held it up for Clark to read.  "It's Roshenko's confession.  Dr. Carroll must have been afraid it would mention something about the blackmail scheme.  That's why he came back for it."

   "And nearly killed Angela in the process," Clark frowned.

   "But all's well that end's well, Clark," Lex smiled.  "Angela's safe.  And just think of the story you and Chloe can write about it."

     "If Chloe forgives me for taking off without her.  And we both owe Angela an apology, for suspecting her." Clark sighed.  "Seems like all I do lately is apologize to women."

   Lex laughed.  "Welcome to the adult world, Clark."

P

       In the lobby of Metropolis General Hospital, Clark did his best to explain everything that had happened to Detectives Bright and Harris. 

   "So you're saying you and Ms. McKay knowingly withheld evidence from a police investigation?"  Harris rubbed the back of his neck. 

   "We didn't know it was evidence," Clark said again.  "We didn't know what it was."

   "You're lucky you didn't get killed," Bright told him.

   "What's going to happen to Dr. Carroll now?"

   "Ms. McKay delivered quite a blow with that piece of pipe."  Detective Bright almost grinned.  "But Carroll's no dummy—as soon as he came to he demanded his lawyer.  But considering we have three witnesses to his confession, I'd say the D.A. should be willing to drop the charges against Dr. Hamilton."

   Clark glanced across the room, where Lex was on his cell phone with Hamilton's lawyer.  "I hope so."

   "Ms. McKay's given us permission to recover the letters from her apartment," Harris continued.  "She's also handed over the last letter Roshenko wrote to her."

   Bright looked thoughtful.  "Hard to believe he lied to everyone all those years and got away with it."

   "Not completely—Carroll suspected it, and was able to use it to blackmail Roshenko for years," Clark corrected.

   "And the State Department claims it knew about him all along, but since his record's been clean they didn't care," Harris added.  "Of course, they might just be covering their butts.  There's going to be a lot of publicity about this case that could make a lot of people look bad."

      Clark shook his head.  He knew that bad publicity would probably include the Metropolis P.D, who had had the wrong suspect in custody for nearly a month.  Neither Harris nor Bright would tell him whether they'd looked at Carroll as a suspect at all, but if he had to guess he'd say they hadn't. 

   Across the room Lex hung up his cell phone with a satisfied smile.  Hamilton's lawyer was on his way to the hospital, to corner the two detectives about the new break in the case.  He'd told Lex he hoped to have Hamilton out of jail the next day.  Lex made a note to arrange for Hamilton to take a long vacation, far away from Metropolis.

     "Mr. Luthor?"

   He looked up to see a nurse standing at his elbow.

   "Ms. McKay is awake and would like to see you."

   Lex glanced across the room, but Clark was still deep in conversation with the two detectives.  He nodded, and followed the nurse back into the urgent care ward.

   He'd never forgotten the antiseptic smell of Metropolis General.  His doctors had kept him here for nearly a month after the meteor shower, running test after test to try and determine what had caused his hair loss and if there would be lingering health effects.  Against his mother's wishes his father had finally put his foot down and insisted Lex return to school.  To this day Lex wasn't sure if he appreciated or resented his father's actions.  All he knew was that he couldn't stand hospitals. 

     But he supposed he owed it to Angela to see her.  After all, if Clark hadn't stuck to his convictions Angela might have gotten killed.  Once again, it was Clark, and not Lex, who stood in the role of hero.

    She was sitting propped up in bed in a private room, with a patch of gauze covering her temple.  She smiled wanly.

   "Hey."

   "Hey.  How do you feel?"

   "How do I look like I feel?"

     Lex smiled.  "The doctors say you've got a concussion; they had to put a few stitches in where Carroll hit you with the gun."

   Angela raised a hand to the bandage.  "Everything's a little fuzzy; I think the painkillers they gave me have made me dopey."  She looked at him closely.  "How did you and Clark know I needed rescuing?"

   "Clark just sort of sensed you were in trouble.  Believe me, he's good at that."

   "Yeah, I guess he is.  Anyway, thank you—for, like, my life."

    "You're welcome.  I've been trying to reach you for the last two weeks, but…"  Lex let his voice trail off.

   Angela was silent for a long moment.  Then she pointed across the room.

   "Look in my bag."

   Lex regarded her oddly, but did as she bade.  The nurses had left her possessions on a chair, and searching through her bag he came to what felt like a stack of papers bundled with a rubber band.

   "His letters?"

   "No."  Angela shook her head, then winced.  "Look at them."

   Lex studied them for a moment.  "They're checks.  From Dr. Hamilton."

   "To Dr. Roshenko.  I took some of his professional papers from his house, and these were mixed in."

   "Why do you want me to see them?"

   Angela smiled, ever so slightly.  "You'll notice Roshenko never cashed any of them.  I don't know if he forgot or if he never intended to.  But I did some checking."

   "Really."  Lex did his best to appear nonchalant.

   "C'mon, Lex.  You covered your tracks well, but not that well.  I know Dr. Hamilton was working for you.  That's how he funded his research.  And that's why you showed up at my lab looking for some way to clear his name.  Wasn't it?"

   Lex knew it was a rhetorical question.  He sat gingerly on the edge of her bed.

   "I've just been helping him out."

   She looked at him skeptically.  "Uh huh.  Clark doesn't know, does he?"

   "No."  He looked directly into her eyes.  "Are you going to tell him?"

   Angela glanced away.  "No.  But only because I think you should.  Lex, friends as good as you and Clark shouldn't keep secrets from each other." She smiled enigmatically.  "Believe me, I know."

   "I know you do."  He wasn't sure what to do, he just sat there.  "Is there anything you need?" 

   "No.  I think I'm just going to rest for a while." Her eyes had already drifted shut.  "See you around, Lex," she said sleepily.

   Lex waited a few minutes, until he was sure she was asleep.  Then he stood up and carefully bent over her.  He kissed her very gently, on the forehead.

   "Goodbye, Angela." 

P

     "So the Metropolis police aren't going to press charges against you or Angela?"

   Clark had invited Pete and Chloe over to talk about the end of the case.  His parents even let him order a pizza for the occasion.  They hadn't said so, but Clark could tell they were proud of him.  He still had to help his dad repair the barn roof, though.

   "No, but there were pretty insistent that we had better keep our noses clean.  Which is fine with me—I don't want to get mixed up in anything like this ever again."  He picked the pineapple Pete had insisted on ordering off his slice of pizza.

   "I think you got really lucky, Clark," Pete opined, helping himself to Clark's cast-off pineapple.  "You solved the case and you saved the girl," he winked.  "She must have been really grateful."

   "Not really—more unconscious," Clark corrected.  Why were they always unconscious?  It never happened that way in the movies.

   "And not only did Carroll not get away with the murder," Chloe said proudly, "but the University says Roshenko's lab will be reopened next week, as soon as Angela's feeling up to going back to work.  You'll never guess who they found to replace Dr. Roshenko."

   "I'll bite," Pete said.  "Who?"

   Chloe grinned.  "Dr. Emil Hamilton."

   "Another Hamilton?"  Pete groaned.  "That can't be good."

   "No, I called Angela when I heard and she says the guy's a genius.  Been doing really hush-hush government stuff but he's excited about continuing Roshenko's work, too.  And since they're friends it means Angela's job's safe, too."

   "What happened to Hamilton, the other one, I mean?"  Clark wondered aloud.  "There haven't been any interviews in the paper or anything about him.

   "Vanished into thin air," Chloe explained. 

   "Probably skipped town until things cool down," Pete suggested.  "Too bad—he could put together a heck of a lawsuit against the Metropolis P.D.  Apparently they bought Carroll's story that he was at home during the murder, and never dug any further.  If they had, this whole mess might never had happened."

   "Don't forget—it was Lex's digging that turned up who Roshenko really was."  Clark couldn't help sticking up for his friend. 

   Chloe stuck her elbow in his ribs.  "I still can't believe you went to Lex for help without me."

   Looking at her from under his lashes, Clark frowned.  "Are you still mad?"

   She was thoughtful for a moment.  "No, I guess not.  Since I'm technically still grounded I wouldn't have been much help anyway.  But, Clark, are you sure you want to give me the byline in the Smallville Ledger?  Your name should be there, too, especially since the Daily Planet didn't give you and Lex any credit."

   Clark shook his head.  "No.  I've thought about it a lot and you should have it.  It will be something else for your portfolio.  I'm not sure I'm cut out for journalism, anyway."

   "Don't sell yourself short, Clark," Pete countered.  "You cracked this case wide open.  Journalists don't get much better than that."

   "Maybe." 

     He'd spent a lot of time thinking over Dr. Roshenko's life, and his death.  Clark still wasn't sure what to make of the man.  Could it have been that easy for him to live a double life?  Was he really the criminal, the scam artist Janus Illyovitch?  Had being Roshenko just been a convenient cover?  Or had adopting another identity allowed Roshenko to become the man he'd always wanted to be, a man trusted and loved by those who knew him?  Clark knew Angela would say the second was true.  Lex, ever skeptical about human nature, would probably say the first was.

     As for Clark himself, he would probably never know for sure. 

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