Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was four-thirty-one AM and Clark had work in three hours and twenty-nine minutes. He’d been out the whole day trying to sniff out (sometimes literally - just a little bit of kryptonite stank like ammonia) Lex Luthor’s newest laboratory. Clark would joke that Luthor had it out for him, except it would be ruined by the fact that Luthor actually did, in fact, try to make Superman’s life as miserable as possible. Of course, that left Clark with a vague draft of an idea of an article and six hours to research, write, and edit it. Oh, and to eat because there was no sunlight at ten PM, and to try and sleep because the last few days had been exactly like this.

Luthor. Most of Clark’s problems boiled down to that one name.

So, therefore, Clark thinks that he’s not accountable for what happened next. It was what any respectable hero would have done: lie and trick his way into the most advantageous position possible on no information and then break down and call Batman once the threat is gone.

Back to what happened. It was four-thirty-one AM and there was a sharp knock on the door. Clark perked up, eager for the excuse to leave the incredibly long, incredibly boring research paper on the impact of public trash cans on enthusiasm of sports fans behind. He darted over to the door, not bothering to change out of his sweatpants and ratty hoodie, and threw it open.

Lex Luthor was standing outside his apartment holding a two-year old child.

He was wearing an immaculate designer suit, which was at odds with the toddler currently slobbering all over it. Luthor looked exactly like he had last week (when Clark most recently fought him) except for a couple nasty shiners on his eye and jaw, presumably from Clark. The toddler was dressed in a cute little outfit of pants under a too-big t-shirt that swamped his little figure and tiny little loafers, one of which the child had taken off and decided made a better chew toy than the pacifier clipped to his shirt. He was making a decent headway in consuming the thing. Hopefully Luthor hadn’t paid too much for those.

Just what was Luthor doing here?

Well, he thought. Only one thing to it. Let him in and see where it goes.

“. . . hello?” he said, wincing at how it sounded like a question. “Do . . . you want to come in?”

Lex Luthor (seriously, what?) looked him up and down once, then marched inside. Clark was very glad he had left his suit in its hiding place in the ceiling panels.

“Why do you have a two-year-old?” he asked, wanting to get the elephant in the room out of the way first. He could probably rule out Luthor discovering his identity, because if that happened, there would probably be a lot more kryptonite involved in this encounter, and Clark couldn’t smell it. Or maybe the kryptonite was in a lead casing, that blocked the smell. Maybe he was right?

“He’s six.”

Clark blinked in surprise. “Years?”

“Months.” Luthor sat down on Clark's couch, still awkwardly holding the two-year-(six-month?)-old. “Can you keep a secret from Superman?”

“Uhhhh . . .” Y’know what? This was the perfect opportunity to figure out why the hell Luthor had been acting so weird lately. It probably had to do with this child and damn if Clark wasn’t curious. He was a reporter after all, and he knew not to let an opportunity like this slip by. “Sure, yeah. I can do that. Now can you explain what’s going on?”

Luthor’s face soured like he’d tasted a particularly bitter lemon. “This is my son.”

“Okay?” Honestly, it made sense that Luthor wouldn’t want Superman to know about his child, but then why would he come to Clark if he’d already kept the kid a secret for two years/six months (he still wasn’t sold on the whole age thing).

“This is also Superman’s son.”

Clark bluescreened. “What?”

He had a son? How had . . . how had that happened?

The thing about being an alien was that Clark had a different reproductive system to humans. Sure, it looked similar, but he did not know if it was compatible with the human reproductive system. For all he knew, he could get pregnant, or their genes could be completely incompatible (didn’t something about numbers of chromosomes come into play?). He just didn’t know, and he sure as hell wasn’t asking the AI of his biological father about it. Nope. The point was, how was this his kid?

“Yes,” Lex continued in response to the confusion Clark knew was scribbled across his face, “I made him using cloning technology and a mix of our DNA. Unfortunately, Superman is close to discovering the laboratory where I was growing him, so I had to remove him from the growth tube early and I must hide him so that Superman –” he spat the name like it was poison “– does not interfere.”

Growth tube, Clark thought. What the hell. “Even though you made a baby using his DNA without his consent?”

“That’s irrelevant. This is my child, he can get his own.”

Clark fell silent as he digested that. It was probably best not to argue with that any further, for the sake of information gathering. Honestly, he was pretty close to breaking down and calling his parents to scream. Or Bruce. Hadn’t he dealt with this once or twice?

“Okay, I think I got all that,” he began. “But why are you here?”

“Is it not clear? I want you to raise this child until I am able to.”

Wait a minute. Hold up.

“You’re not going to raise your own child!?”

An irritated look flashed across Lex’s face. “No, Superman would take him from me. Obviously not.”

Clark stared at him for a moment. That was a fair assessment of what he’d do. It was also wholly unfair to use it as an argument for hiding the kid because Clark thought he had the right to parent the kid made from his DNA without his consent.

“And why do you want me, specifically, to raise him?” Clark asked. “You could have chosen anybody in Metropolis, heck, Bruce Wayne probably would have taken him in with the blue eyes, black hair and all, so why a random reporter from a newspaper that is a consistent critic of yours?”

Luthor scoffed, a sound unfortunately familiar to Clark. “Please. I read your editorial on Superman from a few months ago. Not many would have criticized Metropolis’s savior like that. That’s how I know you are the best option: you won’t turn my child into a cultist like the rest of the city.”

Okay. Let’s just ignore the fact that Luthor reads the Planet regularly and just compared people who liked Superman to a cult and move on. Okay. Logistics? Let’s ask about logistics.

“Even if I accept your offer, I won’t be able to provide for them. I’m a reporter, remember, I can barely provide for myself.” A half-human toddler would probably need food, not to mention other supplies, and Clark barely managed to stay afloat even after he cut the costs of food from his budget (thank goodness for sunlight. Clark shuddered to think of how speedsters like the Flash, who had similar energy needs, managed to get enough food to live, much less go at the speeds they did. He thought there was a stipend from Batman, or the city?).

“That’s not a problem, I will have a sum deposited into your account each month that should be enough to keep him comfortable and be enough to pay you for your services.”

“Pay?” That was a thought, Clark getting paid for raising his own child. “You don’t need to pay me, just enough so I can take care of the kid is fine . . .”

“Think of it as a reassurance that you will not tell anyone about our arrangement.” With the way Luthor was eyeing him, Clark decided to let the topic rest. Luthor probably felt like he needed some guarantee Clark wouldn’t talk, and it was kind of funny when Clark thought about it. His mortal enemy, paying him what could be called child support if you looked at it right.

“And what if Superman finds out?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. Would that involve the usual hairbrained kryptonite schemes he had to deal with, or would Luthor upgrade to a new level of danger for his son? In simpler terms, would he be any more successful than his past attempts at Clark’s murder?

“I’ll take care of it,” Lex gritted out.

“And what am I supposed to tell my friends? I’m sure not gonna tell them I accidentally had a kid I didn’t know about, I’d never do that and they know it.” A thought struck him like lightning. “Oh God. What am I going to tell my parents?”

“Tell them the truth. One of your associates you met through a story had a child they weren’t able to take care of and you’re taking care of their child until they are able to again.” Wow, that actually would work. If only Clark had those cover-story skills.

“Right.” Clark frowned, only just now remembering something. “What’s his name?”

Luthor looked to the side, suddenly very interested in Clark’s window. “I haven’t named him.”

What.

“You’re telling me,” Clark said, bringing his fingers up to massage his temples. “That you’re going through all of this - you made a test-tube, cloned child of the goddamn Superman - and you didn’t even name him?!”

“. . . no.” If Clark didn’t know better, Luthor looked downright embarrassed.

“Right, that’s it, his name is . . .” Clark cast around furiously for a name, and grabbed the first one that came to mind: Connor. It was one of the names his parents considered for him, and what better usage for the name than his literal clone? Speaking of, he should probably consult Jor-El later to get a kryptonian name for him. “Connor. He’ll be Connor Kent –”

“Luthor-Kent,” his literal supervillain arch-nemesis interjected, the irony flying over his head.

“Fine, Luthor-Kent, but only in private, I do not want those questions, and it’ll stay that way because if I’m doing this - holy fuck I’m doing this - I will be this boy’s father just as much as you or Superman.” Clark paused. “More, actually, since it looks like I’m the one who’s gonna be raising him.”

“Now,” he said, leaning forward to rest his hands on his knees. “Is there anything else I need to know about him?”

Luthor visibly bristled, but handed over a manila folder.

Two hours, a few forged documents, and several intense negotiations later, Clark Kent was the proud father of one Conner Luthor-Kent and Lex Luthor was gone without a trace (save for the child and documents he left behind).

Clark picked up his phone, holding Conner on his hip.

He has my eyes, Clark thought as he scrolled through his phone to find a specific contact.

Clark stared into his son’s tiny, chubby, adorable little face as he dialed the number. Welp. Guess he was a father now.

“Hey. I have a child now.”

Chapter Text

“Excuse me?” Perry White sputtered. It was six-thirty-something in the morning, way too early for any of Kent and Lane’s bullshit - because that’s the only reason why they ever called, not for reasonable things like permission to chase stories or inquiries about shift covers for sick reporters, no. Lane called to inform Perry of whatever shenanigans she was up to this time and ask totally hypothetical questions about his reaction if he found out about whatever trouble she was in now. Kent called to poorly lie to support Lane’s bullshit and to request (which was a nice term for ‘I’m going to do this anyway, I’m just telling you as a courtesy’) leave for family emergencies or suspicious illnesses. No family farm had as many emergencies as the Kents’ did, Perry could tell you that.

So when Kent called at the literal crack of dawn, Perry expected the usual. Probably a lie about some kind of sickness, Perry would grudgingly let Kent leave, Kent would thank him and promise this would be the last time.

Perry was not expecting . . . that.

“I have a child, Mr. White. Is it okay that I won’t be coming in today, because I need to get baby supplies, and food, and oh gosh, do you know what toddlers eat, Mr. White?”

Perry sat there, slack-jawed as Kent yammered on about toddlers, and what they needed, and cute toddler clothes and new shoes because the kid apparently ate one.

“Kent,” he said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Take the day. Hell, take the week. Don’t come back until you’ve settled the kid, and don’t get wrapped up in Lane’s drama in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Mr. White!” Perry could practically see the man’s sunny smile.

“Yeah, yeah, Kent. Good luck.” Perry ended the call.

This man, Perry swore, would be the death of him. Not Lane, whose enthusiasm and daredevil qualities he could deal with, but Kent, who was utterly unpredictable. Every time Perry got used to his sudden disappearances and absences, Kent pulled something like this.

Reporters, he thought. Never a normal one, never.

—

“What?” Bruce growled. Clark had a kid? From where? Was it a lost child he needed help returning to their home? Why didn’t Bruce know about this?

“Yeah. I have a kid.” Clark sounded sheepish over the phone, if that was even possible. “Um, Luthor cloned me? But apparently my DNA was too unstable on its own, so he added some of his, and now I have a son with Lex Luthor.”

“And how did you acquire him?”

“He actually came to me. Remember that article I wrote on myself a few months back?”

Bruce grunted.

“Luthor read it, and apparently thought it meant I wouldn’t turn his child into a cultist, his words. He’s paying me child support, Bruce. Child support!”

Bruce grunted again, opening his laptop. He’d bought several parenting guides when he’d gotten Dick, and Clark would probably appreciate the gift.

—

“Clark, honey, what are you saying?” Martha asked. Her son was going on about having a child?

“Lex Luthor cloned me, but added in his DNA, and now I have a son.” Clark sounded nervous, probably of how she would react.

Martha opted for reassurance. She could deal with her own confusion later, but right now her son (and grandson?) needed stability.

“That’s great, honey, does he have a name?”

“Yeah!” her son brightened, and Martha smiled. There was no feeling like hearing your child sound so happy. “His name is Conner, Conner Luthor-Kent - Luthor insisted on that. I’ll probably take him up to get checked out by Jor-El and to get him a kryptonian name after we visit you.”

“Well, I can’t wait. Did you sort everything out with your boss?”

“Yes, he was very understanding.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to tell your father the good news. You just focus on getting everything you need for little Conner, and we’ll see you soon.”

“Love you, Ma”

“I love you too, Clark.”

Martha had not expected to be a grandmother soon, or ever due to her son’s line of work. It felt so nice, to know that her son had, through some twist of fate, gotten a son of his own. He may be unsure now, but Martha had faith in him. She wondered, for a moment, what her new grandson looked like, before shaking her head and going to find her husband. Martha had good news, and she would share it.

—

Lex Luthor grinned to himself as his limousine drove away from Clark Kent’s apartment. It had been a risk, involving an outsider, and a Daily Planet/Lois Lane-associated outsider at that, but the reporter took to the surprises nearly seamlessly. His demands, like the clone having his surname as well as Lex’s, were even reasonable.

Now, surely, the child, or Conner, as Kent named him, would be safe from meddling superheroes, and he would grow up in an environment that fostered critical thinking, research, investigation, and, most importantly, not worshipping Superman. The benefits of reporters.

Lex had to admit, he was skeptical of Kent when he first read his editorial. It was on Superman, but it was critical not just of the alien himself and how he could do better, but also of the extreme belief put into him.

“Superman may be a hero, and an incredibly skilled one, but he is just one person, and one person cannot be everywhere at once. We, the people of Metropolis, must not only look up to Superman, but follow his example, and do better.”

It was a nice bit of writing, and even if it had been pro-Superman overall, it was more of a call to action to the ordinary citizen. Lex had been surprised to encounter criticism of Metropolis’s beloved hero, though, and some digging into Kent’s other work told him that the only reason Kent didn’t share the Planet’s spotlight with big names like Lois Lane and Cat Grant was because he didn’t want to.

He certainly had the skills, Lex knew on account of the various times he’d been interviewed and investigated by Kent when Lane had been off chasing some other story.

Kent also wasn’t bad on the eyes, Lex thought before immediately slamming the thought into a mental vault. Nope. Not going there, not with someone he still needed to monitor in case he contacted Superman.

Hmm . . . perhaps monthly visits would take care of that. Lex could make sure Kent kept his silence and remain a presence in his son’s life at the same time. And getting to be around that stupidly handsome reporter? Merely a side effect.

Yes, this was all going according to plan.