Jonathan recognized the look Martha wore on her face as she entered the house. It was the look that meant she'd made up her mind about something, and he wasn't going to like it.

In the chaos of Clark's last few weeks of kindergarten—there always seemed to be so much more to do than they had time for, with the little guy running around—they'd let the registration tags on the truck expire. Martha had gotten a fix-it ticket for the tags, and she'd gone down to the police station to clear it up. Jonathan hadn't expected to see her return with that face.

"What's on your mind, sweetie?" he asked.

Martha stared at him intently. "There was a boy at the station whose father had just been arrested. His mother passed away, and he doesn't have any other family. They're looking for foster parents. Probably adoptive parents, depending on the outcome of the trial."

"You're thinking of taking him in."

"Well, we've been waiting for a placement. His social worker offered it to us."

"That's great news!" Jonathan smiled. She didn't smile back, and Jonathan realized there must be a catch. "What's wrong?"

"He's been abused. I saw the bruises. He also has hallucinations about his baby brother who passed away."

"Okay." Jonathan didn't expect a child whose father had been arrested to come without issues.

"He has an . . . unusual appearance."

Jonathan shook his head. "When have I ever cared about that?"

Martha nodded. "He's also thirteen."

Jonathan shrugged. "Older might be better. He needs to be mature enough to handle Clark's secret."

"Okay." Martha smiled. "I'll call the social worker and say we're accepting the placement."

Something about the way Martha said it made Jonathan wonder if she was holding something back. "Martha. What's wrong with him, really?"

She winced. "You . . . might not like his name."

Jonathan let out a short laugh. "His name? Honey, you have to know me better than that."

"Great!" Martha kissed him on the cheek. "I'll make the call."

She reached for the phone, and Jonathan frowned. "Um, what is his name?"

"Alexander Luthor." Martha put the phone to her ear. "Hello? This is Martha Kent. Yes, we'll take him."

Luthor.

Lionel's son.

Jonathan knew why Martha had felt the need to dance around the Luthor name—he hadn't exactly kept his disdain for Lionel quiet—but if Lionel's son was thirteen, he wouldn't have yet had the opportunity to develop into the spitting image of his father yet. The boy might need quite a lot of love and discipline to rise above his genes, but Jonathan was happy to provide in a way Lionel hadn't.

And if the boy had been mistreated by Lionel . . . well, that was something Jonathan could sympathize with.