From Part 1:
With a sigh, Clark dragged himself up from his chair. It was no use denying that he had feelings for Lois Lane. What was important was how he dealt with them. Pushing her away certainly was the safer way to handle her. But that did not mean that he had to be rude. This was not the way he wanted to treat a woman; he would not be able to live with himself. There were just certain mistakes he was not going to make again, and daydreaming about a brunette female reporter was definitely one of them.
Clark had one last look at the empty newsroom in general and Lois’ desk in particular, before he switched off the lamp and made his way towards the elevators. He needed to get a tuxedo.
Hurt Before
Part 2
Almost two hours later, Clark opened the door to his hotel room. A single light bulb cast a dull light on the gray walls. In one corner was a bed with faded linen. The other corner held a small kitchenette. "Hotel room" was not actually an appropriate term. This was a dump, compared even to most other places Clark had lived in, and not all of them had had the luxury of running water. But pretty much any place was cozier than this room, with the exception of maybe a prison cell.
Clark put the tuxedo he had rented in the closet and withdrew a large cardboard box. He sat down on the bed that squeaked ominously under his weight. The mattress was worn and uncomfortable. Clark could feel every single spring digging into his skin. It was a good thing he was invulnerable, or else this place might have already proven uninhabitable.
Two floors down, the owner of this hellhole continued his daily fight with the missus. They had already gotten to throwing things, which made Clark assume they had started earlier than usual. Perhaps the liquor store across the street had run out on the guy’s favorite brand of beer. In the apartment next door someone was watching TV. Judging from the squeaking bed above him, his neighbor upstairs had gotten lucky. A blaring siren invaded Clark’s senses and he heard the police radio broadcasting the description of a thug who had broken into a jeweler’s shop downtown.
Clark sighed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He knew that sooner or later he needed to make a decision. Coming to Metropolis had seemed like a good idea at the time – he was not so sure anymore. This city was just too much. There was always someone crying for help, always some minor or major disaster that begged for his attention. The harder he fought to ignore this ever present noise the worse it got. Clark’s conscience would not let him turn a deaf ear to all this pain, enhancing every single cry a million times until he hardly slept anymore.
Clark had stopped a bus with failing brakes, had prevented some muggings… It just was never enough. If he truly wanted to make a difference in this city, he would need to come out into the open. That was a thought that had always terrified him. After all, he knew what would happen if anyone ever found out what he really was. No, it was crucial that he stay under the radar.
Sighing again, Clark opened his eyes and reached for the box that sat on the bed beside him. Inside was every article, every snippet of information that he had been able to gather on Lex Luthor. Most of them told the story of a successful philanthropist who had started from scratch. But they also told a darker story of bribery and protection money - a story of someone who in all likelihood had made a name for himself as ‘the Boss’.
Clark withdrew today’s notes from inside his jacket and added them to his collection. He had a whole box of evidence, but hardly anything that would stand up in court. And he had nothing whatsoever on the crime that he most desperately longed to prove. His special abilities were a blessing just as much as they were a curse. They had helped him to learn so much, but at the same time they kept him from entirely unraveling the truth. He could not reveal Luthor’s true face, not yet.
* * *
Midwestern University, March 1988
“Did you hear the news?” Lana asked as she stormed into Clark’s room. Without waiting for his reply, she continued. “Lex Luthor is going to lecture at Mid U.” She looked at him expectantly, her blue eyes gleaming with excitement.
<Doesn’t she ever knock?>, he thought amused and put down his pencil.
Actually, he welcomed the distraction. For hours he had been reading what different authors thought about Shakespeare’s ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. None of those texts made for a simple reading and they definitely lacked the serenity of the play. Clark stifled a yawn and leaned back in his chair, drowning in those blue eyes of hers. Lana looked absolutely adorable with that slight flush on her cheeks. She tilted on her toes, impatiently.
“So, when’s the big day?” he asked, for good measure. Lana’s whole stance told Clark that she was about to burst if she did not get to tell him right away.
“Friday evening,” she promptly replied, a smile spreading across her lips.
He loved it when she smiled like that. To Clark, it made the world turn slower. His breath hitched and he could think about little else than kissing her. Friday night … Friday night … Clark’s stomach suddenly lurched and his heart started to pound in his ears, as he realized what Luthor’s lecture on Friday evening would mean.
It obviously showed on his face as well, because Lana went on. “I know, I know, our date,” she said apologetically. “But Clark, Luthor is the American Dream come true and I just can’t pass up the opportunity to talk to him. His insights on domestic economy could help me find the right angle for my thesis.”
“Well, I know how much work you already put into that thesis…” Clark conceded, consciously forcing his lips to twist into a warm smile. “I guess we could postpone our date.” His stomach clenched painfully.
With a small cry of delight, Lana embraced Clark. “Why don’t you join me? The lecture is open for all students,” she offered. “Perhaps you could also do an interview with Luthor. And afterwards we could go for a bite. Now, how does that sound?”
“Great,” Clark had a hard time trying to sound even half as enthusiastic as Lana did. This was not how he had imagined their date. He had been agonizing about Friday night. He had barely slept during the past couple of days, always wondering how he was going to approach the issue at hand.
Lana sat down on his bed, leaning back and supporting her weight with her arms. As a result, her blouse stretched provocatively across her ample bosom. Involuntarily, Clark’s gaze drifted lower. He gulped. A smug smile played on Lana’s lips.
“See anything you like?” she teased him.
* * *
“So you’re finally going out again?” Martha Kent smiled broadly as she cleared the table except for the plate in front of Clark.
He was still picking at his piece of apple pie, as she walked up to the counter and put the empty plates into the sink. With only a moment’s hesitation Martha obviously decided, that doing the dishes could wait until much later. For now, she seemed intent on learning everything there was to know about the woman who had captured her son's attention. Clark was not so naïve to belief that his amateurishly feigned indifference could actually fool his mother. It was more than pathetic that he still tried.
“Mom, your apple pie is delicious as ever,” Clark replied, pretending not to have heard his mother’s comment.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw Jonathan Kent dab his mouth with a napkin. His gaze rested on Clark, thoughtfully. Clark’s unusual lack of enthusiasm for his mother’s pie was not lost on his father. With an inaudible sigh, Clark dug his fork into the pie and took another bite. Try as he might to prevent it, his thoughts kept drifting back to Lois Lane - and it showed.
“We’re not going out, Mom. It’s business,” he eventually conceded and put down his fork. The plate was finally cleared and Clark chewed his last bite of pie. He could as well have eaten cardboard, but Clark was painfully aware that there was nothing wrong with the pie.
His mother flashed him a smile and squeezed his hand. “Whatever you want to call it… I’m glad you’re finally coming out of your snail shell. ”
“You sure you want to go to Luthor’s ball?” Jonathan chimed in. He had not said much at all during dinner. Mostly, he seemed content with just listening. Now he straightened and carefully watched his son, his gaze full of concern.
“It could be a chance,” Clark said quietly, bringing up the argument he had used with himself throughout his flight from Metropolis. “I can’t keep running like I have. Lois Lane might become an ally.” This time Clark sighed audibly. “Besides, we don’t know for certain that he knows.”
With a low growl of despair he pushed back his chair and got up. Who was he trying to fool? However much he admired his working partner, he could not let his guard down. He was all too aware of the old saying what with the best laid plans of mice and men. Lex Luthor might be the story of the century, as Lois had put it – but Clark Kent was the story of the millennium. It was not hard to predict which one she was going to print if given the choice. Futilely searching for an outlet for his raging emotions, Clark started pacing and raking his hands through his hair.
“You’re right, we don’t know that,” Martha cautiously agreed. “Clark…” She stepped in his way, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Not for the first time in his life, Clark wondered if his mother was not actually the person who had superpowers. She had no difficulties stopping him when hardly anything else could.
“I’m running out of ideas. Perhaps, if I got Lois to help me then maybe…” he breathed out, suddenly feeling incredibly helpless. Honestly, he did not really know what he expected. Coming to Metropolis, he had been grasping at straws, the hunch of a moment. It was something he was already starting to regret. He knew he could very well get caught in his own trap.
“Don’t you think that you’re becoming a little obsessed with Luthor? I’m sure he has done some questionable things, but he might not be quite the devil you’re making him out to be.” Martha said reasonably. She squeezed his shoulder, looking at him gently. Her eyes were full of sympathy. “I know how hard it was on you to lose Lana. But you have to accept that her death was not your fault. And it might not have been Luthor’s fault either. I don’t claim to know what happened between the two of you, but you didn’t…”
“Mom…” Clark exclaimed, exasperated, but trailed off at his father’s warning glance. He took a calming breath and muttered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… But you didn’t see his eyes, you didn’t see the evil glint when he…” Clark’s voice broke. “I wasn’t imagining that, Mom!”
“I didn’t say you were,” Martha replied softly. “But maybe there’s a reason why you couldn’t prove that Luthor was involved in Lana’s death. I know you’ve been wondering the same thing,” Martha said with absolute certainty. She was also a mind-reader - that was her second superpower.
“Yeah, I guess that’s possible,” Clark admitted with a sigh.
Jonathan Kent visibly relaxed in his chair. It pained Clark to even imagine his parents might feel threatened by him. He felt sick to his stomach as he looked at his mother, who he had almost attacked, if only in words. He shrunk in on himself and dug his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers. His mother on the other hand remained where she was, one hand on his shoulder, completely unfazed. In her presence, Clark often felt as if he had no superpowers at all. His mother was so much stronger.
It dawned on him that his father had not been concerned that Luthor might expose Clark, when he had asked if he was sure that he wanted to attend the ball. He knew that fear was irrational, anyway. But Clark just could not shake the feeling that Luthor knew, that he had known… It was a nagging feeling that he just could not shake.
“And if Luthor is truly responsible for…” Martha trailed of, the slight trembling in her voice indicating that she was indeed worried that Clark might be right.
“I know what I’m getting myself into,” Clark added defensively, wondering if he truly did.
“Just be careful, son.” Jonathan said thickly and got up from his chair as well.
“I will,” Clark promised and hugged his father. “It’s time for me to head back now.”
“We’ll see you next week,” Martha replied and buried her face in her son’s broad chest as she hugged him, too. “Be careful, sweetie,” she whispered before she let go of him. Clark smiled at his parents and turned to leave. “Uh, and Clark…”
“Yeah, Mom?” His hand on the door knob, he turned to her.
“Give this girl a chance, will you?”
to be continued...
