Chapter 20:
Clark leaned against his desk, eyes scanning across the bullpen through the glass of his temporary office feeling as though he were ensconced in a bubble. Which, in many ways, he was. He swirled the little bit of cheap champagne he had left in his plastic flute from earlier, examining the legs of the alcohol as they slid down the clear plastic. They had all celebrated the recovery of the colonist transport launch in the morning and the end of the threat on the future of the space program. Dr. Baines and any cronies of hers that might have known about his nefarious plans were all wrapped up nicely. Lois was safe and sound, and had talked with him both last night after the explosion and this morning, opening up about her fight with Lex even over a couple of cigarettes on the rooftop in the aftermath of it all.
Things were going swimmingly all around.
An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. He liked things going according to plan. He didn't like feeling unbeatable. When people got cocky, things fell apart. Hubris, he supposed.
He could stop here.
The thought came out of nowhere, but there it was, seared across his mind like some horrific tragedy he couldn't erase. Clark looked out at Lois, typing furiously away at her desk, racing against the clock to finish her work before Perry sent her home for the night. He weighed the possibility in his mind. He was already on his way to getting the girl, he knew. Why invite more trouble? Lex would get out of his way eventually, and maybe he would be devastated enough...
No. It would never be enough. Not for ruining his entire life.
He would just have to remain vigilant.
The door opened a crack and Lois popped her head in. He couldn't help smiling at her, simultaneously pushing down the weird bubble of feeling that surfaced in his chest at the sight of her face.
Get a grip, Kent.
"Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I sent my story out to Perry and I'm headed home for the night."
Clark smiled. She didn't have to check in with him before leaving, she did that willingly. She wanted to see him before heading home. He bit the corner of his cheek to keep his grin from getting any wider and drawing her suspicion. "Sounds great. See you tomorrow, Lois."
She shifted a moment, glancing over her shoulder briefly and then back at him. A war spread across her delicate features, as debate waged as to whether she should come in and say something more or leave things as they were. Clark watched her with a curious eye, cocking his head slightly at her. "Was there something else?"
She opened her mouth, and that irresponsible part of him was struck with the desire to kiss her, like lightning strikes a rod. In the span of a second, his brain had already crossed the room, kissed her, spent a lifetime there and died on her lips, before she shut her mouth with an audible click. She smiled somewhat sheepishly, tucking a strand of her luscious dark locks behind her ear and simultaneously dismissing his daydream with the motion. "No. That's all. See you tomorrow, Kent."
Quickly, the door closed on her, and Clark continued watching her through the door as she hastily picked up her stuff and left the bullpen. He shook his head, ignoring whatever pain flashed in his chest as she walked away from him. He went instead to his old standby of pacing, Lois' words from the other night replaying over and over in his mind.
I'm not a damsel in distress. I don't need a hero, and I definitely don't need you.
He was going crazy. She was mad at him when she'd said those words. She didn't mean them that way. She'd even apologized, taken them back. But he couldn't deny one aspect of her words were true: he wanted to play the hero for her. He nearly laughed at himself. He hadn't wanted to be a hero since he was fifteen, before his father had died and his mother had been in one of her rare sober moods. She'd even made him a costume, crafted from one of the baby blankets he’d been found in, a little big for him at the time, but the thought was nice. He still kept it— a relic of days past, hidden in the very back of his closet with the rest of his childhood memories for those times when he wanted to wallow, to remember, to recenter in his mission.
It was one of the few nice memories he had with his mother from after his dad had been sent to prison for murder.
He shook his head at himself. He was being ridiculous. Maybe in another lifetime, that could have been. He could have been this grand superhero, and his dad probably wouldn't have been killed in prison— probably wouldn't have been in prison at all— and his mom wouldn't have been a disaster. Maybe Lois would have wanted a hero then, too.
But not in this lifetime.
It didn't matter though. He had more pressing things to attend to than his attraction or obligation or whatever the hell he felt regarding Lois Lane. They were fine now, she'd told him good night, and now he had to move on to other issues.
Like Nigel St. John.
That galvanized Clark into action. He drew the blinds on the window of his office and locked the door, sitting behind his desk as his phone rang. The man's voice picked up almost immediately.
"Yes, sir?"
"Nigel," he ground out the noise from behind his teeth, and was met with a dead, frightened silence on the other side.
"Yes, sir," he spoke hesitantly.
"Are you able to speak right now?" Clark asked, not wanting any slips even in his current state of anger.
"Yes, sir. Is... is everything all right?"
"Why don't you tell me. What the hell was that last night? You told Baines who I was?!"
The fear was pouring out of the phone's speakers even as Nigel replied in a calm, collected manner. "I didn't know what to do given the situation, sir. You had just come barrelling in there, and she came to me for advice, knowing only that you were Clark Kent the billionaire, wondering how it would look in tomorrow's news. And... I apologize. I shouldn't have told her—"
"No. You shouldn't have. That's exactly the sort of thing we don't do around here."
"I was just trying to resolve a tricky situation. What should I have said instead?"
"Absolutely anything else would have been acceptable!" he shouted, letting his rage color his words. Clark glanced out through the closed blinds again and made sure nobody had heard him, and reigned it back in, resettling his horn-rims on his face in a habit of reassurance. "Besides which, you should have known that I'd have been able to get out of there with no problems, no matter what she tried."
"I know that, but then Miss Lane would know that also."
Clark clenched his jaw firmly. "Lois is no concern of yours. I was there to cover her."
"I'm sorry, but is that really the safest choice? She's a journalist, not to mention she's too close to this whole business with Luthor anyways."
His eyes narrowed and his blood chilled in his veins. "Is there something you're trying to say, Nigel? Because you should probably just come out and say it, so I don't misunderstand you and, I don't know, take offense in some way."
The British spy on the other end hesitated again for a much longer time. Clark knew what he was trying to say. "I'm a little concerned that... you're getting too attached to her. You seem to be losing focus. Remember what the goal is here."
Rage flashed before his eyes, and Clark saw red. "Trust me, I remember the goal. I can't forget the goal. It's my goal," he snarled, emphatically striking the desk. "And not that it's any of your business, but Lois is apart of that goal."
"I just don't want to see you go too far for her and wind up regretting it."
"And as long as we don't have any more slip ups like last night, we should never run into that problem, are we clear?"
He could hear Nigel swallow on the other end. "Crystal, sir."
"Good." Clark paused, the wheels turning in his head, knowing his right hand man needed a little reassurance still, and that perhaps he needed a little self defense of his own. "I'll have you know I'm not going soft. We're still planning on finishing off the colonist mission tomorrow, are we not? That'll keep her busy, and things will go right back on schedule as planned." Clark leaned back into his chair comfortably, dusting imaginary lint from his slacks. A twisted smiled curved its way around his lips suddenly. "Oh, and Nigel? This is strike two. Lois Lane is none of your business. This is the last time I expect us to have this conversation."
"Yes, sir."
*****LnC*****
Smallville, 1975
"All rise. Judge Ross presiding."
Feet shuffle throughout the courtroom, the sounds loud and harsh against Clark's sensitive ears. He felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. And he wasn't even on the hotseat. He carefully tracked the judge's movements as the man walked over to his seat and gestured rather harriedly for everyone to be seated. Nothing escaped Clark, not the nervous run of the judge's hand over his brow, nor the slightly pinched look to his face. Judge Ross' heart rate was elevated too.
Nobody was comfortable with this. So why couldn't they just stop?
"The case of the State of Kansas versus Jonathan Kent is now in session. Before we get started into this gentlemen, have we reached any sort of decisions yet?"
"No, your honor."
"Great. Then the prosecution may proceed with opening remarks."
The trial proceeded, and Clark absorbed it all, every shaky, sad voice, every charge leveled against his father. Assault and battery, murder of the first degree. The prosecutors laid out the case like a finely woven story, in spite of all the gaping plot holes. None of what they were saying was explaining the why of it all. And if they didn't have that, then how could they really prove anything, right? They didn't have motive. Evidence or not.
"This is ridiculous!"
The loud clap of sound suddenly too close to his ears startled Clark away from the trial going on behind closed doors. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to control his vision and hearing, bringing both back into the normal range. He blinked slowly a few times, and his surroundings came into proper view once more. He swung his legs from the end of the bench he sat on, trying to dispel some nervous energy. The solid oak doors and expansive blank wall in front of him wasn't any more reassuring now than it had been when they had first informed him he wasn't allowed in the hearing.
Clark swiveled his head down the long hallway to the source of the noise that distracted him, and narrowed his gaze.
"Lex, you need to compose yourself. They're going to call you in for your testimony any minute now."
"Never have I heard of a murder trial this speedy. I have things to do with my life, you know. I'm barely recovered myself from that night."
"Lex, the man's guilty. He knows it. He'll be going to jail for a long time. There's no reason to even sweat testifying. Just say what you have to say to get the bastard put away, and you'll be on the next flight back to Metropolis."
Anger flared up in Clark's chest, and before he could stop himself, he was up and crossing the hallway with long strides.
Lex was nearly knocked off his feet by the force that barrelled into him. He stepped forward to regain his balance when a small hand grabbed his forearm and spun him around. Lex's eyebrows rocketed up to his hairline at the sight of the boy who had run into him. He had never seen such anger on a child's face before. He clicked his tongue but shot him a polite smile. "Excuse me, son. I don't think you meant to run into me."
The boy scowled but offered no hint of apology. Instead, he spit his words at him fiercely, dark brown eyes swirling with hatred. "You shouldn't be here."
Discomfort filled the pit in Lex's stomach, wrenching and tightening the organ like he was gonna throw up. "I'm sorry?"
"If it wasn't for you he wouldn't be here!" The boy complained loudly.
The comment registered and it clicked into place suddenly who this boy was. When he'd seen him last three months ago, it had been dark and he had been slightly inebriated and fighting off Jonathan Kent. He'd almost forgotten about the young son who had tried to intervene before anything worse happened, the small cries to his father to stop as he swung a shovel around and nearly hit Lex himself. He couldn't even remember his name. Lex felt his heart stutter in sympathy for the boy. To be ten and have your father sent to jail, and for something as horrific as murder... It almost put all the abuse he'd experienced from his own father into perspective. Lex knelt down to sit on his haunches before Jonathan Kent's kid, eyes full of concern. He probably shouldn't be speaking to him, but he couldn't stand there and do nothing. The boy was hurting. "Listen, kid. I've been there. It can be traumatizing. I know what it's like to have a dad that's not a very good guy—"
The boy's eyes flashed angrily and before Lex could realize his mistake, the kid was lunging at him. He tottered off his heels and fell backwards on the courthouse floors, and the room erupted into chaos. The boy grabbed at his tie, pulling him forward while simultaneously pushing him down with a hand to his chest. Lex gasped, pain spasming through his barely healed back. He was much stronger than he looked. Lex struggled to push the boy off his chest, even as he started screaming in his face.
"My dad isn't a bad guy! He's not a bad guy!"
The boy's fist managed to strike a glancing but still painful blow to the cheekbone underneath his right eye before he was pulled away from Lex by his lawyer and another bystander. Lex felt like his head was spinning, voices clamoring around him and his attacker's screams ringing in his ears.
"Stop it Let go! He's not a bad guy! He did it for me! He's not a bad guy!"
Lex swallowed thickly, and forced himself to sit up in spite of the dizzying sensations in his brain. The two men were trying to settle the child down, even as others were asking if he was all right. Lex brushed them off with a wave, eyes focused in on the boy. His mop of dark brown, almost black hair unkempt and falling into his eyes, frantic with pain and needy with intent, his limbs flailing around haphazardly...
Suddenly his eyes locked onto Lex's own, and he froze, caught in the emotions swirling in his pupils. They stared at each other across the space of the hallway, as though there were a canyon between them. The boy's chest was heaving steadily, and in a chilling moment, Lex watched as something clicked in his eyes that made him calm down exponentially. A small smile curled up at the corners of his mouth, and that wrenching feeling returned to Lex's stomach. It was calculating and terrifying in equal measure, and never in his life would Lex have guessed that a child easily ten years his younger could haunt him like this.
"I'll remember you, Mr. Luthor," he whispered, voice almost hoarse.
The doors to the courtroom flew open suddenly, interrupting the moment and Lex's eyes tracked over to the exiting Judge and Bailiff. "What in blazes is going on out here?!"
The boy went rigid at the voice, and brought wide, frightened eyes up to face Judge Ross. He quickly extricated his arms from the men holding him back, and took off like a bullet, running clumsily down the hallway towards the front door of the courthouse.
"Hey! Kent!" the Judge shouted after him, but the child was long gone. He sighed, and turned with a sad, apologetic smile to Lex, still sitting on the floor. "We'll recess for half an hour," he announced. "Be back by 11:15."
Lex struggled up to his feet, swaying slightly. Damn it. This state was hell on earth. As soon as the trial was over, he swore to himself he would never return to Kansas. He thought back to the boy's expression, one that would stick with him for a lifetime, and shuddered.
Yeah. He had to get out of this state.
