Chapter 29:
Nigel shoveled another forkful of the somewhat bland comfort food into his mouth and grimaced. He wasn't one for anything particularly fancy or over seasoned, but this was hard to bear. He wouldn’t have even ordered it if it weren’t the only thing on the menu that didn’t appear to be slathered in barbeque sauce. He glanced up to find the man sitting across from him was hardly doing any better with his fare. Lex appeared to just be pushing his food around his plate with a fork. But he couldn't pinpoint if it was the food causing his emotional distance.
He remembered hearing, quite vaguely and on very few occasions, that Clark Kent was from Kansas. But it had taken years of research and observation and conversation with the man to learn such a minor detail, and even that was vague. He said mayo instead of mayonnaise, to hide the way he couldn't say that word without a twang, along with a few other words he worked around in conversation. He was ruthlessly brutal when Nigel had pointed out that he'd accidentally used "y'all" on one occasion. For ninety-nine percent of the time, he was painstakingly careful. And yet Lex Luthor appeared to have learned this detail overnight.
Nigel was growing uncomfortable with being the odd man out.
"Y'all still doing all right?"
Nigel was about to brush the waitress away with a quick line when Lex perked up in his seat and spoke for him. "Excellent, actually, thank you. It's a wonderful little diner."
"Why bless your heart. Thank you. It's a small achievement maybe, but it's mine."
Lex turned to face her more fully. "You're the owner of this establishment?"
"That's right. Maisie's the name."
"Very nice to meet you, Maisie."
Maisie darted her smiling eyes over at Nigel, and he gave her a small polite smile in return. She brushed a wisp of thinning, platinum hair behind her ear. "You two ain't from around here, are you?"
"Decidedly not," Nigel muttered, wiping the corners of his mouth with the roughest cloth napkin known to man.
Lex shot a glare at him while Maisie wasn't looking, and he shut up. Whatever his boss had planned, he was hellbent on getting it done. Apparently it included talking to this waitress. Owner. Cook? No matter.
"No, we're not. I have a friend that lives here though— or used to. I'm not so sure anymore. In fact, perhaps you could help me out."
She didn't even hesitate, pulling a up a chair and taking a brief seat. "Sure! It's a small town. I know everybody."
Lex grinned all his pearly whites at her, clearly overcompensating. "I'm looking for a Clark Kent?"
Her eyes flashed with recognition for a split second, filled with fear, and suddenly she was guarded, the look settling into something akin to suspicion. Nigel felt his gut churn, and he distractedly shoveled up a forkful of food into his mouth with one eye remaining watchful on her. Maisie’s posture straightened, and she physically pulled back as she spoke. "I'm not sure who you mean."
Lex put a hand over Maisie's where it rested on the table, with more of a grip than Nigel had expected. His boss was not keeping things cool and reserved. "Oh, I'm sure you do, Maisie. His parents used to be friends with my parents, we even went to school together. Go Jayhawks!" He had himself a chuckle. Nigel schooled his features very carefully, observing the woman before him. Maisie wasn't laughing. Lex cleared his throat. "I hadn't heard from him in a while, and thought I'd check in while I was in the area."
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, shooting a pleading look at Nigel, but if it was sympathy she was looking for she was looking in the wrong places. Maisie took a look around herself and pursed her lips tightly when she verified their were no eavesdroppers.
"If you really knew Clark Kent then you'd know that story couldn't be true."
Chills ran down Nigel's spine. Was it really this simple? Would he really learn about Kent's dark history from this woman? Lex leaned forward enthusiastically, still not releasing her hand from his grasp. "Then tell me the real story, Maisie. What ever happened to poor Clark Kent?"
Her eyes flashed again, this time with a rage burning inside them. "Poor Clark Kent? That brat was never poor anything in my books. I knew Jonathan and Martha long before they adopted that... that sociopath. He was a fine child, sure. But that all changed when the murder trial happened."
Nigel's brow furrowed, interest piqued. "Murder trial?"
Maisie leaned forward over the table. "You know, there were some people who thought it wasn't Jonathan who killed that man at all," she whispered, eyes stone cold and dead serious. Nigel shuddered, even without the context. "That boy was never the same after that night. He damn-near terrorized the town, drove his poor mother to hell and back, bounced in and out of several foster homes. People always took kindly to him though, up until the incident with the Langs. Poor Lana, God rest her soul. Rumor has it he still haunts this town occasionally, although I've never personally come across him or anything, but it's possible he just stays away from me, and rightly so. Martha Kent was one of my best friends."
He pushed his plate out of the way, suddenly aware he was nearly leaning over into his potato salad as he accrued interest in this tale. Nigel glanced across at Lex and was surprised to find the sick, stricken look written across his features. They were not at all having the same reaction. "And then?"
She appeared startled out of her thoughts at the sound of Lex's gravelly tone. "Then what?"
Lex's grip got tighter, knuckles blanching, as his hands travelled up her arm and a tone of panic crept into his voice. "Where did he go from there? Where is he now?"
Something clicked behind the good woman's eyes, and she gave Lex a soft, sad smile, patting his hand gently. "He isn't anywhere. Clark Kent killed himself in 1983."
*****LnC*****
Lois Lane was very plainly not talking to him. The past day had been uneventful at best and downright boring at worst. They'd spent a few hours with room service and mediocre dinner conversation, and had a stilted but somewhat flirty conversation about who got the bed, but besides that had little idle chatter. And to top it all off nicely, he'd had to sleep on the most uncomfortable couch in the world. He hadn't had to sleep on something so rough, scratchy and unevenly cushioned in years. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to expel some nervous energy.
Idly, he wondered if Lois' silence was because she and Lex were on the rocks and she was more uncomfortable around him than before, or if she was simply trapped in her own mind, trying to figure out the puzzles before her.
Probably a little of both.
Then of course she'd been on first shift when Harrington and the other two goons had met up again, and while Clark determined that nothing incriminating had been said, it was still enough for his heart to jump into his throat. But here they were again: night two. A quick popover by the Daily Planet and then it was back to the grind. Lois showed no signs of caving any time soon, and after several watchful hours later, Clark finally felt his patience had worn thin enough.
"Oh my God," he moaned, tossing an arm over his face. "I can't take it anymore! Why won't you talk to me?"
She turned to look at him with a quizzical expression. "What?"
He gestured around him broadly. "You've barely spoken to me this whole time! We've been here for almost two days already. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable by being here, but can we at least be civil?"
She snorted, and Clark felt his irritation grow exponentially. "Wow. You're the most dramatic person on the planet."
"I've never been dramatic a day in my life!"
Lois bit back her grin at that, and quickly dissolved into laughter. It clicked what he just said, and suddenly all the tension seemed to lift out of the room. Clark couldn't help but chuckle at himself in a self-deprecating manner. "Okay, maybe that was dramatic."
"Gee, you think?"
"We can't all be perfect like Lex Luthor."
He watched as her shoulders tensed back up, but no biting comment came back at him, which he considered to be progress. He was about to apologize if he'd offended her when her soft response beat him to the punch.
"Lex isn't perfect."
His felt his jaw slacken a bit. "I'm sorry?"
"I never claimed he was perfect. Not once."
That shut him up. He was floored at such an admission. Could one overheard conversation really drive such a wedge between them? He gaped at her like a fish for an indeterminate amount of time, while she stared out her binoculars self-consciously, shoulders squared and hunched over. "Lois... he hasn't... hurt you, or anything? Right?" She shot him a scathing glare over one shoulder, and he nodded. "Sorry. None of my business, I know."
"No, he'd never do that. It's just—"
A click sounded on the tape recorder, and both of them snapped their gazes over to the room they were observing to catch the congressman and the same two ruffians from before returning to the scene of the crime. "Turn that dial up," Lois demanded, and oddly Clark found himself complying.
"...no possible way the test will be postponed?"
"Weather's clear. Naval monitoring ships are en route. Dawn, day after tomorrow. It's set."
"Good. And after the test fails, we'll proceed with getting Shockwave out of the way. You'll be free to return to your life of parties and girls before you know it, Mr. Congressman."
Clark was all too happy when their conversation turned and the two left the building together uncomfortably.
"What the hell is Shockwave?"
Clark's response was cut short by the sound of footsteps and humming coming down the hallway. When the steps turned, and approached their door, he had little time to think. They had to hide the tripod, and good grief did they have a lot of surveillance equipment. In a flash, he turned and tossed the tripod onto the bed, met with some cries of outrage from Lois at the rough treatment of their technology. Much to his chagrin, the thing was still visible.
The door handle to the bedroom jiggled, and Clark realized it wasn't going to be enough to keep them out of the hot seat. He locked eyes on Lois for a split second as she turned to look back at him in complete confusion.
He made a decision.
In one smooth motion, Clark pulled her into his arms, tossed her onto the bed, and climbed on top of her. His body began to react instinctively to hers, and he let his eyes fall shut gently at the press of her body against his. The thought not how I wanted to do this passed through his mind fleetingly, before he leaned over and smothered her loud protests with his lips.
Fireworks ignited behind his eyelids.
The sparks flying between them immediately clouded his mind's eye as he quickly forgot what had landed them in this predicament in the first place. Her lips tasted like heaven. Or some odd mix of chocolate and cigarettes. Most likely cigarettes. He smoothed his tongue over her bottom lip, and his heart leapt when he felt her lips part beneath his ministrations. He slid a hand up her body languidly, taking his time to appreciate every curve, and pinned one arm gently above her head as he maneuvered himself over her—
"Housekeeping! More- oh! So sorry!"
The door quickly slammed shut behind the maid, the sound shattering the moment between them harshly. Clark screwed his eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the look on Lois' face and trying make the moment of bliss last one moment longer. His fingers splayed against the fabric at her waist, appreciating the silkiness of her blouse and the chance to touch her like this for as long as he could. Regret coiled tight in his stomach the instant he pulled away from Lois' lips to check and make sure the coast was clear, already wanting more of the addiction that was kissing Lois Lane. But he had to pull away before everything came unraveled, or she tried to kill him. He chanced a look behind him, to see if the maid had left the suite entirely—
A hand snaked around his neck and fisted in the hair at the nape of his neck, literally grabbing his attention. Before he realized what was happening, she pulled him back down to her siren lips.
He moaned into her mouth. This was better, so much better.
Lois Lane was actually kissing him.
Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip, their mouths meeting sloppily in the chaos of tongues and teeth and— dear lord her lips were trailing along his jawline now and he was losing his mind. "Lois," he groaned against the soft flesh of her neck, running his hands down her body again, settling against her hips carefully. His fingers skirted the hem of her pants, brushing the silk of her blouse up and bunching it up under the red vest, just enough so that he could graze the smooth contours of her skin. She bucked against him, and he gasped sharply, eyes slamming shut as he pinned her to the bed with the weight of his body.
Her fingers tapped deliciously against his chest, finding some purchase underneath his dress shirt, grazing his chest brazenly as she worked loose some more buttons, going dangerously lower. Clark shuddered. "Mm, Lois," he hummed, taking her mouth once again, the thrill of it all winding him tight, and she tossed one long, glorious leg around his hip—
His purpose. Jonathan Kent's face popped into his head, his admonition to take care of himself, coupled with Nigel's words of warning about being too close to Miss Lane.
He was definitely close to her now.
Dammit.
He punished himself with one last, bruising kiss, before stilling against her and pulling back. He kept his eyes shut, burning this moment into his memory for eternity. It was likely never to happen again, not after this.
She squirmed, trying to get him to move, finally realizing he was in his own head. "Clark?"
His eyes fluttered open, and he instantly fell into the pools of molten chocolate that were Lois Lane's eyes, and he couldn't find a way out. Oh, he had it bad. He was in way too deep.
Her eyebrow arched at him inquisitively, and he struggled to find the words that would appease her somehow, even if they cut him at his core. "Lois, we can't do this."
Those brows jumped impossibly higher. "What? Suddenly you're not interested?"
"No!" his exclaimed, perhaps too emphatically. Clark cleared his throat, and tried to get himself under control. "No, that's not it at all. I just... Hear me out, Lois. I'm..." he paused, searching for his expansive vocabulary that seemed to have gone up in smoke the second their lips touched. For a brief moment of pure exhibitionism, he wanted to end that sentence so many different ways. Lois, I run half the crime in Metropolis. Lois, I'm the guy you’ve been investigating. I’m both guys you’ve been investigating. Lois, I love—
He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts, return to his previous train of thought. No slip ups. "I'm in this. You... this thing between us... you probably won't believe me, but I don't want it to be just a one time thing. I like you, Lois. I want what we have to turn into something real, to have an actual shot. So if you're not in this for any reason— if this is just a twisted fantasy or fetish, or a way to get back at Lex— I don't want any part of it. If I wanted cheap and meaningless, I could get that anywhere. That's not what I'm looking for. I want you."
Her eyes were saucers, and he scanned them for any sort of reaction. She blinked once, twice, and then he watched as she pulled the pieces together in her mind and the wide open intensity of her gaze switched to confusion, and settled on outrage. He braced himself for what was surely going to be his final reckoning.
"What... How dare you? How dare you insult me like that! You— get off of me!"
He rolled over to her side and Lois leapt off the bed like a bullet, smoothing her clothes down into a more appropriate position, mindlessly rebuttoning the few buttons on her red vest as she stalked across the room, before returning to wave a finger in his face. "You think I could just use you— use anyone like that!"
She was pure rage, lithe and gorgeous rage, pacing around the confines of their room like a caged cheetah, and Clark had to remind himself to keep his focus on her words, not her body, and scooted to a seated position on the edge of the king-sized bed. "That's not exactly how I meant it."
"I'm not you, Kent. Cheap and meaningless... you know, screw you, pal! Where do you get off—"
He reached a hand out for her, just barely grazing her arm, and she whirled on him, delivering a swift smack across his face.
Clark was genuinely shocked, but had enough wits about him to turn his face to soften the blow. He blinked as he turned back to face her, hurt in his eyes even if it didn't physically hurt him. He covered his cheek where her hand had made contact— the same hand that moments before had been confidently undressing him.
The flare of her nostrils and her heavy breathing started to settle, but the anger still simmered just below her surface. Lois brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, trying to return to some semblance of normalcy. "I have never been so offended in my life."
"Lois—"
She stormed out of the room, swooping up her purse on the way out, and not brokering any argument. A sour taste entered his mouth at the thought that he’d really done it this time, pushed too far.
The door to the honeymoon suite slammed hard, reverberating through the walls. And with that, Clark was left alone to his thoughts, shirt half undone with her lipstick on his collar.
