Chapter 42:
"Well, we know that it's not Mrs. Powell. That's something."
"Great," Clark muttered, slamming his own file folder shut. "That's one person down, and the rest of Metropolis to go."
Lois clicked her tongue at him. "What about this therapist? Doctor... Carlson?"
"Carlton," he corrected, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
"Dr. Carlton seemed suspiciously absent for a guy who's been working so closely with these kids."
Clark shook his head again. "I don't know. There's gotta be something else going on. It's more than just a straightforward case of a runaway orphan." Lois sighed loudly across from him and tossed her pen on the coffee table. He couldn't help the slight slump to his shoulders. He knew he was trying her patience with this, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to find this girl before anything worse happened. He wouldn't let her slip through the cracks like so many others. Like himself. Like Lana.
"Okay, let's take a break. Lord knows we're not getting anything accomplished going in circles like this."
"Voice of reason at last," he smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes as she launched to her feet. Clark smiled after her retreating figure. She looked so at home here, in his home. It put a bubbly feeling in his chest that made him want to vomit over how sickeningly sweet the reflux tasted.
"I'm hungry. How come you don't have a cook or something on hand?"
"I know how to cook," he offered, leaning forward to engross himself in his files once again.
"No, I mean, like a staff. You don't have anybody that's working for you that can whip up something? Or clean even? How do you manage this space by yourself?"
"Gotten used to living large over at LexCorp, huh?"
She rounded the corner once more to shoot him a patent glare, and he raised his hands in surrender. "No, I have not. And for the record, I am insulted. I was just asking for the sake of ease— I didn't want to have to stop working for too long to cook a meal."
Clark grinned in amusement at her reply. "You're always insulted.”
“I am not!”
“Oh, no?” He teased, dragging his eyes over her with a wry smile. “Last week you said that to the barista who questioned if you wanted full milk in your latte.”
“Well, she didn’t have to look at my hips like that!”
“They have to ask that.” She scowled pettishly and he tossed his hands in the air in defeat with an innocent grin. “And— so long as we’re on the record— I actually do have a staff a couple of floors down that manages the building, and that includes a kitchen staff. I just don't have anybody up here often. If you want I can buzz down and have them whip something up. Sound fair?"
She groused about it another minute before agreeing. Clark's grin widened as he crossed the room to use the intercom. She was hilarious. He didn't even know if she knew how amusing she was being. "Hey, Johnson, you there?"
The man took a few moments to reply, but Clark didn't mind spending some time watching Lois move around his apartment. "Yes, what can I do for you, sir?"
"We need dinner for two—" he broke off and turned back around. "Hey, Lois, what do you want?"
"I don't really care. Ooh, wait. Maybe some Thai?"
"Thai it is. Johnson, could you bring up a couple of dishes? I'm thinking drunken noodles, pad thai, maybe some panang curry? You know better than I do." His heart pulled as he glanced back at her again and traced the long lines of her body. She was stretching, trying to work out a kink in her back after so many hours spent pouring over their paperwork. He swallowed hard. She folded forward smoothly, body caving in on itself almost entirely and perfectly showcasing her rear. Limber. His mouth was suddenly too dry. The chef's affirmative reply went unheard to Clark's ears, and he crossed the space quickly to reach her side. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her in some small way, to help her work out some kinks... in whatever capacity that may be."Need some assistance there?"
"Shut up. I'm just trying to stretch this one spot but it's in the middle of my back."
"I'd like to repeat my question,” he teased.
An eyeroll. She straightened into an upright position. "Asked and answered. I'll be fine."
The thought of giving Lois a nice back massage was doing things to him, so he dropped it for now and went to take his seat with his paperwork again. There was a child missing. He had to focus. He picked up another file and flipped through it casually. Finances, mostly. He sighed heavily.
"Hey, we'll find her. If anybody can, it's us, right?"
"She's way too young to be out on her own like this. And in a city this size?" He shuddered, flipped another page, refusing to make eye contact. "At least I grew up in Nowheresville, Kansas. All it took was one person walking past and everybody knew where I was."
A hand dropped onto his shoulder soothingly as she crouched in front of him. He glanced up at her finally and searched her eyes rapidly, looking for anything that might suggest she was lying to him, or humoring him, but only came up with warmth and support. His heart beat faster waiting for her to speak. "It's going to be okay."
Clark shook his head sharply. "You can't promise that."
"I can promise that I'll find the truth. Even if something unspeakable happens, we'll get to the bottom of it. For Aymee, and for Ines, and for every one of those kids that deserves to have somebody looking out for them. I always get the truth."
Her warm brown eyes were reassuring, but her words set him back on edge. She did always get the truth. His experience with Lois Lane had never proven otherwise. She was like a dog with a bone when she was on the tail of something, and if he were a smarter man, he wouldn't touch her with a ten foot pole. He knew why Nigel was so reticent to associate with her. She was a very dangerous woman.
He liked a little danger. He lived on that knife's edge between getting caught and getting away with something.
Clark cupped her cheek with one broad palm in a gesture of thanks that quickly turned into more. The surprise in her features was quickly replaced by something a little huskier as her eyes locked onto his own, and in an instant they were trapped. His thumb slowly ran along the plump edge of her bottom lip, almost of its own volition, and her eyes fluttered. His heart kept time with the bat of her lashes, and somehow the world narrowed to just the two of them. He felt the blood rushing in his ears. His breath got shallow. He couldn't recall a time when he'd reacted to anyone like this.
"You're magnificent," he murmured almost under his breath. The flash of her eyes told him she heard, and he pursed his lips, waiting for her to rebuff him.
She never did.
Lois surged forward and smeared her lips over his. It took him all of two seconds to process her action, before he threaded his fingers through her hair and deepened the kiss himself. He moaned into her mouth, and she snuck her tongue past his lips. God, she could kill him with her kisses and he would go voluntarily. He leaned back as she climbed up to reach him better, hiking her skirt up to just below virtue, their lips fused together. She straddled his lap, trapping him between the chair and the cage of her body, and Clark let his hands drift down to her hips to steady her.
That was a mistake. The moment his hands landed on her hips, a breathy gasp flew from her lips to his, and the taste of cigarettes and coffee passed across his lips. He devoured her mouth, swiftly taking control of the kiss in spite of their reversed positions.
She would definitely be the death of him.
Lois pulled up for a breath, and for a moment they stayed like that, sharing air, breathing so close that the heat of their pants brushed over each other's lips. Her eyes were dark and smokey, pupils blown wide as she stared at him, drinking him in. He whispered her name reverently, running a hand through her silky dark locks.
And the bubble that they'd shared suddenly popped.
Lois pulled back from his touch, out of breath. She managed to untangle herself from him all without looking him in the eye, and Clark felt his heart sink. "Lois-"
She shook her head wordlessly, standing up and crossing the living room to grab her belongings. Clark's mind raced for a reason to make her stay, or to get her to keep kissing him. He adjusted his position in his seat and carded his hand through his own mussed locks. "Lois, I'm sorry."
"Just—" she stopped herself before saying anything else, brushing her hand through the air.
"There's food coming. Let's just take a beat and we can keep working like—"
"Clark! Stop. It's not— It can't be like this. Not like this." She swallowed thickly and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm sorry, it's my fault. But I gotta go."
He let his mouth click shut. She was right, but it didn't feel good knowing that. He wanted her now. She turned on her heel and marched out of his living room, around the corner and he lowered his glasses so he could watch her descent in the elevator, just to torture himself.
Every time he thought they were getting closer, she pulled back. He flipped his glasses up to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. If her kisses didn't kill him, then frustration damn near would.
He sighed and sank back into the chair they'd been tangled together in only a few short moments ago. He couldn't think about it anymore. Maybe he could go patrol the city... or maybe he should cool down first. He grimaced at himself. "What have you gotten yourself into, Clark?"
His eyes drifted back to the papers strewn across his coffee table, and a twinge of guilt tugged at him. He'd said he'd do everything he could to find this little girl, and he kept getting distracted. It wasn't fair to Aymee Valdez. It wasn't fair to Lois— although, she had started it this time. He smirked a little. She was coming around. Slowly but surely.
A name jumped out at him from the top paper, and he frowned. He leaned forward and picked up the page.
Deadshot Research Facilities.
Clark shivered. He knew that name. It was one of the fronts he'd had Nigel set up under LexCorp, as a way to channel money and sponsor some less-than-civilized endeavors without drawing suspicion himself. He knew LexCorp was a major part of the funding for the Beckworth School, but no way would the man provide that funding through a shell corporation like this one, even if he did know about it.
Red tinged his field of vision, and he quickly slammed his eyes shut. Clark instructed himself to take a deep breath in.
This was the final straw.
He got his emotions under control for the time being, even though his hands still shook. He heaved a sigh and picked up the paperwork again. Apparently, Deadshot Research Facilities was supplying the grant money for Dr. Carlton— dammit, Lois was right on the money again— to run experimental tests on a select group of children. He flipped through the next few pages at superspeed, but there wasn't anything more on the tests or Dr. Carlton. Not even another mention of Deadshot Research. He murmured some strong words under his breath.
"What the hell are you up to, Nigel?"
Before he could settle into a long night of research though, a cry for help grabbed his attention and for some reason, he couldn't just shake it off. He gritted his teeth and spun into the suit, taking a moment to relax his posture and relieve his anger before taking off into the night sky.
*****LnC*****
Nigel was at peace here. In the driver's seat of an inconspicuous car, hidden halfway down the block in the dark, glove on one hand, potato crisps in the other. This was where he thrived. Reconnaissance. Research. The setup. Sure, the torture could be fun too, but it wasn't as purely peaceful as this. He could sit back, watch the show, and get a paycheck to boot, and the mark would never even know a thing.
He popped another crisp into his mouth and kept a watchful eye on the door. Any minute now, she would leave. She'd been there for hours already, discussing who knows what and figuring out however many secrets. Nigel pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and checked his watch. Quarter past midnight. He brushed the sleeve back down distractedly as he returned his gaze to the entrance once again.
Maybe she wasn't going to leave.
That would be complicated. Good, on the one hand, because he'd finally have definitive proof for Luthor that Lois was bad news, that she was a cheater, a liar, sleeping with the enemy. He could probably even go home and return in the morning to find her leaving, get some sleep.
On the other hand, it meant he was losing favor with Kent sooner than he'd anticipated. He was farther and farther out of the loop. Which was fine with him. He fully expected their next conversation to be his last, unless he found something to even the playing field. He was almost stretched too thin, without Luthor's full support and barely hobbling along on Kent's. He was lucky he still knew all the right account numbers. Nigel fished for another crisp at the bottom of the bag. He refused to be underestimated.
Kent had been right about one thing for sure: Lois Lane had changed everything.
A ring distracted him from his thoughts and his hand veered away from his snack to pick up the car phone curiously. "Yes?"
"I've got it. I think I really got it this time."
He pursed his lips firmly. "Do you really mean that this time or are you trying to get me fired?"
"You tell me, handsome."
Startled, Nigel frowned at the phone. "Miranda, are you all right? Did you ingest any of it?"
"Sorry. I think the effects are still wearing off. Because I meant to call you stupid."
Nigel chuffed at her reply, and went for another crisp. "And?"
"This batch is potent. Extremely. I only tested the one percent solution, and it took me a day or so to come out of this fog."
"What do you think the one hundred percent solution would do?"
"I think it could kill."
Nigel opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment the door to the building was flung open, and out stormed Lois Lane. He swore and fumbled for his camera in the seat next to him, adjusting the phone so that it was crooked awkwardly between his neck and chin.
"What's going on over there? You sound a little out of breath, old man."
"Bloody... give me a minute." He found her through the viewfinder of the camera, and snapped several images in a row rapidfire. She looked perfect. Her hair was a mess, her lips kiss-swollen and red, and a general vibe of irritation was coming off her in droves. He snapped a few more as she hailed for a cab, smoothed a hand over her hair, and adjusted her skirt before sliding in the taxi.
"Nigel. As much as I enjoy our little talks, I've got things to do..."
The cab drove away, and for a moment Nigel fooled around with the idea of following her, but no. It wouldn't be worth the risk. Everything Lois Lane knew was likely about him. "I found her," he finally addressed the phone, shuffling the camera back to the passenger seat.
"Found who?"
"Miss Lane. She was leaving Kent's apartment."
"Miss Lane as in, Lex's designated love doll?"
"The one and only." He snorted at her description.
"Where is she?"
He shook his head, knowing the path her mind was wandering. "No. Now isn't the time to move. Tomorrow. You know the drill. You still have the correct address, yes? I need you to pick me up something while you're there."
An exasperated sigh accosted his ears. "I have a meeting with Lex in the morning, to tell him about my progress. It'll have to be after that."
"Fine by me as long as you bring the one hundred percent solution." She gasped and griped, trying to work him down to a less potent version, but Nigel had had enough. It was time to step up their game, and if they were going to shoot a king... "Good night, Miranda." He hung up the phone firmly, and took a beat to process everything in silence. This was his only chance to make a move, but it was risky. Odds were, he wouldn't make it out alive, but he had to try. Resolved, Nigel turned over the engine and headed away from his former boss’ building.
