Chapter 44:
She was feeling scattered today. Every time she tried to wrangle her focus back in, a stray thought or a random distraction around the newsroom would pull her away again, and then there went her concentration.
Focus Lane! She shook her head sharply and retrained her gaze on the computer screen. She had to write some puff piece about a dog show sponsored by the elusive Gotham recluse because Perry hated her or something... And she had to keep working on the Aymee Valdez case. The girl was still missing. The puff piece could work as good background noise, for the time being.
Perry didn't hate her. He hated Clark.
She didn't understand that. They'd been getting along so well to a point. She huffed with annoyance. She didn't like that the men in her life weren't getting along... No! Clark wasn't a man in her life. He was in her life, sure, and he was a man... Definitely a man. Mmm.
Lois jumped up from her seat, jolting James as he walked past, and she shot him an apologetic look. Her eyes alighted on her empty coffee mug, and yes, that would be a good distraction. Maybe if she had enough caffeine flowing through her veins she wouldn't be so flighty and they— she— could get some work done.
Coffee first. She crossed the bullpen to acquire another cup of medication and was dismayed to find they had run out of creamer. She frowned.
Black coffee it was.
Black, like the pupils of Clark's eyes after she had kissed him last night.
She could stop by Kent's apartment again. He wasn't here anymore, and they did need to keep working the case. Lois bit her lip, weighing the options. There were plenty of reasons to swing by, and only one reason not to. Two, if Perry's sad excuse for an article had to be done first.
That kiss was one of the best she'd ever had, and that was compared to the other kiss they'd shared. More like makeout session. Mmm. Her stomach twisted pleasantly. His lips had a drug-like effect on her. He tasted like coffee and chocolate and cigarettes, and damn, why did he have to leave?
The luxurious dark liquid spilled over the lip of her mug and shocked her back into reality. She swore venomously as she set the coffee pot down and reached for the paper towels to mop up the mess.
"Great, Lane. Now the rest of us have to wait for coffee!"
Her eyes cut over to Ralph darkly, and she shoved the wad of soaking paper towels into his chest. "Shut up, Ralph!" He seemed too stunned by her actions to make any sort of reply, and Lois proudly scooped up her mug and sauntered away from that pitiful excuse for a reporter back to her desk.
Remorse ultimately bit her on the rear as she sipped at her comforting beverage, and she swiveled around to make some sort of apology, but it seems Cat Grant had beaten her to the punch, helping the man clean the coffee stains off his shirt and cleaning up the rest of her mess. Lois rolled her eyes as she rolled her chair back to face forward, slouching over her coffee mug. Snob. Had to prove she was better than her. She didn't need their opinions. She had Clark's.
But she didn't have Clark.
That was slowly becoming a problem. She popped her head up over the edge of her computer like a meerkat and glanced around the bullpen. Her shoulders slumped as she realized he wouldn't have come back to the office so soon. He only left thirty minutes ago.
She could take the office to him.
Lois clapped her hands together and bounced a little in her seat. Yes, perfect! She grinned broadly as the plot came together in her mind and she haphazardly swept her belongings into her purse. It hardly even registered that her cigarettes had missed the bag entirely and fallen on the floor.
*****LnC*****
Miranda took a beat as her hand hovered over the solid oak door, ready to knock. She withdrew her hand and instead fluffed her hair up a little bit more. Extra volume never hurt. She knew he was going to be mad. There was no getting around that. But maybe it was better to get it over with than wait another moment. Besides, maybe he'd be less mad and more... suggestible, if he got a whiff of what she had.
She took in one last deep breath for luck and knocked on the door before her.
It swung open nearly before she could pull her hand away, and an irate looking Nigel St. John stared down at her. She almost withered under his gaze, but then the pheromones did their job and jolted her attention once more. She smiled and flung her arms out wide. "Nigel, darling! Wonderful to see you."
He took a step back from her and she took it as a welcome and strode past him confidently. The room was sparse. She looked around, her turn dizzying her slightly. Her head felt too light. She knew there was a risk of absorbing some of the solution on her attempt, but that was the name of the game. She turned back to face Nigel with a slightly inebriated smile, missing the knit of his brows as he frowned at her.
"Is everything all right, Miranda?"
She sighed happily and tossed her arms in the air. "Wonderful. I just love love, don't you? Better than any other neurological stimulant."
He shook his head firmly and crossed his arms. "You do realize that your concoction won't work on me. Sociopaths generally don't feel much of anything."
"Firstly,” she staggered back a step in her heels, feeling a little unsteady but determined to put him in his place, “It's a chemical compound. So check the attitude... although," she debated, swaying towards him with a leering grin. "Maybe don't. I like it when they play hard to get."
Nigel's eyeroll was probably warranted, but she also noticed the spy was holding his breath. She flashed her teeth at him and moved into his personal space. He believed her a little bit, then. Good.
"Did you remember to bring me what I asked?"
Miranda nodded and giggled as she dug through her purse and dragged out several vials of red liquid and a syringe. "Not sure why you'd rather this stuff than mine..." she batted her lashes at him as he reached past her and pocketed the items.
He straightened his tan overcoat and patted his pocket where the concoction rested safe and sound. "I prefer tried and true to still in testing. Although I'm assuming the fact that you're here free and clear means that your test was successful?"
Her face fell immediately and a wave of sadness washed over her. Miranda pulled away and went over to the cheap particle wood desk, trailing a finger across the surface with tears burning the edges of her eyes. "No. I mean, the plan worked. Blue showed up to stop the fire— although there was a second where I thought he wouldn't. For a hero, the guy sure knows how to take his sweet time. Buns of steel, though,” she hummed in appreciation, losing the thread of her thoughts as her mind wandered across his tight form, and that even tighter spandex... Nigel cleared his throat and Miranda sighed. “But the potion didn't seem to have any affect on him. He could smell it, so that's not the issue. It just didn't affect him."
Nigel slammed his fist against the wall violently. Miranda turned to him with wide, startled eyes. The older man shook his hand out to relieve some of the pain, and smoothed the lapels of his jacket back down calmly, but the response did little to settle her own nerves.
She'd never seen Nigel lose his cool before.
"Apologies," he muttered, not looking her in the eye. "It's just not the news I wanted to hear."
"You're telling me. He didn't even seem interested in me."
He scoffed. "You apparently got a healthy dosing. Are you going to be okay?"
She waved her hands through the air. "It'll wear off I'm sure. It was only the fifty percent solution, and he'd dissipated most of it already." Nigel went very still at her explanation, and she turned to him with a curious frown. "What?"
His face reddened, and Miranda felt her heart racing in her chest. "You were supposed to use the one hundred percent solution," he growled angrily, taking a menacing step her direction.
Miranda's stomach tumbled at his words, and she realized her mistake. "I didn't think it was wise—"
"You didn't think?!"
He loomed large over her, and she leaned back only to hit the large wooden desk behind her and find herself trapped. "Y-you really want an all powerful god to be blinded by lust permanently? He wasn't even Luthor's main focus. This was just a test—"
"Oh, this was a test all right. One you failed."
He had her pinned against the oversized piece of furniture and Miranda gasped for breath as the room closed in around her. All she wanted was approval. "Please, give me another chance. I didn't think we were going up against the real enemy here. I was told that Miss Lane was the end game, and since Lex didn't want her drugged out of her mind I thought…” Nigel growled at her, and she swallowed thickly, shaking her head. “Just let me prove it to you! I can do it this time, I swear."
Nigel grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. "You don't understand. Kent is the enemy. Kent is who we have to worry about. And as long as that freak is flying around and playing hero, Kent will be untouchable."
Miranda couldn't blink the tears away fast enough, confusion pitting her stomach with fear. "Who the hell is Kent?"
Nigel snarled and shoved her to the floor.
Miranda cried out more from surprise than pain, and looked back up with tears streaming down her face just in time to watch Nigel St. John storm out of the room. She hiccuped violently and braced as the door slammed, stranding her all alone in this no-tell-motel. She didn't understand. All she wanted was for someone to care. Someone to love her. A long time ago, she'd thought that someone would be Lex, but apparently he had a fixation of his own. She didn't much care who it was anymore.
"I'll show you," she growled under her breath as she pulled herself to her feet. Miranda caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in the hallway and stuttered. She was a wreck. Her eyeliner and mascara was smeared everywhere, halfway down her face, and her hair a frizzy mess. How on earth did things come to this? She should have known better than to get in bed with the sociopathic spy. His standards were too high anyways.
Lightning flashed through her brain, and she almost giggled at how easy it all was. She could prove her worth to Nigel and Lex, and then they'd really love her. She would save the day. She adjusted herself as best she could in the mirror and bolted from the space without a second glance.
Her white lebaron raced across town like a bat out of hell, not caring about the speed limit or anything of the sort. She was single-minded in her destination, and only took a half a minute to pause and look through her trunk to make sure she had the necessary supplies.
Three flights later and she was knocking on another door.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming."
The door swung open abruptly and Miranda turned with a smile. "Hi, are you Miss Lane?"
The brunette woman furrowed her brow slightly and leaned against the doorjamb heavily. "Yes? Who are you?"
"Lex Luthor sent me," Miranda spoke softly with a grin. She saw the confusion lance across her delicate features— the woman was indeed pretty, but still nothing on herself or any other woman Lex could have. What was it that made Lois Lane so special?
"Lex? Why did he send you for me?"
She made no reply except to lean forward and smother a rag over the woman's mouth, not caring in the least about the crashing sounds around them as she struggled.
*****LnC*****
Clark hadn't picked up on her presence until the elevator dinged. His ears prickled at the sound of rushing fabric and slight jingles, and he frowned. He couldn’t place the sound for the life of him. Slowly he shut the drawer under his desk and locked it, standing up to go find the woman of his dreams and figure out what she needed—
"Oh Clark!" She sing-songed delightedly, a note of humor in her voice. A wry grin pulled at his lips...
And disappeared as he rounded the corner and set eyes on her.
Woman of his dreams indeed. He groaned as he stepped behind a chair to hide his reaction and shot a weak attempt at a smile her way. "What... What's this? "
Lois grinned unabashedly, and cocked her hip to the side with a gesture to herself that would make Vanna White proud. The motion made some of the more... jangly bits flash and jingle, and his eyes drifted down before he could register the distraction was a mistake. He swallowed hard. "What's it look like, Kansas?"
The first thing that came to mind was ‘hooker’ but he knew he couldn’t say that. He swallowed thickly, zeroing his eyes on one particular patch of fabric that did nothing to cover her skin. "The only words I have I think might be offensive. Accurate, but still..."
Her eyes flashed darkly but not with anger or irritation. It felt like lust. She crossed the room quickly, each step branding his brain with an image that would never leave, and he swallowed thickly again. This couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming.
She should always wear gold. Like a beautiful statue of a goddess and draped in the most striking turquoise scarves that really were hiding nothing.
His mouth went dry when she flashed a scarf in his face and hooked it around his neck. The gauzy, silky fabric gave him goosebumps as it slid against his skin, mimicking an image of something else he really wanted against his skin, and holy hell, Clark was trapped before the words even had time to leave her mouth.
"Make love to me, Clark."
