Although, back at Clark’s apartment, sitting next to him on his sofa and poring over the documents they’d found, the new model Lois Lane was uneasy. Perhaps it was the intimacy of the late hour, or the fact that he was sitting closer to her than usual, or maybe it was the hand which had lingered a little longer than usual over hers when he’d set her down. She wasn’t sure.
Things needed to be said. Lines drawn, before it was too late. It wasn’t fair to let him believe there was more to this relationship than close friendship.
“Clark?”
He was engrossed in one of the papers they’d found. “Mmmm?” he said, absently laying a hand on her back. “What?”
At his touch, she closed her eyes and bit her lip. Why was it her skin tingled whenever he touched her like that? She was fine when he was cradling her in his arms during flight, or even if he hugged her, but a single, simple hand on her back was all it took to make her feel as if electricity was passing between them. It made no sense.
“Can we talk?”
“Sure,” he said, looking up. “What have you found?”
And why, oh why, did he have to look so darned handsome when she was trying to be sensible? “Um...I was thinking...we should...see if we can link any of these warehouse locations with Barton.”
Okay, so this wasn’t a good time to tell him. Not when they were in the thick of their investigation. Later. Later was good.
He raised his eyebrows. “Good point. Hold on...” He darted over to his bookcase and came back with a road map. “Okay,” he said, find the double-page spread for Metropolis and spreading it out on the table before them. “You read out the locations and I’ll mark them on here. See if we can spot any pattern or links with Barton.”
She nodded, and ten minutes later, they had a scattering of small red circles dotted around the map.
“Here’s Barton,” he said, marking it with a red cross.
She peered at the map. Half-closed her eyes and tried to spot some kind of pattern. Studied the main roads and railway lines.
Smiled triumphantly. “There,” she pointed.
He looked. “Oh, you mean that warehouse that’s half-way to Philadelphia and on the same Interstate as Barton?” he said, his eyes twinkling.
“That would be the one,” she agreed. “If you were a lazy minion, told to collect some red kryptonite from warehouse stores and mail it from another town, and say you lived in Metropolis, wouldn’t your easiest option be to drop off at Barton on your way home from the warehouse?”
“After all, it is the closest town to the Interstate,” he said. “Wouldn’t take you more than ten minutes to find a mailbox and then get back on the road towards home.”
“You know, black’s always a good choice of colour for a warehouse break-in,” she observed.
“Not red and blue?”
“Last year’s colours,” she said. “The well-dressed burglar is wearing black this season.”
“Black it is, then.”
She nodded. “You’ll pick me up tomorrow night?”
He frowned. “Lois...”
“I need to be there,” she insisted. “If we’re right, and there’s red kryptonite, you might...”
As his expression darkened, she dropped her gaze, ashamed that she wasn’t showing him the trust he deserved. Chances were he’d be strong enough to resist temptation. She believed that, didn’t she? She’d seen him reject the stuff. And George had proved the point. He’d be fine.
But if he wasn’t...
She looked up to see how Clark was taking her lack of trust. The taut expression was back. The one tinged with self-hatred.
“You’ll be fine,” she gabbled. “You’ll be expecting it, so you’ll be in control. Just like in the dispensary or with George. So you won’t need me, but I’m still coming along, because it’s what I do. I investigate. Look into things.” She shrugged. “And I need the practice.”
He pushed up from the sofa and moved over to the black expanse of window. Stared out into the night.
“What will you do when you find it?” she asked, just to keep the conversation going. “Destroy it, or keep some for evidence?”
“Destroy it,” he told the window, then turned to face her. “I’m going alone,” he said, his expression set and determined. “This is my problem, not yours.”
His problem??? How...how dare he?
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said, shooting off the sofa and heading straight for him like a surface-to-air missile. “Don’t you dare try and make this into your own personal crusade against yourself. This is my problem as much as it’s yours.”
“Your problem?” he repeated. “Since when did my addiction to red kryptonite become your problem?”
“Since I went into the Congo and got caught!” she snapped.
“Huh?”
Damn. She hadn’t meant to admit that. She turned away from him so he couldn’t see her face. “If I hadn’t forced Perry to let me go to the Congo, if I hadn’t been so stupid and careless as to get captured, if I’d found a way to escape...none of this would have happened,” she mumbled. “We’d have met just like that other Lois and Clark you told me about. Things would have been...normal. You wouldn’t have been driven to drugs.”
Funny how it had made more sense inside her head than it did when she said it aloud.
“Is that really what you believe?” he asked.
“It’s not just what I believe, it’s fact,” she said. “I’m sorry I screwed everything up for you.”
“Lois...” She sensed him move behind her, felt his hands clasp her shoulders lightly. “How can you possibly know what might or might not have happened?”
The warmth from his hands was so, so...she closed her eyes. Electrifying. Exciting.
But she couldn’t afford to indulge herself. Couldn’t bear to know what she’d have to manage without. She ducked away from him. “Because you told me,” she said. “That other Clark wasn’t an addict, was he?”
“No, but he and I...we’re two completely different people,” he said. “Just like you’re very different to his Lois. We have different backgrounds and different life experiences. The two universes aren’t exact duplicates of each other, you know.”
“I know, but the reason they’re different is because of the choices we make. If I hadn’t chosen to go the Congo...” She shrugged.
“And what if I’d chosen to stay with Lana and not become Superman? I think I’d have been pretty unhappy – what if I’d found the red kryptonite then? Or what if I’d found it right after my parents were killed? Or while I was bouncing around the foster system?” he said.
“You’re suggesting you’d have become an addict for a different reason?” she replied.
“Maybe,” he said. “Who knows?”
She had to concede he had a point. An orphaned youngster growing up in the foster care system, especially one as isolated by his developing powers as Clark had been, might well seek solace in something that could dull his emotions.
However, the fact was, he hadn’t turned to drugs, or any other artificial prop, until he’d been faced with a lonely future without the person he was convinced he belonged with.
She shook her head.
“Okay. If you don’t believe me,” he said. “Maybe you’ll believe an expert.”
Before she could protest, he’d gathered her into his arms and was lifting up into the air.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed, clutching at his shoulder.
“Taking you to see an expert,” he replied. “Hold on tight. We’re going to be moving fast.”
“Clark!”
Her protest was snatched away by the wind whistling past as the world became a brief blur of swirling colours. She just about managed to sense movement and a feeling of immense speed, and then they were touching down in a darkened street somewhere in suburban Metropolis.
Her knees nearly gave way as he set her down and she grabbed at him to steady herself. What the hell did he think he was doing?
<Hey, you enjoyed it!> said her subconscious. <That was the best rollercoaster ride on the entire planet!>
Shut up, she instructed her subconscious.
“Don’t,” she told him, resting her head briefly on his chest. “Ever do that again. Okay?”
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding very repentant. “But I’m really concerned that you believe you’re in any way responsible for my problems.” He took her hand and began leading her along the sidewalk. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asked, totally bewildered.
“To see an expert,” he repeated.
“But it’s the middle of the night!”
“He won’t mind.”
**************
