Yikes, I just remembered my two-week sabbatical is over, which means I have to start posting again. Argh! By the way, this part is pretty violent in places and contains some bad language.
Edit: Huge apology! Somehow, I posted the nfic version here first. I'm so, so embarrassed! 
Sorry!“Now remember, as soon as you sense any red kryptonite nearby, you’re to tell me. Okay?”
Clark glared at her. “You know, if you’re going to keep nagging me like that, I could just drop you right here.”
She peered downwards. Onto a sewage works on the outskirts of Barton in the middle of the night? “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, clutching his shoulders a little tighter.
“Oh?” he said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now might be a good time to ask yourself how well you really know me.”
Suddenly, they dipped alarmingly. “Clark!” she yelled, grabbing onto him frantically.
Even in the dark, she could see him grinning. “Still so sure I wouldn’t dump you?”
“You...you...” She gave his shoulder a shove, but, of course, he didn’t budge a millimetre. “That was so unfair. You know I can’t get back at you, especially when we’re up here.”
“Being super-strong does have its advantages, that’s for sure,” he replied a little too happily for her liking.
“I’ll find a way to repay that stunt,” she said darkly. “Don’t you-“
“Shhh,” he interrupted. “We’re nearly there.”
She glared at him, but he was already staring intently down at the warehouse, searching for the best way in. “There’s just one guard, “ he muttered. “And no CCTV, so far as I can see. Talk about blase.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Can you see anywhere that looks like it could be a store for red kryptonite?”
“Not really,” he replied. “It could be anywhere - if it’s here at all.”
“Well, maybe they’d keep it away from the art in case it gave off any damaging rays or whatever,” she suggested, following his gaze downwards even though all she could see was an extremely distant rooftop.
“Okay, on that basis, we should head for the office,” he said. “It’s conveniently placed at the rear of the building...oh, and there’s a back entrance nearby. How thoughtful of them.”
She snickered. “And perhaps we can find some useful evidence for the police at the same time,” she said. “Where’s the guard?”
“Nowhere near the offices,” he replied. “He’s playing solitaire at the other end of the warehouse.”
“Okay, take us in, then,” she said, giving him a pat on the shoulder a bit like a rider might spur on his steed.
Instead of swooping downwards, he gazed at her with a stern expression. “You know,” he said, “we’re going to have to discuss your attitude after we’re done here.”
“Oh?” she said, trying to suppress an amused smile. “There’s a problem?”
“Let’s just say we need to agree that I’m a little more than just a convenient form of transport and leave it at that for now, okay?”
“Oh, you are,” she replied. “You’re a portable x-ray machine as well.”
He snorted. “I’m going to ignore that comment for now,” he said. “We have a warehouse to break into.”
**************
So here she was again, in a darkened office, rifling through filing cabinets while Clark rummaged through the contents of a small desk. This was almost like the old days, she reflected, when she’d done this sort of thing on a regular basis. Of course, she’d been alone then, whereas now she had a partner.
It was pretty cool, having a partner, she decided. Especially one who could read masses of documents in a matter of minutes.
And clearly there was no red kryptonite here. Clark had told her so, and he certainly didn’t seem to be acting like he was under the influence of drugs.
<<Anything?>> she asked.
<<Lots, but nothing with people’s names on it. We need names if we’re going to take anything to the police.>>
<<I know. Why don’t we swap? You can read the stuff in these drawers much faster than I can.>>
<<Okay>>
He took her place at the filing cabinet and began lifting up handfuls of files and rifling through them at superspeed. In less than ten seconds, he’d covered the same number of files she’d taken ten minutes to read. After a rueful shake of her head, she left him to it to wander around the rest of the office.
In one corner, there was a door. She wouldn’t have been that interested if it hadn’t been for the scuff marks on the floor suggesting it was well-used. Glancing back at Clark, she saw that he was still intent on his task with the files.
She pushed open the door and stepped through.
****************
Hmm. Interesting – she was in a long corridor which in turn led to a pair of swing doors. They looked pretty thick and heavy, and were made of some kind of metal. Pushing through them, she found herself in a small, stuffy room stocked to the brim with large paintings in protective wrappings and sculptures of all shapes and sizes, all of them swathed in canvas.
Peeking under a few of the canvases, she discovered various body parts, some more tasteful than others. One figure was so tall that when she pulled back the canvas, she found herself staring at...well...not something she usually examined at such close quarters. Looking hastily upwards, the rest of him seemed awfully familiar.
“Um...David?” she whispered. Michelangelo’s David, to be precise. Surely not. Wasn’t he safely ensconced somewhere in Florence? Lois wasn’t an art expert, but surely she’d have heard if a sculpture as famous as him had gone missing? Must be a copy, or just something that looked similar.
She tried a couple of the paintings. One looked awfully like something by Monet, and the other...well, it just couldn’t be. Surely the Mona Lisa had some kind of landscape behind her, instead of that blank space? The painting looked sort of unfinished without...
Oh, boy. Forgeries?
But there was no profit in copying famous works of art. Everyone would know the copy was a fake. And why would an art thief like Pirelli make forgeries? Surely, he just stole the art and passed it on to his clients. Unless...
No, she was reaching. The museums would know if the paintings and sculptures in their galleries were fakes, wouldn’t they? Besides, the thieves had definitely taken one of the pictures at the theft Clark had witnessed. They hadn’t just done a swap between original and fake.
But perhaps she and Clark ought to find out more about that painting which was stolen...
A scruffy cardboard box in one corner caught her eye. Curious, she crossed to take a look. All it seemed to contain was an assortment of rocks, but when she shone her flashlight on them, a few seemed to glow a dull red.
She’d found it. The supply of red kryptonite. Time to find Clark and-
“Freeze.”
She froze.
“Turn around.”
She turned around. Found herself facing a burly guard with a gun in his fist.
<<Clark, there’s red K. Stay away.>>
Because she was positive Clark would have heard the guard and was probably already on his way to rescue her.
“So, what do we have here?” drawled the guard. “An art-lover, maybe?”
<<I can handle it.>> Clark’s reply was clipped and edgy with determination.
She shrugged at the guard. “You seem to have enough of it around here.” <<So can I. Stay away.>>
“Yeah, but none of it as tasty as you,” the guard said, running his gaze up and down her body. “How about you tell me what you’re doing here?”
A leaden, cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. The room seemed to tilt.
“How...how about you tell me why there’s a half-complete copy of the Mona Lisa over there?” she replied, fighting past the fluttery panic growing inside her. She had to retain control of this situation!
The guard glanced over where she’d indicated. “Maybe whoever was making the copy got distracted,” he said, his sly grin back in her direction making it clear exactly what sort of distraction he meant. He waved the barrel of his gun around in slow circles. “So where would you like the first shot? Your shoulder, maybe, or your arm?” His eyes widened. “I know – your foot, so you can’t run away from me.”
The double doors behind her burst open. “You lay so much as a finger on...on...her...” She heard Clark gasp sharply, and, whirling around, ignoring the authority of the guard’s gun, she saw her partner falter. Stagger and hold a hand to his temple. Struggle again to straighten up, his face screwed up in pain. “Leave her alone,” he commanded, throwing himself towards the guard. “Leave her...” He stumbled and fell to the floor.
“Clark!” She fell to her knees at his side. “What’s wrong?” He was clearly in excruciating pain, but surely red kryptonite shouldn’t affect him like this?
“Kryptonite,” he gasped. “Green.” He got a hand underneath himself and tried to push up.
Oh, god. It must have been mixed in with the red in that box. Mentally, she kicked herself for not noticing it – she could have warned him! She caught his shoulders and tried to help him, but he was too heavy.
“Leave him,” barked the guard.
She twisted around, her hands still holding Clark, to find the guard aiming his gun directly at both of them. “He’s sick,” she protested.
“So?” snapped the guard. “Do I look like a doctor? Back off.” He gestured to one side with the gun.
Taking a gamble that the guard was unlikely to use his gun, she turned back to Clark. Sweat was glistening on his forehead and his complexion was the colour of putty, but he was still trying to push himself up off the floor.
<<What can I do to help you?>> she asked him urgently.
<<Just...get away from here if you can.>>
She heard the guard cock his gun. “You want me to shoot both of you?” he grated. “Back off.”
<<Do as he says, Lois. Don’t antagonise him.>>
She wanted to stay at his side, but his pleading eyes, so full of agony, persuaded her to do as he asked. Giving his cheek a brief stroke with the backs of her fingers, she reluctantly moved away. <<I won’t leave you.>>
“That’s better,” said the guard approvingly, apparently pleased that he’d regained full control of the situation. “Now we’re going to have a little talk. Who are you and what are you doing in this warehouse?”
“We’re art lovers,” she retorted. “Just like you said.”
<<Lois, don’t!>>
The guard suddenly shifted his gun to one side and fired off a shot into the concrete floor. The retort was deafening, and in the aftershocks of the explosion, Lois felt her entire body begin to tremble.
“Don’t mess with me, lady,” the guard snapped. “Answer the question.”
“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she answered automatically before she realised that she wasn’t really entitled to claim the Planet as her employer. “And he’s Cl-“
“I know what that pile of dung is,” interrupted the guard. “Super-frigging-man.” He snorted. “Not so super right now, is he?” Suddenly, he took a couple of running paces and landed a vicious kick in Clark’s stomach.
“No!” Her cry of protest mingled with Clark’s shout of pain. Instinctively, she rushed towards him, only to be forced back by the guard who was now pointing his gun at Clark’s head.
“So what’s a journalist and Supers*** doing here?” said the guard.
She glanced at Clark, who was curled up in agony around his stomach. <<Clark, can you hear me?>> When he didn’t immediately reply, she turned back to the guard. “Why do you care, if you’re just going to shoot us anyway?”
“The boss’ll want to know who broke into his warehouse, so you scratch my back and I get a raise.” He grinned nastily. “And who says I’m going to shoot you? There are other ways I can get my kicks.” He ran his gaze up and down her body again.
Bile rose in her throat. This was Brazzaville all over again. He was taunting her, playing with her, wearing her down until there was nothing left of the person she once was. The room tilted again...coiled arms of steel gripping her chest, hands running up her thighs but never going all the way, his hot, stinking breath on the back of her neck. “Soon.” The lascivious, hissing voice. “Very soon, white lady whore.”
A whimper escaped from her.
“Oh, you’d like that, would you?” the guard responded immediately.
<<Lo...Lois. Don’t...listen...to him.>>
Clark. She grabbed onto his voice, dragged herself back to the present. Swallowed down the sour tasting bile, the burning sensation helping her to focus. “Mr Pirelli...” There was something important she could say about him, if she could just remember... “Mr Pirelli...he won’t be pleased that you messed up guarding his warehouse,” she said at last, watching the guard’s eyes for any reaction.
Bingo. Just a slight hesitation before he began to move towards her. “Pirelli? Never heard of the guy. Sounds like an ice cream salesman.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, taking a step backwards from him. “We’re both adults, so let’s not play games. I know all about Steve Pirelli and his forgeries.”
Bingo again. “In that case,” the guard said, “You may also know that he gives his employees a certain...freedom...in how they deal with things.” He swiftly closed the distance between them, coming to a standstill just a couple of feet away from her. “Particularly if said employee holds a grudge against the pile of s*** that put his brother in jail,” he spat.
A shudder of pure revulsion ran through her as he pointed the gun straight at her and used his other hand to maul at the crotch of his jeans.
“So how about it, sweetheart?” he taunted softly. “You look like you're just right for a guy bored out of his head on guard duty.”
She couldn’t move. She wanted to send back another smart retort, but her power of speech had left her. So this was it. This was where it was finally going to happen. Raped by a brutish guard, in a dingy warehouse on the outskirts of Metropolis in the middle of the night. In a way, she was relieved that the wait was over at last. It had been so long, those months and months spent in that hovel in Brazzaville, watching and waiting for her turn on the floor with one of her captors. Wasting away on a subsistence diet while her identity slowly leaked away from her. Lois Lane, the woman who never gave up, had finally crumbled to dust in that place and become a quivering mass of terror and submission.
<<Lois...>>
Clark. He’d have to watch. The bastards would make him watch, just like they’d made her watch so many times...
No.
No...
“NO!” she screamed, the protest exploding from the very depths of her soul. Furiously, she high-kicked the gun away, then fell on him, fists and feet flying. He staggered backwards and tripped; there was a sickening crack of bone on something hard, but she didn’t care. A red mist descended, making her blind as she kicked and punched at the man before her, landing vicious blow after vicious blow on him. All of her hatred towards her captors in Brazzaville came out, all her anger at herself, all her fury at everything that had happened to her in the Congo. He was her punch-bag, a repulsive, sickening thing to be destroyed with all her might. Again and again, she pummelled him, beat him down, yelled her aggression at him as she drove him to the ground in a broken heap.
<<Lois, stop.>>
She screamed from within the red mist and kicked again.
<<Don’t, Lois.>>
But she wasn’t finished yet.
<<You’ll kill him if you don’t stop.>>
Why should she care? They’d all but killed her, hadn’t they? Broken her in pieces. She drew back her foot again-
<<No!>>
She stumbled as his voice cut through her head like steel. Staggering backwards, she hit the wall and collapsed against it, her chest heaving. Looked down at the body on the floor and saw, really saw, what she’d done for the first time and suddenly her stomach was clenching and she was retching, violently losing the contents of her stomach onto the stone floor.
Then she was shaking, trembling so badly she could hardly stand, her head swimming as the stench of her own vomit drifted up to her.
<<Lois...>>
Clark again. She held onto his name, grasped onto his presence. Pulled herself upright using his strength. Slowly turned and snatched a glance at the guard again. Saw Clark beyond, on his hands and knees and crawling painfully slowly across the floor towards her.
“Lois...are you okay?”
Of course she wasn’t okay. She’d just killed someone. But Clark was even less okay than she was. She rushed to his side, crouching down beside him with a hand on his back. “We have to get you out of here.”
He shook his head. “Just...get the kryptonite away from me.”
Of course. She was being stupid. Hurrying over to the box, she hefted it. Heavy. Too heavy. Frantically, she sorted through the rocks, hunting for anything green-tinged. Soon she had an armful of the stuff, which she then carried as fast as she could out of the room, down the long corridor and into the office they’d been in earlier.
Arriving back in the storeroom, she found Clark crouched over the guard, checking his pulse. “He’s okay, I think,” he reported. “Just knocked out.”
Relief flooded over her, turning her legs wobbly. She hadn’t killed him after all. With a sigh, she sank down beside Clark. “What about you?”
“Better,” he said. “Is there still red kryptonite here?”
She nodded.
“Thought so,” he said. “I think it’s taking the edge off.” He settled back on his haunches, wincing a little at the change of position. “Now what?”
“We get out of here and get you to a doctor,” she said.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I meant what do we do about him?” He nodded at the guard.
“Well, if you’re sure he’s going to be okay, I guess we just leave him here,” she said. “If we’re lucky, he won’t tell his boss what happened because he’ll know he’ll get in trouble for failing to keep us out.”
“Yeah, but if he does tell his boss, all this evidence will be gone by tomorrow,” he pointed out.
She shrugged. “Most important thing is to do what we came here for. The rest is secondary. But how do we destroy the kryptonite if you don’t have your powers?”
He grimaced. “We don’t. But actually, that might not matter. I found some stuff in the office...documents. If you could get them, then we might have enough to take to the police.” He winced again and wrapped an arm around his middle. “Maybe even incriminate Pirelli.”
“Okay.” She checked the guard, who was still out cold. “I’ll get them – where do I look?”
Clark gave her brief instructions, and she rushed down to the office to collect the precious evidence together. He was right. It looked like there was at least enough to enable the police to get search warrants for Pirelli’s office and home, which presumably they hadn’t been able to do so far. She stuffed all the paperwork under her sweater and behind the waistband of her pants and hurried back to the Clark.
He was sitting on the floor with his eyes closed and a curiously slack expression on his face. She bent down and shook his shoulder gently. “We can go now. Can you stand up?”
“Hmmm?” He opened his eyes and looked up at her dopily. “Are we going?”
Her heart sank a little. He was letting the red kryptonite take hold – understandable in the circumstances, especially if it was dulling his pain, but not conducive to a fast exit from a dangerous place.
She crouched in front of him and gripped his upper arms. “Focus, Clark,” she said firmly. “I need you to fight it.”
A small frown gathered between his eyebrows. “Yeah. Focus.”
“Come on, Clark,” she urged, shaking him a little. “You can do this.”
He blinked. Began to draw in a deep breath and immediately winced in pain. Her hands tightened automatically on his arms, in sympathy with his discomfort, and he nodded slightly. Pulled one leg out from under himself and planted it on the floor, then slowly levered himself up to a standing position with her help.
“Good,” she said, still clinging onto him because he seemed so wobbly. “Is there another way out of here?”
Because she’d left the green kryptonite in the office, right between where they were now and the door they’d used to break into the warehouse.
He shook his head. “No.”
Damn. Time was running out – the guard might wake up at any time and for all they knew he’d raised the alert before coming to find them anyway. Reinforcements could already be on the way to the warehouse, all of which meant she didn’t think there was time to remove all the rocks far enough away from Clark. “The green kryptonite is back there,” she told him. “Do you think you could make it past if we move fast enough?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
“Okay.” She wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled his arm over her shoulders. “Ready for the one hundred metres kryptonite freestyle?”
He chuckled. “It’s my best event.”
She smiled. “Prove it to me.”
And thus began their tortuous, awkward dash – actually more of a hobble than a dash – down the corridor, into the office, where Clark nearly collapsed against her, and out the other door, and then, eventually, out of the warehouse and into the cool night air.
****************
