Title: A Million Little Pieces
Author: angelic_editor
Rating: PG for violence and mild language
Summary: Mayson Drake knowingly fights a losing battle for Clark's affection, and comes to understand why they could never truly be together. (Ulgh, I'm so bad at summaries).
Feedback: Better than chocolate, especially since I'm so new at this. Be brutal; I welcome comments and criticism of all kinds.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine; the words are. Please don't take legal action, as poor college students aren't worth suing, anyway.
Miscellaneous: I'm almost afraid to post this vignette because I know Mayson's not the most sympathetic of characters, and, much like Dan Scardino, she probably doesn't have too many friends on the boards. Besides, we all love Lois and Clark together, as opposed to Lois and Dan, or Clark and Mayson. But Mayson's character has always drawn me in because I think anyone can identify with unrequited love — we've all had people in our lives we're attracted to, but we've walked away because it simply wouldn't work. It's heart-rending, and it provides nearly endless angsty opportunities for fics like this one. And yes, the title is most definitely a poke at James Frey's disputed work of "non-fiction" — but I couldn't get the moniker out of my head after I wrote a certain line in this fic. This is set in Season 2, but before Clark and Mayson kiss, and definitely before Lois and Clark are quasi-dating. Also, like all my stuff, this is unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Point and laugh at will.
I want someone to grant my wishes
I want a boy who only kisses
I want a friend that I can care for
And I want to find a love that's not so painful
— “I Want,” Dayna Manning
Such a bad idea.
She stares hard at the phone in her hand and puts it down.
But when have I ever taken my own advice?
She picks up the receiver again before she can talk herself out of it. Dials a number she knows by heart — she doesn’t need the well-worn business card she keeps in her wallet, tucked behind her driver’s license.
She taps a pencil against her desk impatiently, waiting for the call to connect.
One ring.
She clears her throat.
Two rings.
I must be some kind of masochist.
“Clark Kent.”
She swallows. Definitely some kind of masochist.
“Clark, hi. It’s Mayson Drake.”
Good. Be professional.
“Mayson? This is a surprise,” he replies. “I’m usually the one calling you.”
For information. She forces an easy laugh. “I know — but a case just landed on my desk that I think you’ll be very interested in.”
He pauses, considering her words. “What’s it concern?”
She takes a deep breath. “Actually, it’s better if we don’t talk about this over the phone.” Ask. Just ask. “Could you meet for lunch?”
“I’d love to — ”
A wide smile lights her features.
“ ... but Lois and I are meeting with a source for most of the afternoon,” he finishes apologetically.
Lois Lane. Again.
“Oh, that’s all right,” she says brightly, willing her voice to remain steady. “If you have any time this week, just give me a call.” It’s not like I’ll be holding my breath or anything.
“Thanks, Mayson — I appreciate it.”
No problem, she thinks dully, setting her jaw against the disappointment that threatens to overwhelm her. I’m just doing this out of the kindness of my jaded, deputy-district-attorney heart.
“It’s no problem. You’re one of the few reporters I actually respect in this town.”
He laughs, and the deep sound resonates through the phone and sends a small thrill through her.
Watch it. You know this is a losing battle.
“Seriously, Mayson, thanks for the call,” he says. “I’ll try and get back to you tomorrow.”
Her heart constricts. He’s just so damn nice.
“Sure,” she replies. “Just let me know.”
She replaces the receiver and tucks a lock of blond hair behind one ear.
See you in my dreams, Kent, she thinks sadly. At least I know you’ll show up without a certain self-centered brunette there.
