Title: A Million Little Pieces (2/?)
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 was almost afraid to post the first part of 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.
Part One ---------------------------------------
You don’t see me
You don’t see me at all— “3 Libras,” A Perfect Circle
What now?As her phone rings for the umpteenth time that afternoon, she frowns and reluctantly puts down the file she’d been engrossed in.
‘Intergang’ — sounds like an organization out of a bad mafia movie, she thinks absently, snatching the receiver.
“Mayson Drake.”
“Mayson, it’s Clark Kent.”
Clark? Why —She knocks over her bottle of Evian, thankful the lid is screwed on.
Smooth.
“Clark, h-hi,” she stammers. “I didn’t expect to hear from you — well, at least until tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry if it’s an inconvenience; I know you’re busy.”
She almost melts into her four-inch Jimmy Choos.
“That source bailed on Lois and me,” he continues, “so I’m done at the office for the afternoon. I know it’s awfully short notice, but if you’re free for a late lunch ... ” He trails off.
She checks her watch.
Damn.
For the first time in her career, Mayson is sorry she has to make an appearance in court.
“I’d like to, but I’m due in court in half an hour.”
She hears Clark sigh, the sound almost inaudible. “That’s my luck,” he says with a rueful laugh. “Look, I really want to talk with you about whatever this is — you’ve got me intrigued. Are you free afterward?”
Mayson nearly laughs out loud.
To see you? After regular office hours? Like I’d ever say no.
“Well, actually,” she hedges, not wanting to appear completely desperate, “I — ”
“C’mon,” Clark cajoles. “I’ll throw in Starbucks for your trouble.”
Mayson laughs. “Does that endanger your journalistic objectivity?”
“Not if it’s for a friend,” Clark answers, and she instinctively knows he’s grinning. “If you were just a source, that’d be a different matter.”
“Oh, I see. So you’ll spring for coffee for a friend, but not a business contact?”
“Right.”
“Hmm — then why are you always treating Bobby Bigmouth to full-course takeout meals?”
Clark laughs, surprised. “Remind me to never get on your bad side. You’d eat me alive.”
Have you for dessert, Mayson thinks wickedly.
Oh god. Stop those thoughts before they start. She wonders if her cheeks look as hot as they suddenly feel.
She clears her throat. “Well, if you offer still stands, I think I can shuffle a couple of things around,” Mayson lies, crossing her fingers.
“If it’s going to be a hassle for you — ”
“Not at all,” she says quickly. “Really, Clark, I think this is going to be an important story.”
“If you’re sure,” he says slowly, “then that’d be great.”
Proof there’s a benevolent god somewhere.
“Great,” she says, struggling to suppress the relief that tinges her words. “Why don’t you meet me at my office just before five?”
“Works for me — see you then.”
Mayson places the phone back on its cradle, hardly believing her luck.
Two conversations with Clark Kent today, and coffee after work. To discuss work
, but still. It’s a start.
Tucking a stack of files and case notes into her briefcase, she locks her office and heads to the Metropolis courthouse across the street, humming Billie Holiday’s “I’m a Fool to Want You” slightly off-key under her breath.
Who’d have ever thought I’d fall for a reporter, of all people?* * * * *
Four hours later, Mayson returns to her office, happy to toss her briefcase on the chair just inside the door. She winces as she strides over to her desk and sits down, sighing in relief as she slips her feet out of her stilettos.
The idiotic things I do for fashion, she thinks derisively, massaging her instep with one hand.
She glances at her watch.
Four thirty-five. Just enough time to finish up before Clark gets here.
Mayson wriggles her toes and slip her feet back into her shoes, then gathers the files she wants to take home. She places the Intergang folder on top.
I hope he can help with this.
Noticing the blinking red light on her answering machine, she presses ‘play’ and continues to tidy the stacks of paperwork on her desk.
“You have one new message,” the disembodied mechanical voice informs her. “Wednesday, four-fifteen p.m.”
Still sifting through the mid-week paper trail, she’s only half-listening.
“Mayson, it’s Clark Kent.”
Clark?“Look, I’m really sorry — ”
Her hands still, copies of police reports forgotten as the apologetic hesitation in Clark’s voice registers.
“ ... but something’s just come up at The Planet, and ... ” She listens while Clark pauses, then as he blows out a short breath in frustration. “Look, Mayson, Lois may be in danger. I’ll call you as soon as I can, and again, I’m sorry to cancel like this, but I’ve got to go.”
I should’ve known such good luck couldn’t hold out.
Mayson sits down heavily in her chair. Suddenly, she’s so, so tired.
I know you’d fall for me too, Kent, if you’d only give me half a chance, she thinks sadly.
That woman you call a partner only uses you — and you don’t see it. You only see her.
But Mayson swallows back her bitter musings. Clark had said Lois’ life could be on the line, so this is no time to be petty. Despite her reservations about Lois’ behavior toward Clark, Mayson doesn’t want to see her hurt, or worse.
Take care of her — do what you have to do. I’ll still be here tomorrow.
Ignoring the hollow ache in the pit of her stomach, Mayson gathers the last of her files, snaps her briefcase closed, and heads home to an empty apartment.
