Title: A Million Little Pieces (4/?)
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 Part Two Part Three ---------------------------------------
You grieve, you learn
You choke, you learn
You laugh, you learn
You choose, you learn— “You Learn,” Alanis Morissette
Lois can’t remember being so angry.
She’s furious, and it’s all Clark’s fault — as usual.
Hate, she surmises, surveying her partner at his desk as he takes notes during a phone interview.
That’s the word.
Her stomach churns as she thinks back to their heated conversation last week. How dare Clark even insinuate that she isn’t capable of taking care of herself? Hasn’t she proven she’s more than worth her mettle in countless life-or-death situations?
Well, hasn’t she?
Of course, Lois mentally reassures herself. Maybe with the occasional assistance from a certain resident superhero, but that isn’t the point.
Clark had hurt her with his pointed questions after the threats had arrived on her desk.
Empty threats, Lois reminds herself. His condescension had stung after she’d received a couple of menacing phone calls. And after a creepy encounter with a hulking, living shadow just outside her apartment building a few nights ago.
But incidents like those are to be expected — she’s only covering the most explosive murder trial Metropolis had seen in the past fifty years, after all.
So how dare Clark even hint that she isn’t up to the challenge that entails?
His cruel words from last week echo in her brain.
“Lois, don’t you think this is a little ... well, dangerous? Wouldn’t it be a good idea to stay with Perry and Alice for a couple days?”Her curt reply, laced with sarcasm, comes back to her at once.
“Oh, that’s a great idea, Clark — I’ll just give in. Show these guys how scared I am. That’ll show them, won’t it?”She winces a little.
Did I really say that? And just a few seconds later, did I really tell him his concern was all a ruse — then accuse him of just trying to get his hands on my story?Lois resists the urge to rest her head in her hands. She can’t believe what had begun as a small argument has somehow escalated into a full-on stalemate.
And it’s lasted an entire week.
She sneaks another glance in Clark’s direction. Her subtlety is lost on her partner — he’s too engrossed in reading whatever is on his computer screen.
All right. So maybe I’m the idiot this time.
She sighs and turns back to her keyboard.
But I still say I can take care of myself.
* * * * *
Clark nearly sighs aloud as he puts down the phone.
This is getting me nowhere, he thinks, disgusted.
He’s been checking out dozens of potential leads for the past week, trying to piece together the information Mayson supplied. But so far, Intergang is proving to be more elusive than a calm, rational conversation with Lois.
Lois.
Clark clenches his jaw and concentrates on his computer monitor, cross-checking his short list of suspected organized crime lords with the recent string of thefts in Metropolis.
He can’t afford to let his frustration with his partner affect this investigation; it would undoubtedly be easier with Lois’ help, but she’s barely sparing even a glance in his direction lately. After their arguments about the murder case she’s covering, he hasn’t had a chance to talk to her about the new pieces of the Intergang puzzle. It’s been admittedly slower going on his own, but it somehow feels like he’s getting closer.
To what, though, he isn’t sure.
Maybe Mayson’s had better luck than I have the past few days.
Clark checks his watch; it’s just before nine. If he’s lucky, he’ll catch the assistant district attorney in her office before she has any appointments or court appearances scheduled.
He’s punching in her number when Jimmy Olsen hurries to his desk.
“If you could give me just a sec, Jimmy — ” he begins, but stops when he sees the photographer’s stricken expression.
“CK, I just came from the police station. I was getting those reports you asked for, and ... ” Jimmy pauses, his dark eyes troubled. “Mayson Drake was attacked last night.”
No.
Clark carefully replaces the receiver.
“Are you sure? How — where?”
Jimmy places a sheaf of papers in Clark’s in-tray. “I heard Henderson talking about it. A jogger found her this morning, on that dirt trail by the river.” Jimmy swallows. “She — she was beat up pretty bad, CK.”
This can’t be right. I would’ve heard her — I would’ve saved her. Clark forces his voice to remain steady, ignoring the sick lurch in the pit of his stomach.
I should’ve been there. “Where is she?”
“Metropolis General.”
Clark is standing before the words are completely out of Jimmy’s mouth. He snatches his coat from the back of his chair. “Call Henderson back. Get a copy of that report. Get as much information as you can. I’ll be at the hospital — call my cell if you need me.”
Jimmy grabs the top sheet from the pile he’d just placed on Clark’s desk. “Already got it.”
Clark nods and takes the photocopy, grateful for Jimmy’s foresight. “Thanks.”
Before Jimmy can respond, Clark is gone.
* * * * *
The talented Mr. Kent pulls yet another disappearing act, Lois thinks sourly as she surveys the newsroom.
I’m sure he had an overdue library book to return.
Forcing thoughts of her AWOL partner from her brain, Lois skims her notes from the trial again while she waits to leave for the courthouse.
* * * * *
The sterile air assaults his nostrils and the florescent lights glare on the white tiled floor.
Clark’s heartbeat reverberates in his ears as he strides toward Mayson’s room in Metropolis General.
The details of the police report and the conversation he’s just had with Dr. Deborah Leicester echo in his thoughts.
Discovered by Gary Pierce while jogging at six a.m. ... Estimated time of attack was midnight ... Serious but stable ... Moved to a private room an hour ago ... No signs of permanent brain damage ... No indication of sexual abuse ...He reaches Mayson’s door and pushes it open, steeling himself. He tentatively steps toward her unconscious form, hardly daring to make a sound.
His heart constricts.
Mayson looks too small, too frail lying there. There are too many monitors, too many needles sticking into her skin. She’s too pale, washed out against the white sheets and cotton blanket.
An angry red mark mars one swollen cheek. Clark knows the bruise forming there will turn dark purple in a matter of hours. Splotches of dried blood cling to her temple, and he can see flecks in her blond hair. Her lower lip is split and puffy. There are raw patches and the beginnings of bruising on her throat, and her left arm is encased in a cast. The oxygen tube in her nose keeps her breathing deep and even.
This is my fault.
A cold band of pure panic clamps around his chest.
My fault.
Clark clenches his jaw. He leans down and gently brushes away a strand of hair from her scraped forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his gaze riveted on her closed eyelids. “When I find who did this to you ... ” Clark trails off. They’ll pay, no matter what. He’ll make sure of that — as a journalist
and as Superman.
* * * * *
“Clark.”
He stops just before he reaches his desk and warily turns.
Lois stands there, watching him, her honey-brown eyes full of concern. She’s waited for him — long after her time in the courtroom had ended, after her story was written and filed. Now, she just has to find the courage to actually speak to him.
“I’m sorry.”
Clark nods wordlessly and moves to his desk, slinging his coat onto his chair. It’s well past seven and he hasn’t stopped moving till now — he’s been too busy chasing down sources with renewed, almost fanatical determination — but it scarcely registers. He has to find answers. He has to help Mayson. And he has to know if this is tied to Intergang.
He switches on his computer, unaware that his leg is bouncing at near-super speed.
He doesn’t realize Lois is still studying him until she’s standing beside him.
“Clark,” she says quietly, placing a hand on his forearm, “I really am sorry. I didn’t know — I didn’t ... I just didn’t realize.”
“It’s all right,” Clark replies distractedly, his eyes on his monitor.
“No,” Lois argues, “it’s not. I’m sorry I was such a — well, just completely awful to you this week. Jimmy told me what happened to Mayson and — and a little about what you’ve been working on. Clark, I want to help. If you’ll have me.”
Surprised, Clark turns to meet Lois’ hesitant gaze.
“Really?”
“Really.”
For the first time that day, Clark smiles.
“Lois — thank you. You don’t know how much ... ” He swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. “How much I appreciate it.”
She returns his smile. “Hey, what are partners for? Let’s get to work.”
