Hi Evie!
“Oh, no,” he said on a groan. “I know that look.”
She grinned at him.
*****
Chapter 8
One week later.
One *week* later? You trying to give us whip-lash? Or is that WIP-lash?
“but I have never been that hot in my life!” She tried to wipe her face with the towel, then tsked. “Ugh! This mud is so caked on, I’ll never get it all off.”
What’s going on? And couldn’t Superclark help her wash it out of her hair and of her face while she’s standing in the shower?
“Well, you looked busy with the guys firing at us from the truck.”
“Not so busy that I didn’t have time to stop that guy from holding your head down in the mud.”
Their banter is the most adorable treat!
Lois suffocating as the courier they’d been trailing held her face down in a shallow pool of muddy water for what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time.
Lois has very well developed lung capacity.
“Good news, though – we don’t have to go back to the Congo,” she said sarcastically. “I brought half the rainforest home on me!
It went much better than it did with Alt-Lois&Clark. That Lois supposedly got killed in the Congo while for our pair, only Clark had to supposedly die.
I’m sure the next package of diamonds is just buried in this mud somewhere.”
Yes, and one might just stick to her ring finger
He absolutely did not grin at that.
Uh-huh.
CLAR: She did not see me grin so it did not happen.
He glanced at the little digital clock on her oven; timekeeping was the appliance’s single use.
What? It’s good for storing shoes. You got a surface on top. It looks stylish and it got a clock built into it. Wouldn’t you prefer I got a grandfather clock instead?
even covered in mud, looking and smelling like she’d been dragged through a burnt-out jungle in the middle of the night.
Which, of course, she had.
His smile didn’t diminish as he obediently headed for the window, content to use his powers for once not just for the preservation of the endless masses, but solely to make her happy.
There’s *other* ways he could also make her happy using his powers.
*squints* are you giving us a back-to-normal montage?
“Right, but he can’t be running this operation from beyond the grave.”
He could be undead.
Luthor supplied the ship and the fake inventory for the initial buy-in, but there’s still someone out there now paying the crew, buying up his old properties, hiring the thugs to transport the stuff from the docks, bribing port officials,” she looked to him for confirmation here, and he nodded, affirming the cash he’d seen changing hands tonight, “and keeping the whole thing running.
What about an international criminal conglomerate based out of Chicago?
When I cross-reference the millionaires with who’s been in and out of Metropolis in the last year, and narrow that down to the people with sole interests — meaning they aren’t in a partnership — that leaves us with five.” She cleared her throat. “Four, taking into account Luthor’s death.”
Sour as any mention of Luthor made him, he was impressed. She’d gotten a lot done on her end. “Four is a lot easier than fifty.”
She’s a smart cookie!
and Bruce Wayne, the Gotham playboy. Wayne’s on the board of two of Metropolis’ orphanages, and he’s in town often enough.”
The whole list, I really was expecting Bill Church to show up. I mean, he did start at the beginning of Season Two. But, given your list, my money is on the last one. Those Gothamites have an awful reputation. And a playboy interested in little boys? Yeah, he sounds like a crook of some sort.
“She’s not worth nearly as much since the divorce. Her husband managed to get on the board and they voted her out.”
That’s why successful billionaires don’t divorce. They widow.
“Misogynistic business practices at their finest,” she said wryly.
From her tone of voice, he had a feeling he’d be seeing that exposé soon.
“It’s just… tracking down an exclusive interview with a millionaire, breaking into his office… that’s how it all started with Luthor. I don’t know if it’s such a good idea.”
Why, Arthor Chow’s already happily married. For now. Lois should be safe from his advances.
She’d not only survived what he’d put her through, but come out of the experience with more compassion for her tormentor.
It’s probably Stockholm Syndrome.
For a woman that didn’t actually care much for material wealth, she somehow gravitated toward men that had made it their specialty.
Those man have ‘provider’ stamped all over their forehead. They say it’s genetics.
He chose to let her taste in millionaires go. After all, she’d picked him.
Yes, the heir to a planet. Well, more like a small, barren rock in space now, but still, lots of real estate.
He frowned. “More than we already are? It’s the middle of the night and I’m just getting back from Africa while you’ve been…” his eyes roved over the scene in front of him again and he suppressed a grin, “…building yourself a fort out of printing paper.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
She’s extremely cute!
“It doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
Naughty, naughty, Superman!
She hadn’t replied directly, but Clark couldn’t hide his delight that she’d called off work for the evening. She’d essentially put their relationship before the story, he realized. If he didn’t know her this well, he’d have missed how meaningful that was.
Awwww
“Just how were you planning to get out of there?” he asked, dragging his eyes from her curves to the paper-ream castle with one eyebrow raised.
also, a 3ft high wall of paper, if that thing tumbles or a gust of wind appears, oh boy. I mean, each pile is about 8,000 sheets of paper. This means she’s surrounded by what… 160,000 sheets of paper weighing 800 pounds?
“Well, I was hoping my boyfriend would be chivalrous and scale the walls,” she said, testing her weight on both legs again.
Rapunzel!
“Boyfriend?” he asked, stunned at her casual use of the appellation. He hadn’t known that word was in her lexicon.
Ooooh!
“Chivalrous,” she reinforced tartly, gesturing to him.
“Boyfriend?” he repeated, knowing there was a goonily happy look on his face.
Her lips curved into a soft answering smile.
“Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered immediately. He wasn’t stupid, after all.
“So, then, boyfriend, pizza tonight?”
And this is how we get from “ex-fiance pizza” to “boyfriend, pizza”.
“Can I pick the toppings?”
Of course she could.
He’d give her just about anything.
I’ll just rinse and repeat: awwwwwwwww
Michael
