“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” she stipulated.

She felt him nod weakly and smoothed her hand across his hair.

Looking down at his slicked hair, she realized how much had changed between them. A year ago, she’d have pushed him until he’d left or they’d imploded again, sending them back to their separate corners until the bell signaled the next round. Tonight she’d stood her ground but taken a much softer approach.

And it had worked.

Instead of separate corners -- separate hemispheres -- he was curled around her as if drawing strength from the contact. So maybe she had learned something worthwhile from the whole lonely, six-month nightmare without him, after all.

The man holding her sighed, finally relaxing into her touch.

Clark learned his own lessons during our time apart, she thought again, fretting anew.

His fear and reticence tonight sparked a deeper concern in her that they hadn’t been the right ones. It wasn’t like Clark to be angry. It wasn’t like him not to have hope.

She held him tighter as her mind worked over her fresh worries for him, for their future. She would figure out a way to save him, the way he’d saved her countless times.

Some jobs were for Superman.

But it looked like sorting Superman was a job for Lois Lane.



*****
Chapter 10
Two weeks later.



She shivered.

Summer had come and gone quickly this year, and the chill of fall was starting to creep in early.

Plus, the high altitude probably wasn’t helping.

“I think he’s in for the night,” she said.

He tugged his cape up, wrapping it securely around her and hugging her closer to him.

“I thought that, too, the first few nights. But the house goes dark and then when I scan it, there’s no one inside. Sometimes the butler comes back, but even he doesn’t show up for hours.”

She sighed, resigned to another hours-long stake-out. He could be as stubborn as she was when he got a bee in his bonnet about something. And it was obviously a sore point that this man kept sneaking out from under Superman’s watchful eye. So she kept her focus on the softly lit door she’d been assigned while he scanned the interior over and over.

They hung high in the air above a stately manor house on the outskirts of Gotham City.

“Can’t you see where they go?” she asked.

“The house is old,” he explained, eyes roaming the grounds. “Some of the rooms are coated in layers of lead paint, and it looks like there’s some kind of lead in the pipes and throughout a big slab of the foundation, too. It’s like looking through heavy static bars on a black and white television.”

They waited.

Suddenly, he tensed.

“Do you see him?”

“No…” he said, his focus trailing off.

Looking up at him, she could see that he was listening to something far away, his attention on the city itself.

“What is it?” she asked, as she felt his shoulders begin to relax.

“It sounds like a break-in at Gotham National Bank.”

“Do you need to—“

“No,” he said. “Batman is there.”

“Do you want to help him? You haven’t really introduced yourself, yet.”

“I think he’s got it under control.” He visibly winced. “…although those thieves are going to need treatment for concussions.”

He focused on her again fully, leaving Gotham’s criminals to their house detective. “I’m not in Gotham much. If I’m spotted here, I’m afraid it’ll tip off Wayne that we’re onto him – if he’s our guy.”

She nodded.

They looked back at the mansion house and resumed their watch.

“The bat thing freaks me out a little.”

“What?” he asked on a laugh. She’d startled a chuckle out of him.

“Just, like, ew, bats. Gross. Why pick bats? They’re just rats, but with wings. …and making them fly is not an improvement!”

“One day I’ll ask him for you.”

He kissed the side of her head lightly, still smiling broadly.


*****
Three days later.



“With the fall of Luthor Corp, you’ve been expanding your business interests in Metropolis over the last year. Is that correct, Mr. Chow?”

“A good businessman always expands and diversifies his portfolio.”

A good businessman doesn’t bore his interviewers into a stupor, she thought acerbically.

It had been one boiler-plate answer after another with this guy. And worse, she was pretty sure she’d read every one of his answers verbatim in another article about the man already – which meant that it wasn’t even worth publishing a single thing he’d said in the last half hour!

Not that she had been banking on too much more, she reminded herself. After all, this visit was supposed to be more of a fishing trip than a real interview.

After noticing the high number of Luthor Corp subsidiaries bought up by Chow’s own conglomerate, Lois had started hunting around. That’s when she’d noticed that most press releases had been buried on Friday afternoons – a day referred to in her industry as ‘trash day,’ since readers traditionally missed the end-of-week news as they headed off into more exciting weekend activities. That meant that Friday news went out with the trash as far as the press was concerned.

Chow Consolidated had a lot of trash to take out, it seemed.

Because every release in the past six months was given to the press for their Friday edition. And every single one talked about dismantling the Luthor Corp companies that had been purchased that week, in order to sell them off in pieces.

Not one had been sold or dismantled.

She’d seen this kind of disconnect before. In fact, it was straight from the Luthor-shady-business-playbook. And so it wasn’t a surprise that something about Chow’s own business practices reminded her of the whole ordeal with Lex and the Planet.

And that sort of thing would never happen in Metropolis again on her watch.

Pushing her ever latent fury at Lex aside, she followed up with Chow, “Has your philanthropic portfolio also expanded in proportion to your recently acquired assets?”

“A good businessman always considers the community.”

That one had been a direct quote from the Chow Consolidated Code of Conduct.

She glanced down at her notes so that he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes.

Having now spoken with the millionaire, she was sure that he was into something he oughtn’t be. She just wasn’t sure yet whether it was the something she and Clark had been tracking. But she’d find out. Arthur Chow was smart enough and rich enough, but he was no Lex Luthor. This overly entitled millionaire wouldn’t pull the wool over her eyes.

…Although that might be because every time she closed her eyes in Arthur Chow’s presence, she saw Cat Grant sticking her tongue in his ear.

Cat Chow, her bored mind supplied giddily.

She looked up from her notes, renewing her determination to worm a real answer out of her reluctant interviewee.

“Has Chow Consolidated taken on any of Luthor’s other affiliates recently?” she asked, too lightly.

She watched him carefully, but his expression didn’t change.

The question hadn’t been accusatory, but she’d drawn enough of a line to Luthor Corp that it would make a guilty man nervous – if he was the one who’d been picking up Lex’s little illegitimate side businesses, that is. She wanted him to at least suspect that she suspected him – if, after all, there was something to suspect here.

But there was a sort of frozen, dead look in his eyes. At first, she wondered if it was panic. But a second later, she reassessed. She’d seen the same expression on other well-to-do men who thought they were above the press. It was usually a sign that they’d mentally checked out during an interview.

“His charities, for example?” she offered smoothly, to continue the conversation.

“Chow Consolidated is a financial supporter of works of greater good in Metropolis.”

Not an answer.

At least, not an answer to the actual question she’d asked.

She offered a saccharine grin to match the false smile he was bestowing upon her and pivoted.

“Yes, but aside from the company line, Mr. Chow, would you personally agree that it’s a moral responsibility of the upper class to give back to society, rather than capitalize on it for personal gain?”

After all, she reasoned, smuggling guns wasn’t exactly a transaction that helped the world at large. She’d seen how this had happened with Lex, too, though admittedly after the fact. His wealth was so extreme that it was isolating. It had left him without empathy for others, but with a solitary hobby of gobbling up everything in sight.

Including her.

“That’s the half-hour, Ms. Lane,” Chow said, standing. He held out a hand. “It was nice to have met you.”

Ugh, she lamented. Thirty minutes and she hadn’t even pushed him off script! She must be losing her touch.

She stowed her notepad in her bag and shook the limp hand that was outstretched to her.

Leaving the world’s most boring interview behind her, she mentally reviewed whether she’d learned anything she could apply to her current investigation. Chow had confirmed his uptick in travel recently, but hadn’t given her specifics. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d made the Luthor Corp comparison. That could also mean he was too petrified to blink, though. …Then again, the man did a fair enough impression of a cold fish that she wasn’t even sure he had the imagination to successfully take on Luthor’s black market schemes.

Now that she’d set the bait for him, she supposed she’d have to wait to see if anything unexpected pulled on her line in the near future.

A heartbeat later, she was looking down at the rapidly receding city street she’d just been walking on.

“Cl-Superman!”

Not this again, she bemoaned inwardly, her arms automatically circling his neck. She’d thought they’d left the unexpected pick-ups behind them.

“What were you doing in Arthur Chow’s office?”

He sounded mad.

Why in the world was he angry? She was the one who’d just spent a whole half hour of her life with a living, breathing press release.

“I was interviewing him.”

“You were practically accusing him of taking over for Luthor!”

“I was not!” she threw back, insulted. “I was just setting up the pieces for him in case he already knew what I was talking about. And since you were listening in, you’ll notice he didn’t take the bait.”

“You’re being too direct, Lois. We talked about this and we both agreed to investigate more cautiously,” he reminded her chidingly, eyes still ahead of them.

She still agreed with that in concept, but he was taking it too far in practice. She had to do something, and this was barely even poking a sleeping bear!

“I am being cautious. Except for being plucked off a public street in broad daylight by a flying Kryptonian in brightly-colored spandex, it’s been a quiet day.”

He had the grace to look chagrined at that.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to be seen together,” she nudged.

“I know,” he grimaced. “I just – I saw you with Chow and I got worried,” he said, finally making eye contact with her, his face softening.

“You broke the ru-ules,” she chimed in a sing-song voice.

To her delight, he looked even more chagrined.

She looked out over the horizon, taking in the cityscape and the view that only Superman could offer her. “While we’re up here, I can think of a way you could make it up to me.”

His eyes darkened a little, his arms hugging her a little closer. “Don’t you have to go back to the Planet?”

“We could always take the scenic route before you drop me off,” she suggested, her fingers flirtatiously tracing the ‘S’ over his chest.

He kissed her temple in agreement, changing their course.

But he still looked troubled.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” she said reassuringly, one hand moving to his cheek. “We’ve been at this for months and nothing’s gone wrong. No one knows we’re working together. Not even Jimmy has any idea what we’re investigating. Who’s going to catch on to us now?”


*****
Two days later.



“Superman!”

Her voice was shrill as she flung herself to the floor behind the carved-up frame of a white cargo van resting on cement blocks near the center of the room. Her hands instinctively came up to cover her head.

Hopefully these guys aim as well as they cover their tracks, she thought as she heard the safety snap off somewhere behind her.

She slipped against the smooth floor, then intentionally leaned into her momentum to slide even further, aiming to align herself with the back tire of the parceled van.

She overshot the mark, sliding past her cement block cover.

“Superman! Help!” she shrieked.

He didn’t immediately appear at her side.

She tried to crawl or slide further backward to the van she’d skidded past, and the relative safety of the cinderblocks in the wheel well.

But the goons had finally caught up with her.

The first gun went off, striking just to her right.

At least partially obscured by the van, she went still and curled into a fetal position to create less of a target. No sense in helping the violent fools.

The first shot was followed by a second, closer this time, and pinging off the metal frame just above her.

She tightened herself into an even smaller ball.

A third shot, closer still.

“Superman! Now!”

She heard the unmistakable sound of a semi-automatic.

She sent a plea out into the universe. Please don’t let me die at the hands of thugs this epically stupid.

The rain of bullets began in a staccato hail – and just as suddenly became muffled.

“You lost the bet this week,” came a voice in her ear.

“I lost the bet this week,” she acknowledged in relief, still lying on her side, but now relaxing, huddled safely under his cape, his steel frame between her and the gunmen.

“Are you—“

“I think I’m fine,” she said, not moving as her heart rate slowed, knowing that he was already scanning her anyway.

“Why are you covered in…” he sniffed experimentally. “Oil?”

That was a long story.

She sighed, then grumbled, “There’s a vat of it in the back.”

“And you wanted to see what was at the bottom?”

She didn’t dignify him with a reply.

A fluorescent bulb caught a stray bullet above them and exploded. He leaned over her a little further and twitched his cape up to fully cover her head, protecting her from the sparks that rained down.

Tiny glass fragments showered the ground around them like tinkling iridescent snow.

It would have been pretty, if not for the threat that one stray spark would set her on fire.

“So no cache of guns?”

She shook her head, hearing one of the idiots reload. “Just these miscreants. And no diamonds. But no cargo van that’s actually in one piece, either,” she indicated the partial frame a couple feet behind them, “so they could have moved it all before I got here.”

He glanced back over his shoulder and a second later she heard one of the punks drop their gun, screeching over the pain in his hand. It looked like they were about to have more melted metallic artwork in their future. She’d be sure to compliment it on the way out.

…Right after she called the MPD to pick up these idiots. They weren’t even supposed to be here. She’d staked out this site to get the pattern of their comings and goings down. For some reason, the goon squad had changed their routine in the last two days.

“Lois?”

That level of untamed mischief in his voice was never a good sign.

All she wanted was a hot bath somewhere far away from all the gun-fire and broken glass, but she’d just bet that her impenetrable shield would continue to sit there immovably until he’d had his fun. It’s not like the bumbling thugs behind them were really a threat at this point. She could hear two of them trying to work out how the still-melting gun had become welded to the floor.

“Yes?” she ground out.

“Why are you barefoot?”

She could hear his smile, which added another layer of annoyance heaped upon this entire, awful, misbegotten day.

And honestly, were these punks ever going to stop shooting? All they were doing was keeping her pinned in place so that he could tease her. She wouldn’t forgive them for that as easily as she would for the bullets.

“I broke a heel,” she said, fully aware that it came out as a whine. She’d liked that pair.

“That means shoe shopping this weekend,” he replied cheerily. “You like shoe shopping.”

The words sounded placating, but she didn’t have to look at him to know that he was laughing at her again.

“Oh, shut up.”

He didn’t know it yet, but he was definitely flying her to Milan for those new heels after this was over.