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From Part 2:The possibility that Lois might start investigating her own husband filled [Clark] with dread. He couldn’t ask for her help. Not only would it infuriate her that he still didn’t trust Lex, but if she actually took his opinion of her husband seriously, she wouldn’t hesitate to put herself in danger.
He had to work by himself on this one. He had to find out more about ACL. He had to know who ran the company, who made the decisions, and whether anything filtered back to Lex Luthor.
He had to do what he should have done six months before: ensure that Luthor’s true self was finally revealed to the world, and that he rotted behind bars for the rest of his life.
**********Part 3:Lois hated being late in the morning. Five minutes in the shower, a mug of scalding coffee burning her tongue, unwelcome curls in her hair because she didn’t have time to style it properly, make-up applied in a hurry... She was exhausted before she even started her day’s work.
To add insult to injury, the skies had decided to open up this morning and heavy rain was falling over Metropolis, making the ride to work a nightmare. She wished she was the one driving. Oliver’s calmness was getting on her nerves; like all of Lex’s personal employees, he never displayed any kind of emotion. If she was behind the wheel, she'd be honking and cursing and waving her fist at incompetent drivers. She hadn't driven a car since she got married. Lex's chauffeurs never left the driver's seat somehow, and she'd never really dared challenge their position.
There were so many things she hadn't dared do in the past six months. She'd always been one to get what she wanted before, but it was as if marriage had shut down that part of herself that was never satisfied with what she got.
She sneaked a glance at Gary, who was sitting next to her in his impeccable uniform. A walkie-talkie was at his belt, and she could make out the shape of the gun he was carrying under his jacket. She’d long ago given up trying to convince Lex that she didn’t need a bodyguard. He was adamant that, as his wife, she was an easy target for anybody who wished to get to him, and he didn’t want her to be used as bait for some goon who wanted money in return. A cynical part of her often wondered how much Lex would pay to get her back. She hoped she would never find out.
The LNN premises were buzzing with activity as she made her way through the maze of corridors and to her office. Tom was barking orders all over the place, giving out assignments to each desk in the main newsroom. She glanced at her watch and frowned. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who was late this morning. Dave should have been in an hour ago... Maybe that explained Tom’s obvious bad mood. On the other hand, wasn’t Tom always in a bad mood?
She closed her office door behind her and sat at the desk to boot up her computer. She had a few scripts on standby for the morning edition, and Dave would probably require a follow-up on her investigation in Paris. She’d have to call Agence France to get a few more details about Dr. Miller’s arrest.
She grabbed the stack of mail and post-its on the side of the desk blotter. It was amazing how much junk piled up during the night. She shuffled through envelopes and small notes of various shapes and sizes, tucking what she judged important under her chin and discarding the rest. As usual, there were way too many advertisements for journalism magazines and Luthor Bank low-rate credit offers. She’d asked Lex a couple of times why his companies bothered to waste so much paper on fliers that no-one read anyway, but he hadn’t taken her seriously. Well, if he wanted his marketing departments to throw billions of dollars out the window, that was fair enou -
“Mrs Luthor!”
What the?!
The door was brusquely opened. One of the newest interns barged in. “Mrs Luthor, I was just looking for y - ”
The young woman stopped dead in her tracks; she stood at the door, hands joined in front of her and fingers fiddling nervously. She bit her lower lip and gave an embarrassed look at the papers of various colours now carpeting the floor at Lois’s feet.
Lois didn’t drop the scowl. “Don’t they teach you to knock in journalism school?” She knelt to the floor and started to gather the envelopes and papers scattered haphazardly behind the desk.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I just - ”
“And help me pick these up, will you?” she snapped. She didn’t have time to hear the kid’s apology. This was a very bad start to what was obviously going to be a very bad day.
The girl didn’t move. “Mr Granger wants to see you in his office immediately.”
“Tom?” What could the assistant editor want to do with her? His shift should have been over ages ago. Had David called in sick today or what?
Oh heck, why did she even bother to wonder? He was going to brief her before her interview with Mayor Berkowitz. As if his patronising recommendations were going to change the angle of her questions! “Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
“He said he wants you in his office right now, Mrs Luthor.”
Lois glared.
“He said it’s very important.”
She sighed loudly and brushed her skirt as she got up. “All right. Tell him I’ll be there in a minute.”
“He insisted that I bring you back immediately.”
Lois crossed her arms in disbelief. A few weeks of work alongside her should have taught that girl a few things, if not the rule of door-knocking. She should be aware that Lois Lane didn’t take orders, especially from the *assistant* editor. Tom Granger was patronising, misogynistic and arrogant. It was a sure bet that whatever was eating him up had something to do with the script she’d written last night for Sandra’s evening news to balance out Linda’s suck-up to the President. Tom always sided with Linda anyway. Not that it was surprising. It was common knowledge in the office that those two were at it like rabbits and -
Good grief! Since when had she let office gossip influence her opinion? She gave herself a mental shake and walked to Tom’s office in silent resignation. Whatever he had to tell her, it was best to get it over with immediately.
The first thing she noticed upon entering his large office was that the assistant editor looked unusually pale. She was on the verge of asking him if he was okay, but she bit back her question. He never cared when she wasn’t feeling well. There was no reason why she shouldn’t return the favour.
“Mrs Luthor,” he greeted her soberly, and motioned to the chair across from his desk.
That was never good. Usually he started on his list of grievances before she’d even closed the door. His unusual calmness made her feel nervous. She remained standing.
“I think you’d better sit down,” he insisted.
“Are you gonna be long? I’ve got quite a lot to catch up on and - ”
“Lois, this is serious.”
Lois.
He’d called her Lois.
In the six months she’d worked here, she didn’t remember him calling her by her first name more than... well, never! He’d never called her anything but Mrs Luthor.
She sunk into the chair across from him.
“It’s David.”
“Yeah, what’s up with him? He should have been in ages ago. I mean I know I wasn’t exactly on time this morning either, but it’s nearing ten and there’s still no sign of him and - ”
“He’s dead.”
“ - I needed to go over Berkowicz’s interview with him bef - ” She paled. “What?”
“They found him in an alleyway behind the building.”
Lois felt her hands grip the arms of the chair. Blood drained from her face, making her feel more light-headed than if she were drunk. “Dead? He’s... dead?”
“Do you want some water?”
Without waiting for an answer, Tom pressed a button on his intercom. A few seconds later, a glass of water was pushed into her trembling hand. She gulped down its contents.
“I’m sorry. There was no easy way to break the news.”
Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, it registered that this was the first bit of compassion that Tom had ever shown towards her. “What happened?”
“I haven’t seen the police report yet, but Inspector Dwight says the MO reminds him very much of the South Side murders that Linda is working on.”
“It’s murder...” She gripped the arms of her chair.
“The police are investigating it.”
“The police...” Breathe. Breathe.
“I’ll handle the newsroom until the management sorts it out.”
“Sorts it out, okay...” Oh, God. David.
“In the meantime, I’d like you and Linda to put together a tribute for the evening edition.”
“Yes. Yes, I’ll do that.” She felt herself nod.
“The funeral is on Wednesday.”
“Wednesday...” Breathe again.
“And the staff is collecting money for flowers.”
“I... okay.”
Dave was dead. Dead. She would never again see his friendly face poking into her office, giving her a last-minute assignment or scolding her because she’d once again hurt Linda Montoya’s feelings with some smart comeback.
He was dead. Dear God, he was dead.
Tom was looking at her expectantly. “Do you want to take part?”
She blinked. “Do I want to take part in what?”
“Flowers. For the funeral.”
Flowers. The funeral. Dave was dead.
“Oh. Oh. Sure.” Dead. She got up from the chair. “I’m gonna get my purse and - ”
He dismissed her numb answer with a wave of his hand. “Just sort it out with Amy. She’s taken charge.”
Lois nodded and slowly walked back to her office.
Everything felt different. Everything looked different. Though she could still hear the hustle and bustle of the newsroom at the far end of the wing, the corridor was empty and silent - the rest of the staff was probably hard at work... or maybe in shock over the news, just like she was. Had Tom told everyone yet? Or were they all blissfully unaware of their editor’s fate?
Did they care at all?
She remembered her conversation with David the previous night. He’d known her better than she thought. In fact, he was probably the closest she had to a friend here. Until last night, she hadn’t realised how much she missed having someone to confide in. After Clark’s departure, she’d switched back to her old defensive self. Lois Luthor, just like Lois Lane, didn’t need anybody to support her. She was perfectly fine by herself. And anyway, she wasn’t alone. She was *married*.
Happily married.
Her conversation with Dave from the previous night came back to hit her. Happily married. Right. Waking up by herself in the morning. Going to work where her only friend was the editor-in-chief she’d just lost. Eating a sandwich at her desk. In her office. Locked away from her colleagues. Working again. Going home. Sitting across from her husband during dinner when she got lucky. Going to bed. Alone.
Married and alone.
Very much alone.
She hadn’t realised until David had talked to her just how lonely she’d become.
She should have been terrified by what he’d implied last night about Clark and herself. Instead, she’d felt better knowing that he would be there for her if she ever needed someone to talk to. And he’d shown that he cared about her.
She wiped the tears off her face and locked herself in her office, away from the bright artificial lights making her vision cloud over even more.
Once again she was too late in showing her feelings to someone she appreciated. Oh, with Dave it was nothing like how she felt about Clark. But he’d been loyal and reliable, and these qualities were only too rare in her job, and particularly at LNN.
She sat down at her computer. A tribute. She had to write a tribute for someone she didn’t know much about, actually.
Dave had once been married... he’d mentioned his ex-wife a couple of times. No children. At least, not that she’d heard of. She had suspected for a long time that he was gay, but he had never confirmed nor denied anything. It didn’t matter anyway. If he had never walked out of the closet, a posthumous tribute was no moment for that.
What she wanted to tell the world was that he had been brilliant - one of the best editors in the business. Despite David’s lack of experience with TV journalism, Lex had waxed lyrical on his account when he’d first hired him to replace Peter Jenkins, and he’d been right. David was honest and fair-minded, and what mattered to him was to get to enough hard facts to back up his staff’s hunches. He didn’t send his reporters on wild goose chases and made sure that teams had the appropriate back-up.
She’d been impressed by his professionalism. In many ways, he’d reminded her of Perry. A younger, less experienced, less self-confident Perry.
Murdered. Dave was one of those people who, as a reporter, had investigated international crime organisations, uncovered drug rings and sent child-killers to prison. And he had died because of a petty thug’s frightened shot. How ironic was that? And it wasn’t as if the business district was the home of such happenings; in fact, Lex’s private security guards were all over the place, patrolling day and night to ensure that no-one could approach the LNN building without appropriate accreditation. *She* had to show her press pass to the security guard at the door every day.
She’d get to the bottom of this. No matter what Tom said on the matter, she would make sure that she got the story and found the guy who’d done it. She’d work day and night until he was behind bars and couldn’t get out of jail until he turned to dust.
**********
tbc...
