Title: A Million Little Pieces (10/?)
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. Meanwhile, Intergang puts the lives of Mayson and Lois in danger. (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 recent college graduates 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.
And one more thing: My finicky muse has been on hiatus for a cringe-inducing five months, and any reader who lost faith in this story (and/or me!) has my sincerest apologies.
A Million Little Pieces is nearly finished, though I'm not sure exactly how many parts it'll end up being. For those of you who've read and commented on this story, thank you. You and your kind words are more inspiring than you know!
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine ---------------------------------------
I may be scattered, a little shattered
What does it matter?
No one has a fit like I do— “Disenchanted Lullaby,” Foo Fighters
If she wasn’t so angry, Mayson would laugh.
This is absurd, she thinks sourly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Ow. She winces and gingerly moves her arms back to her sides, favoring her aching ribs.
She shifts on the thin, inadequate mattress, imagining her soft, comfortable bed in her safe, familiar apartment. She longs to be there. Instead of here. Anywhere but here, bruised and exhausted in Metropolis General with this insufferable so-called bodyguard.
She sighs.
Her gaze moves to the chair — the still very much occupied chair — beside her bed.
She closes her eyes and slowly counts to ten before opening them again.
“Well, you’re still here,” she mutters, picking at the tape that holds her IV in place.
Dan Scardino grins. “You sound so pleased.” He pauses, his eyes straying to the back of her hand. “And don’t do that.”
Mayson ignores his admonition. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Scardino chortles. “You’re cute when you’re petulant.”
Mayson opens her mouth to fire back a scathing comment about his unfortunate fashion sense, but Scardino is speaking again.
“Sweetheart, Henderson told me what happened to you.” He shakes his head ruefully. “And if that Kent guy hadn’t gotten here when he did, you’d be dead.”
Mayson bristles. “Look — ” She pauses, letting Scardino’s words sink in.
You’d be dead. A chill runs down the length of her spine. Her stomach clenches.
“You’re — ”
Ridiculous. Overreacting. Wrong. “ ... right.”
Oh god, he’s right.
The glint in Scardino’s gray eyes softens. He leans in slightly. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put quite so fine a point on it. I just think in this case, it’s better to be safe — ” He points both thumbs to himself in an exaggerated gesture. “ ... than sorry.” He shrugs and gives her his most charming boyish grin.
Mayson shakes her head, not sure if she wants to laugh or strangle the guy. “It’s all right. You’re — you’re just ... right.”
He is
right. This clown is right. I almost died. Someone nearly murdered me. I could be dead right now. Dead. This isn’t okay. This is so far from okay.
She draws in a shaky breath and swallows the cottony panic that clings to the back of her throat. She holds his gunmetal-gray gaze for a long minute.
“So what kind of cop wears Hawaiian shirts?”
“The best kind,” Scardino smirks.
Mayson glares at him. “Seriously. It may as well be Day-Glo. You couldn’t sneak up on a blind man wearing that.”
“Hey, that’s what the leather jacket’s for — camouflage. Besides, what kind of assistant DA nearly gets herself killed?”
In spite of herself, a smile ghosts across Mayson’s wan features. “The best kind.”
* * * * *
Clark’s hands are trembling as he knocks on Lois’ door. The close call at Metropolis General has shaken him more than he cares to admit — no matter how he’s tried to rationalize it, he still feels responsible for Mayson’s injuries, and he’ll be damned if he lets any further harm befall the assistant district attorney. Especially at the bloodstained hands of Intergang.
Not on my watch, he vows.
But it nearly happened anyway.
I got there in time, he reminds himself.
Yeah — this time, the cynical part of his brain shoots back.
Clark sets his jaw. He refuses to entertain such a fruitless train of thought. He made sure Mayson was all right with Agent Scardino before leaving the hospital, and Henderson has promised to call from the station as soon as he has a positive ID on the mystery attacker.
At least until then, Clark can concentrate on Lois.
Lois.
Just the thought of her is a welcome reprieve from the ugliness he’s witnessed. Some days, she’s the only person who keeps him sane.
When she opens the door, his breath hitches. Even after more than a year of working together, her beauty can still bring him up short.
“Hey,” she greets him, swinging the door back. “Come on in.”
Clark steps inside and Lois gestures to her less-than-inviting sofa. “Sit down, you look beat.”
He sits. “Sorry I didn’t get your message sooner. I didn’t realize my phone was off.”
The haunted cast shadowing Clark’s eyes catches her off-guard. “It’s fine — it’s still early.” She unconsciously smooths her palms down the sides of her black trousers before taking a seat beside her partner. “Everything all right?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m okay. It’s just everything that’s happened to Mayson — ”
Lois’ mouth tightens. “Why do you care so much?” she interrupts.
“What?”
“How come you care so much about Mayson?”
Clark’s eyes widen at the malice lacing Lois’ unexpected question. “How could I
not care? She’s a friend. A good friend who was attacked in the middle of the night —
attacked — and left for dead because of her Intergang investigation!” He blows out a short, angry breath and rakes a hand through his hair, focusing so hard on the coffee table that he sees right through it. “And then, not even an hour ago, some stranger snuck into her room with an empty needle, ready to ram it in her arm and — and
kill her! How could anyone
not care about that?”
He looks back at Lois, who’s visibly shaken.
“Oh,” she says in a small voice, all traces of spite vanishing. “I — oh, Clark, sorry — is she okay?”
Clark nods tersely, clenching his jaw.
Lois sighs, staring down at her hands now twisted in her lap. “It’s just — you seem to have a ... a personal investment in this,” she finishes quietly, unable to look at him.
Clark swallows thickly and rubs at the back of his neck. “Well, Lois ... I know what it’s like.”
She turns her head to study Clark, frowning. “What what’s like?”
Me and my stupid mouth. Clark’s cheeks redden and he ducks his head, avoiding Lois’ scrutiny. His eyes dart to the open window.
What I wouldn’t give for a four-alarm fire right about now.
“Caring for, um, someone, you know, romantically, and — and having that person not, ah, return the sentiment.”
Her mouth opens soundlessly and she tucks a lock of hair behind one ear. “Clark — ”
He clears his throat, embarrassed. “It’s all right. You don’t have to — to say anything. I just — ” He lets out a quiet breath. “She needs a friend right now. So I’m going to be her friend.” He meets her gaze. “But that’s all.”
Lois licks her lips. “Of c-course,” she stammers. “You and Mayson are just friends. I — I know that. It’s just nice to ... hear.”
Clark raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
Lois flushes. “Oh, um — ”
But then Clark frowns and cocks his head slightly to one side. “Uh, I just remembered I’m starving — why don’t we go grab some food and maybe a cup of coffee at Common Grounds?”
Lois furrows her brow, surprised and more than a little grateful for the interruption. “Um, sure. But wouldn’t you rather order in?”
“Nah, we can walk,” Clark says, standing. “It’s a nice night. It’ll be fun.”
“Fun?” Lois asks. “It’ll be the same four hippie college kids with dreadlocks and Birkenstocks sitting on that hideous paisley couch drinking soy lattes out of ridiculous cups the size of swimming pools and — ”
“Lois, c’mon,” Clark cajoles, patting his empty stomach. “They’ve got great food and better cappuccinos. And it’s just down the street.”
Lois rolls her eyes. “All right, all right. But you’re buying.”
Clark nearly sighs in relief. If only he can just figure out a way to tell Lois how he knows her apartment is bugged. He can hear the transmitters clearly, now that he’s concentrating; worry and fatigue have considerably dulled his perceptions. But as long as Lois is with him, she’s safe from prying eyes and listening ears.
If only I’d been able to keep Mayson this safe ...But Lois loops her arm through the crook of his elbow as they step into the hallway, temporarily banishing that dark thought.
“Get a move on, Farmboy,” she teases. “I need to mainline some caffeine, and I want to talk to you about Bill Church.”
* * * * *
Agent Scardino shifts in the hard plastic chair and watches the assistant district attorney sleep.
She really is beautiful, he muses. Even bruised and beaten, she’s gorgeous. He’s definitely had worse assignments.
But he isn’t looking forward to lying to her, and that’ll be the hardest part of this particular job.
She whimpers in her fitful doze, and Scardino frowns. No, this won’t be easy. Mayson can never know she’s the bait who’s going to lead him straight to Intergang.
