From Part 13:

“Are you sure you’re okay here so late at night?” he said, turning serious. “Because I could stay and see you home. I won’t bother you, I promise.”

“I’m fine, Clark. I’ve worked late about a million times before, and there’s security downstairs.”

“You’re not going anywhere else? Just straight home?”

“You’re even more of a fusspot than Perry, and that’s saying something. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said, relenting.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” He bent down and cupped her cheek in his hand before caressing her lips in a gentle kiss. “Be careful, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“’Night,” she murmured.

It took a great deal of fortitude for him to gather up the Chinese food and leave her desk, and even more for him to ignore the knowing looks he got from the group of copy editors who had been shamelessly watching his impromptu date with Lois. They accepted the Chinese food with enthusiasm, however, and he hoped they’d be satisfied enough with it that they wouldn’t tease Lois once he was gone. It was far, far too much to hope that they wouldn’t gossip the next day, but he figured if he and Lois were going to date, it wasn’t likely to remain a secret anyway. Might as well get it out in the open now, and hopefully, people would soon find something new to talk about.

When he left the newsroom, she was once again bent over her report, but he smiled a little to see that she was still fingering the tiny slip of paper that had contained his fortune.

True gold fears no fire, it had said.

He hoped Lois never learned to read Chinese.

________________________________

Part 14:

Try as she might, Lois couldn’t seem to concentrate on Platt’s report once Clark left the newsroom. It had been giving her fits before, and it hadn’t gotten any less confusing during her interlude with Clark. The “report” was a disorganized mess, and even if it hadn’t been, she didn’t have the background to understand the subject matter. Platt might be crazy - the jury was still out on that one - but he was still a brilliant scientist. The report probably seemed perfectly simple to him, but to Lois it might as well have been written in Chinese, just like her fortune cookie.

Maybe I should have asked Clark to take a look, she thought, remembering how he’d rattled off her fortune. The thought made her slightly uneasy, though. Did she want to work with Clark? Really work with him, as opposed to just occupying the same space every day? Though she bowed to the necessity on occasion, she had never particularly wanted to work with anyone on her stories. She worked alone, and she preferred it that way. So why did the thought of working with Clark hold so much appeal? Why did she wish she could call him back and they could spend the evening with their heads bent together over Platt’s report?

Well, she knew why, didn’t she? She was letting these...these feelings cloud her better judgment. If she wanted to have a relationship with Clark, and it was getting harder and harder to convince herself otherwise, she needed to find a way to keep that relationship separate from her work. There were just too many potential pitfalls to them working together, from her own destructive competitiveness to the possibility, however, remote, that Clark would find some way to deceive and disappoint her like Claude had.

So no working with Clark, however tempting the idea might seem when her desk still smelled like Chinese food and her lips still tingled from his kisses. Even the thought that their relationship would be common knowledge in the newsroom the next day didn’t bother her. What was there to be embarrassed about? Clark was sweet and gorgeous and everyone who had met him loved him. No, having the newsroom know that she was seeing Clark wouldn’t make her a laughingstock; it would make her an object of envy, and she did so enjoy being an object of envy. Not that that was why she was interested in Clark, but it was a pleasant bonus.

Before she quite knew what was happening, her mind had drifted completely away from Platt’s report and was instead entirely on Clark. She’d thrown him out of the newsroom so that she could get something done, but he was almost as distracting in his absence as he had been when he’d been present. She was slipping, and the worst part of it was that she was so besotted, she hardly even cared.

But she had to care. This investigation was too important not to care, and there was far more at stake than just Lois Lane bagging another headline. Even she had that much perspective. She made her decision quickly and then gathered up Platt’s report and stuffed it in her briefcase. She was going to see the only person on earth she was certain could decipher this mess.

________________________________

It was a bad part of town and a worse building, but Lois didn’t experience her first twinge of unease until she heard the rats scratching and scurrying away from the sound of her footsteps. She hated rats. She’d always hated rats. There was just something about their beady little eyes and pointed noses that made them look like they were plotting something. She’d seen signs of them when she and Jimmy had been by in the daytime, but there was something exponentially creepier about hearing them at night, in the dark, hollow building. She shuddered and picked her way carefully up the threadbare steps to Platt’s apartment, going as quickly as she dared.

How was it possible for a man to fall this far? Samuel Platt had once had a normal life. He had been a respected scientist at the top of his field. He’d had a family and presumably a nice home somewhere. And now he was in professional disgrace, living alone in a rat-infested, condemned building. Antoinette Baines had said that drugs and alcohol were to blame – that after his divorce, Platt had fallen completely apart. Platt claimed that he had been drugged to silence him about the sabotage. It was all still just a case of Platt’s word against…well, everyone else’s, but somehow, Lois found herself wanting to believe him. Wanting it wasn’t good enough, however. She had to have proof.

The door to his apartment wasn’t quite closed, and she knocked on it softly, not wanting to push it open without giving Dr. Platt some warning. She heard another rat scrabble by, though, and knocked a little harder, wishing he would open it already and let her get out of this hall.

“Dr. Platt?” she called. “Are you home?”

Through the crack in the door, she could hear an intermittent sound, an occasional short burst of white noise, like radio static.

“Dr. Platt? It’s Lois Lane.”

Another rat just inches away, this one giving a startled squeak before diving for cover.

“Dr. Platt?”

She could see a faint light, so she knew he must be home. She pushed at the door, opening it another few inches, just wide enough that she could slip through the crack and step tentatively across the threshold. She patted along the wall for a few seconds until her fingers found a switch. She flipped it, and a dim bulb lit up overhead. Dr. Platt was seated in a chair with his back to her, but he didn’t turn, didn’t greet her. Lois felt her heart start to race as she took a step toward him, her body realizing that something was wrong even before her brain had a chance to process the information.

But with one more step it all came together, and she felt the bile rise up in her throat as she realized what she was seeing. He hadn’t turned, hadn’t greeted her, and he wouldn’t, would he?

He couldn’t.

Not with his bare feet in a pan of water and a live electrical wire in his hands.

His feet were so white, she thought irrelevantly. They were feet that had never seen the sun, feet that almost glowed in the light of the dim bulb. They were the feet of a scientist, someone who had worn navy blue gold-toed socks every day of his life, even when he was on vacation. Even when he was wearing shorts. He’d have worn the socks even then. And maybe his family would have teased him a little, but he wouldn’t have had a moment’s self-consciousness about it. Without the socks, those feet looked raw and vulnerable.

Suddenly, it was as if the rest of her senses woke up and began to really process the horror of what they were experiencing. The sound she’d heard was the crackle of electricity, still coursing through his dead body. The smell was seared flesh and stale urine. She clapped a hand over her mouth and nose and stumbled backward, nearly tripping over a stack of magazines.

She bolted from the building, not noticing the rats or the threadbare carpet or the peeling paint. She ran outside and breathed deep gasps of fresh air as tears leaked from her eyes. The tears surprised her; she hadn’t felt them coming and didn’t quite know why they were there. She’d seen dead people before. But her fingers were shaking violently as she dug a quarter from her purse and made her way to a pay phone.

___________________________________

Finding a dead body was never a simple business. The police asked her the same questions over and over, and before she was allowed to come home, she had to go down to the station and sign a formal statement. She knew she wasn’t a suspect; Inspector Henderson knew that in spite of her propensity for finding trouble of that sort, she wasn’t the type to actually cause it. She was the only witness, however, and the only one who knew anything about Platt’s final days, so she’d answered their questions again and again, and finally, at nearly five a.m., they let her go home.

It was the second night in a week that she’d stayed out until the wee hours of the morning. The first time, she had been with Clark, and though it had been wrenching to leave him, she’d had a flood of sweet memories to sustain her. This time, she felt bone-weary and shaken, and every time she closed her eyes she saw those white feet in their deadly pan of water. She tiptoed past Lucy, asleep in her bed, and quietly closed the door of the bathroom. She shed her suit quickly - she would probably never wear it again - and climbed into the shower, standing a long time under the hot, stinging spray, trying to wash away the scent of death that seemed to cling to her.

Wrapped in her bathrobe, her hair still soaking wet, Lois crawled into bed next to Lucy, who was snoring slightly, and sighed as her head sank into the soft pillow. She was afraid that thoughts of Samuel Platt would keep her awake, but mercifully, she was tired enough to fall into a heavy, dreamless sleep from which she didn’t awaken until four hours later, when she heard the sounds of Lucy in the shower.

________________________________

It was Saturday, and after sleeping in, she would only wind up working a half-day, so she dressed more casually than usual, in jeans and a light sweater. Her shakiness was gone, replaced by a grim determination to prove that Samuel Platt had been right about the Messenger sabotage. Any doubt she’d had about his story had fallen away at the sight of him sitting in that homemade electric chair. Someone had killed Samuel Platt to silence him. She was as sure of that as she was of her own name.

The newsroom was in full swing when she walked in, and her eyes automatically went to Clark’s desk. She wanted to see him, wanted a few minutes of light-hearted banter, like they’d shared the night before. She needed a little of his healing comfort, after the night she’d had, and this time, she knew she could go to him for that. They might not have had an official date yet, but she knew Clark’s broad shoulders were hers to cry on if she wanted them. He would listen if she needed to talk and talk if she needed the distraction. He would do whatever he could to make things better for her. It was something she’d secretly always wanted and yet, for some reason, pushed away with both hands. But Clark was different. With Clark, she wasn’t pushing anymore.

He was there, typing, and again it was as if he could sense her presence. His hands stilled and his head swiveled around, but the smile died on her lips when she saw his face. He looked almost...angry. His face was closed, tense, with nothing of the warmth it usually held when he looked at her. She remembered the copy editors and wondered if the inevitable gossip was bothering him, but they’d known that would happen, hadn’t they?

Just then, she couldn’t find it in her to care if everyone in the newsroom was talking about them. A man had died. A sweet, slightly-nutty man had been killed and his body left for the rats. Wasn’t that a lot more important than the fact that Lois Lane and Clark Kent had traded a few kisses over Chinese food?

Well, if Clark didn’t think so, he needed to work on his perspective.

She took a deep breath and walked over to him. “You knew it was going to happen,” she said, taking the offensive.

“I most certainly did not,” he responded, his voice clipped and cold.

“I warned you, Clark. I told you what it was going to be like.”

“So I’m supposed to be OK with it then? Just because you warned me?”

“Well...yeah. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal!” he exclaimed. “Lois, you lied to me!”

“I did not!” she said hotly. How dare he? “Have you ever actually worked in an office with other reporters? This is the way it is, Clark.”

“Is that why you lied? You don’t trust me?”

“Trust...? What does trust have to do with this?”

He lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “Lois, I know that a man stole your story once, but I’m not like that. And I can’t believe you’d rather risk your life than trust me.”

She blinked at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you told me you were going straight home last night, and now it’s all over the newsroom that you went by yourself to a condemned building in the worst part of town and wound up finding a dead man! What am I supposed to think?”

“Wh...what...?” she spluttered, still trying to catch up. He wasn’t angry about gossip; he was angry about her doing her job. And again...how dare he? “Conference room,” she snapped, turning on her heel and storming in that direction. She didn’t look back, but she heard his chair shoot out behind him as he stood up, heard his footsteps following her.

“How dare you?” she said, the second the door closed behind him. “How dare you?” It was worth saying twice, she figured. She might even go for three.

“How dare I what, Lois? How dare I care about what happens to you? How dare I think that what you did last night was stupid and reckless?”

“I was doing my job!”

“You were risking your life!” he shot back. “You had no business being down there by yourself.”

“I had every business. Being a reporter is my business. This story is my business.”

“You told me you were going straight home.”

“I....” She cast her memory back over their conversation. “No,” she said firmly. “I didn’t. You asked me if I was going straight home, and I said something about you being a fusspot. I never told you I was going straight home.”

“You....” He broke off, and she could practically see the wheels turning, could see the moment he realized that she was right. “You’re splitting hairs,” he said finally. “You know you gave me the impression you were going straight home. I would never have let you stay by yourself otherwise.”

“You wouldn’t have let me?” Her voice was deadly. He actually took a step back.

“I didn’t mean....”

“Oh, I think you did mean,” she spat. “But it’s obvious that you’ve got me confused with some other girl. Because if you think for one minute that Lois Lane is going to let any man tell her how to do her job, then you’re in for a rude awakening.”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, holding up a placating hand. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job. But I’m not going to apologize for being concerned about you, either. I wish you had let me go with you last night, and when I found out you hadn’t, I assumed it was because you didn’t trust me around your story.”

“As a matter of fact, that had nothing to do with it. Not that it’s really any of your business, but at the time, I assumed I would go straight home. But then I realized that I needed Dr. Platt’s help with his report, and so yes, I went to see him. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it exactly the same way. And I’m not about to apologize for it just because you brought me some Chinese food.”

“Because I....” He made a frustrated motion with his hands. “What does Chinese food have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it. We haven’t even had a real date, and you’re already trying to tell me how to live my life. You know, Mitchell warned me about this!”

“Warned you! Warned you about what?”

“He took one look at you and figured you’d want to tuck me safely away in the suburbs. Maybe I could write for the local PTA newsletter, put together recipes for the Junior League. Does that sound about right?”

“Lois, I may have overstepped a little here, but could we stick to fighting about the thing I’ve actually done, instead of the things your friend thinks I might do? I grew up on a farm and have been wandering around in third world countries for the last few years. I’m not even completely sure what the Junior League is.”

“It’s an organization of women that....” She broke off, shaking her head. “Never mind. My point is that I don’t back away from a story. I told you that the other night. If this thing between us is going to work, you’re going to have to accept that.”

“I do accept that.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But you need to accept that I care about what happens to you. And it scared me, okay? It scared me hearing that you’d been through that by yourself.”

“And maybe it was scary for me, too.” Her voice quivered slightly and she paused to steady it. “Maybe it was scary and...and horrible and sad...and maybe I would have liked to be able to come in here and talk to you about it instead of getting yelled at and called a liar. Did you ever think of that?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly - and sincerely, she thought. She felt herself softening a little towards him. “I really thought this was about protecting your story.”

“If I were protecting my story from you, I wouldn’t have sat in the park yesterday and told you all about it. I wouldn’t have let you sit at my desk with that report spread all over it. Trust me, Clark, if I were protecting this story from you, you’d have never heard the name Samuel Platt.”

“How did he die?” Clark took a step towards her, closing the distance between them. “Perry didn’t give us any details.”

“He was electrocuted. He had his feet in a pan of water and....” She closed her eyes and tried to shove away her memory’s snapshot of those feet. “I have to prove that he was right about the sabotage. That’s all I can do for him now.”

“I’m afraid to even suggest this, for lots of reasons, but I wish you’d let me help you. You wouldn’t even have to credit me, I swear. I just wish you’d let me help.”

“Because you think I need a bodyguard?”

“Partly,” he admitted cautiously. “But also because I trust your instincts about Dr. Platt.”

She was tempted - more tempted than she liked to admit. But... “I can’t. I need to do this in baby steps, Clark. Working together...it’s too much right now.”

He looked hurt, and he looked like he was trying not to look hurt, which made it even worse. “Too much time together?”

“No...yes.” She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just too risky. I mean, just working in the same place is causing us problems already. Imagine how much worse it would be if we were actually working together.”

“I think we could work well together,” he countered. “I’m not saying we’d never have any problems, but I think we could be a great team. I know I could learn a lot from you.”

She was surprised that he would admit that - that the male ego would allow it - but she still shook her head. “I’m not saying never. Just not right now, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed, and she was relieved that he was backing down.

“I need to get to work,” she said, edging awkwardly towards the door.

“Lois...are we okay?”

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure it was the truth. “It’s fine, Clark.”

“Women always say things are fine,” he said, his mouth curving upwards in a half-smile. “In my experience, that can mean things are actually fine, or it can mean that they would really like to disembowel you with their nail scissors. Which does it mean in this case?”

“Well...I don’t have any nail scissors.”

“Whew.” He pretended to wipe sweat from his brow, and she cracked a smile.

She was, in truth, disappointed in him, and with any other man she’d ever known, she’d have already decided he wasn’t worth the trouble and walked away. But there was something that was telling her that Clark was worth the trouble. “It’s fine,” she said again, more sincerely this time.

“All right. I’m going to hold you to that. Oh, and listen, just so you know...the gossip thing you mentioned earlier?”

She sighed. “All over the newsroom?”

“All over the building,” he corrected.

“What are they saying?”

“About what you’d expect, I guess. Mostly they’re shocked that you’d give a hick like me the time of day.”

She laughed, not believing that for a minute. “More like they can’t believe a nice guy like you would fall for Mad Dog Lane.”

He smiled, but she noticed he didn’t deny it. “I’m not worried about what people say, and I hope you’re not either.”

“I’m not, really. I can’t pretend that I like it, but it’s like I said earlier - back when I thought that’s what we were talking about - we knew it was going to happen. Reporters are nosy. They talk. Right now they’re out there talking about what we’re doing in here and wondering if we’ve already had our first fight.”

“Ha! Shows what they know.” Clark’s eyes twinkled at her. “This is at least our second fight.”

She laughed. “They’re getting better, I think.”

“Oh, definitely,” he agreed. “And maybe later, we can even kiss and make up.” He waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly.

“Sounds promising,” she said lightly, as her stomach did little flip-flops. “But right now I really need to get to work.”

“Sure.” He opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing for Lois to precede him. She pasted a smile on her face as she walked out the door. There was no sense in giving the gossips anything else to chew on.

As they walked out, Jimmy came up, glancing from one of them to the other with frank curiosity. She expected she’d be seeing a lot of that, but that didn’t mean she had to put up with it from Jimmy. “Did you need something?” she asked curtly.

“Uh, just to give you this.” He thrust a pink message slip into her hand. “Inspector Henderson called.”

“Thanks. I’d better get back to him.” She gave Clark a quick smile and then hurried away, leaving him to bear the brunt of Jimmy’s knowing looks.

_______________________________

Suicide.

The preliminary finding in Dr. Platt’s death was suicide, Inspector Henderson said. It was so patently stupid that Lois wanted to kick something...or someone. Henderson came immediately to mind.

Because no way had Samuel Platt killed himself. Of that she was absolutely sure. He was a little kooky, yes, but he wasn’t suicidal. And it was just too much of a coincidence that the one person who claimed to have proof that the Messenger had been sabotaged had wound up dead just days before the launch of the colonist transport. Something was going on, and Lois was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of it.

“Jimmy, have you heard from STAR Labs?” she asked, seeing Jimmy passing by.

“Sorry.” He shook his head. “The Chief has me working on some photos for one of Myerson’s stories this morning. I’ll give ‘em a call, though - see what they’ve found out.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” She settled back into her chair, frowning down at her notes. STAR Labs was her only hope of understanding them now that Dr. Platt was dead, and if that lead fizzled, she honestly wasn’t sure what she would do.

“Lois.” It was a sign of her extreme preoccupation with her story that she didn’t even notice Clark’s approach until he spoke her name softly.

“Oh,” she said, startled. “I’m sorry. I was just thinking.”

“I could tell.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “There’s someone here to see you,” he said. “Mrs. Platt and her daughter Amy.” He nodded in the direction of the elevators where an attractive middle-aged woman waited with her daughter, a girl of about twelve who was wheel-chair bound.

“Oh, God,” Lois whispered. “I don’t know what to say to them.” The Platts were divorced, she knew, but still, they’d had a life together - had created a child they both loved. And now he was gone and Lois was the nosy reporter who had found his body. What did you say to someone in that situation?

“Do you want me to come with you?” Clark asked gently. “I already introduced myself. I was in the elevator with them on my way back from an interview.”

“Would you?” It had only been a couple of hours since she’d told Clark they couldn’t possibly work together, but somehow, talking to Mrs. Platt seemed less upsetting with Clark by her side.

“Sure.”

She stood up, and as they walked together over to where Mrs. Platt and her daughter were waiting, Clark kept one hand lightly over the small of her back, his touch just enough to reassure without being too possessive or patronizing.

As they approached, Mrs. Platt stepped away from her daughter, meeting Lois and Clark just far enough away from the little girl that they’d be out of earshot.

Lois offered her hand. “Mrs. Platt, I’m Lois Lane. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Platt responded quietly. “I haven’t told Amy yet. I don’t...I don’t quite know how. My husband was killed, Miss Lane. I’m sure of that. The police are calling it suicide, but I know better.”

Privately, Lois agreed, but she didn’t say so right away. After all, his divorce was one of the reasons they were calling Dr. Platt ‘suicidal.’ “Mrs. Platt, when you and Amy left your husband...”

“No,” she interrupted sharply. “We never left him. He made us leave. He was sure that they would come after him, and he was afraid that Amy and I would get hurt. He sent us away because he wanted us to be safe.” She took a deep breath and glanced at her daughter. Lois could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Everything we worked for was for Amy. We wanted a cure for her, and the Space Lab Prometheus was our only hope. My husband was not insane, Miss Lane.”

“Do you have any idea who might have killed him?” Lois asked.

“All I know is that Samuel knew that Prometheus was being sabotaged, and that knowledge got him killed,” Mrs. Platt answered, with quiet intensity. “Please help us, Miss Lane. Please don’t let his daughter grow up thinking her father committed suicide.”

“If anyone can do that, it’s Lois,” Clark said. Lois looked up at him with surprise, unsure whether she was more flattered or unnerved by the utter confidence in his voice.

“I’ll certainly try,” Lois agreed. “For what it’s worth, I don’t believe your husband committed suicide either. If I can prove that, I will.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Platt pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed carefully at her eyes before turning a weak smile on her daughter. “Ready to go, sweetie?”

“Sure Mom.” Amy gave the adults a curious look but didn’t ask any questions.

“Amy, it was very nice to meet you,” Clark said, smiling down at the girl as he pressed the elevator button for them.

“You, too, Mr. Kent,” she answered politely.

“I’ll be in touch with you soon,” Lois promised Mrs. Platt in a low voice. The older woman nodded and then stepped into the elevator, allowing Clark to help Amy in. Lois admired his easy way with the girl. She never knew what to say to kids and always wound up feeling awkward around them. But Clark didn’t seem to be awkward around anyone.

Once Amy and Mrs. Platt were in, Clark stepped back so that the elevator doors could close, immediately giving Lois a troubled look.

“I hate thinking about that little girl finding out about her father,” he said sadly.

“Yeah,” Lois agreed. “And it doesn’t seem like the police are interested in any theories except the one that says Platt committed suicide.”

“Hey, Lois!” Jimmy called from across the newsroom. He was staring up at the television set. “The Congress of Nations is making an announcement about Prometheus.”

“Turn it up,” she ordered, already half-way there.

“...pleased to announce that we have unanimously decided that the Space Station Prometheus will proceed,” the Congress’s chairperson announced. Lois felt an immediate flutter of nerves. If the colonist launch was back on schedule, it was more critical than ever that she expose any ongoing attempt to sabotage the program. A hundred people would be going up in that launch - people like Mrs. Platt and her daughter Amy.

“What about Lex Luthor’s proposal?” a reporter at the press conference asked.

The Congress’s chairperson responded with a gracious thanks to Lex Luthor for his generosity in proposing a private space station, but made it clear that the Congress believed the space station should be a cooperative, global effort as had originally been intended. She went on to say that every precaution would be taken to ensure the colonists’ safety, and that they anticipated a successful mission.

But what else could she say? Lois thought cynically, as the press conference ended and the small crowd of interested Daily Planet reporters dispersed. She sighed, and immediately she felt Clark’s hand on her arm - just a light, reassuring touch.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, as if he could read her mind. “You will.”

_______________________________

AN: Lots of borrowing from the Pilot in this section, especially the part with Mrs. Platt. This is kind of a transitional chapter, and I realize it's probably not as much fun to read as the previous one (it wasn't as much fun to write, either smile ) but it was necessary to keep things moving along. And I realized something about myself while I was writing this part: I realized that I really can't spell the word "sabotage". Thank goodness for spell check, because I spell it wrong every. single. time. ARGH!

A sincere thank you to all who have been so generous with your comments. I do appreciate your support and encouragement!