Title: A Million Little Pieces (12/?)
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! 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 lowly copy editors 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 amount of time, 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 Part Ten Part Eleven ---------------------------------------
Do you see the danger creeping up beside?— “Inside Out,” VonRay
He’s always been a light sleeper.
It’s one of his more valuable attributes. It has saved his life — and the lives of others — more times than he cares to remember.
Knock, knock.
This time is no exception.
The soft sound startles Scardino out of a fitful doze. His hand automatically moves to the concealed nine-millimeter at his side and his gray eyes scan the room, sweeping Mayson’s sleeping form.
The bad guys don’t usually announce themselves anyway, he tells himself grimly, hauling his protesting body out of the unforgiving plastic chair.
He crosses the room and pulls the door open a few inches.
“Morning, Kent.”
“Agent Scardino,” the reporter replies with a brisk nod. “How is she?”
Scardino stifles a yawn and steps into the hallway, gently closing the door behind him. “Sleeping.”
“Oh.” Clark stares at the closed door for a moment and shifts his weight. “Well, I don’t want to disturb her.”
“Yeah, she had kind of a rough night.” Scardino cocks his head to one side, studying Clark. “Look, I don’t mean to overstep any bounds here, but are you two ... you know? I can give you some privacy the next time — ”
Clark flushes and glances down at his shoes. “Oh, no. We’re — we’re friends.”
Scardino leans one stiff shoulder against the cinderblock wall. “I see.”
“Really.” Clark cleared his throat. “Just friends.”
Scardino nods and runs a hand through his disheveled dark hair. “She needs all the friends she can get right now.”
“My partner and I are doing our best to get to the bottom of this.”
“Yeah?” Scardino’s eyebrows rise. “Any leads?”
“Nothing concrete just yet,” Clark replies carefully. “But I think we’re close.”
“Well, let me know if there’s anything I can help with,” Scardino says, his eyes locked with Clark’s.
“Will do.” Clark shoves his fists in the pockets of his khakis. “Is she — uh, is she all right?”
Scardino lets out a long breath and draws his brows together. “She’s handling this really well, considering,” he finally concedes. “Mayson’s tough — I could tell from the second I stepped inside that room. But we can all handle only so much, you know?”
Clark sighs. “I know.”
“I think she’s gonna be okay, Kent.”
The corner of Clark’s mouth quirks into a hesitant smile. “I hope so. She’s a good friend, and an even better lawyer.”
“Oh, believe me, I know,” Scardino chuckles. “She’s had me on my toes since Henderson brought me through the door.”
Clark smiles and checks his watch. “Look, I have to get to the office, but could you tell Mayson I stopped by?”
“Sure.” Scardino grasps Clark’s hand in a firm shake. “Let me know if you find anything on Intergang.”
“I — ” Clark’s eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “I’ll be in touch.”
The falter in his voice and the surprise that flares behind his guarded eyes are all the affirmation Scardino needs. Kent and his partner are onto something, all right. He just wants to know what that something is.
* * * * *
“I’m telling you, I just don’t trust the guy.”
“Clark, he’s a federal agent. Of course you shouldn’t trust him.”
“Lois, I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“No, really — ”
“No. Really,” Lois interrupts, watching her partner pace the length of the empty conference room. “Clark, he’s a
federal agent. Whether we like it or not, he’s going to know things.”
Clark rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re probably right.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Probably?”
Despite himself, Clark flashes her a tired smile. “Probably definitely.”
“Definitely definitely.” She gives him a grin of her own before turning her attention back to the documents spread on the table.
Clark resumes pacing. “But how did he know about Inter— ”
“Clark!”
“What?”
Lois’ dark eyes bore into his. “Let. It. Go. He knows. We know. We know he knows. And
he probably knows
we know. Now sit down and help me sort through these records so we can nail Bill Church to a cross. Please?”
Clark’s jaw visibly drops before he picks up a sheaf of papers. “Yes, ma’am.”
* * * * *
“He came by this morning.”
Mayson frowns and painstakingly digs a plastic spoon into her Jell-O cup, mindful of the cumbersome IV taped to the back of her hand. “Who?”
“Him,” he says simply, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Kent.”
She freezes, damning the warmth that floods her chest at Clark’s name.
“Well,” Scardino prompts, “don’t you want to know what he wanted?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she stares at the jiggling red mass inside its clear plastic cup until she realizes her hand is shaking.
She places it on the table beside her bed, avoiding Scardino’s scrutiny.
“Mayson?”
She shakes her head and licks her lips nervously. “Sorry. I — it must be the morphine. I’m on a twenty-second delay.”
Scardino’s wry grin doesn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever you say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “Can’t shake the feeling there’s something there.”
Mayson rolls her eyes. She’s quickly losing patience with Agent Call-Me-Daniel and his cryptic one-liners.
“Something where?”
“Between you and your boy Friday.”
She flushes and picks up the plastic spoon again, toying with it.
Scardino chuckles humorlessly. “Thought so.”
“You thought wrong. He’s in love with — with someone else.”
The tiny hitch in her voice twists his gut. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice husky. “‘Oh’ is right.”
He shifts closer to her. “I — Mayson, I’m sorry.”
She lifts her red-rimmed eyes to meet his gaze and sets the spoon back on the table with a small, sad smile. “Nothing takes the taste out of hospital food like unrequited love, huh?”
Scardino’s shoulders slump. “Well, I’m a world-class jerk.”
“True fact.”
He chortles. “Gee, thanks.”
“It’s all right.” She eases back onto her pillow, stifling an unbidden yawn. “You were just curious. Clearly, it was all a not-so-clever ruse to see if I’m single.”
Scardino raises his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.” His expression turns serious. “But really, I could’ve sworn — I mean, the way your eyes change when he’s in the room or — when I said his name just now ... and how nervous he gets around you, I just assumed there was something — ”
“It’s guilt,” Mayson interrupts gently. “He feels guilty that he doesn’t return my feelings.” She blinks drowsily. “He’s that nice of a guy.” Her voice softens and her eyes close involuntarily. “Considerate,” she mumbles.
Scardino nods to himself. He’s never felt more like scum. Why’s he pushing this so hard, especially something so obviously personal?
“Gets easier, y’know,” she slurs. “Takes time. But it gets easier ‘cause I know he ... loves her ... ” She trails off and her breathing evens.
Scardino watches the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He rarely regrets his line of work, but right now, he loathes it.
* * * * *
“Good news, sleepyhead.”
Mayson blinks, trying to clear the mental fog muddling her thoughts. “Ugh,” she mutters into her pillow, recoiling from the bright light shining through the blinds.
Scardino laughs. “You’re just a regular Little Miss Sunshine.”
She mumbles something unintelligible.
“It’s probably best that I didn’t hear that, huh?”
Mayson groans. “Five more minutes?”
“’Fraid not. You’ve been released.”
Her eyes snap open and she winces at the sudden assault on her pupils. “Really?”
“Yep,” Scardino nods. “Into my care, of course.”
Her eyes widen incredulously.
“Don’t look so pleased, you’ll inflate my already dangerously healthy ego.”
“Y-you — no,” she sputters. “You’re kidding.”
“Serious as a heart attack,” Scardino replies, lifting one hand solemnly. “Scout’s honor.”
“On whose authority?” she demands, sitting up despite her protesting ribs.
“Your doctor’s,” he smirks. “And Henderson’s.”
She rubs her side gingerly. “Oh god. What fresh hell — ”
“Watch your language, young lady,” Scardino cuts in. “This is a hospital.”
“How convenient,” Mayson deadpans. “You’re about to need immediate medical attention.”
Scardino gives her his most charming grin. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
* * * * *
“Lois, Clark, come on in.” Perry stands to greet his two best reporters with a warm smile. “You two are in awfully early.”
Lois manages a haggard smile and closes the door behind her. “We never left, Chief.”
Perry frowns. “Honey, you gotta rest — y’all aren’t any good to me when you’ve run yourselves ragged. What in the King’s name is so important that you’d pull an all-nighter?”
Clark clears his throat. “Well, Chief, we’ve been doing a lot of digging and — ” He glances over at Lois, who gives him an encouraging nod. “There’s no way to sugarcoat this, Chief. We think Bill Church is involved with Intergang.”
Perry’s eyes widen. “Now, hold on just a minute — ”
“Perry,” Lois interjects, “we think he’s more than just involved. We think he’s the guy behind it all.”
Perry eases into his leather chair, the color draining from his face. “Do you two even realize what you’re saying?”
Lois and Clark look at each other, then back at Perry.
“Well, we — ”
“Chief — ”
“Judas Priest!” Perry explodes, causing Clark to jump. “Bill Church is probably the most well-liked, most respected businessman in Metropolis, if not the entire East Coast! He volunteers at the soup kitchen on Main and Jefferson, for Pete’s sake! And he’s a friend of mine — a good friend! We golf together at least once a month. For you two to even
suggest — ” He takes a shaky breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell me you’ve got evidence to back this up.”
“Well,” Lois begins, leaning forward, “here’s the thing ... ”
* * * * *
“I can do this myself, you know.”
Scardino quirks one eyebrow. “Humor me?”
“Why? After three days in a hospital bed, it’s a relief to move around.”
“You gotta take it easy, champ,” he cautions, taking the can of chicken noodle soup from Mayson’s good hand. He gestures to her cast. “You’re still not quite back to fighting form.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll never be if you treat me like a child.”
“I’m not treating you like a child,” he says in what he hopes is a soothing tone. “All I want to do is heat your dinner.”
“Now you’re just placating me,” she mocks. “And you don’t know where I keep the saucepans.”
Scardino pauses. “Damn. You’re right. Where
do you keep the saucepans?”
Mayson fails to stifle a laugh that jostles her broken ribs and she winces. “I thought you were supposed to be observant. Isn’t that how you got this job?”
He rolls his eyes. “Of all the damsels in distress, I had to get stuck with you.”
“You’re just lucky like that,” she shoots back, easing onto one of the four barstools by the counter. “They’re in the cabinet to the left of the stove.”
“See? Now, was that so hard?”
“Yes.”
Scardino sticks out his tongue. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“You’re just threatened by my obvious superiority.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Riii-ight,” he drawls, nodding slowly. “Something about you being threatened by my good looks and sparkling personality. It’s no surprise, really. I mean, look at me.”
Mayson groans. “Of all the government lackeys with a hero complex, I had to get stuck with the mentally challenged one.”
“Hey, now,” Scardino admonishes, pouring the soup into the kettle, “there’s no need for name-calling.”
Mayson gives him the most saccharine grin she can muster. “It’s all part of my charm.”
Scardino looks at her for a long moment. “The bruises are looking better,” he says quietly. “The edges are starting to fade.”
Mayson ducks her head, embarrassed. “Yeah.”
“You can talk to me, you know,” he offers nonchalantly, stirring the soup with a wooden spoon. “You don’t have to. But I’m — well, I’m here.” He clears his throat. “You know, for you. If you want to talk about what happened.”
Mayson balls her right hand into a tight fist, momentarily overwhelmed by the gesture. “Thanks.”
Scardino wipes his palms on his jeans self-consciously. “Don’t mention it. I’m gonna run down to the car and grab my bag — this’ll be ready by the time I get back, so just relax, all right?”
“I’ll try to keep the gymnastics to a minimum.”
Scardino flashes her a quick, easy grin, cursing himself and his means to an end.
* * * * *
He’s always been a light sleeper.
It’s one of his more valuable attributes. It has saved his life — and the lives of others — more times than he cares to remember.
“Don’t — ”This time is no exception.
The strangled plea startles Scardino out of a fitful doze. His hand unconsciously moves to the Glock beneath his pillow; his gray eyes scan the shadows in the living room, then dart to the hallway, toward Mayson’s bedroom.
He hears a muffled footstep and the quiet squeak of her mattress.
And then he’s moving, fast and silent, toward the dark, open doorway.
Should’ve reminded her to leave a light on.
Scardino can feel the cool night air rushing in Mayson’s open window.
It was closed when they’d turned in. He’d made sure the entire apartment was secure before settling down on the couch.
He barely breathes, not wanting to make a sound. If he’s just patient enough ...
there.
A shifting shadow gives away the intruder’s position.
He can hear Mayson’s ragged breathing. A scarcely audible whimper.
Scardino crouches in the doorway and quickly counts to three, praying the attacker’s back is to him.
And then he rushes in, slamming into the man from behind and shoves the barrel of his gun into the would-be murderer’s side.
“Move and I’ll put a bullet through your spleen,” Scardino growls.
The intruder swears and twists in Scardino’s grip, grappling for the weapon.
Mayson switches on the lamp beside her bed, illuminating a terrifying tableau.
Scardino and the stranger are locked together, each straining to get their fingers on the trigger.
Scardino grimaces and pulls the gun closer toward him, but the intruder half-twists again, knocking the federal agent off balance.
He grits his teeth, struggling with everything he has to keep his right fist from slipping down the butt of the weapon.
And then the gun goes off, its report reverberating through the room.
“Dan!”
Mayson’s cry echoes in his ears, louder than the gunshot.
He waits for the pain.
