Title: A Million Little Pieces (15/20ish)
Author: angelic_editor
Rating: PG for violence mild language
Summary: Mayson Drake comes to understand why she and Clark could never be together; meanwhile, Intergang puts the lives of Mayson and Lois in danger.
Feedback: Better than chocolate! But 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: 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 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.
P.S. Finally, I’m back on the boards! *bouncebouncebounce* For anyone who’d like to know where I’ve been with this story the past few months, I posted a quick
update in Fanfic Related.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen ---------------------------------------
I’m pushing through,
I’ll disregard the cost— “I Hear the Bells,” Mike Doughty
Bill Church isn’t a patient man.
“It’s about damn time,” he growls into the receiver. “Give me good news.”
“Myers failed, sir.”
“What?” Church snarls.
“He’s in critical condition at Metropolis General, sir. Drake’s bodyguard interfered.”
“Dammit!” Church slams the phone back onto its cradle and pinches the bridge of his nose.
Church takes a deep breath and picks up the phone again, expletives and contingency plans ricocheting inside his brain as he dials.
“Hopkins,” he barks, “get me everything you can on this bodyguard. Use your man at the NSA.” He checks his watch. “Get him out of bed if you have to. I want everything on this guy, and I want a report in an hour.”
Not bothering to wait for a response, Church replaces the receiver and rubs his temples. Mayson Drake is proving considerably more difficult to kill than he anticipated.
He’ll just have to make sure she suffers for the inconvenience.
* * * * *
She doesn’t want to wake up.
She wants to enjoy the warmth of this unexpected comfort for a few more minutes.
Eyes closed, she listens to the steady, even beat of Scardino’s heart against her ear and to the sounds of early-morning downtown Metropolis just outside her apartment.
Nice, she thinks drowsily.
She shifts to stretch out one leg, and Scardino unconsciously tightens his arm around her shoulder.
The easy intimacy of the gesture brings her fully awake.
Don’t get comfortable. She tenses.
He’s just doing his job.
Scardino stirs.
“Hey,” he rasps, squinting in the gray half-light. “You okay?” He lifts his arm from her shoulder. “Sorry, didn’t mean to crush you.”
Mayson shivers at the loss of contact, then inwardly berates herself for such a ridiculous, romance-novel response. She shakes her head. “No, I — the traffic woke me.”
Scardino yawns and scrubs his eyes. “Get some more sleep — I know you gotta be exhausted.” He checks his watch and yawns again. “And I should get up. Want a pillow?”
Mayson frowns and peers at his wrist. “Dan, it’s not even five-thirty.”
“So?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve gotten less sleep than me. And you’ve been sitting up the whole time.”
“I’m a machine,” he quips, flashing her a quick grin that can’t hide the tiredness that tinges his eyes.
“Well, robot or not, you’ve got to save your strength to save me, you know.”
Scardino’s smile becomes almost wistful and he squeezes her shoulder gently. “Yeah, I know.”
“Then give yourself a break — just a short one,” she cajoles, resting her head against his chest and marveling at her own boldness. “I know this can’t be the worst assignment you’ve ever had.”
“You’re right,” Scardino laughs, the sound rumbling against Mayson’s cheek. “It’s worse.”
“Watch it. I’ve seen where you keep your Glock.”
“But do you know how to use it?”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “If
you can handle it, it can’t be that hard.”
“Third grade called,” he chuckles. “It wants its insult back.”
Mayson groans into Scardino’s side. “How’d you get this job again?”
“Hey, you started it.”
“Now who’s using playground tactics?”
Scardino opens his mouth to respond, but his cell phone rings. He frowns and shifts to pull the device from the pocket of his sweats.
“Ugh,” Mayson yawns, covering her mouth with her good hand. “It’s too early for intelligent conversation.”
Scardino grins as he checks the display. “Don’t worry, it’s just my wife.”
Mayson’s eyes widen. “What?”
He winks and flips the phone open. “Morning, Bill.”
She can’t help glancing at his left hand, just to confirm what she already knows — he doesn’t wear a wedding band. Her cheeks burn.
Idiot, she thinks, unsure if it’s directed at herself or the federal agent. Or both.
She sits up to give Scardino some space while he speaks with Henderson. Her world tilts; she closes her eyes against the dizziness.
And this is why painkillers are bad, she thinks sourly, pressing her palm flat against the couch cushion for balance.
“Sure,” Scardino says into the phone, leaning forward. He glances at Mayson and places a steadying hand against the small of her back. “I can be there within the hour. But Bill, I don’t want to leave — ” He stops short, listening.
Mayson’s gaze slides to him.
“Yeah?” He pauses. “All right. See you soon.” He snaps the phone closed. “You okay?”
She nods. “What does Bill want?”
Scardino rakes a hand through his hair. “Gotta meet him at the station. They want to debrief me as soon as possible — officially, you know, get it all on tape.”
“De — oh.”
About last night. The guy — the gun — Her stomach roils. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah, just standard procedure.” Scardino cocks his head to one side, studying Mayson. “You sure you’re all right?”
“A broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs and a price on my head? I’m great.”
“At least you haven’t lost your sense of humor.” His expression softens. “Look, I don’t want to leave you alone here, but this’ll only take about an hour, two at most.”
“Dan, it’s fine,” she assures him. “I’m
fine. Really.”
He narrows his eyes. “I would’ve almost believed you if you hadn’t said ‘really.’”
She chortles and inclines her head toward the door. “Go. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
Mayson glowers.
He stands, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Easy, sunshine, I’m only kidding.”
“You’re a riot and a half. Can’t wait to see your routine after you’ve had your Wheaties.”
“I’ll be here all week,” he shoots back with a grin. “But listen, there’s going to be a plainclothes officer across the street in an unmarked car, just in case. His name’s Greg Hopkins. He’ll hang around here while I’m gone.”
Mayson frowns, unwilling to acknowledge the relief she feels. “Is that really necessary?”
Scardino crouches and places a gentle hand on her knee. “I think so.”
She draws an unsteady breath. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“I’m sorry.”
She looks down at her cotton-clad knee, acutely aware of the heat and weight of Scardino’s palm. “Not your fault.” She clears her throat. “You should get ready.”
He ducks his head, his gray eyes unreadable. “Yeah.”
Watching him amble toward the bathroom, Mayson isn’t sure which is scarier — Intergang, or her irrational feelings for Dan Scardino.
I’m insane. She slumps carefully against the couch and closes her eyes.
Definitely certifiable.
* * * * *
Clark is almost afraid to move.
He doesn’t want to shatter the perfection of this moment, of lying on Lois’ sofa, holding her while she sleeps in his arms. If he moves, she might wake up.
And the second she returns to consciousness, the anxiety will wash over him. He’ll be forced to acknowledge that the guilt gnawing through his stomach lining is real.
Gotta tell her.
He closes his eyes. There’s no way he can reveal his secret without wrecking whatever — well, whatever ‘this’ is. So for now, he just wants to hold her while she sleeps and pretend, if only for a little while longer, that they’re just Lois and Clark. Clark and Lois. Not Lois and Super-Clark.
Just five more minutes.
Lois’ phone rings, shattering the pre-dawn stillness.
Clark sighs.
Instant karma.
Lois jerks awake, squinting. “Hello?”
Clark chuckles and adjusts his glasses. “Hang on, you need the phone for that part.”
Lois grimaces. “Feels too early.”
“Because it is,” Clark says, pressing a kiss against her forehead as he moves from the couch. “Be right back.”
“But you’re supposed to be my pillow,” Lois grumbles, sinking back down and closing her eyes until Clark reappears, the ringing handset in his hand.
“Thanks,” Lois mumbles, hitting the ‘talk’ button and bringing the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
Clark sits down and bites the inside of his lower lip.
Don’t eavesdrop. It’s not polite.
“What?” Lois shoots off the couch. “When?”
With an inward wince at this invasion of Lois’ privacy, Clark concentrates on the voice on the other end of the line.
“ ... happened just before one this morning. She’s fine, but I thought you’d wanna know as soon as possible.”
“I — thanks for the call, Bobby. See you at House of Pancakes.”
Clark frowns and does his best to feign innocence when Lois hangs up. “Why’s Bobby calling you before six?”
Lois tucks a lock of hair behind one ear. “It’s Mayson.”
No. Clark opens his mouth, but Lois interrupts before he can speak.
“She — there was another attempt on her life last night, but she’s all right.” Lois sinks next to her partner and squeezes his hand. “Clark, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this Intergang mess.”
This is my fault, Clark thinks numbly.
I could’ve prevented this attack. I should’ve been out patrolling instead of spending time with Lois, I could’ve —“Clark?”
He focuses on her honey-brown eyes. “What?”
“Does that sound all right?”
Clark shakes his head. “Sorry, what?”
She stifles an impatient sigh. “I’m going straight to the station to find out everything I can about what happened, then I’ll meet Bobby for breakfast. And you can head over to Mayson’s and talk to her. We’ll compare notes at the office.”
Clark rakes a hand through his hair and stands.
“Sounds like a plan.” He pauses for a half-second. “Lois ... ” He trails off, hesitating.
She looks at him questioningly. “What?”
He licks his lips. “Can we — uh, can we talk about
this,” he gestures toward the couch, “a little later?”
Lois gives him a small smile. “Later. Now
go — I’ve got to take the world’s fastest shower.”
* * * * *
Mayson’s surprise is a surprise in itself — after the night she’s had, she doesn’t think anything or anyone can catch her unawares.
But Clark Kent can. And does.
“Um, hi,” she stammers, gripping the doorknob.
Oh god. Get it together.
Clark’s small smile is apologetic; his dark eyes radiate guilt. “Mayson, I’m sorry to bother — ”
“It’s no bother,” she interrupts, running a hand through her disheveled curls self-consciously.
Just business. Be professional. She steps back, swinging the door open to allow him inside. “I guess you heard, huh?”
“I — yeah,” Clark concedes, standing awkwardly in the foyer. “Are you all right?”
Courteous to the end. Do they all grow that way in Kansas? Mayson shakes her head dismissively. “Don’t worry — I’m fine.” Then she nods, more to herself than to Clark. “But thank you.”
Clark shifts his weight and clears his throat. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” Mayson gives him a tiny, tired half-smile. “C’mon, Clark — what do you really need to know?”
He blinks. “I didn’t — ”
“You did,” Mayson cuts in gently, knowingly. “You need information from me for the story you and Lois are working up right now.”
Clark’s cheeks redden. “Well — ”
Mayson holds up a hand, proud that it’s not shaking with exhaustion. “Let’s go into the living room.” She swallows and forces out her next words. “I’ll give you the interview we both know you came for.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, resolute. “We’re going to draw these bastards out if I have to provoke them myself.”
