I swore to myself that I'd get this posted before the end of the year, but a fickle muse and real-life has repeatedly gotten in the way. At least now I can say I *started* posting in 2008
This story grew from one of
Patrick\'s fanfic challenges . Yes, I really do write that slowly.
But ... it's almost finished, so even though I've lost 4 different betas to real-life (hopefully not because of the quality of the story <g>), I'm going to start posting it. Please let me know if there's enough interest to finish it.
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Master of Disguise
by BJ
PG-13 (for some language and a little violence)
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Pity, that.
Description: An Elseworld tale. If Clark Kent never arrives in Metropolis and Lois Lane marries Lex Luthor, what will happen when Lois starts to suspect her husband’s true nature? And without Lois, will Clark ever create his super disguise?
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It’s her smirk that triggers it, that little tingle that tells me someone is hiding something. My breath hitches and I feel my heart pound against my ribcage as the adrenalin starts to flow, a tell-tale sign that I’m on to something huge. Years of experience have taught me not to ignore my instincts and right now, they’re screaming that this is *it;* I’m on the cusp of the biggest story of my life.
I pause momentarily to replay the conversation in my head, trying to pinpoint what ‘it’ is.
“Mrs. Cox, may I speak with you privately,” I had asked.
She had hesitated, casting a longing look after my husband’s retreating back. The diminishing voices of Lex and Nigel St. John had drifted in from the hallway until the office door shut and cut off their hushed tones. With her hand on the knob and an annoyed expression on her face, she had clearly been anxious to leave.
“Don’t worry,” I had assured her. “This will only take a moment.”
She had sighed and turned to face me, crossing her arms. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Luthor?”
“Nothing more than you’re already doing. I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of Lex’s needs while I’ve been sick.”
From someone that had to stay one step ahead of Lex Luthor, her perplexed look had been gratifying. In the months I’d known her, I’d spoken to Mrs. Cox only a handful of times. We don’t like each other and we both prefer it that way. However, after a recent bout of bronchial pneumonia landed me in the hospital, I had worried about Lex’s baser needs while I was incapacitated and based on her body language, it was more than a hunch that Lex had turned to Mrs. Cox. A part of me had recoiled at the idea of thanking my husband’s mistress, but I was taken by a whim – or maybe it was the medication – and said it anyway.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Mrs. Cox had replied. Honest confusion had pinched her brow and softened her normally cold eyes. “I always do my best to take care of Mr. Luthor’s needs. Hence the job title ‘personal assistant.’”
Her hesitant response made it clear that she hadn’t understood my meaning. I saw no reason for deception. “I’m referring to his sexual needs,” I had said. “Thank you for being discreet.”
Her shocked expression had been equally satisfying. Although it makes me furious that Lex would do this to me again, knowing she’s having an affair with my husband doesn’t make me hate her – well, more than usual. I’m not sure why. Like I said, it could have been the medication. Regardless, I don’t think I’d ever seen her look gob-smacked before and I had gleefully jumped at the opportunity to rub her nose in it.
“Don’t be so surprised,” I’d said to her, “I’ve always known about Lex’s affairs. Character judgment and the ability to sort truth from fiction are the hallmarks of a great reporter. I know exactly the kind of man I married.”
My feeling of vindication was short-lived, however, since *that* was when she smirked.
She recovers quickly and her facial expression returns to chiseled stone as she mumbles something in response, probably trying not to laugh at my naïve statement. “Was there anything else you needed, Mrs. Luthor?”
I shake my head and Mrs. Cox leaves the room, finally allowing the door to close with a soft snick. I slump back into the stacked pillows against my headboard and stare blankly at the ceiling as my mind races. My intuition is one of the things that made me a great investigative reporter and its undeniable presence leaves me stunned. Not that Mrs. Cox’s smug grin initiated it, but because I haven’t felt it for over six months. Why haven’t I noticed its absence?
I sit up again at that thought. In all my years of reporting, right back to high school journalism, my intuition has been my companion and guide, a trusted friend in navigating the dangerous underbelly of a major metropolitan city. How can an award-winning reporter who’d worked at the greatest newspaper in the world lose her instincts? Thinking back, I realize they’ve been non-existent since the Daily Planets’ destruction. I shake my head; perhaps they’d been buried under the rubble.
My chest tightens and tears prick at the back of my eyes as I remember the bombing. I lost many things to explosion and fire that day worse than my sixth-sense for cover-up; the most painful had been Perry. Much more than a boss, Perry White had been both mentor and a father figure for the seven years I’d known him. He’d died as he had lived; a hero of the people, working diligently to get everyone to safety long after others had given up. The pain of his absence still makes it hard to breathe.
I rub my chest before reaching over to snatch a tissue from the box on my nightstand. I dab at my eyes as I remember how in one dreadful moment, I lost my mentor, my colleagues and my purpose in life. I’d known I wanted to work at the Daily Planet since the ninth grade and once it was gone, I had no back up dream to cling to. That was the toughest part about the bombing. Without Perry and the Daily Planet, I felt lost and alone. I barely functioned through the numbness to attend Perry’s funeral.
Out of habit, I shove the thoughts of Perry into a dark corner of my mind and lock them away. Feeling antsy and wanting to distance myself from the pain, I throw back the covers and get out of bed. Still weak from my illness, my abrupt movements make me lightheaded and I have to lean against the dresser until my vision clears. My wedding photo is sitting in front of me and I smile as I pick it up. His infidelity notwithstanding, Lex has been the only steady influence in my life since the bombing. He rode in on the proverbial white stallion and gave me a new job, a new home and a new life. With his proposal of marriage, he offered me the comfort I needed and the stability I craved. In a sense, he had offered me salvation.
I set the picture down and my fingers brush against a protruding metal nub, knocking something loose from the back of the frame. It skitters across the tabletop and drops softly to the plush carpet before I can stop it. Curious, I kneel down to get a closer look and my heart nearly stops when I realize what it is. Careful not to make any noise, I pick up the bug and look at it, my mind whirling around the implications of its existence. I carefully replace it in its hiding place and without daring to breathe, stride quickly onto my tiny balcony and close the door behind me. I search the area quickly to determine that it’s free of listening devices before I finally suck in some much needed oxygen.
“Come on, Lane. Think!” I scold myself, trying to circumvent the initial suspicions lodged in my brain. “It could be anybody. There’s no reason for you to think that Lex put that there.”
And it’s true. There are hundreds, if not thousands of people that would be eager to bug Lex Luthor’s home in hopes of digging up some dirt or learning some trade secret. It could be a business rival, one of the tabloids, a disgruntled employee. Any one of those options makes more sense than the thought that Lex has me under surveillance. But I can’t shake the idea. Not ten minutes before, I had boasted that I knew exactly what kind of man I married; now, I’m not convinced.
I thought I knew Lex’s strengths and weaknesses. The pursuit of pleasure drives him, obtaining power gives him pleasure and remaining in control at all times is paramount. He doesn’t make mistakes. Lex demands perfection from everyone and everything, especially from himself. He would never allow that control to slip, never give me reason to doubt his perfect image of philanthropist, successful businessman and loving husband. Instead, when I made my overconfident boast, it was one of his mistresses that slipped.
My instincts are still buzzing, screaming at me to look deeper. It’s a familiar feeling and it makes me feel alive for the first time in months. My lips tighten into a grim line as a strategy to investigate my husband forms in my mind.
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Eavesdropping is always tricky business, but I don’t think it’s *ever* been this difficult before. After trying to spy on Lex for two days, I finally catch a break this morning. I watch Nigel arrive and enter Lex’s office, not quite closing the heavy oak door behind him. I slip out of my shadowed hiding place, tip-toe across the hall and lean my ear against the crack to listen to their conversation.
“… Hernandez paid the agreed five-hundred thousand. I put it into the Swiss account last night as instructed.”
“Good. What about the Cartel’s shipment?”
“Received without incident. The runners are distributing the drugs to the dealers as we speak.”
“And the Westside problem?”
“Resolved. It seems Mrs. Cox only had to break one finger before Mr. Blackstone remembered where your protection money was hidden.”
“From your comment, Nigel, one might be left to conclude that Mr. Blackstone knows that I’m the one receiving his money.”
“I’m sorry, sir. What I meant to say is that Mrs. Cox only had to break one finger before he remembered where ‘the Boss’s’ money was hidden.”
“Excellent. Pay her the standard bonus and have the remainder deposited into the Cayman account …”
The elevator announces its arrival with a soft ‘ping’ and I scamper away from Lex’s office door to avoid being seen by one of his cronies. Slipping into my bedroom, I hold my breath until the security detail passes. Once gone, I lean my head against the wall and breathe deeply, trying to wrap my head around what I had just discovered.
The conversation between Lex and Nigel is damning. The confusing snippets of conversation between Lex and his inner circle over the past couple of days finally make sense. What started out as a vague misgiving has turned into a solid link between Lex and drug running, smuggling, a protection racket and God knows what else. I squeeze my eyes shut against this new reality – that in addition to his public activities, my ‘near-perfect’ husband runs a criminal organization as ‘the Boss.’
It’s an unexpected blow, to know for certain that he’s a crook. In light of his criminal activities, his surveillance and constant monitoring of me makes sense now. Besides the bugs and cameras, I have a human shadow. Avoiding the devices and routine security details is simple, but ditching a tail is risky. I realize that doing so once or twice is acceptable, several times will make Lex suspicious and too many unexplained absences will give me away. Unless I have a reason for being out of sight, that is, a reason that Lex supports.
“Dammit,” I curse. The frustration at being completely neutralized is overwhelming. I’m in the perfect position to discover his secrets, yet Lex’s efficiency has rendered me absolutely useless.
The rage at his deception burns hot in my chest. I try to console myself that Lex is a master at hiding his true nature, but I still kick myself for not realizing sooner what he is. I close and lock the door with trembling hands before stalking around the room. I begin muttering insults at my own stupidity and within seconds, I’m pacing like a caged tiger, swearing and breaking things. Smashing my wedding photo against one of Lex’s expensive vases is particularly satisfying. A moment later, a knock at the door interrupts my tirade.
“Lois?”
“What?” The shrill tone in my voice finally snaps me out of my wild tantrum. Inexplicably, Lex’s presence helps me remember that I still have a job to do and I struggle to regain control of my emotions.
“Is everything alright, my dear?”
“Fine; I just … accidentally broke the vase and there’s glass all over the floor.”
A pause – I know he knows I’m lying, but he chooses discretion and doesn’t question it.
“Shall I send someone in to clean it up for you?” he asks.
“Yes, please. Thank you, Lex.”
I hold my breath until I hear his footsteps fade and then sag against the door. I’m embarrassed and hurt and angry at being deceived, but I realize I’m wallowing and that won’t help me. I shove away all the emotions, everything but the rage, and even that I tamp down to a simmering anger. Now that I know how corrupt Lex is, I need to rethink my investigation plan. I need help from someone on the outside that isn’t watched as carefully as I am. Without Perry or the resources of the Daily Planet, there is only one place to turn.
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tbc...
