As I mentioned in the FDK folder, RL is crowding in on my fandom time, so I'll be posting more frequently to finish the story by the first week of March. Please continue to let me know what you think - your comments help me to flesh-out and finalize each part before I post it.
TOC is
here .
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From part 8:
“I need that hiding place,” I growl, “Now!”
I can see him mulling over the situation and his eyes track around the room to linger briefly on the closet before moving away. He steps next to the bed and lifts the duvet. “How about under the bed?” he suggests lamely.
I sigh with exasperation and push past him to slip into his bedroom closet. I tuck my bags behind his suits and push his dress shirts aside. I hear a knock at the door as I step inside and I turn to impart one last glare.
“Just keep them out of your closet,” I say, sliding the door shut.
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Master of Disguise - Part 9
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By pressing my ear against the closet door, I can almost make sense of the voices coming from Clark’s living room. The voices grow louder and I slowly slide the door open to peek through the crack. One police officer is talking with Clark near the kitchen while another goes through the living room dusting for prints. I wait in the dark, keeping my breathing even and slow while I pray that he doesn’t look for them in the closet.
After a few minutes of near silence, I hear footsteps approaching and I shrink back against the wall, slipping behind Clark’s dress shirts to the back of the closet. Along the way, I bump my head against Clark’s tie rack. Surprisingly, it bends and the wall behind me slides open, revealing another space behind it.
Clark has a secret compartment? Cool. How often does one get to hide in one of those anymore? I step back into it, pulling my bags in with me and reach out to straighten the hook to close the compartment.
Just in time, too. Not ten seconds later, I hear Clark’s muffled voice asking the officer why he needs to look in the closet. The officer says something about being thorough and I hear the closet door slide open. Someone rummages around, pulling the hangers across the clothing rod and I slink back away from the opening just in case they happen to stumble across the tie rack.
As I shift my weight, my face brushes against some soft material hanging beside me. I reach up and touch it, trying to learn with my fingers what I cannot see. There are several articles of clothing and the first one I touch is long and flowing. It feels like silk. Although it’s already pitch-black, I close my eyes to try to imagine what the object is.
The first picture that comes to mind is a bathrobe or a kimono. From the background check I’d done, I know that Clark has traveled all over the world, so it wouldn’t surprise me that he’d been to Japan. That would also explain why he had it hidden in a secret compartment. In this neighborhood, it would be careless to store something that valuable in the open.
I feel along the edges and my eyebrows draw down in confusion when I can’t find the armholes, just straight edges. Silk sheets, then? Heat rushes to my face as I imagine Clark lounging around on his bed wearing nothing but a smile on his face, a white silk sheet strategically placed over his lap.
A flash of guilt assails me for thinking about Clark that way. I’m still married to Lex, for god’s sake! Of course, my marriage is all but over. As soon as I can expose him and he’s arrested for the rest of his natural life, I’ll legalize it by filing for divorce. Until then I’ll just have to control myself.
I shake my head to try to dispel the image, but it doesn’t work. I try to imagine what else it could be, but when nothing comes to mind, I give up and close my eyes while I stroke the luxurious material. I enjoy my little fantasy until my fingers brush along leather straps attached to the top and my mental image shatters.
What *is* this thing?
Moving to the next article of clothing, I realize it feels different – slick, but stretchy. My hands follow the edges of the fabric and tugging on it, I realize it’s a spandex or Lycra body suit, like that of a speed skater. Clark definitely has the body for it and I wonder if that’s how he keeps in such good shape. My hands wander back up the material and my fingers graze some embroidery on the chest. I trace the edges, outlining it to identify a triangular shape before following the contours of the embroidery in the center. My eyes open in shock when I figure out where I’d seen the shape before; I’d felt it under my fingertips just that morning.
Superman’s S-shield.
I bend down and feel around by my feet, unsurprised to touch tall, soft, and no doubt, red leather boots. I pull up the image of Superman’s face in my mind and compare it with Clark’s. They have the same coloring, but the two men act so differently. Superman’s expressions are rigid and aloof, almost stern. On the other hand, Clark has a teasing, easy-going manner, an infectious grin and compassionate eyes.
Actually, now that I think about it, the eyes are the same.
I almost laugh out loud when I realize why Superman’s distant look seemed so familiar; Clark had gotten that look in the newsroom just before he’d made his escape to the men’s room. He must have heard someone in trouble and made a quick rescue while I’d talked with the night editor. I roll my eyes at my blindness; Clark had gotten that same look just before I’d taken refuge in his closet, too. My instincts had practically screamed at me, but I’d been too distracted to pay attention.
I recall Trask’s words from the night before, that Superman appeared almost thirty years ago in Clark’s home town. I suppose it could be coincidence, but I trust coincidences almost as much as I trust a seemingly honest politician. If it looks like a duck, sounds like a duck and has the duck’s super suits hanging in his secret compartment, well it doesn’t take a paranoid military madman to put it together.
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Closing my eyes, I let my head drop back against the wall. I’ve lost track of time waiting here in the dark of the closet for the police to leave. It feels like hours – okay, maybe ten minutes – since I last heard movement outside my hiding place. Patience is a virtue I’ve never had, but I can’t risk being seen by opening the door. Besides, there’s no obvious handle from this side, so getting out is up to the tender mercies of my host.
Superman.
It seems surreal to think of Clark that way. Not that it’s hard to believe; the man I’ve gotten to know over the past few days is extraordinary, even without superpowers. It totally fits with his character. But it boggles my mind to think that a being of such power should be living an ordinary life.
If it’s not the most amazing story ever, it’s at least the story of the century. For a few giddy moments, I start drafting the story in my head right along with my Pulitzer acceptance speech. I only get as far as Superman’s first landing near a small, Kansas farm before my thoughts stop short. If Trask spoke the truth, then the Kents must have found Clark in a spaceship when he was just a baby.
The thought of an infant Clark nestled in a small spacecraft tugs at my heart. Who put him there? If he’s an alien, why did his parents send him to earth? If he’s not an alien, then who experimented on a defenseless baby only to discard him? The focus of the story in my mind shifts to the reason for Clark’s arrival when I begin feeling uneasy about my thoughts.
I’d never worried about the ethics of reporting the whole truth in a story before, judging it more important for the public to know than in how it would affect the subject. I pause as a memory of Perry replays in my mind, his admonishing voice warning me about the consequences of printing *everything* I know. ‘There are people with real lives that will be hurt if we run the piece this way, Darlin,’ he’d told me. ‘It’s a good story and he needs to be held accountable for his decisions, but sometimes, not telling the whole truth is the better choice.’
Perry’s edit of my story had chafed, but now I understand what the Chief meant. Clark’s selfless actions and honest efforts to help should be protected and exposure would only hurt him. I think about how Trask implied Clark’s hometown in some kind of conspiracy and wonder if Clark also fears repercussions to his parents and neighbors if the all the details of Superman’s life were to be known.
The very existence of a group like Bureau 39 makes it easy to understand why Clark donned a disguise. Trask can’t be the only paranoid nutcase in the world, not to mention what criminals could make him do by threatening his loved ones. I shudder at the thought of Lex ever finding out Superman’s identity.
I smile as I put together my experience with both men – my rescue this morning and our investigation last night. Clark is a good man, dedicated to truth and justice in both his personas. Their physical similarities are obvious now that I know the truth, but their personalities are so completely different. Clark is literally hiding in plain sight, using people’s preconceived notions and expectations to his advantage. I’ve often used the concept in my own undercover work and my esteem for Clark increases.
The muffled sound of a door closing interrupts my thoughts and I press my ear to the wood again. I hold my breath and strain to hear Clark’s approaching footsteps, but there’s nothing but silence. I worry my lip for a minute, trying to figure out what’s happening on the other side of the panel. Why hasn’t Clark let me out yet? Are the police still in the room? Surely he knows I’m in here and need help to get out.
A proverbial light bulb switches on in my head and I realize that Clark knows exactly where I am; that’s the problem.
After another moment of indecision, I place my hands flat against the wood and press to my right, sliding the panel softly aside far enough to look into Clark’s bedroom. Clark is sitting on his bed with his head resting in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
I glance at the super suit to get a visual confirmation of my conclusions, but the rush of knowing I’m right is tempered by a strange sense of guilt. It’s obvious that Clark has taken great effort to conceal his abilities and I almost feel bad for stumbling into it. I wonder how many others have discovered his secret. Not many, by his reaction.
He looks up at me as I slip quietly out of the closet and the fear in his eyes tells me a lot. This is a secret Clark has kept his whole life. He also knows me and my reputation; I’m probably Clark’s worst nightmare. Well, Trask probably has me beat, but not by much.
I sit next to Clark on his bed and feel a pang of sympathy as I imagine him as a lonely little boy, estranged by his differences, fearing his unique abilities, and knowing that if the truth about him ever got out, his chance for a normal life would be over.
Clark’s hands scrub through his hair as a low, mirthless chuckle emerges. He doesn’t look at me and when he starts talking to the air in front of him, I am barely able to resist the urge to hug the despondency out of his voice.
“Partner with Lois Lane,” he says ironically. “What a great idea, I thought. ‘Help me bring down the Boss,’ she says, and I blithely follow along. It’s the chance of a lifetime opportunity to work with the best investigative reporter in the country. I can learn from her and rid the country of a criminal at the same time. How could I say no? Never mind that I’ve got a secret the size of *Jupiter* hanging in my closet.”
“Clark …” I say softly. He stands up to pace and ignores my attempt to reassure him. Instead, he starts to rant, his arms waving wildly.
“I was so excited,” he says. “I even told my parents about working with you. ‘Gee, Clark, do you think that’s wise? What if she figures you out?’ They warned me to be careful, that it was dangerous to spend so much time with you, but did I listen? Of course not! I mean, no one else has put it together. Surely I can fool Lois Lane.”
“Clark?” I say, trying to get his attention. He ignores me again and continues with his tirade, his voice rising in pitch and velocity. Sheesh, and people say that I babble.
“Then Trask shows up and starts connecting me with Superman. Did I try to hide from you? Did I try to conceal the information about Bureau 39? No! Instead I write the blasted story with you. To make matters worse, I rescue you and fly you right back to my apartment. I should have run a million miles away when you first told me who you were, but apparently, I’m too stubborn and overconfident and I can’t think straight when you’re around...”
“Clark!”
“What?” My sharp tone finally stops his sardonic diatribe as he buries his face in his hands. I feel bad for causing him so much anxiety.
“I’m not going to tell anyone, Clark.”
His head snaps up to regard me, hope warring with disbelief. “You’re not?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re a good man doing your best to make the world a better place. The world needs Superman and I need Clark Kent; exposing you would hurt all of us. Your secret is safe with me.”
“But … I’m big news.”
“So am I. I became the news when I married Lex, so I know what it means to lose your private life. I hate it; the sycophants, the paparazzi, and the lack of privacy. It became practically impossible to investigate and I finally gave it up to produce the news at LNN. I know how hard it is to be inconspicuous with an entourage.”
I can practically see the tension pour from his body in a great wave. “Thank you.”
I smile brightly. “You’re welcome. What good is a secret identity if your partner blabs the first chance she gets?”
He sits back down on his bed and looks at me for a long moment. Finally, a genuine smile breaks out on his face and he relaxes completely. “You really understand, don’t you?”
“I want to. I’m still insanely curious about you, so don’t be surprised if I ask you about a million questions.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know, but I’ll try to answer as many as I can.”
I glance at my wristwatch and groan in disappointment. “Oh, I’d love to talk now, but I need to get to the airport. What time is your flight?”
“I’ve, uh…got plenty of time.” Clark stops speaking to clear his throat. “If you don’t mind flying with Superman, we could talk for a while.”
“Yes.” My response sounds a tad too enthusiastic to my own ears and I blush. “I … I mean, sure. That would be fine.” My heart races at the prospect of flying with him again and I’m sure he can hear it. His answering smile sends an increasingly familiar tingle up my spine and I have to look away from him to regain my equilibrium.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as his earlier words gain new meaning. My eyes narrow and I take a swipe at his shoulder. “You sneak! You never were planning on taking a plane, were you?”
“Nope. Unlike *some* people in this room, I don’t plummet to my death when I leap off a balcony.”
I cross my arms and stare at him trying to decide if I’m more embarrassed or amused by his tease. Amusement wins out, but it won’t do to let him know that. “You know, Kent,” I warn him in mock irritation. “If this partnership is going to last long-term, you’re not allowed to keep track of my brushes with death.”
I see a flash of …something in his eye, before he quickly replaces whatever it was with a stubborn expression. He opens his mouth to argue and I lift my eyebrows. He shuts his mouth again.
“That sounds like a fair trade,” he concedes, “but only if you promise to call for help next time.”
“I didn’t have time to scream,” I protest. “How did you know, anyway? Are you really psychic?”
“No,” he laughs. “When I got back from Kansas this morning, I saw that Trask had been here so I flew over to check on you.”
I smile at his consideration. “It’s a good thing for me that you did. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
We lapse into silence and I can tell he has a lot on his mind; I can practically see the gears spinning. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in – my knowing about his unique gifts – so I try to give him some space. It lasts for less than a minute before my curiosity gets the better of me.
“So, I have some time before my flight leaves,” I say as nonchalantly as I can. “You could maybe tell me some more about Superman?” His eyes light up and I realize that he actually *wants* to tell me more.
“Okay,” he agrees. “Why don’t I give you the long version?”
I turn my body toward him and pull my leg underneath me, settling more comfortably on his bed. My eyes widen in rapt attention as he recounts the story of how he arrived, about his parents’ joy at finding him, their fears of discovery and his relatively normal childhood. As he tells me about his developing abilities, I can tell that his differences bothered him, almost as much as hiding them once he had mastered them.
“Inevitably, someone would need my abilities and then people would get suspicious, so I’d move on. Dad always worried that some nut with a camera would catch me pulling ‘one of my stunts’ and they’d lock me away in a lab, dissect me like a frog.”
“Is that even possible?” I ask. Clark looks decidedly uncomfortable and I remember the green rock. Clark’s pallor and fear make a lot more sense now. “Can it really hurt you, like Trask claims?”
He nods. “The first time I found a piece in one of the back fields, I was lucky that my dad was nearby to see me collapse. It knocked me unconscious and left me weak as a kitten for several days. I think if I were exposed long enough, it could kill me.”
“Wow.” We sit in a comfortable silence as I digest his story. As incredible as the powers are, it’s even more amazing that he was found by such kind and loving people. I shudder to think of someone like Lex having control of Clark’s powers.
“So what made you think of the outfit?” I ask.
“In a roundabout way, you did.”
“Me?”
He nods. “I met an old colleague of yours at a Journalism seminar in Chicago a couple of months ago, Catherine Grant?”
“I assume she threw her normal forward pass,” I gripe with distaste.
My expression and words must amuse Clark, because he laughs out loud. “You could say that; I swear that woman had at least eight arms. I wouldn’t have thought twice about high-tailing it out of there, except she made the mistake of telling me she worked with you at the Daily Planet.”
“That must have gone over well.” I can’t help but feel smug that Clark was more interested in me than in Cat.
“I can be very persistent and my questions finally wore her down. I think she gave up trying to seduce me and told me what I wanted to know just to get me to shut up.”
“Cat and I never got along. You should probably forget everything she said about me.”
He waives off my comment with his hand. “You may not have been friends, but she respected you as a reporter. I asked her how you got all the big scoops and she said it was your nose for trouble, your insane dedication and your ability to go undercover. She said you told her your secret once – that people see what they expect to see.”
“Leave it to Cat to twist insults into professional advice,” I grouse. “So that’s what you’re doing – living up to people’s expectations?”
“Yep, hiding in plain sight; no one would associate Superman’s abilities or personality with me.”
Huh. Go figure. To think that I influenced Clark to put on his disguise so he could help people freely, something he’s obviously wanted to do for a long time. “It’s been hard to keep this a secret, hasn’t it?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he agrees, looking off in the distance. “Since the third grade, I’ve had to hide a big part of myself. Life is more complicated with Superman, but it’s been liberating to reveal my powers and help people openly, even if I can only do it in the suit.”
“You’re not all that different from everyone else, you know,” I respond. “Most of us have parts of ourselves that we hide away. You’re actually fortunate to have parents that understand and accept the real you – the whole you – and not just a façade.”
I look down, embarrassed at sharing so much with Clark. I don’t open up to anyone, not even Lucy and she knows more about me than anyone else. Then again, I know more about Clark than anyone but his parents, so I guess it’s fair. The prospect of getting to know the real Clark Kent, the two halves that only his parents get to see, is exciting.
“All my life I’ve hidden who I am from the outside world. If my parents hadn’t encouraged me, accepted all the strange stuff I did without batting an eye, I probably wouldn’t have any idea who that person is. My mom even made my suit.”
I shake my head in wonder. “You’re mother must be an amazing woman. That suit is *really* distracting.”
“That’s what mom said.” He blushes adorably and then eyes me speculatively. “You’ve got a lot in common with her.” The cynicism must have shown on my face because he laughs with gusto. “Lois, my mom saw the burning trail of a meteorite crash into a field and dragged my father along to investigate it. When she found a baby in a spaceship, she decided to keep him.”
I hide my pleasure at his flattery behind a dubious expression and a denial. “If you knew me at all, you’d know that I’m nothing like that.”
“Oh? You’re not insatiably curious, absolutely fearless and doggedly determined? Admit it, you know what you want and go after it with reckless abandon.”
The words he uses could be taken as criticism, but I can hear such admiration in his voice, I know it’s not. I can tell how much Clark loves his parents; being grouped with them can only be the highest compliment. “Thanks.”
He takes my hand as his expression turns intense. “I should be thanking you. Your example helped me find a way to live up to my potential, Lois. I’ll always be in your debt.”
His heartfelt thanks causes a lump in my throat and it takes me a moment to get my emotions under control. That happens a lot when I’m around Clark. “Tell you what,” I say. “You help me take Lex down and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal.” Clark flashes *that* smile at me and my stomach flips. He’s going to have to start warning me before he does that or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.
I glance again at my wristwatch and am surprised at how much time has passed. It’s time to get moving on our investigation again. In light of Clark’s revelation, I toss my original investigative plan out, adapting it to utilize his unique abilities.
Clark shifts uncomfortably under my scrutiny as the silence stretches out between us. “What?” he asks in a cautious voice.
“How fast can you move? Can you get in and out of somewhere without being seen?”
“Yes,” he answers warily.
“And how fast can you fly us to Metropolis?” I ask, ignoring his suspicious look.
“About twenty minutes, more if we take our time. Why?”
A slow mischievous smile creases my face. “Trask is probably half way to Metropolis by now. How do you feel about a little breaking and entering before he gets there?”
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tbc...
