I know it's been... well, a shamefully long time since I first posted the first chapter in this alternate take on the series, so here's the linky to help refresh your memories:
Nobody\'s Fool And Now...
~~*S*~~
Nobody's Fool
Chapter Two:
The First Challenge
~~*S*~~
~*S*~
Part 1
~*S*~
I didn’t expect my carefully hidden secret to be put to the test quite so soon, but it was barely day two before that private knowledge of my rookie partner’s dual-identity was seriously challenged.
I’d entered the newsroom to find Clark banging away at his keyboard, and a quick peek over his shoulder informed me that he was busy composing a story about—
“Adopted kids searching for their birth parents, if you must know,” he informed me; the timing of that little intrusion into my thoughts made me wonder for a second if perhaps mind-reading was another of his hidden talents.
“Search for roots. Emotional roller-coaster. Unrealistic expectations. Tear-jerker reconciliations,” I replied, ticking off the counts on my fingers.
“Quick study.” Only someone from a place called Smallville could sound so easily impressed.
“Not really,” I replied, bursting his bubble with maybe just a little more enthusiasm than necessary. He just made it too easy for me to resist. “I did it three years ago.”
Clark rolled his eyes and the sarcasm in his expression earned him far more brownie points than his last remark had done. “There are no new stories, only—"
“New angles,” I finished with him in an all-too-knowing tone that seemed to have done just work in further provoking his mild-mannered irritation. Naturally, I happily catered to the impulse to further rouse him. “Seems to me, if your real parents don’t care enough to raise you, then why give them a second thought?”
My jaded cynicism didn’t seem to faze him in the least, though. “Because if they gave you away, they must have had a reason. And it’s the not knowing that kills you,” he finished with soft sincerity.
I was amazed for a moment that a man strong enough to lift a space shuttle into orbit could still possess such a quality of sensitive, even sweet naiveté—
NO! That’s not this guy. I had to stop myself short; training myself to think of him as two different people was turning out to be a little more challenging than I had first anticipated. I had to keep reminding myself that this was Kent. Hack from Nowheresville. Can barely lug a mug of coffee up to his mouth.
I did my best to cover my mental slip with my usual snark. “That’s good… You take the touchy-feely stuff, I’ll take Superman.” Goading him with a reference to the world’s newest superhero that just happened to be his alter-ego—
I have got to stop doing that—that seemed to do the trick, and he shook his head in bemusement as he went back to work.
I left him to it with a shake of my head and made my way back to my own desk, where I almost immediately found myself giving Jimmy a hard time about asking my sister out. I was starting this morning on quite a roll.
Can’t imagine why…Suddenly the newsroom was swarmed by an army of apparent government-issued suits led by a stalwart man waving what he claimed was a Federal Warrant. Several of those suits came straight over to my desk and physically accosted me; I didn’t make it at all easy for them to wrest me away from my computer, and it was less than two seconds before Clark came rushing over to play Sir Galahad.
“Get your hands off of me!” I demanded, wiggling and wriggling until Clark helped free me from one odious man’s grasp. One of the other suits pulled out a gun in response, and the warrant-wielding suit leading the charge quickly ordered him to put it away, as we were, after all, only reporters.
“Reporters,” I shouted back. “As in protected by the Constitution.” Again the suits tried to restrain me—and again Clark interceded on my behalf. Had I not been so irked by the jerks, I might have been the teensiest bit impressed by his natural sense of chivalry.
“Ah, yes. The Constitution. Impressive document,” the stuffy suit replied. “It gives the courts the authority to issue warrants like this one, which says I get exactly what I want.”
“What, exactly, is that?” Clark demanded, taking a step forward towards him.
“Mister… Kent, I presume?” At Clark’s nod, the jerk continued. “I want Superman. And I’m not leaving until you tell me where I can find him.”
I could practically feel Clark’s panic as he glanced back at me for a split second before turning a defiant expression back to the intruder.
So much for that good start to the day.~*S*~
Perry quickly shooed us off to his office while he continued the good fight against the G-man. No sooner did Clark close the door behind us than I darted over to peer through the blinds to watch the verbal sparring match between our steadfastly belligerent editor and the goons’ leader. I tried in vain to lip-read the diatribe, but they were a bit too far away, and neither of them was facing the office directly.
“Why in the world would they think we’d be hanging around here if we knew where Superman was?” Even as the words came out of my mouth, the irony of that statement almost caused me to swallow my own tongue as I wrestled back a darkly bemused chuckle. I turned around and looked back toward the supposedly normal guy who was inadvertently responsible for the pickle we were stuck stewing in. As I turned, I could have sworn I saw a wad of crumpled paper floating a good foot or so above the waste-basket before it dropped into the circular filing bin. I directed my gaze over at Clark and quirked one brow sharply upward. Clark offered a sheepish faux-innocent smile complete with off-key tuneless whistle, and I had to bite back the urge to roll my eyes at his less than stealthy display of super-talent. Sadly though, I didn’t have a chance to prod him over it, because Perry burst in, his expression determined and full of scarcely controlled fury.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he informed us in his brisk all-business voice. “They want the two of you to take a polygraph—”
“What?!” I cut in with due indignation.
“Limited to national security concerns about Superman—”
“A lie detector?” Clark was clearly panicking, and I could well imagine why.
“So I told them to stuff it,” Perry concluded. “Not my reporters. No thank you.”
“Right,” said Clark, clearly relieved.
“Good for you,” I tacked on.
Perry nodded his head. “I told them if they're bound and determined to take your computers and your notes to just get it over with and get out of the office so we can start suing their butts into the next century.”
“Take my computer?” The very idea horrified me.
“You talk, they walk.” There was absolutely no room for argument brokered in that tone. “You don’t, they’re gonna confiscate the whole shebang.”
“Perry, everything I've ever done, or thought about doing is on that computer.” With every word, panic shot the tone of my voice higher and higher and I was quickly approaching the point of sounding like one of the Chipmunks—Alvin, most certainly. “All my contacts, all my research... my novel!”
“Your novel?" Clark asked. "Don’t you back up to floppy disks?”
“Clark, this is no time to discuss your compulsive behavior,” I snapped.
Perry quickly interceded before world war three could erupt between us. “So what are we going to do, folks? I’m with you either way.”
I finally conceded with a shrug, but poor Clark looked positively apoplectic. “What about the First Amendment, Lois?” Clark suggested in a last-ditch tone.
“Clark, they pulled a gun on you,” I pointed out. “To them, the First Amendment is a pesky little detail.”
“I can’t do this! We can’t!’ His voice was definitely growing desperate, and my heart went out to him, but we really didn’t have much choice.
“Clark, if we knew anything, I’d agree,” I told him in my most conciliatory tone. “But this is like taking a polygraph about the ring-tailed lemur.” My voice sounded far more confident than I felt, but I was compelled to maintain the brave front.
Perry nodded his head in agreement. “She’s got a point. We don’t know enough about Superman to lie.”
Well, you don’t, but it’s not going to be that easy for Clark. Or myself, for that matter. Oh what tangled webs and all that jazz. Clark still bore serious apprehension as he lowered his head in resignation. “All right then. You two stay here and mentally prepare yourselves while I go talk to that bull-headed buffoon.” Perry made his exit, closing the door behind him as left.
I turned to look back at Clark again, and his face had definitely paled over the last few minutes. It was the first time I had ever seen him really look rattled. “Look, Clark,” I began gently. “If you’re worried they’ll ask you something you really don’t want them to know, just try to focus on staying cool and calm. Those machines really just monitor things like your heart rate, nerve-reflexes, things the body does when triggered by the fear of being caught in a lie. They aren’t fool-proof, and they are beatable. If you can stay calm, focused, believe every word you say to be true, you shouldn’t have much to worry about.” Just as I wrapped up that touching little soliloquy, I realized just how uncharacteristically nice I was sounding, so I quickly tacked on, “Not that I can imagine what a farmboy from Smallville could possibly be worried about revealing. Corn futures, perhaps?” I even let a healthy bit of sarcasm drip through my tone for good measure. After all, this is the guy pulling off a double life right underneath everyone’s noses—he lies to everyone everyday, all the time. ‘Hey Lois, can you open this jar of pickles for me?’—my ass. He shouldn’t need anyone’s help beating a lie-detector challenge.
Clark stared at me apprehensively for a moment before heaving a long sigh. “Good point,” he told me with that generous, open smile of his. “Thanks, Lois.”
That’s when it hit me. He needs me. He needs my help because he really does have an honest, pure heart—probably the last thing anyone would accuse Lois Lane of possessing—and no matter how much obfuscation is demanded to protect the secret of his dual-identity, lying was something he would never feel comfortable doing. “Anytime,” I returned in kind—and I was even gracious enough to drop the sarcasm this time. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
Clark quirked one brow up with what I couldn’t help noticing to be a decidedly sexy little gleam in his eye. “We’re friends now?”
Oh God, he’s teasing me again. So not fair.I felt my cheeks warming with a blush. “Just don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation.” That got a light laugh out of him, and I got a surprising little thrill out of helping lift his spirits and ease his worries.
Good god, am I in trouble…Now I just needed to quell my own nerves—and follow my own advice to beat that blasted machine. Lucky for me, I’ve had years of experience in the deception category—I’m not quite a born liar, but it does tend to go hand in hand with the nature of the investigative reporting beast. It’s pretty rare anymore for me to get even a little twinge of discomfort over an act of truth-evasion.
Bring it on, G-man. Hit me with your best shot. No way you are tough enough to crack Mad Dog Lane.~*S*~
“You will answer ‘yes’ to these first two questions. We use this to calibrate the machine.”
Gee, really? Like I’ve never seen any monster-of-the-week crime dramas on TV. This guy was really getting on my nerves. I rolled my eyes at him, earning myself another of his pit-bull-wannabe glares. “Is your name Lois Lane?”
“That’s what the by-line says,” I drolled. At his pointed stare, I amended it to his requisite “Yes.”
“Are you also President of the United States?”
Seriously? Where do they come up with these, the G-man convention for the perpetually stupid? With another roll of my eyes, I gave him the “Yes” he was waiting for. He heaved a long-suffering sigh before diving into his six degrees of interrogation. “Do you have any reason to believe Superman is an agent of any foreign power?”
“Yeah, and leprechauns are agents of the IRA.” I thought that was pretty good, but he looked like he wanted to hit me. I wonder what kind of lawsuit for undue brutality I might be able to lead the charge for if he actually did.
“Is Superman from another planet?”
“If something looks like a duck and walks like a duck and talks like a duck, chances are… it’s a duck.” He still didn’t look nearly as amused by my prose as he should have been. “He looks like a man to me.”
“During the time you two were alone,” the big-headed dolt continued, “Did Superman discuss his mission here on Earth?”
“Mission?” I nearly laughed in his face. This guy’s obviously watched a few too many episodes of The Outer Limits… with War of the Worlds blasting in the background—while hepped up on too many government-issued processed-cheese-food sandwiches. “We flew. We didn’t talk. We didn’t have to.”
“Non-verbal communication,” he murmured to the technician at the controls, and I had to choke back the urge to rip off the sensors attached to me and throw them at him. Since I couldn’t do that, I contented myself with the mental image of doing just so—and added a thunk to his this skull with a stapler since it was my little fantasy, after all—and then he turned and addressed his next question back to me. “Does Superman have any telepathic powers?”
“I hope not,” I answered as honestly as I’d been throughout this farce of an interview. I could feel a blush warming my cheeks, but the machine showed no reaction. This of course shouldn’t have been a surprise to me, since I really don’t know what all he’s got in his arsenal. But I do know that I am going to nail that exclusive interview with the Big Guy in the Blue Tights, even if it means taking a dive off the roof of the Daily Planet! I was startled to realize that I had no doubt, only complete faith that he’d catch me before the concrete breaks my fall and every bone in my body.
My breath caught in my throat as that obnoxious worm-wrangler who was giving me this verbal drilling stared me down. There was nothing in that jerk’s gaze that was strong enough to derail my train of thought, though.
Nail that… Big Guy… I gulped and hoped he’d just chalk it up to over-zealous female interest in the skin-tight-spandex-clad superhero.
That was exactly how he seemed to interpret the matter. “Have you any romantic attachment to this Superman?”
Careful what you wish for, Lane! I barked out a laugh, but it sounded false even to my own ears. “Yes or no?” he insisted.
“No.”
The machine started beeping and the needles seemed to be wiggling pretty furiously on the machine, as was unnecessarily pointed out by the tech to that loony-tunes goon in charge. He nodded like he actually knew what that meant and turned that evil eye back on me. I huffed and turned an equally evil eye right back at him, refusing to be daunted by his theatrical intimidation tactics. Perry White was far better at that game, anyway.
~*S*~
I spent the entire length of Clark’s interrogation-interview pacing a groove into the floor of Perry’s office, all the while mentally reviewing my performance. There was a long-neglected insecurity complex rearing its ugly head inside of mine, and it was making me second-guess myself. Had I said anything that might have given Clark away?
God, if I’d blown it for him already, I knew it would be the greatest single mistake of my life—and the consequences would be disastrous not only for me, but for the entire world, should that brutish xenophobe actually find a way to get his hands on—and keep them on—Superman. A fierce shudder rippled down my spine and I had to literally shake the imagined horror that flooded my senses with a physical toss of my head that was nearly mosh-pit worthy. But I still felt haunted by the wake of that terrifying insight.
Sarcasm has always been one of my greatest defense weapons. You don’t grow up with a super-sports-enthusiast father without learning a few things about defensive strategy—and it’s probably no surprise to anyone that I’ve always been firmly camped out in the “best defense is a good offense” school of thought and applied it to all aspects of life. Looking back over that encounter, I was fairly confident my pernicious snarking got under the jerk’s skin enough to keep him from probing too deeply, especially with those last couple of questions.
Is he from another planet? Might he really have some sort of telepathic abilities, too? He definitely looks just as human as everyone else—well, maybe a little more well-defined… but probably fully… equipped and functional all the same…and…Romantic attachment…?My thoughts stopped short.
That blasted polygraph thinks I’ve formed some sort of “romantic attachment” to Superman? How the hell did that happen? I’m not interested in him; not in that way. Not Superman, and definitely not his alter-ego, the rookie reporter I’ve been saddled with.
Fascinated? Sure!
Antagonized? On a regular basis.
Attracted?
No way. Forget it. Not in this life. No way in the world I could ever possibly find a hayseed country hick like Clark Ke—Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? I still can’t help seeing that drop-dead sexy gorgeous half-naked torso disappearing behind that little white towel…and wishing that towel had disappeared…
Jeez, it’s no wonder I bombed that question during the polygraph. Yet again, the image of him in nothing but that little white towel flits across the inside of my lids as I blink hard and fast, fighting the strangest feeling of… something… something that feels oddly like the hand of fate giving a not-so-subtle nudge to my shoulder. There’s obviously a little more going on beneath the surface between me and my two-in-one partner—okay, a lot more than I was willing to acknowledge, but it was just as determined to keep smacking me in the face over and over, it seemed.
But… Romantic? As in amorous?
Uh-uh. Really forget it. No way. I wouldn’t do that… I wouldn’t just let myself suddenly get swept off my feet by a guy I could barely stand to work with just because he can… fly! He can FLY!I was still trying to shake off the mental-recall of the exhilaration I’d felt that day he flew with me cradled in his arms back to the safety of my desk at the Planet—
my desk! I couldn’t quite hold back a little giggle at that detail, but then I saw Perry gesturing me back out into the bullpen, and the giggle ended on a shaky gasp. The assortment of goons were making a hasty exit, like cockroaches fleeing for the shadows at the flip of the light-switch. I drew in a slow breath, schooled my features into some semblance of cool professionalism, and made my way back out into the fray.
“What’s going on?” Perry bellowed at the retreating suits. “I want an explanation!”
I scanned across the room as Clark came out of the conference-turned-interrogation room. He still looked pretty rattled, but he’d lost the wide-eyed deer in the headlights panic of earlier. His gaze immediately crashed into mine, and I almost swore I’d heard his voice in my head telling me he was okay. I blinked a couple of times and tipped my head slightly. Clark shot a reassuring smile toward me, but before I had a chance to latch onto the comfort he was offering, Perry’s blustering intruded upon my thoughts once more.
“Lane, Kent, type up your notes and give them to Valdes. She’s writing this.” Perry clapped his hands together with a loud crack and a stern glare. “Rest of you, get back to it.”
Perry headed toward his office and I made a mad scramble back across the frenzied bullpen to intercept. “What do you mean, ‘type up your notes’? This is my story.”
“Our story,” Clark butted in.
“Seniority,” I snapped back.
“You two are the story,” Perry snapped back. “In case those goons come back here with subpoenas, I want you out of here A.S.A.P.”
“Well, I guess I can work from home,” Clark started to muse, but he was cut off short by Perry.
“NO! You can’t go home! You can’t go anywhere they can find you!” Perry dug out his wallet and thrust several bills toward Clark who accepted them with a puzzled frown. “You two head for the outskirts of town. Find a cozy little no-tell motel and hole up for the night.”
“A motel?” I sputtered. “Together?!”
Perry continued as though I hadn’t even spoken. “No plastic. Pay in cash, and be sure to bring back the receipts or I’ll never get those suits in accounting to reimburse me. And no phone calls. Nothing that can be traced. Keep your beepers on; I’ll page you when the coast is clear.”
I managed to hold my glare at Perry for all of about three more heartbeats before my features collapsed in resignation. I snatched the cash right out of Clark’s still-outstretched hand with a huff of irritation. “Come on, farmboy. Guess I’m going to have to teach you how us big city reporters lay low under fire.”
Clark gave me a sidelong glance that appeared not the least convinced, and then he cast his eyes back toward the boss with something of a plea lurking in the corners. Perry just waved him off dismissively as he stormed back toward his own office to deal with the business of identifying those intruders and verifying the legitimacy of their operation—or not.
I was already clad in a long trench-coat and slinging a large handbag over my shoulder by the time Clark made his way to my desk after grabbing his own sports jacket in passing. I eyed him up and down with the expert eye of the skeptical cynic. “You don’t even have a spare toothbrush on you, do you?” Clark shook his head with a slight frown. “You’d be wise to start keeping an overnight bag packed up and ready to go. You never know where the next story’s going to take you, or how long it’ll be till you can go home again. Fortunately for you, I am always prepared, and I always keep a couple of new spares in here just in case.”
With that haughty declaration, I spun on my heel and marched up the ramp to the bank of elevators. If I’d slammed the call button with any more force, it might well have cracked the plastic. Clark ambled up behind me, and I could almost feel him shaking his head with wry bemusement. It was sure to be an interesting evening, to say the least.
~*S*~
To be continued...
