Previously On Specimen S:
Lois was coming. Clark slunk deeper into the shadows. Lois reached her door and inserted the key into the lock. That's when Clark heard it. The soft click of a gun's safety mechanism being disabled. Clark dove at Lois.
"Look out!" he called, as he tackled her to the ground.
Lois landed face first on the old, worn, musty carpeting. Clark pressed his body lightly against her, forming a shield. He knew his body would be able to protect her from what was coming.
"Hey! What the hell are...?"
Gun shots exploded, ripping apart the silence and piercing the wood of the door. They left holes in the wall on the opposite side of hall, the wood splintering and taking flight in all directions.
"It's all right," Clark tried to reassure the woman, hoping she wouldn't be able to twist enough to get a good look at him. "I'll protect you."
A bullet skipped off his forehead. He was infinitely glad that Lois was currently staring only at the floor. Clark heard the hollow click as the shooter pulled the trigger on an empty bullet chamber.
"Stay down," he ordered Lois.
Then, before she could do so much as take a breath, he dashed away, into her hotel room. With a small bit of assistance from his incredible speed, he tackled the shooter before the man could finish reloading. The man fumbled with the new magazine of bullets as Clark grabbed him from behind. He securely grabbed the man's wrists and held them behind his back. With a tiny bit of calculated pressure, he forced the shooter to release his grip on his weapon, then he kicked it across the room.
Taking one of Lois' scarves, he quickly bound the man's hands. He only hoped the thin, gauzy material would hold him. He shoved the shooter into the chair that stood by the window, then used another scarf to tie him to it. One final scarf bound the man's ankles to the chair legs.
In the next moment, Clark had his back to the man and was out the door. He had worked so quickly that Lois was only just now starting to venture a look up. Clark was beside her in an instant, bending over her and offering his hand to her. She took it blindly and he helped her to her feet.
"What...what just happened?" she asked in a dazed voice.
"Your source...Karl. Looks like he was in league with the gunrunners."
"Oh God," Lois groaned. Then she paused, thinking. "Wait...how did you...?"
"It doesn't matter," Clark said. "What matters is that you tell the authorities everything you know about the gunrunning operation."
"You wouldn't be trying to steal my story, would you?" Lois asked, giving him a hard look.
Clark let out a soft laugh. "No," he reassured her. "You did all the legwork on it. Print your story. I dare-say you should win some awards with it." He gave her a grin, knowing that she probably couldn't see it.
"Come into the light," she asked, as the pounding of footsteps sounded behind her.
Clark shook his head. Police swarmed into the room, weapons raised. "They are going to need you to make a statement."
"And you," she countered.
"No," Clark said, stepping backwards a pace. "I can't afford to be associated with this." He took three more steps backwards.
"Wait!" Lois cried, effectively stopping him in his tracks. "You saved my life. Thank you. But please, at least tell me your name."
Clark hesitated. He couldn't give her his real name, but he didn't want to lie and make up one either. And yet, he wanted so much to reveal himself to her. Maybe, just maybe, it would allow him to get to know her. He desperately wanted to get to know her.
"I'm...a friend," he finally said.
"Miss Lane!" Two of the police officers approached Lois. She turned to look at them. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, fine. Just a second," she said, waving them away and turning back to Clark.
But he was already gone, zipping down the stairwell at the far end of the corridor and heading to his own room. Once there, he slipped out of his window. Tonight, he would patrol the area, ensuring that no further attempts were made on Lois' life. And once she left the hotel, heading back to her home, he would move on again.
As he circled around the hotel, a silent sentinel, he kept his hearing tuned to Lois. He listened as she filled in the authorities on what had taken place that night. Once they were satisfied, he heard her pacing her room, perhaps still riding the wave of adrenaline he was sure she had to have been experiencing. She picked up the phone after a while, dialing a long series of numbers to call overseas.
"Hi, Perry. Yes, I know it's after midnight. But I have one hell of a story for you..."
***
September 12, 1993
Clark disembarked from the bus, grateful to be able to stand and walk again. He'd been on the stuffy, overcrowded bus for too many hours. It felt great to stretch his legs finally. He rolled his neck from side to side, working out a kink that had formed in his muscles when he'd fallen asleep, his head leaning against the window. Now, he was wide awake and ready to tackle the world. He stood on the sidewalk, taking in the sights and smells of the city.
Metropolis.
Perhaps it would become his new home. He liked it here already. It had a welcoming heartbeat to it, though most people probably would have called the city cold and impersonal. And, more importantly, this was Lois Lane's city. Perhaps, if he lived in Metropolis, he could get to know her. He certainly planned on trying to land a job at the newspaper she worked for. Not only would she be a colleague then, but the Daily Planet was one of the most prestigious papers in the entire country. It would be a dream come true to land a permanent position on its staff.
As he stood there, trying to decide his first move, he allowed himself to think back over the events that had led him back to the United States after so many years in exile.
After his time in the Congo, he had wandered aimlessly. For two months he'd disappeared off the map, seeking refuge in the vast, uninhabited regions of Siberia. It had been extremely lonely and depressing, but he had felt it to be a necessity. Rescuing Lois had been the riskiest thing he had ever done. He had allowed himself to interact with the person he had saved, instead of doing his best to be an invisible helper. It was true that she hadn't seen his face - at least, he was pretty sure she hadn't - and he hadn't given her his name. But he still feared Trask somehow finding him out and hunting him down. Or worse, using Lois as a way to get to him.
It had been a rough couple of months for Clark. Though the temperatures didn't bother him, it had weighed heavily on his mind that he had almost no contact with any people whatsoever. It had dredged up painful memories of his time as Trask's prisoner during his youth. Although, even then, he'd had human interaction, even if the only people he'd seen then were the scientists who'd poked and prodded and experimented on him day after day and the guards who'd kept him locked in his prison.
He had only dared to see his parents twice during that time, and then for no more than a few hours at a time. He never went to them during daylight hours. It was always under the cover of darkness, when it would be hardest for any prying eyes to see him speed into a landing behind the house. Paranoid had not even begun to describe how nervous he'd been about being seen.
When he could no longer bear the isolation of Siberia, he'd moved on to Fiji, then Australia, and finally Greece, never staying long in one place. He'd kept a tight rein on his intense desire to help people, but always managed to allow it to slip enough to possibly expose him. As before, he'd lived his life by constantly looking over his shoulder, expecting to see Trask coming after him. But then, he'd happened to call home one night, only to get shocking news.
Cameron Trask was dead.
The police had notified the Kents several days before, knowing they would want closure to the case. Trask had been brought to a hospital, complaining of chest pains. He had died of a massive heart attack right in the emergency wing of the hospital before the doctors could do so much as diagnose him. No one had any idea where the rest of Bureau Thirty-Nine was, but Clark knew that most of them didn't know much about him. Most were unaware of what powers he possessed and of the effect that Kryptonite had on him. It was true that Jenson knew, but Clark knew that the scientist wasn't a ruthless man. Trask had been the one who had truly scared him.
But now, Clark was a free man.
He'd come out of exile within the hour, flying with all speed back to Smallville. He'd been, and still was, filled with euphoria, as if the entire weight of the cosmos had been lifted from his shoulders. He would continue to hide who and what he really was from the world, but he no longer needed to fear being pursued by a madman.
And yet, his days abroad had changed him. He was no longer content to spend his days working on his parents' farm. Oh, he still loved to be able to help them out, to be there with them, to have their reassuring presence so close once more. But he had, in a very real and profound way, outgrown Smallville. It had been time for him to move on once more.
Clark sauntered down the sidewalk, looking for a place to stay. After trying several hotels, he found the only one that was in his price range was the ratty, shabby Hotel Apollo. The place was an absolute dump, complete with cracked walls, peeling paint, and the faint stench of mold, mildew, and decay. But he could afford more than one night there, and they had a vacancy. He took the room without complaint. He frowned as he opened the door to his room. It was even more Spartan than his room in the Congo had been. With a sigh, he dropped his suitcase on the bed, the ancient springs creaking under the light weight of the case. He popped the case open, grabbed the folder with his résumé and writing samples, and headed back out into the warm September day.
It was easy enough to find the Daily Planet, the large, shining globe like a beacon to him. He stepped confidently into the building, breathing in deeply the strong, fragrant aroma of coffee from the newsstand on the ground floor. He passed it by without looking at it, and pressed the elevator button. He rode silently up to the bullpen, his mind focused on what he could possibly say to the editor.
The doors slid back open with a soft ding, letting Clark out into the thick of the newspaper.
"Excuse me," he said, stopping a man in his tracks. The man couldn't have been any older than himself. In fact, he was probably a few years younger than Clark was. "I'm looking for Perry White's office."
"Right this way," the man said. "I'm heading to his office right now."
"Great. Thanks."
"I'm Jimmy."
"Clark Kent, nice to meet you," Clark said, offering Jimmy his hand.
The two men shared a friendly shake.
"Olsen!" An irritated yell punctured through the low roar of the newsroom.
"Speaking of," Jimmy said under his breath. "Come on."
"Where in Sam Hill have you been?" the editor asked, in a grumpy southern drawl as Jimmy reached his office.
"Running some research for Lois," Jimmy said, shrugging.
"Where the hell is my sandwich?"
Jimmy sighed and lifted a brown paper bag in his hand, setting it on the editor's desk. "Right here. BLT, extra tomato, no mayo."
The editor cracked a small smile and grunted agreeably. "Well, all right then."
"Chief, this is Clark. He says he was looking for you."
"You have an appointment, son?"
Clark squirmed a little. "Well...no. Not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly?" Perry asked, arching an eyebrow. "You either do or you don't."
"I...don't," Clark confessed. "But I was hoping that I could speak with you, about getting a job here as a reporter."
Perry eyed Clark for a long moment with an appraising stare. He must have liked something that he saw. After a moment, he nodded.
"Come on, take a seat."
"Thank you, sir."
Perry nodded and sat down in his high-backed office chair. It squeaked a little as he turned it to face Clark better. He frowned.
"Jimmy!"
"On it, Chief!" came the reply. "I'll run down to the hardware store and get something to fix that squeak as soon as I can."
Perry cracked a smile. "That kid's the best around," he confided. "Just don't tell him that."
Clark smiled back, trying to break the ice. "Your secret's safe with me."
Perry chuckled, then swiftly became serious. "So, what's this about a job?"
Clark subtly cleared his throat. His heart was hammering in his chest. He couldn't quite put his finger on why, but he always became extremely nervous when interviewing with an editor. He was perfectly fine in approaching the people he was investigating or witnesses. Perhaps it had something to do with who held the power. In a job interview, he held no power at all, just like he'd held no power long ago as Trask's prisoner. But when he was doing his job as a reporter, he held a certain amount of control.
"I'd like a job here, Mr. White," he said earnestly.
"Well," Perry said, rubbing his chin. "We aren't exactly needing to fill any positions at the moment."
Clark nodded amiably. "Perhaps my work will convince you otherwise."
"You have writing samples?" Perry asked, though he seemed unsurprised.
Clark nodded again. He handed Perry a folder full of newspaper clippings and Xeroxed copies. Perry shuffled through them quickly. But his frown deepened as he got further into the stack.
"You, uh, seem to be pretty well traveled," the editor observed.
"Yes, sir. I spent a lot of time after college bouncing around from place to place."
"Any particular reason why?"
Clark shrugged a little, uncomfortable with the question. "I just...never really felt like I fit in," he finally said. It was close enough to the truth, he thought.
"Madame Rousseau's Pastry Shop Now Serving Wedding Cakes. Smallville Town Hall To Receive Fresh Coat Of Paint. Smallville's Annual CornFest A Roaring Success. Twenty-One Tips For A Safe Summer On The Great Barrier Reef." Perry's voice was flat and dull as he read through some of the titles of Clark's articles.
"I know they may not be hard hitting news..." Clark started to say.
"That's right, they aren't," Perry agreed.
"I was a free-lancer on a lot of those papers," Clark explained. "They wouldn't print my hard news stories most of the time, opting to go with their full-time staff."
"I'm sorry," Perry said, shaking his head. "I just can't use stuff like this."
"Sir, I know I may still be a little green, but if you just give me the chance to prove myself..."
"Sorry, son, I just don't have a place here for you."
Clark sighed softly. The tone in Perry's voice was unmistakable. He'd heard the same tone in just about every other editor's voice. The subject - and the interview - was closed. He would not be getting a job here. In his mind's eye, he saw his dream being smashed into a million pieces, like a mirror, the shards flying off in every direction imaginable.
Clark stood and stuck out his hand. "I understand. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me."
Perry handed him back the folder. "Don't give up, son. You seem like a bright kid. I'm sure something will come your way."
"Thanks," Clark said, plastering a smile on his face and a feigned lightness in his voice.
He shook the editor's hand, then regretfully left his office. Out in the bullpen, Clark took a second to take stock of the place, wishing he'd been able to secure a position at the paper. As his eyes quickly assessed the place, they came to rest on her.
Lois Lane.
She was talking a mile a minute into her phone, clearly unhappy with whoever was on the other end of the line. She impatiently tapped her pencil on the yellow legal pad before her, the lead tip making a series of small pockmarks on the paper. Clark wandered slowly toward her desk, choosing the path that went right past her on his way to the exit. He listened to her as he walked, using a small portion of his super hearing to focus on her voice alone, out of the chaos that raged all around him.
"Yes, I'm still holding. I've been holding for twenty minutes already. Yes, I understand that. I'm sure the mayor is plenty busy, but perhaps he should busy himself with making statements to the press. No, that wasn't a threat. Look, Dana, I don't care. I want to know why the mayor is using city funds to finance his out of state golf trips. No, don't put me on hold again!"
Lois rolled her eyes and hung up the phone. She shrugged into her coat hurriedly. She nearly crashed into Clark as she launched herself away from her desk, still tugging on one sleeve.
"Jimmy!" she called, picking up her pace.
She seemed to ignore Clark, or perhaps she was so focused on her story that she didn't even see him.
"Yeah," Jimmy said, rushing to her side.
"Dig up everything you can on the mayor and his golf outings. And see if you can get someone at City Hall to call me back."
"Where are you heading?"
"The Fudge Castle."
"Lois, you told me to stop you if you even mentioned that place," Jimmy said.
Lois rolled her eyes again. "Not for me. For Larry the Leak. He's got to have a lead for me."
With that, she sped off to the elevator. Clark tried to rush through the newsroom fast enough to perhaps share a car down with her, but he was too late. The silver doors shut, taking Lois Lane out of his sight.
***
November 16, 1993
Clark glanced at his watch. Three-thirty in the morning. Another half hour before quitting time, when he would head back to his rundown, low rent, and somewhat sleazy apartment down in Hobbs Bay. It was a rough section of town, but it was all he could afford. And to do that, he almost never bought any food. But he did miss the taste of a good meal. Plain spaghetti cooked in salted water just wasn't cutting it, on the nights when he decided to splurge.
He had tried to get home as much as possible, but he was juggling three jobs, and it wasn't easy to make time to make the trip out to Kansas, though it only took him seconds to cover the distance. And when he could make it out there, he all but inhaled his food, hugged his parents, thanked them, then rocketed back to Metropolis to make it to one of his jobs on time.
Two and a half weeks. That was how long it had been since he'd last eaten anything. Two and a half long weeks.
Clark sighed and kept his eyes roving over the crowd in the club. The Stoke Club was still jumping, even at this late hour. Most of the patrons were tucked away at various tables, the bar, or dark corners, shouting at their companions to be heard over the music. A good sized crowd was on the dance floor, and various bodies gyrated to the beat as the DJ fluidly switched from one song to another. The lights swirled around the room at a dizzying pace, throwing splashes of reds, greens, blues, yellows, and purples over the patrons and up the walls, and painting the floor, which glowed an electric neon blue.
It was nearly blinding, but Clark's sharp eyes were better than a normal human's, and he had no difficulty in maintaining his watchful guard. Something in the far corner of the club, near the bathrooms, caught his eye. He agilely wound his way through the dancing people in the center of the room, heading to the people who had grabbed his attention.
A man and a woman, close to Clark's age, were in a compromising position. The man's belt was undone and his fly was down. The woman's skirt was hitched up around her thighs. Clark could see that he'd made it to them just in time.
"All right," he said, in a commanding voice. "Break it up."
"Hey, man, get lost," the man replied.
"Hey, man, get a room. I could have you arrested for indecent exposure," Clark said, crossing his arms.
He made sure to flex his muscles just a bit as he did so. In his sleeveless bouncer shirt, the sight was impressive. It had the desired effect. Both the man and the woman blanched a little. The woman pulled her skirt down and adjusted the fabric. The man's hands fumbled as he tried to zip his fly and buckle his belt.
"Get out," Clark said sternly, pointing to the exit. "Now."
"Yes, sir," the man said. He grabbed his companion's wrist and swiftly attempted to vanish into the crowd.
Clark followed them, keeping hard on their heels. Only when he saw them exit the building and head down the street was he satisfied. He alerted Manny, the bouncer at the door, of what had transpired, with a warning not to let them back in. Then he went back to his favorite post to watch over the crowd again.
His eyes swept over the crowd, then suddenly stopped. The air rushed from his lungs. She was there. Lois Lane. The woman he'd been in love with since a chance meeting in college. Another woman was with her. The similarities between the two women were so great that they could only be sisters. He tuned in his hearing, needing to hear Lois' voice.
"I could kill you for dragging me out here," Lois lamented, taking the last sip of red wine from her glass. She put it down with a sigh.
"Why? Because I'm trying to help you have a social life?"
"Lucy..."
Lucy shook her head. "No, don't start."
"Look, I'm gonna head back to my apartment."
"Lois, come on. Let your hair down. Live a little."
"I've been 'living a little' with my 'hair down' since eleven. This after chasing three dead leads today. I'm tired. I want a hot shower and my bed. Okay?"
A man approached the two women. He placed a hand on Lois' shoulder. "Hey, baby. How's about I buy you a drink?"
Lois shrugged out of the man's touch. "How about no."
"Come on, baby. You and me. We'll have a few drinks. Maybe you come back to my place."
The man's hand went back to Lois' shoulder. She turned violently on the man, jerking out of his touch.
"Get your hands off me! I said no. Touch me again and I'll break your arm."
Clark was already on the move. He knew the man was drunk, from the way he swayed on his feet and the slight slurring of his words.
"Oh, rough stuff, huh? Luckily for you, I don't mind."
In the next second, Clark materialized behind the drunk man. He tapped the man on his shoulder. The man only briefly turned to glance at him.
"Excuse me, sir. But I believe the lady wants you to leave her alone," Clark said, crossing his arms imposingly across his chest.
The man laughed as if he'd just heard the world's funniest joke. "And who are you? Her body guard?"
"Right now, yes, I am."
"Oh, really?"
Clark nodded. "Really. See, that's what this logo here means." He pointed to the logo on his shirt, stating that he was Stoke Club Security. "Now, you have two choices. Either you leave these ladies here alone, or I'll throw you out."
"I'd like to see you try!"
Clark sighed. The man was bigger than he was, but he couldn't possibly know of Clark's strength. He shook his head.
"All right. You asked for it."
Clark grabbed the man by his shirt, the denim material bunching in his fists. The man started to punch Clark, but Clark paid it no more attention than he would a mosquito. His gaze went to Lois.
"I'll be right back. I just need to take out some trash."
Jeez, that was a corny line, if ever I heard one, he mentally berated himself.
He shook his head again to himself as he brought the drunk to the door. He placed the man outside, finally letting the drunk's feet touch the ground again. The man gave him a hard look, but Clark crossed his arms over his chest and fixed the man with an even harder look. Perhaps the man's liquid courage was starting to wear off. He relented under Clark's unyielding gaze and ambled down the sidewalk. Satisfied, Clark returned to the table where Lois and Lucy were still sitting.
"I just wanted to make sure that you're all right," he said, fumbling for words.
Lois nodded. "Fine, thanks."
"Happy to help," Clark said, giving her a shy smile.
He saw Lucy give Lois a subtle nudge in her ribs. Lois rolled her eyes.
"Okay, I'm done here," she said to her sister.
Lucy reluctantly nodded. "After that, so am I."
"Let me get you a cab," Clark offered. "It's the least I can do. Uh, I mean, to apologize. On behalf of the Stoke Club, that is."
Lois warily eyed him, then nodded her assent. "Thanks. That would be great."
Clark was nearly floating in his ecstasy. Just talking to Lois set his heart to soaring. This was so different then when he'd spoken to her in the Congo. This time, he wasn't afraid to let her see him. There was nothing notable, or super, about a bouncer in a club. There was no reason to suspect that he was anything more than he appeared to be.
He led the two women to the door, then stepped out into the brisk night. He ignored the cool air on his skin. It didn't bother him. If anything, it actually felt kind of good to get out of the stuffy, hot club and take in some fresh air. He reached the edge of the sidewalk and waved down a passing cab. Then he opened the door for Lois and Lucy.
"Have a nice night," he said cheerfully.
"Thanks. You too...uh..."
"Clark," he supplied.
"Clark," Lois repeated.
She stepped into the cab, scooted over, and allowed Lucy to get in. In the next moment, they were off, the bright yellow car reaching the end of the street and turning the corner. Clark sighed dreamily as he stared after them, well after the cab was gone. Then he checked his watch. Quitting time.
Tomorrow would be another day.
To Be Continued...
