Part 6
Clark Kent sat typing studiously at his computer, his eyes intent and focused on the screen. To the untrained eye, he was calm, cool and collected, focusing on the task at hand – a reporter in the ‘Zone’, as it were. However, to look closer at him, you would notice that his breathing was just a little faster than normal, his eyes were blinking quite rapidly behind his glasses and every time they caught some flicker of movement they skittered shakily to the source of the disturbance and back again, quickly. His demeanour was that of a tense man, nervous and waiting for something to happen. An explosion, maybe. In fact, an explosion came nearest to describing the thing Clark Kent was waiting for.
Idiot. He had been such an idiot. He had been a *cowardly* idiot. He had been a cowardly, self-possessed, idiotic lunkhead who strongly needed to have his posterior kicked to Kansas and back again.
And he had an awful feeling that was about to happen.
He had become the kind of man he detested – one who did not care about anything, *anything*, except his own selfish desires and needs. Who let himself be carried away with the moment. Who let his desire and his selfish need for something that he could not find cloud his good judgement.
Claude. He was just another Claude.
Lois must hate him, he reflected miserably. Not only did he run out on her like a coward, but he also failed to get in touch with her for three whole months afterwards, leaving the inevitable moment of truth until a time when it would be almost impossible to bring the subject up without providing fodder for water-cooler discussions.
The new elevator ‘dinged’ and Clark’s head snapped up so sharply that he would have gotten whiplash had he been vulnerable. He watched the doors with apprehension, then sighed in relief as a balding middle-aged man with glasses appeared out of it. His shoulders slumped as he realised what he was doing. He was waiting for Lois to come in.
He was so pathetic.
He shook his head futilely, trying to get rid of his paranoia, and glanced around the office seeking some form of distraction.
It didn’t work.
The elevator dinged again and Clark’s head shot up faster than a speeding bullet, to stare directly at a very familiar brunette coming out of it, whose eyes were currently boring a hole in his skull.
Clark gulped.
As soon as she got out of the elevator she broke eye contact, instead maintaining a ramrod-straight posture as she strutted down into the bullpen as poised and elegant as any self-respecting model on the catwalk.
Clark groaned slightly. In the three months without seeing her, it had been easy to forget how beautiful she was, how being in the same building as her filled his senses with her heartbeat, her perfume, the scent of her shampoo. How the sight of her lodged itself in his mind and grew and grew until it pushed out all of the other thoughts out of his brain and took him over, completely and absolutely. The white suit she was wearing accentuated her hourglass figure, making Clark slightly dizzy at the same time. Her make-up was immaculate, bringing out the natural beauty of her face and her hair was longer than it had been the last time Clark had seen her – shoulder-length, glossy and beautiful. How he longed to run his fingers through that perfect silk, to hear her moan in response, to capture those full lips with his own, to feel her body melt into his the way it had the last time they had met...
She breezed past – breezed being the operative word – coolly, scanning the new bullpen appreciatively and quickly setting her briefcase down at a desk that was far enough away from Clark’s to ensure that if he wanted to say something without leaving his seat, he would have to call across the busy newsroom to be heard clearly. It was also conveniently close to Perry’s office. The gesture was as much a challenge as it was a snub.
He had to talk to her.
He had left it for far too long, he mused regretfully. He should have tried harder. Should have come to see her instead of just leaving messages on her machine. Should have begged her forgiveness at her feet. Should have, should have, should have. Seeing her like this, now, after being deprived for three months, was like a particularly exquisite torture – especially after what had happened the last time they had met. He could still feel those delectable lips under his, could still feel those precious, pure-spun-silk locks of hair fanning under his hand, could still feel her delicate, womanly frame crushed against his chest...
Could still hear the definitive bang of the door as it slammed shut behind him, as he ran out on probably the best thing that had ever happened to him in his life, outside of flying.
He needed to hear her voice. Castigation, sarcasm, frostiness, disparagement, scorn, disgust – he didn’t care what she said to him, as long as he could hear her voice again. Just once.
Dammit! Clark cursed his luck even as he closed his eyes and zeroed in on the terrified yell that was suddenly homing in to his special senses. He gave a hurried glance over at Lois, who was staring fixedly at her computer screen, then hurried out of the newsroom, tugging at his tie as he did so.
Getting to the self-same alley in which Lois had vanished that day so many months ago, he changed quickly into Superman and flew off, high above the rooftops of Metropolis. Where was the noise coming from? He spotted a building site and, using his extensive vision, spotted a construction worker falling from the scaffolding. Moving quickly, he grabbed the man just in time, slowing abruptly to land with both feet on the ground an instant later.
“You’ve just given new meaning to the phrase 'beam me down’” he remarked to the man, who looked at him in disbelief, apparently amazed to discover that Superman actually had a sense of humour. Clark sighed. Why did he bother?
He set the man on the pavement, checked to make sure he was okay, and was just about to fly off, back to the Planet, back to Lois, when a loud, arrogant voice broke into the scene.
“Well, isn't this just dandy. Superman saves the day again.”
Clark turned towards to the speaker, incredulous. Was that a hint of... sarcasm he had heard? People weren’t sarcastic to him – he was Superman, for heaven’s sake!
“Is there a problem?” he asked carefully, slightly worried. The man snorted.
“Yeah – you!”
Clark watched with a growing sense of dread as another construction worker stepped forward.
“What are you, nuts? Superman's the greatest!”
Phew. Inwardly, Clark smiled. This second guy would undoubtedly squash any doubts the former had about the integrity of the Man of Steel.
The inward smile froze as said passer-by turned back to him.
“Yeah? If you're so great, why didn't you save Lex Luthor?”
The crowd started to murmur, and Clark shifted uneasily. ‘Because the monster had me locked in a kryptonite cage in his basement,’ Clark shouted, while Superman stated uncomfortably, “I wanted to...”
The guy pounced.
“Wanted to? That's not good enough! Lex Luthor did a hell of a lot for this city and you let him die!”
Clark stared at the man, flabbergasted. What had he just said? Luthor did a lot for the city? Was he so blind as to actually believe that? How could he make such a ridiculous statement, especially after the fantastic exposure Luthor’s crimes had gotten?
And the second part? Clark had *wanted* to save Luthor, if only to throw him into jail in the next instant. He wasn’t so vindictive, so disgustingly sub-human as to actually stand back and watch as he plummeted to his death, no matter how much of a worm he had been throughout his miserable existence!
“There's more to it than you know. But believe me, I didn't want him to die,” Clark struggled. He was in trouble here unless he could somehow manage to talk himself out of the hole he was in. The crowd was beginning to turn ugly – he was getting an awful lot of dirty looks. Inexplicably, the majority of people seemed to be on the other guy’s side. He swallowed nervously. This was new territory – he had never been faced with this kind of attitude before. If things escalated, he could have a full-scale riot on his hands. People could get hurt.
“Why should I believe you? You're just some freak--in a blue suit!”
Clark winced.
That hurt.
He swallowed as he realised just how much that one hurt.
He shook his head, trying to get the obnoxious statement out of his head. This was just some... some nobody on a power trip, out to get the Man of Steel.
Around him, the crowd had begun to argue amongst themselves.
“I think you save who you want to save! You call yourself Superman but you think you're SuperGod!”
The irrepressible pedestrian had stuck again, and once more, he had left Clark dumbfounded. What was he supposed to say to that?
The babble of noise around him increased in volume. Clark eyed the crowd members. Likely they would resort to fisticuffs if he didn’t get out of there, soon...
He sprang into the air and flew a couple of hundred metres in the air. Squinting at the crowd below, he was relieved to notice that they were beginning to disperse. A few people still hovered around, yelling insults about cowardly superheroes, and people who ran away from a sticky situation, and how fitting the colour yellow was on his uniform – just, it seemed, to aggravate him. Well, he wouldn’t let them. He was stronger than that.
He hovered in mid-air, frowning. What had that been all about? That was the first time he had met with any kind of hostility while wearing the suit – apart from when he had been dealing with Luthor, that is.
He shook himself suddenly. He had to stop obsessing. He had a job to do, he needed to hurry back to the Planet, get some work done...
...and talk to Lois.
* * * * * * * * *
Lois poured herself a large cup of coffee, trying desperately to keep her hand from trembling. Whether with anger, or fear, she didn’t know.
He had been here when she arrived.
She had gotten up extra-early, skipped breakfast, sped through two red lights and parked on an illegal zone, because she couldn’t spot any other spaces close to the Planet, all so she would be in before him. It would have given her power, given her the ability to ignore him completely, given her a status of superiority. But it hadn’t worked.
He had been there when she arrived.
Her hand trembled slightly and she dropped the coffee jug hastily on the counter, before she scalded herself. She shook her head wryly. She was such a mess.
She looked around for the creamer, and sighed in irritation as she located it, on top of the fridge. Neanderthals. All she wanted was a decent cup of coffee – one, whole, caffeine substance to get her through the morning. Not this. She didn’t need this.
She glanced around, trying to locate the guilty party, and spotted Betty, the Planet’s new gossip columnist nearby, taking a drink. Casually stirring her sweetener into the mug, Lois murmured off-handedly -
“You know, if you're going to use the creamer, it'd be nice if you put it back in the refrigerator when you're done.”
Betty turned around, revealing that she was drinking a bottle of orange juice. Lois blushed.
“Oh. Sorry.”
She put the offending creamer back in the fridge and closed the door... just a little too hard. She took a breath. She desperately needed to loosen up.
Strolling down into the bullpen, she was about to take a sip of the long-awaited, well-deserved coffee, when an intrusive male voice charged into her line of hearing. She half-turned, wondering what argument could possibly cause a reporter other than herself to lose their temper so audibly.
“If you ask me Superman isn't the hero he used to be. Lex Luthor may have had his faults, but Superman should have saved him.”
Faults? Lois snorted in irritation. The idiot didn’t have a clue what he was rabbiting on about. She stared at the woman he was with, willing her to squash him flat. Come on, girl!
“Are you, nuts? Luthor was a lowlife, scum-sucking criminal. How could anyone... like... that... guy?”
Not that flat, honey. The woman had noticed that Lois was in the vicinity just a moment too late, and was now looking like somebody had tried to stuff twenty pounds of cold squid down her throat.
“Oh...sorry, Lois,” she tried sheepishly. Lois gave her one more waspish glare and then turned her back disdainfully. She did not *need* to be constantly reminded of her ex-fiancé’s many transgressions and crimes against humanity – she had been torturing herself enough as it was.
A broadsheet appeared under Lois’ nose and she sniffed haughtily. The Metropolis Star? A rag that was more useful wrapping old fish than it was for any kind of entertainment.
“Hey Lois, did you see this poll in the Star? Twenty percent of the people in Metropolis are anti-Superman.”
She sighed fondly. Jimmy. She should have known. The kid had a lot to learn about what made a good newspaper.
“Jimmy, what are you reading that rag for?” she scolded lightly as the second part of what he had said kicked in. What was that poll?
She grabbed the paper and eyed it in disbelief. Twenty per cent? Anti... anti Superman? Surely not!
“What is wrong with people?” she threw at Jimmy over her shoulder, trying to get her head around what was written down in clear black and white in front of her.
“What's really weird is when they asked *why* they didn't like Superman, half the people couldn't even give a specific reason,” Jimmy continued. Lois snorted in exasperation. For goodness sake – two-thirds of half the world’s statistics were made up on the spot. She shouldn’t take any value out of these stupid polls.
“I swear, we're witnessing the dumbing down of America. People with opinions who have no idea why they even *have* an opinion,” she threw back at Jimmy carelessly, rolling her eyes.
A loud beep issued itself from her computer, and she stared at it, aghast. Surely there wasn’t something wrong with it – a brand-new computer?
“What is that?” she asked Jimmy, concerned. At his shrug, she turned back to it, now more worried than before. If *Jimmy*, the Planet’s resident computer genius, couldn’t figure it out, then...
“You know, when they remodelled they should have given us an instruction manual for all this new stuff,” she told him worriedly, still searching for the source of the annoying beep.
Another voice broke into her mind, and she turned to see a bespectacled staffer that she knew vaguely as Al gaze at her intently.
“That's a fax coming in on your computer. They all have fax modem now.”
Lois, annoyed that somebody had been eavesdropping on her private conversation, snapped – “Be nice if somebody put out a memo.”
But the irrepressible Al piped up again – “They did. Check your E mail.”
Lois narrowed her eyes.
“Nobody's shown me how to retrieve my E mail.”
The guy was evidently annoyed at getting his head bitten off so many times, because he walked off while saying “There's a fax on your computer explaining it.”
Lois threw up her hands in frustration. Idiots. Everybody in the building was an idiot except for her. She was the only sane patient in the asylum. Just like always. That was why nobody understood her. Because she was too smart. Smart, and alone, and staring blankly into space.
Jimmy, who had been watching her expressions in obvious amusement, grinned, “Looks like it's rush hour on the Super Information Highway.”
“Yeah, and I'm stuck in a techno traffic jam...”
“What’s this about traffic jams?”
Lois closed her eyes and swallowed. She knew that voice. Dammit, she knew that voice.
Clark.
“Jimmy, did you hear something?”
The young photographer, caught off balance by the sudden change in the conversation, fumbled.
“Umm...that’s...that would be...”
“I thought not. Gee, the acoustics must be really bad in here – I was *certain* that I heard something...”
“Lois...”
“There it is again. I’m hearing voices... Jimmy, this is never good.”
“Lois...”
Lois jerked around, bumping sharply into Clark as she did so, and stuttering – “Why, I’m sorry – I didn’t see you there.” Having delivered her barb, she cut neatly across him and walked across the newsroom and into the Ladies.
Clark glanced at Jimmy. His friend had a quizzical look on his face. Clark smiled weakly.
“She’s... rehearsing for a play,” he tried weakly, and swung abruptly around, heading for his desk, where he could shrink into Diligent Reporter and hide his flaming face and injured ego.
* * * * * * * * *
And many thanks to Saskia, who read this recently and sent me some wonderful fdk. Get well soon! 
