Lois marched into Perry's office at a quarter till seven. “I need to see you, Chief.”
Surprised, Perry nodded and motioned to a chair in front of his desk. “It's – interesting to see you up so early, Lois. Do you always dress like a young male high school dropout at this time of day?”
I have to say, Terry, that I really like seeing Lois dress up as a male in the pursuit of a story. She did that on the show, but she hardly ever does it in fanfiction. Of course, it is a foolhardy and supremely dangerous thing to do, because if she gets caught - which seems like a distinct possibility - no one will be able to miss the fact that she is there to spy. But I just like the spunk and death-defying chutzpah of the whole thing. Typical Lois Lane! (And who knows, maybe she will be even more willing to try the death-defying things now that she is depressed about Lana's death. But you know that I so dearly hope that you will not let Lois join Lana on the other side of the grave, Terry.)
She smiled past her mustache. “You know that new gofer you have, Jimmy, the short guy with the high squeaky voice and funky hair?”
“Yes.”
“He knows how. He taught me to boost a car.”
“He does, does he? How does he know?”
“Reform school.” She shrugged as Perry turned his head to one side. “He said it was a bum rap.”
The things you tell us about Jimmy, Terry!
His eyebrows went up and he leaned forward on his elbows. “And when did he have time to impart this knowledge to you?”
“From about four o'clock this morning till just a few minutes ago.”
Perry nodded. “I see. Have you, uh, put your new-found knowledge to the acid test yet?”
She grinned. “Nope. I was hoping you'd let me practice on your BMW.”
Chutzpah! Yes!
“What?” His face lost all expression. “My new BMW? Lois, are you nuts?”
“No, I've thought it all out. I can't be arrested for auto theft if I have your permission to take the car, and my Jeep's too pedestrian to use for bait, but if I show up at the chop shop with Perry White's new Beemer, it'll impress them and zip – I'm in.”
Well, someone has to try to find out about those carjackers with kryptonite.
He pointed two fingers and locked eyes with her. “You be careful, young lady!”
She nodded soberly. “I promise, Chief.” She moved towards the office door.
“You'd better be. I can't afford to replace that car.”
Hmmm. Well, that's a gruff sweet way of saying 'I love you'.
“I have to do this by myself. I can't be dependent on Clark Kent for the rest of my life. I have to stand on my own two feet, or I'll never be complete within myself.” She relaxed slightly. “I can't let him be my healing.”
He nodded. “So this is about self-respect?”
“The part about not wanting Clark involved is. The rest of it is just being an investigative reporter.”
Interesting. I sympathize with her need to be independent. And in this particualr case, if the carjackers have kryptonite, Clark may be more of a hindrance than a help.
Clark stepped off the elevator at five minutes before eight. He chided himself for checking for Lois before he checked for anyone else, and then felt a pang of disappointment as he realized she wasn't there. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her that he'd felt something when he'd been holding her in the doctor's office, that she'd managed to touch his heart. He didn't know how, he didn't know why, he didn't know if she felt anything for him in return, but he felt the need to talk to her about how he felt about her, even if he himself didn't fully understand how he felt about her.
Interesting, Terry. So Clark really, really feels something for Lois.
“Have you seen Lois Lane today?”
Clark was surprised when the young man's face blanked out. “Uh, well, I haven't seen her in the office today, no.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Clark shook his head, considered the young man's odd behavior, then shrugged and stuck his head in Perry's office. “Hey, Chief, have you seen Lois this morning?”
Perry didn't meet Clark's gaze. “She's on assignment. Be gone all day today, probably tomorrow, too.”
I love how you write this!
“Olsen! Get moving! Take the tux and the blue suit to the cleaners, and pick up my laundry! My wife's coming home from her trip tonight and I need my clothes done!”
Oh, the life of a gofer!
That little scene between Paula and Clark was interesting. Clark stood up to Paula, and she respected him. Terry, I wonder. Why did you pair Clark with Paula? Are you planning a romance between them? But Paula isn't quite Clark's type, is she? Smoking in the office where smoking is not allowed, and being unsteady on her feet - would Clark fall for that?
Before he'd typed another word, however, Lois's voice cut through his musings.
“Perry! I got it!”
He snapped his head around and looked for her, but all he saw was a slender young man with a thin mustache, wearing a baseball cap and striding down the bullpen ramp. He made a beeline to Perry's office and pushed the door open. Clark caught a glimpse of a bruised cheek and a couple of scraped knuckles on his right hand before –
He recognized the scar on that hand.
That wasn't a young man.
It was Lois.
I love how you write this.
“Doing your job doesn't include deliberately risking your life!”
“Well, it may have been somewhat inconsiderate of them, but these guys didn't make an appointment to come see me and confess!”
“You could have been hurt!”
She pointed to her face. “I was hurt! See? And my hand is swollen and I'm going to need your help on rewrite and an ice bag, but I got the story!”
I love how unfazed she is about those moderately bad injuries, because she is so elated at having got the story!
“No story is worth your life!”
Her expression turned stormy. “As if I need you to tell me that! I know what it is to risk my life on the job – “
“And do you know what it is to leave people behind? People who will mourn for you? People who will never stop missing you?”
Hmmm. This sounds as if it might have been taken from one of our deathfic debates....
“I know, I know, you were chasing the story! Great! But you gotta learn when to back off and let the story mature! You got hurt a little and got away with it. Don't think it'll happen every time.”
She rubbed her raw knuckles. “If you think I'm roughed up, Chief, you ought to see the other guy. You should have heard him whine when I kicked his – when I kicked him. I thought he was going to cry.”
Clark lifted his hands in the air and let them drop. Perry held her stare for a moment, then sighed deeply. “You – Look, Lois, will you promise to be more careful next time?”
“Of course. Clark's going with me.”
Now she wants Clark! Talk about mercurial!
“Hello?”
“This is Cat Grant.”
“Yes, Ms. Grant. You have something for me?”
Cat's conscience kicked her hard. “Uh, yeah. Lois Lane just came in.”
Irritation crackled through the electronic distortion. “I hope you have more than Miss Lane's daily itinerary.”
“I do! She was just talking to someone at the police department, someone named Bill, like she expects something to happen very soon.”
“How soon?”
“I don't know. Hours, maybe a couple of days, maybe a week at the outside.”
“That's not very precise, Ms. Grant. Can't you tell me anything else?”
She almost said, Lois was dressed up like a guy and she looked like she'd been in a fight. But something held her back. “No, I'm sorry, that's all I have.”
This is so creepy. Cat is reporting to someone - Luthor? Bill Church? - and she informs this person that Lois has been talking to the police. But I was so glad that she didn't tell whoever she was talking to that Lois had been masquerading as a man, and that she had been in a fight.
The voice sighed. “That's not very much.”
“Look, I called! You said to call if I heard or saw anything!”
“That I did. Very well, your parents have a few more days of continued safety.”
“Wh-what about my marker? You said – “
“You know the ground rules, Ms. Grant. Your parents are the guarantee of your loyalty and continued service. You keep in touch with me or I shall be forced to take the return on my investment out of them, with interest.”
“But you – “ she stopped when she realized the line was dead.
Cat closed the phone and drew in a shuddering breath. This couldn't go on, not forever. And she knew that her mysterious “benefactor” knew it too. Sometime, somewhere down the line, was a moment when she wouldn't be able to betray her friends and co-workers any more, and she knew that when that moment came her life wouldn't be worth a cheap nightgown. Until then, she'd learn what she could, make those terrifying calls, and tell whoever she was talking to only as little or as much as she dared.
She picked up a pad of notebook paper and hoped that there wasn't anyone else in the office making the same call.
What an awful situation! But at least you have made me respect the way Cat deals with it, at least so far.
Ann
