Chapter 10.
Lois awoke, disoriented. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or how she'd gotten there. Then she recognised the quilt that was covering her; it had been on Clark's bed as long as she'd known him. In fact, from its general appearance she was willing to bet that Martha had made it to cover Clark's bed when he still lived in Smallville.
Memory of the night before came flooding back and she smiled. She'd slept in Clark's bed before but never with him in it. Ever the gentleman, he'd slept on top of the covers but his presence had been comforting nonetheless.
A muffled mild curse from the kitchenette turned her smile into a grin. So, even Superman cursed sometimes. She slid out of the bed and padded into the kitchenette.
Clark was sitting at the counter, pen in hand, surrounded by screwed up balls of paper.
“Clark? What's wrong?”
He turned at the sound of her voice. One eye was still puffy and the skin around it had gone a sickly greenish purple.
“Morning.” His welcoming smile was replaced by an anxious look. “I didn't wake you, did I?”
She shook her head, trying to suppress a yawn.
“There's coffee.” He pointed to the coffeepot that sat next to the sink. She poured herself a cup, adding the low fat creamer and sugar substitute she preferred. Knowing he liked his coffee with milk and real sugar, she doubted he kept the brands she liked as a matter of course. He must have gone out early today and bought them. It was a typically 'Clark' gesture.
She studied him as she took a first, cautious sip of her coffee. From the way he was holding himself, she could tell his ribs were hurting. He'd taken the time to dress for work, though his jacket was draped over the back of the stool he was sitting on, and his still damp hair was standing on end like he'd dragged his hand through it. As she watched, he did just that.
“What's all this?” She gestured to the scattered balls of paper.
He put down the pen he was holding. “Trying to write a statement for Henderson. Superman certainly isn't going anywhere today. Not like this.”
She nodded. Superman couldn't be seen with a black eye; if anyone saw both Clark and Superman with black eyes, it would be much too easy for someone to connect the two. He could at least attempt to hide the current lack of his powers, but a black eye was too distinctive. Putting her cup down on the counter, she leaned over Clark's shoulder to read what he'd written. She made a face.
“I know, it's too formal.”
“Yeah, but that's a good thing.”
He gave her a look.
“When you're being Superman, you speak more formally,” she pointed out. “You don't sound like Clark. This - this sounds like Superman. Although” she continued thoughtfully “can you type this out or something? Your handwriting is too similar.”
“Henderson's seen Superman's handwriting before.”
“Yeah, but side by side with Clark's?”
He rose awkwardly. “You're right.”
“Feeling better?”
“Better than yesterday.” He went over and started rifling through the closet, finally extracting an old laptop and printer. “Got it.”
Lois looked at it dubiously. “Does that thing still work?”
“Sure.”
…
With Superman's statement typed up, signed and sealed in a large envelope, Lois and Clark detoured past Lois' hotel room for her to shower and change before arriving at the precinct where, with the cooperation of the Surete Nationale, Inspector Henderson had set up temporary headquarters. There, they gave their statements separately to an English-speaking officer before sitting down to wait for Henderson.
Finally, they were ushered into the office that Henderson had commandeered for his own use.
The laconic detective was sitting behind a cheap wooden desk, his usual non-committal expression in place.
“Lane. Kent. Even on another continent, I still come across you two.”
“If it wasn't for us, you wouldn't be here” Lois pointed out. Clark hid a smile. On the surface, Lois' relationship with William Henderson was barely civil, but he knew that sniping at each other was a cover for the grudging respect that existed between them. It was when they started being nice to each other that he, Clark, started to worry.
“I've got a few questions for you.”
Clark nodded. “Before we start, this was slipped under my door overnight.” He handed Henderson the envelope containing Superman's statement. Henderson took it, turning it over and checking the seal.
“Where did he go?”
Clark shrugged, preferring not to say anything and thus lie directly to the police.
Henderson gave him a penetrating look, then laid the envelope aside, still unopened. He picked up a notepad and pen.
“So how did you two get caught up in all of this? Particularly you, Lane?”
Seated in front of Henderson's desk, Lois and Clark exchanged glances.
“Clark stumbled onto the art treasures from Metropolis going missing and called me in” Lois explained. “I wrote the original story, you see.”
“Uh huh. So you just happened to be in Paris. How did you run across Luthor?”
“Luthor was behind the art thefts,” Clark spoke up. “We found two separate connections - one here and one in Austria. That's when I called you, Bill. I told Superman and we came to Paris, looking for Lois. By the time we found her, it was too late - Luthor had her. He trapped us too.”
“So he held all three of you hostage?” Henderson looked up from his notes. “Then what happened?”
Lois took up the story. “The next day, Luthor came back. He took me -”
“How -”
Clark cut Henderson off. “Henri held a gun to her head,” he said bitterly
“So who shot Michaud?”
“Michaud?” Clark queried.
“The dead guy was a Henri Michaud. Muscle for hire. Got a rap sheet as long as my arm.”
“Luthor shot him, for threatening Lois. Then he took off, with Lois.”
“Why didn't you or Superman report Henri's death, Kent?”
“Come on, Henderson -” Lois started.
Clark broke in heatedly. “You know as well as I do that if we'd reported his death we would've spent hours being questioned. Meanwhile, Luthor had Lois and was getting further away from Paris. Even if we had reported it and let the police search for Lois, we had no idea what kind of car they were in and only a general idea of where they were headed. Would you have let someone kidnap your partner?”
Henderson raised an eyebrow at Clark's uncharacteristic loss of temper.
“Cool it, Kent. I had to ask.”
In a clipped voice Clark continued. “We caught up to them on the road between Geneva and Chamonix. There was a struggle; Luthor tried to push Superman over the cliff and lost his balance.”
“Now you tell us something,” Lois put in. “How come we weren't warned that Lex was out of prison?”
She was startled by the grim expression that came over the dour inspector's face. “Off the record? The two reporters exchanged glances, then agreed. “We didn't know. You know the prison on Strykers Island was privatised early this year.”
Lois nodded - she'd written a small piece about it.
“One day there was a fire in the cell Luthor shared with three other inmates, and a prisoner was killed. The other three were accounted for, so the security company made sure the general descriptions matched and wrote Luthor off as dead. It was three days later before anyone thought to compare dental records and two weeks after that before the security company notified Metropolis PD. First we heard of it was the day you called, Clark.”
“Who was killed?”
“One of the firefighters. A Justin Vermeer.”
“So what's happening with the security company?” Lois asked.
“Their contract is being reviewed.”
Henderson flipped the notepad he'd been using closed and stood up, offering his hand over the desk.
“Thanks for coming in. Oh, and one more thing. When you see Superman, tell him I took care of the rocks.”
They prepared to leave.
Clark paused at the door. “The missing artworks... You might want to check the container yard. It's registered to Carlin Imports.” Henderson raised an eyebrow in query. “Luthor's ex-wife, the one that tried to frame Lois? Her name was Ariana Carlin.”
…
“What does Henderson do with it?” Lois asked once they were safely back in the rental car.
Lost in his own thoughts, Clark didn't reply.
“Earth to Clark.” Lois sounded amused. “What does Henderson do with the Kryptonite?”
“Oh. He sends it to Dr Klein at STAR Labs. The other piece he sent is in their high-security vault,” Clark replied absently.
Lois put her hand on his arm, stopping him from pulling away from the kerb. “Clark, what is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Something's bothering you, I can tell. You lost your temper with Henderson back there, which is not like you, and now you don't seem worried about what happens with the Kryptonite.” She paused. “Is it Lex? I know you tried to save him -”
“That's not it.” He sighed. “Okay, that's part of it. I've missed rescues before, Lois. And it's always ... hard. I hate seeing people die and I always end up second guessing myself. Could I have saved them if I'd been just a second faster, or done something just a little bit differently? I know I can't save everybody. You taught me that.” He gave her the ghost of a smile. “But still ... it's not easy.” He swallowed against the memories of the plane crash he'd covered in Brussels just before Lois came to Paris, the pitiful, broken bodies tumbled on the hillside ... “It's different this time. I'm ... not sorry he's dead.”
He hated admitting that to Lois. Although he'd never understood why, Lex Luthor was someone that she'd once cared for enough to marry, and the last thing he wanted to do was cause her pain.
She snorted, taking him aback. “I'm not sorry he's dead either.” She saw the surprise on his face. “Clark, he kidnapped you and almost killed you, twice. He kidnapped me. If you hadn't come, he would've locked me away.”
“I would have found you,” Clark stated. He would've searched nonstop until he did.
“I know, but what would he have done in the meantime?” He saw a shudder run through her petite frame and wondered what Luthor had threatened her with. Luthor's controlling tendencies had been strong two years ago and had developed into full-blown obsession since then.
“Plus he's destroyed countless lives. No, I'm not sorry he's dead Clark. I'm glad.”
He grinned at her, oddly relieved that he wasn't the only one feeling the same way.
“Come on, partner. We've got a story to write.”
...
Joe Patterson was worried.
It had been two days since Superman's surprise visit to the Planet offices. Two days without any reported sightings of the superhero - Joe had been surreptitiously checking the wires, just in case. And two days since anyone had heard from Lois Lane. Anxiously he picked at his bottom lip in a nervous habit he'd had from childhood. He was going to have to call Perry White and tell him that he'd lost Perry's best reporter, a duty that Joe didn't relish in the slightest.
As if those two circumstances weren't enough, Clark Kent had gone AWOL from Vienna and no one had seen any trace of him either. His disappearance didn't tally with what Joe knew of the younger man. Granted, he'd only known Kent for six months or so but in that time he'd proven himself to be extremely conscientious.
Joe sighed as the elevator jerked to a stop. He'd have to call Kent's parents too.
Lost in his depressing thoughts, Joe stepped out when the elevator doors opened ... and stopped.
Seated at one of the correspondent’s desks, Clark leaning over her shoulder, was Lois Lane.
Joe stared for a moment, then rushed towards them.
“Clark! Lois! Where have you two been?!” he exclaimed.
Clark straightened up slowly and looked at his editor at the same time as Lois spun her chair towards him. Joe did a double take at Clark's black eye and the bruise that was discolouring Lois' cheek.
“What happened to you two?” he asked, shocked.
“We were kidnapped, Joe,” Clark explained.
“So Superman was right! What happened?”
Clark looked around, spotting the small knot of people that was edging closer while trying to appear studiously casual.
“Can we talk about this in your office?”
…
Joe watched them as they settled into the chairs in front of his desk, noting Clark's careful movements and barely concealed wince as he lowered himself onto his seat.
“You sure you should be here? You look a little worse for wear.”
“It’s nothing ... some bruising,” Clark explained.
Lois snorted but didn't comment.
Joe didn't push the issue, depending instead on his reporter's own assessment of his ability to work.
“Mind telling me what happened?”
Lois and Clark exchanged a look that he couldn't quite decipher before launching into a retelling of everything that had happened in the previous two days.
“So then we rented a car and came back to Paris” Clark finished a few minutes later.
“Uh huh.” Joe leaned forward in his chair, planting his elbows on the desk. “Anything else you want to tell me?”
Clark shot another glance at Lois before replying with a completely straight face. “Like what, Joe?”
Privately Joe applauded the younger man for his ability and determination not to let a secret slip. He suspected that Clark Kent was in fact hiding more than most people, but in this instance he needed to clear the air.
Lowering his voice, he explained. “I know about Kryptonite.”
“What do you know?” Lois asked.
“That it exists. And what it does to Superman.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And from Superman's ... absence ... from your story, I'm guessing that Luthor had some.”
Again the reporters exchanged looks, and Joe found himself wondering how Perry White dealt with their evident ability to communicate without letting anyone else know what they were thinking.
“Yes, he had it.” Lois finally admitted.
“And you want me to leave that part out?” Joe asked. “Why do I get the feeling that this isn't the first time you two have left it out of a story?” He paused. “On second thoughts, I don't think I want to hear the answer to that. You two were part of this; are you going to be okay to write the story?”
Clark and Lois nodded in unison.
“Okay. Get going.” He gestured for them to leave his office and picked up the mock-up of the afternoon edition's front page that he'd been working on before he'd gone out for coffee. Thinking better of it, he dropped the mock-up again and picked up the phone. For a story like this, he was going to need more advertising.
...
Lois yawned and stretched muscles cramped from being at the computer for hours.
“It's getting late,” Clark observed. “Are you almost done?”
She held up one finger, stalling him while she put the finishing touches on the story. With a triumphant expression, she hit 'save' and sent it to Joe for editing. Clark suppressed a grin and held out her coat.
“Come on.”
She looked up in surprise. “Clark, we don't have time -”
“Lois. We've had two front page stories in as many editions and you just sent the third one to Joe. In case you haven't noticed, it's night time out there. I think we could both use a break.” Persuasively, he added “And you haven't seen much of Paris...”
She stood and allowed him to help her into her coat. “So, where are we going?”
“You'll see.”
...
As they got out of the cab midway along the Champ de Mars, Lois looked around her in wonder. At night, the gardens were lit and the overall effect was incredibly beautiful. Then Clark touched her gently on the arm and pointed. Lois turned - and gasped.
At the river end of the Champ de Mars, the Eiffel Tower rose over the city. At this hour, the graceful tower was brightly but tastefully lit, illuminating the iron latticework.
“No visit to Paris is complete without visiting the Eiffel Tower,” Clark told her.
She slid her hand into his. “It's incredible,” she breathed.
“This is one of my favourite places in Paris,” he explained. They walked up the green expanse of the Champ de Mars towards the famous tower and stopped near one of its legs.
“Can we go up? Or is it too late?” Lois asked.
Clark grinned and produced two tickets from his pocket.
“So that's where you went earlier!”
Excitedly she grabbed his hand, leading him towards the tower entry.
Standing on the second level of the tower, gazing out at Paris, she leant back against him.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Clark.”
“You're welcome, Lois.” He wrapped one arm around her waist. “I just wish we had more time; I'd show you all my favourite places in Paris.”
She sighed and turned away from the view, facing him. “What are we going to do, Clark? I go back to Metropolis in two days.”
“I don't know,” he said sadly. “I wish I could go with you -”
“Why can't you?”
“I have responsibilities here, Lois. I can't just walk away from my job -”
“You hate your job” she pointed out.
“I don't hate it. It's not what I'd prefer to be doing, but I don't hate it.”
“So where does that leave us?”
He reached out and cupped her face, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb. “I will be there as often as I can, Lois. So often you'll probably get sick of me.”
“But not always.” she stated.
He let his hand drop. “No. At least, not yet.”
She shivered and turned away.
“I think I'd like to go back to my hotel now.”
...
“I told her I'd be there as often as I could.”
“But you didn't say you'd move back to Metropolis.” Disapproval coloured Martha Kent's tone even through the phone line and Clark could almost picture the expression on his mom's face. He paced backwards and forwards in the confines of his apartment.
“No. I didn't know what else to say, Mom. I can't promise her that I'll move back to Metropolis. I've only been in Europe for six months, and I just don't know if they'll let me transfer again so soon.” He flopped down on the end of the bed, ignoring the twinge from his tightly strapped ribs.
“Have you asked, son?” Jonathan Kent wanted to know
“No. At least, not yet. I haven't exactly had time.”
“Then how do you know you can't move back?”
“I don't. Look, I'm going to talk to Joe about it tomorrow. I'll call you tomorrow night.”
“Okay, son. Glad you're all right.”
“Thanks, Dad. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Clark.” Martha chimed in.
“Night Mom. Night Dad.”
