Chapter 11
Lois barely saw Clark the next day.
When she arrived at the Planet, there was a cup of steaming coffee and a chocolate croissant on her desk, along with a note saying he'd gone to help retrieve Luthor's body. She winced at the inference that he'd have to recover the body personally, but took heart from the fact that his powers had apparently returned.
She settled into her chair and sipped at the coffee gratefully. Having coffee waiting for her when she got to work was something she'd missed in Clark's absence ... and was something she'd have to go without when she went home. She sighed. Intellectually she recognised the justice of Clark's argument from the night before. He couldn't just drop everything and return to Metropolis simply because she wanted him to. He had a job, commitments, a life, here in Europe. Was it selfish of her to want him to come back to Metropolis?
Maybe it was, but she loved him and wanted to be with him, not have him stuck in another country. And she dreaded returning to an existence that had become empty and achingly lonely. Even waking up by herself this morning had felt lonely. She snorted mentally. She'd spent almost every night of her twenty eight years alone by choice without feeling lonely in the least, but somehow that had changed after two nights spent with Clark - one of which had been spent on the hard floor of a shipping container.
Lois shook her head to clear it. She had a flight to Metropolis in the morning and these reflections weren't helping to get the story written.
...
When Clark got back to the newsroom, he found Lois surrounded by piles of notes, concentrating on the computer screen to the exclusion of anything else, and approached her with trepidation. She'd been angry with him last night, and Lois certainly knew how to hold a grudge.
She had a right to her anger, he acknowledged, and the coffee and pastry he'd left her this morning had been in the nature of a peace offering.
“Lois?”
She held up one finger without taking her eyes from the screen or stopping her typing. He waited, amused, recognising the signs of Lois Lane in full reporter mode.
Finally she came to the end of her paragraph and looked up, concern in her eyes.
“How was it?”
He shrugged, unwilling to put the experience into words. It wasn't the first body recovery he'd performed, and it wasn't the worst. Actually it had been better than most, as the cold of the alpine pass had helped slow the process of decomposition. Even so, when he'd gotten back to Paris he'd showered until the hot water had run out and he thought he could still smell a trace of the stench of death.
“Superman took Luthor's body to the morgue in Chamonix. I got a statement from the police.” He half sat on her desk. “Maybe we can run it as a sidebar.” He paused. “Lois, about last night -”
“Clark! Call for you on line 2!” a copyboy called from across the bullpen.
He sighed, standing and picking up the phone. “Clark Kent.”
He listened for a minute, and then put the phone down.
“Henderson wants one of us at the container yard” he told Lois.
“Go. I'm not finished here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go.” She waved her hand in the general direction of the elevators.
...
Clark watched while Henderson and his team executed a search warrant on the Carlin Imports yard, using bolt cutters to break the locks on container after container and find ... nothing. As the calls of 'vide!' echoed through the yard, the expression on Henderson's face became more and more closed off. Finally, the second to last container was opened and an excited babble broke out. Gesturing for Clark to follow him, Henderson broke through the line of French policemen to see what they'd found.
Several crates were stacked at one end of the container. Henderson motioned for an officer to come forward with the pry bar he was holding and gently lever the lid off one of the wooden crates. The officer looked up and tersely nodded to Henderson.
“Come take a look.” Henderson invited.
Clark and Henderson stepped up into the container and looked into the crate.
“I'm no art expert, but that looks like the Mona Lisa to me,” Henderson remarked.
After meeting with Henderson and his team, watching while they searched the Carlin Imports yard and finally getting the statements he needed to write the story when the missing artworks were uncovered, by the time Clark returned to the Planet, the sun was setting The newsroom was almost empty, most of the day staff having left and the night staff not yet starting to arrive. There were a few exceptions, including Lois, who was still almost buried under piles of notes that seemed to have gotten even bigger in his absence. He gave her a quick wave before tapping on Joe's office door.
“Joe? Do you have a minute?”
The editor dropped the pen he was holding and leaned back in his chair, swivelling it from side to side.
“Let me guess. You want a transfer back to Metropolis.”
The shock Clark felt must have shown on his face, because Joe continued. “I know you think I'm not as perceptive as Perry White.” He tilted his head in acknowledgement of his own limitations. “And maybe I'm not. But before I approved your transfer to this bureau, I asked around about you. Everyone I asked gave me the same answer. Dedicated. Intelligent. A damn fine writer. Outgoing. Friendly.”
He paused. “You're definitely dedicated. I've never had another reporter that needed so little time between assignments. I also agree with intelligent and you're one helluva writer. But outgoing and friendly? I would've said civil and courteous at best.” He leaned forward. “Tell the truth, I thought you were running from something. And then Lois Lane arrived, and it was like someone turned on the lights.” He paused again. “Is this really what you want, Kent? You haven't been here very long.”
“Yes, it is.”
Joe was quiet for a few moments, almost an eternity in Joe Patterson time.
“As much as I hate to see you go, I'll approve your transfer back to Metropolis. But on two conditions. You have to get Perry White's approval and I need you to go back to Vienna.”
Clark looked at him blankly.
“The summit? Remember? It's got another three days to run.” He paused, considering. “Lois flies out tomorrow morning, right?”
Clark nodded.
“So, go see travel, book a flight back to Vienna for tomorrow.” He looked back down at the article he'd been editing when Clark entered, clearly dismissing Clark. He looked back up before Clark had a chance to leave. “And let me know howit goes with Perry White.”
“I will, Joe. And ...Thanks.”
Joe waved a hand, his attention firmly on the piece in front of him. As Clark closed the door, he saw Joe pick up his pen and cross out a few lines, muttering to himself.
Grinning happily, Clark threaded his way through the desks. Lois was typing rapidly, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Lois. Lo-is.”
Finally he got her attention by putting his hand on her shoulder. She looked up abstractedly.
“Oh, you're back. What did Henderson want?”
“Oh, nothing much. Just to give us the exclusive on the recovery of the missing artworks,” he said, not bothering to conceal the triumph he felt. He half sat on the edge of her desk. “How's the story coming?”
“They found them? Where?”
“In the Carlin Imports yards, all crated up and ready to be shipped who-knows-where.” He paused, wanting to share what Joe had told him. “I wanted to tell you -”
He was interrupted by Joe himself coming out of his office.
“Lois! Clark! I need that piece on the retrieval of Luthor's body in fifteen minutes!”
Clark slid off Lois' desk. “Well, guess I'd better get to work.”
Clark settled behind the desk he'd been using and flicked back through his notes. On second thought, he decided not to tell Lois about Joe's offer until he'd cleared things with Perry. The last thing he wanted to do was raise her hopes if Perry didn't have a job for him after all. He'd call Perry as soon as he got a chance, but right now, he had articles to write. Glancing around, he checked that no one was watching and shifted into super-speed, working at the absolute limit of what the computer's processor and the keyboard could handle. He'd burnt out more than one computer over the years, trying to rush things.
The sidebar Joe had requested was quickly finished and he was deep into the exclusive Henderson had given them when he felt a touch on his shoulder. He sat back in his chair.
“What do you think?”
Lois leaned over his shoulder and scanned the article.
“How did you get this done so fast?” She was silent for a beat, obviously rethinking what she'd said. Quietly, she went on “You use your super-speed here? Aren't you afraid you're going to get caught?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off.
“What am I saying? You probably do this all the time and no one even notices, am I right?”
He chuckled. “It's second nature... I just have to pick my moments.”
“Your life is so weird,” she commented.
Pointing to the computer screen, she tapped a paragraph.
“I'd reword this.”
Obediently he rewrote the offending paragraph, looking to her for approval. She read the new version and pulled a face. With a sigh, Clark stood and offered her his chair, taking his accustomed place behind her.
…
It was more than an hour later when they finally finished the story, and later still when Joe stuck his head out of his office and dismissed them for the night. Lois stood up and stretched, then went back to her desk and started emptying out the drawer. She tucked all of her belongings into her bag, and then attempted a bright smile at Clark. With a grave expression on his face, he held out her coat so she could shrug into it.
“Ready to go?”
“I'll just go say goodbye to Joe.”
He nodded, still unsmiling.
Lois tapped on the editor's door.
“Joe?”
He looked up and gestured for her to enter.
“I was just coming to say goodbye. I've got a flight back to Metropolis in the morning.”
He stood and rounded the desk, offering her his hand to shake. “Thank you for coming out here. You and Clark have done some great work.” He grinned. “I just hope that being kidnapped hasn't turned you off Paris.”
She waved an airy hand. “Oh, it's not the first time I've been kidnapped. I’m used to it. Besides, it gave me the first front page stories I’ve had in a while. Perry will be annoyed that they were on the front page here and not in Metropolis.”
Joe gave her a quizzical look. “Didn’t he tell you? Those stories were syndicated. Perry ran ‘em front page too. You’ll probably be doing follow ups for a week after you get home.”
***
Clark was waiting for her when she left the editor’s office.
“Now I’m ready to go” she told him.
Together they boarded the elevator, both lost in their own thoughts.
When they reached the street, Lois tried to break the silence.
“Did Joe tell you he syndicated our stories?”
The question snapped Clark out of his introspection. “What? Oh. No, he didn’t.”
“Perry ran them on the front page.”
That got her a faint smile. “It’s been a while since either of us had the front page.”
“Yes, it has.”
He lapsed back into silence. They walked another block before Lois reached out and put her hand on Clark’s arm, stopping him.
“Clark? Is this goodbye?”
He covered her hand with his. “I thought I‘d come and pick you up in the morning and take you to the airport.”
She withdrew her hand. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
“I know. Look, Lois, I spent years hoping that one day you’d love me the way I love you. I’m not going to give up over something as trivial as the distance between Metropolis and Paris now.”
The earnestness and love in his tone reassured her. She didn’t resist as he put his hands on her waist, pulling her closer to him, instead snaking her arms around his neck. “Besides, I have some very … unique … advantages when it comes to -“
His head snapped up and his teasing expression vanished as he listened to something only he could hear.
“What is it?” Lois asked curiously.
“An explosion in Calais.” He looked down at her, clearly torn between their conversation and the emergency.
“Go,” she told him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Go!”
He dropped a swift kiss on her lips before turning and running towards the nearest alley. A scant second later, a faint red and blue blur darted up between the buildings. As she watched, it disappeared and his trademark sonic boom shook the nearby windows.
With a sigh, she continued walking towards her hotel. If the local news programmes were on the ball, she might be able to catch coverage of the explosion on the television in her room.
***
Clark pulled the Planet’s much maligned Fiat to a stop in front of Lois's hotel and killed the engine. An early morning phone call from Bill Henderson had distracted him and now he was running late.
Lois was at the reception desk when he entered the hotel, obviously in the process of checking out.
“Sorry I'm late,” he apologised.
“I was just about to call a cab.” She signed the account the desk clerk handed her and gave it back, then picked up her suitcase. Clark took it off her and carried it out to the Panda.
“How was Calais? Did it take long?”
“A few hours.”
He hated fires at the best of times, and this one had been fuelled by toxic chemicals. The resulting thick black smoke had made it hard for even his enhanced vision to penetrate. By the time the fire was out, the resulting chemical spill was contained and everyone was accounted for, it had been very late. So late that Clark had barely had the energy to try and call Perry before collapsing into bed. He’d been unable to get a hold of the editor in chief, leaving messages for Perry to call him back instead.
“Henderson called me this morning,” he told her after they'd gotten on the road to the airport. “Mathieu has been arrested on fraud and accessory charges and they're looking for Evan Williams.”
She shot him a look. “You don't like that,” she observed.
He shrugged one shoulder. “What Mathieu did was wrong, but I can't help feeling sorry for him. He just wanted to take care of his wife and daughter.” He sighed. “Henderson also said they've ruled Bernard Young’s death a suicide. Apparently he was being blackmailed as well. But once Yellow Boy was actually stolen, he couldn’t handle the guilt. The London police found a note in his apartment.”
He turned into a spot in the airport’s short stay parking lot as he spoke.
“So that’s it?”
“For now. If I have time, I’ll go back to the office and write one more follow up before my flight. If not, I guess I’ll be sending that one in from Vienna.”
He hefted her bag out of the tiny hatchback and gestured for her to lead the way into the terminal.
“Then Pascal can come out of hiding and the artworks can go back on display,” he continued.
“You’re going back to Vienna?” Lois asked.
“This afternoon,” he confirmed. “I did kind of leave things unfinished there. There’s still a few days left of the summit. Actually, the other correspondents will probably be a little annoyed with me. Not only was I supposed to translate for them, but our stories pushed theirs off the front page.”
After a few wrong turns, they found the departures area for the right airline and joined the queue for check-in.
“You know, I will never complain about Metropolis Airport ever again. I thought it was confusing, but this place takes it to another level.”
“It’s about to get worse,” Clark commented. “They’re building another terminal.”
Lois rolled her eyes expressively, eliciting a laugh from Clark.
Reaching the head of the queue, Lois handed over her ticket and passport and received her boarding pass. Checking the gate number, Clark wended their way through the crowds and found the right gate without any wrong turns. The gate lounge was full, with no empty seats in the immediate vicinity. They stood off to one side, not saying much, both aware that time was running out. Finally Lois’ flight was called. She turned to him.
“Well. I guess this is it.”
“I guess so,” he responded softly. He attempted to smile at her.
She threw her arms around him. “I wish you were going with me,” she told him in a quavery voice.
He held her close, feeling a lump rise in his own throat. He smoothed her silky hair with his hand. “I wish I was too.” He let her go just enough that he could look down into her eyes. There were tears running down her face, and the sight made his heart clench. Lois didn’t cry easily. He wiped away the tears and kissed her. “I will come back as soon as I can,” he swore to her. He kissed her again. “When you get home, call me. So I know you got back safely.”
She nodded.
“And call me if you need me. No matter what time it is. Even if you just want someone to talk to.” He attempted to smile at her again, aware that it was no more successful than before. His voice shaky, he went on. “I can be there in a matter of seconds.”
The last call for Lois’ flight came over the PA.
“I’d better go.”
He nodded, not trusting his voice through the growing lump in his throat and pulled her into one last hug. He held her tightly, keeping his grip one degree below crushing the air out of her, feeling her cling to him. Finally he let go and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you,” he told her fiercely.
“I love you too,” she told him. Then she kissed him and turned away, walking towards the jet way.
He watched her go. When she was out of sight of even his vision, he sighed, becoming aware of the moisture on his cheeks. He scrubbed it away with the back of one hand, feeling the all too familiar ache in his chest return worse than it had ever been. For a moment he couldn’t breathe through the pain, and it was all he could do not to chase after her.
The trilling of the cell phone in his pocket broke the spell. Pulling it out, he opened the flip.
“Clark Kent,” he answered.
“Clark? It’s Perry White. You’ve been trying to call me.”
“Yes, I have Chief. I wanted to talk to you about transferring back to Metropolis…”
