Ambivalence
Rated T
A/N: Thanks to KenJ for beta-ing this chapter.
**********
Clark skimmed through several articles. He found himself alternating between reading at super-speed and getting lost in thought. Lois had been flabbergasted that he’d been nominated. He knew it was because she’d been expecting it to be her, but it still stung. She’d never appreciated his writing, not from day one. Puff pieces. That’s what she called the sort of features he excelled at. He liked the fact that their strengths were so complementary. He did the emotional angles, while she was good at cold, hard facts. Together their writing became something more than what either of them could manage alone.
He glanced over at her. Her shoulders were slumped as she scrolled rapidly through information. She was the picture of frantic misery. He stared down at his desk once more. In a way, he felt guilty, as though it was his fault the committee had picked his article over hers. He knew her confidence had been severely shaken from the whole Luthor fiasco, and she hadn’t rebuilt enough to be able to handle a blow like this, at least not well. It was no wonder that she’d been so touchy earlier.
“Did you find anything?” Lois asked.
Clark looked up. “Every object has its own natural frequency. Now the theory among physicists is: find the precise frequency—it’s like a code—and you can make anybody or anything do whatever you want: fall asleep, blow up, disappear . . . .” He walked over to sit by Lois. “That is the what. Now the who—”
“There are four cutting edge experts in the field,” Lois said. She gestured to her computer. “One of them died of a coronary four weeks ago. Another has been on a research trip in the Antarctic for the last six months, and then the third is a rock musician, Lenny Stoke,” Lois said, pulling up Stoke’s biography on her computer.
“Sounds familiar,” Clark said, looking over her shoulder at the photo of Stoke.
Lois shrugged. “Put out a couple albums. Great reviews. No sales. Heavy into sonic R&D. Had some bad luck financially. Patents stolen. Accountants ripping him off. And then”—she clicked a key to advance to the next screen—“there’s Derek Camden. He cracked up because he tested a new kind of thought-altering sound on himself. He got shipped off to some state mental ward. Released six weeks ago. Current whereabouts unknown, but get this”—she shifted to look up at him—“Stoke and Camden—they worked together once.”
“Sounds like we’re onto two very likely suspects,” Clark replied.
“Yup.”
“So who do you want to go after first? Camden or Stoke?” Clark asked.
“Why don’t we collect any possible leads, and then we can go check in with our sources and follow up on anything else we find?”
“Sounds good to me.”
**********
Less than an hour later they were walking out the front doors of the Daily Planet. Lois took a deep breath. The day couldn’t get any worse, right?
“So who do we go after first? Camden or Stoke?” she asked Clark.
Clark hesitated. Thinking about the Kerths had made him realize that he’d have to ask her to the dinner if they were to go together. He’d committed to working on their friendship, and that’s what he was going to do, even if it was uncomfortable. “Actually there’s something I want to ask you first,” he said slowly.
“Shoot.”
“Since we already went ahead and made plans, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the Kerth awards.”
Lois stopped in her tracks. “You mean as your date?” she asked incredulously.
“I was gonna go as yours,” Clark pointed out.
Lois glared at him. She couldn’t believe that Clark was jumping on the “Lois is incompetent” bandwagon. Just because she hadn’t been nominated for the Kerth didn’t mean that she’d descended to mere arm candy. It was how every other arrogant male reporter Perry had tried to partner her with had treated her: the helpless damsel, useless at real investigating, good only for add photogenicity to the team and seducing information from suspects.“So you want me to hang on your arm and smile and tell people how proud I am of my great big reporter man?” she cooed.
Clark huffed. “You know that’s not what I was trying to say. You asked me. You were the one who wanted to work on our friendship. I just thought we’d have fun and since you already bought that dress—”
Lois started walking down the street once more. “I did not buy that dress for the awards! I bought that dress . . . around the same time as the awards,” she spluttered, waving her arms. “It was a coincidence, and, to tell you the truth, I don’t even like the stupid thing, and I’m returning it!”
“Lois, I know you’re upset because I got nominated—”
She whirled to face him. “That is ridiculous! We both did great stories. Mine destroyed an international drug network, and yours told the really searing truth about old people—and—and”—she stamped her foot—“I can’t believe that! I mean there’s got to be some mistake! Doesn’t there? They lost my story, or their brains were taken over by aliens, or something—because—” She gasped, trying to hold back the tears. Because the Kerth Committee can’t think I’ve lost my edge, she finished mentally. She couldn’t already be a has-been. She refused to believe her career was on the downhill slide. She looked up at Clark. Hurt spread over his face for a second before sliding into his now customary polite blankness.
And now she’d hurt Clark.
She gave a forced watery chuckle. “Oh God, look at me, this is really pathetic, isn’t it?” She reached out a hand to touch his arm, but then thought better of it. “I’m sorry, Clark. I didn’t know I could be this small. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Clark tried to look sympathetic. “It’s okay.” He took a deep breath. “I know you were expecting to be nominated. Everyone was expecting it—”
“Not everyone,” Lois muttered, thinking of all the articles on her failed wedding that had portrayed her as someone with more luck and guts than integrity and smarts.
“No one’s universally popular,” he said with a shrug. “So do you want to come with me or not?”
Lois frowned. “Oh, Clark, can we talk about this later?”
He nodded. “Okay, so who do we go after first? Stoke or Camden?”
“Let’s go for Stoke,” she said, resuming their walk. “My gut is that he’s the driving force even if there is a partnership.”
“Yeah, but Camden, he—” Just then Clark’s super-hearing cut in with a strange sound. He’d have to put this on hold. “Look, um, maybe the smart thing for us to do is to split up, so we can cover more ground. Two likely suspects. Two of us—” he said, trying to make it sound eminently logical.
Lois frowned. “Split up? What are you? Oh, oh, I get it.” She took a step towards him, putting her hands on her hips. “You’ve got a lead that you want to take care of on your own.”
Clark started walking backwards. Superman really needed to check out that noise, but he hated to leave Lois this way. “Look, no, that’s not it.”
Lois followed him. “No, really, Clark, it’s fine! It’s fine!” she said, the tone of her voice screaming the exact opposite of her words.
“You go after Stoke. I’ll find Camden, and we’ll meet back at the Planet, okay?” Clark said quickly, then turned a corner and rushed out of sight before she could follow.
“Right! And then you’ll have your next award all sewn up. Notice how I’m not getting mad about this?” she yelled after him. “You know why? Because I’m a lot bigger than that!” she finished, kicking a nearby trashcan. She strode down the street, barely even paying attention to where she was going. Never, ever think the day can’t get worse, Lois, she told herself.
How could he? That one tiny taste of fame had obviously gone to Clark’s head, and now—she slowed—now she was losing him again, or she’d never had him. After all, he was right: she was the one who’d asked him to be friends again, and he’d only reluctantly agreed to try—not even to be friends, just to try.
She held back a sob. She’d thought she was moving on, getting past the mess Lex had made, but here she was: no Clark and lined up to be ridiculed by her peers. She just couldn’t hear it all again. Once it got out that she hadn’t been nominated, journalists throughout the city would be all over her, and the furor had just begun to die down. The first month after her almost wedding, she’d been inundated with sneers and snide comments from competing journalists. Perry had managed to intimidate most of her co-workers into keeping their mouths shut, giving several lectures on gossipping. But she’d seen the papers; she knew her reputation was in tatters. It was part of why she’d handled the situation with Dr. Carlin the way she had. After listening to the thirtieth comment about how her career was all talk, how she must have been taking credit for someone else’s work, that she probably just had an amazing researcher, or that her almost-marriage to Lex Luthor had exposed her as a gold-digger without morality, or hearing all the debate about how many cover-ups she’d participated in—well, she’d just lost it.
Her jaw clenched. She’d tried letting Clark back in, which had obviously not been the best idea. She’d tried adding more to her life than her career—again, not the best idea. It was time to push all that aside and claw her way back to the top of the pile. Preferably ASAP before the suits decided she was the expendable one in the “hottest team in town,” and she ended up jobless while still waiting for her bank to collect their insurance.
**********
Clark found a deserted alley and changed into his Suit. Flying in the direction of the sound he’d heard, he spotted one of the thieves from the bank standing outside an antiques store, obviously keeping watch. Everyone nearby was asleep or unconscious. He landed behind the black-helmeted man.
“This ends here,” Superman told him, advancing.
The man turned and raised a strange looking gun at Superman. He fired, and the sound Clark had heard earlier was repeated, but it had no effect on him. “How right you are,” the man murmured, turning a dial on the sound gun and shooting once more.
Pain shot through Clark’s skull, and he could no longer tell which direction was up. He wasn’t even sure if his feet were on the ground anymore as he collapsed in a heap on the street. The sound continued on and on, driving its way through his body. Clark shook his head, trying to clear his wavering vision so that he could do something about the thief, but it didn’t help. He groaned as his stomach lurched.
“Superman, this sound is for you,” the thief said as he kept the sound gun firing on Clark. “Now I’m sure you never thought your super-hearing would make you super-vulnerable. Underneath that steel skin, you’re just a sensitive guy, aren’t you?” the man mocked.
Clark forced himself off the pavement and stumbled backwards.
“Your equilibrium’s shot,” the man continued, closing the distance between them. “In a minute, you won’t even walk again, let alone fly,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
Police sirens filled the air, and the man whipped around to face the two incoming police cars.
“Drop your weapon, and put your hands in the air,” the police instructed as they got out of their cars, guns trained on the thief.
The thief turned the dial on the sound gun and fired at the police. One by one they were thrown backwards.
Clark gritted his teeth and dragged himself upright. He could barely see through the pain and dizziness, and there was no way he could do anything to help the police right now. He had to get out of here. With a supreme effort, he managed to take off.
It was a miracle that he made it back to his apartment. His head ached. His vision swam, and he barely managed to make it to his bathroom before vomiting up what little he’d eaten that day. He crawled back into the bedroom and pulled off his Suit. Maybe, if he just lay in bed in the sunshine for a while, things would stop spinning, and he could try to get some actual work done.
**********
Booting up her computer, Lois collected her coffee cup and defiantly made her own coffee. She’d slipped back into thinking that she needed Clark when she should have been focusing on fixing her career. She hadn’t even touched her personal notes last night. Clark hadn’t made it in yet. Probably still chasing down leads. She had spent the rest of yesterday touching base with her various sources and doing some more digging into Stoke’s career. No one knew anything about the sound man, but everything she’d learned about Stoke had only confirmed her initial gut reaction.
Perry moved to stand by her desk as Jimmy walked by and dropped a copy of today’s paper in front of her, saying, “Never thought I’d see it. Superman having to run.”
Lois picked it up and looked it over. “Well, knowing Superman, you won’t have to see it again. He’ll think of something,” she said, hoping it was true. She’d known him for almost a year, seen how invulnerable he was, and yesterday was the second time in less than a month that she’d seen him injured. She hoped that if he was badly injured and needed help, he’d come to her.
“Yup, he sure will,” Perry agreed. “But until that time, this paper’s number one priority is findin’ out who that lunatic is.
Lois nodded. “I’m on it, Chief.”
“That-a-girl!” Perry said, turning to walk back to his office. Just then Clark walked by on the way to his desk. Perry stopped him with a loud, “Oh, Clark!”
Clark grabbed his ear and exclaimed as Perry’s yell reverberated through his head. He’d ended up spending the rest of yesterday in bed and still wasn’t sure how functional he’d be today—it was as though he was hearing nearby sounds with his super-hearing, and the pain was radiating throughout his head and down his neck. He couldn’t exactly call in though. There was no way he could explain why he was such a mess today. “Yes, Chief?” he managed.
“What’d you find out about that sound man?” Perry asked.
“Um, well, uh—” Clark hedged.
“He’s probably got plenty. He’s been out chasing leads,” Lois said.
Thank God for somewhat accurate alibis. He had been chasing a lead—maybe not a journalism lead, but a Superman lead. “Yes,” he agreed.
“Without me,” Lois added.
Clark scowled. “No,” he said, rubbing his aching neck.
Jimmy walked up, looking concerned. “CK, you feeling okay?”
“I just have a little headache.”
“It’s fine, Clark,” Lois said, bringing the conversation back to where she’d been steering it before. “You’ve decided it’s best to work on your own.” She kept her face impassive. “I’ve decided you’re right. No argument.”
Perry held up his hands. “Uh—just a minute. Now is there somethin’ goin’ on between you two I don’t know about?”
Just then a voice sounded throughout the city. “Hello, Metropolis. For those of you who haven’t read the papers, I’m the one who brought Superman to his knees. In celebration of that momentous event, I’m creating a new tax: the sound tax. The rate: fifty percent of all money in Metropolis banks. The money will be bagged and waiting outside each branch by 9 a.m. tomorrow. Oh, and one final message to Superman: try and stop me, please.”
Clark forced his face to remain blank. He still had no clue how to handle Metropolis’ latest troublemaker.
Jimmy turned and loped towards the elevators.
Perry, who was still standing by Clark, yelled after him, “Olsen! Where’re you goin’?”
Clark grabbed his ear again. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat.
“I’m going to get you some page-one, prize-winning pictures, Chief,” Jimmy yelled back.
Perry shook his head. Kids. He turned back to Lois and Clark. “All right, what do we got?”
Lois pulled out an enlarged version of one of Lenny Stoke’s album covers, and Perry and Clark moved to stand by her.
She held up the cover so they could see it. “That’s our man, Lenny Stoke.”
“Clark, what’s your read on this?” Perry asked, frowning.
“Well, Stoke knows a lot about sound, but among experts he’s considered hit-and-miss. He doesn’t have the technical know-how to pull something like this off.” He opened the file folder he’d brought with him from his desk and grabbed a full-page photo. “On the other hand, Derek Camden does,” he said, holding up the photo of Camden.
Lois shook her head. “It’s Stoke, Chief. I know it. The theatricality of it all. The ‘look at me, see how great I am.’ It’s pure rock and roll!” she argued.
Perry put his hands in his pockets and looked down at the desk, trying to decide how best to handle the situation. Things had been tense between Lois and Clark for months, and he’d been thrilled to see them making progress the past few days. Now they were back on the verge of open warfare. “Well, it sounds to me like you all are headed for a”—he brought his hands together in front of him—“fork in the road,” he said, his hands moving in opposite directions.
“He forked first,” Lois said petulantly.
“All right. Now if you want to go your separate ways on this, be my guest. Just bag me a headline,” Perry finished as a copy boy came up with proofs that needed his approval. He turned to deal with the proofs.
Clark leaned down on Lois's desk. Split up? Things had—sort of—been going so well the past few days. They were trying. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d gotten on board with the whole trying thing until he was faced with returning to their previous distance. If only Lois hadn’t jumped to him trying to steal her story. Even after a year of them working together, she still defaulted to thinking he was just like Claude. “Lois, this is stupid.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry I ran off. I’m not trying to steal a story from you. It was a—personal thing. Now come on, let’s work together.”
Lois glared at him and leaned in. “No. Way.” She stood up and walked away.
Clark stood, his gaze following her.
Perry returned to Lois's desk. “Son, I’ve seen her like this before. The doors are locked, the alarms are on, and you ain’t gettin’ in.”
Clark grimaced. “Well, I guess time apart isn’t such a bad idea.”
At least he knew now: Lois had chosen her career over her friendship with him. It didn’t shock him by any means, but it still hurt. He guessed the progress they’d made hadn’t really been all that solid.
**********
When Lois returned to her desk, both Clark and Perry had left. Since she hadn’t been able to get any good leads the day before, she’d decided to take the bull by the horns. Lenny Stoke owned Stoke Club and apparently kept up with his rock-and-roll career by playing there. She pulled up a file on Stoke and flipped through the photos they had of him. Each showed him with a different woman, or two. “Hmm. Likes trashy brunettes,” Lois said thoughtfully.
**********
Clark had managed to get a meeting with Derek Camden’s doctor. They’d agreed to meet at a coffee shop. Dr. Briggs was right on time. They got their coffee and settled at one of the sidewalk tables.
“Thanks for seeing me, Dr. Briggs,” Clark began.
The doctor nodded. “You wanted to talk about Derek Camden?”
“Yes. As I said on the phone, I’m investigating the sound man. Camden has the expertise to design the sounds we’ve found, but I wanted your opinion about whether or not he would be capable of it in his—state, as well as any information on his whereabouts.”
“You do understand that our hospital files are normally confidential, Mr. Kent, but under the circumstances—no one wants a psychopath who can best Superman on the loose. I’m not sure that Derek would be capable of masterminding something like this given his current mental state, but he was released into the care of a friend.”
“Let me guess: Lenny Stoke,” Clark said wryly.
Dr. Briggs nodded. “I spoke to Derek not long after his release. He said that he and Stoke had a new business venture in the works. The last address I have for him was”—he opened Derek’s file and consulted his paperwork—“the Stoke Club.”
“Thanks. You’ve been a lot of help,” Clark said.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Kent. I hope the police are able to stop the sound man soon.”
**********
That evening Clark walked into Stoke Club. It was loud, dark, and crowded—basically like most other clubs he’d been in. He found a waiter and asked if the man knew if Derek Camden stayed here.
“Yeah, Camden was living in a back room over there,” the waiter replied, looking towards a back hallway. “Weird little guy. Kinda jumpy.”
“Thanks,” Clark replied.
“You’re welcome.”
Clark headed towards the back room, weaving his way through the crowd. Surreptitiously scanning the area to make sure no one was paying him any particular attention, he ducked into the room. Hopefully, if someone noticed, they’d think he was trying to find a bathroom. The room was obviously unoccupied. A corkboard with notes caught his attention. He x-rayed it and discovered a phone number scratched out with permanent marker, which he committed to memory.
Before he could do anything else, the door opened. Clark whipped around as two shapely blondes in black wearing headbands that identified them as security entered.
“Hey, what are you doing in here?” the guard in front demanded.
“I’m, uh, looking for a bathroom?” he replied.
The woman gave him a disbelieving smile, then snapped her fingers at the other security guard.
The second guard came forward, grabbed Clark’s arm, twisted it behind his back, and manhandled him out the door. None too gently she shoved him back out into the mass of people.
Clark staggered, then regained his balance and turned to look at the two women.
“The bathrooms are that way,” the first woman said, pointing across the room.
Clark smiled and gave a little wave. “Thanks,” he said, walking away.
Since the room was crowded with people and full of small tables, he walked along the bar, trying to keep an eye out for Camden. Unfortunately, he tripped over a man sitting at the bar and fell right into the woman seated next to him. “I’m sorry! Sorry!” he said awkwardly. As he stood up and looked the woman in the face, he realized it was Lois sitting there, dressed in a black leather biker vest and black leather pants, heavily made-up, with her hair teased. He stared at her blankly for a moment, then asked, “Lois? What—why are you dressed like this?”
“You’re too much competition for me, Clark, so I’m chucking my career and becoming a groupie,” Lois drawled.
Clark grimaced. “Look, I’ve got a lead on Camden. He was staying here in the club in a back room.”
Just then, a voice came over the club speakers, announcing Lenny Stoke. Lois turned to watch the stage as Stoke came out and began to play.
She turned back to Clark. “That’s great, Clark. I’m happy for you. But, um, you know what? I have my own leads,” she said, an edge to her voice. “So what else is there to say, but see you at the finish line,” she said walking away without waiting for a reply.
Clark stared after her. Things were worse that he’d realized. It was like Lois had put him back at square one, and he didn’t have the energy or the will to regain the ground they’d lost. His heart sank. He couldn’t work with Lois if she was going to treat him the same way she had in the beginning. He remembered thinking just a couple of weeks ago that he’d send out resumes if things got much worse. This was worse. He hated the idea of leaving Metropolis. He was past the lovesick puppy stage though. Kick a dog often enough and it stopped coming around.
The noise level increased, and his ears protested. He covered them, and after giving Lois one last look, he left.
**********
Lois pushed her way to the front of the crowd around the stage and started dancing. Unfortunately, there were several other women trying to get Stoke’s attention and they bunched up, forcing her back. Security saw the scuffle and dragged her out of the crowd. She scanned the place thoughtfully. There were several burly men drinking at the bar. She pulled cash out of her biker vest and waved it at them. They appeared interested, so she explained what she wanted. They boxed her in and made their way up to the front. Now with plenty of clear space to dance, she did her best to attract Stoke’s attention. It worked like a charm. As he played he kept his eyes on her to the exclusion of the rest of the crowd. Once he’d finished the song, he handed her his guitar pick.
Five minutes later they were seated at a table with their drinks.
“You see, I think it gets to a point in a relationship—you know one that’s got this kind of immediate connection,” Stoke said, gesturing with his hands.
Lois pasted a look of rapt attention on her face and leaned forward.
“But it’s not about me, Lenny, and you—” He stared at her for a long moment, then asked, “What was your name again, darling?”
“Linda,” Lois cooed.
“Right, Linda, of course,” he agreed with a chuckle. “But my point is, Linda, that it’s not about names, or identities, or the five or ten minutes we’ve known each other, my darling. Time is irrelevant. Something else is taking over.”
Lois opened her eyes wider. “Wow! What?” she breathed.
“This,” Stoke said, leaning in to kiss her.
Lois leaned forward as though to reciprocate, drink in hand. As she leaned, she poured half her drink on Stoke’s shirt and leather vest.
Stoke jumped back.
“Oops! Oh! I’m so sorry!” Lois said.
“Not to worry, darling,” Stoke said, brushing his shirt and vest off.
Lois surreptitiously slid Jimmy’s spy pen into Stoke’s vest pocket.
Stoke looked down. “What’s this?” he asked.
Lois froze.
“You’ve gotten some on the old vest here, my darling,” he continued, taking the vest off.
“Oh . . . ,” she said, smiling.
Stoke chuckled. “Don’t worry about it.” He sat back down. “Now where were we?”
“Hey Lenny!” the head security guard called.
He looked over at her. “Yes?”
“There’s a message for you,” the guard replied.
“Right. Thank you.” He turned back to Lois and stared at her blankly for a few seconds.
“Linda,” Lois prompted.
“Linda, I won’t be a moment,” Stoke said, standing up and starting to walk away.
“Lenny!” Lois called after him.
He turned back. “Yeah?”
“Uh—” She smiled and grabbed the vest off the back of his chair, holding it out for him to put on.
Stoke put the vest on, saying, “How kind of you, my darling. Thank you.”
Lois leaned forward, her hands on Stoke’s shoulders. “Don’t forget me,” she purred into his ear.
Stoke nodded. “Not to worry.”
Lois simpered as he walked away. Thank God that he’d left and that she’d managed to keep from kissing him. She stayed at the table, pushing the mini headset farther into her ear, trying to hear the feed over the noise of the club. Unfortunately, all she could hear was static interspersed with faint music.
A few minutes later the security guard returned. “C’mon you guys, party’s over,” she announced. “Everybody out! Out! Out! Out! Come on, out. You guys out!” she yelled, shooing people out of the club.” She tapped Lois on the arm. “Hey, you too, honey. Come on, let’s go.”
“Lenny asked me to wait,” Lois said, staying seated.
“And I’m sure he meant it at the time,” the guard said, then grabbed Lois’s upper arm and hauled her towards the door. “Come on, sweetface, let’s go. Let’s go!”
**********
After leaving Stoke Club, Clark had returned to the Daily Planet and called the number he’d found. Naomi Valdez didn’t speak English too well, but fortunately Clark was fluent in Spanish. She’d been a friend of Camden’s in the hospital. She didn’t know where he was, but she did mention that Camden liked to go to Echo Canyon.
He held his head in his hands. He had a lead to follow up on Camden, although at this point, it’d be better to check it first thing tomorrow morning. It didn’t feel like a success though. Lois hadn’t wanted to partner with him—yes, he knew he’d precipitated her decision by leaving her to go be Superman. But that was just it: Superman would always be there. He’d been down the road of giving up that part of himself, suppressing and hiding who he was; it wasn’t a road he was willing to ever go down again—Lois herself had helped convince him of that. The reality was that their partnership had been harder than pulling teeth the past few months and there seemed to be no way to change the factors that made it so—when did something become too difficult? When did he cut his losses and move on? He’d already stayed in Metropolis longer than anywhere else, other than Kansas. He still wasn’t sure he could go through with leaving Lois—not unless he just did it quickly, like ripping off a band-aid. He glanced up at Perry’s office. His light was still on. Looking over at Lois’s empty desk, he made up his mind. Lois had said there was no way she was going to work with him, and it was time that he accepted that.
With a heavy heart he made his way up to Perry’s office. Perry was just coming out, but stopped when he saw Clark.
Clark took a deep breath. “Perry, can I talk to you?”
Perry paused. “Sure, Clark. What is it?”
“Privately?”
“Yeah, c’mon,” Perry said, turning to head back into his office.
Clark closed the door behind him. “I need to know if I can count on you for a reference,” he said bluntly.
Perry stared at him for a moment, then shook himself. “Now, son, you know that Lois just needs time to cool down.”
“I know that. I’ve actually been thinking about sending out resumes for a while now. I just . . . .” Clark shrugged.
“Clark, you’re like a son to me,” Perry said, putting a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I know it’s been rough ever since Luthor—well, it just takes time to heal. Give yourself some time.”
Clark shook his head. “Chief, time isn’t going to change my feelings.”
Perry held up a hand. “How ‘bout this? Wait a month, and if you still feel this way, you can ask for a transfer to another Planet office, or you can stay here and partner someone else. We have bureaus all over the world. I’d hate to see you go work for a rival paper.”
“What about ‘the suits’?”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout them. They won’t want to see you at a rival paper either.”
“I’ll think about it.” Clark opened the door. “Thanks, Perry,” he said as he walked out.
**********
Clark looked up at the sky from outside the Planet. He wasn’t really in the mood to go home to his empty apartment, nor to do a patrol.
Suddenly the sound man’s voice rang throughout the city: “Listen up, Metropolis.”
A vibrating hum filled the city, and Clark heard what sounded like buildings rumbling. He sighed, then found a deeper patch of darkness and spun into the Suit. Some days he just couldn’t catch a break. As he got closer to where the rumbling was located, he could hear a muffled “Help! Help!” He sped up, following the cries to their source. He was horrified to see Jimmy tied to a metal support in one of the disintegrating buildings, another support about to crash onto him. Even moving at super-speed, he only just managed to catch the support before it hit Jimmy. He lowered it to the ground, released Jimmy, and flew both of them out of the collapsing building. Setting Jimmy on the ground, he instructed him to run, then, using his heat vision, he began destroying the small speakers that dotted the nearby buildings.
He blew out those he could see before the sound man responded.
“Well, well, look who's back for more. This is super!” came the sound man’s voice.
Clark lifted off and flew in the direction the voice had come from. Suddenly, the hum changed to a torturous whine that pierced his brain. He shook his head, trying to focus. He managed to burn out another speaker before the pain in his head and dizziness overcame him, and he fell out of the air onto a car, crashing through the roof.
“Like my new sound? This doesn’t just attack the eardrums, Superman. This is a frequency of 500 million megahertz tearing through you, melting that metallically dense nervous system of yours.”
Clark lay on the destroyed roof of the car, trying in vain to get his wavering vision clear enough to see the speakers.
“To put it a little bit more simply: this is your brain, and this is your brain on sound. Any questions?” the sound man continued.
Clark finally gave up on using heat vision to destroy the speakers. Instead, he ripped the steering wheel out of the car and flung it at the nearby speakers, ricocheting it off the building walls to hit them one by one.
The sound stopped abruptly. “Well, well, well, you must be quite a pool player. I believe that makes it your shot,” the sound man commented through his remaining speakers.
Clark looked around, trying to see if the man might be nearby. “You can’t hide forever,” he said.
“Believe me, I don’t intend to.”
Quiet filled the air, and Clark shakily lifted off. Now he definitely didn’t feel capable of a patrol. He hated to disturb them this late, but he knew his parents would always welcome him, and a piece of his mother’s pie with a side of parental support sounded just about perfect right now.
