"So, what did Perry want?" Lois asked when Clark finally rejoined her at their desks.
"Nothing," Clark said, shaking his head. "Just...a few words of wisdom, that's all."
Lois appeared to accept that at face value and nodded.
"So...permanent partners," Clark began.
"Looks like it." She frowned slightly, as though she’d seen or smelt something mildly unpleasant.
"I know you aren't thrilled but..."
Lois sighed, cutting him off. "It's not you. It's the whole idea of a partner."
"I know. But, I promise, I'll pull my own weight in this team, just like I have been. You don't have to worry about anything, Lois."
"It's not just that. It’s just…I've spent years clawing my way to the top, distinguishing myself as a standalone journalist. No offense - because you have some decent reporter skills - but...I feel like I'm...I don't know. Giving up something by becoming part of a reporting team, instead of doing it on my own."
"I can respect that," Clark said. "I might feel the same way, in your position."
"Well...I appreciate that." She looked surprised at his response, as though she’d perhaps anticipated him arguing the point with her, or flat out telling her that she was wrong.
“But, honestly, you aren’t losing anything, if you really think about it,” Clark continued on. “Hopefully, you’ll be gaining something from this partnership.”
“Like what?”
“Like, maybe…a friend?”
“A…friend?”
“Well…yeah. We’ve gotten along pretty well so far, inside and outside of work.”
“I guess that’s true, even though it’s only been, what? A week since you started here? And so far, I can tolerate you a lot more than I’ve ever been able to tolerate any of my other partners.”
"So...friends?" Clark offered, extending a hand.
Lois gave him a partial smile, and Clark could see the change in her eyes as some of her inner walls began to crack. "How about we learn to be partners, first?"
Clark grinned. “I can live with that.”
***
"So, what do you think?" Floyd asked, spreading his arms as if to encompass the entire apartment.
Clark tried hard not to let his disappointment show. "It's okay," he hedged, "but it needs a ton of work."
"Sure, it needs little cosmetic touch ups here and there," Floyd said.
"We're way beyond ‘little touch ups,’" Clark said, turning on the kitchen faucet. The water sputtered violently, then came out brown. He frowned. “I’ve seen flophouses in better shape,” he argued, his mind immediately leaping back to the old, rotting, abandoned cabin in the woods he’d once lived in after fleeing Grandma Tildy’s halfway house.
Floyd shrugged. "A simple plumbing fix."
"I don't know," Clark said, his voice filled with sincere skepticism. "How much do you want for the place?"
"A grand a month, due the first day of the month."
"A thousand dollars?" Clark shook his head. "No way. I'll pass."
"Well, I suppose I could knock fifty bucks off," Floyd said, a little too swiftly. It was clear the short, overweight, balding man was eager to get the apartment rented.
Clark blinked at the man, incredulous. "Sorry," he said simply, shaking his head.
"All right, all right," Floyd haggled with him. "Don't twist my arm! I'll knock a hundred off."
"I don't know..." Clark said, letting his voice trail off.
In truth, the apartment he'd found on Clinton was in terrible shape. It needed a lot of work. Even with Clark's super abilities, it would take days, maybe even weeks, to get the place in decent, livable shape. But, as Floyd had pointed out, the problems were mostly cosmetic. A fresh coat of paint here, a new faucet there, a layer of spackle there to patch a hole in the wall. He could do the repair work himself. He was, after all, a farm-raised kid, despite having lived, for a while, in Wayne Manor and the lap of luxury. He still remembered - down to the minutest detail - doing all of the same kids of repair work with his dad, back at the old farmhouse.
He'd seen plenty of other apartments that had been in better shape, but they had been far outside of his price range. And the ones that had been affordable had had far more problems. In the last place he'd seen, a plump rat had raced down the stairwell ahead of him as he'd left the building, and several dead roaches had greeted him when he’d peered into the kitchen cabinets.
If Clark could whip this apartment into shape, he reasoned that it would be as good a place as any to live. While Floyd had waxed almost poetic about the apartment and the building in general, Clark had surreptitiously scanned the place with his super senses. There wasn't a speck of mold to be seen, nor had there been roaches, termites, or any other undesirable houseguests dwelling within the structure. And, Clark admitted, he liked the relatively open floor plan of the apartment. But the best feature was the secluded balcony, from which Clark could fly off or land on without prying eyes catching him doing something so extraordinary. It was almost enough to make him agree to Floyd's new offer.
Almost.
"I'd have to do a lot of work in here," Clark continued.
"Eight hundred a month, my final offer," Floyd quickly amended. "But for that price, you do the work yourself. If I need to get guys in here to paint and whatnot..." He allowed the implications to hang, unsaid, in the air.
Clark mulled it over for a moment. "Okay, Floyd, you got yourself a deal." He extended a hand and Floyd shook on their compromise.
"Welcome to the building, Mr. Kent. You can pick up your keys as soon as the check clears."
***
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The sound of someone knocking on the door pulled Clark out of his thoughts. He put down the paintbrush he was holding, carefully laying it in the paint tray. Although, he ruefully admitted to himself, things were long past the point of being careful. The plastic cloth covering the floor was a roadmap of paint drips. His hands were flecked with color and a long slash of dried paint ran vertically over his left nipple, like some kind of bizarre scar or war paint, and all because he hadn't been willing to potentially mess up any of his shirts. At least he'd managed to keep his pants clean, he mused, though he wasn’t entirely sure just how he’d accomplished that.
"Just a sec," he called out as whoever it was knocked again.
He wiped the fresh, wet paint from his fingertips as he strode to the door. When he was clean enough, he slung the rag over his right shoulder. He checked his pocket for his money and fidgeted with the glasses on his face. Then he opened the door, cash in hand.
"Lois?" he stammered in disbelief. "Wh..." He cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of his half-dressed state, and the fact that he had a fistful of cash extended. He knew it looked compromising, at best. "What are you doing here?"
"I, uh..." she stuttered, and Clark saw her staring at his exposed chest. "I thought we could go over some of the details on the case we were working on yesterday. You said this was your new address, so..."
"Uh, yeah, makes sense," Clark said, clearing his throat. "Come on in. Sorry the place is a bit messy."
"Were you expecting someone?" Lois asked as she entered, nodding toward the cash in his hand.
"Just a pizza," he said. "And, I think that's it now," he added, seeing the delivery man walking, box in hand, toward his door. "Care to stay for dinner?" he asked her.
"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt your meal," she said, shaking her head.
"No, really, it's okay," Clark said. "It gets, well, kind of lonely, eating alone. I'd be glad of the company." He nodded to the delivery man as he reached the door. "Here you go," he told the man. "Thanks."
"Any change?" the man asked, taking the money.
"No, thanks. All set," Clark said, smiling. He could see the man was unsure about the decent tip amount. "Have a good night."
"Yeah, you're right," Lois admitted. "Eating alone does kind of suck. My sister, Lucy, just moved out two…no, three…months ago to go back to school in New York. I guess I kind of got used to her being around when I was home. Anyway, the pizza smells great."
He came back inside and shut the door. The living room was a mess, but at least he'd cleaned off his kitchen table that morning. He set the pizza box down there. He caught Lois checking the place out.
"Again, I apologize about the mess. I just have the painting to finish," he explained. "Every room needed a fresh coat, and the living room is the last of it. Then I can rearrange the furniture and finally feel like I have a functional apartment."
"No, it's fine," she told him. Then, quizzically, "I thought you said this place looked like a war zone when you rented it."
"It did," he admitted.
"How'd you get it looking so...so livable in a week?" she asked, sounding almost awed.
Clark shrugged. "Hard work. I came home from work every night and did whatever I could until I needed to sleep. It wasn't so bad, taking it one task at a time. It takes only seconds to fix a loose cabinet door, or to glue down a wobbly newel post. The kitchen faucet took a little longer," he admitted sheepishly. "I messed it up the first try, but fixed it the second time around. Honestly, I spent more time picking up what I needed at the hardware store more than I spent on actually fixing half the things I worked on."
"Painting takes a while," Lois pointed out.
"True. But I did all my taping the first night in here. I've always found that to take the longest. Running a roller over the walls or doing touch ups with a paintbrush isn't nearly as time consuming." He gestured to the kitchen cabinets. "With all the work I've been doing, I haven't had time to shop for dishes and the like, so all I have right now is paper plates. There's some soda in the fridge too. Help yourself. If you’ll excuse me, I'll just go get cleaned up."
"Right," Lois said. Although his back was toward her as he headed into his bedroom, he could feel her eyes fixed on his bare torso. "I mean, yeah. Take your time."
"Thanks."
He rummaged through his drawers for a moment and found some clean clothing. He took everything into his bathroom, where he took a speedy shower, though he was sure to linger long enough to keep up the facade of normalcy. When he emerged, he was clad in black sweatpants and a plain gray t-shirt. He settled into the chair opposite Lois at the table.
"I guess I should apologize," Lois said, opening the pizza box. She set a slice down on a plate and handed it to Clark. "I really should have called before I came over. I've just been kind of distracted by our investigation and...well...I wasn't thinking."
"Really, you don't have to apologize. It's nice to have company, even if the place is still only half furnished." He gave her a smile before taking a bite of food.
Lois smiled back - just a brief, almost shy, curving of her lips. "I know the feeling. It took me months to completely furnish my place. Maybe I was a little too picky but I'd find a table here, a bookshelf there. I guess it was four or five months before I finally felt like I'd bought everything I needed to make it really feel like home. But it looks like you're off to a pretty good start," she said, gesturing vaguely. She sipped at her cream soda.
Clark nodded and bite into his pizza. It was good. Very good, in fact. "I went shopping the day I met with the landlord. I lucked out. The store was able to deliver two days later. There's still a few pieces I have in storage, back in Gotham City. Stuff from the house I grew up in, like my dad's favorite armchair. When I moved in with Bruce, he moved it to a storage facility in Gotham, finally freeing up some space at my old neighbor's house, back in Smallville."
"Smallville? Where's that?"
Clark took it as a good sign that Lois was interested enough to ask even basic questions about his story.
"Kansas," he said with a smile, and a sense of nostalgia washed over him as his mind's eye painted a detailed picture of the place where he'd spent his childhood. "I'm not surprised you've never heard of it. Most people haven't. It's a tiny little town nestled in amongst farmland." He grinned broadly. "My dad always used to say 'it's not called Smallville for nothing!'"
Lois laughed. "Let me guess. Your school was ten kids and a cow?"
Clark chuckled. "Okay, maybe not quite that small. What about you? Where'd you grow up?"
"Right here, in Metropolis." She flicked her wrist as she said it, as if dismissing the thought in the same moment. "Studied here too, at Met U." She paused to eat some of her food.
"Met U has a great Journalism program," Clark said in awe. "One of the best in the country." He finished his slice of pizza and took another.
Lois nodded. "Yeah. Truth be told, I almost decided on a different school, just to get out of New Troy for a while. You grow up and live your whole life in one place and it gets a little...stifling, at times. But I wanted to intern at The Daily Planet, and figured I'd have a better chance coming to them as a Met U student. I was right. I got the internship and walked straight into a full-time position with them when I graduated."
"Impressive," Clark said, nodding.
"What about you?" Was he imagining it, or was her smile perhaps a bit more than just friendly?
"What about me?" he asked, carefully keeping his voice neutral, in case he was misinterpreting her expression.
"You came from the Gotham Gazette. It's no Daily Planet, but it's still a good paper," Lois pointed out, lightly ribbing him.
Clark nodded again. "After I met Bruce, he introduced me to Vicki Vale. I was only seventeen or eighteen at the time, but we hit it off. She let me pick her brain on any Journalism topic I could think of. After I finished my college degree, she put in a good word at the Gazette, and they hired me." He shrugged. "Probably not as impressive as your way, but...there it is. My humble introduction to my career. Hopefully that doesn't make me any less competent or qualified as a reporter to you." He bit into his pizza.
Lois swallowed the last bite of her food. She hesitated until Clark slid the box a little closer to her. She nodded absently and took another slice.
"No, it doesn't," she finally said. "I would have done the same thing, if I were you. If I'd had a contact within the Planet, I absolutely would have enlisted their help in securing the internship. Besides, we've done a couple of investigations together. You're more than capable as a reporter. I've met others with far more years of experience than you have who, well...let's just say that I'm amazed they can tie their own shoelaces, let alone act as a reliable news source."
"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Clark said with relief. "Uh, that you think I'm a capable reporter. Not about the other guys."
Lois laughed. "Yeah. It's weird. I know I gave Perry a hard time about him partnering us up and everything. But...well...out of all the partners I've ever had, so far, you're the only one I could ever stand. I, uh…I even enjoy it." Her face went scarlet in a blush as she looked shyly away.
Clark put a hand to his heart in a playful way. "I'm truly honored to know that."
"Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head," Lois said with a wry smile. "It hasn't even been a month yet."
He shrugged. Then, tentatively, "So...friends, then? As well as work partners?" He stuck out his hand, reaching across the table."
Lois hesitated for half a heartbeat. "Yeah. Friends." She took his hand and shook on it.
***
"Are these your parents?" Lois asked an hour later, after dinner was over and everything had been cleaned up. She picked up a framed photo from the top of an open box.
Clark looked over. "Yeah." He took the frame from her hands and gazed at it for a moment before handing it back. "Jonathan and Martha Kent."
"You look like your dad here," she said, taking the photo and looking at it once more.
That made Clark crack a small, sad smile. "I wish that was true. But that’s impossible. They, uh...they weren't my biological parents. They adopted me as a baby after I was left on their doorstep one night," he said, reflexively falling back on the 'official' story the Kent family had always used.
"Oh, Clark! I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Lois stuttered.
He shook his head. "It's all right. They might not have shared my blood but they were my parents. And…it’s nice. To have someone think I look like them."
"Have you ever considered looking for...?"
"No," he said, cutting off her thought before she could finish it. "I looked into my biological parents once, a long time ago. They died, well before my real mom and dad did."
Lois looked saddened. "I'm so sorry." She cleared her throat and looked back at the photograph again. "They look like such nice people."
"They were," Clark replied with a tender smile, as he looked at the image, frozen in time. "The best people you'd ever hope to meet. They would have liked you," he offered.
"They look like they smiled a lot," Lois said, not meeting his gaze.
"All the time," Clark said. "The day this picture was taken? The town had thrown its annual Sunflower Festival. My dad had volunteered to sit in the dunk tank for most of the afternoon. The proceeds all went to charity. My dad - and everyone else who went up to try their luck at the dunk tank - didn't stop laughing the entire day." Clark smiled at the memory, but his heart ached thinking about the day as much as it welcomed the happy recollection. "This is the last picture I have of them. They died less than three weeks later."
"Oh, God, that's awful, Clark," Lois gasped, putting her free hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked about the photo."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Don't apologize. It's nice to be able to talk about them. To remember them. This is one of my favorite pictures of them, simply because it's such a great memory. It's how I like to remember them best."
"How did they...?" Lois asked, sounding embarrassed. She put the frame back in the box where she'd gotten it. "I mean, if you're willing to share."
Clark nodded. "My mom and I were in a bad car accident," he explained briefly. "A drunk driver ran the red light while fleeing the police...in a stolen vehicle...after robbing a store."
"Geez, is there anything that driver didn't do wrong?" Lois wondered, shaking her head.
"No," Clark admitted ruefully. "He didn't even buckle up, and he wound up dying in the crash too. My mom...he hit her side of the car and she died instantly. I was lucky and walked away unhurt somehow."
"Very lucky," Lois agreed.
"We'd been on our way to the hospital," Clark continued, lost in his memories.
He no longer saw his apartment. He saw only flashes of that awful day when his life had been turned upside down. The bright sunlight. The world spinning and flipping as the car had rolled over. The look of his mother, her face a mask of shock and horror, frozen in time. The people who'd helped him get out of the car. The body bag being zipped up around his mother's unmoving form. The sterile hospital room where his dad had laid, sedated, attempting to recover from his heart attack. The return to the empty farmhouse with Sheriff Harris. The look on their faces the next morning when they'd tried to gently break the news that Jonathan was gone - as if becoming an orphan could have been "gentle" in any kind of way.
"My dad," he said, swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat. "He'd had a heart attack earlier that day. We were on our way to see him when the crash happened. Dad never even knew Mom had died. He had another, stronger heart attack that night. He didn't make it."
"Oh, Clark!" Lois said, going to his side and rubbing his left arm. "That's awful. To lose both of your parents so quickly..."
"I know," he said, after her voice had trailed off. "My entire life...it was shattered. Part of me wanting to become a reporter stems from that day. I don't want other people to have to suffer. Okay, there's nothing anyone could have done for my dad but...people like that drunk driver...it just boils my blood. Not one should have to lose their loved ones because of people like that...criminals doing illegal things. I wanted to help keep people like that off the streets. But I knew that a career in law enforcement wasn't right for me. My strong suit is writing."
"So you chose to expose people like that to the world as a journalist," Lois supplied.
He nodded. "It made perfect sense to me, even if it took Grandma Tildy to point me in the right direction."
"Grandma…Tildy?" she asked, sounding confused.
Again, he nodded. "The woman who ran the halfway house I was sent to, when the court couldn't decide where else I should go. I was only thirteen. It wasn't like I had the choice to live on my own, so I got shipped off to a home for boys. But...if it's all the same, I'd rather not rehash that part of my life. Not now. Maybe one day. For now, I'd rather focus on more important things."
"Sure," Lois said with a shrug. "Like what?"
Clark felt a bit of his bleak mood lifting. "Well...I'm still setting up my apartment, for one thing. Actually, if I might be bold enough to ask...I'd like to pick out China patterns with you."
Lois raised an amused eyebrow. "Getting ahead of yourself, huh, Kent?" she teased. "We've only just become friends." She winked, letting him know she was truly just poking a little fun at him.
Too late, Clark realized what he'd said. "Picking out China patterns" was a phrase he'd often heard his mother use toward couples who were engaged to be married. It meant the two would be setting up a home together.
He had to laugh at his unintended meaning. "Let me rephrase that," he offered, still chuckling. "What I meant was...I'm new to this whole 'setting up a home' thing. I went from my parents' house to the halfway house to Bruce Wayne's house. I could use some pointers in picking out stuff for my apartment. If you wouldn't mind, of course."
"Well," she said slowly, as if thinking it over. "Given how truly awful your taste in ties is, I'm guessing you'll need all the help you can get."
Clark tried to feign a crestfallen look, but never he failed. "You don't like my ties?"
Lois rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Well...not all of them are bad. But some of them? The thought has crossed my mind that perhaps you shop with your eyes closed."
"Really?" He was both amused and embarrassed. Sure, some of his ties were a bit outlandish, but they were fun, and he enjoyed picking out new ones that caught his eye from time to time. "Which ones?" he asked, out of sheer curiosity.
"The one you wore on Tuesday. It looked like a clown went through a blender."
He mock pouted. "I liked that one."
"And that is exactly why I'm agreeing to help you furnish your place," Lois said with a grin.
To Be Continued…
Last edited by Deadly Chakram; 02/18/18 11:05 PM.
