So here's how it worked. Tank and I both volunteered to supply stories for the fundraiser DVD, and Tank suggested that we do challenge fics. He wrote a challenge for me to finish, and I wrote one for him to finish. So this is the one I started.
Super...Who?
a Wendy and Tank Fundraiser Challenge Fic.
PART ONE by Wendy
There was a bomb. A ticking bomb. With a counter which was moving.
Counting down the seconds, one by one... 122, 121, 120, 119...
A bomb! What did she know about bombs? Was there anyone here who knew anything about bombs?
She whirled around and darted out into the corridor. It was empty. No-one was in sight. There might be someone within earshot, though...
“Help! There’s a bomb! Somebody help!”
Nobody came. After what felt like at least a minute, but was only about twenty seconds judging by the counter on the bomb, she returned to the room. She was on her own. The only person she could count on was... herself.
The ticking bomb stared her in the face, as if mocking her for her audacity.
Yeah, Lois Lane, what made you think that you were special? That you were invincible? You thought that you could go through life taking risks at every turn and always get out alive? Well, not this time! Hahahahahahaha...
She had to do something. Anything. But what?
She didn’t know the first thing about bombs. Guns, now... she could fire a gun, and even shoot straight over long distances. Several years ago, she’d talked her way onto a police marksman’s course and learned to shoot - not because she liked guns or ever wanted to own one of her own, but because she’d figured the skill might come in useful in her job. And it had.
But it had never occurred to her to look for a bomb-disposal course.
Stupid, Lane! What had she been thinking? Of course a bomb-disposal course would have been much more useful than learning to fire a stupid macho boy’s toy!
69 seconds left. She had time to run.
But run to where, exactly? She was on the Messenger transport ship and, as far as she knew, the doors had been sealed. She couldn’t get off the ship. And anyway, what about all the others on board? Including Mrs Platt and Amy...
If this bomb went off, it could destroy the whole ship, killing everyone on board. And it would destroy the space programme.
How much explosive was attached to that bomb, anyway? She peered closely. Nope, she had no idea. But surely it had to be enough to do serious damage at the very least?
52 seconds. Okay, either she was going to get blown to smithereens or she had to do something about this bomb. How did the experts do it, anyway? They cut wires, didn’t they? Not just any wires - the wires leading to the fuse.
Okay, so which wire led to the fuse?
Where was the fuse, anyway?
Oh god...
She gritted her teeth and hurried forward. There was a small box with the electronic timer. Two curly wires ran from that to... where? She wasn’t sure.
She glanced around and saw a small glass-covered box containing tools on the opposite wall. One of them was a wire-cutter. Perfect. A few seconds later, she had it in her hand. Should she cut one of the wires sticking out of the bomb? But which one? And supposing it triggered the bomb?
There had to be an alternative. This room was full of equipment - it seemed to be some sort of control room. There was a panel - she wrenched it open. Inside, there were cables. Five of them - blues, reds, blacks.
She cut one. Immediately, loud sirens sounded.
Good. That should alert somebody. Everybody, in fact. The entire staff of EPRAD had to know that there was a problem.
But nobody came. And the timer continued to tick away the seconds. Only 33 remained now.
God! What was she supposed to do now? She’d tried screaming for help. She’d tried attracting the attention of people in charge - what were they doing? Was no-one watching their screens? Paying attention to the computers? Were they all off on some hugely mis-timed coffee-break?
“Excuse me, ma’am, but do you need some help?”
At last! And in the nick of time, too - the timer showed 29 seconds. Less than half a minute to oblivion.
She whirled around to greet her rescuer, hoping that by some miracle he knew how to defuse a bomb. And... just stared.
A great mass of primary colours greeted her gaze. Shades of red and blue she’d always believed should never be worn together. And... yellow. Could anyone in this universe wear yellow without looking washed-out or sallow? But this man didn’t seem to care.
He was wearing what looked like a diving suit. Or ballet costume. Whatever it was, it was Spandex and skin-tight. And he had a cape trailing behind him.
He coughed faintly, and she gulped. Right. The bomb. The newcomer’s outfit could wait until later. If there was a later...
“Over there.” She pointed. “There’s a bomb...”
23 seconds. He strode over. Ripped the front off the bomb as the timer flipped to 22 seconds. And then he just pulled something out of the bomb. She flinched, waiting for the explosion.
He opened his mouth and put the... bit, piece of explosive, whatever it was... inside his mouth. And swallowed.
And burped.
He blushed. “Excuse me.”
She just stared at him. Was he some sort of suicide bomber? Was he working for the people behind the sabotage and had he done this to stop her defusing the bomb?
She couldn’t help it. Mentally, she counted down the remaining 20 seconds. Nothing happened.
“You... you... you ate it!”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what else to do. But, hey, it worked!”
*********
If she’d thought that swallowing bombs was amazing, that was nothing compared to what he was doing now. He was...
...actually lifting the transport vessel off the ground. Holding it. Supporting its weight. Supporting the weight of an object that had to be god knew how many hundreds of times his own body weight.
And then her jaw slackened so far that it could’ve been resting on her toes for all she knew. He was floating. No, he was flying. Pushing the spaceship in front of him, out into space.
This man, this creature, whoever he was, whatever he was, could fly.
She stared at the tiny speck up in the sky, mentally composing her story. Her exclusive - after all, she’d actually spoken to him. Even if the TV cameras had still been running, none of the networks had got even remotely near being up close and personal with Caped Spandex Man.
Description: tall, of course, though not unusually so. Dark hair. Dark eyes, or at least she thought so. That costume had pretty much blinded her to anything else. He was shaped like a man, though no man she’d ever known could do the things this one could. He could carry on a conversation, which she thought ruled out his being a robot - she didn’t think that artificial intelligence experiments had gone so far as to produce a human-like being with the ability to produce intelligent dialogue.
Voice... He had an American accent. So, whoever he was, wherever he was from, he’d learned English in America. Or from Americans, maybe... memories of a movie she’d seen once, in which Jeff Bridges played an alien who learned all he knew of human language from a tape sent into space by the secretary-general of the United Nations. Starman. That was it. She giggled. Maybe this guy was her own personal starman?
Hers?
Well, why not. She had seen him first, after all.
One thing was for sure, though. He was her story.
“Hi.”
She jumped.
He was back. Standing right beside her... and she’d never even noticed him coming back down.
“Uh... hi.”
He smiled at her, almost boyishly, and something half-clicked inside her brain. Something about him was nagging at her, but she didn’t know what...
“Can I give you a ride back to... wherever you need to be?”
Wow. A ride - that had to mean he was offering to fly her. She felt like swooning. Instead, she smiled. “I’d love that.”
And he held out his hand to her.
*********
Wow.
It was just as well that she wasn’t a TV reporter, with cameras live on her right now as she flew with the mysterious incredible flying man. She’d be fired for being completely, utterly incoherent. There just were no words to describe the sensation of being held in the arms of a man who could fly, being carried through the air above the Metropolis skyscrapers, so close she could almost touch them, yet so safely, so securely, she knew she could never fall.
He was strong. Powerful. And yet gentle - he was holding her tightly, but not hurting at all.
Wow.
The Planet was right up ahead now - she could see the giant globe, from an angle she’d never viewed before. He flew on, coming to a halt finally outside the newsroom floor, just at the huge window to the back of the bullpen.
He pushed. And it opened. And he flew inside.
People jumped to their feet. She saw jaws drop, objects fall from hands to crash to the floor. Their shock made her smile.
Then, as her rescuer set her on her feet, Lois stilled, clinging onto his arm briefly for support as her head cleared.
What was wrong with this picture?
He’d flown her to the Daily Planet building - without ever asking where she worked.
He’d landed right next to her desk. How could he possibly know which was hers?
That nagging feeling was back. And now she knew what it was.
This amazing flying man was someone she knew. Someone she worked with. And she was pretty sure that she knew who he was.
Okay. Check newsroom. Who was present and who wasn’t?
Perry was sticking his head out of his office - not that Spandex Guy was Perry, anyway. Ralph was staring goggle-eyed in her direction. Eduardo was leaning against a desk, looking cynical. That new researcher was doing his best to look bored and failing.
And at the front of the crowd, easing his way past the gawping women, was the next name on her mental list. She crossed him off, then gave him an irritated look. She’d thought he was attracted to her - not that she wanted him anyway. But here was Clark Kent staring at Mr Incredible Spandex Guy with a look she could only describe as awe!
Not that Kent mattered right now. One final name to check off. As she’d expected, he wasn’t there. And now she knew the truth.
The incredible flying guy in lurid Spandex was Jimmy Olsen.
END OF PART ONE
*********
And it's over to Tank for part 2
