ToC -- for previous parts.
Sorry this part is kinda short. I'll make up for it, I promise!
Waking a Miracle -- (08/??)
Smoke billowed out of the nearby manhole, lazy and peaceful
-- a perfect contrast to the surrounding bedlam. Fire
trucks were everywhere, the sharp strobe of their emergency
lights casting a haunting tone across the skin and clothing
of the emergency workers and firemen who were running this
way and that. A man lay silent on the stretcher two EMTs
were loading into the ambulance. The only thing indicating
that he was still alive was the oxygen mask that was cupped
over his nose and mouth.
"Clark Kent, Daily Planet. What can you tell me about the
accident?" Clark asked after flashing his press badge,
having managed to pull over a fireman who had not appeared
to be too busy. He tried to ignore the slam of the
ambulance doors. The man wasn't dead. There had been no
fatalities. Things were okay, and the emergency crews had
things well under control.
The fireman pulled off his helmet and clutched it beside him
with one arm. His blond hair was darkened with sweat, and
his face was ruddy. He was very trim, and very young. To
Clark's eyes, he looked all of twenty-two.
"Reggie Dale." The fireman shook Clark's hand. "We think a
pipe got busted. It's a mess down there, the smoke is
making it hard to figure out just how bad the damage is."
Reggie let loose a dry, rough-sounding cough, a sound
imitated at random by several of the nearby workers and a
few of the EMTs. The smoke seemed to be causing more than
just visibility problems.
Clark tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his
throat. If this man, early-twenties and quite vulnerable,
could risk his own life daily in a high-risk job such as
this...
Coward, Clark Kent. I've told this you how many times
before?
"Do you think--" His voice broke a bit and he cleared his
throat. "Do you think this will have any impact on the
city's operational status?"
"Well, we might have to shut off gas, water, power, or all
three to the buildings immediately surrounding this area --
grids 45, 46, and 47 -- while we assess the damage, and
maybe again when the crews repair it, but I don't expect
there to be any prolonged difficulties."
The siren on the ambulance turned on and it pulled out of
the throng of onlookers. Several police officers were
keeping the crowd back and had set up barricades.
The lump in Clark's throat wasn't getting any smaller.
"Can you tell me anything about the injured man?" Clark
asked.
Yes, Clark. Find out if the man had any kids. A wife.
Torture yourself further, you certainly deserve it.
"I'm sorry," Reggie shrugged. "I don't have any information
on that. You might want to check with this construction
site's supervisor, Bob Chesney. He's over there."
Clark followed Reggie's gaze to where a rumpled, dirt-
smudged man sat against one of the fire trucks with a cloth
held to his head. He was gazing at the smoke as though
mesmerized, probably still a little shell-shocked.
"Thanks," Clark told Reggie, and proceeded to walk over to
the man Reggie had identified.
"Mr. Chesney?"
The man took a moment to look up at Clark. "Yes? Sorry,
I'm a bit woozy."
"No problem at all," Clark assured Bob as he wobbled to his
feet. Clark waited patiently until Bob nodded. "I'm Clark
Kent from the Daily Planet. I was wondering if you could
answer a few questions for me about the accident?"
"Sure, just don't expect me to be doing complex math
equations in this state," Bob joked. His laugh ended in a
bit of dry wheeze.
Clark didn't smile. "Can you tell me anything about the
injured man?"
Bob, who looked like he had been preparing for the third
inquisition, relaxed his posture a bit. "Oh, sure. Lindsay
Price. One of the best men I've got, I'm sure he'll pull
through just fine. He's never even taken a sick day before
this."
"So he's dedicated then?"
"Like I said, one of the best men I've got," Bob confirmed.
"Does he have any family?"
"Yes, a little girl about five years old. I think her name
is Beth." Clark felt his stomach plummet into his shoes.
"The mother is long gone though."
Someone had almost lost their father today.
"Aren't you going to write any of this down?" Bob asked.
Clark shook his head, gesturing at his right temple. "It's
all up here." Burned, forever, indellible.
Clark thanked Bob for his time and stood watching the
organized chaos of repair crews and workers for a few more
moments. The air smelled burned to him, although he was
sure the breeze that was kicking up was contributing to make
it seem stronger than it actually was. Smoke oozed about
along the ground, nipping at the hem of his trench coat, and
the flashing lights just seemed to make it more surreal.
He could have prevented this.
He had been right in the vicinity, and he hadn't lifted a
finger. Although, oddly, he hadn't even heard the trouble
this time. Not until Perry had pointed out that there had
been an accident did the sounds of sirens seem to filter
back into his realm of existence. It was as if they had
been blotted out, for a time.
Had Lois's inquiries about Trask distracted him that much?
Ironic that the man that represented such pain and fear for
Clark had the power to give him respite in *any* area, let
alone this one. He sighed a deep, rattling sigh as he tried
to collect his thoughts. His muscles knotted and strained
under his skin -- no amount of trying to relax would soothe
them. He felt like he was being ripped at, and his chest
was tight.
Lois Lane was after him, and a man had almost died today.
This was not cropping out to be a good day.
Understatement of the year, Clark. Are you going to go back
and face her now?
The accident had been, at least, an escape from Lois's
invasive questioning, and though he felt guilty for
admitting it, a slight relief. When Lois had been prodding
him, he had felt like he was stuck on a precipice, nothing
but air behind him and Lois in front of him, and the only
way out was falling off or charging through her to get away.
Even if he hadn't been able to fly, he probably would have
picked falling.
He ambled back inside the Planet building, barely mindful of
the revolving door, but it took him a long time to convince
himself to move towards the elevator. He stood there for
several moments, staring, clenching and unclenching his
fists until he finally leaned forward and pressed the up
button. Soon the doors would beckon him inward, and he'd be
well on his way to walking the last mile.
Lois would be waiting to jump him the second he got off, he
was sure. She had smelled blood in the water the second he
had admitted to knowing Trask. He cursed silently,
remembering how he had been so shocked at seeing the picture
of Trask that he had identified it and started trying to get
Lois to back off before reality put on the breaks. He
should have known better than to reveal anything at all. He
could have feigned ignorance as he had flipped through that
deck of photos.
Well, no he really couldn't have, he decided. He was a
horrible liar, and worse, just thinking about Trask usually
got him breathing funny and floundering against the horrible
dregs of memories his image brought up, and even someone
about half as perceptive as Lois would have noticed his
reaction. As it were, the sight of it had sent a sharp stab
of fear pushing backwards through his skull and he had been
hopeless to try and hide it. He thought he'd seen the last
of Trask when he'd put his costume in the closet in Kansas
City for the last time, but it was apparent that for the
second time in his life, he had misjudged Trask's absences
for transience. His first misjudgment had cost lives.
And now it had the potential to cost lives again. Lois was
in danger because from what he knew of her, regardless of
how George Thompson was involved, she was going to start
poking around and finding too much of what Trask didn't want
her to know. By dodging the issue, Clark was sure he'd made
her even more curious than she normally would have been if
he'd just ponied up, or ignored the photo. He wasn't sure
how Thompson would deal with Lois, but he knew Trask enough
to not even have to worry about it, because it meant he was
already planning for the worst.
He corrected his earlier assessment.
Lois was in danger, Lois was after him, and a man had nearly
died.
The elevator lumbered into place, and he stepped aboard. He
pressed the button and continued his trip towards the
snapping jaws of certain death.
Things were getting even worse, because he knew there was no
way he would be able to worry about Lois being in danger if
he was avoiding her to fix his other problem with her. He
felt like he was twisting in six different directions as he
considered all the possible ways this week could end in
cataclysmic circumstances.
And speaking of cataclysmic... he really, really liked Lois.
That was another problem he hadn't thought to add.
Just her smile had the ability to melt him in place -- her
inner fire was faster and hotter than any strength of his
heat-vision. And she was beautiful.
He really, really liked Lois, Lois was in danger, Lois was
after him, and a man had nearly died.
Cataclysmic began to feel like an understatement.
Somehow he had to get Lois off the story if she hadn't
figured it out already, which was something he didn't put
past her, given her wit. When she sat there making
connections and solving puzzles for stories, she was just
breathtaking. He honestly felt a little guilty for not
holding up his share -- he was too busy just watching her
shine. But as exhilarating as it was to watch, he knew her
perceptiveness was a big problem. A huge problem.
Tell her the truth, you idiot!
Would she be afraid of him? Of the things he could do?
"Freak."
"Scum."
"Alien!"
He winced as the memory of Trask's knife-like words
surfaced.
Yes. Yes, she would be afraid. Of him. Because he was
different.
And he didn't think he could take that.
There was a way people looked at you when they were afraid.
When they hated you. It burned like hot daggers to flesh,
knowing something completely out of your control was the
cause of such strong negative emotion. Such tumult.
He could still remember the white fury in Trask's pale blue
eyes. The tremor of terror, masked by his guise of
superiority. If Lois ever looked at him liked that, he was
sure he'd never be able to live with himself.
No. He would try his hardest to protect Lois Lane in the
course of her inevitable investigation, but he wouldn't tell
her the truth. If she happened to discover his origins in
the process, well then he would deal with that when it came,
but he dreaded it. Until that point, however, he would have
some semblance of normalcy, and he would cherish every
moment of it.
The bell dinged and the doors in front of him peeled open,
revealing the bullpen sprawling out before him. He took a
breath to steel himself and proceeded down the ramp towards
Lois's desk. Each step closer and his muscles seemed to
stiffen even more until he felt like a walking vice. But he
wouldn't turn away from her.
For as much as he couldn't save anyone else in his life, he
would surely protect her, or die inside trying.
"No, Mitchell, I'm not mad," Lois was saying into her phone
as he approached and reclaimed his seat.
She caught his eyes and gave a little wave before turning
back to her conversation.
"If you've got the sniffles, you've got the sniffles."
She paused, and he could hear faint mumblings on the other
end of the line.
"Yes, that could lead to complications," she answered, but
she was rolling her eyes and not looking very interested.
"No don't call me," she finally said. "I'll call you."
She slammed the phone down on the hook with such force it
made her desk shudder. She smiled at him. "Welcome back.
Did you get your story?"
He blinked. "Yes. A man was injured, but there were no
fatalities. The firemen don't know how bad the damage is
yet. I was going to call the fire chief later this evening
and also check up on the injured man, but I think I have
enough to write up something preliminary."
She nodded, staring at him, but she seemed to be giving him
more a look of appraisal than of determined curiosity. He
squirmed in his chair -- her gaze was very unnerving. But
there was no way was he going to ask her about why she
wasn't interrogating him already -- if she had decided to
let go then asking would only prod her back into wondering
again and well, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Nope.
This was a long stare.
No gift horse mouth looking here. No sir.
A really long stare.
It was getting awful hot in here.
Finally, she spoke. "I don't suppose you have a tuxedo?"
"No, I really don't know anything about--what?" Whatever
manner of questioning he had been expecting, he certainly
hadn't imagined it to begin like this. All of his previous
determination seemed to be gone, and he was left feeling
breathless and agitated. Maybe this was some new form of
torture -- to get him so completely confused and distracted
that by the time she was through he would be desperate to
reveal everything just to get the dizzy feeling to stop.
"A tux," she repeated more slowly. "Do you have one?"
What on Earth? Maybe she wanted him to look snazzy for the
imminent moment in which she ripped him to shreds.
"Uh..." he stammered. "I can get one. Why?"
"Well, the man I was going to Lex Luthor's ball with has the
flu and..." Her voice trailed off and she looked at him
expectantly.
Oh. OH. He inhaled sharply. "Yes?"
She couldn't be asking him out. No, this was for work, he
was sure. It had to be. Didn't it? Well, she did send
pretty mixed signals. She'd snap one minute and the next
she'd be staring almost as moony-eyed as he feared himself
to look the majority of the time.
She definitely wasn't snapping now though.
"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to..." She got up and
paced for a moment. He watched her go back and forth. Back
and forth. She bit her nail for a moment, and then finally
turned back to him. "Look, do you want to take his place or
not?" Her breath seemed bated and the look of hope in her
eyes was making him anxious to reply, "yes, yes, YES."
He tried desperately to keep his cool.
"A date?" he asked, but the moment he put the question into
words he regretted it. She balked, visibly, as if his
utterance had knocked some sense back into her, and her
anticipative gaze turned into a glare.
"I live by three rules," she snapped. "Never get involved
in your stories, never let anyone else get there first, and
never sleep with anyone you work with. This is business.
I'm going to land Lex Luthor's first one-on-one interview if
it kills me. And I will not walk into his party unescorted.
So are you coming?"
She crossed her arms over her chest.
His lofty hopes plummeted and went splat on the floor tiles,
but they weren't quashed entirely. She was interested, he
could see it, but there was something in the way, and it was
more than those three rules. Of course there was the issue
about Trask, but for some reason she wasn't asking about it.
Her mood shifts almost made it seem like she was at war with
herself.
"Okay, sure," he said, hoping to sound nonchalant.
"Meet me in front of LexCorp. Nine. Sharp. You're sure
you can get a tuxedo?" She looked very concerned.
He smiled. He was going to Lex Luthor's ball with Lois
Lane. Whether this was as a co-worker, friend, or potential
lover, he wasn't quite sure, but it was still something to
get excited about. "I'll see you there," he reassured her.
She glanced at his chest and then back at his face. "It's a
*black* tie affair."
"Hey," he protested. "I own a black tie."
"Never would have guessed." She smirked at him, and he felt
his cheeks redden a bit.
After glancing at her watch, she picked up her things and
packed up her briefcase, making a slow show of it before she
finally turned to him again. "Don't think you're off the
hook about Trask," she said. "I have some appointments."
And with that, she turned on her heels and stalked out,
leaving him staring, open-mouthed in her wake.
*****
TBC...
(End Part 08/??)
