Title: A Million Little Pieces (6/?)
Author: angelic_editor
Rating: PG for violence and mild language
Summary: Mayson Drake knowingly fights a losing battle for Clark's affection, and comes to understand why they could never truly be together. (Ulgh, I'm so bad at summaries).
Feedback: Better than chocolate, especially since I'm so new at this. Be brutal; I welcome comments and criticism of all kinds.
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine; the words are. Please don't take legal action, as poor college students aren't worth suing, anyway.
Miscellaneous: I was almost afraid to post the first part of this vignette because I know Mayson's not the most sympathetic of characters, and, much like Dan Scardino, she probably doesn't have too many friends on the boards. Besides, we all love Lois and Clark together, as opposed to Lois and Dan, or Clark and Mayson. But Mayson's character has always drawn me in because I think anyone can identify with unrequited love — we've all had people in our lives we're attracted to, but we've walked away because it simply wouldn't work. It's heart-rending, and it provides nearly endless angsty opportunities for fics like this one. And yes, the title is most definitely a poke at James Frey's disputed work of "non-fiction" — but I couldn't get the moniker out of my head after I wrote a certain line in this fic. This is set in Season 2, but before Clark and Mayson kiss, and definitely before Lois and Clark are quasi-dating. Also, like all my stuff, this is unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own. Point and laugh at will.
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five ---------------------------------------
Hold on — hold on to yourself
For this is gonna hurt like hell— “Hold On,” Sarah McLachlan
This is all wrong.
Mayson is too still. The slow rise and fall of her chest is the only indication that she’s unconscious and not dead.
The dark bruises along her swollen jaw are almost black against the too-white sheets. Her wan, unmoving frame is surrounded by monitors and tubes, and there are too many needles — and Lois can only gape in horrified silence.
Pull it together — you’ve got to talk to Clark, she reminds herself. She draws a deep breath.
“Hi,” she says quietly. “I know I said I’d page you, but ... I think we’ve got something.”
He stands a little straighter, his shoulders visibly stiffening. “What is it?” The haunted cast to his features is awash in harsh, fluorescent relief.
She moves to Clark’s side, forcing herself to keep her eyes on her partner and not the woman in the hospital bed.
She places a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Clark, are you all right? You seem so ... tired.”
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chides herself.
You already know he’s run himself ragged chasing down leads to find out who’s responsible for this.
Clark releases a frustrated breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. I’m just — this is — ” He pauses. “If I could’ve gotten more information about Intergang this past week, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“That’s — Clark, that’s not true. You can’t think that this is your —
your fault,” she stammers.
Clark stares down wordlessly at his shoes.
“You do,” Lois breathes. “Clark, no. Just —
no.” She touches his arm. “Hey.”
He looks up.
“This is not. Your. Fault,” Lois whispers, imploring him to believe her words.
Clark studies Lois’ earnest features for a long minute. “What’ve you got?” he asks softly.
I don’t like losing arguments — even when they’re one-sided. She smooths her hands down the sides of her fitted gray trousers.
But let it go for now. “I was looking through some of your research,” she says finally. “I was trying to piece together some connection to Intergang we may have overlooked.”
“And?”
“Well, I was most interested in the spike in thefts over the last three months. Out of all the businesses targeted, Cost Mart’s been hit the most. It may not be much to go on, but I think we should talk to Bill Church. See if he’s got any enemies in high places. It can’t be just coincidence that five of his stores have been broken into in such a short amount of time.”
Clark nods. “If Intergang has Church in its sights, maybe he can help us put this puzzle together.”
Lois’ eyes soften as they dart to Mayson. “And find out who did this.”
Clark ducks his head. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Lois, there’s an Intergang connection here, I know it. Mayson came to me last week with some information — this ... I can’t believe it was some random mugger — the way she was attacked ... ”
“Clark, you don’t have to convince me. Just, look — ” She licks her lips. “I mean, c’mon, I’ve never been the president of the Mayson Drake fan club, but Clark, I never wanted — this is — god, it’s horrible.” Her chin trembles almost imperceptibly. “I can’t imagine what Mayson was working on that would — ”
Lois takes in a sharp breath.
And now I can see why you were so concerned for my safety last week.
“Clark — ”
“Lois, that’s it!” Clark exclaims, cutting her off.
“What?”
“What Mayson’s been working on,” he hurriedly explains, steering her out of the room and down the quiet, sterile corridor. “We have to find out for sure. The stuff she gave me last week ... there has to be more. At her office, or her apartment — we have to find what she’s put together, what she has that we don’t.”
“It’s about time you started thinking like a real reporter, Farmboy,” Lois grins. “Let’s go.”
But as they walk out of Metropolis General to Lois’ Jeep, Lois can’t shake the image of Mayson’s battered, bruised face.
That could’ve just as easily been you, she reminds herself. Gooseflesh ripples down her forearms.
But it wasn’t. So the least you can do is help Clark find out who’s responsible, and make sure they pay.
