Setting - This fic is set early in the second season (before TOGoM). A couple of months have passed since Lois's almost wedding to Lex Luthor, Clark's confession of love for Lois, and his subsequent denial of his feelings.
Rating - PG13
Disclaimer - One character in this story is mine. The rest belong to someone else!
Thanks to my amazing BR, Iolanthe. Also thanks for savcyril for helping me with plot issues.
Accused
Part 1Clark Kent walked listlessly towards his apartment after another day at the Daily Planet.
Another Lois-less day.
He missed her. Missed her terribly. She’d been gone for less than a week, but it felt as if all his enthusiasm for living had gone with her.
He loved his life in Metropolis. He loved his job at the Daily Planet. He loved the feeling of being a part of the forever-pulsing bustle of city living.
But without Lois, something vital was missing.
Like apple pie - with no apple.
A skiing vacation - with no snow.
A song - with no melody.
She would be back tomorrow. Her week of leave would be over, and she would return to the Planet. Did that mean she was in Metropolis now? Could he call her? Could he? Just to say ‘hi’? She would wonder why he’d called. She’d probably ask. And then what would he say?
I just wanted to hear your voice. That would be the truth, but Clark recoiled at the thought of actually admitting it to her.
He wasn't sure it fitted with the 'I just want to be friends' lie he had told her after the Luthor debacle.
Last Wednesday, she'd left abruptly after receiving a phone call, bombarding him with instructions for their current stories as she'd quickly cleared her desk. When he'd inquired about her sudden need to take leave, her only response had been a few muttered words, telling him not to worry.
But he had worried. Because she was Lois.
He tried to conjure her voice in his mind. He did, but it was vague and not particularly satisfying. He ached to hear her voice. Really hear it.
And he wanted to see her.
To laugh with her.
To work with her.
To be with her.
He had missed her so much.
He'd been counting down the hours since earlier today when, in response to his casually worded inquiry, Perry had told him Lois had called to confirm her return from leave.
Tomorrow. Seven o'clock - just over nine hours away. When he arrived at the Planet, she would be there. Or about to arrive.
Nine hours. Clark couldn't wait. He would tell her about the stories of the past week, and he would bring her coffee; he would watch her, and laugh with her and ... he would feel as if the colour had returned to a life that had faded to insipid grey.
Because this week had been confusing. And lonely. And disturbing. For a whole lot of reasons.
Firstly, Lois hadn't been here.
And, as he’d realised in about the first thirty seconds after saying ‘bye’ to her as she'd rushed towards the elevator, without her, he felt lost.
Which was ridiculous.
But there it was. Without Lois, he felt lost. Incomplete. Hollow. Aimless.
And then, adding further confusion, there was Mayson.
Mayson, who was intelligent and pretty and clearly attracted to him. She was a nice woman – but a nice woman with one critical flaw. She wasn’t Lois.
A few hours after Lois had left, Mayson had come to the Planet and offered to cook a meal for him. Clark hadn’t been able to find a polite way to refuse her offer, so she had arrived at his apartment that evening, loaded with food, which she had cooked more than competently. She’d left her new baking pan on his stove.
The evening had gone well enough. She had asked about his life and freely given information about hers. When she had left, she had kissed him on the mouth, and it hadn't been entirely unpleasant.
But she wasn’t Lois.
Mayson had come to the Planet two days later, and Clark had had the definite impression that the primary reason for her visit was to prod him into asking her out on a date. A real date - to a restaurant or a movie. He hadn’t, because spending time with one woman when his mind was completely engrossed with another woman hadn't seemed like the right thing to do. And he didn’t want Mayson to think there was a possibility of anything beyond friendship with him.
There wasn’t. She wasn’t Lois.
But, somehow – and Clark was still unsure exactly how it had eventuated – she had come to his apartment again and he had cooked for her. As he’d prepared the food, he'd allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy that it was Lois who was about to knock on his door. Then, because he'd felt guilty, he’d tried to be extra nice to Mayson as they'd spent the evening together.
Which meant her goodnight kiss had lingered – and he’d gotten the sense that if he'd pushed for more, she would have eagerly complied.
But, she wasn’t Lois.
So, he had broken away and apologised, using tiredness as his excuse. Her disappointment had been palpable as she had snatched up her bag and left rather abruptly.
The next morning, his shower - and his musings about Lois - had been interrupted by a knock on his door. He'd looked through the walls, seen Mayson standing there, super-sped through the rest of his preparations, and opened the door.
She'd said she wanted to buy him breakfast to thank him the wonderful meal the previous evening. Clark had invited her in - primarily to give himself a few moments to try to conjure an excuse. He'd left her in the living room and snuck into his bedroom, ostensibly to straighten his tie, and decided that breakfast might be the perfect opportunity to inform Mayson he could never love her romantically.
Problem was, he knew how that felt.
Lois. The park.
I have been in love with you for a long time. You must have known.And her reply, shredding his heart:
I do love you, but only as a friend.Who would have thought being a 'friend' could cause such anguish?
As Clark had eaten breakfast with Mayson, he'd tried. He had. But his attempt to tell her gently had been interrupted by a call for Superman and then, within moments of sitting back at the table, terminated by a call from Perry ordering Clark to chase up the story of the rescue.
He'd paid for breakfast and hurried off, the words still unsaid.
That night, he'd spent the evening patrolling the dark skies above Metropolis, only returning to his apartment long after midnight. A note had been pushed under his door:
Clark, Sorry to have missed you. Thanks for the lovely breakfast. I have two tickets for The Merry Widow on Friday night. Care to join me? Mayson.But by Friday night, Lois would be back in Metropolis.
And he couldn't keep on seeing Mayson. It wasn't fair to her. He had to tell her the truth.
It was almost ten o'clock when Clark arrived at his apartment door, having also arrived at the decision that the very next time he saw Mayson, he would tell her he didn't want to date her.
That sounded so harsh. There had to be better words. Kinder words. But Clark couldn't find them.
As he inserted the key, he heard footsteps behind him and turned. It was his neighbour, cradling her striped ginger cat in her arms. "Hello, Mrs McCreadie," he said, hoping he didn't sound as relieved as he felt. "Have you been out?"
"Hello, Clark," she said in a much more sombre tone than her usual cheery greeting. "Pannikin is sick, so I took her to the vet."
"Nothing serious, I hope," Clark said, reaching over to stroke the top of Pannikin's head.
The look on Mrs McCreadie's face told him it was serious. "The vet is very concerned," she said. "Tonight is critical. If Pannikin is still with us tomorrow morning, she might make it."
"Oh, no," Clark said, noticing that the cat did indeed look lethargic and its coat lacklustre.
"The vet wanted Pannikin to stay at the clinic, but I know she would be distressed if I left her alone." Mrs McCreadie lovingly scratched behind the cat's ears. "I told the vet I'll stay up with her the whole night and watch over her."
"She's fortunate to have such a dedicated owner," Clark said.
"I would do anything for Pannikin. She's been with me since before I came to Metropolis."
"I hope she's feeling much better by the morning," Clark said.
"Thank you." Mrs McCreadie looked around as if expecting someone else to materialise from the darkness. Clark stifled the urge to check behind him for the lurking presence of Mayson. "You're home late," his neighbour commented. "Did you go out for a meal?"
"No," he said. "I've only just finished at the Planet." He didn't add that he had deliberately delayed coming home in the hope of avoiding both Mayson and a long evening alone counting down the minutes until he would see Lois again.
"Are you expecting company?"
"Nothing planned."
Mrs McCreadie smiled and patted his arm. "Perhaps you'll get a nice little surprise then."
After the regularity of her visits this week, Mayson appearing on his doorstep would hardly constitute a surprise. Not knowing what to say, Clark gave a plastic smile.
"I'll let you go," his neighbour said. "I need to get Pannikin settled, and I'm sure you'll want to get ready. Just in case someone decides to pay you a visit."
She turned and waddled towards the steps that led up to her second-floor apartment.
Unable to suppress his tenuous hope that Lois might drop in - just to tell him she was back - Clark quickly scanned the area. No Lois.
No Mayson, either.
With a sigh that was an incongruous mix of disappointment and relief, Clark entered his apartment and closed the door.
Mayson's baking pan was still on his bench. He'd reminded her several times to take it, but after the aborted kiss, she'd only picked up her bag before leaving.
He wasn't in love with Mayson.
He never would be.
Because he loved Lois.
And even though she didn’t love him – not in the way he yearned for her to love him – he was nowhere near recovered enough to think about being with any other woman.
He doubted he ever would be.
He was probably more in love with Lois than he had been the day in the park when he had offered her his heart. His love. His lifetime of devotion.
She hadn't wanted him. Not like that.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, a sound came from his bedroom. A footstep. Clark snapped around, his heart plummeting. Mayson was here? Waiting for him? In his *bedroom*?
He reached to slide his glasses down his nose, but before he'd looked through the wall, a woman appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.
It wasn't Mayson.
"Lana?" Clark gasped. "What are you doing here?"
She stepped up to him, wearing his black leather jacket. "Clark," she said. "Is that any way to greet your best friend?"
She wasn't his best friend. That place in his life belonged to Lois. Pushing that thought aside, Clark tried to pull his face to a smile of welcome. "You surprised me," he said. "I wasn't expecting you. I -"
Lana swept him into an embrace that seemed overdone for someone he hadn’t seen in almost two years.
"I gave up waiting for you to return to Smallville, Clark," Lana said as she backed away - although her hands remained attached to his upper arms. "I know you came for the Corn Festival last year, but I was touring Europe, so we missed each other."
Actually, Clark hadn't missed her at all - because Lois had been there - but now didn't seem the appropriate moment to disclose that information.
"I had a wonderful time in Europe, Clark," Lana continued. "I met so many amazing people. The fashion was incredible." She released his arms, spread his jacket wide, and twirled around, causing her dress to balloon out from her body. "I got this little number in a divine store in Milan. Do you like it? It's Prada."
He passed a token glance over her dress and gave a terse nod.
"And I got my hair styled at the premier salon in Paris," she said, running her fingers through her locks. "Where all of Europe's beautiful women go."
"It's shorter," Clark managed. "And darker."
"Yes. Blondes are so ... vapid."
"Ah ..."
"But, I'm back home now," Lana said with a little squeal and an accompanying jump of excitement. "So we can make up for lost time."
"How did you get in here?" She hadn't just come into his apartment, but had gone through his closet, as well.
Clark had tried to smooth any tinge of accusation from his tone, but Lana's fleeting scowl assured him he had failed. "Clark," she said. "You might think you've become proficient at acting like the big city reporter, but you're still a Smallville boy at heart."
"How did you -"
"The key was under the mat. Just like in Smallville."
"How did you know this is my apartment?"
"As you never bothered to send me even a Christmas card, I had to ask your parents for your address."
Clark's questions jostled through his mind.
How long are you staying? What do you want? Why are you here? Summoning every ounce of the good manners his mother had instilled in him, he instead asked, "Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea?"
"Not now," Lana said, impatience crusting her words. "I have a restaurant booked. One of the best in Metropolis, according to the review. Table for two. We're over an hour late because of your tardiness, but at the prices they charge, I'm sure they'll be able to fit us in somewhere."
"Lana ..."
"Yes, Clark?" There was a hard edge to her question - a tone Clark remembered too well.
"You didn't tell me you were coming," he said, trying to sound reasonable. "I've been working all day. It's after ten o'clock."
Lana moved closer again, and Clark resisted the impulse to step back. "You don't want to go to the restaurant?" she demanded. "I've come all this way to see you, and it's too much trouble to take me out for a meal?"
Clark could feel himself being jammed into a figurative corner. "Lana, you should have called me. You should have told me you were coming."
"Do you have plans with someone else?"
"Not exactly."
She strode to his phone, seized the handset, and held it towards him. "Whatever your 'not exactly' plans are, you can call and cancel."
He didn't have plans - only vague notions that he really needed to speak with Mayson and a simmering question about whether calling Lois to check she was home safely would be a good idea.
"I told you," he said. "I don't have concrete plans."
She smacked the handset onto the table, leaving the phone off the hook. "Then what are we waiting for?"
"I've already eaten," Clark said - which was true. He'd flown to Rome for a pizza. He gestured to his charcoal jacket and navy pants. "I'd need to change my clothes. I -"
Lana eyed him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Her upper lip curled in distaste. "You're certainly right about that," she said. "Who chose *that* outfit?"
Clark brushed at his tie. It was crimson and - he'd thought - a perfect match for his shirt.
Lana gingerly clamped the end of his tie between her forefinger and thumb. "What is that splattered on it?" she asked. "Something you ate for breakfast?"
Clark hastily looked down. There was nothing on his tie. Nothing that wasn't supposed to be there. "It's a flower," he said.
Lana's pout smoothed to a smile. She released his tie and stroked it into place against his shirt. "If you're going to be taking off any clothes, perhaps we could skip dinner and move straight to the dessert," she suggested in a low throaty voice that whipped panic through his stomach.
"Dessert?" he croaked, pretending he didn't understand.
She slid right up to him. Her arms surrounded his neck. Her body rasped against his. Her mouth commandeered his, her tongue tapped on his zipped-up lips.
Clark placed his hands on her waist and eased them apart. Her lower body moved, but her upper body - and her mouth - remained firmly stuck to him.
Clark jerked his head backwards. "Lana," he said, somehow managing to overcome the temptation to wipe his mouth.
Lana looked at him with a practiced mix of surprise and hurt. "What's wrong, Clark?" she asked in a little-girl voice that scratched annoyance through his confusion.
"We broke up nearly a decade ago," he said. "And we haven't seen each other since I came to Metropolis."
"I know you were devastated when I said we needed to take a break from each other," Lana said. "But we've both had time to grow; to find out who we really are. Now is the ideal time to get back together. We're perfect for each other."
Actually, 'relieved' had been closer to the truth than 'devastated'. "But Lana, I ..."
Her hard eyes ran over his face. "Is there someone else?" It sounded like an accusation.
"Lana, we've both moved on. Made new friends. We have different lives now."
"Is there someone else?" she said with icy definition dripping from each individual word.
"Yes."
"That's OK, Clark. I'm sure she'll understand."
"Understand *what*?"
"I'm moving to Metropolis."
"You are?" Clark gasped. "I mean ... when did you decide this?"
Her hand settled on his chest, straddling his tie. "When I realised I am still in love with you, it was the obvious decision. We *have* to be together, Clark. We share so much history. We know things about each other. Things no one else -"
Her impassioned stream of words was chopped off by a sharp knock at the door. Clark tilted his head to look over his glasses and suppressed his groan.
It was Mayson.
At least she wasn’t toting a bag of groceries.
"You have company," Lana said in much the same tone she might have used to announce he had an infestation of rats. "You said you didn't have plans."
"I don't," Clark said. "But -"
"Whoever it is, get rid of her. We have important things to discuss."
The knock sounded again, and feeling helpless to avoid the avalanche that was about to dump on his life, Clark went to his door. "Hi, Mayson," he said after he’d opened it.
"Hi, Clark." She stepped past him, although he hadn’t actually moved aside.
He didn’t shut his door. When he turned, Mayson and Lana were facing each other like two alley cats in dispute over a piece of meat.
Clark had always considered himself a novice in dealing with women, but he would have had to have been completely dense not to have comprehended that he was the most likely candidate to be the piece of meat.
And, from the expressions on their faces, Mayson and Lana had taken an instant dislike to each other.
"Mayson Drake ... Lana Lang," he said dutifully.
After a curt nod, Mayson pointedly turned her attention from Lana and centred it on Clark. "I have those tickets for the show," she said. "You never got back to me about coming."
Lana chortled - loud and inelegant.
Clark ignored her. "I ... I've been busy," he said. "Sorry."
"I was wondering if you'd like to go out now," Mayson said. "Get a hot chocolate. Or maybe a nightcap."
Lana hurtled up the stairs and sidled between them, standing in front of Clark and facing Mayson. "Sorry, Miss Drake," she said. "But Clark has plans with me. And he'll be busy on Friday, too. And every other day you have in mind."
Clark stepped out from behind her. "Lana," he said firmly. "I can speak for myself."
Lana whirled around. "But you won't," she said. "The fact that she's still buzzing around, brandishing tickets to a show you have no interest in seeing with her makes it clear you've been tiptoeing around the truth." Lana spun back to Mayson. "He's not interested in you," she said. "I know Clark Kent. When he's interested in a woman, she doesn't have to chase him. He follows her around like a lost puppy."
"I do not," Clark proclaimed indignantly.
Lana patted his arm in a patronising gesture. Clark shoved his hands into his pockets and tucked his elbow against his side, out of her reach.
Lana's sugary smile jangled across Clark's growing apprehension. "So you see, Miss Drake," she said. "You've been wasting your time. Clark is with me. He was with me a long time before he met you, and he will be with me when you are nothing more than a grubby smudge on his memory."
Mayson broke from her shocked speechlessness and turned to Clark. "Clark -"
Lana exploded. "You still don't get it, do you?" she screamed. "You are -"
"Lana," Clark said, pitching his voice low in an attempt to undercut her hysteria. "Don't be so -"
Her anger turned on him as her fist bounced on his chest. "You've been cheating on me, Clark," she shrieked. "Don't deny it. I know exactly what has been happening behind my back."
Clark lifted his hand in a feeble attempt to calm her. "Lana -"
"We had an agreement, Clark," Lana wailed. "I trusted you when you said you loved me. I trusted you when you said you wanted to be with me forever. I gave myself to you, never thinking you'd treat me with such contempt."
Clark felt the claw of concern close around his throat, strangling him. He had never told Lana he loved her. He hadn't loved her then, and he certainly didn't love now. Could it be possible she really thought they had an agreement? Or was this an act, solely for Mayson's benefit? "Lana, we didn't -"
"You always pretend to be so pure and principled, Clark," Lana screamed. "But you're just like the rest. A woman with passably OK legs and a face that isn't completely cringe-worthy slinks into your life and twitches her tight little butt at you, and you -"
Clark grasped Lana's shoulders and tried to meet her wildly thrashing eyes. "Calm down, Lana," he said, trying to sound firm despite keeping his volume low. "This isn't helping."
Her anger turned to tears - loud, howling sobs. "You don't understand, Clark," she shrilled. "I love you. I need you."
"Lana. We -"
"How could you, Clark?" she said, her question punctuated with loud sobs. "How could you break my heart?"
"Perhaps I should leave," Mayson said.
In a split second, Lana shed all the trappings of hysteria and gave Clark a frosty look that smeared foreboding through his body. "This isn't how I had planned to make this announcement, Clark," she said, "but you've left me with no choice."
She couldn't know his secret. Could she? They'd been together for a little under a year - a year when he'd still been adapting to his strange powers. "Lana -"
"I'm pregnant, Clark," Lana said. "With your baby."
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Lana\'s dress
