Previously On Specimen S:
Clark grabbed the man by his shirt, the denim material bunching in his fists. The man started to punch Clark, but Clark paid it no more attention than he would a mosquito. His gaze went to Lois.
"I'll be right back. I just need to take out some trash."
Jeez, that was a corny line, if ever I heard one, he mentally berated himself.
He shook his head again to himself as he brought the drunk to the door. He placed the man outside, finally letting the drunk's feet touch the ground again. The man gave him a hard look, but Clark crossed his arms over his chest and fixed the man with an even harder look. Perhaps the man's liquid courage was starting to wear off. He relented under Clark's unyielding gaze and ambled down the sidewalk. Satisfied, Clark returned to the table where Lois and Lucy were still sitting.
"I just wanted to make sure that you're all right," he said, fumbling for words.
Lois nodded. "Fine, thanks."
"Happy to help," Clark said, giving her a shy smile.
He saw Lucy give Lois a subtle nudge in her ribs. Lois rolled her eyes.
"Okay, I'm done here," she said to her sister.
Lucy reluctantly nodded. "After that, so am I."
"Let me get you a cab," Clark offered. "It's the least I can do. Uh, I mean, to apologize. On behalf of the Stoke Club, that is."
Lois warily eyed him, then nodded her assent. "Thanks. That would be great."
Clark was nearly floating in his ecstasy. Just talking to Lois set his heart to soaring. This was so different then when he'd spoken to her in the Congo. This time, he wasn't afraid to let her see him. There was nothing notable, or super, about a bouncer in a club. There was no reason to suspect that he was anything more than he appeared to be.
He led the two women to the door, then stepped out into the brisk night. He ignored the cool air on his skin. It didn't bother him. If anything, it actually felt kind of good to get out of the stuffy, hot club and take in some fresh air. He reached the edge of the sidewalk and waved down a passing cab. Then he opened the door for Lois and Lucy.
"Have a nice night," he said cheerfully.
"Thanks. You too...uh..."
"Clark," he supplied.
"Clark," Lois repeated.
She stepped into the cab, scooted over, and allowed Lucy to get in. In the next moment, they were off, the bright yellow car reaching the end of the street and turning the corner. Clark sighed dreamily as he stared after them, well after the cab was gone. Then he checked his watch. Quitting time.
Tomorrow would be another day.
***
November 17, 1993
Clark tried to stifle a yawn as he stood at his post on the ground floor of the Daily Planet building. He lost the battle, yawing mightily, trying to hide it with one hand. Luckily, it was still fairly early, so not many people witnessed as he stretched along with the yawn. Glancing around at the somewhat empty floor, he took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.
He'd barely gotten any sleep the night before. He could usually bank on four or five hours of sleep on the nights when he was at the Stoke Club. But his hours had been much longer than usual the previous night. He'd filled in for Ollie, one of the other bouncers who was home sick with the flu. Clark hadn't minded the extra hours at all. He didn't require as much sleep as other people, unless he really pushed himself hard, using his powers. But he hadn't done that in a long time. And besides, the extra hours had been more than welcome for the extra money they would afford him. Perhaps he'd splurge and buy himself a decent dinner one night.
He rested his forearms against the counter of the newsstand. The strong aroma of coffee made his mouth water, but he tamped down his desire to pour himself a cup. He couldn't afford the expense right now, not until his next paycheck came in. Instead, he contented himself with watching the people both within the building and beyond the large windows that looked out into the street.
Hours passed. The morning rush kept Clark busy, for which he was always thankful for. The busier he kept himself, the less time he had to dwell on anything else - how desperately he wanted a cup of coffee, how delicious the pastries in the small glass case looked, and, most importantly, when he would catch a glimpse of Lois Lane as she zipped through the lobby and into work for the day.
Lois Lane.
He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind all night. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd seen her face there. He saw her smile. He heard her voice. He smelled the faint trace of her perfume. Cucumber, if he wasn't mistaken. He'd spent most of the night tossing and turning in his bed, thoughts of Lois running through his mind.
He had to approach her. He had to talk to her. He had to try and find the courage to ask her out.
But...how?
He was broken from his reverie as she came striding through the double doors that led out onto the sidewalk. Clark glanced at his watch. Eleven am. Much later than she usually came in. No wonder the day had been dragging by. The sound of her heels on the marble floor was like gunshots. It didn't take a genius to see that she was aggravated this morning. It was written all over her face and in the way that she carried herself.
She approached the newsstand, barely seeming to focus on her surroundings. Her notebook slammed onto the countertop. Without looking up, she placed her order.
"Coffee. Non-fat dairy creamer, one sugar. And a chocolate croissant."
"Coming right up," Clark said, unable to help the happy smile that crept up over his lips.
Lois' brow crinkled as he spoke. She looked up at him for the first time, studying his face.
"Wait a second. I know you," she said after a moment. "You were the bouncer at the Stoke Club last night, weren't you?"
Clark nodded. "Yes, I was."
"What are you, following me?" she asked, eying him a little warily.
Clark chuckled. "Nope. It's just a happy coincidence, that's all. I work in the Metropolis Midtown Library on the weekends too."
"Clyde, right?"
"Clark," he corrected her gently.
Lois flushed a little. "Sorry."
"No problem," he assured her.
Finding himself at a loss for words, Clark concentrated on making Lois' coffee. He set the Styrofoam cup before her and then retrieved her croissant for her. He popped it into a small white waxed-paper bag. Lois already had her money waiting, and Clark silently made her change. A little thrill shot through his body as his fingertips made contact with her palm as he placed the coins in her outstretched hand.
"Here you go," he said, giving her a brilliant smile. "One coffee, one chocolate croissant. Thirty-five cents is your change.""
"Thanks."
"Anytime."
"No, really. Thanks. I know I didn't say it last night but, I appreciate you getting rid of that creep for me at the club."
Clark's smile lit up his face again. "Just doing my job," he said humbly.
Lois crossed her arms. "And is it your job to escort patrons out of the club and flag down taxis for them?"
Clark blushed a little. "Well...not exactly."
"I didn't think so."
A small chuckle escaped Clark's throat. He wanted so badly to ask this woman out, but he hesitated. How could he ask her for a date when he didn't have the spare cash to buy himself a cup of coffee, let alone a decent meal at a nice restaurant? He sighed inwardly. He would have to pass up this perfect opportunity.
"Well, I'd better get to work," Lois said, shifting uncomfortably when Clark failed to speak.
"Oh...right." Clark did his best to bury the disappointment in his voice.
"Anyway, if there's something I can do to thank you for last night..."
"Actually, there might be," Clark said, his brain kicking into gear. "You see, I'm only doing these odd jobs while I look for something permanent. I'm actually a journalist. I met with the editor here at the Daily Planet a few months back. But, well, he wasn't keen on what experience I have."
"And you want me to...?" Lois arched a questioning eyebrow.
"Just...tell me...what can I do to gain Mr. White's approval? I know I lack the experience he wants to see, but at the same time, I refuse to go work for one of the tabloids. That's worse than no experience at all."
Lois laughed a little. "You've got that right. What can you do to impress Perry? Hmmm..." She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "The thing about Perry is, you have to be persistent."
"Persistent...got it," Clark said, although he wasn't really sure what that meant.
He was pretty sure that the editor wouldn't appreciate Clark barging in on him right now, demanding a second interview. He had nothing new to offer the man. Nothing to show him other than these side jobs he was doing in order to survive in Metropolis. He'd have to do...something...to prove to the man what a good writer he was.
Now, there's a thought, Clark thought to himself. I've got to nail down a story or two and prove to Mr. White that I'm capable of producing the kind of writing he'd expect from one of his employees. Something big. Something he'd want his top reporters on. Something like Lois would write.
"Sorry," Lois said, shrugging. "That's not all that helpful, I guess."
Clark smiled warmly. "Actually, you've given me a lot to think about. Thanks."
Lois' beeper started to shriek. She fumbled in her purse for a moment, then rolled her eyes.
"Duty calls. See you around, Clark."
"See you," Clark called after her, as she raced away to the elevator, juggling her purse, notes, coffee, and breakfast.
He smiled to himself once she was out of sight. He had a plan now. All he had to do was keep his exceptionally sharp eyes and ears peeled for a story that he could write up. He could watch and wait, and when he finally found something worth submitting to Perry White, he would knock it out of the park.
***
January 30, 1994
Clark huddled down into his thick winter coat, hunching his shoulders against the frigid wind. He didn't feel the cold, though he was aware of it. But in the below-freezing temperature, he would stick out like a sore thumb if he didn't slouch into his coat a little bit, trying to utilize every speck of the thick sheep's wool that lined the garment. Around him, everyone else was doing the same thing. He checked his watch and nodded absently to himself. He still had plenty of time before he was due at the Metropolis Midtown Library.
Around him, tiny white snowflakes danced in the air, riding the gusts of wind and swirling around his head. A few had fallen onto his eyelashes, glittering as the heat of his body melted them. His black coat was covered in a fine layer of snow that fell about his shoulders like a royal robe. But Clark didn't pay much attention to the frosty white flakes. His mind was a thousand miles away.
After his brief conversation with Lois that morning in November, he hadn't gotten the chance to speak more than a few words with her at any given time. And although he wanted to ask her out, his courage fled every time he thought of his paltry minimum wage jobs, and the recent increase in his rent. He was forced to take on more hours at his jobs, leaving him with virtually no spare time. When he actually did have spare time, he spent it trying to recharge himself, or looking for a story worthy enough to submit to the editor of the Daily Planet. He hadn't even been home to visit his parents since Christmas Eve.
The more Clark looked for a story to write up, the more he became discouraged. With so much of his time spent at his three jobs, he barely had any time to look for a story. And what he did find simply wasn't good enough. He had a feeling that Perry White wouldn't hire him if he covered the eighty-seventh Metropolis Dog Show. He needed something big. Something front-page worthy. Something that Lois Lane would go after. Of course, that meant that he'd have to beat her to the scene, which wouldn't be easy with his hectic schedule. At least, he mused, the writing aspect would be quick enough. So long as he went slow enough so as not to overheat his poor, battered, second-hand laptop, he could fire off an article in seconds.
Standing on the corner of 3rd and Walnut, Clark bounced a little on the soles of his feet, waiting for the light to change. On an impulse, he decided to take the long route to the subway station. Even as sleazy as Hobbs Bay was, there was still something magnificent about the Metropolis Harbor. He enjoyed walking that way when he could.
As he walked along the sea wall, the wind buffeted his body roughly. He simply hunched into his coat further, trying to look like any ordinary, miserable commuter. He was just reaching the end of the wall when several police cars came rushing to the scene, sirens blaring. They skidded to a halt fifty feet in front of Clark. Officers piled out of the vehicles, zipping up coats and tugging their hats down around their ears. Intrigued, Clark stopped.
He watched as the men and women descended down the sea wall steps to the thin strip of beach. Curious, he went to the wall and peered over. There was a body laying on the beach, bluish-skinned and unmoving, the face so bloated and distorted that it was impossible to tell who it might have once been. Clark felt an immense sadness well up within his chest. Who was that person? A husband? A father? Who was missing them, wondering what had happened? How had this man - and Clark could tell by the expensive business suit that it was a male - died? Had it been foul play? An accident?
A detective rushed by Clark as he stared down on the body. Seeing his opportunity, Clark called out to the man.
"Excuse me? Detective?"
The man turned to face him, a frown on his face. "Yes?"
"My name is Clark Kent. I'm..."
"A reporter?" the man snapped in impatience.
"Something like that. I'm hoping to find employment with one of the city's papers. I was wondering if you can tell me what happened here? Please? I'd like to, at the very least, secure freelance work with the paper."
The man sighed and eyed Clark, seeming to appraise him. Clark must have looked convincing, because the man nodded after a moment.
"We're not sure yet. We got an anonymous call that there was a body, washed up on the beach."
Clark whipped out a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket. He always carried it with him, just in case a story arose.
"Mind if I take a few notes?"
"Go ahead," the detective replied, gesturing vaguely at Clark's notebook.
"Thanks. So, when was this?"
"Just about twenty minutes ago."
"I see."
Clark continued to pepper the detective with questions, scribbling down hastily taken notes. His flawless memory would allow him to play back the entire conversation in intimate detail later on, but he had to act the part of a regular guy. When he felt that he'd gotten all the information possible, he put away the notebook and stretched out his hand.
"Thank you very much," Clark said sincerely. "If I need to contact you again...?"
"Just ask for Bill Henderson," the detective said. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."
"Of course," Clark said.
He watched as Henderson retreated. The rest of the homicide team was still hovering around the body. One man was snapping photos from every conceivable angle. Others were combing the beach for clues. Several were standing a little apart from the scene, talking. One of them was gesturing broadly as he spoke. Clark didn't bother to tune into it with his hearing. He had a job to do.
He turned from the scene, breaking into a fast run. It was difficult for him to maintain a normal human speed. Straight back to his apartment he went, fumbling with his keys in his haste. Once inside, he shut the door, went over to his computer, and hit the power button. He didn't even bother to take the time to peel off his coat.
The computer seemed to take forever to boot up. Clark drummed his fingers restlessly on the table as he waited. But at last, it was up and running. Clark opened his writing program, then tapped out his article. Two minutes later, he finished. He read it over six times, correcting minor mistakes and choosing better wording, until he was finally satisfied and the keyboard had thin curls of smoke rising from it. Clark printed the story out, shoved it into his briefcase, then hurried back out into the snow.
He took the shortcut to the subway station this time, racing down the streets like any regular commuter who had overslept. He practically flew down the steps to the underground platform, then wiggled his way into the packed train car seconds before the doors closed. His heart was thudding in his chest and his anxiety levels were high. The ride into midtown seemed to take forever, and every second seemed like a lifetime. A slow, painful lifetime.
It was with the greatest of relief that Clark finally disembarked from the subway at the station directly in front of the Daily Planet. He sprinted up the stairs, back into the wan sunlight, and stopped. He took a moment to compose himself, then entered through the doors into the heat of the building. It felt like he was walking towards his destiny.
"Hey, Kim," he said, waving at the college-aged brunette who was manning the newsstand.
"Hey, Clark," she waved back distractedly, as she thumbed through one of the city's gossip rags.
Clark shook his head. He could never truly understand the fascination some people had with the tabloids. Why would anyone really care if a celebrity went to an event and their shoes didn't match their outfit? But, to each his own, as his father had always said. By the time the elevator doors slid open and he stepped into the car, he'd already put it out of his mind, choosing, instead, to focus on what he could possibly say to Perry White.
Almost too soon, the elevator spilled him out into the bullpen of the Daily Planet. He checked his watch with a smooth, swift motion. He had less than half an hour to make it to the library if things didn't pan out here. He could make it - with a little bit of super-cheating. Clark took stock of the newsroom for a brief moment, gathering himself, then headed down the ramp into the thick of things. Straight to the editor's office he went, this time, knowing his way and feeling very confident in the article he was carrying.
Perry White's head was bent over an article when Clark appeared in the doorway. The grizzled old newspaperman was muttering under his breath as he marked the paper on his desk with a red pencil. Clark knocked softly, causing the man to look up with an almost startled expression.
"Judas Priest!" the man exclaimed, chuckling a little at his own jumpiness.
"Sorry," Clark immediately apologized. "Mr. White, I know I don't have an appointment, but I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time."
"You're that same guy who came traipsing in here a few months back, looking for a job, right?"
"Yes, sir. You told me that my experience wasn't sufficient."
"Son, I meant that you have years of work ahead of you."
Clark nodded. "I know. But, I was wondering if you might take a look at an article of mine."
Perry arched his brow, clearly annoyed. But, Clark thought - or hoped - there was a glimmer of interest in the older man's eyes. Perry waved him in and gestured to the chairs in his office. Clark happily obliged in sitting down, then dutifully took out the article he'd written.
"Here," he said simply, handing over the sheet of paper.
Perry took it without a word. For several long moments, he just read, making no more than the occasional grunt deep within his throat. Clark wasn't sure whether to take that as a good thing or a bad thing. He simply waited to see what the editor's verdict would be. After a long time, Perry cleared his throat.
"This, uh...this is some good work," he finally said. Then, looking at Clark, he asked, "This is all true?"
Clark nodded. "Thank you. And yes."
"No offense, son, but I hadn't heard anything about this yet."
"Perry!" Lois said, flying through the door and into the office. "Floater washed ashore in Hobbs Bay. I'm going and I'm taking Jimmy."
"No need," Perry said, drawing the words out just a touch.
"No need?" Lois echoed. "Chief, this could be big! A mob murder...or a drug deal gone wrong...or..."
"Kent here already got the story," Perry said, cutting her off. "Lois Lane...Clark Kent."
"You again?" Lois asked, noticing Clark for the first time.
"Me again," Clark said, giving her a small smile and a friendly wave.
"You two know each other?" Perry asked.
"We've bumped into each other, yeah," Lois said, not even bothering to make eye contact with her boss.
"Good. 'Cause I want the two of you on this story. Clark, there's one thing I value more than experience, and that's initiative. You proved you have it, and some damn good writing skills to boot. Welcome to the Daily Planet, son."
"Thank you, Mr. White," Clark said, taking the man's outstretched hand and giving it a hearty shake.
"Wait, you want me to partner up with him?" Lois asked in the same moment.
Perry nodded. "That's right. You are my best reporter, right?"
"Of course I am, but..."
"So shouldn't he learn the ropes from the best?" Perry asked, cutting her off.
Lois huffed, but she did seem pleased with the praise. "Perry!"
"Hush now. It's not an option."
"Fine. Don't ever say I'm not a team player."
"I thought so. Now scat. I want a follow-up on this A.S.A.P. Got it?"
Lois and Clark nodded. Perry smiled.
"Well, go on! Get going! The story sure as hell isn't here in my office. Jimmy! Get this article into the mock up for the afternoon edition!"
Lois and Clark scurried away from Perry's office as Jimmy rushed to grab the paper from the editor. Clark followed Lois as she made her way through the bullpen to her desk. She wheeled on Clark once she arrived, her expression less than thrilled.
"Okay, every time I turn around lately, I seem to find you there. What are you? Some kind of stalker?"
"No," Clark said, color rising in his cheeks. "I swear, I'm not following you. I'm not a stalker."
"Look, I know I said that I appreciate what you did for me that night in the club, but here at the Planet, you're the competition, got it? Just because Perry is assigning us to work together on this story doesn't mean anything. And bear in mind, Kent, that you are working for me, not with me."
"Got it," Clark said. "Except for one thing."
Lois crossed her arms. "And what's that?"
"I don't want to be your competition, Lois. But I would like to be...well...a friend."
Lois' eyes hardened for a moment. Then it seemed that she softened as some kind of recognition flooded her. Clark saw this all in her eyes. He wondered what exactly was going on in her mind. Clark wasn't sure he liked the flicker in her eyes.
"You." she said after a moment. "It was you."
"Me?" Clark pointed to himself in confusion.
"In the Congo. You're the mysterious man who saved my life."
Clark felt a searing bolt of fear flash through his entire body. She recognized him. He wondered how. Then, belatedly, he recalled calling himself 'a friend' in exactly the same tone of voice nearly a year before.
"Yes," he admitted. "I am."
Lois shook her head, looking dazed. "You...you...saved my life," she repeated. "But...how? Why? How did you know?"
Clark shrugged, uncomfortable. "I overheard you talking about the gunrunning story. And I...I don't know...sort of...kept an eye out. I didn't want anything to happen to you. You needed to stay safe...and to write your article. You needed to bring those men down."
"I won an award for that."
Clark nodded. "I know."
"You do?"
He nodded again. "I've always admired your work," he admitted. "And I did keep tabs on the journalism community here at home, even when I was living overseas. Especially your work, Lois. You're the best journalist I've ever had the pleasure of reading."
"Oh, I...thank you. That's quite the compliment," Lois said, brushing her hair back from her face, looking slightly embarrassed. "So...can I ask? What were you doing in the Congo? Since, I mean, you obviously weren't after the gunrunners."
Clark sighed and shrugged, trying not to look depressed as he thought back to those days on the run.
"I was there pretty much completely by accident. I wasn't supposed to be there. I just...got diverted...as I was moving around. It doesn't really matter. I'm just happy that I was there when it counted."
"All this time, I've wondered who that man was in the shadows. I would have been murdered that night. How can I ever repay you?"
Clark smiled. "You already have. You gave me the idea to keep my eyes peeled for a story when you told me not to give up with Mr. White."
Lois gave him a tentative smile. "Come on. We have a story to chase...partner."
Clark chuckled. "We do. Just give me a minute, okay?"
"A minute? Clark, what on Earth can be so important that it can't wait until later?"
Clark flashed her a brilliant smile. "Well, I'm due to start my other job in five minutes. I need to let them know that I probably won't be making it in."
Lois laughed. "Oh."
To Be Continued...
