Fic: Beat - Part 3
Part 1, Part 2
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He never expected this to be so hard, but when rumblings of a flying man around Metropolis make it to The Daily Planet’s 31st floor, Lois Lane narrows her eyes at Clark and promptly informs Perry she’ll land them an exclusive with the newest hero in town.
As a journalist himself, he’s avoided the press like the plague until now. Besides, the traditional Kryptonian garb that preserves his identity is bound to land him on the butt end of quite a few private jokes. With everything else, he’s not sure his pride can take that.
Then again, she always has had a way of derailing his plans.
He turns away for a minute when he hears her scream from the rooftop. He’s changed and out the door in a nanosecond, and meets her in time to stop her descent at the 23rd floor.
“I’ve got you.” He cradles her and offers the first open smile he’s dared since his return.
Her eyes twinkle as she snarks back. “And who’s got you?”
He chuckles and tries to suppress his reaction to being so close to her, holding her the way he’s wanted to since he first laid eyes on her. When he lowers her gently to the rooftop, he swallows thickly around the tears that threaten.
“You should be more careful.”
“And you should consider the value of positive press. It does a super hero good in this town, and I’ve earned the exclusive.”
He looks her in the eyes and tries to put all the gratitude and guilt he has into his response. “You have.”
She flashes a familiar grin. “My place. Seven. Balcony. Don’t be late.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Miss Lane.”
He flies off to change and return to the bullpen, but not before he hears her whisper. “It’s a date, Superman.”
He practically floats through the rest of the day, fueled by the secret smiles she grants him. If he’d known all it took was an interview with his alter ego to have her look at him, he’d have offered her the exclusive the day he got back.
---
He can fly, run faster than the eye can track, and has a photographic memory, so it’s ridiculous to think that he would be late for a simple interview.
At least, one would assume that to be the case.
It doesn’t change the fact that the distance between the Daily Planet and her apartment happens to be littered with three muggings, a car-jacking, and a lost old lady.
“You ought to consider a better neighborhood, Miss Lane.” He says in the voice he reserves for his other identity as he lands lightly on her balcony.
“Mmm…” She looks him up and down. “And you might want to consider a better way to hide your identity. All those primary colors are a dead giveaway, Superman.”
“Super-who?”
“Superman. I can hardly call you Superboy anymore, not when you’re standing there looking all…incredibly buff.” She waves a hand in his direction casually.
A little flame glows somewhere inside at the offhand compliment.
“Let’s get started with that interview, shall we?”
He nods distractedly and sits at the patio table she directs him toward.
“Are you married?”
“What the…” At the knowing smirk, he finds his footing. Secret identity. Right. “Uh, no-no I’m not.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Uh, no I don’t, Miss Lane. But if I did, you’d be the first to know about it.” She raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him, but stays silent on the point.
“And how old are you?”
“Over 21.”
“Oh, I get it. You don’t want anyone to know how old…ha. Okay.” She scribbles furiously on her tablet. “And how big are you?” She blushes crimson and presses forward. “How tall are you?”
“Uh, about 6’4””
“Wow. And, um, how much do you weigh?”
“Mmm…around 225.”
“Well, I-I assume then that the…the rest of your bodily functions are…normal?”
“Sorry…beg your pardon?”
“Well, putting it delicately, do you…eat?”
“Uh, yes. Yes, I do.” They grin goofily at each other. “When I’m hungry.”
“Of course you do. Well then, is it true that you can see through anything?”
“Uh, yes, I can. Well, pretty much.”
“And that you’re totally impervious to pain?”
“Well, so far as I’m ready for anyone to know.”
“What color underwear am I wearing?”
“Hmm…” She looks incredulous. He’s just trying to hide his shock beneath a look of concentration. He knows the best way straight to the dirt of an interview is to keep the subject off guard. “The planter.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s lead.”
A smile curves her lips. “So it is.”
She steps away, daring him with her eyes.
“Pink?” He looks up. “I never really saw you as a pink girl.”
“Hardly surprising.”
He tilts his head.
“You never really saw me at all.”
“Unfair.”
“Exactly.”
They’re circling each other verbally, so it’s barely a surprise when she wanders off to the far side of the balcony. He can’t take the distance in her voice, so he follows.
She’s leaning on the rail, looking down, and it’s the most weakness she’s shown since his return. This isn’t right. He didn’t want to hurt her.
It takes every ounce of his strength not to envelop her in a hug. She is going to be someone else’s wife too soon, and he learned his lessons about infidelity long ago.
“I…I didn’t ask you here to talk about the past.”
He straightens. “Of course.”
Her heartbeat tells. The current line of conversation has her terrified for reasons he can’t hope to comprehend.
“Someday, though?”
“Just say when.”
They skirt the chasms between them, and keep the remainder of the interview professional. Once they’re finished, she sends him away to patrol. They agree without words he’ll be back to see the story before she turns it in.
---
He’s knocking on her door three hours and one major structure fire later.
Something about exposing his other self to her has him twitchier than he expected. After all, there was so little she didn’t know already.
Her expressive face is almost somber when she answers the door. Her eyes well with unshed tears. They break free as the sunflower grin spreads across her face, reminding him of the girl she was. She wipes the tears away like a nuisance she no longer permits.
“I wanted to thank you, Clark.”
“For what?”
“The…input. Trusting me to write this at all.” She gestures toward her laptop. “After everything…it means a lot to me.”
“After everything, there’s no one else I would consider trusting.”
She freezes, and it kills him that her eyes widen in shock. How could she not know?
He’s been so good about not touching her, but he can’t stop himself from gasping at her hands a little desperately at the disbelief in her eyes. “Ch-Lois, I can’t change all the stupid things I’ve done, especially to you, but you have to know how much you-you’re friendship has always meant to me.” He catches her gaze and holds it. “You’re the only person on Earth I ever trusted completely.”
She pulls her hands back reflexively at his last words. With a start, he realizes that defending herself against his brand of hurt is so deeply etched into her memory that it’s pure instinct now.
He watches helplessly as she turns away. “I’m not sure I’m the person you think I am, Kent. A lot has happened. Even more has changed.”
“I can see that. But things haven’t changed so much that I don’t know a good heart when I hear it.”
“Hear?”
“Yeah. It was the last part of my training. Learning to really listen.”
She tilts her head and regards him curiously. He’s not sure how much to tell. Not sure how much he can tell without hurting both of them.
It strikes him that his silence has already hurt them beyond measure.
“It’s how I heard you for the first time, while I was training. You were the first person I listened for.” He can’t hide the blush that heats his cheeks, but he tries to look away.
“When?” She speaks quietly.
“Three years ago. Maybe four.” He finally meets her gaze. “All I heard was ‘I do.’ I stopped listening after that.”
Whatever she expected to hear, that wasn’t it. Her mouth works silently for a few seconds, trying to form a response. “That’s…? That’s why you…?” She growls and retrieves a glass of wine she abandoned on her coffee table earlier, draining the glass in two gulps. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Running off half-cocked for two freaking years and then coming back and…upsetting, well, everything.”
“I know. I’m sorry. You can’t know how sorry I am.”
“That’s right. And I don’t want to know. You’re not going to tell me. Got it?” A bottle seemingly appears from nowhere, and she’s refilled the glass and drained it again before he’s sure what’s going on. “God! Do you even know what you heard? Three-and-a-half years ago I was busy putting the devil himself behind bars. I gave a bazillion depositions, was sworn in more often than both Clintons combined, and every time, I had to say ‘I did.’ You can’t know how tired of the phrase I got. Now I find out my best friend ditched me because he couldn’t stick around to get context?”
He collapses on the couch and scrubs his face. So much time lost. So much he can’t say. Apparently frustrated beyond screaming, she grabs the bottle of wine, stomps through the living room, and slams the balcony door.
---
The laptop sits expectantly on the coffee table. He can’t resist her words. He never could.
The confidence and reverence in her story makes his chest ache with longing for the days when she looked at him the way she talks about Superman. He wishes he could be her hero again.
His gaze wavers between the laptop and the French doors. There is no clear path, so he follows the tug of his heart outside.
He finds her seated stoically at the table in the corner, idly turning the bottle. She looks out over the glittering lights of metropolis.
“My city.” She says it with such affection. The brittle smile almost breaks his heart, as does the little sniffle she tries to conceal with a sardonic laugh.
She looks back at him, her eyes shining and her smile fading. Seeming to come to a decision, she pulls a Sherman from a gleaming cigarette case. He knows better than to question her habits now.
“Why did you come back, Clark?” She takes a long draw on the cigarette, and blows the smoke right in his face.
“Do you…is this the best time to talk about this?” She’s obviously heading toward tipsy, and he’s not sure how much proximity he can handle when her heart is practically racing in his ears.
“No time like the present. Besides,” she waves the bottle casually. “Liquid courage.” Her sarcastic smirk reminds him of the fresh-faced teen who once had a nasty run-in with an alien parasite. “Stop dodging the question. Why did you come back to my city?”
“Our city.” He can’t help it. “Metropolis was always our city.”
“Hmm.” It’s somewhere between humor and consideration. “It was. But that was a long time ago.”
“It could be again.” He tries to swallow against the hope.
She breaks his gaze at that, and he can practically watch the reels of memory pass before her eyes as she regards the city once again. “Might as well be another life. We were such kids, rushing off to save the world without a thought to the many ways it can screw us over.
“So many ways, so little time.” She puts out the cigarette and turns back to him. The war-ravaged wisdom in her eyes hurts to look at. “For most, anyway.”
He can’t watch her strip her defenses bare before him with nothing in return, so he gives her what he can - truth.
“I-I couldn’t stay away.” It comes out as little more than a whisper. He has every right to be ashamed. “I just couldn’t stay away from you any longer.”
It seems so wrong for her to look up at him, so he slides into the chair opposite. Four hours ago, his alter ego sat here and confidently answered her queries. Now, it’s not hard to pick out the disguise.
“I learned so much while I was away…Lois. So much about myself.” She regards him warily. “I was an ass. I was always an ass, but I was an even bigger ass when it came to you.”
She stares blankly for a moment, and inexplicably, begins to laugh. Giggles quickly digress into full belly laughs.
“I’m glad you find that so amusing, Lois.”
“Oh, God.” She waves him off. “I was just wondering whether I should include your status as an ass in the article. It might help humanize you, you know. I can see the headline now…”
“Ha ha. I’m serious. I just…” He reads the caution in her eyes, knows he’ll only hurt her again if he’s honest now. “I’m glad Richard is such a smart guy; that he was there for you. You deserve happiness more than anyone I know.”
Her relief is palpable. She practically glows with it. “He is pretty great, isn’t he?” Clark is reminded of the insecure girl he once knew. “There are days when I wonder how I got here. I still have a hard time believing he would pick me.”
“Why would you say that? You’re brilliant and beautiful. Only an idiot wouldn’t want you.” The words are out before he knows it.
“Or an ass.” She gasps and covers her mouth, chagrinned at her own words. “Sorry. Too much wine brings out the worst in me.”
“It’s okay. I deserve it.”
“Yeah, well…”
“Yeah.”
They sit and look out over the city until the silence grows less awkward. Clark still listens, he always listens. He knows that this is where he needs to be right now.
Seeing her profile against the glimmering cityscape is breathtaking, and he is again struck by how right it feels to be by her side.
“Lois?”
“Hmm?”
“After the wedding, do you think we’ll still be able to work together? Hang out now and then?”
“You make it sound like Richard has a choice in the matter.” She looks back nonchalantly. “Even before you came to town, he knew I was a package deal. Makes it even crazier that he accepts it all.”
He can’t help it. He pulls her into a grateful hug before either of them knows what is going on. There’s no going back, so he holds on like he never wants to let go.
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Continued here.