Superman: Aftermath - Chapter 9
Title: Superman: Aftermath
Author: Saavikam77
Fandom: Superman Returns
Pairings: Lois/Richard, Clark/Lois
Rating - This Chapter: R - for language
Summary: In the days following the events of Superman Returns, both Clark and Lois are reeling from events that have changed their lives forever, and the city of Metropolis is in shambles. Things only get worse as Lois's relationship with Richard takes a nosedive, the US government wants to send a survey and potential mining mission to New Krypton, and vast amounts of kryptonite show up in the hands of criminals on the streets of Metropolis.
Chapter Summary: Clark makes a startling discovery and the Vanderworth estate falls into dangerous hands.
Chapter Word Count: 7,368
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction. Superman and the DC Comics universe are property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers. No money has been made or will be made from the production of this work. Darn it.
Author's Note: Still waiting to get this back from one of my betas. Edits will be made accordingly. Also, two new scenes in this chapter.
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Chapter 9
One Week Ago
“Prometheus Two to Titan One. Prometheus Two to Titan One. We are out of fuel and have landed on a sandbar north of Bermuda. I cannot determine our-” For the two hundred fiftieth time Lex Luthor repeated his encrypted distress call, finally cutting himself short. With a low snarl and utter frustration and an inhuman fury rising in him, he flung the radio handset out of the helicopter and onto the wet sand. His promised fortune obliterated by Superman - again! His beautiful Kryptonian island taken away. The crystals - gone, lost on New Krypton, wherever that alien had taken it.
After all he'd done to ensure the demise of that circus freak, and this is how he'd been rewarded. The alien had probably returned to Metropolis to cheers, a ticker tape parade, perhaps. The image of people lining the streets and shouting “Our savior! Our savior!” filled his head, and it disgusted him, turning his stomach with violent outrage. Superman was no savior. He was just a man in a ridiculous costume, a pretender, and no acts of 'selfless courage' could ever convince Lex otherwise.
“Le-ex!” his companion, Kitty Kowalski, whined from across the tiny island. “Please don't break the radio! That's our only hope to get rescued!” Shuffling through the sand over to the helicopter with the little Pomeranian yipping as it followed her, she peered into the cockpit at Lex with a guarded expression. “Have you heard anything back, yet? When are your other friends coming for us?” she asked meekly.
“No, I haven't heard anything, yet! Don't you think I would have told you if I had!?” he yelled back at her, forcing her to shrink back from him and wanting to strangle every ounce of life out of her. She'd cost him the crystals, his crystals. And with them, every future opportunity he might have had to rebuild his Kryptonian paradise.
Then, they'd landed on the sandbar, with its three measly coconut palms, and were forced to spend the night with the tide up to helicopter's landing gear, the two of them cramped inside the tiny space. He hadn't slept at all, choosing instead to repeat the distress call, over and over, trying desperately to ignore his dimwitted Kitty's snoring while she cradled that repugnant dog in her arms.
And now, at twelve thirty in the afternoon, he still hadn't received a response from his second crew. Incompetents.
Turning away from Lex, Kitty pulled out her umbrella and popped it open as the sun came out again, seeking shade from the blinding, searing brightness. No point getting burned up if she didn't have to.
With a careful look back to Lex, she asked, “Are you sure your little back up plan will work? I mean, they will find us out here... right?”
Luthor only eyed her coldly, then spoke in a quiet, low tone, “For the seven thousandth time, it will work. You don't actually think I would set out on our little adventure without a solid back up,” his voice rose to another yell, “do you!?”
This time Kitty was braced for his attack. Picking up the dog, Tala, she turned and stalked back across the sand, as far away from Lex as she could get. She'd had enough of him yelling at her, talking down to her, treating her like a cheap date. She had more class than that! At least, on the opposite side of the island, she could pretend to still have her dignity intact. Planting herself once more upon the sand, she turned her attention to her sweet little dog. “You still love me, don't you?” She licked her wrist in response and looked up at her with her cute brown eyes. “That's what I thought.”
Resigned, Kitty knew Lex would never forgive her for what she'd done to him. The crystals... they'd held so much power, but when she'd seen what Lex did with that power - no, she didn't want to think about it any more. That terrible island, that monstrosity, was not how she had envisioned Lex's supposed paradise. And with the calm promise of so many deaths... The man she'd admired for his criminal intellect had proven himself to be more of a monster than she'd ever imagined. The things he'd done to Superman! That poor man... Kitty hated herself for having stood by while Lex's buddies beat him to a pulp, but thankfully, that had been the final straw. Afterward... well, the crystals had simply had to go. They were just too dangerous for a man like Lex Luthor to have. He was too dangerous to be allowed to possess that kind of power. As much as she'd looked up to him, wanted him and all that he'd promised her, maybe even loved him, she couldn't let him do the horrid things he had planned. She may be a consort of criminals, but she would not be an accomplice to genocide. At least she had that much self-respect left.
In the helicopter, Lex retrieved the handset and was about to try the distress call again, when a crackle of static came over the radio. “...crssss... ...tan One to Prometheus Two. We have received your call. Hey boss, is that you?”
Luthor sighed heavily with relief, exhaustion, and irritation. “Of course it's me, you imbecile! Where are you?”
A moment passed before the voice came back. “We traced your coordinates, boss, and we should arrive to pick you up in about two hours.”
Luthor's reply was sharp, “Make it one.” Shutting off the radio, he climbed down from the cockpit to stretch his legs. “Kitty,” he called. “Pack it up. They'll be here in an hour.”
The woman turned, surprised, and a relieved smile stretched across her face as she squinted at him in the sunlight.
* * * * *
Luthor looked at his watch again. One hour and ten minutes. Late.
“Hey, I see them!” Kitty called from behind Lex, jumping and pointing in the opposite direction from where he had been looking.
“Where?” Turning, he shaded his eyes with his hand to see. “Ah.” He glanced at his watch again. One hour and eleven minutes. Late! He'd count the time until he and Kitty set foot on the boat, then his crew would be punished for every minute late they had been. He smiled to think about it. “Gather what's left of your belongings, Kitty. We're not taking the helicopter with us.”
She looked at him quizzically. “But, why?”
“Well, for one, the boat is too small,” he replied sarcastically, “And for two, the authorities would be able to track us if we kept it!”
“Oh,” she said quietly, moving to gather up Tala, the umbrella, her sand-filled pink coat, and her small bag that she'd had the presence of mind to leave stowed on the helicopter.
Lex merely stood, his arms crossed over his chest, as they waited the last few minutes for the yacht to arrive. When it finally anchored just a hundred yards from the island in deeper water, the crew launched a small, yellow inflatable craft to pick the pair up. Kitty couldn't help noticing as the boat slid up to the island how much the Asian-featured man driving it resembled Lex's previous hired muscle: hard, angry, and stupid. Great, more creeps...
“It's about time, Harold,” Luthor told the man in the boat when they finally climbed aboard. He pointed to his watch. “One hour and twenty-two minutes. You're late.”
“Sorry boss,” Harold replied, revving the tiny engine to power them back to the larger vessel. “The boat wasn't meant to go that fast.”
“That's no excuse,” Luthor replied flatly as they rounded the boat to its aft end. The name of the small yacht came into view: The Heracles. Lex smiled wryly at it. Fitting, he mused. Then he eyed the boat bitterly. The Gertrude had been two hundred seventy one feet long, a masterpiece of nautical engineering. This boat, a mere echo of The Gertrude, topped out at only one hundred twenty feet long, with only a fraction of the engine power. If he'd had more prep time before that alien came back and forced his plans into action so early, he could have found a longer, sleeker model, but with the Vanderworths' money spread so out so thinly between more than a dozen off-shore accounts, this was the only yacht he could find on short notice without drawing unwanted attention. Damn them, he thought, knowing he could no longer access a good half of his money. Not with the authorities most likely all over it.
Thank God for Dmitri. If it hadn't been for the Russian, his plans would never have come together in time.
Not that anything had actually panned out so far.
When the inflatable craft slid up to the back of the yacht, Kitty looked up at the boat with a mixture of disgust and longing. More pretentious garbage to feed Lex's ego - she'd had enough of luxury for now, the price had simply been too high - but at least it meant a hot shower and a decent meal. She stared at the lettering across the back of the boat as they ascended the steps to the main deck. Who's Heracles? she wondered.
The pair was met with two more of his crew on the deck, and he addressed the shorter of the two, a man who, Kitty noticed, seemed to have no neck. Lex tapped his watch again. “One hour and twenty-four minutes. You're twenty-four minutes late, Carlos. When I said 'make it one' I meant one hour! No more!” Cringing, both Carlos and the taller man shrunk back from him as Kitty had earlier. She smiled to see Lex take out his anger on someone else for a change.
“Sorry, Mister Luthor,” the man replied with a heavy accent. “The engines wouldn't go any faster.”
“I'm surrounded by incompetents,” Lex muttered to no one in particular as his gaze drifted back to the island. “Marcus, destroy the helicopter. Let them think we crashed,” he commanded before gesturing to Kitty to follow him below deck.
As they headed down to their new cabins, Kitty heard the explosion, and wondered just what sort of firepower Luthor had had attached to this boat.
* * * * *
Today
Clark's search was coming up empty, despite the information he'd gotten from the manufacturer of Luthor's helicopter. “How far could this model go on a full tank of gasoline?” he'd asked.
“It's rated as a five hundred mile vehicle,” the manufacturer's rep had replied. Clark had thanked him and been out the front doors of the Daily Planet building in a flash. He had a five hundred mile radius area to search, and luckily, most of that included US soil, which he knew Luthor wouldn't have risked returning to, and open ocean. Knowing Luthor would have tried to go for land, Clark was able to narrow his search to two places: Nova Scotia and Bermuda.
His long fly-over of Nova Scotia had so far presented nothing. Clark had even taken a peek inside warehouses and other buildings in the small cities of the island, that Luthor might have used to hide the craft. Nothing. Each time he spotted a helicopter his heart skipped a beat, hoping for just a moment that it could be Luthor's. Each time he was disappointed. More than three hours wasted, and the frustration he felt so keenly earlier in the day began to build in him again. He needed to find Luthor.
He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to get his act together to start searching properly. What on Earth was I thinking!?
Now Bermuda wasn't producing Luthor either. Of the more than one hundred thirty islands, Clark had only begun to search the first few for signs of the helicopter. Still nothing. He flew further south, noting the pleasant, welcoming cheers of tourists on the beaches as he swooped by, taking only seconds to wave back and smile as his search continued. Still nothing.
Another hour passed as he flew, concentrating only on finding the helicopter. It had to be there. Resolved to find it before the day was out, he changed his search pattern to a spiral, outward from the center of the island archipelago. Eighty-five islands down, so many more to go... Finally he began to wonder if Luthor might have ditched into the ocean after all, or if he had even made it off of New Krypton alive. Both scenarios left him with a cold feeling in his gut, the justice that Luthor deserved potentially stolen by an easy death. Even worse, if the latter were the case, then Clark would never recover his crystals. Frustrated, he pushed those thoughts aside. Luthor must have made it to land. Clark just couldn't let the madman evade him again, especially not through death. He had to be brought to justice for what he'd done.
And the crystals had to be recovered.
As the afternoon started to stretch out, Clark's spiraling search pattern took him far to the north of the northernmost islands of Bermuda, where sandbars peeked out of the water like white ribbons among a sea of glittering diamonds. Not much to find here, he realized with a pained resignation, hoping against hope that soon, somewhere...
A glint that reflected the sun like metal shone in his peripheral vision.
Sucking in a hopeful breath, he halted in his flight path, spinning to get a good look. Among the lapping waves sat a delta-shaped sandbar, partially obscured by the tide, save a high grassy patch and three palm trees reaching upward towards the sun. Taking a closer look, he flew in a tight circle to get a good view, unsure if what he was seeing was real. Barely peeking up from the water lie the wreckage of some sort of craft. A boat? A plane?
No, those were definitely... helicopter blades.
Clark's heart skipped a beat again as adrenaline pumped all the way to his toes. It can't be... he thought, his hopes and fears twisting into an unimaginable dread.
The wreckage was strewn over nearly a square mile, no doubt spread out by the currents and tides. No... he couldn't have ditched! Setting down on the highest point of the tiny island, Clark began to pick through what he could find. A bit of flight console here, a piece of a seat there, a wheel from the landing gear. The jagged, charred edges of each piece of debris showed him that the craft had been ripped apart by a blast. He waded a bit into the water until it just reached the tops of his boots, and turned over a piece of metal from the tail of the craft. The helicopter's designation stared back at him in bold lettering: N-30162.
No doubt now, this was Luthor's.
With anxiety beating a hard rhythm in his chest, he dropped the tail piece back into the water and peered beneath the glittering waves and through the rest of the wreckage. Come on, come on... he silently urged the fates to produce what he needed to find. They've got to be here!
But the fates, the gods, whoever should have been listening, weren't today. There was no sign of the crystals.
His heart sank in grief. But... there were no sign of human remains either. That, at least, was a good sign.
Clark knew quite well how devious Luthor had been in the past. He knew what the madman was capable of. If history was any indication, then Luthor had, in all likelihood, destroyed the helicopter on purpose, to cover his trail, then made his way back to civilization. Which could put him, and the crystals - Clark scanned the horizon as his heartbeat pounded in his ears - anywhere.
* * * * *
Smugly sweeping through the Planet bullpen just after three, Lois turned the digital recorder over in her hand, the little device full of juicy quotes from the head of the UN Security Council. He'd been so obliging and gracious that he'd managed to answer all of her questions without a single side-step, even commenting on the Security Council's feelings of stockpiling weaponry that was clearly aimed at a strong ally. Most of the Council didn't like it in the slightest.
A grin covered her face after she shed her coat and purse at her desk and strode into Perry White's office. She waved the recorder in front of her, one hand on her hip, “Perry, you won't believe the interview I just got. It's gonna set this whole mining plan on its head.”
The Editor-in-Chief glanced briefly up at her from his work. “Really?” he said with unruffled calm. “And I'm supposed to read this interview how?”
Lois shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I should have it for you in a few hours, and believe me, it's good. Mr. Oshima just pitted the UN Security Council against the President. Not that that's any different from three years ago, but this time it's personal. Superman has some very good friends at the UN, as it turns out, starting with the rep from Peru. Talk about gratitude! I actually had to stop to get a second interview about last night's-”
“Lois, you're gushing again. Stop it,” Perry cut her off with a grumble, vaguely waving an index finger in her direction as he scrutinized something on his laptop. “Just get me something I can sell papers with, and make sure Richard gets a copy of both interviews to follow up on. We've got a lot of work to do to coordinate this thing.”
Standing with her mouth agape, the reporter narrowed her eyes, thrown off by Perry's quick dismissal. Even in a crisis, the editor wasn't usually this short with her. Commanding, yes, even combative. But dismissive? No. Something just seemed... wrong.
Schooling her sudden suspicion, she smiled tightly, “No problem,” then turned to head swiftly out of the office. Back at her desk, she sat down and turned on her computer, staring at the screen as she waited for it to boot up. She couldn't help but wonder about Perry's strange attitude, her natural instinct telling her that something was up, something major. It was almost as if he knew something... something he wanted to keep under wraps.
But now wasn't the time to worry about Perry. She had interviews to type up. When the login screen finally came up on her monitor, she began to type in her password. Super- Oh, dammit, she huffed as a possible reason for the Chief's attitude hit her. No doubt he had some inkling that things between her and Richard were a little strained, especially after last night's fiasco. Great. White family drama. Just what I need. Briefly, she contemplated changing her password. Maybe that might help get her mind off of him and everything the subject of his return entailed for a while so she could focus. The previous night's mess - not that the full reality of her talk with him, along with Clark's sudden falling into old habits and the disaster her life with Richard was becoming, hadn't had her on edge all damned day - and Perry's attitude not withstanding, she had work to get done.
Compartmentalizing it all for later, Lois got to work on the first interview, shutting out the chaos of the newsroom, until a smiling voice pulled her out of her concentration.
“Mommy!” Jason called as he and Richard sped through the bullpen towards her. He flung his backpack down at the foot of her desk and jumped up into her arms as she turned to him.
“Oof, sweetie!” Lois replied, hugging her little boy tightly. So much for focus... “I thought you and Daddy were going straight home today?” She looked up at her fiancé questioningly.
Richard bent down to give her a quick kiss and shook his head, not at all happy about the way the afternoon was going. “Not today. Uncle Perry's trying to rope me into going to Washington to coordinate our coverage of the whole New Krypton mission. I conceded to a few more hours here to appease him.”
Her brow furrowed, Lois finally understood what the deal was with their editor. “Huh. Knew there was a reason he was acting funny,” she replied more to herself, filing that tidbit away with the rest to sift through later, then looked back down at her son. “Why don't you go see what Jimmy's up to, Munchkin.”
“Okay, Mom,” Jason nodded, before jumping down and scurrying off.
Watching him go, she shook her head, and her shoulders slumped at another realization. “More takeout, then, I suppose? Last night's made Clark sick.”
“Well, not if I can help it. I didn't feel too good after that General Tso's, myself. If we can get out of here by six maybe we can have a real dinner at home,” Richard said, taking a seat next to her and watching closely to gauge her reaction. After the last two weeks, all he wanted was a proper evening meal with his family. Without work interfering, as it seemed predestined to recently.
His fiancée sighed wistfully, “That would be nice for a change. I just have to get these interviews written up, so we shouldn't have any trouble getting out of here tonight.” Please don't let anything hold me up in here, she pled silently, giving Richard a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
“Good,” he smiled in return, briefly brushing her cheek with his fingertips before standing again to head for Perry's office. If he could just get Lois and Jason home at a decent hour, maybe he'd fix chicken marsala, or parmesan crusted salmon, or - God, anything was better than takeout again. Though... he knew it was more than just the food. He needed his family home, together. Needed Lois. With so much happening, he felt as if he was losing a battle against entropy. Really, how much harder would he have to fight for her?
The thought stopped him cold in his path as he reached the editor's office, and he paused with a hand on the door, the vague notion of the truth he'd been carrying around for more than a week coming into sharp focus, finally. Is that what I'm doing? Fighting for her? A tendril of ice crept up his spine. How the hell do I measure up? He couldn't lose Lois. He just couldn't. She was everything to him.
How do I fight a legend for her?
Clenching his jaw, he chanced a glance back at her, where she sat with her back straight, head forward, tightly glued to her work. He watched her answer her desk phone as it rang, speaking congenially into the receiver as she went on typing, until she grew agitated at whoever was on the line and slammed the phone down in a typical Lane maneuver. A terrified voice inside him wondered if a similar scene might one day be the last he ever saw of her. Oh, God, don't let me lose her.
* * * * *
Perry White turned from gazing out the window through the blinds as his nephew entered the office. The boy looked more confused and harried than ever, which was saying a lot. Richard was an infectious enthusiast, so what must it take for a man of that caliber to look harried? Perry ventured a silent guess, and knew he was right, hating the notion that he was about to make things worse. He lifted a folder from his desk and handed it to Richard. “This is what I need to get the ball rolling in Washington,” he said, cutting out the pleasantries.
Richard flipped through the few pages of plans the editor had laid out, nodding as he noted the details.
“Helen Daniels can't go this one alone. There's bound to be a slew of external press conferences, with foreign press out in force, so we need at least two reporters on it. Definitely a photographer. I need people down there ASAP, so whoever you can wrangle, send them.” Perry hesitated a moment, steeling himself to deliver the next nudge to get the Lane/White catastrophe over with sooner. Ignoring the groaning, acidic protest of his ulcer, he reminded himself that it was inevitable, and in more ways than one, necessary. “You know I want you to head this up, Richard. You're my best assistant editor; you've got the skills to coordinate this kind of mess. I think you should take Anderson as your second reporter, and, hell, take Olsen. God knows the boy could use the exposure. He's got his eyes set on a Pulitzer, now, of all things.” Perry rolled his own eyes for a change. Have to remember not to put ideas in the kid's head from now on...
Richard hadn't bothered to interrupt Perry to try to decline the request, instead staring intently at the file as if in deep concentration on the details. After a moment of awkward silence, he looked up from the file and replied, “I think I'll talk to Tom about the trip. He should work out just fine.”
“Garvin? He hasn't worked an international story in over three years! He's strictly local, and the head of the damn City department, I might add,” Perry countered.
Richard shook his head in disagreement. “No, I think he's got what it takes. You remember his series on disaster relief fraud after the terrorist bombings. He took that all the way to the head of FEMA, even snagged interviews with the mayor and the governor.”
“Are you kidding? That was puff. And don't tell me it wasn't - as good as the series was, that's not the experience this situation needs, and you know it. Besides, this town is still an absolute wreck, and I need him coordinating City coverage here,” he stabbed his desk top with a thick finger. “Richard,” the editor lowered his voice as he leaned over his desk, “don't make me pull rank on this. This paper doesn't need a family power struggle, and I can't afford to lose you to London. Because you know that's what would wind up happening.” It was a quiet threat, a cheap jab that had somehow always brought the boy back under his control.
Richard snapped the file closed with irritation, “Look, I'll think about it, okay?” He had caved in like a tunnel in the sand, much to Perry's simultaneous relief and chagrin. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode angrily back out into the bullpen, shoving the door on his way out.
* * * * *
“Mister Vanderworth, this is a crime scene,” Maggie Sawyer reiterated her order hotly, sweeping her arm out to encompass the rest of the estate. “You and your family need to vacate the premises immediately, so we can all get back to doing our jobs gathering evidence to put Lex Luthor away permanently.” She felt a vein twitch in her temple as she stared down Stephen Vanderworth, Junior, the tall, thin man nearly shaking with rage at having been so unceremoniously escorted out of the main house and onto the drive. The two uniforms that flanked him in the bright afternoon sun added their own glares to the equation, though it seemed to have little effect on him.
“You're a little late to think you can contain this, Inspector,” the eldest Vanderworth son seethed, stabbing a finger at her chest. “I saw what that monster did to our home. Whatever that... that thing is in there, it destroyed half the goddamn house! And since you asses won't do anything about it, I didn't have much choice but to call in the big guns. You'll be happy to know this is no longer your problem; the military will be taking that garbage out so we can rebuild and put this whole fiasco behind us,” he finished, crossing his arms smugly over his chest and smirking dangerously.
Sawyer's jaw dropped slack, her sharp intake of breath betraying the shock and, ultimately, the anger that flooded her. But the moment passed quickly and she rallied to defend her position, “What the hell were you thinking, calling the military!? They have no business in this.” She balled her hands into fists at her sides to keep from trying to choke the bastard, ignoring the court-ordered injunction against the Vanderworths still clenched tightly in her grip. “Luthor is Metropolis and Interpol's problem, and that thing he created in there was about to be sent to S.T.A.R. Labs, for Christ's sake!”
Vanderworth seemed unruffled by her revelation, steeled against her defense, “The military is perfectly well equipped to handle this kind of situation. That's what they're there for. Besides, you know no civilian operation could be trusted with this kind of sensitive material!”
Taking a deep breath to rein in the ready retort sitting on her lips, Sawyer recalled what she'd read of the man's own military background: nineteen-year Army Special Forces, retired. She couldn't completely fault him for his loyalty to his organization, but there was still no denying he was a self-important jackass with no sense of jurisdiction. Combined sense of entitlement and elitism, of course. But then, she reminded herself, a lot of military command types - at least, a lot that she'd personally dealt with - tended toward that end of the personality spectrum, anyway, so it wasn't like it was really a surprise. Vanderworth was just a supreme example.
In any case, no one needed more flat-tops running around Metropolis like they were in charge, especially not with whatever designs they might now have on Luthor's little experiment; not only was this her crime scene to protect and her case to work, Metro PD had a responsibility to keep the military from interfering, the notorious mis-handlers of the 'big crises' that they were. Their response to the terrorist attacks back in oh-one was warning enough, never mind their handling of the Zod affair. Once the government got involved... 'chaos' was too polite a term for the usual results of their interference.
But it was already too late, the deed was done, and it was only a matter of time before the place was swarming with fatigues. Any hopes her unit had of figuring out the full scope of Luthor's plans was about to vanish along with the present he'd left them in the basement of the house behind her.
Clenching her jaw, she finished considering her answer to Vanderworth's severe misjudgment. “You've got ten minutes to clear your family out of this area, Mister Vanderworth. Until I have a signed order from a higher authority, this-” she waved the paper she'd inadvertently crumpled in her fist, “still stands. I will not ask you again.”
“That won't be much good in another hour,” the man said flippantly as he turned to stalk back to his waiting relatives. “I'll get your grubby civilian hands off my property, and get that thing taken care of without your assistance. And don't think I won't send the bill to the city!” he shouted back with finality.
Reaching up to rub her throbbing temple with her free fingers, Sawyer glared after him. All this, and she still had to get back to the precinct to check up on Lane's identification of Luthor's goons before she could come back and deal with the freaking military. Great. Simms is just gonna love this.
* * * * *
“Lois!” the voice called over the noise of the newsroom. “Lois!” it called again, more urgently. The reporter begrudgingly looked up from her work, eyes narrowed to whatever new distraction demanded her attention. It was bad enough that she'd already had to take a half hour to ID those bastards - through fax and email, at least; it could have been worse - she'd had the displeasure of meeting in Luthor's company, but now it was clear: this article was not meant to get written by deadline.
“What?” she demanded, before having to crane her neck to see her partner ambling up to her desk, a look of triumph mixed with - she wasn't sure, fear maybe? - on his face. “Oh, it's you, Clark. What is it?”
“The Coast Guard found Luthor's helicopter. It was crashed way out on a sandbar north of Bermuda.” His voice seemed to crack a little.
Her eyes falling momentarily on the file that Metro PD had sent her, Lois pushed back from her desk and practically leapt from her chair, her brain switching gears without so much as a pause as dread spread icily through her at the news. “What!? How did you find out? I haven't heard anything yet.”
Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Clark gestured for her to head back with him to seek out Perry, and explained on the way, “Well, I checked with the helicopter's manufacturer to find out its fuel range, and I was going to check with the Coast Guard to see where they were looking, if at all, and it turns out they found it.” Clark seemed overly anxious to Lois, off a little, but she set that aside as they burst into the editor's office. “I think CNN might have the live feed.”
“Kent, where the hell have you been today?” Perry questioned as Clark changed the station on the editor's TV.
“Getting this, Chief,” Clark replied, before hanging back to let them watch the story unfold. On the screen, an obviously amateur cameraman had shakily documented the wreckage of some sort of aircraft from the main deck of a Coast Guard Cutter. Debris spread out over the tiny hill of grass covered sand with its three lonely palm trees, and out into the shallow water for a long ways.
The voice of the newscaster reporting the discovery gave way to the voice of the Cutter's captain, telephoned in from the scene, as a graphic with the captain's picture flashed on the corner of the screen. “A short time ago we received an anonymous tip that there might be some sort of wreck out here. We responded straight away, and were able to positively identify the remains of Lex Luthor's helicopter. The US Navy is coming out shortly to launch a full investigation, so they'll be handling the situation from here on out.”
Lois suddenly became aware of her heart pounding in her ears as her body seemed to freeze in place, unexpected terror taking her mind for a joyride, and she realized why her partner had seemed so nervous. “Clark...” she breathed, “did they find any bodies?”
He shook his head silently in response, his eyes like saucers behind his thick frames as he watched the screen and took in the newscaster's commentary.
“Then where is Lex Luthor?”
Clark turned slowly, blinking. “I have no idea.”
* * * * *
Grinning like a shark at a buffet, Air Force General Wade Eiling stalked around the mass of crystal in the Vanderworth basement, one hand running along the jagged lines as the other cradled a cell phone to his ear. “Fisher, Eiling,” he greeted curtly as his Army counterpart answered his call. “I'm gonna need more personnel to upgrade Penline's facilities, stat.”
“Are you kidding me!?” the other General answered in kind, his voice hard and graveled. “I have, for all intents and purposes, bent over backwards to accommodate your operations, prepping for whatever Atlantis manages to recover from that island up there in two weeks, and now you want more!?”
“New developments, Fisher. Looks like Luthor set himself up a little laboratory here at the Vanderworth estate, and Metro PD's been keeping it under wraps, probably trying to protect their little pet alien. I've got what seems to be New Krypton in miniature here, and I need an extraction team to get it out. Need the warehouse ready to start receiving shipments tonight, overlapping security teams for both the warehouse and the lab, too; I'm not wasting any time on this stuff. Oh, and make sure the team you send is good. This stuff is too sensitive to trust to inexperienced hands.”
Eiling heard the exasperated sigh at the other end and bristled; General John Fisher wasn't much more than a pansy in his estimation, never willing to go the extra mile to get the job done. “Fine,” Fisher answered at last. “How many troops do you need?”
The Air Force General eyed the dark mass before him, gripping a crystal jutting out to one side. “Twenty, and get 'em here within the hour. We're gonna have to take this goddamn place completely apart.”
“Done. I'll see to the warehouse and the security personnel.”
Ending the call, Eiling stowed his phone and continued his circuit of Luthor's experiment. Such a damn waste, he lamented; Luthor had definitely been on the right track, but had implemented his plans so fucking poorly that it would be a miracle if they could glean anything from this garbage. Ineffectual moron. Seething at the maniac's ineptitude, the General was almost startled at the banshee cry of the Metro PD woman when she finally arrived.
“What do you mean, he's already in there!?” he heard her thunder as she came into the foyer, her voice echoing throughout the opened up house. “I thought I told you to secure this area until I got back!”
He couldn't help a smirk of appreciation at her fire. Someone like that would make a great addition to his team if she wasn't already known to be such a Superman lover. Couldn't have that sort of sentimental sympathizing in the middle of a fight for Earth's supremacy, after all.
Running a hand roughly over his thick, steel gray mustache as he watched her boots appear on the stairwell and stomp down to the lower level, he tried not to leer at the tough blonde in the yellow SCU jacket when she fixed her gaze on him.
“You are way out of your jurisdiction here, General,” she started, clearly not one for the pleasantries, either. “There had better be an order from the goddamn president in your hand, otherwise you are out!”
Calmly, he reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out a folded paper. “Feel free to call to authenticate. I'll wait.”
Sawyer snatched the paper from his hand and unfolded it, her eyes scanning quickly. “Dammit,” she huffed, Eiling feeling no small sense of personal satisfaction at her frustration; she'd been a thorn in his side for far too long, impeding his progress at every turn in Metropolis, especially after the Zod incident.
When she smacked the order against his chest, he smirked, “I believe it's you that's out of your damn jurisdiction, Inspector. Tell your people to clear out, before I have my men make them. And take all your hippie 'crime scene' crap with you. We won't be needing it.”
Eyes narrowed, she turned on her heel to stalk back up the stairs. “You're an ass-hole, Eiling. Always have been, always will be.”
Eiling only grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. That, he could agree with.
* * * * *
Jimmy had ordered takeout anyway, but at least it wasn't the same questionable Chinese as the previous evening's meal. Instead, a plethora of cheap Italian was spread out over the conference table to feed the hungry staff as it looked like more of them would be staying late.
“I hate to say it, Jim, but I think you ordered way too much,” Richard shook his head at the table. “Lois and I are going home to eat, so it'll probably just be you, Clark, and a few of the City staff.”
The photographer continued to unpack utensils and other necessities from the last bag. “That's okay. I'm sure we can manage,” he grinned, “Besides, it's not like the night staff isn't invited.” Jimmy looked out into the bullpen, where the shift change was well underway.
A thought occurred to Richard as he studied the younger man's hopeful expression. “Jimmy, don't you ever eat at home? I'm sure you must have other friends to eat out with, too.”
Jimmy's face darkened a little. He didn't say anything.
“Oh. Well...” Richard did his best to back pedal. “I... guess that's not really rare around here. Working for a newspaper doesn't exactly leave much room for a social life,” he said, his own tone lowered as he thought of Lois and Jason.
The slight unease of the moment was broken as Clark came in with Lois trailing behind him. “Gee, what a spread!” he said, gazing at the cartons of food.
A smile brightened Jimmy's face at once. “Yeah, I thought everyone was staying late again, but it looks like it's just you and me tonight, Clark. Hope you brought your appetite!”
“Of course!” Clark returned, smiling as well as he began to pick through the containers.
“Lois, you ready to head out?” Richard prompted his fiancée, relieved at Jimmy's change in demeanor and more than ready to get home, himself.
Lois propped her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. “I wish,” she replied sourly.
Richard's eyes narrowed. “Why? What's going on? I thought you were finished with your article.” God, couldn't they just have one work-free night at home?
“Oh, that's finished and in, but now there's a whole new storm brewing. The Vanderworths managed to get their property back through a court order. And guess what they found when they got home?”
“Mini-New Krypton,” Clark answered for her. “And that's not the end of it.”
Lois continued, “It looks like there's a military situation shaping up down there. Some sort of possible conflict between the SCU and the Army, according to our source. And since that was our original investigation, Clark and I get to follow up on it.”
Richard's expression fell, heavy with disbelief. “This week just keeps getting better and better.” Scowling, he took Lois's hand and led her out of the conference room, all the way down into his own office, shutting the door behind them. “Lois,” he pleaded with her, “can't Clark handle this by himself tonight? It's almost six-thirty already!”
She looked up into his eyes, her own filled with a kind of sadness he couldn't name. “Richard, Clark has already got his hands full, and this is otherwise my story. It shouldn't take me too long, I promise; I should be out of here well before eight.”
“But what about dinner? You can't possibly want to eat more takeout.”
“Of course not!” she scoffed, insisting, “Look, just save me some of whatever you fix for you and Jason, and I'll pop it in the microwave when I get home.”
Gently grasping her upper arms, Richard sighed, not sure he could stand this. “This... this isn't about dinner, and you and I both know it. We've both been working non-stop the last week. We're both stressed, we're both tired, and we need a break from it. Can't we just... go home?” He wanted to insist, to put his foot down and make her come home, but trying to make Lois Lane do something against her will was like shouting into the wind - an exercise in futility. “Please.”
Lois put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “Richard,” she began, looking up at him, “don't make it like this. I know things have been rough for us lately, but we'll be fine.” Leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, she let go and stepped back. “Now, you take Jason home, fix him dinner, and tonight, I will be home in time to tuck him into bed.”
“Are you sure?” he questioned, not at all convinced as he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.
Lois nodded slowly. “Of course I am.”
As her reply sent an unidentifiable alarm up his spine, Richard couldn't shake the sudden notion that leaving the bullpen that night without her would haunt him for the rest of his life.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
* * * * *
Author: Saavikam77
Fandom: Superman Returns
Pairings: Lois/Richard, Clark/Lois
Rating - This Chapter: R - for language
Summary: In the days following the events of Superman Returns, both Clark and Lois are reeling from events that have changed their lives forever, and the city of Metropolis is in shambles. Things only get worse as Lois's relationship with Richard takes a nosedive, the US government wants to send a survey and potential mining mission to New Krypton, and vast amounts of kryptonite show up in the hands of criminals on the streets of Metropolis.
Chapter Summary: Clark makes a startling discovery and the Vanderworth estate falls into dangerous hands.
Chapter Word Count: 7,368
Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction. Superman and the DC Comics universe are property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers. No money has been made or will be made from the production of this work. Darn it.
Author's Note: Still waiting to get this back from one of my betas. Edits will be made accordingly. Also, two new scenes in this chapter.
* * * * *
Previous :: Table of Contents :: Next
Chapter 9
One Week Ago
“Prometheus Two to Titan One. Prometheus Two to Titan One. We are out of fuel and have landed on a sandbar north of Bermuda. I cannot determine our-” For the two hundred fiftieth time Lex Luthor repeated his encrypted distress call, finally cutting himself short. With a low snarl and utter frustration and an inhuman fury rising in him, he flung the radio handset out of the helicopter and onto the wet sand. His promised fortune obliterated by Superman - again! His beautiful Kryptonian island taken away. The crystals - gone, lost on New Krypton, wherever that alien had taken it.
After all he'd done to ensure the demise of that circus freak, and this is how he'd been rewarded. The alien had probably returned to Metropolis to cheers, a ticker tape parade, perhaps. The image of people lining the streets and shouting “Our savior! Our savior!” filled his head, and it disgusted him, turning his stomach with violent outrage. Superman was no savior. He was just a man in a ridiculous costume, a pretender, and no acts of 'selfless courage' could ever convince Lex otherwise.
“Le-ex!” his companion, Kitty Kowalski, whined from across the tiny island. “Please don't break the radio! That's our only hope to get rescued!” Shuffling through the sand over to the helicopter with the little Pomeranian yipping as it followed her, she peered into the cockpit at Lex with a guarded expression. “Have you heard anything back, yet? When are your other friends coming for us?” she asked meekly.
“No, I haven't heard anything, yet! Don't you think I would have told you if I had!?” he yelled back at her, forcing her to shrink back from him and wanting to strangle every ounce of life out of her. She'd cost him the crystals, his crystals. And with them, every future opportunity he might have had to rebuild his Kryptonian paradise.
Then, they'd landed on the sandbar, with its three measly coconut palms, and were forced to spend the night with the tide up to helicopter's landing gear, the two of them cramped inside the tiny space. He hadn't slept at all, choosing instead to repeat the distress call, over and over, trying desperately to ignore his dimwitted Kitty's snoring while she cradled that repugnant dog in her arms.
And now, at twelve thirty in the afternoon, he still hadn't received a response from his second crew. Incompetents.
Turning away from Lex, Kitty pulled out her umbrella and popped it open as the sun came out again, seeking shade from the blinding, searing brightness. No point getting burned up if she didn't have to.
With a careful look back to Lex, she asked, “Are you sure your little back up plan will work? I mean, they will find us out here... right?”
Luthor only eyed her coldly, then spoke in a quiet, low tone, “For the seven thousandth time, it will work. You don't actually think I would set out on our little adventure without a solid back up,” his voice rose to another yell, “do you!?”
This time Kitty was braced for his attack. Picking up the dog, Tala, she turned and stalked back across the sand, as far away from Lex as she could get. She'd had enough of him yelling at her, talking down to her, treating her like a cheap date. She had more class than that! At least, on the opposite side of the island, she could pretend to still have her dignity intact. Planting herself once more upon the sand, she turned her attention to her sweet little dog. “You still love me, don't you?” She licked her wrist in response and looked up at her with her cute brown eyes. “That's what I thought.”
Resigned, Kitty knew Lex would never forgive her for what she'd done to him. The crystals... they'd held so much power, but when she'd seen what Lex did with that power - no, she didn't want to think about it any more. That terrible island, that monstrosity, was not how she had envisioned Lex's supposed paradise. And with the calm promise of so many deaths... The man she'd admired for his criminal intellect had proven himself to be more of a monster than she'd ever imagined. The things he'd done to Superman! That poor man... Kitty hated herself for having stood by while Lex's buddies beat him to a pulp, but thankfully, that had been the final straw. Afterward... well, the crystals had simply had to go. They were just too dangerous for a man like Lex Luthor to have. He was too dangerous to be allowed to possess that kind of power. As much as she'd looked up to him, wanted him and all that he'd promised her, maybe even loved him, she couldn't let him do the horrid things he had planned. She may be a consort of criminals, but she would not be an accomplice to genocide. At least she had that much self-respect left.
In the helicopter, Lex retrieved the handset and was about to try the distress call again, when a crackle of static came over the radio. “...crssss... ...tan One to Prometheus Two. We have received your call. Hey boss, is that you?”
Luthor sighed heavily with relief, exhaustion, and irritation. “Of course it's me, you imbecile! Where are you?”
A moment passed before the voice came back. “We traced your coordinates, boss, and we should arrive to pick you up in about two hours.”
Luthor's reply was sharp, “Make it one.” Shutting off the radio, he climbed down from the cockpit to stretch his legs. “Kitty,” he called. “Pack it up. They'll be here in an hour.”
The woman turned, surprised, and a relieved smile stretched across her face as she squinted at him in the sunlight.
* * * * *
Luthor looked at his watch again. One hour and ten minutes. Late.
“Hey, I see them!” Kitty called from behind Lex, jumping and pointing in the opposite direction from where he had been looking.
“Where?” Turning, he shaded his eyes with his hand to see. “Ah.” He glanced at his watch again. One hour and eleven minutes. Late! He'd count the time until he and Kitty set foot on the boat, then his crew would be punished for every minute late they had been. He smiled to think about it. “Gather what's left of your belongings, Kitty. We're not taking the helicopter with us.”
She looked at him quizzically. “But, why?”
“Well, for one, the boat is too small,” he replied sarcastically, “And for two, the authorities would be able to track us if we kept it!”
“Oh,” she said quietly, moving to gather up Tala, the umbrella, her sand-filled pink coat, and her small bag that she'd had the presence of mind to leave stowed on the helicopter.
Lex merely stood, his arms crossed over his chest, as they waited the last few minutes for the yacht to arrive. When it finally anchored just a hundred yards from the island in deeper water, the crew launched a small, yellow inflatable craft to pick the pair up. Kitty couldn't help noticing as the boat slid up to the island how much the Asian-featured man driving it resembled Lex's previous hired muscle: hard, angry, and stupid. Great, more creeps...
“It's about time, Harold,” Luthor told the man in the boat when they finally climbed aboard. He pointed to his watch. “One hour and twenty-two minutes. You're late.”
“Sorry boss,” Harold replied, revving the tiny engine to power them back to the larger vessel. “The boat wasn't meant to go that fast.”
“That's no excuse,” Luthor replied flatly as they rounded the boat to its aft end. The name of the small yacht came into view: The Heracles. Lex smiled wryly at it. Fitting, he mused. Then he eyed the boat bitterly. The Gertrude had been two hundred seventy one feet long, a masterpiece of nautical engineering. This boat, a mere echo of The Gertrude, topped out at only one hundred twenty feet long, with only a fraction of the engine power. If he'd had more prep time before that alien came back and forced his plans into action so early, he could have found a longer, sleeker model, but with the Vanderworths' money spread so out so thinly between more than a dozen off-shore accounts, this was the only yacht he could find on short notice without drawing unwanted attention. Damn them, he thought, knowing he could no longer access a good half of his money. Not with the authorities most likely all over it.
Thank God for Dmitri. If it hadn't been for the Russian, his plans would never have come together in time.
Not that anything had actually panned out so far.
When the inflatable craft slid up to the back of the yacht, Kitty looked up at the boat with a mixture of disgust and longing. More pretentious garbage to feed Lex's ego - she'd had enough of luxury for now, the price had simply been too high - but at least it meant a hot shower and a decent meal. She stared at the lettering across the back of the boat as they ascended the steps to the main deck. Who's Heracles? she wondered.
The pair was met with two more of his crew on the deck, and he addressed the shorter of the two, a man who, Kitty noticed, seemed to have no neck. Lex tapped his watch again. “One hour and twenty-four minutes. You're twenty-four minutes late, Carlos. When I said 'make it one' I meant one hour! No more!” Cringing, both Carlos and the taller man shrunk back from him as Kitty had earlier. She smiled to see Lex take out his anger on someone else for a change.
“Sorry, Mister Luthor,” the man replied with a heavy accent. “The engines wouldn't go any faster.”
“I'm surrounded by incompetents,” Lex muttered to no one in particular as his gaze drifted back to the island. “Marcus, destroy the helicopter. Let them think we crashed,” he commanded before gesturing to Kitty to follow him below deck.
As they headed down to their new cabins, Kitty heard the explosion, and wondered just what sort of firepower Luthor had had attached to this boat.
* * * * *
Today
Clark's search was coming up empty, despite the information he'd gotten from the manufacturer of Luthor's helicopter. “How far could this model go on a full tank of gasoline?” he'd asked.
“It's rated as a five hundred mile vehicle,” the manufacturer's rep had replied. Clark had thanked him and been out the front doors of the Daily Planet building in a flash. He had a five hundred mile radius area to search, and luckily, most of that included US soil, which he knew Luthor wouldn't have risked returning to, and open ocean. Knowing Luthor would have tried to go for land, Clark was able to narrow his search to two places: Nova Scotia and Bermuda.
His long fly-over of Nova Scotia had so far presented nothing. Clark had even taken a peek inside warehouses and other buildings in the small cities of the island, that Luthor might have used to hide the craft. Nothing. Each time he spotted a helicopter his heart skipped a beat, hoping for just a moment that it could be Luthor's. Each time he was disappointed. More than three hours wasted, and the frustration he felt so keenly earlier in the day began to build in him again. He needed to find Luthor.
He couldn't believe it had taken him this long to get his act together to start searching properly. What on Earth was I thinking!?
Now Bermuda wasn't producing Luthor either. Of the more than one hundred thirty islands, Clark had only begun to search the first few for signs of the helicopter. Still nothing. He flew further south, noting the pleasant, welcoming cheers of tourists on the beaches as he swooped by, taking only seconds to wave back and smile as his search continued. Still nothing.
Another hour passed as he flew, concentrating only on finding the helicopter. It had to be there. Resolved to find it before the day was out, he changed his search pattern to a spiral, outward from the center of the island archipelago. Eighty-five islands down, so many more to go... Finally he began to wonder if Luthor might have ditched into the ocean after all, or if he had even made it off of New Krypton alive. Both scenarios left him with a cold feeling in his gut, the justice that Luthor deserved potentially stolen by an easy death. Even worse, if the latter were the case, then Clark would never recover his crystals. Frustrated, he pushed those thoughts aside. Luthor must have made it to land. Clark just couldn't let the madman evade him again, especially not through death. He had to be brought to justice for what he'd done.
And the crystals had to be recovered.
As the afternoon started to stretch out, Clark's spiraling search pattern took him far to the north of the northernmost islands of Bermuda, where sandbars peeked out of the water like white ribbons among a sea of glittering diamonds. Not much to find here, he realized with a pained resignation, hoping against hope that soon, somewhere...
A glint that reflected the sun like metal shone in his peripheral vision.
Sucking in a hopeful breath, he halted in his flight path, spinning to get a good look. Among the lapping waves sat a delta-shaped sandbar, partially obscured by the tide, save a high grassy patch and three palm trees reaching upward towards the sun. Taking a closer look, he flew in a tight circle to get a good view, unsure if what he was seeing was real. Barely peeking up from the water lie the wreckage of some sort of craft. A boat? A plane?
No, those were definitely... helicopter blades.
Clark's heart skipped a beat again as adrenaline pumped all the way to his toes. It can't be... he thought, his hopes and fears twisting into an unimaginable dread.
The wreckage was strewn over nearly a square mile, no doubt spread out by the currents and tides. No... he couldn't have ditched! Setting down on the highest point of the tiny island, Clark began to pick through what he could find. A bit of flight console here, a piece of a seat there, a wheel from the landing gear. The jagged, charred edges of each piece of debris showed him that the craft had been ripped apart by a blast. He waded a bit into the water until it just reached the tops of his boots, and turned over a piece of metal from the tail of the craft. The helicopter's designation stared back at him in bold lettering: N-30162.
No doubt now, this was Luthor's.
With anxiety beating a hard rhythm in his chest, he dropped the tail piece back into the water and peered beneath the glittering waves and through the rest of the wreckage. Come on, come on... he silently urged the fates to produce what he needed to find. They've got to be here!
But the fates, the gods, whoever should have been listening, weren't today. There was no sign of the crystals.
His heart sank in grief. But... there were no sign of human remains either. That, at least, was a good sign.
Clark knew quite well how devious Luthor had been in the past. He knew what the madman was capable of. If history was any indication, then Luthor had, in all likelihood, destroyed the helicopter on purpose, to cover his trail, then made his way back to civilization. Which could put him, and the crystals - Clark scanned the horizon as his heartbeat pounded in his ears - anywhere.
* * * * *
Smugly sweeping through the Planet bullpen just after three, Lois turned the digital recorder over in her hand, the little device full of juicy quotes from the head of the UN Security Council. He'd been so obliging and gracious that he'd managed to answer all of her questions without a single side-step, even commenting on the Security Council's feelings of stockpiling weaponry that was clearly aimed at a strong ally. Most of the Council didn't like it in the slightest.
A grin covered her face after she shed her coat and purse at her desk and strode into Perry White's office. She waved the recorder in front of her, one hand on her hip, “Perry, you won't believe the interview I just got. It's gonna set this whole mining plan on its head.”
The Editor-in-Chief glanced briefly up at her from his work. “Really?” he said with unruffled calm. “And I'm supposed to read this interview how?”
Lois shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I should have it for you in a few hours, and believe me, it's good. Mr. Oshima just pitted the UN Security Council against the President. Not that that's any different from three years ago, but this time it's personal. Superman has some very good friends at the UN, as it turns out, starting with the rep from Peru. Talk about gratitude! I actually had to stop to get a second interview about last night's-”
“Lois, you're gushing again. Stop it,” Perry cut her off with a grumble, vaguely waving an index finger in her direction as he scrutinized something on his laptop. “Just get me something I can sell papers with, and make sure Richard gets a copy of both interviews to follow up on. We've got a lot of work to do to coordinate this thing.”
Standing with her mouth agape, the reporter narrowed her eyes, thrown off by Perry's quick dismissal. Even in a crisis, the editor wasn't usually this short with her. Commanding, yes, even combative. But dismissive? No. Something just seemed... wrong.
Schooling her sudden suspicion, she smiled tightly, “No problem,” then turned to head swiftly out of the office. Back at her desk, she sat down and turned on her computer, staring at the screen as she waited for it to boot up. She couldn't help but wonder about Perry's strange attitude, her natural instinct telling her that something was up, something major. It was almost as if he knew something... something he wanted to keep under wraps.
But now wasn't the time to worry about Perry. She had interviews to type up. When the login screen finally came up on her monitor, she began to type in her password. Super- Oh, dammit, she huffed as a possible reason for the Chief's attitude hit her. No doubt he had some inkling that things between her and Richard were a little strained, especially after last night's fiasco. Great. White family drama. Just what I need. Briefly, she contemplated changing her password. Maybe that might help get her mind off of him and everything the subject of his return entailed for a while so she could focus. The previous night's mess - not that the full reality of her talk with him, along with Clark's sudden falling into old habits and the disaster her life with Richard was becoming, hadn't had her on edge all damned day - and Perry's attitude not withstanding, she had work to get done.
Compartmentalizing it all for later, Lois got to work on the first interview, shutting out the chaos of the newsroom, until a smiling voice pulled her out of her concentration.
“Mommy!” Jason called as he and Richard sped through the bullpen towards her. He flung his backpack down at the foot of her desk and jumped up into her arms as she turned to him.
“Oof, sweetie!” Lois replied, hugging her little boy tightly. So much for focus... “I thought you and Daddy were going straight home today?” She looked up at her fiancé questioningly.
Richard bent down to give her a quick kiss and shook his head, not at all happy about the way the afternoon was going. “Not today. Uncle Perry's trying to rope me into going to Washington to coordinate our coverage of the whole New Krypton mission. I conceded to a few more hours here to appease him.”
Her brow furrowed, Lois finally understood what the deal was with their editor. “Huh. Knew there was a reason he was acting funny,” she replied more to herself, filing that tidbit away with the rest to sift through later, then looked back down at her son. “Why don't you go see what Jimmy's up to, Munchkin.”
“Okay, Mom,” Jason nodded, before jumping down and scurrying off.
Watching him go, she shook her head, and her shoulders slumped at another realization. “More takeout, then, I suppose? Last night's made Clark sick.”
“Well, not if I can help it. I didn't feel too good after that General Tso's, myself. If we can get out of here by six maybe we can have a real dinner at home,” Richard said, taking a seat next to her and watching closely to gauge her reaction. After the last two weeks, all he wanted was a proper evening meal with his family. Without work interfering, as it seemed predestined to recently.
His fiancée sighed wistfully, “That would be nice for a change. I just have to get these interviews written up, so we shouldn't have any trouble getting out of here tonight.” Please don't let anything hold me up in here, she pled silently, giving Richard a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
“Good,” he smiled in return, briefly brushing her cheek with his fingertips before standing again to head for Perry's office. If he could just get Lois and Jason home at a decent hour, maybe he'd fix chicken marsala, or parmesan crusted salmon, or - God, anything was better than takeout again. Though... he knew it was more than just the food. He needed his family home, together. Needed Lois. With so much happening, he felt as if he was losing a battle against entropy. Really, how much harder would he have to fight for her?
The thought stopped him cold in his path as he reached the editor's office, and he paused with a hand on the door, the vague notion of the truth he'd been carrying around for more than a week coming into sharp focus, finally. Is that what I'm doing? Fighting for her? A tendril of ice crept up his spine. How the hell do I measure up? He couldn't lose Lois. He just couldn't. She was everything to him.
How do I fight a legend for her?
Clenching his jaw, he chanced a glance back at her, where she sat with her back straight, head forward, tightly glued to her work. He watched her answer her desk phone as it rang, speaking congenially into the receiver as she went on typing, until she grew agitated at whoever was on the line and slammed the phone down in a typical Lane maneuver. A terrified voice inside him wondered if a similar scene might one day be the last he ever saw of her. Oh, God, don't let me lose her.
* * * * *
Perry White turned from gazing out the window through the blinds as his nephew entered the office. The boy looked more confused and harried than ever, which was saying a lot. Richard was an infectious enthusiast, so what must it take for a man of that caliber to look harried? Perry ventured a silent guess, and knew he was right, hating the notion that he was about to make things worse. He lifted a folder from his desk and handed it to Richard. “This is what I need to get the ball rolling in Washington,” he said, cutting out the pleasantries.
Richard flipped through the few pages of plans the editor had laid out, nodding as he noted the details.
“Helen Daniels can't go this one alone. There's bound to be a slew of external press conferences, with foreign press out in force, so we need at least two reporters on it. Definitely a photographer. I need people down there ASAP, so whoever you can wrangle, send them.” Perry hesitated a moment, steeling himself to deliver the next nudge to get the Lane/White catastrophe over with sooner. Ignoring the groaning, acidic protest of his ulcer, he reminded himself that it was inevitable, and in more ways than one, necessary. “You know I want you to head this up, Richard. You're my best assistant editor; you've got the skills to coordinate this kind of mess. I think you should take Anderson as your second reporter, and, hell, take Olsen. God knows the boy could use the exposure. He's got his eyes set on a Pulitzer, now, of all things.” Perry rolled his own eyes for a change. Have to remember not to put ideas in the kid's head from now on...
Richard hadn't bothered to interrupt Perry to try to decline the request, instead staring intently at the file as if in deep concentration on the details. After a moment of awkward silence, he looked up from the file and replied, “I think I'll talk to Tom about the trip. He should work out just fine.”
“Garvin? He hasn't worked an international story in over three years! He's strictly local, and the head of the damn City department, I might add,” Perry countered.
Richard shook his head in disagreement. “No, I think he's got what it takes. You remember his series on disaster relief fraud after the terrorist bombings. He took that all the way to the head of FEMA, even snagged interviews with the mayor and the governor.”
“Are you kidding? That was puff. And don't tell me it wasn't - as good as the series was, that's not the experience this situation needs, and you know it. Besides, this town is still an absolute wreck, and I need him coordinating City coverage here,” he stabbed his desk top with a thick finger. “Richard,” the editor lowered his voice as he leaned over his desk, “don't make me pull rank on this. This paper doesn't need a family power struggle, and I can't afford to lose you to London. Because you know that's what would wind up happening.” It was a quiet threat, a cheap jab that had somehow always brought the boy back under his control.
Richard snapped the file closed with irritation, “Look, I'll think about it, okay?” He had caved in like a tunnel in the sand, much to Perry's simultaneous relief and chagrin. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode angrily back out into the bullpen, shoving the door on his way out.
* * * * *
“Mister Vanderworth, this is a crime scene,” Maggie Sawyer reiterated her order hotly, sweeping her arm out to encompass the rest of the estate. “You and your family need to vacate the premises immediately, so we can all get back to doing our jobs gathering evidence to put Lex Luthor away permanently.” She felt a vein twitch in her temple as she stared down Stephen Vanderworth, Junior, the tall, thin man nearly shaking with rage at having been so unceremoniously escorted out of the main house and onto the drive. The two uniforms that flanked him in the bright afternoon sun added their own glares to the equation, though it seemed to have little effect on him.
“You're a little late to think you can contain this, Inspector,” the eldest Vanderworth son seethed, stabbing a finger at her chest. “I saw what that monster did to our home. Whatever that... that thing is in there, it destroyed half the goddamn house! And since you asses won't do anything about it, I didn't have much choice but to call in the big guns. You'll be happy to know this is no longer your problem; the military will be taking that garbage out so we can rebuild and put this whole fiasco behind us,” he finished, crossing his arms smugly over his chest and smirking dangerously.
Sawyer's jaw dropped slack, her sharp intake of breath betraying the shock and, ultimately, the anger that flooded her. But the moment passed quickly and she rallied to defend her position, “What the hell were you thinking, calling the military!? They have no business in this.” She balled her hands into fists at her sides to keep from trying to choke the bastard, ignoring the court-ordered injunction against the Vanderworths still clenched tightly in her grip. “Luthor is Metropolis and Interpol's problem, and that thing he created in there was about to be sent to S.T.A.R. Labs, for Christ's sake!”
Vanderworth seemed unruffled by her revelation, steeled against her defense, “The military is perfectly well equipped to handle this kind of situation. That's what they're there for. Besides, you know no civilian operation could be trusted with this kind of sensitive material!”
Taking a deep breath to rein in the ready retort sitting on her lips, Sawyer recalled what she'd read of the man's own military background: nineteen-year Army Special Forces, retired. She couldn't completely fault him for his loyalty to his organization, but there was still no denying he was a self-important jackass with no sense of jurisdiction. Combined sense of entitlement and elitism, of course. But then, she reminded herself, a lot of military command types - at least, a lot that she'd personally dealt with - tended toward that end of the personality spectrum, anyway, so it wasn't like it was really a surprise. Vanderworth was just a supreme example.
In any case, no one needed more flat-tops running around Metropolis like they were in charge, especially not with whatever designs they might now have on Luthor's little experiment; not only was this her crime scene to protect and her case to work, Metro PD had a responsibility to keep the military from interfering, the notorious mis-handlers of the 'big crises' that they were. Their response to the terrorist attacks back in oh-one was warning enough, never mind their handling of the Zod affair. Once the government got involved... 'chaos' was too polite a term for the usual results of their interference.
But it was already too late, the deed was done, and it was only a matter of time before the place was swarming with fatigues. Any hopes her unit had of figuring out the full scope of Luthor's plans was about to vanish along with the present he'd left them in the basement of the house behind her.
Clenching her jaw, she finished considering her answer to Vanderworth's severe misjudgment. “You've got ten minutes to clear your family out of this area, Mister Vanderworth. Until I have a signed order from a higher authority, this-” she waved the paper she'd inadvertently crumpled in her fist, “still stands. I will not ask you again.”
“That won't be much good in another hour,” the man said flippantly as he turned to stalk back to his waiting relatives. “I'll get your grubby civilian hands off my property, and get that thing taken care of without your assistance. And don't think I won't send the bill to the city!” he shouted back with finality.
Reaching up to rub her throbbing temple with her free fingers, Sawyer glared after him. All this, and she still had to get back to the precinct to check up on Lane's identification of Luthor's goons before she could come back and deal with the freaking military. Great. Simms is just gonna love this.
* * * * *
“Lois!” the voice called over the noise of the newsroom. “Lois!” it called again, more urgently. The reporter begrudgingly looked up from her work, eyes narrowed to whatever new distraction demanded her attention. It was bad enough that she'd already had to take a half hour to ID those bastards - through fax and email, at least; it could have been worse - she'd had the displeasure of meeting in Luthor's company, but now it was clear: this article was not meant to get written by deadline.
“What?” she demanded, before having to crane her neck to see her partner ambling up to her desk, a look of triumph mixed with - she wasn't sure, fear maybe? - on his face. “Oh, it's you, Clark. What is it?”
“The Coast Guard found Luthor's helicopter. It was crashed way out on a sandbar north of Bermuda.” His voice seemed to crack a little.
Her eyes falling momentarily on the file that Metro PD had sent her, Lois pushed back from her desk and practically leapt from her chair, her brain switching gears without so much as a pause as dread spread icily through her at the news. “What!? How did you find out? I haven't heard anything yet.”
Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Clark gestured for her to head back with him to seek out Perry, and explained on the way, “Well, I checked with the helicopter's manufacturer to find out its fuel range, and I was going to check with the Coast Guard to see where they were looking, if at all, and it turns out they found it.” Clark seemed overly anxious to Lois, off a little, but she set that aside as they burst into the editor's office. “I think CNN might have the live feed.”
“Kent, where the hell have you been today?” Perry questioned as Clark changed the station on the editor's TV.
“Getting this, Chief,” Clark replied, before hanging back to let them watch the story unfold. On the screen, an obviously amateur cameraman had shakily documented the wreckage of some sort of aircraft from the main deck of a Coast Guard Cutter. Debris spread out over the tiny hill of grass covered sand with its three lonely palm trees, and out into the shallow water for a long ways.
The voice of the newscaster reporting the discovery gave way to the voice of the Cutter's captain, telephoned in from the scene, as a graphic with the captain's picture flashed on the corner of the screen. “A short time ago we received an anonymous tip that there might be some sort of wreck out here. We responded straight away, and were able to positively identify the remains of Lex Luthor's helicopter. The US Navy is coming out shortly to launch a full investigation, so they'll be handling the situation from here on out.”
Lois suddenly became aware of her heart pounding in her ears as her body seemed to freeze in place, unexpected terror taking her mind for a joyride, and she realized why her partner had seemed so nervous. “Clark...” she breathed, “did they find any bodies?”
He shook his head silently in response, his eyes like saucers behind his thick frames as he watched the screen and took in the newscaster's commentary.
“Then where is Lex Luthor?”
Clark turned slowly, blinking. “I have no idea.”
* * * * *
Grinning like a shark at a buffet, Air Force General Wade Eiling stalked around the mass of crystal in the Vanderworth basement, one hand running along the jagged lines as the other cradled a cell phone to his ear. “Fisher, Eiling,” he greeted curtly as his Army counterpart answered his call. “I'm gonna need more personnel to upgrade Penline's facilities, stat.”
“Are you kidding me!?” the other General answered in kind, his voice hard and graveled. “I have, for all intents and purposes, bent over backwards to accommodate your operations, prepping for whatever Atlantis manages to recover from that island up there in two weeks, and now you want more!?”
“New developments, Fisher. Looks like Luthor set himself up a little laboratory here at the Vanderworth estate, and Metro PD's been keeping it under wraps, probably trying to protect their little pet alien. I've got what seems to be New Krypton in miniature here, and I need an extraction team to get it out. Need the warehouse ready to start receiving shipments tonight, overlapping security teams for both the warehouse and the lab, too; I'm not wasting any time on this stuff. Oh, and make sure the team you send is good. This stuff is too sensitive to trust to inexperienced hands.”
Eiling heard the exasperated sigh at the other end and bristled; General John Fisher wasn't much more than a pansy in his estimation, never willing to go the extra mile to get the job done. “Fine,” Fisher answered at last. “How many troops do you need?”
The Air Force General eyed the dark mass before him, gripping a crystal jutting out to one side. “Twenty, and get 'em here within the hour. We're gonna have to take this goddamn place completely apart.”
“Done. I'll see to the warehouse and the security personnel.”
Ending the call, Eiling stowed his phone and continued his circuit of Luthor's experiment. Such a damn waste, he lamented; Luthor had definitely been on the right track, but had implemented his plans so fucking poorly that it would be a miracle if they could glean anything from this garbage. Ineffectual moron. Seething at the maniac's ineptitude, the General was almost startled at the banshee cry of the Metro PD woman when she finally arrived.
“What do you mean, he's already in there!?” he heard her thunder as she came into the foyer, her voice echoing throughout the opened up house. “I thought I told you to secure this area until I got back!”
He couldn't help a smirk of appreciation at her fire. Someone like that would make a great addition to his team if she wasn't already known to be such a Superman lover. Couldn't have that sort of sentimental sympathizing in the middle of a fight for Earth's supremacy, after all.
Running a hand roughly over his thick, steel gray mustache as he watched her boots appear on the stairwell and stomp down to the lower level, he tried not to leer at the tough blonde in the yellow SCU jacket when she fixed her gaze on him.
“You are way out of your jurisdiction here, General,” she started, clearly not one for the pleasantries, either. “There had better be an order from the goddamn president in your hand, otherwise you are out!”
Calmly, he reached into his uniform jacket and pulled out a folded paper. “Feel free to call to authenticate. I'll wait.”
Sawyer snatched the paper from his hand and unfolded it, her eyes scanning quickly. “Dammit,” she huffed, Eiling feeling no small sense of personal satisfaction at her frustration; she'd been a thorn in his side for far too long, impeding his progress at every turn in Metropolis, especially after the Zod incident.
When she smacked the order against his chest, he smirked, “I believe it's you that's out of your damn jurisdiction, Inspector. Tell your people to clear out, before I have my men make them. And take all your hippie 'crime scene' crap with you. We won't be needing it.”
Eyes narrowed, she turned on her heel to stalk back up the stairs. “You're an ass-hole, Eiling. Always have been, always will be.”
Eiling only grinned, crossing his arms over his chest. That, he could agree with.
* * * * *
Jimmy had ordered takeout anyway, but at least it wasn't the same questionable Chinese as the previous evening's meal. Instead, a plethora of cheap Italian was spread out over the conference table to feed the hungry staff as it looked like more of them would be staying late.
“I hate to say it, Jim, but I think you ordered way too much,” Richard shook his head at the table. “Lois and I are going home to eat, so it'll probably just be you, Clark, and a few of the City staff.”
The photographer continued to unpack utensils and other necessities from the last bag. “That's okay. I'm sure we can manage,” he grinned, “Besides, it's not like the night staff isn't invited.” Jimmy looked out into the bullpen, where the shift change was well underway.
A thought occurred to Richard as he studied the younger man's hopeful expression. “Jimmy, don't you ever eat at home? I'm sure you must have other friends to eat out with, too.”
Jimmy's face darkened a little. He didn't say anything.
“Oh. Well...” Richard did his best to back pedal. “I... guess that's not really rare around here. Working for a newspaper doesn't exactly leave much room for a social life,” he said, his own tone lowered as he thought of Lois and Jason.
The slight unease of the moment was broken as Clark came in with Lois trailing behind him. “Gee, what a spread!” he said, gazing at the cartons of food.
A smile brightened Jimmy's face at once. “Yeah, I thought everyone was staying late again, but it looks like it's just you and me tonight, Clark. Hope you brought your appetite!”
“Of course!” Clark returned, smiling as well as he began to pick through the containers.
“Lois, you ready to head out?” Richard prompted his fiancée, relieved at Jimmy's change in demeanor and more than ready to get home, himself.
Lois propped her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. “I wish,” she replied sourly.
Richard's eyes narrowed. “Why? What's going on? I thought you were finished with your article.” God, couldn't they just have one work-free night at home?
“Oh, that's finished and in, but now there's a whole new storm brewing. The Vanderworths managed to get their property back through a court order. And guess what they found when they got home?”
“Mini-New Krypton,” Clark answered for her. “And that's not the end of it.”
Lois continued, “It looks like there's a military situation shaping up down there. Some sort of possible conflict between the SCU and the Army, according to our source. And since that was our original investigation, Clark and I get to follow up on it.”
Richard's expression fell, heavy with disbelief. “This week just keeps getting better and better.” Scowling, he took Lois's hand and led her out of the conference room, all the way down into his own office, shutting the door behind them. “Lois,” he pleaded with her, “can't Clark handle this by himself tonight? It's almost six-thirty already!”
She looked up into his eyes, her own filled with a kind of sadness he couldn't name. “Richard, Clark has already got his hands full, and this is otherwise my story. It shouldn't take me too long, I promise; I should be out of here well before eight.”
“But what about dinner? You can't possibly want to eat more takeout.”
“Of course not!” she scoffed, insisting, “Look, just save me some of whatever you fix for you and Jason, and I'll pop it in the microwave when I get home.”
Gently grasping her upper arms, Richard sighed, not sure he could stand this. “This... this isn't about dinner, and you and I both know it. We've both been working non-stop the last week. We're both stressed, we're both tired, and we need a break from it. Can't we just... go home?” He wanted to insist, to put his foot down and make her come home, but trying to make Lois Lane do something against her will was like shouting into the wind - an exercise in futility. “Please.”
Lois put her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. “Richard,” she began, looking up at him, “don't make it like this. I know things have been rough for us lately, but we'll be fine.” Leaning up to kiss him on the cheek, she let go and stepped back. “Now, you take Jason home, fix him dinner, and tonight, I will be home in time to tuck him into bed.”
“Are you sure?” he questioned, not at all convinced as he tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.
Lois nodded slowly. “Of course I am.”
As her reply sent an unidentifiable alarm up his spine, Richard couldn't shake the sudden notion that leaving the bullpen that night without her would haunt him for the rest of his life.
And there was nothing he could do about it.
* * * * *