Chapter Text
On paper, Clark can think of a million reasons to stay away from Lois Lane.
For one thing, she promises nothing but trouble. She’s already almost gotten him fired from his future dream job with her antics, but more than that, she has a tendency to not think things through before she dives into danger – and, for some reason, he really can’t think straight when he’s around her.
Oh, and there’s the fact that she’s on a mission to find out all his secrets and publish them in 48-point print on the front page of the Daily Planet. That’s also a pretty big problem.
But in practice, he just… can’t push her away, really. Aside from the fact that they’re literally partnered together, she’s also got this certain something about her. It had hit him from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, stealing his breath away from him, and in the back of his head he’d had to make sure his feet were still rooted to the ground; even when he flies, he never feels as weightless as when he’d first met her.
Add to the fact that she’s just absolutely brilliant, doggedly determined, and uncompromising in her devotion to her ideals, and, well.
He’d never stood a chance.
Which brings him to his current predicament. How does one avoid someone whose job it is to seek him out?
Well, if you’re Clark and dealing with Lois Lane… you don’t, really.
It takes them a day of running down leads on Livewire’s stolen weaponry, having now been distributed to every halfway ambitious criminal around the city, for them to end up in mortal peril. Again.
It’s not robots this time, at least.
They manage to track down a shipment of what the totally-legally-obtained documents had called ‘performance enhancers’ and to a warehouse on the docks. Supposedly, it had been sitting abandoned for the past few years, so when the Newskids come to them with reports of people guarding the premises, it becomes the obvious place to look.
Infiltrating is easy; the thieves aren’t expecting company.
It’s the evidence-gathering part of the operation that proves problematic.
“Are you sure you’ve got a good shot?” Lois whispers as she crawls out of the metallic shipping crate.
There’s sweat beading on her forehead and her cheeks are tinged a faint pink. She’s covered in dirt and grime and her short hair frizzes in every direction, unaided by the heat and humidity of the docks.
Clark doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone more beautiful.
“I’ve got this,” Jimmy whispers back absently, his camera lens peaking out just above the edge of a shipping crate. He cranes his neck upwards to aim his shot, not daring to raise his head any higher. Despite the severity of the situation and the risks should they get caught, the two of them sound entirely at ease. “Just waiting for the right moment.”
“Right,” Lois agrees, pressing herself further against the metallic plating, positioning her head as far back as she can manage, desperately trying to overhear whatever snippets of the criminals’ conversation she can. She moves silently – and then hisses under her breath as her skin brushes against the heated metal. In an instinctive motion, she yanks it back before it can burn, and then she freezes, her face twisting in alarm.
Clark can feel his heart stop as he registers the noise. In that moment, he seems to forget how to breathe.
In the distance, they hear footsteps approach, one after the other, before slowly coming to a stop. When Clark realizes that they’re still a significant distance away from them, he feels some of the weight on his chest disperse.
“You’re sure this stuff will work?” one of the thieves, a bulky man, asks the man Clark can only assume is his distributor. His hands disappear into a nearby crate, and when they emerge, they’re burdened with a rather bulky chest plate. Two tubes emerge outward from it, each one connecting a shoulder plate to a strange gauntlet-like device. “This thing looks ridiculous enough as it is.”
“It’ll work,” he assures him, his voice carrying a hint of offense. “This is from the same shipment that Livewire absconded with. It’s a match even for the Superman, should you ever require that level of firepower.”
“You won’t mind if I test it out, then?” the man retorts, not bothering to wait for a response before clicking the chestplate into place.
“By all means,” the seller comments wryly as he takes a step back. “Far be it from me to stop you.”
“Great,” he retorts, clenching his fists together, the metallic frame of the gauntlets curling fluidly around him. With that one gesture, they seem to spring to life. Light seems to leak from their every joint; with every miniscule motion, an uncanny metallic buzz permeates the air, sending unpleasant vibrations down Clark’s ear.
He strides forward, draws his fist back, and then punches forward.
The shriek of buckling metal echoes around the warehouse as the crate before him crumples like wet paper.
The man grins as he draws his hand out of the newly formed hole.
From his side, Clark hears the faint click of Jimmy’s camera.
Thankfully for them, the motion is far too quiet to be heard over the sounds of screeching metal.
The bright flash of light is, uh, not as subtle.
“Jimmy!” Clark hisses, his heart racing as the thieves’ turn their attention towards them.
“I forgot to turn off the flash!” he whisper-yells, his eyes wide in disbelief - or perhaps panic.
Lois tries to shush them, but by then it’s too late.
“Show yourself!” the man demands. “This doesn’t need to get ugly.”
Clark swallows, then turns to Jimmy. “Give me the camera. He doesn’t know how many of us there are. I can buy you guys some time.”
“You’re joking, Kansas,” Jimmy exclaims, letting out a soft but nonetheless panicked laugh at his proposal – one which quickly peters out as he realizes, “…You’re not joking.”
“Clark, don’t you dare,” Lois hisses, grabbing his wrist – not quite attempting to physically restrain him from enacting his scheme, but making her intentions clear regardless; she’s not about to throw him to the dogs, and certainly not alone. “As – as the senior partner, I’m ordering you to not get yourself killed.”
“Lois, if I don’t do this, we all go down. I can take it-“
“If anyone should go, it’s me, I’m the one that screwed up,” Jimmy jumps in, refusing to bend even as Lois turns her glare on him.
“I’m the senior partner. I brought us here, I’ll go,” she insists instead. “You guys run out the back while I buy time. I talk a lot; I can give you guys a head start if I distract him.”
“Neither of you are going,” Clark declares with as much weight as he can manage, deepening his voice. Standing up straighter, he continues, “I’ll draw their attention. When it’s safe, I want you to split up and book it out as quickly as you can manage.”
Lois and Jimmy don’t argue further, though their faces are clouded with confusion, and oops, Clark may have used too much of his Superman voice there.
…Hopefully they won’t notice?
Pitching his voice higher, Clark voices out a quick, “Right, then,” in a desperate attempt to undercut himself, and gets to work, attempting to glance over to where the two men stood… only to find the spot deserted.
Instead, as his eyes peek around the crate, he comes face to face with an increasingly familiar chest plate.
Ah.
“Scatter!” Clark shouts, shedding the pretence of secrecy entire as the armoured man reaches for him.
Clark ducks under the first blow – the man is strong, but not fast – and narrowly avoids finding out whether or not the seller’s claims were full of hot air.
Lois and Jimmy waste no time; they split apart, moving in opposite directions, getting distance between them.
He can’t go after all three of them.
Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective – the thief seems to realize that as well. He all but ignores Lois and Jimmy in favour of homing in on Clark, his now frustratingly slippery target.
“Clark!” Lois yells, and even from this distance, Clark can see her hesitate, can see her deliberate whether or not to jump in the fray as well, and not for the first time he finds himself wishing that she’d known about his abilities, if only to ensure she doesn’t do anything needlessly, stupidly dangerous, as she’s currently trying to do.
“Go!” he answers, sending her the most serious look he can muster, as though he can somehow impress the urgency of his words onto her with that alone.
He doesn’t quite manage that. He does manage to break his concentration, though, so when a fist comes flying at his face, Clark doesn’t really have enough time to react.
The uppercut crashes directly into his jaw and pain explodes across his face from the impact. The taste of iron burns across his tongue, and beneath him, he feels the sensation of the room spinning. His ears ring with the sounds of a broken speaker and that ever-present buzzing, and as he opens his eyes – when did he close them? – the orange light of the setting sun immediately assaults his senses, forcing them shut again.
Wait. The sun?
Wasn’t he inside the warehouse?
He opens his eyes slowly, and surely enough finds himself squinting against the orange rays.
His head immediately protests his actions, a burst of pain echoing across the back of his skull as he tries to think. His head feels foggy, suddenly weighing twice as much as he’s used to. He slams his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, his back is turned towards the sun.
What just happened?
He tenderly picks himself up, pushing against the rubble that now littered the newly formed crater as the sequence of events started to align themselves in his pained head.
He’d been… punched through a wall. That was new.
Apparently, Mr Thief Man hadn’t been exaggerating, either. That hurts.
He presses his eyes shut and blinks them open again in attempt to regain his bearings when he hears it.
A crash, followed by the sound of screeching metal. Rising above the cacophony, he hears a familiar shout from inside the warehouse.
Lois.
A familiar energy pours into his muscles at the thought; the oppressive pain all but vanishes, his brain fog clearing itself entirely. He tenses up, his newfound strength almost sparking within him, threatening to explode out of him if left uncontrolled, unrestrained, undirected.
So he directs it.
It takes him less than a moment to summon his costume, the familiar waves of red and blue washing over him. A weight settles on his shoulders as the flowing red of his cape materializes onto them, and his chest seems to burn with power right beneath his symbol.
As the last of his outfit comes together, Clark gives himself a moment to breathe, steeling himself for what’s to come.
And then he bends his knees and extends them, launching himself into the sky.
He crashes into the building from the roof, materializing before the armoured thief in a cloud of dust and rubble – and not a moment too soon, at that. His fist seems to hang in the air, his assault interrupted.
“Superman!” Lois exclaims, a broad grin stretching across her face at the sight of him, one entirely discordant with the fact that she had been mere moments away from being pummelled. “I’ve been looking for you! I’d like to set up an interview for the Daily Planet!”
“Uh, Ms Lane. Hi,” Clark says eloquently in response, barely restraining the urge to wave.
Well, let it never be said that she wasn’t persistent.
“The Daily Planet? You’re reporters?” the thief asks, his tone rising with each word, and oh, that’s probably not a good sign.
“Sir, this doesn’t need to get any messier than it already is,” Clark tries quickly. “You can still step away from all this.”
His words fall on deaf ears. Anger flashes across the man’s face as he draws his fist back, the lighting on it flaring as he prepares his assault.
Clark breaks into a run, energy coursing through his muscles, propelling him forward at breakneck speeds. In one swift movement, he places himself between Lois and the armoured man.
He plants his feet into the ground, bracing himself as the gauntlet barrels to him.
And then he catches it.
He doesn’t so much as stagger, easily transferring the otherwise-overwhelming force through him and into the ground below. Tiles fracture beneath him, his feet digging into the ground with the blow, but he remains steady.
In the distance, Clark hears a familiar click go off.
At least there’s no flash this time.
“Woah,” the thief blinks, and then tries to force his armoured hand out of Clark’s grasp, but finds that it won’t so much as budge in his iron grip.
Instead, Clark pulls the man’s arm towards him.
He tumbles forward, his equilibrium shot, and crashes face-first into the floor below.
“Sorry about this,” Clark offers sheepishly as he pins the man to the ground, careful not to put too much pressure on his chest as he holds him down. This isn’t an alarm clock, after all; this is people, and they tended to have ribs and organs.
Using his free hand, he reaches over to the back of the chest plate and rips apart the metallic bracing.
With their connection severed, the neon blue glow quickly fades from the man’s gauntlets.
It’s over.
Clark exhales, his chest loosening up as he’s relieved of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Then, glancing at Lois in concern, he hazards a quick, “Are you okay?”
“I am now,” she confirms quietly. More loudly, she then continues, “While you’re here, I’d like to ask you some questions-“
“I, uh, I’m not I can do that,” he interjects, his eyes widening in alarm as he suddenly remembers why talking to Lois as Superman only promised trouble. Instinctively, he steps back and utters, “I, uh, I’m actually really busy at the moment– things to do, people to save, all that. I need to be… somewhere else.”
Smooth, Clark. Real smooth.
“Maybe we can schedule it for another time then?” she continues, completely undeterred as she fishes her pen and notebook out of her purse. “What time works best? Do you have…” she starts, pulling a quizzical expression as she continues, “…standard hours? Assuming you work. Outside the whole superhero thing I mean,” she tilts her head slightly, her eyes shining with interest. “Do you work?”
“No!” Clark squeaks out, his cheeks promptly tinging red in embarrassment. This was so not how he wanted this interaction to go. Clearing his throat, he tries very hard to keep his voice deep and serious and professional as he says, “I mean, yes, I – this is my job.”
His only job. Obviously. Because Superman didn’t have a secret identity, that’d be crazy.
“Fascinating! Did you just arrive on Earth recently then? How have you been adjusting? Actually, where are you from? Are there any others like you?”
“I – I said I’m not prepared to give an interview at this time, Ms. Lane,” he deflects, his heart racing at her words. He needs to get out of this situation now.
“Of course,” Lois agrees, some of her earlier excitement bleeding out of her – though not by much. “When would work for you, then?”
“I, uh. Tomorrow after 8?” he offers, blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.
“It’s a date,” she grins up at him, her smile bright enough to light up the warehouse. “Meet me on the roof of the Daily Planet building?”
He nods mutely, unable to trust his voice for anything else.
“Excellent!” she exclaims, roughly shoving in her pen and notebook back into her bag. “I’ll be waiting for you on the roof, then. This is going to be incredible!”
Clark lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Anyway! I have to,” he pauses, jabbing a finger vaguely in the direction of where he’d punched a hole in the roof. “You know,” he finishes lamely.
“Of course. See you tonight!”
He gives her a short wave – and then immediately regrets it because he must look like such an embarrassing dork right now and this is not the image he wants to give off – before taking off, vanishing out the way he’d come in.
Safely in the air, away from prying eyes, he allows himself to breathe out a sigh of relief.
That was an absolute mess, but at least it was mostly over. He just has to get through tomorrow’s interview-
Wait.
…how’d he end up agreeing to an interview? That was the one thing he needed to avoid at all costs.
As he mulls over the situation, trying desperately to figure out a way out of this, he sighs to himself.
Lois Lane truly is nothing but trouble.
Let it never be said that Clark Kent doesn't do his homework.
He wakes up a few hours earlier than he’s used to the next morning and spends it combing through Jimmy’s files, desperately trying to find every angle, prepare himself for every question.
It’s slow going. For one, even with his greater awareness about the situation, it’s still almost impossible to comb through what’s likely legitimate and what could very well be an elaborate hoax.
He’s pretty sure the psychic starfish and hyper-intelligent French gorillas fall into the latter category, but that’s the problem, he can never be sure. Not when Jimmy’s work has pulled the rug out from underneath him once already, not when he’s only working off of the most tangential of knowledge. The mere awareness that aliens exist – and can look like humans, at that. Is that natural? Does he have some… some secret true form he doesn’t know about? He doesn’t think so, but… no, that’s an existential question he can freak out about at another time, when he’s not on such a short timer.
Regardless, his understanding of the situation can only take him so far.
What’s worse is that despite his eccentricities, Jimmy has done a very good job of filtering out the implausible nonsense, the things that he could easily determine are an elaborate hoax from a thorough investigation.
Clark… tries not to contemplate the idea that all of his research is real – or even most of it, for that matter. He doesn’t think he’s capable of handling the paradigm shift just yet.
Okay, maybe ignore anything not related to him specifically. If it doesn’t have his symbol plastered onto it, it doesn’t matter for now. He’ll figure out what it means another day, and hopefully he won’t put on the spot about them.
It’s still a lot of files, even for someone who can speed read. And even if most of it is speculation, it’s something he can be assessed on.
Maybe he’s going to need the murderboard. Or at least a different murderboard, one that’s less… public.
“Clark?” Jimmy’s voice travels across the room, and Clark startles, slamming the files shut abruptly.
“Jimmy!” Clark exclaims, plastering what he hopes is an entirely non-suspicious smile onto his face. He does not start to sweat. “Ah, Jimmy, hey! Wha-at are you doing here?”
Jimmy blinks, quirking an eyebrow at him, “I… live here? Also, I was going to touch up some of yesterday’s photos,” he informs him, heading further into their shared workspace.
“Right, right,” Clark agrees, surreptitiously shoving one of the files into a drawer as Jimmy turns towards the computer – which, Clark realizes belatedly, is still on. And has his research on it. “Ah, actually, Jimmy-“
Too late. His eyes are already widening, darting towards Clark analytically, glancing at him with extreme interest, and oh, he’s already blown it, he’s been public as Superman for days and he’s already blown it-
“Woah, CK! Are these my files?”
Clark flinches, his plastic smile turning more watery. “Uh, yes,” he admits, “But I promise I have a good reason-“
“Are you doing research on Superman?” Jimmy asks, suddenly electrified as he turns back towards him. “You guys are actually using my files for the interview, too? Clark! I thought you didn’t believe in this sort of thing!”
“I… figured this was the best way to prepare,” Clark offers, carefully omitting the full implications behind his words. Hesitantly, he hazards, “You’re… not upset?”
“Upset? No? I mean,” he pauses, his head tilting slightly. “You could’ve just asked if you wanted to borrow the files – I have this whole organizational system, and all that. But Clark, you have no idea how amazing this feels! This is everything I’ve been waiting for my entire life, and between you and Lois and Superman… oh man, I really hope Perry agrees to publish!”
He leans back against the chair, throwing his arms out, and Clark tries very not to focus on the guilt welling up within him.
It’s very much an exercise in futility.
An hour of research later, and Clark’s left sitting at the kitchen table with more questions than answers.
At least he’s probably familiar with Lois’s possible avenues of inquiry. Not that it’ll help him much if he can’t do anything but shrug and explain that he knows as much as she does, but surely it counts for something?
He’s doomed, isn’t he?
Honestly, he’s surprised he hasn’t been figured out already.
Clark sighs to himself at the thought and pushes away his breakfast, his appetite vanishing at the thought.
No, there has to be something he can do. He refuses to accept defeat until he’s exhausted every possible avenue. He may not be able to put the ‘Superman is an alien’ genie back in the bottle, but he has to at least try to do some damage control.
He needs to get ahead of the story.
And… there might be one person who can help him do that…
Clark touches down in Kansas a few minutes later, his feet hitting the earth at his parents’ farm a few feet from the crater housing the ship.
He’s… still not entirely comfortable coming here. He realizes that his past trauma was likely born entirely off of miscommunications, a child’s poor first impression when faced with a situation far beyond his understanding. He realizes that the strange ghostly figure is in fact his ghost dad; the biological father that had helped send him across the stars to avoid an unknown but surely disastrous fate on his home planet.
Intellectually, he knows this.
It doesn’t feel any less strange. He’d spent his whole life running from his identity, working so hard to be normal. And now, to be facing that part of himself – and potentially facing it publicly, at that – isn’t something that comes easy to him.
But it needs to be done.
He needs answers, for Lois and… and for himself. This is his heritage, and thus his duty to learn about it. He has to at least try.
Clark steps onto the metallic structure and blue light rises to meet him.
He shuts his eyes against the blinding flash, and when he next opens them, he’s back inside the ship.
His ship.
He swallows, and steps forward.
“Filo,” his ghost dad says by way of greeting, materializing in front of him in a flash of blue light. He hovers before him, floating in the seemingly endless void of white crystals.
“Hello, uh, father?” he hazards, carefully at first, and then at his seeming acknowledgement, he continues, “I… have a few more questions about my origins, if that’s alright?”
Ghost dad speaks again, however useless the action may be; Clark’s brain simply can’t parse the language.
Absently, he wonders why it is that his father can seemingly understand English, even as he lacks the ability to communicate with it.
“Right, I’m just… going to assume you’re okay with it, and then just stop me if you’re not?” Clark offers, and meeting no objection from his birth father, he continues, “I… are there any others out there like me? Other people from our planet?”
Ghost dad’s eyes widen at his words, and his brow furrows in concern. He moves to speak again, but stops, perhaps realizing the futility of it, and instead shakes his head to the side.
And… surely Clark’s just misunderstanding the gesture. Maybe on whatever planet he was born on, that sort of gesture actually means yes, absolutely, and actually you’re an idiot for even asking something so obvious.
Even as the thought forms in his head, he knows it to ring false, can feel the growing anxieties swelling up within him as he contemplates the thought.
However scary his heritage may have seemed as a child, the idea that he’d have to face his life alone somehow seems worse.
And then he remembers why he'd come.
“There’s someone else,” Clark informs him, his voice filling with confidence. He takes a step forward and tells his father, “I’ve seen pictures – there was another ship that came down to Earth with me. It’s in another state, but it’s there. It’s real. I’m not alone, Dad.”
Ghost dad just shakes his head, his eyes growing weary.
The man may not speak any language known to man, but the message goes through all the same.
No, there is no one else.
And Clark just can’t accept that. Not when there’s reason to hope, not when he’s seen the evidence with his own eyes, not when the truth is so easily within his reach. He has to believe that his ghost dad is just… mistaken.
Perhaps whatever information he possesses is limited.
Perhaps he doesn’t even have the answers Clark is looking for.
Perhaps the truth is still out there, waiting to be revealed.
Really, there's only one way to find out.
Until then, he has a more pressing battle to fight.
Lois arrives on the roof of the Daily Planet building at 8 o’clock.
Or, well, okay, that's a lie - technically she gets there an hour early because what if he’s early, and then when he shows up and finds that she’s not there waiting for him, he assumes the interview is cancelled, or takes offence and refuses further interviews, or gets held up saving some puppies from a burning building-
Really, anything could happen. It only makes sense for her to be there as early as she can manage.
If it had been up to her, she would’ve been there two hours early, even! But then Clark and Jimmy got involved, saying that it was ‘too early’ and that ‘she’d catch a cold waiting that long’. Which, sure, okay, but this was her first big interview and it was with Superman and about the fact that he was an alien. Can you blame her for wanting to be prepared, to make sure it all went smoothly?
No, you can’t, so don't even try.
And- And get this, she’s completely justified in showing up this early, because so does Superman.
“Ms. Lane?” he says, grabbing her attention away from the beautiful Metropolis skyline. He hovers in the air a few feet above her, and he’s an entire hour early! “Sorry to drop in on you like this.”
She knew she should’ve come even earlier! He must’ve gotten here a few minutes after she did! What if she’d been held up, she could’ve missed the entire interview!
“Oh, wow, you’re actually here!” she voices, before catching herself. “I mean, pfft, of course you’re here, duh, why wouldn’t you be? And you’re early!”
“I, uh, happened to be flying nearby,” he stammers out quickly, his face heating up. “I'd heard when you came up here to wait and… yeah.”
He sheepishly smiles at her and drops down onto the roof, his feet softly brushing against the ground as he lands.
“You were listening for me?” she asks, and she totally doesn’t turn redder than him when he sends her an affirming nod.
She doesn’t.
“Right!” Lois exclaims, clapping her hands together, her voice somewhat higher than usual. She doesn’t look him in the eye as she whips out her recorder. Focus on what’s important – he’s a dork, that means this won’t be too difficult. “So, let’s start with an easy one! Who are you, where are you from, why are you here, and how can you do the things you do?”
“…That’s a lot more than one,” Superman comments, glancing to the side, towards the city below them, “And none of them are particularly easy,”
She doesn’t roll her eyes. She doesn’t let out a laugh. She is a professional doing a professional interview on behalf of one of the most professional papers in the world.
“But to answer your questions – I’m a friend, Ms. Lane, and I’m here to help however I can.”
It’s a sidestep, she realizes, but she lets him get away with it for now – neither of them are the big question she needs answered.
“Alright then,” she voices out, filing away the way he relaxes at her casual acceptance for future reference. There’s a lot more to this story than he’s willing to tell, clearly. “I guess the next question is… how long have you been on Earth?”
Superman blinks at her bluntness, but doesn’t seem particularly surprised by her line of inquiry. Instead of answering her question, he asks, “You think I’m an alien?”
“I’ve reason to believe so,” Lois answers, slipping into her role more easily as she adjusts to his now-evasive nature. This, at least, she’d been trained to expect. “Are you?”
“I’ve lived on Earth all my life, Ms. Lane.”
It’s a good answer. Well-crafted in the sense that it doesn’t really answer the question, much as it seems to on its face.
Its sheer evasiveness confirms all her theories. She resists the urge to cheer, but only barely.
She’s got him.
“That’s quite interesting,” Lois offers, her face a carefully expressionless statue. She sees him visibly relax at her words, evidently not understanding just how badly he’d given the game away. “Beyond that, I suppose I’d have to ask, what is it exactly that you can do, and how is it that you can do it?”
“Well, the most obvious one is the flying,” he begins, his dorkiness returning to him with a vengeance as he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I guess… you’ve seen the strength and the speed, you know about the durability, and I’ve told you about the hearing. There’s not much to say beyond that, except that all my other senses are enhanced, as well. As for how… I’m still finding that out myself. As far as I know, I was born this way, Ms. Lane.”
It’s not quite as interesting as Lois would’ve liked, not now that the novelty of a flying alien has worn off. There’s no radioactive power source, no secret alien science, or perhaps human government experimentation – really, as far as comic book-esque origin stories go, it’s quite mundane - but it’s still something she can print, at least.
“Tell me a bit more about that,” she presses on. “How strong are you? How fast can you fly?”
“I’m not sure, really. I’ve never really bothered to time myself,” he smiles at her, tilting his head slightly to the side. “We could find out?”
Her brain crashes, unable to compute the meaning underlying his words. “We? As in you and me?”
“I mean, maybe not right now, I’d imagine you’re busy with all of this,” he backpedals, mistaking her words for hesitance. “But… if you’re interested?”
“…Do you offer all the reporters joyrides, then?” she teases, unable to help the way her lips quirk upwards at seeing him flustered. His mannerisms remind her so much of Clark that it’s genuinely uncanny, and far too disarming for his own good.
“What other reporters?” his face is redder than his cape, but he still sends a small smile her way as he speaks.
Lois ducks her head, a futile attempt to mask her own pink-tinged cheeks.
She clears her throat, racking her brain to remember her list of questions – or any suitable response to that at all, really, that doesn’t leave her looking like an embarrassing mess - when he suddenly glances away from her.
He stares out into the city, his expression morphing into something more severe. Concern colours his features, and then looks back towards her, an unwritten apology on his face.
He’s heard something, then.
“Ms. Lane, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this interview short,”
She nods in understanding. “Rain check, then?”
“Definitely,” he says, already rising into the air, and darn, that will never not be impressive. “On both counts.”
A smile sneaks onto her face again as he vanishes in a blur of red and blue.
She stares at the space in the sky where he’d vanished into the horizon, trying to see whether she can still see the glimpses of red of his cape, but the sun is setting, rendering her efforts futile.
It’s a lovely view, though.
But not one she can enjoy for long – she has deadlines to meet, the story of the century to break.
A grin splits her face at the thought as she begins drafting the article in her head, running through different snappy sentences and poignant paragraphs, when she freezes.
Her stomach drops as she fiddles for her recorder, desperately hoping she’d been misremembering. Their conversation echoes back to her and she feels her heart stop.
“You think I’m an alien?”
“I’ve reason to believe so. Are you?”
“I’ve lived on Earth all my life, Ms. Lane.”
No. No.
She can’t print this. It’s – it’s too vague. It could mean anything. That had been proof enough for her, but for anyone else? She’d get laughed out of the editor’s room.
She has a story… but not the one she wants to tell.
Perry would probably like it, assuming he gives her the by-line this time.
Her smile slips off her face entirely, replaced instead with a growing frustration.
She’d underestimated him. He came in with his adorable dorky charm, and then blindsided her with his press training – and it had to be press training. He’d structured that phrase perfectly and carefully, too carefully for it to be casual, and he hadn’t even deliberated in the moment for it. He’d been prepared.
She barely resists the urge to groan. She’s really screwed that up, hasn’t she?
“So, let me get this straight,” Perry starts, staring at Lois with the most inscrutable look she’s ever seen. “You want me to allow you three, my most inexperienced interns, to go on a multi-day trip to New Mexico… so you can hunt down little green men.”
“Well, they’re not actually green. Or little. Probably,” Lois offers, leaning back on the heels of her feet. “It’s more the spaceship that we’re after. Perry, I think there’s a really big story here that we’re not telling-“
“A story that claims Metropolis’s resident superhero is an alien. A story based on images that were pulled off of online conspiracy boards. A story that Superman denies,” Perry reiterates, placing his palms against his desk as he pushes himself up, levelling himself against Lois.
“I mean, he didn’t so much deny it... I think it’s more like a ‘no comment’ situation,” she offers as Perry moves to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“Lane,” he sighs, his voice weary, “Next you’re going to be telling me you want to go rent a boat to track down Atlantis.”
“I mean, Jimmy has some ideas for that,” she begins, but stops short in response to the glare her boss gives her. “But that’s not important. What’s important is this story. There’s something here, Perry, I can feel it.”
“Oh, well as long as you can feel it,” Perry derides, a deadpan look affixing itself to his face. “Please, by all means, take all the time you need for your wild goose chase.”
Lois sighs, her face growing sombre. “Mr. White, please, I know this sounds ridiculous – I get it! And I know you think we’re inexperienced – and really, we are! But we’ve also got skill and dedication, and we’ve already broken one of the biggest stories this paper has ever had, whether or not we got credited for it – and we faced pushback for that one, too! If we hadn’t investigated it, we would’ve been scooped! So please, I’m just… asking for a little trust? I promise, we’ll deliver the best story you’ve ever seen. Just give us this much.”
Perry lies back down in his chair, massaging his temples. “If I say no, you’re just going to sneak off to New Mexico regardless, aren’t you?”
Lois’s cheeks tinge pink, but she doesn’t respond. She knows better than to incriminate herself.
“Officially, I can’t condone this. I can’t justify this to the board,” Perry warns, and immediately Lois springs to attention at his words.
Trying to keep a broad grin off her face, she continues, “But unofficially, we’re off the hook?”
“Unofficially, this meeting never happened,” Perry tells her, his voice severe, and then the dam cracks, unable to contain Lois’s sheer excitement as it all comes rushing through her at once.
“Yes!” she exclaims, pumping her fist in the air, much to Perry’s bemusement. Turning to him, she proclaims, “You won’t regret it, chief!”
“See that I won't. And don’t call me chief,” he adds with a frown, almost absently.
“Right,” Lois agrees, her hands twitching with excitement. She glances surreptitiously at the door once or twice, and Perry sighs to himself again.
“Go,” he tells her, waving her out, and she jumps at the chance, bolting out of the room in seconds.
“That article better be worth it,” Perry mutters under his breath as she exits, the door slamming shut behind her.