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“You think he’s ok?”
“Who, Jimmy?” she asked distractedly.
“You know who.”
Lois looked up at him.
The worried expression on his face was evident.
“It’s not exactly a normal pizza run,” he said quietly, using the code they had stumbled onto to describe Clark’s Superman activities.
Lois sighed.
Jimmy was right; it wasn’t a normal pizza run.
They’d all thought that hurricane season was over. It wasn’t something they ever had to worry about in Metropolis. But when a storm was destructive enough to make the national news, everyone in the bullpen was aware of it. It was a story no one ever wanted to write, since it was part obituary, part science gibberish and part book report. …And since there was no ability to shift the outcome for those people in the storm’s path. They weren’t interviewees or targets of an investigation; they were victims. So everyone had collectively indulged in their annual sigh of relief as the season came to a close. But then Tropical Storm Gordon decided to prove to the national news circuit that they had all been wrong to think that they could predict, and therefore underestimate, the forces of nature. It promoted itself to a hurricane and proceeded to brutally pummel the Caribbean and the east coast.
They had first heard about it last week when it had clipped the tip of Jamaica, and Clark had offered to go grab them coffees, his treat, as Lois and Jimmy shared a knowing glance over her desk.
Two days later, they’d tracked the storm’s progress to Cuba, when Clark told them he had a doctor’s appointment he’d nearly forgotten, and they had watched him head to the elevator with twin expressions of concern. Clark’s mood had been low when he’d finally returned, as the news reported on the mounting death toll on the battered island. He’d been so quietly inconsolable that she’d brought him coffee to try and cheer him up, without letting on that she was trying to cheer him up, of course.
Three days ago, Clark had called her to say in a hurried voice that one of his apartment windows had broken, and he was stuck waiting for his landlord to come to replace it. She’d immediately picked up a remote and turned the volume higher on one of the newsroom televisions to see that the Hurricane Gordon was now barreling across Florida, and Jimmy had come up behind her with a concerned look on his face as they watched footage of the storm decimating whole communities that didn’t stand a chance. That time, Clark hadn’t even said ‘goodbye’ before speeding off the line.
Yesterday, Clark had made it in, but was starting to look like he’d been pummeled himself. He was off—distracted and fumbling. At one point, she was pretty sure he’d used his powers to accidentally heat her cup of coffee instead of his own. Still, they had made it halfway through the day before LNN had started sharing reports that the storm had now picked up speed out over the ocean and that its path had changed, bouncing back inland to crash devastatingly into the Carolinas. Clark, already loosening his tie, claimed that the lunch they’d all shared, which he’d picked up on the way back from a four-car pile-up, had upset his stomach. He’d been out the door before Lois could wish him well, and Jimmy had spent the afternoon worrying after the hero and gathering research on a bunch of Clark’s potential leads in case he needed information fast the next day.
But they hadn’t heard from him since, and now he was late coming in today.
“Jimmy, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s, you know, him.”
“He didn’t look so good after the pizza run in Florida though,” Jimmy said. “Tired. Kinda sad.”
Jimmy was right. But there wasn’t anything they could do about it. At least, nothing that would be enough to really help.
“Don’t worry so much,” she chastised, waving him away. His worry was making her worry. And, in spite of herself, she was already worried!
And she didn’t want to be worried.
She wanted to be furious.
Because she was, she told herself, now vacillating hourly on her reaction to Clark and his secret.
She went back to her computer, cleaning up story notes from their last front page scoop.
But her mind started to jump forward. They were going to have to cover for him. Should she say that he was still sick? But this kind of thing seemed to happen all the time. It would eat up his vacation time pretty quickly if that was always her excuse for him. Then what would happen when he ran out of time off? No more rescues?
She scoffed at that idea.
No wonder he was always running out on such minor errands; it always sounded like he’d be right back, not like something he’d need to take a vacation day over.
She decided to say he was meeting with a source. Maybe she could even say that the source had called her and was running late, so she’d just told Clark to wait. That way she could pivot the blame to herself, as the senior partner.
Or maybe she should convince Clark to tell Perry what he hadn’t yet told her, and get a real support system for himself in place. Because the rag-tag help she and Jimmy were silently cobbling together for him didn’t seem like nearly enough.
“Lois!”
Her head snapped up, and she cursed herself for thinking Perry’s name and silently summoning him. He had a sixth sense about that kind of thing and somehow always knew when she was thinking about making trouble.
“You see that partner of yours anywhere?”
“Meeting with a source,” she tossed over her shoulder, going back to her story notes.
“A source?” Perry asked.
Dammit. She knew that tone. Somehow she’d gotten his antennae up, and now he was going to dig in.
Sometimes ‘busy Mad Dog’ disarmed it.
“Yeah. That’s what I said,” she fired back, still typing.
Perry had sauntered over and now stopped at her desk.
“Without you?”
“I don’t need to go out on every tip we get,” she said, trying to sound appropriately annoyed.
“Is it credible?”
“Should be,” she said with a shrug.
“But you sent Kent to check it out alone?” he summarized, looking over her shoulder. His tone turned skeptical. “While you type up story notes on last week’s news?”
“I always clean up my notes after a big story,” she said, attempting to sound scandalized and still a little annoyed.
“Uh-huh,” Perry replied, staring her down.
She stared right back, stone-faced.
Even though she usually caved in on something like this, there was no way she was backing down from giving Clark a solid alibi while he was out there fighting through hour twelve of pulling people out from beneath collapsed and half-washed away houses.
Perry gave in first.
“Alright, well, he’s got that press conference at the city comptroller’s office this morning.”
“I’ll remind him,” she said.
Or she’d cover it herself.
Perry looked at her drolly, letting her know she wasn’t off the hook for her excuse about a source.
“Let me know if I need to pull the front page for your tip,” he said with a lilt to his voice that she might describe in a less professional setting as ‘smart-ass.’
“Will do,” she said, and went back to moving her notes around.
Perry lingered for another few seconds, and she had to force herself to not look up again and give him the opportunity to press her further.
But then she heard the flats of his shoes against the floor as he headed back into his office.
When she couldn’t hear his steps anymore, she picked up her phone and dialed, then watched Jimmy as he answered.
“Can you get into his computer from where you are?” she asked before he could say anything.
Jimmy’s eyes flew to lock with hers.
“Um, yeah, but why would—”
“I need you to find anything in there about whatever’s happening at the city comptroller’s this morning and get it to me.”
He looked confused for a second but then his face cleared.
“You’re going to cover it for him?” Jimmy asked, his face breaking into a grin.
“I’m not going to let him get fired over something as insignificant as a statistics nerd rambling through the paltry reasons why the city is still in debt again this year, reciting the same numbers from last year and the year before,” she said quietly, already bored by the reading she knew she was about to do.
“You’re not mad at him anymore,” Jimmy accused playfully.
“I’m mad as hell. Now get me that stuff before I get mad at you, again, too,” she said, and slammed the phone back down into its cradle.
She went back to her story notes.
A few minutes later, her phone rang.
“Lois Lane.”
“There’s a new folder on the upper right corner of your desktop called ‘Pizza Toppings,’” Jimmy said.
She rolled her eyes as the nomenclature, but minimized her word processor and saw the folder right where Jimmy said it would be. Clicking into it, she saw Clark’s carefully prepared notes on the press conference this morning.
“Thanks, Jimmy,” she said, and hung up.
She thoroughly scanned her way through his impossibly dry notes, absorbing it all but loathing it. It was every bit as boring as she’d imagined. Actually, it was worse. She would rather be covering a dog show.
And she didn’t even have time for a fresh cup of coffee to aid her through the slough.
The elevator dinged.
Lois’ eyes flicked up to see Clark trudge into the bullpen.
Immediately, she closed out of her copy of his document and then looked over toward research to find that Jimmy had just looked at her, too. They exchanged a shared moment of relief that he was back.
But then Lois looked more closely at her partner.
Something about him seemed off, even worse than yesterday. His eyes were cast down, shoulders hunched even further forward than usual. One button was open on his shirt, and it was coming untucked. As he walked down the ramp, he put his hands in his pockets; with his jacket pushed aside, she could see that he’d missed a belt loop. One of his shoe laces was even untied.
How fast had he gotten dressed? Had he even looked in a mirror?
Probably not, she surmised, biting her lip. He’d obviously been in a hurry. His hair was still damp, and so were his glasses. Was that from a shower, or from torrential rain hitting him in gale-force winds? If he had super-speed, had he been home for more than a few minutes between a literal federal disaster area and the Planet?
Or had he even been able to go home? Had he changed on the roof or in the stairwell?
She was suddenly overcome with the urge to hug him, something she hadn’t felt in over a month. And beneath that, a stronger feeling sparked, though she wasn’t choosing to examine it.
As he passed her desk silently, setting off another warning bell in her head, she stood and followed him to his, moving around behind him. When they got there, she put one hand on his shoulder so that he faced her and therefore the wall behind her, his back to the bullpen, where no one would be able to scrutinize him. That had been her intent, since up close, he looked like he’d been run ragged.
“Oh, hi, Lois,” he said in a tired voice.
“Hi yourself, big guy,” she said back, reaching forward and buttoning the open button midway down his shirt.
He looked down, as she maneuvered the button through the hole.
“Oh, ah, thanks.”
“Sure,” she said, too empathetically. Resisting the urge to brush a damp lock of hair off his forehead, she recovered with an acerbic barb, “You look like you got dressed in the dark today. Tuck your shirt in.”
While he compiled, she leaned around him to grab a tissue off the next desk over.
Without thinking, she reached up to remove his glasses and a second later, her hand was gently, but immovably, encased in steel.
Their eyes met.
His were suddenly alert, and she realized what she’d been about to unwittingly do.
She’d been about to remove Superman’s disguise in a room full of reporters.
And her heart melted a little more.
No matter how tired he was, he must never, ever be able to let his guard down.
She cleared her throat, ending the somehow suddenly tense moment, and held up the tissue in her other hand. “Your glasses are smudged,” she said, offering it to him.
His face changed at once into a tired smile.
“Thanks,” he said again, sliding his hand away from hers and taking the tissue she offered.
She was startled to realize that she missed his touch, and she forced the hand that he’d been holding to remain still and relaxed, instead of chasing his.
“Feeling any better?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Huh?”
“You went home sick yesterday. Food poisoning?” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah, yeah.” He ducked his head down, hiding his eyes as he slid his glasses partway off to clean the lenses.
Was Clark really this bad at this or was Superman actually tired? she wondered, fretting her lip again.
“I’m feeling better,” he said.
“But maybe still a little tired,” she guided him.
“Yeah,” he agreed with a weary sigh. “Definitely a little tired.”
She gave in to the temptation she was fighting, her hand moving nearly of its own volition to smooth the rebellious tuft of his hair back into place. The strange familiarity of it, after having had a wall up between them for so long, made her heart stutter.
He dragged in a long, ragged breath and looked back up at her, glasses clean and in place, and she gave him a sympathetic smile.
The sounds of the newsroom faded a little as the world concentrated down to just them.
Lowering her voice, she took a half step closer in toward him.
“Clark, I…”
She actually saw the moment break. Clark’s very attentive gaze glazed over. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jimmy turn toward the scanner. And Clark’s head tilted then, as if he were listening to it, too.
Jimmy suddenly looked at her with an intense expression and she knew what was coming.
“Um, Lois, I—“ Clark started, one hand moving to fiddle with his tie.
She felt her chest clench in response, but then Perry was in the bullpen, shouting orders. “I need somebody on the orphanage fire down on 14th!” he yelled. “And we’re gonna need photos, too! Who’s free?”
“I got it!” Lois called out, crossing to her desk to grab her purse.
“Uh, no, I’ll take it, Chief!”
She looked at him in frank irritation. He was exhausted. Why couldn’t he just let her give him a break?
“You’ve got the City Comptroller, Kent!” Perry barked.
For some reason, Clark’s gaze swept over to Lois, a pleading look in his eye.
And it clicked.
He had to cover the orphanage fire.
So that Superman could put out the fire.
“Uh, actually, I’ve got that press conference, Chief!” she called back to Perry, breaking away from Clark toward her desk and throwing her purse over her shoulder.
“What?!” Perry asked, his head swiveling back to her.
Behind her, Clark’s face was a study in surprise.
“Get out of here,” she said to him sharply, sotto voce.
But instead of moving, he just blinked at her, mystified at her offer to swap stories.
Before she could bark at him again or Perry could come up with a reason for his reporters not to play musical chairs with their assignments, Jimmy was suddenly there, all but shoving Clark toward the elevator.
“I’m on it for photos!” Jimmy yelled back at them, one hand still propelling Clark away from their boss.
“Now hold on there, do you even know what this press conference is about?” Perry stopped Lois just as she was about to follow Clark and Jimmy.
“Sure. Clark filled me in when we thought that source was going to be late,” she said, keeping to the story she’d crafted in her head.
“Really?” Perry asked skeptically, clearly smelling trouble like a school principal could smell a class prank. “What is it about then?”
“He’s talking about how to leverage interest savings against the city’s current existing debt to maintain a robust credit rating over the next fiscal year.”
Perry blinked at her, just as Clark had a moment ago.
She rolled her eyes.
It seemed like she was having that effect on men today.
Meanwhile, Jimmy had herded Clark into the elevator bay and punched the call button. The doors opened almost immediately and Clark looked back at him, brow furrowed.
“Uh, Jimmy, why don’t I— uh—“
Jimmy cut him off. “You go ahead, CK. I just remembered I have to get my camera. Would you mind if I met you there?”
Clark’s face cleared. “Yes. Sure, Jimmy! I’ll meet you there.”
The elevator doors closed behind Clark, and Lois turned to follow, now that he was in the clear.
“You all gonna tell me what in the Sam Hill is going on here?” Perry asked.
She turned back to him with wide, innocent eyes and one hand on her hip.
“What’s going on is that I have fifteen minutes to get across town. Do you want this thing covered or not?”
Perry gave her a hard look, but seemed to decide that he was getting the best he was going to get out of this whirlwind of chicanery masquerading as a newsroom today.
“Well, git goin’ then!”
She made her rush toward the elevator before he could change his mind.
Jimmy was already waiting there, camera bag still strapped across his chest, as it had been since he’d left his desk to intercept Clark.
They were silent as the elevator climbed back up to them.
The doors opened and they stepped inside in tandem, still not speaking.
The doors closed.
“That was real smooth,” Jimmy said as soon as they were alone.
“That was real close!” Lois retorted.
“You think he’ll do ok at that fire?” he asked.
“Of course,” she said confidently, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he’s Superman,” she said emphatically. “And when he’s not feeling so super, we’ve got his back.”
Still, he had looked really tired.
“But you’d better line up a couple of witnesses willing to give him solid pull-quotes while you’re taking photos. And make sure at least one of them is a kid.”
“I’ll do my best,” Jimmy agreed.
She shot him a firm glare. “You’d better.”
He nodded back solemnly.
The elevator slowed as it reached the ground floor.
Then Jimmy grinned widely. “You’re so not mad at him anymore,” he teased again.
“I’m furious,” Lois insisted with a straight face.
Jimmy’s smile grew.
Without looking, Lois reached over and whacked his upper arm.
“Ow!” he protested, chuckling.
“See? Furious.”
“I got it, I got it,” he repeated. “Furious.”
The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and they were off to the races.
*****