Almost Lois (Chapter Twenty)

The hayseed stared at her as he walked by. She gave him a tight smile and waved. "Bye, now."

He quickly turned his eyes from her and she watched his back as it disappeared from the bullpen. Something about the guy bugged her. There was this twinge of resentment she couldn't quite place. Maybe she had met him. Perry seemed to think so. She was fairly sure he must have been a quickly discounted ass, though.

It must be his type she hated. Those strong, silent, earnest farm boy types. They wore flannel shirts like this guy. They probably held open doors and called people ma'am and seemed just too sweet and hunky to be true. Then they turned out to be just as insensitive as the rest, just under a harmless exterior. She had these images that danced on the edge of her mind. She'd been talking to her therapist about them. He was a good guy. He even tried to refuse payment the first time. She'd dropped a check with his secretary anyhow - the one that didn't like her at all.

Doctor Grady said these were probably just memories that were best forgotten. His methods seemed different from any therapist she'd seen on TV. She had this vague memory of seeing a therapist before. Very vague. Must have been way back. He'd had a thing for turtle necks. At any rate, Doctor Grady was unconventional, but probably the best. Everyone in Metropolis was buzzing about him.

She checked her lipstick in her compact mirror. She had to get back to the fish market and sweet talk an ex cop or two. She made a mental note to wipe off the lipstick before addressing the lady cop. Maybe she should spill some coffee on her blouse, too. She doubted a woman in a fishy jumpsuit would be too forthcoming with someone who looked too put together. She saw her roots in the mirror, too. They were looking a little light. She'd have to get to a stylist and soon. She didn't want to be blonde... Did she?

She shook her head as she put her compact away. Who'd take a blonde seriously, anyway?

As if on cue, Rachel Rogers sauntered over, her platinum dye job swinging behind her back. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?" she sighed. Rachel was a wee bit nicer to her now that she'd hit her stride, but the cattiness was still there. Lois was always on her guard, waiting for a barb.

"That slice of flannel I saw leaving." She leaned back against Lois' desk, biting the pad of her thumb. "Jimmy says he's going to be working here."

"So?"

She looked at Lois, her expression pitying. "Oh, I forgot. You don't swing that way. Sorry."

"For the last time," Lois hissed. "I'm not a lesbian. I'm just... a professional."

"In this day and age, Lois, it's nothing to be ashamed of," she said in her girlish voice. She patted Lois' head. "Be out and proud." She moved to her own desk. It faced Lois' and she really wanted to remember to talk to Perry about changing that.

Lois rolled her eyes and picked up her bag. "I have better things to do than discuss my sexuality with you."

"As if you have one," Rachel snorted.

Lois gritted her teeth as she walked out. She'd had guys. She'd... She stood in the middle of the staircase, staring ahead. It must have been so long that it was clean wiped away. Names escaped her, but images danced before her. Hard chests and thighs that rubbed along hers. Someone nibbling her neck in a kitchen. Even the most bizarre image of her knees on a man's shoulders. She shook her head and continued down the stairs. Her dreams were nutty. Such a position was damn near impossible unless the man was Hercules.

She smiled at the image of herself being wooed by a hot guy in a short toga. Could be fun. But she had priorities. The story. The story was just about all there was. All she lived for.

**********************************

Clark was almost afraid to walk into the house. It was a familiar feeling. It was the feeling of coming home from school with a bad grade or a detention notice. It couldn't be changed, but the disappointment would be tough to face.

He took a deep breath as he walked in. "I'm home."

"In the kitchen," his mother called out. When he came in, she was taking two cookie sheets out of the oven. "Clark, I have a huge order of the low-fat oatmeal to get out by morning and I only have..."

"Say no more." He blew on the sheets and moved in a blur around the kitchen as she sat, wiping her forehead on a dish towel. He packaged the batch she had and spooned some more dough on the two sheets. It only took fifteen seconds and they were in the oven. He sat across from her, wondering how he'd tell her.

"Thanks," she sighed. "Now if only you could make them bake faster."

"Sorry, Mom. I'm just not equipped with an oven."

"Funny," she said, smiling. "Well, it's nice to have twenty minutes anyway." She leaned her chin on her hand and stared at him. "I'd hire you as help if you didn't need to be in the city."

"I wouldn't mind." He toyed with the spoon, smushing the batter against the side of the large mixing bowl. "But I... kind of got a job today."

"Really? Please say you aren't hauling garbage or..."

"No," he assured her. "It's um... office oriented."

"Oh? That's great, Clark. I didn't want to complain before, but the smell... I literally had to soak your sheets in pure bleach. So..."

"So..." he repeated nodding.

"Well? What's the job."

"It's uh... I'll be spending a lot of time in front of the computer."

"Well, that's the best way to learn. You never did get properly acquainted with modern technology, Clark."

"Oh, I will now. I start tomorrow."

"But doing what?"

"It's funny... I'll be writing."

Martha smiled. "Well, there's a step up. Writing what?"

"Oh, just... stuff. News stuff." He cringed. "For The Daily Planet."

Her face fell and she rubbed her eyes. "Clark..."

"Mom, it all happened so fast. I was just passing by The Planet and..."

"Just passing by?"

"And Jimmy Olsen came out of the coffee shop. She wasn't there, so I figured it was okay and I helped him bring in all this coffee and... Before I knew it, Perry White had me in his office and was offering me a job. I couldn't get a word in. Then Lois comes in..."

"Lois," she sighed.

"And I get even less words in and then she'd accusing me of trying to scoop her and Perry tells me I start tomorrow and then everyone's gone." He let out a long breath. "I... I hardly knew what hit me."

"Clark, call back and tell them you can't. This is just too risky."

"That's the thing, Mom." He leaned forward. "I'm wondering if it would be risky not to."

She blinked several times. "How's that?"

He stood up and paced toward the sink. "Lois is investigating the... reverse crime wave in the city. She's even tied it to the fish market."

Martha shook her head. "I told you. If you would just wear the..."

"The outfit's not the point," he cut in. "Maybe it would be a good idea to throw her off the scent."

"Mm-hmm." Martha crossed her arms and leaned back. "And that's the only reason you want to work there?"

Clark toed the floor and shrugged. "Mom, I won't get too close. She can't stand me anyway," he grumbled. "Said I was reaching above myself. Called me a hayseed and a cornshucker."

Martha giggled and he looked up. "I'm sorry. It's just... It's a little funny."

He slumped back to his chair. "Not to me... Mom, I want to keep her safe."

She reached for his hand. "Do you think you'll be able to handle it?"

"I have to. She's still so reckless. A few days ago, she tried to take on two muggers. One had a gun. She's just so... stubborn."

She squeezed his hand. "I know someone else who's stubborn. Someone with a perfectly good disguise just waiting for him and he won't so much as try it on for his own..."

"Drop it, Mom."

**********************************

Clark paused as he walked by her desk. She was on google. He pushed his glasses down and zoomed in. She had the words vigilante and fish together in the search box. She was getting desperate. It was his third day and, though she'd mostly ignored him, he kept an eye on her. She was getting nowhere, especially now that the unexplained arrests and police tips were no longer accompanied by the smell of fish.

He jumped back and pushed his glasses back up when she suddenly turned in her chair. "Can I help you, Carl?"

"It's... uh, Clark." And she knew it. "And no." He shuffled the papers in his hand. "Just bringing this to Perry."

She peeked over the top of the stack. "Senior Center offers cool retreat," she read. "Fascinating work."

He tried to keep from giving her nose a paper cut. She hardly glanced at him except with disdain. She didn't speak unless it was a sharp verbal jab. It had been the most frustrating three days of his life. "It's no fish vigilante, but someone has to do it."

She turned back to her monitor. "As long as it's not me."

He pursed his lips. "It just so happens that the elderly need air conditioning during the midsummer season. Do you even know how many have suffered heat stroke or..."

"I know all about that." She turned back. "And I understand the risk, but making a puff piece out of it does not sell papers. Give me that." She snatched the first page and crossed out his title with a red marker.

"Hey!"

She scribbled something else on top of it. "There. Elderly at Risk. Does Metropolis Care?" she read. "That's your angle. You shouldn't be congratulating the senior center on finally getting air conditioning. You should be berating the city for waiting this long to give hem the funding for a basic need. I mean, it's now August. How long does it take for the mayor to sign off on some lousy window units?"

He took the paper back and stared at it. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"That's why I get the front page, Cliff. People need to be outraged to actually pick up a paper and read. We have the idiot box to compete with. This isn't Littletown, Kansas here. People have these screens with pictures that move and..."

"It's Smallville," he said. "And there's no reason not to congratulate those at the center who've been pushing for the equipment."

"God! Where was your last job? A high school paper? No. Don't answer that." She sighed. "You need to realize that journalism is about changing what's wrong. You can pat one guy on the back, but you gotta stick it to another or you'll wind up back in Haystack covering tractor pulls."

"It's Smallville. And I never covered a tractor pull," he said, but couldn't think of anything else. She was right. Even on The Torch, she'd gone on about stories having flair. "Well, if I were you, I'd drop your fish story."

Her eyes widened as she lifted her chin. "What do you know about my story?"

He stood back and smiled. "Just that the occurrences over the last week haven't smelled at all fishy." It was nice to see her taken aback for a change. "I mean, the fish stuff might just be a coincidence."

"Well... the vigilante must have had a bath, then. I know I'm onto something. I think I even heard something once about this guy..." She looked at the ceiling. "He had this thing where he could swim fast and talk to fish."

Clark pulled at his tie. That was actually getting close, considering she had kown A.C. fairly well. "Where would you hear something like that?"

She suddenly looked back at him, her mouth working soundlessly. "I... I don't know... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I've got something."

"Okay," he said, nodding to her monitor.

She reached behind and clicked it off. "I was only using google for... the heck of it. I have plenty more to go on."

She was reaching. She had nothing and she knew it. "Whatever you say."

She glared at him before turning away. "Why don't you stay out of my stories? And fix your angle before you bring that tripe to Perry."

"Fine." He started back to his desk. The article might need a little polish.

"Won't last more than a week," he heard her say way under her breath.

He turned back. Just this once. "Oh, I probably have a whole month in me, Lois."

He turned around, smiling, sure she was gaping at him. It was nice to have the last word.

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Chapter Twenty-One