Almost Lovers (Chapter Three)

Note: I want to thank my endlessly patient readers. You should know that there might be another long-ish wait coming. I think my fic rotation, giving each story an equal turn, is actually making things take longer overall. It's hard getting in and out of four separate universes. I have so much re-reading to do just to get my head in each and I thought I'd take a bit to concentrate on just one. Since my Chlollie fic was won with a charity auction, I'm going to give finishing that first priority and hope it goes quicker with the constant attention. I signed up for another charity auction, see, and I want to get some of these knocked out before I start on that fic, whatever it is. When that's in, I'll rethink my rotation.

The goal is to get all my WIPS, including this one, finished by summer. I think I can do it with just a little more diligence.

Anyway, on to the chapter...

You might notice a few call-backs to Almost Chloe in here. I also filched a line from a different fic of mine (not a heavily read one, so I couldn't bear to see that line go to waste and gave it a little life here).

Chapter Three

Clark felt strange patrolling while playing Irving Clemp. He shouldn't, really. He'd juggled two identities for years, even before Superman appeared on the scene. During the Metropolis Vista investigation, he'd juggled three personas. It didn't seem so hard as this, looking back. It just felt different now. It wasn't a far stretch to play a yuppie couple with Lois. Being a reporter in the city had shades of yuppie. And there was a safety in being near Lois and now... Well, he was on his own. And Irving Clemp was such a far cry from anyone he'd ever known. But he had to be this man, this ex con who, through Turpin's assertions, was a strong and silent type. And all under the watchful eye of not only the men that he suspected made up Intergang, but the Metropolis PD and the formidable Maggie Sawyer. He wasn't sure which group scared him more, but Sawyer was tipping the scales. Bruno Mannheim's underlings had proved less intimidating so far... or just stupider.

As far as they were concerned, he was done for the night. Turpin had opted for a job in security, basically a glorified bouncer. He wanted first look at everyone who came in and out, so it was up to Clark to memorize The Bartender's Bible before the New Year's Eve opening. And he had. He didn't need to do more than speed-read to remember every cocktail, so he'd surely be more than ready for training tomorrow. So why did he feel so strange as he slipped away? He supposed it was that going from a nice, normal, law abiding type to Superman didn't seem too much of a leap. To go from a seedy bar filled with seedier men to this felt like jumping a gulf. Also, there was the guilt. In this investigation, there was a level of self-service. As much as he wanted to help Sawyer stop Intergang, he wanted to protect himself from whatever they might have via Lionel Luthor. He wasn't sure which weighed heavier on him. He supposed the guilt was just his default emotion, as always. His journal scribblings of late seemed to point it out, but didn't eradicate it. Clark Kent was as consistently guilty as he was cautious.

And he had been cautious, hiding his suits before slipping into one and rising over the city, only releasing a breath when he moved through the snow clouds that hovered over it. He wasn't sure if he deserved to feel this free. There was so much to do, so many people to be. But he had to believe he could do it. He'd taken precautions. There was a suit under the roof slats of the motel, the one he wore now. There was another on top of The Daily Planet. The third he'd placed on the very central location of the Metropolis Natural History Museum. Between those suits, Superman could be where he needed to be and Irving Clemp could... maybe find a reason to slip away.

Just the thought of it irked him. If he slipped away too often, he'd be fired. If he got fired, he was off the investigation. If he was off the investigation, he'd have no way to stay close to Intergang and... it was no use worrying. He just had to do it all. But how?

Luckily for him, the city seemed quiet tonight. Or was it too quiet? It was Monday and, though a Monday night might be slow for a restarant or bar, it's never slow for Superman. Sure, it was no weekend hijinks, but there were always plenty of stress-induced, hastily-planned robberies, assaults, and attempted suicides that went with the pressure of a Monday. But nothing. He kept an ear out, even tuned in on a police car below.

... eye out for the vigilante in red. Instructions are to approach him without force and attempt to engage in conversation before he disappears.

"What?" he hissed, flying a little lower. He focused on other cars. The same instructions seemed to be broadcast to all. A disappearing, red vigilante? He wondered that Turpin hadn't mentioned it to him. Then again, Clark wasn't officially police. 

The vigilante seems to be on the side of the citizens. But the frequent wordplay would suggest a disorganized approach, better aided by cooperation with police. Please approach with intent to recruit and...

That call Turpin had taken from Sawyer on the bus back started to make sense. "Puns? Really? No. I believe you. After you see a man fly in tights, anything's possible. Good luck with catching up to him." Clark hadn't asked him what it was about and sunk lower into his seat as he didn't want to draw any attention to himself when people talked about flying and tights. 

But he had a feeling he knew exactly who the police were after. Someone who might seem to disappear to the naked eye. And was fond of wordplay. What the hell was Bart playing at?

He headed east, to the Clocktower, stopping at the window, not surprised to see Victor hunched in front of a monitor. He knocked softly on the window, but Victor still jumped.

"Jesus, Clark!" he heard through the window. "Sensors must be off. What the hell are you... doing here?" he finished louder as the window was thrown open. "I thought you were out of commission."

Clark scrambled in. "Clark Kent is. Doesn't mean Superman can slack off."

Victor chuckled. "Well, you might as well slack off tonight." He moved to his workspace and picked up a paper folded up half-on his keyboard. "Bart's found his calling, I guess."

"That's what I was wondering abou..." He squinted at the monitors. Were those Kryptonian symbols? "What are you working on?"

Victor stiffened up and several monitors shut off at once. "It's confidential. Just a side project. For a friend. Anyway, you were wondering something..."

Clark drew his gaze from the now blank monitors and dropped it to the paper, scanning Lois' article. "I was wondering about Bart. The police seem to be looking for someone that fits his description and..."

"Yeah, yeah. They want to recruit him like they did you. Blame Lois for that one." He slapped the paper into Clark's hands. "She's the one who fed Bart's need for attention and created a monster. Do you know how many catchphrases he's tried out today? I do. He repeated each one in different poses and asked me which sounded the most heroic."

"So Bart is the disappearing vigilante, but... Why?"

"Why not? Better than him hanging out here annoying me, though he still finds time for that," Victor finished on a mutter. "Anyway, someone's going to have to pick up the slack with you on vacation and still grounded and... wait." He looked from Clark to the window. "You flew."

"Oh... uh..." Clark took a breath. "I would have told you, but I've been... you know..."

"On vacation," Victor said with a smirk. "Not that I believe that for a second."

"Vic, you know I can't..."

"Yeah, yeah. Your lips are sealed and you can't tell anyone."

"Well, I can't."

"You suck."

"He totally does," Bart said from the doorway, then rushed up to Victor. "Why does he suck this time?"

"This time?" Clark echoed, frowning at Bart.

"Come on," Bart groaned. "You usually suck. You never play video games with me, you don't laugh at my jokes, and you refuse to help me with my Snow Cops screenplay. You basically trample all over my good times."

"That's all of us," Victor put in.

"Not AC." Bart lifted his chin. "He appreciates me."

"So go bug him."

Bart tossed himself into a chair. "I can't. He sucks, too. He went to bed before he helped me pick my new signature thing. And I've got it down to the top three." He looked up, his eyes pleading.

Victor rolled his eyes. "Fine. What are they? I want to be done with this."

Bart shot up. "Okay. First would be me saying... and this is only after I capture the bad guys... 'Now that's swift justice.' Get it? Cause I'm fast."

Victor gave a thumbs down. "Lame."

"Have you really been thinking about that all night?" Clark had to know, shaking his head.

"Okay, okay. Maybe catchphrases are a little camp. So how about leaving a symbol whenever I save. Like a lightning bolt. Every time I save someone... Bam! Lightning bolt that shows them I've been there and never fear and all that stuff." He preened slightly. "Also, it'll be easier for me to remember all the places I was awesome at."

Victor gave him a withering look. "Like graffiti?"

"Are you seriously talking about tagging the city of Metropolis?" Clark asked, aghast.

"It's actually considered vandalism," Victor pointed out. 

"And the police aren't going to thank you for it." Clark nodded. "You need to establish a relationship with the police."

Bart snorted. "Hey, I got one. I do my thing, they come in later for lock-up, and everyone's happy."

"That's not all there is to it," Clark said. "You treat them like your clean up crew and you're just a vigilante to them."

"Listen to him," Victor said. "Clark's the first one of us to save in full view. If we want to be above board, we need to learn from him."

Clark turned to Victor, a little surprised. Victor had said a few mildly, vaguely, only possibly complimentary things about Clark's status in the city, but this was almost an endorsement.

"Okay. Fine." Bart tossed himself in the chair again. "Well, I had another idea, but it's dumb."

"Can't be much dumber," Victor quipped.

"Hah, hah." Bart picked at his sleeve, "It's a costume, okay? And maybe it could be red and... maybe have a lightning bolt and maybe it needs to be... kind of tight."

Clark's eyes widened. "After all the crap you gave me?"

"Yes, It looks stupid and it will always look stupid. But do you know how many times I've got snagged on nails or sharp corners? I've lost pants," he ended in a whisper.

Clark sighed. "Okay. Forget the catchprases. Just do the work. I'll put in a good word with the police for you as Superman. And you can talk to my mom about a uniform on Christmas. Until then, I'd keep my head down and my hood up. And... thank you. You did good work today."

Bart clutched his chest. "Am I being appreciated or something?"

"What? I appreciate you. I appreciate all of you."

"But me mostly, right?"

"Can it, Bart." Victor gestured to Clark. "Anyway, we got good news. Clark's up in the air again?"

"Yeah?" Bart shrugged and smiled. "Knew I'd pull it out of you sooner or later."

Victor gasped. "You? I was the one who dropped him out of a helicopter all day."

"But he needs to be air bourne to keep up with me. I'm very motivational."

"Listen, guys. I can't say how it happened. Not exactly. The fortress was weakened, but Jor-El said that shouldn't have hurt me. I shouldn't have been weak so long and that was all about me. I was a little lost or tired or... I don't know what. But all of you were a part of fixing me." And so was she. "The bottom line is that I'm okay. And while that should mean you're all free to go to your own towns and stop worrying about me, I... I need help."

Victor chuckled.

"It's not funny."

"No. It's just nice to hear. Out loud and all. Does this mean you're going to let us in on..."

"I'm sorry. It doesn't. But it does mean that what Bart did today can't be the end of it for now. If you could all just... I know you have your own commitments..."

"Hey, we can handle our own business and keep on eye out here."

Bart scoffed. "I could probably handle all their business and still..."

"Could you handle being less of an ass?"

"Guys!" Clark cut in. "Thank you. And I meant what I said before this started. I am going to make it up to all of you."

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

"I can't believe this," Linda groaned as Ollie honked at a woman who appeared to be putting her makeup on in her rearview mirror.

"I know." Oliver jerked his head toward the back seat. "Lois, your entire city has no idea how to drive."

"Oh, who cares about that," Linda hissed beside him. "I'm talking about Lois inviting the lost homecoming queen on our special, bonding, family-only annual Christmas shopping trip."

Lois sighed. "We don't have a special annual..."

"Well, we should."

She knew this was coming, in a way. With Linda's ramblings about Lana Lang and winning, she knew Linda wouldn't be into her extra guest. "What was I supposed to do? She sounded so... lonely. I don't know." She grabbed onto the only excuse she could. "You never said I couldn't invite someone to shop with us."

"Yes, I did."

"You did not."

"I mean, it was implied. Does no one listen to me?"

Oliver chuckled. "Honey, considering the constant stream of information when you talk, it's hard to walk away with just one..."

"You stay out of this, Ollie." She turned to Lois in the back seat. "I know you haven't done a lick of Christmas shopping and I was thinking you and me could knock it all out over your lunch. But now..."

"Linda, I know what an efficient shopper you are. I don't think having Lana there is going to change that."

"Well, yeah. It's just that I've been away for..."

"Two whole days?" Oliver put in.

"Well, yes, but she's in crisis, Oliver. And I don't think having Lana around is going to..." Linda took a long-suffering deep breath. "Never mind. It's just good I'm here. You need someone on your team, to talk you up, make sure she knows who she's dealing with."

"What?"

"She's your arch rival, you know. You have to have a good showing. Ollie, pull over here." She turned back to Lois. "We're going to get you something cute to wear."

"No. Ollie, don't listen to her. I'm fine in what I'm wearing."

"No one is fine in beige."

"I'm not trying to impress her or be her rival or anything like that," Lois insisted. "I'm trying to... make amends."

"Make amends for what?"

"Another lifetime," she said vaguely. "Linda, can't we just do some shopping and have some lunch and not make this more than that? I'm sure we'll have a nice time."

Linda huffed and sat back again. "Just like old times. You and me... and Lana, I guess."

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

"Gimme something blended... with an umbrella," Tiny slurred.

"Something girly," Rocco said with a loud snort. 

"It's not girly," the very large Tiny shouted, elbowing the small man next to him, nearly knocking him off his stool. "It's practice. Ain't it, Clemp?"

"Yeah. I need some learning," Clark grunted, wondering if he was overdoing the stupid. The two thugs getting increasingly drunk off his "practice" didn't seem to notice, however. Tiny did seem to have a thing for anything with an umbrella, though. Maybe he secretly wanted to retire to the tropics. And the ironically small Rocco had no patience for cocktails, ordering shots and straight booze on the rocks. Of the two, he supposed Tiny was the only one giving him any useful practice. Still, if he really were Irving Clemp, he'd be annoyed. Really, he seemed good enough for the bar after their first five taste tests.

As Clark Kent, he was glad for the time with them. He wanted to keep them drinking... and talking. "So what's with that Johnny Stitches guy, anyway?" he tried, thinking it was innocuous enough. 

Tiny leaned in. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Nothin," he tried, trying to keep it vague. "Just wonderin' why they call him that and all."

"Hey, he's fixed up now... so nobody's supposed to be able to to say they can tell," Tiny slurred.

"But they can," Rocco said darkly. "I wouldn'a done it."

"Done what?" Clark grunted, turning to the mirror behind the bar, trying to keep his hands and eyes on the brandy glasses he was clearing of all spots. "Classy. Make it all look nice and classy, here," Tiny had said before he proceeded to get sloppy drunk. He was trying not to press too much, ask too much. Turpin had established he wasn't a talker and he'd keep to that. He'd be a listener, though, just do a good job and keep his head down.

"Rather be dead. Wouldn'a let that witch doctor touch..."

"Shut it, Rocco," Tiny growled, giving Clark a bleary look.

Clark kept rubbing at the glasses, trying to look bored while surrepititiously checking the mirror. 

"Ah, come on, Tiny. Remember when things was just regular? Now we throw in all this crazy voodoo or whatever the hell..."

Tiny slapped him upside the head unsteadily. "Don't talk shop on front of the help."

"The help?" A female voice cut in with a laugh. "What are you two, the gentry?"

Clark looked up in the mirror as he picked up another glass, saw an overly made-up blonde with a dress bag slung over her shoulder lean on the bar. He cursed her presence, wanting to know more about crazy voodoo and witch doctors. He wondered how much more he could get and how fast he could get that to Turpin without anyone hearing. Bobby had said there was something spooky underneath. Could these guys be dabbling in the supernatural?

Rocco turned on his stool. "We're management. And you got a smart mouth."

"The rest of me's not too stupid, either." She held up the dress bag. "Okay there, Management," she announced. "I have a complaint. Just had my fitting and I am not wearing this."

"It's the uniform."

She gave an annoyed laugh. "No. It's a bikini. Or just about."

Rocco looked her up and down. "You have a problem with skin? Doesn't show."

Clark couldn't see what she was wearing, but if the bottom was as scanty as the top...

"Like I care. But it's gonna be zilch degrees for months. I talked to some of the other girls and they agree that if you have us marching around in loungerie, we'll be coughing all over the customers and the food and the..."

"Fine, fine. Tell Clarissa to give it a skirt or somethin."

"It's gonna need more than that." She glanced up. "Who's the big guy?"

Clark looked back down at the glass he'd been rubbing.

"Bartender," Tiny grunted into his daiquiri. "Hey, he ain't bigger than me."

"But in better places," the woman purred. 


Clark figured it was only polite that he turn. But he was trying to figure out if Irving was polite when the woman just sauntered around the bar. 


"Well, hello there."

Clark turned, then. 

"So you're on the bar. I'll be serving cocktails." She looked him up and down with a cat-like grin and moved nearer. "Looks like we'll be working very closely together."

"I can see that," he grunted, trying to figure out if Irving would step back.

"I'm Kandy Kane, both with a K."

Clark would have shaken her hand, but she was scarcely an inch from him. She had to be in her late twenties, maybe younger. It was hard to tell with all the makeup.

"I know what you're thinking. Christmas baby. But no. My mom just had a sick sense of humor. Anyway, what's your name?"

"His name's Irving," Rocco supplied with a snort.

"Don't listen to them. I like it." One long, red fingernail trailed up his arm. "It's nice, dependable name." She squeezed bis bicep. "Solid."

Clark wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just kept his mouth shut. It fit, anyway, with Irving so far. 

"I understand the boss wants a little protection, but what about me?" She tilted her head to the side. "Think you can help me keep some of these greasy paws off me?"

"No greasy paws in here," Tiny said. "Classy."

"Gonna be classy," Rocco chimed in.

Clark stared from them to the woman, wondering if listening in to their increasingly drunken talk was worth worth the borderline sexual harrassment of Kandy. He frowned and tossed his towel to the bar. "Gotta check the back for glasses," he lied,trying to move around her. 

"Okay, play it coy." She tapped his nose as he sidled past. "It only makes you cuter."

He frowned as he moved off. Cuter? Just when he thought he was the big, tough guy, with a beard and everything, this woman called him cute. He'd have to figure out how to disabuse her of that notion. But first he had to find Turpin and figure out how witchdoctors and voodoo fit into this whole thing.

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

"We'll have to fit in Lacey's, too." Linda barked. "Martha desperately needs pant suits. If we stick to the circuit, we can get everyone. Come on, Ladies! Keep up."

Lois hurried after Linda and checked to see if Lana was still just behind her. "Doing okay, there?"

"I'm fine. Lo... Linda's pregnant, though. Maybe she should... sit down?"

Lois chuckled. "You mean we should be allowed to," she groaned. "Fat chance of that until she's in the waddling stage. Maybe not even then." She'd been glad to have Linda around. It's not like she wanted to spend her whole time hashing things out with Lana. But she'd like to get two minutes with her, just to clear the air. But Linda had decided to just think of Lana as an extension of the troops, she supposed, dragging the both of them from store to store and ordering them around. She'd hardly got out word one with all the distraction.

"Hey! This crowd is plumping up every second." Linda marched back to them. "So chop, chop!"

The very bossy, domineering distraction. "Linda, I think we should split up for a minute."

Linda tapped her watch, bags dangling from both wrists. "Ollie's picking us up in twenty. That's at least three more stores. We do not want to be here tomorrow. Besides, you still need to get AC and Diana and..."

"And you," Lois cut in. "I mean, we can stick together if you'd rather not be surprised. Honestly, maybe you can help me pick it out. I'm thinking of getting you a..."

"No," Linda shrieked. "Do not tell me. Okay. Fine. I need to hit Sharper Image, anyway. They're bound to have something for Victor to tear apart and make over." She started off. "We'll meet at the hot dog cart in ten," she yelled over her shoulder.

"Yes, sir," Lois called out. "I don't know what they put in her prenatal vitamins. Maybe she's sneaking caffeine on the sly."

"She's very... energetic. I remember that about her."

Lois sighed. "I can't complain. I am getting my shopping done in record time." She nodded at a stone bench. "Wanna sit?"

Lana looked around. "You think she'll see?"

"I can handle her." Lois tried to think of something to say as Lana sat down. "So... what about you? I feel bad, dragging you around. You must have your own shopping."

"I don't know. I'm not in town to stay. I think, if I get people things, then they'll feel guilty and think they should have gotten me something and... I figured I'd just skip the presents and enjoy the company."

Linda didn't have any such qualms. She'd already got Bart the latest Wii, despite the fact that Linda said she'd seen Bart's stash and her present was apparently a filled-up Subway punch card. Though, considering how Bart felt about sandwiches, especially free ones, that was probably very generous for him. 


She did notice Lana seemed frugal with her money, considering she was loaded. It was Lana who'd suggested they just grab a quick hot dog for lunch. Not that something quick wasn't best with Linda cracking the whip, not that hot dogs weren't a staple for Lois, but she'd thought Lana might want something a little more refined. And the clothes... It wasn't that they weren't obviously designer, but they seemed a bit frayed at the edges. Maybe she was a bit like Lois that way. Maybe she wore her favorites to death. She really had to stop looking for flaws with this woman.

"I was surprised when Martha gave me your info," Lana said after a bit. "I'd been telling Clark... I mean, Clark had my number. I kind of thought he'd give it to you, considering we all used to be... Well, I don't know what."

Lois shook her head. "Well, I know even less."

"I know. I'm sorry," Lana said, looking down.

"Hey, it's not your fault. I got myself into this mess. I'm trying to... live now. It's not like this life doesn't have a hell of a lot of potential."

Lana looked up, smiling just a little. "Well, you've done pretty much everything you ever said you would."

"Yeah? What did I say I would do to you?"

"Top reporter at The Daily Planet, nice apartment in Metropolis, but not before you exposed the seedy underbelly of Smallville."

She laughed. "That seems to have been the dream, by all accounts."

"And you're living it. You should be proud," Lana finished, almost too softly.

Lois detected a small note of envy and a not so small pinch of sadness. "Well, what about you? What did you say you'd do?"

"I never did, really," Lana said, frowning and worrying at a slightly ragged fingernail. "I've never been able to decide. I guess that's how I ended up back here."

"What do you want to do?"

"Still not sure," she said, sort of briskly, getting up. "I guess I'll see how things turn out."

Lois looked at her closely, getting up herself. "Turn out with what?"

Lana shrugged and gave a shaky smile. "Just in general. Seems to be what I do. Anyway..." She took a deep breath. "We should get on Linda's gift, huh?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. I've given up the idea of buying her something she doesn't already have. I'm going the homemade route. Putting together a scrapbook. I've got boxes and boxes of stuff at Martha's. I'm going to have Ba..." She stopped herself, rembering that, though Lana knew all about Clark, she had no idea about the rest of them. "I've bribed a friend of mine to hand deliver them." In exchange for good publicity and two edits on any story she wrote about Bart to make him sound extra heroic. She groaned, thinking of that and also her crowded apartment. "I'm going to have to make room along with the boxes and boxes of stuff from work."

Lana's eyes lit up. "Well, I'd be glad to help you put it together."

"Oh, well it's kind of a me and Linda thing, so..."

"But I might be able to spot a few things you might not recognize. Also, maybe help you remember some nice things. Honestly, you and me, there were good times and I'd like you to hang on to... some of them."

"Uh... sure." Lois forced a smile. Really, she did seem eager to spend some time. And they'd barely cleared the air today. She'd like to have thoughts of Lana that didn't involve her fainting. That was something she still couldn't figure out. That strange, scared feeling she'd had at first. It still seemed present somehow, but she supposed that had to do with the murkiness between them and the past. "I'd love to hear about some good times," she finally said.

"Great. I'd really love to see your place. You live in midtown, right?"

"Yes. How did you know I..."

"Oh, Clark mentioned it, I think. Anyway, I'd like to see what the neighborhood's like, just in case."

"Well, sure. I just... I thought you wouldn't be here long."

"You never know," Lana said, smiling in earnest now. "I always like to see how things turn out."



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