Almost Lovers (Chapter Nine)

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Chapter Nine

Clark kept his head down – or he tried to. He knew he needed to keep his head down and his mind and his eyes on his work, but they kept straying to Lois and that pretty boy, which was the last thing he should be doing. He didn’t want her to see him. 

But who was the guy? Was he one of the thugs in Mannheim’s network? He didn’t look it, but he very well could be. Maybe he had some stupid pretty-boy nickname, too, like “blondie” or “babyface” or “dimples” or “douche."

Of course, when he came up to the bar and asked for a wine list like a pretentious rich guy would, Clark realized that wasn’t true. The waitresses were a bit backed up and a good number of people were ordering at the bar, which made it hard for Clark to do more than work. But he could work faster than most, not even using actual superspeed, so he was still able to listen in.

Apparently, he worked for Mike Sharp. That made him feel better, but only a little. Lois still talked to Pammie. She probably duped some poor fool from Mike’s offices to get here. 

Then the guy sauntered back to the table with top shelf chardonnay and pinot noir. That was all fine until he kissed her bare shoulder. Right there in front of everybody. Shouldn’t be allowed. 

In a not unrelated event, he broke a bottle of Glenfiddich, which would probably obliterate his next three paychecks. Not that he cared.

From the talk, his name was Thomas Hart, he had come of age as the sole heir to the Hart fortune out of Gotham, and he was a supposed up-and-comer, really passionate about ousting corrupt politicians. Clark had to wonder why a guy like that was hereand with his… whatever Lois was to Clark now. Friend. Yes, that was it.

She was his friend, so there was nothing wrong with keeping an eye on her even if he should be listening to the shined up goons at the bar. 

It wasn’t as if he wasn’t transmitting information anyway, through his carnation. And he heard some of it himself. He learned that the assistant district attorney was open to a “business lunch” with Kyle Abbot, a nasty piece of work according to Turpin, but more cunning than the rest. And Tiny and Rocco seemed to think he wasn’t a team player. He learned that Vincent Edge, running the more legitimate side of his son, Morgan’s, business interests had not shown and made it clear he didn’t think much of Mannheim’s new management. As for this “new management,” whispers of it were all over and word was they’d be showing up tonight. Mannheim’s speech was, apparently, going to really put over this “new him” as well.

He was sure Maggie Sawyer was listening to all of it with rapt attention in a van two blocks away. He could barely focus. Not with her there, not with her leaning close to that pretty boy, whispering something. He slid an appletini in a lowball glass to Tiny (who thought a manlier glass was the best disguise for the fruity drinks he favored) with disinterest. He had to know. Just to keep her safe. He had to know what they were saying. He filtered out the laughs and the whispers and the stiff political talk and sifted through, finding her voice. He could always find her voice and now was no different.

“So is that a pen in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Pretty Boy… or Thomas, he thought with an inward sneer, chuckled. ”Both. I lingered at the bar as long as I could without getting grease all over me.” He took a pen out of his jacket. And not just any pen. His damned Christmas present to Lois! “I tried to keep my voice down. I guess you’ll see what it picks up later.” He held it out to her.

“No. Keep it on you. Remember, I’m all fixed up. But you, Sir, are the best.”

“That mean you’ll let me stick around past midnight?”

What did he mean by that? What the hell did he mean by that? Maybe it didn’t mean what he thought. The guy was helping her get info. Maybe it wasn’t a date. 

Lois laughed into her wine glass. ”Still deciding. I mean, I might wait just a few more minutes before I dump you.”

Dump. So what did that mean? This wasn’t a real date? But her hand was running over his. Maybe it was for show. Clark glanced over the heads at the bar toward Hart again. He dressed well. That didn’t necessarily mean he was gay, but Clark could hope. He could hope so hard…

”Maybe if I ply you with expensive food and wine, you’ll change your mind.”

“This is all the booze your pumping into me tonight. I’m on duty. Remember?”

“I’d be willing to stick around till after your shift.”

What the hell was that? Banter? Damn it, this was a date!

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

Fifth date now. Lois had given in and let Tom lure her away from work last night with Thai food and the admonition that she had to eat anyway. They’d ended up at his place, hers still a disaster area.

Finding that letter had made it harder and harder to do anything at home. Her eyes kept straying to it, wondering what it meant. But it had to mean nothing. This was a letter written under the influence of a schoolgirl crush. She’d known about that crush. It changed nothing.

Still, she was more than eager to meet Tom to get her out of the same room as that letter. She’d been more than willing to kiss him to push the words from her mind. And she’d been more than a little into it by the time they moved to the couch. It wasn’t Clark. It wasn’t the same urgency or the same intensity. But it could work for her if she’d just let it.

Pammie seemed to think it would work. She’d been over the moon that the sneaky lunch she sprang on them turned into four dates. Linda, though, seemed strangely reserved about the whole thing. Even when Lois gave her leave to look into Hart, using whatever means. It wasn’t as if Lois hadn’t done enough digging on her own to know what Linda would find.

“Fine. He’s squeaky clean and filthy rich. But it’s just…”

“Just what?” Lois had wanted to know.

“Well, he’s not… I mean, he’s not in our set is all.”

“Linda, if I limited my dating pool to our set, I’d have…” She stopped herself. She didn’t say Clark. She could just as well mean Bart or Victor, not AC as he and Diana seemed to be on-again this week. “I’d be limited,” she’d finished lamely.

“Limits don’t have to be bad. Doctor Melcher says boundaries should always be clear and…”

“And you said that was about you not controlling everyone.”

“It can be taken more ways, you know!” she’d snapped. Linda was increasingly moody and seemed not too keen on “being stuck in Star City with nobody!” Poor Oliver had taken exception to that. Poor Oliver would probably hear a lot of things Linda tearfully took back seconds later in the following months.

Lois had just calmed her down and said it was just a few dates. But it was the fifth date now. And Lois knew what that could mean. Maybe tonight…

“I’d be willing to stick around till after your shift,” Tom said, glancing sideways at her.

“Well, we’ll see how the tips are.” She glanced around, her mind back on the surreal atmosphere of thugs rubbing shoulders with city figures. The mayor wasn’t there, but several of his aides were. The DA wasn’t here, but his assistant was. Between what recordings she might get and solid findings, there had be a story here. “I’ll get something here,” she said, looking around.

“Just let me know if you need anything,” Tom said in her ear. “Interference, misdirection, victory drink at my place when this is over.”

She shivered just a little. “Maybe I’ll need all three tonight.” And maybe it would be tonight. She turned her head, but had barely brushed her lips against his before there was a loud popping noise.

Her head whipped toward it and she saw something ricochet off the ceiling, then the floor, then the ceiling again. It dropped to their table and she saw it was a champagne cork. Several people were laughing and clapping. 

“You see that thing go?” a very small man snickered. “You’re lucky it didn’t hurt nobody, Clemp!” He moved to the bar. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” a voice said. A strangely familiar one. She found herself standing.

“Just pour it out, Irving.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She stood, trying to see over the other heads. 

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked. 

She shook her head, then craned her neck, damning her height and almost ready to step on her chair.

“God!” The crowd broke apart as the mayor’s secretary sputtered. “This champagne is burning hot!”

The small man moved around the bar and gripped the arm of the bartender, whose head was down, cleaning up the mess. “That was supposed to be chilled, Clemp!”

“It was. I don’t know how…”

“It’s okay,” the secretary said. Lois knew her, black hair, named Fleming, and more than a few people thought she should have the title to go with the work, which was more than what the actual mayor did. She brushed herself off. “It’s hot in here,” she laughed, accepting a towel from the bartender. “Maybe I waited too long to have a sip. It’s really alright.”

But Lois’ eyes weren’t on her now. They were on the bartender. She saw him clearly even through the facial hair and wondered anew how a pair of glasses had ever fooled her. He saw her, too. And he looked nervous. As he should.

“I’m going to get a drink,” she said tightly.

“But you hardly touched…”

“I mean a soda.” She turned back to Tom, who was standing now. “You, know, it’s late. Need a little sugar rush.” She dredged up a smile.

“Well, let me…”

“No, no, no,” she said quickly, gesturing to the gaudy Christmas broach on her dress. “Remember, I’m on duty.”

“Ah.” He tapped his nose and sat back down. “How could I forget?”

And she was, she tried to remember as she moved to the bar. She adjusted the gaudy Christmas wreath that had come from Mitzi DeLeon. She’d received it at The Planet just before Christmas and had made sure to call Mitzi and thank her (“Oh, that lil thing? Well, that hardly compares to you saving our very lives!”) even though it was hideous. She’d shoved it in her drawer and promptly forgot about it until this morning, when she was calling Victor about wiring her for sound. 

It was all green tinsel with those same gaudy red beads that had been spilling out of Mitzi’s Thanksgiving cornucopia pins. It was also big enough to hide a rather powerful microphone. Not that Clark’s pen recorder didn’t work well enough, but this dress didn’t exactly leave room for a pocket, especially when she put on at least five pounds over Christmas.

She straightened her shoulders as she moved toward Clark… or Irving, apparently. Irving Clemp was what she heard the short man call him. The short man must be his boss. Because he worked here! He’d been working here all this time!

She watched him work and she waited, noticing how very industrious he was behind the bar. Not even a second to meet her eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, giving him a smile that she knew was little more than a baring of teeth.

“Right with you, Ma’am,” he said, still not looking at her.

And he called her “ma’am” instead of “miss.” He’d pay for that, too. But how? It wasn’t like she had any green rocks on her. Was it wrong to wish she did? If it was, then she didn’t want to be right.

She tapped her fingers on the bar, thinking that she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew whatever he was doing had to do with Intergang somehow. But she never thought he’d be here all this time. Was he leaking info to this Cat Grant at The Star?

No. She knew him better than that. But still… He let it happen!

She took a stool at the end, folded her hands on the bar, and smiled again as he passed her with a martini as if to say she wasn’t going anywhere. He looked harried and a little wet, probably from the champagne explosion she’d barely witnessed a moment ago. 

She leaned back, feeling a wave of something approaching pity. Whatever Clark was doing, he had a reason. Hell, she also took a vacation that wasn’t a vacation, lied to everyone she knew. Did she really have room to judge?

She stared at her hands. They’d talked at Christmas, after all. And he’d been just as upset at The Star scooping them. Hell, he’d seemed even more so while she was convinced it was a stunt, was not even that worried. She wondered how hard it would be for her, getting scooped and knowing that you could easily be getting the same information out… and to a real paper. Also, this wasn’t a very glamorous job. If Clark was here, it was for more than a story.

”If all this dies down and there's a byline with your name on it, some people might be really mad at me,” he’d said. He’d also said he’d ask for her help if he needed it. And, as much as it soured her that he hadn’t asked, she had no right to demand an in on this.

She stared at him when he finally reached the end of the bar, even tried to give him a real smile this time.

He gave a small shrug and a sigh. “Did you need something, Miss?”

She smiled and shook her head. At least she was “miss” this time. “I wanted a…”

“Oh, my God. I just heard what happened!” Lois drew back further as a busty woman with reddish-blonde hair slapped a tray on the bar. “Forget your paycheck. You’ll have no tips left after that!” She rubbed Clark’s arm. “You’ll just have to let me take you to dinner or you’ll starve. Poor Babydoll.”

Babydoll? Well, that certainly didn’t look like Superman business.

Lois narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingers on the bar again. “Excuse me, if you’re not busy, I’d like to place an order. Thanks,” she said… tried desperately not to sneer the words.

The woman – Kandy according to her name tag – turned to her, then back to Clark, kind of rolling her eyes as she picked up her tray. “We’ll talk later, Sweetcheeks.”

Sweetcheeks now?

Lois watched the woman move away with what she thought was some very exaggerated swishing of hips, then swiveled to face Clark. To think she’d felt sorry for him. She sat up straight. “I’d like an explanation, please. And a coke,” she added impatiently.

He quickly moved away, obviously more inclined to give her the second. But she’d get the first, too. She watched him scoop some ice into a glass and pick up one of those guns. Watched and waited.

“Here you go,” he said, trying to move away again.

“I’d like to pay.”

“On the house,” he said quickly, “for making you wait.”

“Nice try.” She gripped his wrist and leaned over the bar. “That’s not all I need and you know it.”

He looked around, then his hand seemed to slap over the red carnation in his vest. “I think that completes your order,” he hissed, leaning in as well. “So now you know where I’ve been. But forget it. I am in deep cover and you are about to blow it.”

“Oh, yes. You’re Irving Clemp?” She leaned in closer, nodded back toward the general direction of that… that… floozy. “Or is it Babydoll or Sweetcheeks or…”

His eyes seemed to flash, almost glow for a second, and her stomach did a flip or two as he turned his hand over to grip hers back. “Hey, don’t you have work to do? I heard there’s a victory drink in it for you. At that pretty boy’s place.”

She gasped, unsure which offended her more, that Clark had been eavesdropping on her and Tom or that he had the gall to call any other man a pretty boy. Even with that goatee, he was about as rough-hewn as an underwear model. Her eyes dropped to his full lips, even as they sneered at her.

“At least I’m actually working,” he said with such bald disdain, she wanted to slap him. 

She ripped her hand away, then grabbed her drink. “Think I’ve got all I need. Thanks,” she said coolly.

He stood straighter, blinking and shaking his head, his hand dropping from that flower. “Well… Yeah. Good, then.” He drew up to his full height. “Happy New Year.”

“Same to you,” she growled as she moved back to her table. She kept her eyes on Tom. Sweet, nice, rich, handsome and perfect Tom. She barely resisted dropping herself right into his lap before he got up to pull out her chair. She wouldn’t do that. Because she knew why she’d be doing it at this moment, even though she was loathe to admit it, and it wasn’t fair to Tom.

“Get anything good?”

“Believe me, there is nothing I want at that bar,” she said, staring straight ahead as she sat down. Just her luck, that strawberry tart sauntered right past her line of vision. Still, she really wished she’d hung around the bar longer. There had to be something there for her… and definitely not Clark. Or even Superman. If Superman’s business consisted of rubbing up on floozies and… and…

“I figured that.” Tom sighed. “All the good stuff happens behind closed doors,” he said, a sort of teasing note in his voice.

She turned slowly to him. “You have something.”

“No. You do.” He flicked lightly at her small evening bag and leaned back in his chair. “You know I have a record? Petty theft.” 

She scoffed. “Oh, please! I’d have seen if you…”

He laughed. “I knew you looked into me.”

She shook her head. “So I did.”

“No. I like that. I mean, as a reporter, it just means you’re… interested.” He raised his eyebrows. “But even you couldn’t get into my court-sealed juvenile records.”

Well, she could if she’d wanted to, with Victor at her disposal. But she had thought it invasive to go that far.

“I might have gone through a wild phase after my parents…” He shook his head. “Let’s just say, I often spent my days away from the odd supposedly well-meaning relative that showed a different side when they couldn’t get at my trust fund.”

She put a hand over his. “I’m sorry.”

He slipped his hand out and gave hers a pat. “That’s not the point. The point is I survived the mean streets of Gotham just fine. No one ever looks twice at a clean-cut, blonde, blue-eyed boy in a Gotham Academy blazer, even if he can get into your pocket without you even knowing he was there.”

She glanced at her purse, then shook her head. “What did you do?”

He shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “You know that little guy that yelled at the bartender? He seemed like management to me. Even more so when I complimented all the preparation that must have gone into opening this place. His name’s Rocco, he did all the f*cking work around here, and he is very easily distracted.” He pushed her purse toward her across the table. “Oh. And Bruno’s giving a speech very soon. Lights are going down. I’m thinking you might have to visit the ladies’ room around then. Feel free to take your time.”

She gave her purse a slight shake -- and heard a very satisfying jingle – before she gripped his chin. “Remember that victory drink?”

He leaned in. “Hmm?”

“I think I’m going to claim it.” She moved close and she did meet his lips this time. 

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

He knew he should just keep his eyes off her. Whatever she was scoping out here, he couldn’t have anything to do with it. As for her having a date, that had nothing to do with him, either. Not anymore. Was he pissed off? Yes. And more than a little. Still, he wished he hadn’t shown it, wished he hadn’t gotten so angry back at the bar. He’d been fully prepared to be nice, to beg her to understand why he was here. He wasn’t sure what got into him. But the moment she touched him and leaned close, close enough for him to smell perfume, something she rarely wore, it just took him over. 

How dare she wear perfume and tight, green dresses and parade another man right in front of him at his place of work? At that moment, the fact that she didn’t know it was his place of work was immaterial. At that moment, he’d been pissed and he wanted her to know it. 

But he really had to keep his emotions in check. He needed to concentrate. Not on police business. Superman had business here, too. It mostly involved that case and getting his hands on it. This speech was coming and it might be his only chance. Though he almost wondered if he should stay for it, from the way Mannheim and Stitches were whispering in the corner. The crowd at the bar had calmed down enough for him to pick their voices out of the fray.

He felt almost guilty, not getting close enough for Sawyer to hear, but something told him this had more to do with all the hoodoo that the PD seemed so averse to exploring. 

“Look at all the dirt in this room,” Stitches said, his voice a low rasp that made Clark want to cover his ears. He rarely spoke but, whenever he did, it sounded wrong, as if it shouldn’t be happening. Clark noticed Stitches had stayed in his dark corner all night, his scarred and patched face in shadow.

Bruno chuckled. “Hey, I think we clean up nice.”

“I meant the cream of the city. Between the career criminals and the career politicians, there’s enough dark energy to power a black hole."

“Or a boom tube,” Bruno said, a strange kind of satisfaction in his voice. 

What the hell is a boom tube?

Stitches seemed confused about the same thing.

“Never you mind,” Bruno said, still smiling. “But it’s a good crowd, like a… welcome mat. Don’t you forget why you live. Don’t you forget that there’s more power where that came from.” Mannheim brushed off his tux. “You have your instructions. You set up the mother box when I give the cue. As for me, it’s time to… change some minds and hearts and all that ****.” He snickered as he moved to the stage. 

The lights were blinking, telling everyone to take their seats. It was time. 

Clark looked down at the flower on his lapel. He only hesitated a moment before he ripped it out, disconnecting it from the transmitter. This was his business. He’d done his duty by the PD. He’d listened in, he’d passed on. He had a right to save his own life and he couldn’t help thinking that finding that case was the way to do it.

Bruno made his way to the stage as Clark quietly made his way to the store room.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and Happy New Year!” Bruno paused as the crowd answered back, some sounding a little drunk by now. “You know what they say about new years and new starts, well I’m a believer. I think this year is the start of a whole new world for…”

Clark closed the door as the lights dimmed down. He looked through the wall just to be sure someone wasn’t in there. But someone was.

“Damn it, Lois,” he hissed.

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

Lois clenched the tiny flash light between her teeth, trying to keep it’s tiny pool of light pointed down. The lights were dimming in the club by now and someone might notice little beams flicking behind the office door. 

She’d left Tom at the table as soon as Mannheim looked to be walking to the stage, passing the ladies’ room in favor of the front door. She’d been sort of afraid the stocky guard outside would hustle her back in, but he was on the phone. "Tell me we got something, Mags," he was saying, pacing in front of the red velvet ropes and thankfully not looking her way as she’d sidled along the wall and to the alley. Easy. The keys hadn’t been so easy. There were at least sixteen of them and two doors and she’d had no idea how much time. 

But she opened the first door on the seventh try and quickly closed it when she found nothing but shelves of supplies and only one door that she suspected led her right back to where she came from.

The second was paydirt. She mentally kissed Tom again as she pulled out a work order from Reilly Metalworks. She made it her business to know about all the major players in the city and she knew about Patrick Reilly, knew he’d been hit pretty hard by the recession if he was taking work from Mannheim. But that wasn’t the good part. Reilly drank. It was the main reason his business never dominated even the very small Metropolis metals market. But that still wasn’t the good part. Buy him a few drinks and Reilly talked. Buy him the good stuff and he went into minute detail.

She pulled out her camera, making sure the flash was off, took a picture of the invoice, then moved away from the filing cabinet. She’d got all she could out of it, snapped every employee’s file, even Irving Clemp, though she was sure everything in it was fabricated. It did tell her Clark was telling the truth about deep cover. No one would stay at Jerry’s Motor Lodge, probably the seediest motel in Metropolis, unless they were dead broke or working an angle. The only question was just how he’d arranged everything. Clark worked well under pressure, but he wasn’t much of a planner. 

But she had to remind herself that wasn’t her business. She shined her flashlight at the calendar and snapped a picture, then moved closer. Today’s date was circled with “welcome!!!” in red ink. She wasn’t sure if that was referring to the crowds out in the club or to some unknown arrival. But there was a thoroughly unwelcome arrival in the next second. 

She spun around, dropping her camera and her flashlight as Clark bursts through the same alleyway door she’d come in. She kept her mouth shut, but glared at him in the dark room as she picked her things up. 

He moved to her, gripping her arm. “Lois, you can’t be in here.”

“Neither can you,” she whispered. 

“It’s different. I can speed out when I need to with no one the wiser.”

“Well, no one saw me. Mannheim’s making his big speech.” She gestured to the door and the scattered laughter muffled beyond it as if it proved her point. “Anyway, I’m here to work. You’re here for… whatever you’re here for besides that strawberry tart. There’s plenty of room for the both of us. Now let me go.”

He didn’t, but his fingers did move, making little circles on her bare arm. “I just worry about you is all,” he said softly, his eyes flashed, slid to her lips, then lower. “And what about your boy toy? Is that work?”

“That’s a date,” she hissed, short of breath as she finally tore away. “And he’s been very helpful with work, too. Someone’s got to help The Planet get a scoop. You’ve let them all march right out of here under your nose.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve had your fun in this office.” Maybe even with that busty, dyed-up… She had no right, none at all, to be angry. And maybe that strawberry tart was perfectly nice, maybe she called just everyone sweetcheeks. Still, it galled her. That letter. He had to have placed it in that book, as if she needed to be reminded of how she must have humiliated herself over him. And all the while, he was laughing it up with Kandy or was it Kandi? “Now it’s my turn,” she finished.

“For your information, I’ve never been in this office, at least not alone. I’m not allowed to…” He shook his head. “Never mind. I have better things to do than argue with you. Where are they hiding it?” he finished on a growl as he moved around the office.

“By the way, I found your letter in the book.” She didn’t want to bring it up. She didn’t want it to matter. But damn it, it did. “Why did you do it, Clark?”

He stilled. “It belonged in there.”

“But you had it. You must have.”

“I did. But that didn’t mean I should have. I found it by accident, but it was never sent to me. I just… I put it back where it belonged.”

“As if I needed reminding of… some other girl making an idiot out of herself over you. I wish you’d kept it.”

He was running his fingers over the wall when he turned to her. “Why does it bother you so much? It’s not like that was new information. And I never said anyone made an idiot…”

“Oh, drop it,” she hissed. “I only brought it up because… I… I have work to do,” she finally finished, flipping through the papers on the desk, barely seeing them.

“I see nothing here,” he said, as if dazed. 

She scoffed. “You never do look closely enough. I’ve been in here five minutes and found enough to…”

“No. The wall. I see nothing behind it.” He moved closer, squinting in the dim glow from her flashlight. “Not even the next building.” He moved even closer. “Lead. Of course. It has to be.”

She thought of Reilly Metalworks and wondered if she should bring it up when he suddenly grabbed her. 

“Hey…”

They were outside before she could blink. He was holding her off her feet with one hand while softly closing the door. He put a finger to his lips. She clutched her things, tried not to drop them as she tried to push away from him.

“Someone’s coming in,” he breathed, not letting go even as they backed into the alleyway.

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

It hadn’t been a formed thought, but he’d kind of known. The office had seemed too small from what he saw outside. Just the fact that he still couldn’t see beyond that wall told him there was more there. At the moment, though, he was more interested in who was coming in. 

It was Stitches. Clark watched him move with purpose, bypassing the desk for the end nearest them. He pulled the fire alarm. Then the wall slid open, just enough for him to slip through and not for Clark to see much beyond before it closed. “Damn it!”

Lead. How stupid was he not to realize that? Lois had just said he never looked closely enough and he supposed she was right. 

“What? What do you see?”

“Nothing now. He went in.” At least he knew where they went now. But what else was in that room? He’d heard their indirect warnings, both from Bobby and Tiny. Superman had best stay away. For a second, he felt that fear and anger take over. 

“Went in?”

He turned to Lois, almost surprised to find her so close. But he was holding her there, wasn’t he? She felt warm and smelled so nice, he didn’t want to let go. That fear and anger melted away, everything did. It always did with her. He bent his head, eyes on her lips. “Lois…”

She pushed him away. He let her. Of course. What was he thinking?

“What are you doing?” she said, her voice shaky.

“I’m sorry.”

“This is all a bit much, Clark. I mean, first I find out you’ve been here all along, even working here. And now you… I mean, you don’t just kiss me at a time like…”

“I’m sorry. I…”

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” he heard. It was a new voice and he cringed as he turned. 

“Turpin, I…”

“Sawyer says your feed’s been cut. I go in and I notice this lonely carnation sitting behind the bar.” He shook it in Clark’s face. “And now I find you with your partner?”

“Sawyer,” Lois gasped. “You’re working with the PD?”

“Not anymore,” Turpin growled. “Exactly how long have you been consorting with your partner, Kent?”

Clark didn’t think it could get much worse when Cat moved from behind a dumpster, angrily tossing down a cigarette. “Clark Kent, huh? Guess I’m not the only one here hiding something.”

“Cat, I can explain…”

“I thought her name was Kandy... The Star!” Lois suddenly whirled on him. “She’s Cat Grant! And you knew!”

“Not all along. I…”

“She’s the leak.” Turpin threw his hands up. “This entire operation…”

“I wish I’d never confided in you, Irving,” Cat sneered.

“You’ve been helping the leak!”

Clark took a deep breath. He kind of wished they would. “If you would all just calm down…”

“Oh, go make out with your girlfriend,” Cat hissed, then turned to Lois. “So sorry to interrupt.”

Lois was red-faced. “Believe me, that’s never going to…”

Turpin was damned near purple. “I will see you locked out of every press conference I can…”

Clark's hands instinctively went to his ears. Under all of the yelling, there was this strange buzzing sound. For a moment, he wondered if he was going nuts when it turned into a high-pitched whine. They didn’t seem to hear it, then again, they were all busy shouting at him and each other, but mostly him. 

He moved to the stock room door, pulling it open. The buzzing was louder, but that wasn’t all. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he heard Turpin yell as if far away.

There was a white light coming through the cracks in the club access door, cold and bright and so wrong. He could feel it.

“Something’s not right,” he breathed. He grappled for the fire alarm he knew was next to the door. But nothing happened. Of course. He knew the wiring was a mess for himself. He spotted a sprinkler on the ceiling and zeroed in on it, ignoring the yells behind him, the keening whine around him. He had to stop it.

He focused his heat vision, not wanting to destroy the place, but needing to set those sprinklers off. His time looking through every cranny told him the water works were about the only thing up to par in this dive. He kept on that sprinkler, pulling back just enough not to destroy it until it burst, not with flames, but water. Then the others sputtered to life.

The screams from inside started to drown out the screams from outside but, most importantly, that whine was gone. That light was gone.

He turned to the others, who stopped yelling when they saw the water raining down inside. He moved out, shaking some of it off himself. 

He took a deep breath. “I think we all need to talk,” he said

CHAPTER TEN

Thanks to AV for the beta services again.