Almost Lovers (Chapter Seven)

Banner by Summerstarr882

Here I am, wrapping up Christmas and moving into some intrigue. 

Some plotty elements of the following chapters will be borrowed from post crisis DCU, Superman: The Animated Series, Lois and Clark, and Smallville season seven. I’m also playing with a very, very minor Batman universe character. 

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Chapter 7

Kissing Clark was not on her Christmas wishlist. In fact, it was one of the things she most wanted to avoid. Yet, here she was, doing that very thing. It felt surreal that Lana Lang, from what she knew of their history, would be pushing for this with her rather bald, drunken, teary words. Then again, maybe it wasn't so strange. Maybe Lana needed to prove it wasn't a big deal and, damn it, so did she. So she was attracted to him. So was half the world. He was Superman for God's sake! 

They could kiss. It didn't have to mean anything. In fact, wouldn't it make them more firmly friends if they could kiss and move past it? That's why she kissed him. That's why her thumbs strayed from his collar to slide over the warm, rather soft skin at the base of his neck. That's why her tongue slipped along his lips for half a second to taste the eggnog still on his lips before she remembered his mother was two feet away. Still. this could happen and be nothing more than what it was. A f*cking amazing kiss.

She could feel his hands on her waist now, reflexively squeezing as if he wasn't sure if he would push her away or pull her closer. She knew the feeling exactly. Maybe that's why she could do this. Whatever issues she and Clark had, sexual compatibility wasn't one of them. He wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Linda was right on that. It was best to suffer together... though maybe not for this long. This kiss was already skirting the edge of how long was appropriate with an audience. They proved their point. One of them had to stop. From the way his mouth was opening over hers, she knew it wouldn't be him. 

She reluctantly released his collar and twisted her head away. "There." She found her eyes on Lana's rather wide ones. "Here's to better luck," she said, trying for a smile. 

"I need to sit down," Lana moaned after a moment. 

Mrs. Kent appeared and pulled her away as the group filed in around them. "I'll get the coffee."

Lois felt like she needed to sit down, too -- except Clark hands were fisted in her shirt. "Clark..."

He released her as Linda moved by, poking her in the back. "Oh. Sorry. I'll get the coffee, Mom. I should..." He stepped back, pulling at the bottom of his shirt. "I should get the coffee."

"Thanks, Sweetie." Martha said, sounding rather awkward for Martha.

Lois quickly sat down out of Linda's range and wondered if that was a big mistake. It was just that everyone was making such a fuss. Hell, that wasn't true. It was really only Lana that was making a fuss and she was drunk off her ass and could have been easily brushed off. Still, getting past it was the thing to do. Wasn't that the point of their little floorshow in the first place? It was just a kiss. She kind of wanted to loudly proclaim that. It was just a kiss and they all needed to stop making a huge deal out of it!

Then she realized they actually weren't. Bart was haggling with Oliver about whether a hundred dollars was worth Linda getting all the coconut custard pie. Linda was patting her belly and seemed to be struggling to look needy. Diana and AC were arguing about calorie content. Victor looked kind of bored. It was only she and Lana who seemed uncomfortable. She supposed she could add Clark to that number when he came in and started clearing things and putting out pie at a speed that might make Lana suspicious about what this gang knew if she wasn't so wasted. 

For her part, Martha did look sort of out of sorts. But Lois supposed she could be tired after such a long day of cooking.

By the time everyone was outside, making long goodbyes, Lois felt less embarrassed. Or maybe it was just hard to dredge up a blush in this weather. 

It was a good thing they'd kissed, something she tried to explain to Linda with no success. "And you initiated it," Linda was hissing, "so that diminishes your standing and makes him think you're just open for business anytime he..."

"Listen, Clark knows where we stand and this will only hammer it in."

"How does that hammer it in?"

"Well... not kissing would have made it look like... I mean, it was just to prove... It's not like I wanted to!"

Linda snorted loudly. "Generally, I don't kiss men unless I want to."

Oliver moved up behind her and slung an arm over her shoulder, pulling her in. "You going to stop torturing Lois and tend to me or what?"

"Case in point," she said, pushing Oliver away. "You have coffee breath. You know it makes me nauseous."

"Oh, Baby, I'm gonna kiss you so hard, you'll be tasting coffee till New Years," he said, pulling her in again.

"Get off!" Linda squealed, ducking away. 

"Get back here, Woman!" He moved after her.

"You're not supposed to chase pregnant women!"

"Then stop running!"

Lois chuckled and leaned against the porch rail as Bart and Martha came out.

"...and I want the lightning bolts to be on the waist, too, like a belt," Bart was whispering. "But none of that candy-ass underwear on the outside like..." He stopped abruptly. "I mean, it looks great for Clark and all. I just don't want to copy..."

"I think I got it," Martha sighed. "And I have your measurements, so expect..."

"But are you sure about that. I saw you write down five-foot-eight and it's actually five-eight and a half. That's crucial."

Martha chuckled. "I'll adjust that."

"And I can pay you something for..."

"No, no. Why don't we consider this a Christmas gift?"

Clark moved past them with several tupperware containers. "Thanks, Mom. I promise I'll bring them back when..."

"Hey, what's with all the leftovers?" Bart cut in, looking miserable. "I mean, not that I had dibs, but..."

"There's still plenty left," Martha chuckled, pulling Bart in and kissing the top of his head before pushing him in Lois' direction. "Tell him to stop grousing."

Lois caught Bart and he waggled his eyebrows. "Hey, there, Dollface. You know, I don't see any mistletoe around, but you might want to lay one on me anyway. I mean, I did come up with the perfect plan to save our Christmas."

"You mean getting Lana completely bombed?"

"Yup. Perfect plan."

"In that case..." She leaned in and flicked his nose hard.

"Hey!"

"You could have just concentrated on controlling yourself, you know."

"Not my style." He shook his head. "No one gets me at all."

"We're probably all safer that way," she said on a laugh.

"Don't know what you're missing." Bart snapped his hood up and popcorn rained down his face. "What the hell?"

AC snickered behind her. "Ollie, he finally did it!"

Oliver sauntered up, dragging a giggling Linda behind him. "I missed it?"

"You bastards!" Bart growled.

Lois turned away, laughing as they chased each other into the shorn corn fields like kids. But her smile dropped when she saw Clark. She tried to paste it back on. Wasn't that the best way to be? Normal and natural? Then again, she was looking at a super-powered alien, so...

"I really... like my coat," he finally finished.

"You aren't wearing it," she pointed out, noticing he had on the battered army surplus rag again. "I wonder why."

"Well, it doesn't really fit with..." He shut his mouth quickly. "Stop it."

"Never," she said, smiling easily now. Maybe this was their normal. This dance just on the edge of... so many things.

He shook his head and moved down the steps, looking back at her from the edge of the driveway. "Merry Christmas."

"Have a great fake vacation," she tossed at him before he disappeared. She stared after him, thinking they'd done it, after all. They got past that kiss. They managed to talk even with a million things they couldn't say. Maybe they'd be okay. She looked around her, feeling that warmth again. If you looked at it on paper, this seemed like a strange and dysfunctional group. The awkward alien, the amnesiac reporter, the jittery pregnant woman who gave her her name, her billionaire husband with a severe Robin Hood complex, the obsessive half-robot, the frat boy who talked to fish, the mysterious Amazonian and... whatever the heck Bart was. Then there was Martha, a warm presence that welcomed every messed up one of them. 

But they were all ending this night with a smile, weren't they? 

Then the door slammed open on Victor and Diana, supporting a still sloppily drunk Lana.

Where did she fit into all this? She didn't. It was such an uncharitable thought to have on Christmas night, but there it was. She moved up the steps toward her, determined to make up for it. "Lana? Feeling any better?"

"Oh, she's fine," Diana said, rather gratefully depositing her on the porch swing. "She just needs some fresh air."

"Yes. So totally fine," Lana echoed. She pulled Lois to the swing next to her as Diana and Victor made their escape. "I'm totally not," she hissed. "It's gonna be New Years," she said about as happily as if that meant the world was ending.

Lois perched on the edge. "Well, that's not so bad. It's just... a fresh start." 

"Is it?" Lana shook her head. "Do I even get one? I'm trying, but... I f*cked up so much." 

"Uh..." She'd rather hoped Lana's tendency toward the maudlin would reverse itself with a few drinks, not intensify.

"And am I kidding myself about starting? I never knew who I was and what I wanted." Lana swiped at her eyes.

She had to say something. "Oh... Well... do you know now?"

"No!" she sobbed loudly, then suddenly snapped her head up. "But see... I'm getting close. This time, I think I know. I think I get it and I'm gonna... gonna..." Her bleary eyes widened and she drew back, leaned hard on the back of the swing. "I just think that maybe... maybe now I'll finally get it right. That's all. I'm fine!" she suddenly said loudly. She laughed. "I'm gonna be fine." She leaned into Lois, so close that Lois was wondering if she was going to kiss her or something. But she just grasped her cheeks. "And you're gonna be fine. Everyone is. You'll see."

Lois tried and failed to dredge up a smile. She drew away carefully, patting Lana's hands. "I should get you home."

"I am home," Lana said, looking around. "Smallville's my home. I don't wanna go." Her eyes turned weepy again.

"I just meant for the night," Lois said hastily, not ready to deal with more weeping. 

"Maybe not." Lois looked up to find Martha leaning in the doorway. "I don't think she should go anywhere tonight." She gave Lois a sad smile as she stepped toward Lana and helped her up. "Come on. I've made up the guest room."

"Mrs. Kent, I swear that everything's going to be fine. I'll make it right. I..."

"I'm sure it will be," Martha said, leading her in. "Now, pay attention. I want you to drink two glasses of water with an aspirin before you even think of falling asleep. Can you..."

Lois stared at the screen door as it swung closed, then got up to watch them pick their way slowly up the steps. It was hard to see where Lana fit, if at all. It was hard to even figure out how to feel about her. Sometimes, she couldn't stand her and other times, she felt this strange ache on her behalf. Martha had once described her as "hungry for something." That was Lana, really. Lois hadn't seen it then, but she saw it now. Lana was like an incomplete circle, always searching for some piece that would keep her from spilling out and spreading her strange melancholy. Whatever was driving her, whatever she was up to, Lois saw that pain in her, saw that desperation, felt the pity it evoked.

But not enough to stop digging. There was more to Lana Lang... or Lorna Leery. And she was still determined to find out just what.

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

"What?"

Clark hastily put down the paper, looking around the empty bar. No one had seen his outburst or, perhaps more importantly, seen him reading. It wouldn’t do for Irving Clemp to be seen reading. He already got a hard enough time from the other goons for wearing glasses.

But there was no one inside right now. He wondered why Mannheim even had the staff in. Then again, it’s not as if he was paying much for it. Clark had been kind of outraged when he got his paycheck, mostly for the sake of Irving Clemp -- if he existed. 

He’d always heard waitresses at the Met Stop grousing about “getting a lousy two bucks for a tip” and had mostly wondered why they were complaining about getting cash on top of an hourly rate. Now he knew why. Waitstaff was paid the lowest possible minimum wage in Kansas, about two-sixty-five an hour on the assumption they got tipped. But tipping was more understood than enforced. In Moxie’s, with it not even being open, there were no tips. It was no wonder they were in every day shining up glass. It hardly cost Bruno a thing. And it wasn’t as if he was that invested. He didn’t even know what to do with his paychecks. But even with Turpin, or Jack Drake, being security, his paystub listed him as a bus boy. Turpin didn’t seem as shocked and Clark had actually been somewhat annoyed when he read The Star denouncing Moxie’s for fudging job titles and time-cards to pay as little as possible. He’d had some idea of writing that up himself when this was over. But The Star had got there yesterday.

He told himself to ignore it. He wasn’t actually there for a story. But it galled him this morning, seeing that shiny new The Metropolis Star machine outside the club, next to the beat-up machines filled with adult classified rags. Whatever machine had once held The Planet was a bent-up, broken mess. And, as much as he didn’t want to contribute to The Star outselling The Planet, he pumped in two quarters anyway as he had to see what Cat Grant, the woman or possible man with a pseudonym, was on about now. He’d only heard about the other articles, but he saw what Lois meant now, about this being a stunt. After yesterday’s diatribe, now there was a whole new tone to Grant’s work.

Now it was a glorious piece on how hard it was to get a new club off the ground and how all Moxie’s opening night cover-charges were going to The Granny Goodness Home for Wayward Children. He’d never heard of it and wondered if it was a front. He found himself thinking of a piece on that before he reminded himself, again, that he wasn’t here for a story. Talking to Lois at Christmas must have infected him somehow. Maybe it was that kiss... that he was definitely not dwelling on.

Still, he did miss his job. And he missed his apartment. He’d spent Christmas night there, lulled to a more restful sleep than he’d had all week by the softer sirens and bar fights of Suicide Slums. He’d never thought he’d find his neighborhood so peaceful. But compared to the dump he was in now, it was a damned suburb. And he hated saying goodbye to it. But he had. He also checked in with Victor at the Clocktower and brushed off his constant attempts to get the bracelet back. He finally had to tell him it was not dangerous, not technologically advanced and, furthermore, it was private. 

It didn’t exactly shut him up. So Clark told him to look at the caves if he seriously had nothing better to do than study the Kawatche/Kryptonian link. Victor had gotten kind of sniffy at that, saying “of course he had better things to do. Who do you think does all the work around here?” And he’d have Clark know that he was almost single handedly designing a new base in Rhode Island and everyone needed to get off his back.

Clark mollified him by saying he was overworking himself enough without focusing on other, unimportant things before he put the bracelet firmly off the table. Yet he suspected Victor would be taking a trip to the caves some time soon. He seemed to share Lois’ fervor to know just everything. Clark supposed that was why they’d always got along so well.

He really did miss everyone, miss his job, miss his life. He told himself he could get back to it when this was over. Maybe he should get on that now. The place was quiet enough. Tiny and Rocco had most of the men out front, hauling up a sign, yet another thing no one was getting paid enough for. He made himself let that go as he crossed the bar. Mannheim had yet to show on his shift or Turpin’s. Clark was more and more convinced that, whenever he did, they could be on their way to ending this. Still, there had to be something. He looked through the wall at the empty office. 

It was always empty. Even when Stitches called “management” in for a meeting, by the time Clark was able to get to the store room to attempt to listen in, no one was there. Not even in the back room behind. He supposed they could all be slipping outside, but it was always too quick for that. It was spooky, like Bobby said.

Turpin didn’t think what they got out of Bobby was worth three helpings of Christmas dinner or the time spent talking to him at a local soup kitchen. But Clark felt differently.

“Apocalypse,” was the first thing he’d said.

Turpin had seemed confused. “What? They want to end the world now?”

“No. Just I keep hearing that word,” Bobby said around a mouthful. “Hey, this is quality stuffing. You can really taste the sage. And do I detect a spicy hint of sausage?”

“Focus,” Turpin grunted. “What do they mean by that? Ending the world is not usually in these slimeballs’ best interests.”

“I don’t know what it means,” Bobby said, still shoveling it in. “It ain’t like it makes sense. But they say Ugly Mannheim’s got some kind of power, new dark side technology, and he trained on apocalypse.” 

Turpin turned to Clark. “Am I having a stroke? This sounds like word salad to me.”

“Just telling you what I hear.”

It didn’t make much sense to Clark, either, but he filed it away for later. Then Bobby said something that made his ears perk up.

“I’ll tell you one thing, though. They ain’t too keen on Superman.”

Turpin snorted. “What criminal is?”

Bobby shrugged. “He just might need to watch out is all. They seem to think he’d best stay out of their business.”

And Superman was pretty deep in their business. And Lionel Luthor had been pretty deep in his business. And they still had something, somewhere, taken from Lionel Luthor’s vault. If Mannheim would just show…

“What do you think they mean about Mannheim having power, technology?” Clark had asked.

“I don’t know,” Turpin had grumbled on the bus to work. “We need to focus on tying Mannheim to Intergang. All this hoodoo magic power stuff…”

“But powers exist.” Magic, he wasn’t as sure of.

“Listen, I’ll give you that Superman’s opened up a few possibilities. Hell, we all know about the strange rocks in your little town, too. But what does that mean? That all the gobbled-gook is real? Do we have to call in mediums and sh*t? If Mannheim’s got technology it just means thugs are going digital, maybe. You just keep your ears open and don’t make any moves.”

Clark really itched to make a move, though, with the place so empty. He wanted to just go into the damned office and take a look around for himself, but Turpin put the kibosh on that quickly. Clark was to listen and report and not overstep his role or Sawyer would have him out. 

He moved to the stock room, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to have a look. Maybe he could just take one long gander through the walls and…

He stopped as he opened the door, hearing a voice. It was the ever-present Kandy Kane, kind of his own personal albatross. Everywhere he wanted to be, there she was, rubbing up against him, calling him pet names. If this were anything like a legit workplace, he’d consider suing for sexual harassment. 

“Such a smart boy,” he heard her coo. “Mamma’s so proud.”

He felt rather condescended to, not to mention creeped out, before he looked through the shelves and saw she wasn’t talking to him. She was on the phone. 

“Of course, Sweetie. I didn’t learn to count to a hundred till…” She laughed. “Hey, I still don’t know. You’re gonna have to teach me… No. Not Daddy, too,” she said after a moment. “Because he had to move away. You understand.” She sighed. “Baby, I promise. We will be very happy here. You’ll see. Now put Aunt Cici back on.”

Clark felt strangely guilty, just standing there in the doorway, listening in, but he was just kind of gobsmacked. Kandy Kane was someone’s mother? 

“Did you see it?” she said, her voice losing that soft edge as she began pacing back and forth. “I don’t know yet. But I’m not gonna take this lying down.” Maybe she was outraged about the paychecks, too? “I do good work and no one’s gonna…”

Clark belatedly realized she was pacing his way. He started to back up and close the door, but she spotted him, eyes widening.

“Hey, Cici, I’ll call you back,” she said, snapping her phone closed and turning a kind of soft pink that made her look almost girlish. “Not going to tell on me, are you, Sugar?” 

He just stared at her, dazedly wondering if there was some kind of rule about Moxie’s staff having children.

She held up the cell. 

Oh, that. He shook his head.

“I know we’re supposed to leave em with the bouncers, but I can’t, okay? I don’t exactly trust these asses to call me to the phone if my kid needs me.”

“Uh… It’s not my business,” he finally said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I noticed you keep to yourself. Guess I should take the hint, already. Huh?” 

“How old is he?” he found himself asking before remembering that Irving Clemp really was supposed to keep to himself. 

“Just five.”

It was Clark Kent who had a problem staying out of other people’s business and it was hard to resist still. “Are you…” He had to stop himself from asking about the father. “Are you… getting by okay? I mean, the pay here’s kind of…”

“Oh, that.” She let out a low laugh.

He frowned, wondering what she was so upset about if not that. But it really wasn’t his business.

She stepped closer to him. “Are you concerned about me, Sugar?”

He was strangely arrested by the fact that, deep under all the makeup she caked on, Kandy was actually kind of pretty.

“Come to think of it, I’m feeling awful worried. How bout a hug?”

And scarily aggressive. “I need to get the… things.” 

He heard her chuckle as he closed the door.

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

Lois shut herself in Perry’s office, but she could still hear his obnoxious, snickering laugh. “He’s a repulsive blowhard and I hope he chokes on his stupid mustache.”

Perry barely looked up from the papers spread out on his desk. “He’s a sports guy. They’re usually like that.”

Lois noted that he didn’t even have to ask who she was talking about. Steve Lombard was one of a number of new hires coming in with the new year. She’d actually been pretty excited about the new blood yesterday when Ron Troupe took the politics beat as well as the desk behind her. He was Harvard-educated, had two years at Newstime, and a slew of awards. She’d have been wildly jealous if he hadn’t made it clear investigative journalism “carried inherent risks and he much preferred to analyze from a place of pure objectivity.” More fun for her.

Still, she thought it was a sign they were getting some good, old-fashioned class in the bullpen. Then that overgrown frat boy took the desk across the way and spent the entire morning making a certain someone get his coffee and calling them sweetheart… “Well, will you tell him to lay off poor Jimmy?” 

“I’ll have a talk with him later,” Perry grunted, frowning at the papers. “He’ll settle in. Besides, Lombard’s got a built-in following from his college ball days,” Perry went on. “Tragic injury, should have gone pro, everybody’s interested, yaddah, yaddah… Should our front page be in color?”

“Of course not. It’s expensive and unnecessary.” She moved around his desk and scoffed. “Are you looking at The Star again?”

“Well, what are we doing wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lois said impatiently, shoving aside the three copies spread out across his desk. “They got lucky and it won’t last. That or it’s like I’ve said, an obvious ploy. We don’t need to stoop to cheap tricks.”

He sighed. “I’ll give you that the whole thing seems pretty calculated. But, that aside, they are getting scoops that we aren’t.”

“Or being fed them,” she had to point out.

“First the Christmas thing and the uniforms, now the fact that everyone working there has a record and the sketchy payroll…”

“Each followed by a piece extolling the virtues of Bruno Mannheim and his efforts to clean up his…”

“I’m not saying it’s perfect, but who’s this Cat Grant? And how do we get her on our team?”

Lois’ jaw dropped. “Perry…”

“Oh, don’t get all territorial. Is this because she’s a woman? There’s room for more.” He jabbed a finger at her. “You’re sexist, Lane.”

“No. I am not.” Lois pulled a paper her way and flipped through stiffly. “It’s because she’s…”

“And you started at a rag.”

“Well, I also…”

“And look at you now. Are you afraid to give someone else a chance?”

“That is not even the point.” She opened to the one of the articles. “And I might point out that they are not outselling us by as much with my exclusives on The Flash.”

“Well, is it a crime to want more?” Perry threw up his hands. “Oh, it doesn’t even matter. There’s no way to get in touch with this Grant woman, anyway.”

“She’s all wrong for us,” she said, eyes running over two of the articles. “The writing is sloppy, sensationalist…”

“It’s also working.”

“It’s also uneven.” She leaned closer, frowning at yesterday’s piece next to today’s. The diatribes were sensationalist, but the redemption puff pieces were rather simpering, as if this person was her own devil’s advocate. She shook her head. “Perry, we need to stop obsessing over this and focus on our own. People will get sick of The Star soon enough.” She stabbed a finger at the two words that were now vying with Steve Lombard for most hated. “Cat Grant,” she scoffed. “We don’t need her.”

“Well, we just might.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “I’ll leave you with your new girlfriend.” She moved back to her desk, throwing a glare Lombard’s way as he loudly guffawed at something on his computer with Troupe.

“See that fumble? What a pansy!”

“Yeah, that’s great. I need to get back to…”

“Oh! Right in the nuts!”

Lois was slightly mollified by how eager Ron looked to get away and gave him a sympathetic smile before she moved off to the supply closet. She could have sworn there was a box of earplugs left from the last time the city was jackhammering Fifth Street.

She’d been in such a good mood this morning, damn it! She’d spent last night having a torrid love affair with her new, fully loaded laptop. She really should have been looking into Lana Lang using her other present from Victor, but the idea of waiting the requisite ten minutes for her crappy PC to start up was much less fun than uploading her cell phone’s Christmas pictures and photo-shopping Bart’s head onto Mikhail Baryshnikov’s body with “Exclusive: The Flash reveals new look!”

He had not been amused, but apparently the Clocktower was now papered with it as she’d also sent it to AC.

She really had to get to work on Lana tonight, however. But how was she supposed to concentrate on that with all that was going on at work? As if on cue, Lombard guffawed again. She shoved impatiently at a box of staples and wondered if the music shop on Concord Lane carried earplugs. They just had to. 

As she walked through the bullpen and grabbed her purse, she decided to be generous and pick up enough for everyone and give Perry the receipt, maybe along with a hint to move Lombard to another floor.

She was stopped in the lobby by a familiar red head along with a not so familiar blonde one. “Pammie?”

“Oh, Lois. Imagine meeting you here.” She smiled and tightened her hand on the blonde man’s arm, moving toward her. 

“Well, I work here, so it’s not so hard to imagine.” She looked between them.

Pammie tittered. “Didn’t I tell you? She has such a dry way about her, doesn’t she? You know, Thomas and I were just in the neighborhood. He’s Mikey’s new intern and he was sweet enough to help me with some errands.” She beamed up at him. “Oh, but where are my manners? Lois Lane, this is Thomas Hart,” she said before she all but shoved him at Lois.

The blonde man, Thomas Hart apparently, looked kind of taken aback, but he held out his hand. “Hi. I’ve… heard a lot about you.”

Pammie tittered again. “Oh, well I’m always bragging about my friend, the investigative journalist.”

Lois limply shook his hand. Oh, no. “You know, I was actually…”

“Oh, you were probably off to lunch,” Pammie cut in. “Gosh, I’d love to join you, but I need to pick up Dorothy. But Thomas hasn’t eaten yet.”

He looked about awkwardly back at her. “I thought you needed me to…”

“Oh, I don’t want to overwork you.” She turned to Lois. “Though, I swear, he’d let me. Absolutely the hardest worker I’ve ever seen. You’d think he’d skate by on his looks and inheritance, but no.”

Subtle, Pammie. 

“Why don’t you two grab a bite? I’ll tell Mikey to reimburse you as a thanks for all you did today.”

He shook his head. “Well, I only…”

“I don’t want to hear another word about it. Now, I really do have to go grab Dorothy.”

Lois stared after Pammie as she just sauntered off. “Well, then…”

“Yeah.”

She glanced up at him. He really was handsome in a sort of Ken doll way. But she didn’t have time for this.

“I figured something was up when we ended up here,” he said, shaking his head. “I just… Well, I like Mrs. Sharp…”

“No. So do I.”

“She’s been going on about you since my second day. Also keeps giving me tickets Congressman Sharp’s not using. I mean, if you wanted to, it might not hurt to… I don’t know.”

“No. That’s… nice of her.” He also seemed pretty nice. She toyed with her purse strap, wondering about the most polite way to brush him off when he spoke again.

“I actually have two passes for this new club’s opening. Maxie’s or…”

Lois glanced up sharply. “Moxie’s?”

“That’s the one. They sent them for Sharp, but he doesn’t want to go.”

“I don’t blame him,” she said absently. “Just… with the associations,” she added quickly.

“Yeah. I mean, also it’s New Year’s Eve. You probably have plans.”

She actually didn’t. But for her to use this guy for an invite would be…

“I'm hearing they managed to get a good chef despite all the controversy.”

"I'd love to go to Moxie's with you," she said quickly, tamping down the minor guilt involved by adding, “and lunch.”

“Good. Great.” He smiled. He had dimples. That was definitely a point in his favor.

She stood straighter and adjusted her purse. “Where did you want to go?”

“Uh… This might sound kind of low-rent, but I’m kind of in the mood for pastrami. Have you been to Fleischman’s?”

Another point in his favor. “Best deli in Metropolis,” she said, smiling back.

"Well, I'm new here."

"Where are you from?"

"Gotham City. I was actually under the Mayor there. But I got disillusioned with all the..."

She took his arm as he went on. This day was definitely looking up. A handsome politician, good pastrami, and a ticket to Moxie’s

Cat Who?

CHAPTER EIGHT

Thanks a million to Silversnikle/AV for her beta work, which really helped me clean up and clarify this chapter.

Since this Batman character I mentioned above is so very minor and obscure that I’m not sure if anyone will catch it, let me know if you’d rather me tell you who they are at some point as their other identity might not come up in this story.