If you are a cliffhanger ending, I'm the one that doesn't know anything.
Like a magpie and a ring, I am always going to be looking right to you.
Oh, you captured my attention.
Carefully listening, don't want to miss a thing.
Keeping my eyes on you.
Oh, you captured my attention.
I'm anticipating.
I'm watching and waiting...
for you to make your move.
Got me on the toes.
- Lights
He sits at his desk, listening to a symphony of computer keys and print jobs. A technician's wet dream, this place. Mindless chatter and vicious gossip. Talks of deadlines and deal breakers. He has been working for the Daily Planet for three months and, albeit the occasional bout with death, life is fairly uneventful. He's not high up enough on the totem pole to be given interesting assignments. Sports articles and classifieds, mainly. And errands. Lots of errands. Coffee and ink cartridge runs, to name two.
He does get first dibs on all the juicy news during lunches with Lois though. They don't live together yet, a fact he would rather attribute to the fact that he was raised with country sensibilities, than the truth. That doesn't stop them from holding hands all the way to Mimi's Cafe though. It occurs to him that, in their same booth at the same time, he always orders the same thing. Is everything turning cyclical? Perhaps he should start taking more risks.
Many of Lois' articles are about him and his latest daring feat, which she glosses over… for obvious reasons. He should be grateful he didn't get stuck with the beauty column like Ernie did, being that Beth is out for maternity leave. Then again, he could be like Dale, who gets paid to dine at fine restaurants and complain about how phenomenal the food is. Oh well. It's a good job when it comes to staying "in the know".
His routine is ordinary, though his identity is anything but.
As always, his sable locks are styled in a sophisticated wave, glistening with a slightly inhuman sheen. His skin, though pale, is flawless. Noble brow, Spartan's jaw, impeccable physique, kind, intelligent – the whole package. Sure. Even in disguise, it is no secret that he is a stunner. Averting come-ons from his coworkers is another daily occurrence that is quickly becoming a piece of the doldrums, though he would never say it aloud. They're good people. They mean well.
But can he even afford to forge a relationship incognito? Aside from Lois, that is. Lois...
After giving his temples a good massage, he pushes his glasses up his nose.
"Clark," prompts a crisp voice to his left. He swivels towards it. Marisa, a secretary, unceremoniously drops a stack of papers onto the corner of his desk. "I'm leaving for the day – have dinner plans." She winks. He manages to conjure a congratulatory smile. "I need you to make sure these run tomorrow." With a tart smile and a flippant wave of her hand, she turns on her heel and breezes out of the office.
"Right," he offers dutifully, though she is probably out of earshot.
So much for going home early…
Clark makes his way down to the printing room to place the copies in the tray. He knows Richard would appreciate them being in order according to their supposed pages and placement in the columns. He better double check, just in case. Clark leafs through the articles, quickly realizing that Marisa filed them all in backwards order. Clark sighs wryly. Even he knows the headliner runs first.
He rearranges them accordingly and levels the stack against the shelving unit. He is about to leave the articles into the production bin when something about the first page catches his eye. He gingerly picks it back up. He does a double take at the headliner.
"Living Man Discovered Frozen In Ice!"
He quickly glosses over the article, his brain highlighting words like arctic, submersible, ageless, expedited healing, needle-resistant, and uniform. Could it be?
Clark's mind treks back to the Kryptonian spacecraft embedded in the glacier. The muscles in his jaw start rippling as he grits his teeth together. His mind is reeling, his hope rekindled. Perhaps General Zod wasn't the last. Maybe…
Maybe…
Clark's pace is brisk as he makes his way to Lois' office. On his way, he passes (or barely evades a collision course with) a sharply dressed man in expensive, flashy shades. He bears a remarkable resemblance to some celebrity all over the news these days. He makes a pithy remark, but Clark is on a mission. He won't be deterred by him.
Black. Or Dark. Or something…
He enters without knocking and strides up to her desk purposefully. She takes the phone away from her ear and covers the receiver, eyeing him in mild shock.
"What is it?" she questions.
Sincerity springs to his eyes and he doesn't bother to hide the desperation in his face. "This man." He puts tomorrow's headlining article down firmly in the center of her desk.
Lois glances down at the article, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Oh," she recognizes. "The one they discovered in the Arctic?"
Clark nods stiffly. "I need you to help me find him."