Lois Lane looked over the balustrade that separated the roof of the Daily Planet from oblivion. She had often wondered on her many trips up here, whether to think about her life or a story or just to smoke, exactly how far down the street was from her level. Sure, she could look at the building's architectural designs or just ask Perry, but it was one of those things you always thought you would do but never actually did anything about.
Absently, Lois reached down, picked up her purse, and sat it on the railing before fumbling through it blindly for her pack of cigarettes. She quickly found it and, in her haste, a single roll tumbled out and fell over the side of the balustrade, down, down, down.
Her hands stilled on her pack.
No, not tonight.
As the falling cigarette disappeared from her range of vision, she thought about the last time something had fallen from this very roof. Only a few days ago the tall, proud globe that symbolized the Daily Planet and all its glory had taken a tumble.
Before that, before her life had somehow turned itself into an emotional wrecking ball, it had been Lois Lane falling from this roof, followed swiftly by a helicopter.
Lois didn't like thinking about that night. Thinking about that night always led to him.
Him. Her friend. Her lover. The father of her child.
God, she could use a cigarette.
She wondered if he ever stopped. She wondered if he ever perched on the highest buttress of a building like some kind of holy gargoyle and thought about his life. Where did he go when he needed to think? Somehow she doubted he went to that cold, sterile place up north. Did he have anyone to talk to? Was there someone, somewhere, in whom he could confide himself? She doubted that as well. If such a person ever did exist, she had a strong feeling it had once been her.
'Not anymore,' she thought, wryly.
The thought had occurred to her, seeing him lying vulnerable in a hospital bed, that he really wasn't human. The doctors had wavered schizophrenically between surrounding him and attempting to treat him and hiding in the darkest corners the hospital had to offer. No one knew what to do. Not even Lois Lane.
The world breathed a collective sigh of relief when he recovered on his own.
The point was that no one really knew him. Not even the self-proclaimed 'Superman experts' could say where he went when he wasn't performing a rescue. The self-proclaimed best reporter on the east coast couldn't say either.
Did he have a favorite food? How did he like his coffee? Had anyone even seen him eat? Did he sleep? And how old was he, exactly?
Did he even have a name?
Something twitched at the back of her mind. She thought about the small blip in her memory, right around the time General Zod had invaded Earth. Somewhere in that small space of time Jason had been conceived. And perhaps all her questions had been answered as well.
God, she needed a cigarette.
She remembered the night she had interviewed him. Well, 'interviewed' was a strong word. 'Fawned over him like a kid out of high school' was more like it. That article read more like a strip out of one of those magazines in grocery store lines than an actual piece of hard, investigative reporting.
And Lois Lane was nothing if not a damn good investigative reporter.
Wiping at her eyes (damn, the humidity up here was hell and no she was not crying), she hastily stuffed her pack back into her purse, turned on her heel , and stalked back to the elevator. She was going to pack up her stuff in the newsroom, go home, kiss her son, and spend a nice evening with her loving fiancé.
Candles. Roses. She was going to enjoy herself tonight.
And tomorrow, she was going to investigate that son-of-a-bitch that tore her heart apart like it was cotton candy.
They had a son. And damned if she wasn't going to get to know his father.
Lois smiled. Finally, she had a plan.
'Look out Superman. I'm coming for you.'