"All right, Dirk. Sorry, Mr Armstrong," Lois shrugged, placing a hand back on his desk and leaning forward. "We used to work together, so you know the drill. Would you like to speak to my colleague, or would you like me to begin?"
Dirk Armstrong took one look at Clark and laughed. "Where did Perry find this one? He's literally the yin to your yang! He looks as menacing as a mewling kitten!"
Lois winced. If there was any grammatical mistake that really got to her, it was the over-liberal use of the word 'literally'. God bless America, she thought grimly, recalling the link someone had recently shared with her that categorized this particular error as especially peculiar to her country.
"Clark," she called, "Why don't you give Mr Armstrong here a rundown of the questions we will have answered by the end of our appointment with him?"
He nodded and pulled out the neatly typed document she had watched him print just before they left the Planet. That was one thing that she could never get over – Clark Kent embodied stereotypes about growing up in the rural countryside even in his preference of printed-paper over newer technology when it came to his work.
Dirk's genial demeanor fell away as he made his way down the list. Take that from the mewling kitten, she thought, savagely. Clark had drafted most of that, proving his ability to be incisive despite his propensity to wax lyrical when describing mundane activities. Or to quote Jimmy, who had read one of Clark's drafts over her shoulder once, Clark Kent wrote like Humans of Metropolis had a love child with Charles Dickens.
"Well," she said, mostly to draw their attention back to her. "I've personally always thought Clark more of a dog person, but I believe I can leave you two together to discuss what animals you prefer to channel when addressing the topic of your campaign manager's embezzlement of your election funds, Mr Armstrong." She made a show of checking her watch – they had been allotted two hours with the former journalist, now alderman – before stating sweetly, "I'll be back in an hour's time for the bad cop part of this interview. Have fun, boys."
Stepping out of Dirk Armstrong's office, she pulled out her phone to check her schedule for the next appointment. There was a text from 'Dan Turpin (SCU)' reading 'URGENT: Maggie wants to see you'. Lois scowled and looked in her inbox for the usual accompanying message from another member of the police when such texts arrived.
Sure enough, Inspector Henderson had sent her an email with the subject title 'DO NOT ENGAGE WITH SAWYER'. Lois locked her phone's screen and tucked it back into her bag, heading out of the building in search of coffee.
The Metropolitan police force needed to sort itself out, she thought, as she ordered a latte and two doughnuts before sliding into a seat to give her heeled legs a rest. Having collected her sustenance, she started looking through one of Clark's latest drafts, a piece about a doctor's breach of ethics at the local hospital, pausing every now and then to strike through a sentence or scribble her comments at the side.
An hour passed quickly, and she made her way back, her latte and the takeaway box of food in hand.
"How's everyone?" she said cheerfully, as she entered Dirk Armstrong's office.
Clark turned and flashed a welcoming smile at her. He stood up as she approached the table, taking a stool for himself ffrom the far side of the office.
"Mr Armstrong has been most cooperative. You need to push harder on questions four and nine through thirteen," he said, handing her his fill notepad.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Dirk addressed Lois from behind his table, distracting her perusal of Clark's notes. "I never met anyone who enjoyed grilling a person more than you; not even the DA."
"Mmm," she replied, frowning at the final paragraph Clark had written, before looking up at him. "Well, Dirk, everything we discuss once I sit down will be on the record. Do you mind if Clark eats his lunch here? No? I shall begin then. Thank you for talking to my colleague thus far, Mr Armstrong."
Lois handed the doughnuts to Clark and sat in the chair he had vacated. Dirk used one of those electric table lamps that concentrated its illumination on a small point, she noted with approval. The whole set-up resembled the sort of interrogation room one saw on television, and the thought of it greatly amused her.
"So, Mr Armstrong. Would you like to tell me more about the incident on October the eighth this year?"
"Scatter hoarders," Clark said, as soon as they both left the building.
"What?"
"You wanted an animal analogy for the whole account. An embezzler would be a scatter hoarder, like a squirrel. Or a chipmunk."
She opened her mouth, and closed it, as if she were considering her words very carefully. "Smallville, your farmboy roots are showing," she said at last.
Clark laughed good naturedly. "Your snark queen title is shaking," he said. "That caused barely a scratch."
"Only because you've been about me too much," she replied, with no hesitation. "A few more weeks and you'll be bulletproof."
He had to bite back his laughter at that one, suppressing the pleasure that washed over his person. Lois had no idea. "What did you think of today's interview?" he asked instead, adjusting the position of his messenger bag's strap on his shoulder.
"Dirk has always been more of a politician than a journalist," she answered, slowing down somewhat from the brisk pace she always kept so that she could look at him with ease as they spoke.
"Didn't he write an opinion column?"
"Yes, don't interrupt me," she gasped in mock-outrage. "Dirk was not happy about being pressed on his knowledge on the way funds were managed, and he contradicted himself twice when we brought up his personal relationship with his staff. He was careless, but all the same, good job on your first solo interview for the Planet, Smallville."
"Thanks."
Clark had been working for the Daily Planet for a total of three weeks and two days, and any time not spent in his superhero guise was dedicated to journalism and working with Lois. Metropolis had taken his presence fairly well, though curiosity abounded with regard to his identity. He had caught Jimmy Olsen's figure on the fiftieth floor of a skyscraper while making his way back from a would-be crime scene one evening, crouched over a tripod and a camera hoping to get a good shot of the flying man.
It was all he could do then not to grin goofily and wave at Jimmy in mid-air.
They got off the subway train, climbing up the stairs and treading the familiar path towards the Planet, and he marvelled at the speed at which he had gotten used to life in a large city, save for the pangs of homesickness that struck him every Sunday morning, when he was used to going to church with his parents and having his mother's home-cooked food after.
Long phone calls and a very hefty care package from Kansas were not quite enough to make up for his missing home.
Lois punched the buttons on the elevator they were in rather violently then, which brought his thoughts back to his present surroundings.
"I'm going to talk to Legal now," she muttered, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were trained on the progress of the elevator on the electronic display in the little space they occupied. "They have stopped updating me entirely on the Luthor appeal and somebody is going to answer for it."
He refrained on commenting, on the advice of several colleagues including Steve Lombard, Ron Troupe and Jimmy himself.
"Lois can be like a dog with a bone," Lombard had said, hands flying up near his face to approximate the bone in his rather unflattering analogy. "A rabid dog with a bone, when she's decided on a story as hers, and this Luthor thing has been her baby for a long time. Keep your mouth shut and she won't lose her temper."
Clark rather thought it was ludicrous the way everyone stepped around her like that. Lois was not unreasonable or mercurial. She was simply more conscientious about her work than most other people, and had an incessant need to know what was going on about whatever it was that interested her.
He often thought that he liked that intensity in her.
"What are you simpering to yourself about?" she nudged him, her expression playful.
"I was just thinking about one of the most remarkable women I've ever met," he replied truthfully. He had read the piece that won her her Pulitzer a week after working with her and felt genuinely awed at her ability.
Lois regarded him with a skepticism he usually saw trained on her interviewees, before remarking, "Looks like I'm winning the company bet this time."
"Pardon?"
She chortled, a sound of pure delight. "HR started a betting pool on whether you were into women. Round two on whether you're bisexual or heterosexual is still at question, but I've won the first round." Raising a finger, she leaned closer to him and said, "Don't tell anyone else here what I've learnt today before Saturday."
Clark had no ready retort for her.
"Oh don't look so stupefied, Smallville," she patted his shoulder. "Metropolis is a big city with a lot of single men and women. When fresh blood comes in, it's only the right thing to do to find out their tastes and then disseminate the information."
He was still flabbergasted, but she carried the conversation on without his input.
"We were going to wait to see who you brought as your plus one to the welcome party we're throwing for you this weekend, but I'm glad my drinks for the night are assured."
The doors slid open and Lois exited as part of her plan to find the legal department, her mood restored by the prospect of winning and alcohol. Before the doors could close such that Clark travelled upward by himself, she flashed him a sunny smile.
"Bring your dream woman to the party if you can, Clark! I'd love to meet her," she said, leaving before he could compose a reaction to the sentiment.
He let out a long sigh. Even superpowers could not help him to fulfill that particular wish.