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Author's Note: This is dedicated to my AMAZING and WONDERFUL beta Sue S. I sent this to her when it was about 20 pages in length or so and through her help, suggestions, encouragements, and tireless patience has helped me to turn it into something completely different. It honestly would never have been finished in it's former state had it not been for Sue. She has saved this story and made it something I am actually proud to post here. So thank you Sue. Thank you for your comments, you help, your encouragement and most of all, your sharp pointy stick. This one's for you :)
Despite his claims to the contrary, Clark Kent was not fine. His colour had improved slightly on the ride home, but he was still fairly weak, making Lois loathe to send him home alone. There was also a small part of her that wanted him to stay if only to appease the growing curiosity regarding just what Clark meant to her, but she suppressed those thoughts. Tonight was not about her ever increasing emotional confusion, it was about Clark. And Clark was sick.
The moment he sank down onto the couch, Lois set to work preparing something for him to eat. Soup was likely the best option as anything else might not go down so well. He attempted to make a feeble joke regarding her cooking and its tendencies never to go down very well, but she ignored it. She'd smack him upside the head later. Tonight he was sick and could get away with such ludicrous tales of fiction.When the soup was ready she helped him over to the table and demanded he eat. Obviously too tired to argue with her, he complied.
He ate in silence and Lois took the time to watch him and contemplate. They'd had a moment earlier that day. It was a moment where his face said far more than words ever could. It made Lois terrified in a way she had never been before. She wasn't even quite sure why.
Her feelings for Clark were different than any feelings she had ever had for someone. She had thought when he confessed his feelings in the park that she didn't love him…couldn't love him because they were friends. Surely when you get to a certain point with a friend of the opposite sex, love just leaves the equation entirely, right? At least that's what she'd thought. She'd thought they were too close to have a romantic relationship. Now, she was starting to think she was wrong.
Physical attraction certainly wasn't the problem. It never had been. Even when she denied it during the infancy of their partnership it was obvious to anybody with eyes that Clark Kent was an incredibly attractive man. She had fallen head over heals for him when they got dosed with the pheromone potion because of that very attraction (though why he didn't seem to be effected when he was clearly attracted back, she'd never know).
So why? Why had she told him they could only ever be friends? Why, when at that point they were as close as two people could possibly be? Why, when she was attracted to him, and he to her? Why…why would she agree to marry Lex Luthor instead of her best friend? Her partner? Or nobody?
Why had she felt she needed to make a choice at all? Surely she could have simply said no to Lex entirely and just be single for a while? Why had she felt like it was a 'choose one or the other' scenario?
She had never needed a man before. Lois Lane had always stood on her own – or she had before the Claude fiasco. Maybe it all harkened back to that. Maybe, some part of her, deep down was terrified that if she didn't marry Lex Luthor she would never have another shot at marriage at all.
Except that Clark told you he loved you, the voice reminded her, you had a shot with him. You turned him down.
She sighed inwardly and looked over at Clark who sat eating his soup looking more tired than ever. Before she could think about it, she walked over to the table and gently ran her fingers through his hair. He looked up at her, surprised, but said nothing.
It was doing her no good to wallow. All the self reflection in the world hadn't provided any answers, so why did she think it would now? Besides her own newfound insecurities, what was different?
She shook her head and sat down in the chair opposite Clark. He smiled weakly and finished off the last of his soup.
"I really appreciate this Lois, but it's late." He stood up, swaying slightly as he grabbed for his coat. He was a little better, but not much. Lois stayed his hand, knowing that nothing short of Superman himself showing up and offering him a ride would allow Clark to leave her apartment tonight.
"You're not well," she said calmly. "You're staying here, and you're staying in my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
"No, Lois, I…"
She lifted a hand to silence his protests.
"You're staying. That's all there is to it."
"Are you sure? This will make two nights in one week Lois." He looked at her as if that should mean something significant. She shrugged.
"There's no statute of limitations on how many times you can spend the night Clark," she replied reasonably. "We're friends remember?"
"Yeah," his shoulders seemed to deflate somewhat at that comment. "We're friends."
She wasn't sure why, but she had the oddest urge to cup his face in her hands, and trail along his cheek down to his jaw. She almost did, but stopped herself in time. He was obviously already confused by the little physical intimacies she'd allowed him throughout the day, she certainly didn't want to confuse him – or herself - even more.
It was partially her fault. After the wedding disaster she had been too mixed-up to return their friendship to the level it was before he confessed his feelings. She became hyper aware of every touch and gesture, terrified he would read it wrong and be even more hurt when it turned out to be strictly platonic. He had wanted something from her that Lois had thought herself to be incapable of giving.
But what if she wasn't? Clark certainly made it seem easy for her to be capable. And tonight, she wanted desperately to offer him a comfort beyond the bounds of platonic friendship.
"You should probably get some sleep," she told him finally after a second's pause that seemed like hours. "There are a lot of questions we still don't have answers for. And I'm certain that Kampos was lying to us."
"Yeah," Clark agreed, running a hand through his hair. "Are you sure you don't want the bed Lois? I'm fine on the couch. In fact, I'm starting to feel a lot better now."
"Look at my face Clark," she instructed him. "This is my 'resolved face'. It means you are sleeping in my bed, and I am sleeping out here. And you're going to wake up better tomorrow."
"That sounds almost like a threat," he said with a ghost of a smile. It made her feel better to see him joke with her.
"Yeah, well, you wait and see how threatening I can get," she touched him lightly, casually, on the shoulder. "You can have the bathroom first."
He nodded and left Lois to her own devices.
She took that time to grab something pyjama-like from her closet and waited for him to exit the bathroom for her turn to change. She stood watching, like a warden in a prison for him to get into her bed, before grabbing a pad of paper and a pen and heading out into the living room.
It was an early night for both of them, but Lois wasn't anywhere near tired. She decided to use the time to add to her novel – which seemed to be writing itself a lot quicker than her previous draft. She wasn't sure if it was the catharsis she needed, or an escape from her troubles, but it really did seem to be helping.
She thought back to the sexy scene she had come up with at work, but felt too drained from the day's work to continue in that vein. She'd been thinking a lot about Lex today, so perhaps she could get some work in on Laura and Liam's relationship.
She removed the cap from her pen and began to write.
Her world was gone. Or it felt like it was at least. She had never even seen it coming. She had been so stupid! She and Charlie had planted those bugs without a hitch (unless you count the impromptu make-out session a hitch). They had listened to them, and from the information tracked down enough physical evidence to arrest Danny 'Mayhem' Manners. They thought the case was finished with. They had the killer. He had confessed. Case closed.
But Danny had not been responsible for everything. He answered to a higher-up. Charlie had been right all along, though Laura still did not believe that it was Liam who was said higher-up. Still, there was someone. And it was someone powerful enough to not only break Danny out of the holding cell they had him in, but also to blow up a large portion of the precinct.
A good number of Laura's friends had died in the explosion. After the death of her father, Laura's entire world had become the precinct and the people there. They were her family – the only family she had now. And now some of them were dead. Because she had been too proud to listen to her partner. Because she thought she knew everything…thought she was a better cop.
She felt hollow inside.
Charlie attempted to comfort her, but it only made her angrier. It wasn't his fault. None of it was his fault. But the fact that he had suspected something that she should have taken precautions for, only made her more furious with herself. She should have spotted it and they both knew it. Only Charlie was too nice a person to hold it against her. He forgave her for not listening to him.
He shouldn't have. He had been right, and she was wrong. She had pushed him away after the encounter in the hotel room and punished him for feeling things that they had both been feeling. She was with Liam and kissing Charlie had been beyond wrong. And yet, at the time, it had never felt more right.
She should go to Liam's tonight. He had heard about the explosion and told her he wanted to see her. He wanted to comfort her. She should be grateful that he cared so much. She should be grateful that he wanted to be there for her after the loss of so many friends.
She told him she would come over later, just to appease his worry. In truth, she just wanted to be alone. She just wanted to be away from them all. It wasn't healthy, but it was what she wanted.
"Landan, you still here?" the captain's voice cut into her thoughts. She looked up, knowing she looked awful from his reaction, but uncaring.
"I couldn't leave. I just keep seeing it in my head, over and over."
"It's not your fault, Landan," the captain told her in that firm 'don't' argue' voice. "There was nothing you could have done."
"You say that, but I don't believe it." She gave a shuddering sigh. "I can't believe it. Danny warned me it wasn't over. Even after he broke out, I didn't think…when he sent us that note, I thought he was just taunting…that a low level thug like him could never back up his threat. But Charlie was right. He has connections none of us even dreamed up. And now people are dead, people I knew! Parkers, Janson, Taylor, MacDonald…I saw those people every day! Parkers and I used to carpool in the morning. I just…"
Hot tears ran down her face, making her even more ashamed at her own weakness. Other cops didn't cry in front of the captain, she was sure of it. What the hell was wrong with her?
"You've had a rough couple of months," the captain said softly. "Maybe you should take some time off…personal leave."
"No!" Her reply was quick and furious. "I need to be here! I need to catch this guy! I won't be pawned off on psycho leave just because of a bad couple of months!"
"Come off it Landan!" The captain sounded almost angry. "You're not 'super cop' alright? Nobody in this precinct is, and nobody can handle everything. Not even you, so stop pretending. This was going to be a friendly suggestion, but now I think you need it more than ever. I want you to take two week's leave."
"You can't do this!" Laura stood up and met the captain nose to nose. Tears threatened once more but she fought them down. It felt like her entire world was falling apart in front of her. She didn't know how to do anything else, didn't know how to be anything else. All she had ever known was the life of a cop – even before she had joined the force. The captain couldn't make her leave now…not after everything that happened. She couldn't just stand idly by and wait for them to catch the killer.
"I can, and I am," the captain said gently. "I know this seems like a punishment, but it's not. I'm worried for you, Landan. King is too."
"Charlie? What the hell does he know?" Her words were cruel, and spat in anger, but she couldn't help it. Had they been talking about her? Conspiring against her? Had this been Charlie's suggestion? Just because she pushed him away after that kiss…
But no, Charlie wasn't the type to be petty like that. It made her wish that she could find just one flaw in him…to offset the many in her.
"He knows you better than you think," the captain was saying. "He knows you're burned out. He's worried about you. And so am I. Two weeks, Landan."
"What about the case?" She felt her shoulders slump in defeat. He could force her to stay away, but he couldn't force her to keep completely out of it. She wouldn't rest until she was satisfied and the killer brought to justice.
"To be honest, I don't even know." The captain shrugged helplessly. "There's been a lot of smoke damage to the wing that got blown up. A lot of our files were destroyed in the blast. We need to figure out what was damaged and what wasn't before we can do much of anything."
"But he'll get away!" Laura couldn't help the outburst. The captain shook his head.
"I doubt it. He's killed already and I don't think he'll stop now. He thinks he's beaten us. He thinks he can get away with anything. There is a pattern to these killings and we will find it." He looked pointedly at Laura. "But you won't. Even when you come back, Landan, I want you to stay away from this one."
"Captain, you can't…"
"You keep fighting me on this, and your leave will become a suspension. You hearing me?"
"Just tell me one thing," she said softly. He nodded in acquiescence. "Would you send me on psycho leave if I were a man?"
"If he'd gone through all that you have gone through?" The captain shook his head sadly. "I'd send God himself on psycho leave. Go home, or to that boyfriend of yours. Get some rest. And come back ready to work."
She nodded mutely and gathered a few of her things before leaving. It had seemed a last resort only moments ago, but now, she couldn't wait to see Liam's face. One friendly face that had nothing to do with the force…she needed that right now.
Lois lifted the pen from the paper and stretched her hand out as she felt it cramp. She had written far more than she thought she would that night and she was feeling it. It was so much easier with a computer in front of her, but Clark was in her room and she didn't want to disturb him.
She yawned and set the pad down, snuggling into the corner of the couch before drifting off to sleep. Before it took hold completely she wondered how much of what she had just written was truth, and how much of it was fiction.
Although the blood tests had not come back yet, Peter Kampos was well enough he next day to be released into police custody. Henderston called them at the Planet to let them know of the change, though Lois could tell he was still mildly annoyed that they had questioned him before the police had gotten the chance to.
Despite his physical fitness however, his memory was still missing and the cause of it unknown. Henderson had been skeptical at first about the memory loss, so Peter volunteered to take a polygraph as well to prove it. He passed without a hitch, letting Lois and Clark know that he was at least telling the truth about that much.
Lois still wasn't sure about the rest. Everything inside her told her that Kampos was the guy they were looking for. Clark seemed less sure of, but Lois was glad he told her so, rather than tiptoeing around the disagreement.
"I just don't think that kid was capable of something like that," he said as he brought her a coffee and the last jelly donut. He was looking a lot better this morning and had managed to eat the disastrous eggs she'd attempted to cook, so Lois knew that meant he'd be able to work, and sleeping in his own bed that night. For some reason, that disappointed her slightly. "Destruction to somebody's face like what happened to Jonathon French takes some serious strength. Peter Kampos is about ninety pounds soaking wet."
"There was just something about him," Lois insisted, unable to define what she was trying to get across. "Call it reporter's instinct. I know that instinct has been non-existent the past little while, but I'm certain of this, Clark."
"He passed the polygraph," Clark pointed out reasonably. "And Superman said he was wearing the same clothes when he left him at the hospital."
"So?" Lois didn't see the connection.
"So…they didn't have any blood on them." He paused and pointed to the crime scene photos that Henderson had been kind enough to fax over. Lois hadn't wanted to look at the sight again, but had seen the usefulness of having them handy. Swallowing hard, she looked down to where Clark was pointing. "There was blood everywhere Lois. If Kampos had been the guy we're looking for, he'd be covered in it! But his clothes were fine…and his sweater was white. No way he could do something like this and not stain it."
"White sweater…" Lois frowned and thought for a moment. Something about that didn't fit. Then it dawned on her. "Clark he changed his clothes! He was wearing a red jacket…the same kind all the Soldiers wear, remember? You said you told Superman all about the case, so if he found a kid in a bloodied red jacket he would have been pretty sure it was the guy we were looking for…but he didn't. He found a kid in a white sweater completely free of blood! He must have changed his clothes and washed himself up before Superman found him."
"Even if that were true, Lois, he still passed the polygraph test." Clark shook his head. "He'd been gone for a couple of days. He probably had a change of clothes with him for whatever reason."
"I know this seems like a long shot, but go with me on this." She was on her feet and pacing, the old familiar adrenaline rush was back... "If he is the guy we're looking for and he did pass the test legitimately what if it's because he himself didn't know that he did it? The doctor said that his memory loss could be due to trauma. What if committing this crime traumatized him and blocked it from his memory? If that's the case, then he'd want to get rid of anything that could jog the memory, right? So he ditched the clothes and grabbed new ones…likely from a Salvation Army, or Goodwill. But where did he put the other clothes? He couldn't give them to either of those places as a trade…they'd never take clothing that bloody. They'd ask questions…call the police. So he'd have to hide them."
"Or burn them," Clark interjected. Lois shook her head.
"Not if he was too scared to think of that. What if he panicked and shoved them in a trash can somewhere near where he was found? Clark, if we can find those clothes we can prove he's the killer!"
"It still wouldn't prove why," Clark pointed out. "And we still don't know how Intergang fits into all of this."
"If at all," she shot back. She sighed at the look he gave her. "Look, I know this seems like the grand daddy of all long shots, but will you just indulge me on this? I've never felt so sure of something. And after all the uncertainty…I need to know that you still trust my instincts. Please?"
Clark gave a small smile at the look of pleading she gave him and she knew she had won.
"It's your call. What do you want to do?"
"We go down to the Hobbs River where Superman found Peter and look for his clothes."
"You don't mean…"
"Yep, dumpsters, garbages, sewer drains, anywhere big enough to hide bloodied evidence. Do you really think I would be suggesting this if I wasn't sure?" She gave him a pointed look and he was forced to concede defeat.
"Okay, but maybe we should call Henderson and tell him our theory. If he doesn't think it's crazy he might be able to spare some men to widen the search."
Lois nodded and picked up the phone. For the first time in days, she felt good about being a reporter again. She just hoped the feeling lasted.