"This is ludicrous, White!" Lois just managed not to scream. "This is bias crap that will do nothing but spread public fear!"
She tossed the flapping paper down on Mr. White's desk, but he barely took any notice of it.
"Cool it, Lane," he said, putting extra emphasis on her name. "Just because an article is contrary to your all-encompassing view of things does not make it biased."
"But it isn't helping," Lois said, sounding just short of petulant.
White huffed, "Oh dear. Really? I had no idea. Why don't I just recall every paper? You want to walk with me door to door and pick up all the papers that everyone has already taken off their stoop or bought from the newsstand?"
Lois crossed her arms and glared.
"We aren't in the business of coddling the public, Lois," Perry said more gently, but still firm. "We print facts. And nothing that Ms. Grant has printed here is untrue. For most people in this city, the symbol on this guy's chest should be a big old question mark."
Lois turned up her eyes and took a deep breath, "Superman is not here to hurt us, Chief."
Perry crossed his hands behind his head, "Hand me the article that can prove that and I will print it. Page one. Promise."
Lois was about to stomp out, nearly running down Clark who, she was embarrassed to admit, she had forgotten was even there.
"Come on, Smallville," she barked, and Clark started.
"Wait a second, Lois," Perry said, sitting up. "I'm serious. You bring me an article, better yet, an interview, and I will get it out there. I hope your right, honest, I do, but I have been in this business too long to act on hope. I strive for something much more important; the truth. You should too. You get burned a whole lot less."
Perry couldn't see her face, and Clark got the distinct impression that Lois didn't really think he was looking either as the pain seemed to flow into it. A deep set old grief filled her face, something that looked almost wrong for the lack of tears. Clark felt himself want to comfort her, to reach out or at the very least tell her everything would be okay. Instead, he did nothing. He couldn't risk it.
"Or," Lois said so that only Clark could her, again without thinking he could, "you get burned a whole lot more."
Without another word, she returned to their office, Clark following behind.
It had been over three weeks since Clark had made his debut to the public as the Man in Blue, and since then, the city was in a state of uproar, followed by the state, and then the country, and then the world. Clark was making regular appearances all over the country by now, for natural disasters and accidents and crimes that would cost human lives, and everyone seemed to have something to say about it. Lois' article was one of the first and the first where the reporter who wrote it was present for the event detailed in the article. She wrote the draft herself, but it took three rewrites by Clark before Perry would agree to print it. Lois and Clark's article was also the first to name him Superman. And, something that had never happened in the history of the Planet, Superman got two new print reporters to page one in their first week. They got their jobs, their own office, and The Planet sold out on a triple volume evening edition.
Since then, Lois seemed to be getting worse. Every article that wasn't a smear piece was getting tacked to a corkboard that she had hung on the wall, covered in shorthand and symbols that only she seemed to be able to decipher. Among the articles were a number of enlarged security camera photos of Superman, all blurry and black-and-white. In one corner was a city, state, and country map, all with pins denoting incidences, some with little strings that connected to corresponding articles. In the center was a list, containing a bio that Lois herself had been adding to for weeks. It had a list of confirmed abilities where most were true and a list of possible abilities where almost none were true and a list of physical characteristics. She was adding to the wall every day, and on the few occasions in which she tried to start working on an article, she got a few sentences into it when she deleted what she had and went back to the wall. Clark was starting to become worried.
"Mr. White isn't completely wrong, Ms. Lane," Clark said, shuffling papers on his noticeably smaller desk shoved in one corner. Lois perused her corkboard, looking at nothing and everything.
"The article isn't wrong," she said, "and that's what bugs me."
Clark managed to hide his shock perfectly. The article in question had not been one of his favorites. It said, in no small terms, that the public had no reason to think that "this so-called Superman" was worth trusting. It had gone on to point out that everything he did could be in his own self interest, operating outside the law and answering to no one, forcing his morals, regardless of what they might be, upon a defenseless public, and with no guarantee that if those morals changed, or revealed their true nature, that he wouldn't effectively enslave the world. Since it had entered circulation, Clark had been reluctant to help anyone, worrying that his intervention might do more harm than good. He still went, but only when utterly necessary and he did so with a heavy heart.
"What I wouldn't give to know what he is thinking," Lois said, her hand almost unconsciously starting to reach for the largest and clearest, though still hardly legible, picture of Superman.
Clark took a deep breath. He had to be careful here, very, very careful, but he acted, despite his worries.
"Well, Ms. Lane," he said, sounding a little sheepish, "I, for one, trust him. His actions speak louder than words and I think he is here to help."
Lois snorted, "Typical."
Clark would have been a little offended if he hadn't known Lois well enough to know that she was not angry with him. She turned towards him, looking more than a little fiery.
"Actions speak as loud as words, that's true," she said, "but actions can leave more up to interpretation than words. By and large, people are mistrusting."
"But-" Clark stated, and Lois cut him off, "Yes, Smallville! Yes! A person can be trusting and blah blah blah, but people, I mean real people, on mass, are stupid, scared, and quick to judge. You can make every excuse in the world, but expecting them to be otherwise is just not going to work out for you."
Clark felt a little ashamed, "But, Ms. Lane, if you try to prevent peoples fears by talking to them, convincing them, isn't that the same as admitting those fears are justified?"
Lois laughed, "They are justified! People expect the worst because they are so used to getting it. They are afraid because they have been let down and dumped on and been used their entire lives. Why should they expect anything less?"
Clark did feel ashamed, actually ashamed for the first time since Jonathan's death. He didn't understand, couldn't have understood, and yet, he should have. He should have considered, really looked at what he was doing. But, he hadn't, and now, he had really messed up. He almost said "I'm sorry" aloud before he stopped himself.
Clark spent the rest of the day making his decision. It took a lot of thought and consideration, but in the end, Clark knew what he had to do.
He waited until Lois stepped out for coffee, then walked to the door. Opening it, he ran at great speed, through the bullpen, to the stairs, up to the roof, and back. As he did, he held in the strange energy that slid around his body, making him frictionless, resulting in a torrent of wind that was noticeable to all in the vicinity. Once in the office again, he took up a post-it and scrawled in his real handwriting.
"I want to set the record straight. Meet me on the roof of your apartment building tonight, 8 pm."
He then set to work picking up the papers he had spilled in his hasty trip. As Lois returned from the lobby, she was bombarded by complaints of the strange gale that had blown through the offices. Clark saw that she was narrowing in, almost instinctively, and was almost spilling his milk and her coffee as she jogged to their office. Dropping her coffee in the trash to free up a hand, she flung open the door and almost tripped over Clark on the floor.
"Whoa, Smallville!" she said, stumbling around him, and he managed to fall completely to the floor trying to get out of her way.
"I'm sorry!" he said, his voice high. "I don't know what happened! The papers flew off my desk. I'm sorry, Ms. Lane. I'll pick them up. Did you spill your coffee?"
Lois looked almost disappointed to find only Clark in the office, "Um, yeah. I dropped my coffee on the way in. Up. I dropped my coffee on the way up. It's fine. I have your milk, though."
Clark looked distraught, "But, Ms. Lane, I know how important your coffee is. Please, allow me."
He got his wallet, and Lois frowned, "No, Smallville, it's fine."
He held up a hand, his face no-nonsense, "I insist."
As he went to get Lois her coffee, he kept an eye on her. As she picked up the papers from her desk, she turned to the corkboard and the post in the middle of the large picture of Superman. It was hard for Clark to read the expression on her face from the back, but between the number of small reflections through the office, he was able to do it. She stood, in awe, staring at the note. She read it at least seventeen times in total, rereading various parts over and over again. Finally, she checked her watch and apparently decided that the four hours and seventeen minutes she would have after her fifty one minute metro ride was going to be needed to get ready for the appointment.
She bolted, grabbing her purse, her suit coat and making more of a disturbance than Clark's passage to the roof had as she grabbed an elevator. She didn't even see Clark standing just outside the coffee shop holding her coffee as she sprinted for the metro station, a girlish smile on her face as she ran.
Clark went back to work, glancing at her every once in a while, though keeping his eyes away when he heard her shower running. He wrote a piece on a stabbing at a local park and a nearby church that was raising money to put in night lighting, refurbish the playground, and was totally and completely taken aback when he realized the Lois was waxing her legs. She tried on just about every outfit she had, and at one point, Clark was more than a little dismayed when she held up a sheer, blue nightgown until she discarded it. She settled for a white, thick, V-neck shirt that was just a tad too low cut to be considered professional, a tasteful tan suit-skirt with a matching cashmere sweater. She put on a few articles of small gold jewelry and spent the rest of the time working her hair and makeup in a nearly endless circle of trial and error. Finally, she was in almost matching pumps, standing on the roof of her apartment at twenty til, holding her phone with a tape record app and flicking her eyes at the ashtray can someone had left beside the door.
Clark took a deep breath, said his goodbyes on his way to the lobby, exited the Daily Planet, and took to the rooftops at the first opportunity. He leaped, building to building, absorbing the energy in his legs as he landed, making a nearly soundless and completely invisible trip to his apartment just long enough to drop off his briefcase and his work clothes before dawning his red and blue and making his way to the rooftop. Lois was glancing at the clock on her phone when he landed silently on the edge of the roof.
Lois was irritated. She wasn't sure what she was irritated with exactly, but she knew she was. Sure, she was about to meet with the embodiment of a living god, both in function as well as... form. But she promised herself that she was going to be professional. Or prayed. She berated herself, desperate to prove that this was no different from any other interview she had ever done. Even though she really hadn't done any. Why was this so hard?
"Good evening," came a voice, a rich and deep voice that made her think of warm shivers and suppressed giggles and opening the second bottle of wine. She mentally smacked herself and turned. He stood on the parapet, the light breeze swaying the red cape that fell from his shoulders in slow undulations. His stance was firm and arms crossed, he unbelievably blue eyes seeming to bore into Lois. She tried to think of what to say, tried to breathe, mentally cursed herself with every swear word a general's daughter could hope to learn, but finally, she opened her mouth to speak.
She wished that she hadn't chosen the moment he decided to step down onto the roof to try to speak. He moved with the certainty of gravity, with a constancy that kept the stars in the sky. He moved with the smooth grace of the arc of an orbiting world, somehow reminding her of Greek mythological statuary. She couldn't fathom a way to see him as more godlike than she did at that moment.
"I hope I haven't been keeping you long, Miss...?" he asked. She felt herself fighting to keep her toes from curling. That voice was firm, with a resonance that spoke of size, of depth, of broad shoulders, of muscles under fabric begging to be revealed and trace, of rough hands and firm grips, of thudding hearts, of safety and belonging. It made him real, and yet so much more unreal. She then remembered he had been asking something.
"Lois," she said, quickly, realizing that she had been gaping for over half a minute. "Y- No! Lane! Miss Lane, not Miss Lois. Lois is my first name, so, Miss Lane. But you don't have to call me that. Not that you can call me anything. I mean, Lois. You can call me Lois."
And then he smiled, and Lois did something that she hadn't done unless she was angry in almost twenty years; she blushed.
"If you like, Lois," he said pleasantly. "You may call me Superman."
Lois felt a little fluttery, then remembered her recorder. Glancing at it, she asked, "Do you mind?"
He smiled, maybe a bit uncomfortably, but said, "Of course not."
Lois clicked the app on and was about to offer him a seat, except that the only two chairs were solid plastic. She was about to make some self-deprecating joke, when he gestured, "Please, have a seat if you like. I am perfectly comfortable standing."
Something about his manner finally cracked something inside Lois. She was not in control; this was her interview, her building, her emotions. She was not going to be so weak as to lose herself over a set of broad shoulders and a sexy voice. And a handsome face. And washboard abs so firm they could stop bullets. She dug deep, cemented the face of her junior prom date in her thoughts, looked at him only indirectly, and sat, setting down her phone as it recorded.
"This is Lois Lane, interviewing the individual known as Superman," she said, adding the time and date. He walked to the table, standing with his profile to her, looking out over the city, almost as though he was lost in thought.
"I think the first question that people want to know is the most important one," she said. "Why are you here?"
He turned slightly towards her, his head bowed, his eyes closed as he smiled, "I am here to help."
Lois found it easy to be irritated at him, more irritated that she expected she could be with someone so... appealing, "Care to elaborated on that?"
His eyes came up, deeply serious, "There is so much pain in the world. People hurt each other and themselves every day. They take advantage of each other, they end each others' lives. If I can help, I will."
"What?" Lois asked rhetorically. "You are just a big blue humanitarian?"
He turned, an unexpected passion in his eyes, almost startling Lois.
"I protect innocence," he said vehemently. "I protect those who cannot protect themselves. I am here to promote truth, justice, and the American way. I would do whatever it is in my power to do, to be a hero."
Lois starred for a long moment, "What are you?"
He chuckled, goodnaturedly, "I am what I appear to be; I am here to help."
Lois felt her gut tighten, "History is full of people who had nothing but good intentions. I believe they say the road to hell is paved with them."
He looked at her, his expression almost unreadable, "Anyone who questions my motives simply doesn't understand them. I am here to do what is right."
Lois was surprised by her next words, not sure where they even came from, "A lot of people have tried to do what was right. Entire civilizations have been destroyed by those who thought they were doing the right thing. What makes you any less fallible?"
"Lois," he said, sounding earnest, "I know a lot more about the world than most people do. I can hear it, can see it in a way the most never will. Everyone is afraid, trying their best to get through life the only way they know how. I understand it, and I want to help them, to show them that there is something better out there than fear."
"I agree," Lois said, her voice hard. "That is an admirable desire, but anyone can know the world is in pain. It takes one look at a newspaper, a long walk down any city streets. But just because you understand that doesn't mean you are any better than anyone else at helping."
He smiled, almost wistfully, "I am sure that might be true. But I am never going to stop trying to help. No matter what happens, I will be here, ready to do what is right. Now, some people may be afraid of me because of who I am and what I can do, but I am here to say that I am a force for good."
"You came forward," Lois said. "You put yourself in this situation. Don't you feel that you owe this city, this country, the world an explanation? Who are you? Why are you doing this? Why are you here? What give's you the right to do what it is you do? What assurance do the people have that you won't hurt them, just like every man with power has in the past?"
Before Lois noticed that he had moved, his hand closed around her free one. He lifted her hand, causing her to rise. Standing before him, looking up into his eyes, she was unable to hold on to her detached professionalism. She felt her heart rocket, felt herself quiver as he held her hand, looked down on her, deep into her eyes, and said, "I am Superman. I cannot force anyone to accept me, and trying to force them to would be unjust. I want my actions to speak louder than any words I could say. I am no tyrant, no more worthy of righting the wrongs of everyday life than any other person on this planet. I just have a greater ability to. I will do what I know in my heart to be right, always."
Without looking, he stepped up and back, to the edge of the roof, their hands falling apart. Lois almost stumbled as she stepped forward, trying to maintain the contact. He smiled, once more, and said, "Good night, Lois."
With a rush of wind, he was gone.
After a long pause, Lois finally looked down, saw that the phone was still recording. She stopped it. Five minutes and sixteen point two seconds. That was it. No more, no less. She tried to understand it, trying to fit it into her consciousness, tried to make sense of the mess her mind was. She had just spent the shortest amount of time with a man she could ever remember spending, a man who was the most powerful being on the face of the Earth, and despite the fact that she was obviously easily enthralled by him, she was not sure if she believed in him any more than she did when the interview started.
