NOTE: I can't really apologize enough for the long hiatus. I wound up not having internet all fall and was also extremely busy both interning at Warner Bros. and making 4 short films. It was great, but it's also nice to have a bit more free time now. So I'm back in the saddle. Again, sorry, I never intended it to take that long. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as it picks back up now, and let me know if you do!
He stared out over the city, his city, as if observing a kingdom. With slow, deliberate movements, he stoked the end of a cigar with his lighter. He drew in a breath of smoke, then exhaled it smoothly, like a slumbering dragon. Never had the term "free reign" felt more real to Lex Luthor than at this moment.
"When a plan comes together…" he mused to himself, the edges of his lips curling up around the cigar. Drawing another breath of warm smoke, he let his mind wander to schemes of takeover, power, control. Lex for Mayor, Lex for Governor, Lex for President. With Superman firmly put away, what was to stop him? Lex couldn't help but marvel at the ironic genius of the situation he had created. For it was nothing but Clark Kent's own deception that now held him in prison. And that thought was more wonderful than any dreams of glory for himself that Lex might have.
No, he knew his personal grand schemes would have to wait. But it was no trouble. The chance to devastate his arch enemy personally was much more valuable than an opportunity to better himself. Anyone with enough manpower or money could force himself to the top. But who could take on a god?
Lex exhaled a slow stream of smoke which, in the windless night air, collected in front of his face like a veil. He could see no city, no kingdom, no harvest ripe for the reaping. He could see nothing but revenge, could view nothing further than the complete and utter destruction of Clark Kent. This Superman, so called, having his world torn apart and him helpless to stop it. That contemptuous goal was the single thought in his mind.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lex caught his throw-away cell phone blinking in his pocket, a call coming in. With deliberate movements, he reached into his pocket, opened it with both hands, and held it to his ear. The cigar moved away from his lips, and he stood for a moment before speaking. His voice was a low, gravelly sound, rock grinding against rock relentlessly as he spoke the words: "Kill her."
-----
Lois lay in bed alone, feeling intensely cold. Maybe, she reasoned, there was something wrong with the thermostat in her sister's apartment. She wished that were the case, but who was she kidding? The cold she felt creeping into every bone in her body wasn't from the air. Instead, it felt like a sickness, radiated from her stomach, or maybe from the empty half of the bed beside her.
She vaguely remembered being told in science classes that, strictly speaking, cold didn't exist. It was simply an absence. A lack of heat. A void.
It was no wonder pulling the blankets up around her neck wasn't making it go away. That was the problem- it had gone away. He had gone away, so unexpectedly. All the doubts and second guesses she might have had the last month meant nothing in the end. She had loved Richard, and now he was gone. Just earlier in the day, she had been talking to him, laughing with him. God, was that really just a few days ago? It seemed like a completely different lifetime.
Lois sat straight up, throwing the blankets off and swinging her feet onto the floor. She was struck with a sudden restlessness. It seemed useless to lie here next to a cold, empty void. She stood, unconsciously rubbing her arms as if that could help to warm herself. Stepping quietly, she headed out into the hallway and in the direction of the kitchen.
But in her near somnambulant state, Lois was unaware of her surroundings. It wasn't until she began falling forward that she realized her foot was tangled up in the electric chord of a lamp. As it happened, the lamp and Lois hit the floor at the same time, with a loud crashing sound filling the room as pieces of ceramic shattered everywhere.
It took a moment for Lois to even realize what had happened, given how disconnected with her surroundings she felt. When she did notice the broken pieces of lamp all over the linoleum, she cringed. Slowly, as quietly as she could, Lois began to methodically pick up the pieces and collect them into her left hand.
A second later, soft footsteps padded down the carpeted hallway and stopped behind Lois. "Lo?" a voice whispered. "What happened?" Lucy crouched down beside her older sister, giving her an inquisitive glance.
"I'm sorry, Lucy, I just wasn't paying attention…" Lois muttered, her eyes still on the floor. "I'm sorry about the lamp."
"Hey," Lucy said, then repeated, this time setting a gentle hand on Lois's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it, Lois. It's just some cheap thing from IKEA. Are you ok?"
A gentle hand on her chin forced Lois to look up from the broken shards into her sister's caring face. The only answer she could manage was a shuddering sigh. Lucy wrapped her thin arms around Lois's neck and pulled her tight for a few moments. Lois wanted to cry, to shower her sister's back with her tears, but nothing came out.
They parted, and Lois forced a smile. "Thanks, Lu."
"No, when you can really thank me is after you've had some hot chocolate," Lucy said, a characteristic twinkle in her eye. She stood, pulling Lois up with her. They carefully stepped around the pieces of the lamp and towards the bar. Lois sat while Lucy began getting out the mugs, milk, and mix. Her little sister didn't say anything as she began making up the drinks, which was surprising.
Eventually, Lois spoke up. "Did I wake Jason up?"
"I'm sure if you had, he'd be in here. He was sound asleep in his guest room when I went to bed," Lucy assured her. Lois had to take her sister's word for it. She hadn't returned from the police station until nearly midnight.
"Thanks for tucking him in," Lois said. "I don't think I would have been in any shape to even if I had gotten in at a decent time."
Lucy shook her head as she turned to the microwave to warm up the mugs. "Between you and me, I can't believe the cops had the nerve to bring you in for questioning on the day of the funeral."
Looking down at the swirling stone countertop pattern, Lois said quietly, "I think they had good reasons to."
Lucy pressed start on the microwave, giving herself some time before turning around again. "So I take it you think Clark Kent…?"
Lois shook her head. "Honestly, Lu, I can't imagine it. But then again, I couldn't imagine Richard getting killed." The cold void made the hairs on her arms stand up, just at its mention. As if on cue, the microwave dinged and Lucy pulled out the steaming cups of hot chocolate. Accepting hers as though it were a gift proffered from God, Lois clasped its warmth in both hands, not really caring how it would taste so much as how it felt. "I just wonder how I could ever be such a bad judge of character," Lois began. "When the detectives explained their suspicions about Clark to me… It made sense. I can't believe I didn't put it together before. We worked together for so long. Now I feel like I never even knew who he was in the first place."
"Don't even think about blaming yourself for this," Lucy admonished. "You are the victim here, remember?"
"I thought Richard was the victim," Lois replied bluntly, lifting her mug to her mouth and taking a sip. The hot liquid in her throat did little to stave off the cold in her whole being. Lucy looked unsure of what to say, so Lois, tired of feeling more fragile under her sister's gaze, said, "You look tired. You should go to bed."
"I look tired?" Lucy asked, incredulous. But she must have read the underlying request in Lois's eyes. For perhaps the first time in their relationship, the younger sister decided to give her big sister a rest and leave her alone. "Ok, but don't stay up all night." Lucy set her mug on the countertop and slid it over towards Lois. "Have mine, too." She gave Lois a reassuring hug on her way past, stepped around the broken vase on the floor, and went back down the hall to her room, leaving Lois alone with her thoughts and cocoa.
It was touching, Lois admitted, that her sister wanted so badly to be there for her. But there was far too much that Lois wouldn't- and couldn't- express to anyone other than those closest to her. There had only been two of those people in her recent life, really. And now one of them was being dragged into the horrific realm of memory, when he should have been there at her side.
But if Lois was honest with herself, which she found herself being as she numbly sipped at the supposedly hot chocolate in her hands, even Richard did not know her through and through. He had never quite got to the point of possessing the power to seemingly know her better than she knew herself. It was her own fault. But part of her hand always been somewhere else.
And where was that part of her now? He had flown off at the hospital. No doubt he didn't want to make things more difficult than they already were. But truth be told, she had desperately wanted him to stay. She should have said so. And now it was beyond a want, it was a need. Lois was beginning to feel she might actually be overcome by that dark, cold void if she didn't hear a reassuring word from him soon. She needed him. And worst of all, in her present state, she was terrified of how to care for Jason. His son. Their son, who would need the strength more than she would. Staying away was not going to help, and she needed to let him know it.
Lois couldn't bring herself to take another sip of the hot chocolate. It was like putting a band-aid over a cracked chest. As she set it down on the counter, she closed her eyes and whispered, "Superman, where are you?"
-----
It was dark in the jail cell, but not quiet. It was never quiet. He had made an effort many years ago to block out all the noises, and had gotten pretty good at it. But he'd found that when things got particularly stressful, it became increasingly difficult to tune out the noise. So it was not only the regular noise of men hissing profanities at one another from across their halls that kept Clark from sleeping. It was the taxis, the muggings, the casinos in Atlantic City, the roar of the ocean, the rustling of leaves in Central Park. It was every noise, and it was none of them. Because most of all it was his own thoughts.
Clark had always been cautious, always tried to be as careful as possible. He wasn't always the best at planning in advance- often he didn't have the luxury. But his careful nature insisted upon having contingency plans when at all possible.
There was no contingency plan for this. It was clear he couldn't exonerate himself without giving away his identity. Luthor had wanted it that way. If it had just been his own privacy on the line, Clark would have revealed his identity in an instant. But it was more complicated than that. He had his mother, his friends, anyone close to him that his enemies might put in danger to think about. And there was Lois. It was not only for fear that she would be in danger but for fear of the implications of her knowing the truth that Clark worried about her. Especially now, now that she thought he…
Desperate to push away his racing thoughts and to block out all the sounds assaulting his ears, Clark closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. If he could focus in on one sound, a soothing sound, he might be able to keep the rest at bay. So he let his ears flit over the innumerable sounds of the night, trying to alight on one that might bring him peace. He tried not to direct his ears, but somehow they wound up zeroing in on a solitary, desperate whisper anyway.
"Where are you, Superman?"
He heard her whisper. In spite of himself, he couldn't pull his ears away. He listened to her breathing, to the beat of her heart, and wished that he could erase all the pain he had now caused her. Clark stayed that way, focused on Lois, soothed but also anguished over her state. Even if he were free now, how on earth would he reconcile everything to her? To Jason?
"KENT!" a voice shouted, banging a nightstick against the metal bars of his cell in a horrible cacophony. Clark snapped out of his reverie, just then noticing the guard who must have been standing there for some time to be so riled up. "Are you deaf or something?" the man asked.
"Sorry, sir," Clark said, rising from his bed to walk towards the guard. He wondered what he could have done wrong on his first night in jail to cause such a fuss in the middle of the night. He couldn't think of an offense, but that didn't mean they couldn't find one. "Is something wrong?"
The guard gave him a look that, though staunch, seemed cracked around the edges with sympathy. It made Clark very uneasy, and he waited with baited breath for the reply. The guard replied slowly, "We got a phone call from some police station in Kansas." Clark froze, praying to not hear what he was about to hear. The guard, actually apologetic this time, continued. "Something happened to your mother."
