Not gonna lie and gonna remind everyone: I finished writing this story pretty much a year ago (almost to date). So for anyone who might have been looking forward to an extended appearance from Amanda Waller, I apologize in advance. Last year, I didn't have a very good handle on her character and didn't feel I could do her justice, so her role in this story remains limited.

However, since the last two chapters of Formation (story 3) are up for an extensive re-write (and thank you Suicide Squad), I believe she may have a prominent place in the climax.


Chapter Twenty-Nine: Hurricane Lois

The pattern of bright sun and cold wind held on through Thursday. The morning progressed towards the afternoon with no discernible difference in the temperature outside. It was still the same sort of cold when Lois made an eleven-fifteen run outside for a form of coffee that hadn't been stewing in the break-room since five that morning and it might have been chillier an hour later when Cat Grant breezed back in like a make-up crusted hurricane.

"Lo-o-is!"

While her name was trilled out, Lois rolled her eyes and wished she had the ability to become invisible. Or the ability to turn into a really good chameleon. She would settle for either one.

Cat Grant, gossip columnist. It showed in every move she made, every word she spoke. She was well-paid to be clad in the latest designer wear to blend in with the glittery crowd. Nothing off-brand or just close enough. One hundred percent genuine. She was seen so often at the most prolific parties of the year that designer labels literally paid her to wear their newest clothing line, just so she could show it off to those with fat wallets. Her heels were never lower than three inches and her hemlines were never quite as modest as they should have been. Her mind was deeper than it looked, but you still had to get past the vapid bubbliness, the consuming obsession with celebrities and the glitterati, and the preoccupation with sex and other Bacchanalian desires first to find what made Cat Grant a meaningful person, and there was quite a lot of that to wade through.

She considered Lois a friend.

Lois honestly wasn't sure how that happened, seeing as she had done everything in her power to try and convince Cat that she wasn't someone a gossip columnist oughta be friends with. She had dragged up every bit of rough scrappy army-brat in her arsenal and doing everything possible to make herself seem unappealing, but that had just convinced Cat that Lois was clearly in need of a fashionable best friend who could straighten her out.

Like the well-meaning but overbearing big sister she didn't want.

"Lois! How are you!" Cat descended on the investigative reporter in a whirlwind of perfume.

"Fine, Cat." Lois grumbled, submitting to a hug that was as constricting as a python. She returned it half-heartedly. The problem with Cat was that she was earnest and Lois couldn't find it in herself to properly chase her off.

"Lois, girl, I think you're losing weight." Cat informed her, pulling back and running her hands over Lois's shoulders. "You're already skinny enough. You don't need to be dropping any more pounds."

"Maybe it's muscle. I do a lot of walking around the city." Lois said, shrugging the hands off.

"What on earth happened to your arm?!" Cat gasped, noticing the cast for the first time.

"You've got to catch up on the local news. It's wild." Lois replied, running her fingers self-consciously over the cast for a moment. "So how was Europe?"

Cat had spent the last month or two strutting around Europe, recording the scandalous things that celebrities got up to, as per her job. It was the one part of her work that Lois envied. Cat got to travel the world on someone else's dime and she always had a few days off from stalking the rich and famous to take in the sights. She always came back with a good supply of pictures and souvenirs.

Normally, Cat blurted out everything she could about her trip as fast as she could, but this time, she smiled secretively and perched herself on the end of Lois's desk.

"Don't tell anyone, Lois, but I wasn't in Europe. It's a secret." she said, leaning close to the other woman's ear.

"Oh? Do tell, Cat." Lois requested. And normally, she wasn't interested in the scandalicious affairs of the glitterati, but this time her interest was piqued. Cat would tell her. The nature of her job sort of ensured that Cat couldn't keep a secret.

"Well, as you know-- Or perhaps you don't." Cat looked over her critically, as if gauging her ability to follow gossip. "Well, I guess this is old news anyways. No one has laid an eye on Bruce Wayne ever since he left Gotham--"

"I do know that, Cat." Lois interrupted. She had been in high school back then and the news of what was going on in Gotham had dominated the gossip vines until winter break. "He left the city with his butler in January 1999 and no one's heard from him since. What does that have to do with you not being in Europe?"

"I was asked to find him. Since I can find anyone." Cat said proudly.

"And did you find him?" Lois wondered. If she hadn't, it would be one hell of a shock. Bruce Wayne had evaded nearly all forms of detection except for half-certain glimpses that no one could confirm to satisfaction. Quite honestly, the only thing the media could confirm was his butler's ongoing contact with Van Derm Construction in Gotham to have a new house built on the family estate.

But the gossip columnist had an uncanny knack for stringing rumors together into a coherent picture.

"Of course I did. Who do you take me for?" Cat made a huffy noise of impatience. She looked like her namesake had gotten the canary. "Some movie makers in Gotham are going to release a documentary in 2008 for the tenth anniversary of the Waynes' death and they wanted to get Brucie's take on the whole thing."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "'Brucie'? Tell me you didn't actually call him that to his face."

Cat giggled. "It suits him so much. He's grown up so wonderfully." she said, looking back on the memory with great appreciation. "From cute little boy to handsome young man. I don't know what he was doing in China, but it's working for him. You should have seen his arms-- Oh! Those shoulders!"

She shivered up and down. Lois pulled a face.

"Cat, isn't Bruce Wayne sixteen or thereabouts? And aren't you twenty-nine?"

"Twenty-six."

There was no point in reminding her that she had been 'twenty-six' for the past three years.

"Doesn't matter, you're still like ten years older than him. He's still a minor. That's illegal in most places." Lois pointed out. There were those Bacchanalian desires that sometimes reared an ugly head.

"I can still look."

"Pretty sure that's illegal in some places too. He's sixteen."

"Age is a number, Lois."

"And age of consent isn't a guideline."

"I always ask before drinks if they want the night to end in sex and I always have protection."

Oh for the love of... Lois groaned and let her face fall in her hands. She often got the sense that Cat Grant had been the wild, untamed party girl through high school and college, happy to drink and dance until dawn and indulge in carnal delights with any guy who gave her a thumbs-up.

In contrast, Lois had spent most of her college nights bent on passing her classes, right up until her father had yanked her out and tried to make them be a family again. But that was hard to do when General Lane couldn't communicate with anyone who didn't wear a military uniform and little Lucy been growing up way too quickly to really want anything to do with her distant older sister.

It had been like watching a semi-truck jack-knife into an already T-boned car.

Cat clicked her fingernails together impatiently and looked down at Lois with an air of vague superiority. "Well then, maybe I should look a little closer to my ballpark." she said, her eyes roaming the newsroom.

Lois could pinpoint the exact moment she found someone aesthetically appealing and she had a very shrewd guess as to whom Cat might have spotted. She looked over her shoulder and sure enough, there was Clark Kent, eyeing the copier like one might eye an angry rattlesnake.

"Who's the new wide receiver?" Cat wondered, her voice dropping to a sensual purr.

"Why don't you throw your usual forward pass and find out?" Lois suggested dryly. Then it occurred to her how Clark might react to Cat's 'usual forward pass'. Emphasis on 'forward'. More forward than Lois ever wanted to be. "Actually, no. Don't."

"Hmm, why not?"

"Because I saw him first."

Cat's eyes went wide and round very quickly. It took a second for Lois's brain to catch up with her mouth and a flush of embarrassment nearly overtook her. But she quickly buried it and sat up straight, looking the other woman in the eye challengingly.

"Lois, girl..." Cat appeared momentarily at a loss for words, shaking her head slowly in simultaneous disbelief and approval. Her eyes darted between the smirk Lois was wearing and Clark by the copier (he may or may not have been aware of the conversation taking place), then she wiped away a mock tear.

"I am so proud of you, girl." she said with a dramatic sniff. "You made a move, you're all grown up, that's my girl."

"Don't take it the wrong way, Cat." Lois informed her. "What I meant to say is that he's a rube hayseed from Tiny Town, Kansas and he's about as vanilla as they come. Perry had him shadow me his first week and then he made us partners, mostly because I haven't killed him yet and have no immediate desire to. It'd be like shouting at a puppy. His name's Clark Kent."

"Snappy name. I like it." Cat declared. Disappointment flitted briefly across her face. "Nothing happened between you and him? Not even a little kiss?"

Lois shrugged. "He's a gentleman. Doesn't violate personal space or make crude comments and got all flustered when I might have suggested that we make out." she said. It had been a spur of the moment comment she didn't regret and totally worth watching Smallville practically break every blood vessel in his face and suddenly have no idea what to do with his hands.

Cat tilted her head. "He doesn't look like much." she commented. "You sure he's a catch?"

"His shirts are too big. I accidentally caught him in his pajamas once. It was beautiful. Also, you should have seen him when I got him into something that was a closer fit. There was a lake involved." Lois said pointedly. No, she had not gotten to see Clark shirtless, but she had admired the results of a better-fitting shirt.

"Make up an excuse to grope his arms." she suggested.

"Firm?"

"Like the mighty oak."

Cat's smile turned positively Cheshire-like and her whole body shook with a silent giggle, and she started eyeing Clark up from a distance. For his part, Clark didn't notice; he was too busy trying to figure out the copier (it was brand-new and had too many buttons and he wasn't the only on having trouble figuring it out).

Lois couldn't help a responding smile. It was hard to talk seriously with Cat, but sometimes she just didn't want to talk seriously. Sometimes, she just wanted vacant blithering occasionally punctuated by words of wisdom. Shameless discussions about muscles and men and the attractiveness thereof and whether or not they would regret it in the morning.

"I certainly missed out on the excitement while I was away." Cat commented, fanning herself with today's copy of the Planet. "You found yourself a tree to climb, an anomalous lightning storm over the city, and Shirley Woodson went skinny-dipping in the reservoir, can you believe that made the front page, honestly--"

"Wait, what did you say?" Lois interrupted, frowning.

"Shirley Woodson went skinny-dipping in the reservoir." Cat repeated. "Drunk, of course. She's too modest to do it sober and you'd have to be drunk to do it at this time of year and I think there might have been a guy in there with her. She's in the hospital now, as you can imagine. Hypothermia's not the way to go--"

"No, about it being on the front page!" Lois snapped.

Cat sniggered. "Oh Lois, don't you read the paper at all?" she asked, holding up the front page. Right underneath the header was the banner headline and a picture of a bedraggled looking Shirley Woodson being loaded into an ambulance.

On the front page.

It was on the front page.

Top headline.

Top billing.

On the front page.

Right where her article was supposed to be.

Lois saw red.

"PERRY!"

When his name was screamed out across the newsroom like bloody murder, Perry stopped tensing. He would be lying if he said he hadn't expected Lois to come stomping in. He had just expected her a lot sooner than fifteen minutes before lunch break.

Lois stormed into his office a moment later, steaming mad with today's Planet crumpled in her fist. She stomped impressively in her high heels, right up to his desk, and slapped the paper down.

"I'm risking my neck to write about shady government organizations and their insane directors demanding the execution of harmless people and mafia queens with designs for Gotham's sister city and what makes the front page!? Some gossip-column, alcohol-sodden, stupid skinny-dipping little idiot who was brainless enough to get herself into that mess!" she roared.

Perry didn't blink. He laced his fingers together calmly. He had borne the brunt of Hurricane Lois enough times that he knew how to withstand the battering.

"I didn't put it on the front page for the exact reason that you're risking your neck." he said plainly.

"You didn't even put it in the paper!"

"And if I had, it would have been in front of the obituaries."

"That's what you're trying to tell me?! That I shouldn't be pursuing this story or I'll end up dead?!" Lois snapped.

"I couldn't think of any other way to say it." Perry admitted, shrugging.

Lois wanted to scream 'If you're going to tell me something, say it to my face', but she held it in. Just barely; it was a near thing. She hated it when people went around behind her back; tried to get cute and clever and be sly. It was annoying. She preferred to be upfront and she rather expected it from others.

"What happened to the Perry White I read about in high school? The Perry White who was never afraid to stand up and speak out about the crime in this city and the people putting it there?!" she demanded.

"He heard that one of his ace reporters was thrown off the roof of this very building the other day for the express purpose of having this very article not published. He was also informed that this same ace reporter might have a bug spying on her computer." Perry replied, deliberately keeping his voice bland to show how much Lois's anger and indignation didn't faze him. "Blame Kent, if you want to blame anyone. He got cold feet and asked me to pull the story. He was worried about you."

"Smallville blabbed and you killed my article?!" Lois howled in outrage. Anger flared to greater heights, but she wasn't sure who it was aimed at anymore. At Perry for killing the article, or at Clark for getting chilly feet over something she had told him in all confidence. Strictly off the record.

"We were both looking out for your safety, Lois. No one wants to see you get shanked." Perry pointed out, trying to maintain his patience. "This guy, Agent Trask? He's dangerous, Lois. You told me that yourself. I don't know how you uncovered half the dirt you found, but it's nasty stuff. If I had run your article on the front page or at all, there could be a sniper scope pointed into my office right now."

That was enough to make Lois feel chilled and she abruptly looked up to scan the buildings and rooftops visible from the plate-glass windows for anything suspicious. Colletta had helped her find some of the dirt that had gone into her editorial. The Key West incident had gone a lot deeper than just supposed fish people. Normal people had been held in his custody for being passing witnesses and they had ended up in the hospital for broken jaws, cracked ribs, and flail chest. The fracas in Central City had been difficult, as Mrs. Furie had buried most of the details and she hadn't wanted to bring up the memories surrounding her husband's death. But Trask had gone after more high schoolers than just the mentioned two. The others had been a little more willing to talk. Eager, even. Trask had gone as far as physically harming them when they didn't tell him what he'd wanted to hear. He had a long history of executing people on a whim, even when they had just about nothing to do with the situation.

Lois got death threats all the time, so hearing another one had never really fazed her.

Clark had already made her feel a little guilty for being so blasé about it, but hearing Perry express the same concerns about sniper scopes made the threat seem just a little more real.

The anger bled out of her.

"Okay... Okay, I get it." She backed away from the desk, raising her hands in a display of capitulation. "You're just trying to keep me out of the hospital."

"And out of a coffin." the editor-in-chief added. "Besides, you've had so many front pagers in the last year alone. I think it's time someone else got a chance to shine up there."

Lois scowled. "They say don't hide your light under a bushel, chief." she said. She was the top banana, goddammit. To kill her article... And it was such a good article too! She had found her voice again. The words flowed, the visuals were good, and she had popped out a few clever turns of phrases and no one was going to read it because it wasn't even in there!

This was not going to help her win the fight against Little Miss Warfield.

"Then you can help Kent out with the research on his article." Perry suggested. "I don't think the internet's proving to be his forte and you know more about the gangs in this city than anyone."

At the mention of Clark, anger slithered back in. It was lukewarm now instead of hot, but still potent. Clark Kent was the reason her brilliant and well-written editorial was sitting in the slush pile.

I'm going to have to remind him that I'm the top banana around here. Lois thought. To Perry, she said: "I'll see if he needs the help."

Then she whirled around on her toes and walked out of the office, murder in her stride.

Perry heaved a sigh of semi-relief. "Threw the poor bastard to the wolves. Oops. Hope he likes carnations." he muttered.

Clark was still by the copier, but he had figured it out by now. That didn't stop him from watching the machine like a hawk that could see through walls to make sure it was doing exactly what it was supposed to do and wasn't about to experience a sudden paper jam.

Then Lois was in his face.

Like, eye-level.

Clark stood at a whopping six-foot-three, a good six inches taller than her and her heels. She wasn't standing on anything and no part of her body had spontaneously grown and neither had Clark shrunk. She was eye-level with him.

Unless it had something to do with the way his knees were slowly buckling and that hand hauling down on his tie...

The worst part was that Lois didn't say anything for a minute. She just glared at him with dark, smoldering eyes until his knees gave a singular quake and he thought he felt his bowels clench just slightly...

"Why did you go blabbing to Perry?" she demanded in a surprisingly calm tone. "I'm a grown-ass woman. What kind of gentleman are you thinking I can't take care of myself?"

"Um..." Clark wanted to tug at his collar. Why did his tie suddenly feel too much like a noose? "I was looking out for you? Is that a crime now? I just wanted to be sure you wouldn't get in trouble you couldn't handle."

"Oh, I can handle trouble." Lois assured him. "I've been handling trouble well before you went gallivanting around Europe, you corn-huffer."

"Corn-huffer?"

Lois yanked down harder on his tie, bringing his forehead down to her eye-level. "So if you've acquired any worldly experience from breaking Russian laws, you'll mind your own damn business and leave me to mine!" she snapped. "I have enough problems with losing the front page to gossipy puff pieces without adding your well-intentioned interference to the mix!"

She pulled down on his tie one more time before releasing him. Clark stumbled back, catching himself before he accidentally crushed the expensive copier.

"Er... Sorry, Ms. Lane. I didn't know it was going to cause you problems." he said. This was going over his head. He couldn't claim to know much about what went on in women's heads, but he couldn't figure out why Lois was furious and indignant over the fact he had told Perry about Trask throwing Lois off the roof over that article. He knew what that man was capable of.

It seemed like one of those things that was very important to mention.

Lois wagged a finger at him, her angry expression flickering. "You know what the other problem is? You meant well. And I get it. Except that makes it really hard to be mad at you." she said, scowling so hard it put lines in her face. "And you have no idea how much I want to be mad at you right now."

"So..." Clark rubbed at the back of his head. "So you're actually not really mad at me?"

The investigative reporter crossed her arms. "Not as much as I want to be." she huffed. She poked a finger into his chest. "Listen here, Smallville. I don't care how solid your chest is," Her tip of her finger rocked against the extraordinarily hard muscle hiding under the too-large shirt and she wished she had an excuse to just run her hand up that. "If you start beating on it and hooting like a dominant male, I will rip your balls out through your mouth."

"I have no doubts that you will." Clark said in a kind of mad, blind agreement. He had only known her for a month and a half now, but he had the feeling that Lois was the type of person who followed through on her threats to the very best of her ability.

"I'm glad we're in agreement." Lois chirped pleasantly, the sudden smile too strained and too frightening to match her tone. "I think you're done doing whatever you're doing with the copier." she added.

"What?--" Reluctant though he was to take his eyes off Lois, Clark looked around over his shoulder to see that the copier was indeed finished. "Did you need to use--" he started, but when he turned back around, Lois had gone. The vague fragrance of her shampoo and body wash lingered in the air.

Huh, she uses freesia shampoo. Clark noted absently.

He collected the papers he had copied and the originals and made his way back to his desk. His mind was buzzing by the time he sat down. It bothered him more than just a little that Lois hadn't even gritted out a grudging 'thank you'. He might have very well saved her from taking a bullet to the head and not even a hint of gratitude. Of course, some people just weren't that appreciative when others interfered with the best of intentions.

I didn't save her from a bullet so much as I interfered with her story. It's not really real for her, that she could get shot at. Clark mused, watching Lois move between the desks. I guess it's never happened to her before. She's always been lucky or something.

Maybe if I just--

Clark caught himself before he could complete that thought, which he was certain was going to end along the lines of: save Lois's life again and she'll be so grateful that she'll write a stand-up article about Superman doing the hero-things'.

Where had that come from?

Why did he feel like that once he had convinced Lois Lane that he wanted to be a proper hero, the rest of the world would follow?

Because she's convincing? His mind wondered. She has a way with words that makes you want to believe what she's saying. Like she's always trying to convince the world of the truth.

I guess that's just the way Lois is. A strong, independent woman who doesn't want to rely on anyone. Or be put into the position of relying on anyone. Clark thought, watching her from across the newsroom. She's fiery, kind of impulsive, bold, reckless, maybe a little short-tempered and worse than a dog with a bone.

And she was beautiful too. Thick black hair that was sleek and soft and it always smelled really good. Her eyes were blue, but also dark and colored with a tint of violet. Every time Clark had the opportunity to make contact with those eyes, he felt a flutter in his belly that skirted somewhere between attraction and nervousness and it really weirded him out.

But Lois... She was really something to look at and Clark had the feeling that if given the chance, he probably just stare at her all day and admire everything about her.

Meanwhile, Lois abused a stapler.

I think I might have a crush on her... Clark thought absently, leaning his chin on his hands while Lois beat the stapler against the desk until the jammed clip came loose. Then he realized that he was staring; realized what had just occurred to him, and put his head in his hands. Oh no, Clark, stop. She's totally inaccessible. You don't stand a chance.

Well... If the way Lois kept hitting on him was an indication, he actually did stand a chance for at least one date. But one date could easily turn into two and the next thing he knew, he might be in a full-blown relationship that wasn't going to work because he was always keeping something back.

He couldn't really tell Lois that he had god-like powers of flight and speed and that he could shoot heat beams out of his eyes and was impervious to bullets. It wasn't something that he could bring up on the third date and he didn't know her well enough either.

In any case, he was an alien.

He wasn't entirely sure how his physiology differed from that of a normal, healthy human (yet. The A.I.s could tell him, but they needed to establish a baseline for a normal healthy human and they hadn't done that yet). What he did know was that he was essentially asexual. The Kryptonian body simply could not experience sexual arousal because it literally didn't work like that anymore. The whole process had been evolved out of their genes through selective manipulation.

What if he was more susceptible to venereal diseases as a result? And what if he did somehow get a boner, like from a lot of Viagra, what then? Now it wasn't like Clark didn't know how to have sex (he had done his reading outside of Smallville High's "Abstinence! No Sex Until Marriage!" sex education seminars), but if he ever got to that point, would it just be a pleasurable night of fun in the way sex was supposed to be or it would it be some horrible awkward mess of incompatible bodies? Because there was no way of telling exactly what happened to a Kryptonian during sexual arousal.

What if his body didn't react the same way a human man's did? What if his penis actually turned bright purple and opened up like some nightmarish flower tentacle monstrosity? What if Kryptonians could only have sex at certain times of the year due to something like tides or planetary alignment? Hell, what if their reproductive cycle had once depended on a symbiotic relation with various aspects of Krypton's plant-life? Like literal sex pollen?

What if his sperm was biologically programmed to go into a hibernation mode in the absence of viable eggs? What if it just waited two weeks until the egg came trotting down the Fallopian tube and bam, there was a baby!

Would the combination of human and Kryptonian DNA produce healthy offspring?

Were humans and Kryptonians even genetically compatible?

Not to mention his own strength. Good lord, what if his control got away from him in the heat of the moment?!

Embarrassment wouldn't even begin to cover it.

He couldn't just turn off his powers. In fact, the A.I.s really had no idea why Clark had any powers at all.

Some of it could be explained, such as the speed and the strength. Krypton had been a large planet, roughly proportionate to Neptune and thusly a high gravity environment. Denser bone structure, fast-building muscle mass, and a larger heart and lungs to combat the stresses that were likely to occur. Even the flight ability had a root in his biology. Way back in the foggy mists of Then, Kryptonians (both the bipedal humanoids and the more animal-like ones) had evolved the spinal helix cords that Clark had seen in himself and Krypto and Dr. Sullivan. They were gravimetric generators, of a sort; functioning in a similar capacity as the cochlear in the inner ear. The helix cords allowed the organic beings to alter the gravity immediately around themselves. Not by much, but enough to further reduce the stress on their bodies.

In Earth's lower gravity, Clark still would have been stronger and faster and lighter on his feet. The programming for all that was written into his DNA and it wasn't going to change because he was on a new planet. But not the extent he displayed. Not to the point of controlled flight or supersonic speeds or easily lifting several tons of harvester combine.

The A.I.s were doing their research, but it would be a while before they could get back to him with an answer. Having been created by a pair of scientists, they were programmed to be thorough.

"Hey Smallville!" Lois was approaching his desk, her bag slung over one shoulder. "I'm going to lunch. Wanna tag along? I'll buy you a cookie."

"Um... I'm not hungry yet, Ms. Lane." Clark replied, wondering if the offer of a cookie was her version of the olive branch -- sorry for snapping at you earlier, totally respect your good intentions, here's me trying to make up for it.

"I'll buy you a cookie." Lois repeated staunchly.

"Again?"

"You like chocolate chip."

"Ms. Lane..."

"I'm buying you a goddamn cookie, Smallville, and you can't stop me."

"If you insist." Clark conceded graciously.

Lois shrugged her shoulders. "Of course I insist. Do you insist? Who the heck turns down a free cookie anyways?" she grumbled, the last bit more to herself as she turned to leave.

Clark squashed the smile until she was fully turned around, as it was one of those silly, fond ones that people normally reserved for adorable kittens or sleepy ducklings. He was half sure that if Lois saw that sort of smile on his face, she'd make him eat his own lips.

"Ms. Lane!" he called out impulsively.

Lois looked over her shoulder. "What?"

"Didn't- Didn't you mention something about not having Thanksgiving plans?" Clark asked, fiddling with his pen. "Because I was thinking... My parents are coming up for the holiday next Wednesday. I was wondering... if perhaps you might like to join us." he finished in a formal tone.

"Is that invitation coming from you or your parents?" Lois asked, looking a tad suspicious in general about the invitation. She really didn't get invited anywhere.

"All of us, actually." Clark assured her. "Mom and Dad want to meet you, but getting all the way up from Smallville isn't something they can do very often, so Thanksgiving sounds like it's going to be the only time."

"Your parents want to meet me." Lois stated, just to confirm that.

"Yes."

"Me. The person you've told them all sorts of horror stories about."

"They think I'm exaggerating."

That was sort of lie. Johnathan and Martha believed that Lois was fully capable of getting up to all the shenanigans she had gotten up to, but they were more amused than appalled like a sensible person would be.

For a second, Lois appeared to smile. Her lips certainly twitched in the right direction.

"Maybe I'll think about it." she said.

It was far from a promise. It wasn't like she could make it a promise. The Lane family hadn't celebrated a Thanksgiving in over a decade and Lois had admittedly lost her taste for it.

But it was the hopeful smile on Clark's face that made her consider accepting the invite.

She didn't. No, there was no sense in immediately agreeing, not when she still had a few irrational reservations about it. It was just the last time Lois had been invited to Thanksgiving anywhere, it had been with Colletta not long before they'd started dating and the Kanighers had been the religious sort who'd disown a sexual deviant at the drop of a hat and frankly, were not very tolerant people.

But the Kents were probably some really stand up people if their son was anything to go by and when Clark spoke of his parents, he did so with the greatest fondness whereas Colletta just kind of mumbled and groaned and tried to insist that she still loved them and cared about them, etc.

Lois left the Daily Planet building and made her way several streets down to the Hoagie Hutt. It was kind of the greasy spoon of sub sandwiches where what you could buy would keep you full past dinner, but wasn't necessarily healthy. It was where the challenge special was a six-meat, nine-cheese, three-tomato, lettuce, garlic, spicy mustard, mushroom, four-inch thick, five-inch wide, and a foot-long monster lovingly called The Jabba (finish it in a hour, it's free, picture on the wall, and receive half-off discount on next purchase plus gift-card of choice), a regular favorite of macho male teenagers with something to prove.

Its lunchtime crowd never grew to spectacular sizes; there were other places in the city to get a better hoagie, although not at such a low price. Therefore, when Lois made to join the line to the counter, it was easy to spot her little sister standing a few people ahead.

Lois almost buckled over laughing and it took all her self-control just to not snort in amusement. Whenever people found out about Lucy Lane, their very first instinct was to assume that Lucy was the good sister. The well-behaved daughter. The golden child to Lois's problematic one. Lucy didn't get in trouble, they told themselves. Lucy indulged in none of her older sister's bad habits, they convinced themselves.

God, they were always in for a disappointment.

In a way, Lucy was the good sister and the good daughter. But only when she was put in comparison to Lois.

Grinning, the reporter made her way up the line to sidle in next to Lucy.

"Why dearest little sister, skipping school is very unlike you." she commented, and Lucy jumped guiltily. "And here I thought you were supposed to be the good one."

At thirteen years old, it was obvious that Lucy took after their father in terms of appearance. Her hair was a dark brown and she currently wore it in a long braid down her back. He eyes were a significantly brighter blue than her sister's and she had a sort of severe bone structure in her face that made her look constantly thin-lipped and frowning. Sort of a permanent neutral bitch-face.

In personality, Lucy most certainly took after their mother. Strong-willed, hard-headed, unbending, uncompromising, an iron sense of conviction, morals and ethics that were sharp enough to crack concrete. She was a comparatively subdued version of Lois (Lois could probably cleave the foundation of the city with her sense of conviction and morality if she really put her mind to it), but there was no doubting that she was a Lane.

"I'm not skipping school." Lucy said defiantly, crossing her arms. Then she shrugged. "Maybe. Okay, sort of."

"Sort of? You either are or you aren't. And since you're out here in downtown when your school's in North Bridge, you definitely are." Lois pointed out.

Lucy bit her lip for a second. "Don't tell General Dad that I'm actually on three days OSS. He thinks I'm in school today."

"You got a suspension? What for?"

"I punched out one of the eighth grade boys on the junior varsity football team. I made his nose bleed."

It was a struggle for Lois not to dish out a compliment. Her skinny thirteen year old sister didn't have quite the background in hand-to-hand since she had grown up off the base, but to hear that Lucy had decked a large fourteen year old boy made her absurdly proud.

"I don't advocate violence, but I hope you had a good reason for doing that." Lois said. "The way I see it, if you're going to punch someone, then they should at least deserve it. That doesn't mean you should punch them," she added hastily. "But you should be able to justify it."

"He deserved it." Lucy said, nodding.

"Was he talking shit?" Lois wondered. The Lane family had something of a low tolerance for shit-talkers. Even if Lucy was 'the good one', she would still have her limits.

"He was talking shit about you." Lucy said. "He wants to be a reporter for the Daily Planet after high school, but he kept saying that you weren't very good. So I punched him in the nose."

A grin spread across Lois's face completely unbidden but not unwelcome. Lanes were not good at suffering shit-talkers when they were ragging on family members. Lois might have been at odds with her dad, but she'd lay into the first person who criticized him too harshly.

Lois threw an arm around Lucy's shoulders proudly. "Atta girl. You can crash at my apartment for the rest of the day."

They moved through the line quickly and got their sandwiches and drinks. The Hoagie Hutt didn't have any customer seating on the ground floor because it was such a narrow shop space, but they did have the second floor decked out and it looked disturbingly like some brightly colored elementary school cafeteria.

"So, are you okay?" Lucy asked, nodding to the cast on her sister's wrist when they had settled at a window seat.

"Huh? Oh yeah, it's just a fracture. It'll be off in a couple of weeks." Lois assured her, biting into the meatball sub with a famished vengeance. The painkillers numbed the nerves in her wrist, but also killed her appetite in the morning so she didn't feel properly hungry until lunch.

"Okay. Dad wouldn't tell me anything what happened last Tuesday. He didn't even say you were involved." Lucy commented, squishing down her sandwich.

He wouldn't. Lois thought darkly. The old man would still want Lucy to think somewhat positively of him by making sure she had no knowledge of what he really getting up to when the lights went out.

"He didn't know at first." the reporter lied. Lucy really didn't need to know General Lane's darker secrets. Not yet. Not before she even turned fourteen. "Look, everything that happened, you can read about on the Daily Planet site. It's all right there in last Wednesday's edition, including my part. Ignore the picture. The picture's crap."

At least, her pulp-fiction swooning damsel pose wasn't the reason she had saved the picture and its accompanying article. It was a nice picture of the flying man. Probably the best one the city had. Such muscle tone...

"Educate yourself on the weird crap happening in Metropolis. It might get more common in the next few years."

Lucy blinked, frowning a little. "What makes you think that? There really aren't any metahumans around anymore. Yeah, there's that Zoom shit-head- I mean, that speedy little bastard in Central City..." She hastily corrected herself because she really wasn't supposed to be swearing. "But he doesn't count. The age of heroes is over. All that's gone. That's what everyone says."

"That's what everyone made themselves believe. That's what everyone wants everyone else to believe." Lois corrected pointedly. "And yeah, Zoom barely counted in the first place and he doesn't count anymore, but I'm trusting my gut on this one. This guy comes out of nowhere dressed up in those duds with the body of a Greek statue and for all appearances, saves Metropolis. What are people going to think? What does that sound like to you?"

Lucy just shrugged, not actually sure what her answer was. Her knee-jerk response was indeed 'superhero'. But like her sister, she had grown up a part of a thoroughly jaded generation that didn't believe in the Superhero Effect nor that there would be anyone dumb enough to start calling themselves that again.

"Another Scare?" she suggested off-hand.

"A possibility, I'll grant you, but I'm on my gut with this. It doesn't feel like this guy's gonna kick off a second Scare." Lois said, feeling weirdly assured of that. "Twenty years is a full generational cycle, little sister and I think it's all coming around again. Another age of superheroes. And I think this-- this Superman guy is just the way it's going to start."


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