We Colonial Heathens have Thanksgiving next week, so the next update will be on Dec 2nd.

I have also resumed work on Story 4.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Before the Storm

Monday came around particularly gray and gloomy with thick thunderhead-like clouds dominating the sky. The morning light was more akin to late twilight and it didn't look like the sun had come up at all.

It was going to be a bad day.

James Harper didn't need to claim that he could feel it in his bones. He was over ninety years old. If experience had taught him anything, then it was time to batten down the hatches, latch the shutters, and stock the pantry against the rough hours ahead and spend the rest of the day praying that whatever storm was brewing didn't throw you around too hard.

The kids were nervous too. Normally, they were slumped all over the dining table, sometimes half asleep in their breakfasts because no matter how often they got up before seven, they still weren't used to it. They didn't have adult bodies that could "go the distance", if you will, and coffee didn't agree with them. More times than he could count had James picked someone (usually Big Words) out of the cereal bowl.

But today, they were huddled tense in their chairs, their gazes alternating between the table-top and the window as if they were expecting to see the apocalypse coming from the breakfast table. Scrapper ate his cereal without milk, Bobbi clutched her morning mug of hot chocolate with the worried air of a harried matron, and Big Words kept tugging off his glasses to polish them. Gabby's heel kicked at the leg of his chair at a pace that James was sure would break the leg right off, Flip blew bubbles into his juice, and Tommy pretended to read the paper. Only Suzi had given up the pretense, having relocated to the window seat alongside James to watch the dark and gloomy clouds turn slow circles above the city.

"I need you guys out there today." James said out loud, breaking the tense silence.

Tommy folded the paper over. "I figured you'd say that. Just patrol or?..."

"Specific. Investigation. I can't get away from the precinct today long enough to it myself." James explained. He pointed into the kitchen. "Folder's on the counter."

"Igotit!" Gabby was off his chair like a shot bullet and slid halfway across the kitchen tiles in his socks to grab the folder and come back. He threw the manila file folder down in front of Tommy and the rest gathered a little closer. Suzi quickly abandoned the window seat to join them.

James gave them a few moments to look over the details. The whole thing had been brought to his attention in a variety of ways, several of which could be traced right back to Lois Lane.

The first was the presence of the Slam, Sofia Gigante's personal prison. James had heard about it first through the former MCU detective Jim Gordon and it had alarmed him, because that was the first he'd ever heard of such a thing. If Gigante had one secret hide-away in the city, then she definitely had others. And he hadn't spent ten years uprooting the worst of the organized crime as Captain Ron Harper just to let someone else get a strangle-hold on the underworld.

Least of all a Falcone.

He had policed in Gotham through World War II. He knew what the Falcones were capable of.

So that had led James to searching out other possible secret buildings in the city that could have been under mob ownership. He had doubled his efforts when another front-pager of Miss Lane's had come out, this one decrying the likes of Dr. Norman Essex, a former S.T.A.R. Labs geneticist who had been under Gigante's employ until his disappearance two weeks earlier. This one had spoken at length about Dr. Essex's mad scientist inclinations and had even brought up the fact that Essex had been conducting unauthorized experiments on the corpses of homeless degenerates.

Following the official statement from Garrison Slater, Miss Lane had released a blog tearing that statement down. Even though Slater had fired him on the spot, there was still the matter that this had gone on for several weeks undetected. By the end of the blog, she was demanding the full disclosure of Dr. Essex's work while under S.T.A.R. Labs' employ.

S.T.A.R. Labs had yet to respond to any of this.

But it had reminded James of one particular thing. From about this past March up until August, there had been a rash disappearances, mostly homeless folk, around these parts. He wouldn't have regarded it as anything strange -- the homeless tended to be migratory, moving around with the weather and the food supply. But he had been a cop for nine decades and when people went missing in the same two block radius every week for six months straight and then the bodies turning up looking like they had met with the wrong end of a meat grinder, it was a sure sign someone was up to no good.

James had closed that particular investigation only recently, back in the middle of October when the clues had run out and it had been six weeks since anyone had last gone missing. No results and no real closure.

Until mad scientists and human experiments had turned up on his radar.

"Ugh!" was the collective noise from the kids as they got to the bottom, recoiling from the photos.

"Ew, who would do that?! Experiment on people--" Bobbi started to demand until Scrapper nudged her in the arm.

"Project M." he reminded her.

"Let me see this..." Big Words tugged the page of science-related stuff out of the folder to read it over. Out of all eight of them, he stood the best chance at really understanding it intimately.

"Jim, are you sure about this?" Tommy asked.

"Nope. That's why I need you guys to look into it. Confirm it for me." James said. "If you're willing." he added, since he would never try and force them.

"Ugh, human experiments are never a good sign." Flip said, sounding like he was already committed to the idea. "Even if the guy's not around anymore..."

"It needs to be handled." Suzi said firmly.

"Neveranyonebutus!" Gabby declared, striking a heroic pose.

Which meant they were going, but James hadn't imagined for a second that they wouldn't. Gabby's brain moved faster than his body, processing every sense and thought about five times faster than the rest of them. He could read the changes in their posture and expression before they were consciously aware of them. He always knew when Tommy had made up his mind before Tommy himself knew it.

"We'll call in an anonymous tip if we find anything." Tommy assured him. As they always did.

"Be careful. All of you."

Just off the elevator and Lois had already concluded that today was going to be agonizing. At least one of her favorite detractors lived in Clark's neighborhood and he was a nosey fucker. This bastard had to listen in on every shouted conversation that came in his hearing range. She only had so much room to doubt that he hadn't eavesdropped on her and Clark's shouting.

Her nagging suspicion was confirmed the moment she stepped around the corner into the newsroom. Anyone who noticed her entrance suddenly stopped whatever they were doing and stared and nudged their fellows until they stared too. Lois was already prepared for the whispers and the sidelong stares. The news being their trade, reporters were gossips by nature and with all the social media available right at their fingertips, it never took long for a rumor to get around.

Some of her favorite detractors had clearly already heard everything there was to hear. There was Bostwick, whom she had been partnered with briefly and the first to spread the idea that she was an uncompromising, loud-mouthed bitch. And Joyce, who seemed to hate Lois just because she didn't have anything better to do. Good ol' Sherry should have been a lot less biased for being a crime-beat reporter, but even she poked her head up over the cubicle wall and glare like Lois had stolen her boyfriend.

With every slip she made, those three where the first to pounce on the incident and make it seven times bigger than it actually was.

From the whispers that made their away around Lois now, it sounded like everyone believed that she had punched Clark in the face.

She ignored them as stoically as she could, putting up the icy cold front that made people take her seriously. Inside, she squirmed uncomfortably and fought an unusual flush of shame. She hadn't meant to snap at Clark, not for being right.

Because he was.

And damn if that hadn't been hard enough to admit to herself.

She was a little jealous of him, for having two very wonderful parents who didn't make him earn their affection. That he could just go and talk to them whenever he needed to and it wasn't like pulling teeth. She had a dead mom, a dad she couldn't talk to, and a little sister whom she was only just starting to get along with. They couldn't even pretend to play at happy families.

Clark, with his charming country parents from the farm, had been given no reason to think that her family-life was barely existent.

She had exploded on him because of his own ignorance on the subject. Because of something she couldn't have possibly expected him to be aware of.

Lois always arrived ahead of Clark on a good day, so he wasn't at his desk when she arrived at hers. She sat down, her coat and bag sliding down to the floor beside her. She stared blankly at her dark computer screen for a moment, her mind giving the absent buzz of a brain trying to fire the right synapses.

Then her forehead thumped onto the desk.

I am an idiot.

She head-desk'd to drive the thought home.

An idiot, Lois Lane. That's what you are. You are a super-massive idiot so vast and dense and sucky that a black hole looks like a tub drain in comparison.

She probably wouldn't get to talk to Clark again. He probably wouldn't even look at her; much less even say 'good morning' to her.

Clark had fallen into the habit quickly. By the second day, he would pass Lois's desk and say a warm 'Good morning, Ms. Lane' to her in a voice that made her toes curl and her lungs flutter and she would have a wild second to imagine to what it would be like to hear him say that in a still-sleepy voice before reality kicked her in the head. Then she'd reply back with a 'Heya Smallville', and the day would get underway from there.

He had started it on day two, but it had startled Lois quite thoroughly to realize that she had been looking forward to it even this morning. It always seemed to set a tone for the day, his unerringly cheerful voice. The drawl of his vowels, the twang on his consonants, that good farm boy deep Kansas accent that must have come from the roots of the earth.

Shad about fallen in love with Clark Kent's voice.

It wasn't going to be directed at her again.

Lois kicked herself in the leg as hard as she could. She drove the toe of her shoe into her calf muscle as far as it would go and thumped her forehead on the desktop again for good measure.

Super-massive idiot. You make the Milky Way itself look like a marble. He's not going to talk to you anymore. He's not even going to look at you or if he didn't have to walk by your desk, he wouldn't, you stupid-headed moron.

You always do this. You always end up shoving people away so spectacularly that they don't come back because you're not worth the trouble. And the one guy who was actually mostly decent and really nice and stuck around and stuck up for you when Lombarde was being an ass and you Fat Man'd him for no good reason just because you were in a bad mood and it had nothing to do with him you stone-cold bitch--

"Good morning, Ms. Lane."

It came and went so quickly that Lois thought her mind had conjured it, but when she raised her head to see if her ears were playing tricks on her and looked over her shoulder, she saw Clark's broad shoulders and his solid backside -- and hello dat ass never change shape -- beside his desk just behind her. He had his sleek leather satchel, his long coat draped over one arm and that boss fedora in his other hand. His voice had been quiet and certainly not as warm as the previous times. There had been a jarring note of uncertainty and the barest stutter.

But he had said good morning to her. Just as polite and cordial as he had always been.

She inhaled briefly to reply, but thought better of it and turned to fire up her computer instead.

Heya Smallville.

She was acutely aware that Clark was less than three feet behind her, but fortunately, Perry saved her from any would-be awkwardness by calling all the general assignment reporters into the conference room to hand out the stories that the editors had collected overnight. Lois sat on one end of the table and tried very hard not to stare at Clark on the other side. His tie was lopsided and his glasses were still absurdly dorky. But he was wearing the handsome charcoal-gray suit that Lois had bought for him, to replace the one that had gotten soaked in Lake Superior.

She was starting to wonder if he had meant to say more than just 'good morning'.

Part of her did a restrained little dance of optimism. Maybe he wasn't actually angry at her! Maybe he was just confused and unsure. A quick explanation and apology would clear things up for sure, this little optimistic part said with the unfailing certainty of someone who didn't know any better.

But the rest of Lois did know better. There was no doubt in her mind that Clark hated her too now, just like everyone else. It always happened, any time she let herself think that she might have made a friend. Either her tongue slipped, or she got angry, or they told her outright what they thought about her (lovely flattering terms, truly).

The good thing was that Clark didn't seem like the type to come back and tear off the bandages. He would probably just let it go and they would both get on with their lives.

Separately, of course.

Lois glanced back at her one-time partner and sighed. God, he looked so nice in that charcoal-gray suit. And even the blue silk tie, crooked though it was.

"And Kent!" Perry barked, bringing Lois back to reality. "Water main break in Hamstead, Lynnhurst and Thirty-third. Everyone clear on their assignments? Good. Scatter!"

The reporters did just that with the furtive glances of people looking for excuses to stick around for just a second longer, but Lois couldn't recall if Perry had given her an assignment.

"Lane!" The editor beckoned her over, just as she got out of her seat to ask him.

"What's up, chief?" Lois asked, trying to affect her usual jaunty attitude.

"Don't call me 'chief'." Perry ordered, rather absently. "By the way," he started with a distinct note of caution. "What's going on between you and Kent? I thought you two were getting along and now I hear from the pipeline that you two had a fight?"

"It wasn't a fight. It was a misunderstanding." Lois corrected, much to her own surprise.

"I see. And is this misunderstanding going to be cleared up before day's end?" Perry wondered curiously.

Lois shrugged. "Probably not. Maybe not even tomorrow either." She ratcheted an eyebrow. "What, you expected it to last?"

"Yes." Perry said, looking startled as though he had expected his answer to be different. "I was hoping to eke six months out of the pair of you! Was that really too much to ask?"

"C'mon chief, you know just as well as I do that I don't like working with people. I have said that to you, multiple times." Lois said. She rolled her eyes, well aware that she was forcing the motion.

"Lois, your behavior towards Kent was downright friendly, especially compared to what you did with the last poor schmucks." Perry pointed out. "You bought him new clothes--"

"He was representing me. He had to look nice." Lois replied.

"Bought him lunch at least four times that I'm aware of. Don't get me started on how many cookies you threatened to buy him. You also paid for his dry-cleaning! You don't do anyone's laundry around here!"

"He was probably broke."

"Christ Lois, you didn't give him hell for the flowers!"

Lois shrugged again. "Painkillers."

Perry threw up his hands.

Lois crossed her arms. "It wasn't going to last. He's too..." She trailed off, trying to find an appropriate adjective. "He's too Kent..."

It was Perry's turn to raise his eyebrows. "He's too 'Kent'?" he repeated, bewildered.

"There's too much Clark Kent-ness about him." Lois said. It wasn't even an adjective, but it was the only thing that fit. "He's just too Clark Kent for my liking."

"Clark Kent is too Clark Kent." Perry said in a flat tone.

"Exactly."

Perry blinked. "Lois, what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out, I'm not doing everything around here by myself." Lois grumbled, pulling her crossed arms a little tighter. She shook her head. "Never mind, what's my assignment today?"

"You've been asked to do an interview today." Perry replied, glancing at his clipboard. "That Trask story of yours is sunk. I got a heads-up from Lieutenant Sawyer. She says Trask was kicked out of his government position and he's going to be court-martialed within an inch of his life."

"Really now?..."

"That's all she told me. You'll have to ask her for more information." he said. "And that 'Superman', nothing new on that front." the editor added unhappily. Likely the biggest story of the year (if not the decade) and they had almost nothing to show for it.

No one else had anything to show for it either, however. They were still in something of a race to get the first exclusive.

"I can live with an interview." Lois said. "Where am I going?"

The editor looked on the verge of not telling her anything, but he sighed. No way he couldn't tell her.

"It's for the West River restoration."

"Good, I can do that."

"With Deirdre Merlo."

"I can't do that."

"Lois--" Perry started sternly.

"No." Lois said, just as sternly.

"Lois, you don't have a choice." Perry told her. "Ms. Merlo requested you. She called me up directly and requested you. She isn't taking anyone else. It'll be good exposure for you."

"But it's a puff piece!" Lois complained. Any story about Deirdre Merlo carried the same warm and fuzzy feel-good feelings like stories about saving small fluffy things from storm drains.

"You need to work on your soft touch anyways."

"But why her? I hate Merlo! Doesn't she know that?"

"No, she doesn't and you're not going to tell her." Perry said. "This is going to be the first interview she's given the Planet. Make it a good one. They're sending a chopper to pick you up, ten-thirty on the dot."

Lois glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty now. "That gives me forty-five minutes to prepare, at best." she said. She didn't know a reporter alive who could prepare a decent interview in forty-five minutes. Even for a woman as insipid as Deirdre Merlo.

"Then hop to it." Perry suggested, turning her towards the door. "And bring me back something good. The public adores her."

"I don't." Lois said acidly.

"Don't let it show." the editor advised, steering her out into the newsroom.

This time, Lois didn't have to force rolling her eyes. She knew the etiquette of an interview. Even if she despised the person, she still had to put on her best face and modulate her voice so it didn't sound like she was accusing them of anything.

Perry headed back to his office to start shouting at people, as was his custom, and Lois wended her way across the newsroom. The thought drifted across her mind, absent and vacant about complaining about her assignment to Clark. A broken water main wouldn't talk back to her and be annoying. But when she finally spotted him, he was heading into the elevator lobby, his broad shoulders disappearing out of sight, and remembered that they weren't talking.

I guess that's what it's going to look like from now on. Always just seeing the back of him. She thought. That's gonna suck big time. Yeah, he's got a nice ass, but I like it when he smiles--

Lois's hand tapped off her head just hard enough.

What the hell, Lane! You're pining! Stop that! It's not changing! She told herself sternly. This was always the way it was going to be and why you thought differently I'll never know. You don't need some hunching dorky farm boy smiling at you just to get through your day.

But she had gotten used to that smile so very quickly...

"Lois!"

Cat Grant latched on to her, her arms winding octopus-like around the younger reporter in what was supposed to be a comforting hug.

"What's this horrible rumor I heard? Tell me it's not true! Tell me you and that gorgeous hunk of pure muscly sex didn't have a break-up fight!" she begged.

"Um..." Lois said, as Cat started stroking her hair.

"You poor thing! We'll make it a three-martini lunch and you can tell me all about it! This must be so awful for you, seeing that ass walk out before you got the chance to tap it!"

"Cat..." Lois groaned.

"It's alright, just let it out." Cat encouraged, patting her back. "Everything will be alright; you'll get over him. He wasn't that amazing."

"Cat." Lois shifted under the older woman's arms. "Kent and I weren't even together. I mentored him for a week and then Perry made us partners because I wasn't interested in killing him. That was about the extent of our relationship. If it went any further than that, then it's news to me."

"That's not what I heard." the gossip columnist pointed out, withdrawing her tentacle arms. "Now I didn't believe you actually climbed that tree, because you're not the girl who goes for that on the first date. But I heard that something certainly happened."

"That would be the Daily Planet rumor mill in action." Lois said, nudging the older woman away. "Lombarde was talking shit and Kent said a thing that he took the wrong way and you can guess what happened from there. Clark and I? We're not even dating. We're friends. That's how he sees it."

"And how do you see it?" Cat prompted.

"I don't have friends. I have acquaintances and work-partners." Lois said. "Clark is a work-partner."

"Are we friends?" Cat asked, the look in her eye suggesting that she would maim the younger woman if the reply wasn't positive.

Saying no would end in disaster, so Lois opted the less offensive, more flattering description.

"You're more like the older sister I don't have."

Cat beamed.

"Then as your older sister, I'm obliged to impart some advice." the gossip columnist declared, throwing an arm around Lois's shoulders. "The first thing you have to tell me is this: Has he talked about his past relationships?"

"Clark and I were caught in a vicious cycle of not talking about our personal lives." Lois replied dryly. She shrugged. "Which is fine, I guess."

"No, it's not. Not if you're going to working together over the long-term." Cat insisted. "There has to be trust, Lois. There has to be a foundation of trust if you expect to build even a friendship. Any kind of relationship is a combination of give-take. You can't take without giving."

"Cat, I know the basics of a relationship--"

"You know them, but have you practiced them?"

"What does that mean?" Lois asked, frowning.

"Well, you can say all you want that you know how a relationship works, but be honest with yourself, Lois." Cat started, pulling back so she could better look the younger reporter in the eye. "You've admitted to me that you've been in all of two serious commitments, although the second one might have been more serious if you hadn't been so afraid of your own heteroflexibility--"

"Whoa, first of all, time out!" Lois held up her hands in the T. "Second of all, stop making assumptions. I'm bi, not hetero. Thirdly, my dad's a military general and you know how the U.S. Army feels about any shade of queerness, so imagine what might happen if you spent your childhood listening to some 'don't go gay' rhetoric every week.

"Fourthly, what Clark and I had, had no chance of going further than-- than a work partnership. No matter what it looked like, we are completely all wrong for each other. No chemistry. We would-- fight all the time."

Cat's plucked and salon-shaped eyebrows rose up towards her hairline in disbelief. Because that was not what she had seen between them. It took a very particular person to get along with Lois and she had briefly met Colletta from Lois's college relationship. Somewhere deep down, Cat acknowledged that she was not one of those people. But Lois hadn't tried to chase her away yet, so she would stick around until then.

But Clark was one of those particular people. The sort who had something of an unidentifiable spark about them that drew Lois in, lured by a mystery that she wanted to unravel.

Yes, Clark Kent was something special and together with Lois, they could become something fantastic.

Cat didn't want to see that potential wither away before it got the chance to bloom.

"Are you sure about that?" the gossip columnist asked.

"Yes." Lois said firmly.

"No dating him?"

"No dating, Cat."

Cat shook her head in dismay and clicked her tongue. The fact that Lois didn't want to date was always something that seemed to flabbergast people. Men and women alike demanded to know why she didn't want to get with 'dat ass'. It was human nature, some argued, to seek out companionship. Why was she denying herself a basic human need, they wanted to know.

Given the assholes she had to deal with daily, Lois often felt that she had gotten quite enough of human company to last her the week. She didn't consider herself anti-social, but she chose her human company carefully.

It was just that none of the people she'd like to associate with happened to be her coworkers.

Except maybe Clark Kent.

"Okay, but..." she found herself saying suddenly, but broke off, not sure how to finish.

"But?..." Cat prompted.

"Okay, I won't lie..." Lois ground a hand into her forehead. "I really wanted to tap that ass."

Cat burst out laughing.

That perfect-looking ass that was more than damn fine in a pair of blue jeans. Like two basketballs wrapped in denim. What she would have given just to put a hand on it. She would have paid Clark a hundred bucks if she could just tweak that fine-looking thing.

"See, doesn't admitting that feel good?" Cat asked, throwing her grabby tentacle arm back around Lois's shoulders. "Now of course, I know you well enough. When you want something, you go for it full-throttle."

Lois shook her head. "No, it's not that easy with Clark. He's not a guy you just go up to like 'you're attractive and I have needs, let's have sex'. He's a total gentleman of the biggest proportions I have never imagined. Like, this is the sort of guy I would call a prude. And he's this massive dorky sweetheart with this big mushy center who holds the doors open and have you seen him in that fedora!--" She took a breath. "But that does not mean he and I would get along."

Cat giggled. "Whatever you said, girl." she said complacently, resisting the desire to pat Lois on the head. This young lady was hip-deep in the thickest denial Cat had ever seen and was only sinking deeper with every word out of her mouth.

Well, she would figure it out in time.

"I need to go. I have to get in on the ground floor of the new LL fashion line. It's launching in an hour and it looks fantastic!" Cat said, excited over the new styles. "We'll do a three-martini lunch and you can spend it telling me why Clark Kent is no good for you."

"I didn't say he was no good for me!" Lois snapped, though Cat was already sashaying away. She made a 'forget it' gesture and began making her way back to her desk.

She felt slightly off-kilter as she sat back down at her desk, like the ground had been tilted twenty degrees under her but everything else was normal. She tugged a notepad and pen towards her to scribble down some questions for the interview.

All of a sudden, it occurred to Lois just how big the newsroom was. The Daily Planet was no small building. Sixty floors into the skyline and its footprint was at least half a city block with the employees-only parking garage on the other half. The newsroom itself was about two thousand square feet; the topmost of five newsrooms all dedicated to helping churn out the articles for publication. Something like one hundred reporters in each one who worked full-time and another one hundred part-timers and free-lancers on a rotating roster.

And everywhere Lois looked around the room, they were all chatting with someone. A grin here, a chuckle there, a fist-bump and a high-five and the strangest displays of camaraderie wherever she looked.

There was no one for her to fist-bump or high-five or even talk to. She didn't see Cat very often. They only met for lunch and usually only once a week because that was the only time their paths crossed long enough.

Suddenly, she felt more disconnected than ever before.

Lois didn't like making friends. She didn't like the process of getting to know someone, cycling between hope and uncertainty and that horrible painful yearning when you tried to open yourself up to another human being and praying you wouldn't be judged on shallow aesthetics.

Clark was probably the only guy who hadn't openly rejected her on the rumors alone. He was a good person. He had saved her butt and then that little girl and then a few other times beside. He had stood up for her when Lombarde had gotten handsy. His concern after Trask had punched her in the face. The flowers after the hospital -- yellow roses for friendship and chrysanthemums for something relating to friendship. He had practically told her what he'd thought of her with those flowers.

He had used flowers to call her a friend. But then she had shown her ugly side and what did he think of her now?

'Good morning, Ms. Lane.'

Whatever he thought now, he was keeping it to himself.

Lois thumped her forehead on the desk, groaning.

Stupid, stupid woman. You are the super-massive idiot, except your gravitational field just slingshots everyone away and suddenly it's not you shoving them away, it's them shoving you away. How d'ya like them apples, bitch?

The newsroom bustled on around her and no one noticed her.

She just wasn't worth noticing anymore.

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