A/N: The flashback scene here is inspired by an Action Comics issue (the author will update to cite the exact issue number * I forgot about the number, I'm terribly sorry). Unlike in that one, we won't be hearing of Jon Carroll for a little while. YET, as much as I love our favorite reporter and superhero together, I think they do deserve a little space apart from each other...
Disclaimer: As usual, I don't own Superman and the related characters. He is originally created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster. The rights to the characters belong to DC and Warner Bros. but you know that already. So ciao and enjoy!
Reviews are welcome! Global cyber-hugs and cyber-cookies to you, lovely readers. God bless!
2:
I drive by the outskirts of the city undisturbed... apart from my phone that constantly beeps because of the notifications coming in. Most of them have those annoying hashtags #Supes and #SecretIdentityReveal, and to add insult to the injury they have the nerve to tag me.
Before all of this ruckus, I took that job as a producer of a nightly news at WGBS. My suspicions that Clark was Superman were strengthened when I realized how late his papers were. I asked Mr White about it, and he says Clark's absences are getting frequent than before. The Planet's coverage about Superman is half a day late. A job that when I was doing it never goes out of hand.
It proved to be the beginning of our misunderstandings.
Mr White and I asked Clark to meet us. He was sporting an unclean look; quite unlike of him. I might mistake him for a troubled teenager if I didn't know him. He wore an old Smallville sweater and jeans. His dark hair, which he always keeps neat and gelled is now tousled badly.
"Kent," Mr White started, "we have a problem. You have been assigned to the Superman beat and yet you bring us late news; or news that isn't front page worthy."
Clark looked up to Mr White from his seat and said, "Don't worry Mr White, I was just having a bad week. I'll have it."
I turned to face him. "Clark, this is not just about late news. Your coverage is not enough. We have to have something substantial so we can use it for both paper and broadcast. You merely state what happened!"
"Touché," Mr White said, pretending to go back to the paper in his hands.
"And what do you want me to do Lois?" Clark retorted. "Find an intrigue to reduce our stories to some celebrity column? That's not journalism. You of all people should know that."
Mr White looked at us both with raised eyebrows, took his mug of coffee that was resting at the edge of his table, and sipped silently. I crossed my arms and shook my head.
"As the producer, I am saying that those stories aren't fit for television," I said. "We are supposed to get breaking news, some trending news, not follow-ups. Clark, you can do better than that!"
He stood up. "I can." Clark walked away quickly, shutting Mr White's glass door behind him.
I turned to the window and sighed.
"Aren't you a bit hard?" Mr White said a little after.
"Not so much. If I were, I would have persuaded you to change his beat."
Mr White laughed. "You know Clark is the only one for the job. You and he were partners when Superman is just starting. Unless you count Grant who is out for Superman's cousin."
"Maybe he needs something different, Mr White," I offered.
The old man shrugged. "Maybe."
The fat man wearing a Death Metal shirt and a bright red cap with the blazing "Metropolis Meteors" on his head behind the desk narrows his eyes at me and pushes his subway to the side. "I cannot let you lady. Sorry."
I sigh and dig my bag for my press I.D. "Wait a sec."
"Uhuh, sure," he mocks, grabbing his subway again and munching it loudly. I brandish the card in front of him.
"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," I say. His eyes widen, looking intently at my I.D. "I have business here, sir."
He looks apparently shaken when he answers, "We've done nothing wrong, Ma'am! We just got our permits from the Police. He'll tell you!"
Typical. When there's Press, people always think something's wrong. "It's not about your business, mister. I'm looking for a tall, large guy in a hoodie who looks like a hermit. Someone told me he checked in your motel last night. I would like to know where he is exactly."
He sets the subway back on the plate again and hastily search the drawers for the log book. "I remember the fellow… just a minute, Ma'am." He places the large, worn book in between us and flips it open.
"Around 11:54 in the evening," I offer, peering on the book.
After a brief moment. "Here. Name's Joseph K. Room 8."
"Thanks." I place my i.d. back in my bag and hurry to the stairs. Clark Joseph Kent is here after all.
I walk as slowly as I can along the hallway with my bag hanging on my shoulder. What will I say? Hi Clark, how's it going? Read the paper? I know right, you're a sensation.
Crap. What am I doing anyway? You did the right thing, Lois Lane. You don't need justification. It's your job, your duty as a journalist.
An '8' silver number that slightly dangled from its place caught my eye. The door looks tightly shut. I gather all my courage and knock deftly. In a few minutes, a dirty, rugged Clark Kent minus the glasses but with a stubble to sport greeted me at the door. Well, it isn't exactly greeted, more like "stare down wearily".
"Clark."
He stares at me quietly like a hawk, and for a split second I worry he'd use his heat vision right then and there. But he didn't. "How can I help you Lois?" Clark says solemnly in a cold manner he never used before. "And how did you find me?"
"I have my connections." I take a little step forward to see him clearly. He looks pissed off. At his feet, a big fat rat speeds away. There's no light inside the room. So, headline tomorrow is World's Greatest Hero Goes to Exile? My eyes widen and for the life of me, I launch into my usual tirade again. "Goodness, Clark! I searched for you all over the city and you're here in a rundown motel? Are you okay? Did you lose your apartment? Are you short? I can give you some money -"
His face turns red with rage. "Why does everyone think it's about money?" he exclaims. "I don't need your money, Lois! Leave me alone." His blue eyes flashed anger and in them I see hurt and pain. Nice apology, Lane. Nice apology.
I brace myself and draw a deep breath. "Clark, I know this is hard for you, but we need to talk… I-I came here to say sorry."
His lips twitch. For a brief moment, he thought about it considerably. "We have nothing to talk about, Lois," his usual friendly tone now completely gone as he says it, "I don't need your apology. Everyone knows now the truth who I am. You have nothing to spill to them anymore. We're done."
"No, Clark if you will just listen!" I retort, equally frustrated.
"What?"
I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. But you see Clark, I have to."
His eyes narrow at me.
"People have to know the truth. They will find about it sooner or later."
His eyes sobered. "It does not matter if the world finds out sooner or later, Lois," he answers tersely, "what matters is my best friend betrayed me."
"Clark, please," I try to touch his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry."
He retreat back to the shadows of the room. "Please, leave me alone Lois; like you always do."
With it he shuts the door at my face.
The morning is no better than last night. Once I step inside the bullpen all my eyes see is chaos. Reporters, copy boys, and interns bump each other. Steve Lombard, his football in his arms, is shouting at his desk phone. There's Ron Troupe walking to and fro cubicles, with tons of paper – notes, I presume – in his hands. Jimmy just got out from the Chief's office, and he looks none the happier. Only Jenny seems to be in a good mood. She smiles at me and goes out casually to chase her story.
"Lane!" Mr White's thundering voice booms menacingly across the bullpen. I quicken my pace and raise my hand. "Where the hell is Lane?"
"Just arrived Chief!" I make a beeline for the Chief's room at the far end of the bullpen. He is standing outside the glass walls of his office, arms akimbo. Perry White's eagle eyes finds me and sends me a death glare.
I shrug, frowning as I walk towards him. Now what did I do?
The Chief doesn't take my attitude for now and goes back into his office. I follow him in a few seconds and found him in the act of putting his half-burnt cigarette to his lips.
"You call for me, Chief?" I say, closing the glass door behind me.
Mr White stands by his large glass window and grimaces at me; the cigarette between his lips. "Lane, I just lost one of my hard-working reporters."
I sigh. My leather jacket only makes me perspire more. The jeans doesn't help too. They seem to restrict me like a cobra. "It was not supposed to be like this."
"It just happens to be right now," Mr White says, turning to face me. He takes out the cigarette in between his lips and dumps it into the ash tray on his table. "Congratulations for finding out the biggest expose there could ever be."
"Mr White," I say, trying not to appear hurt by his sarcastic way of saying it. "People have to know the truth." Pointing it out to him with my finger just in case he cannot see it. Who knows why Clark applied for a job at the Planet? Why would he want to be in the front lines to important information? To save people in trouble or for something more sinister? He is the most powerful alien right now, Chief. An alien masquerading as human.
He shakes his head. "Lois, Lois…there is a difference between lying and keeping one mouth's shut. Lying is when you know the truth and yet you deny it. Denying is lying. When you are certainly not in the position to reveal a secret, you just have to remain silent about it. Especially for a civilian like Clark Kent."
I listen, unsure of what to say. Perry White is my mentor, my idol, my hero before… well before Superman came. He's still my hero in the journalism field though. For that to come out from him, is – I have to admit – a blow to my pride. Can't you see it, Mr. White? There is something sinister around us - around this whole Clark is Superman thing - and the world has to know it!
"No one asked if a certain Clark Kent was Superman," he explains, "Not one of us even wonder if Superman has a private life as a common citizen because, well, he always shows up at any time of the day."
"But if I did keep my mouth shut, Chief," I ask, placing my hands on his desk, "isn't that restraining my freedom as a journalist to broadcast the truth? Isn't that what all of us are fighting for? To have the truth known?"
Mr White's eyebrow rises. He sits on his chair and clasps his hands. "Listen, Lane. May I ask again the meaning of the word 'newsworthy'?"
Now where is he going with this? Journ 101? Is this some kind of trap? "Not all stories are newsworthy. Stories have to incite human interest, be timely, and most of all, important or significant. The event is important. The place can be important. The people involved are important. Why, Chief?"
"Exactly-"
Behind me, the door swings wide open and Ron rushes in. "Hi, Lois. Chief," he says, walking to the Chief's side. He hands a typed article on a rather wrinkled bond paper. "The Oil Leak."
Perry nods and takes the paper. "Whatever happened to this one?" he barks.
"Lost it on my desk. Found among my notes." Ron pushes his glasses far up his nose.
The Chief shakes his head before saying, "I'll call you for changes, Troupe." With that, Ron smiles at me again and leaves through the door as quickly as he entered.
Mr White puts Ron's article under a Daily Planet globe paperweight on his desk. "Where was I? Important, yes. Significant, yes," he says, chuckling a little. I tap my foot, waiting for his next words. "Superman, is he significant? Yes, he damn well is. Clark Kent, significant? Maybe, but not so much. Event, significant? Yes, in some sort it incites human interest greatly. Human interest, Lois. This whole shenanigan about the secret identity greatly satiates human interest. And human interest only."
It feels like cold water was suddenly poured on me. Darn, I know well where this is going.
"That's tabloid thing, kid," Perry snaps, arms crossed over his chest, "The Daily Planet, concerning Superman is an important figure and our exclusive hero, is obligated to run that story. But I advised not to… however, that Edge has the final say. Anyway, Lois, listen to me carefully, I admire your skill and spirit. You have fire, and that is what the paper and the world needs. But you must also have discretion. Superman's identity will not help anyone in anyway. Well, it did help the Planet's sales. However, Lois, we do not write for sales or readership."
For the first time in my career, I have nothing to quip against Perry White.
"Luthor may buy all of the dailies in Metropolis yet the Planet will stand against him," he continues, "We may merge with Galaxy Broadcasting but we, in upholding the tradition of the Daily Planet, must not resort to this tabloid trash."
I blink and stood up. He shrugs and turns back to the window. "Think about it, Lois. Have you talked with him after?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"We're done, he said." I ward the nasty echo of Clark's voice in my head. Please leave me alone, Lois; like you always do. "He doesn't want to talk."
"He sent this via mail," Mr White says, picking up Clark's resignation letter from the table. He hands the letter to me and I read it thoroughly. Clark is leaving, he stated in the letter, because of personal reasons. "It's official. Gave him a two week's notice, as the standard," Perry White adds. I feel rotten and angry about it at the same time. He does not have to leave. He need not leave. The Planet will still accept him as who he is.
I will still accept him whoever he is.
But that doesn't even matter now. Clark made it clear that we aren't friends anymore. I may as well have gotten myself blacklisted in Smallville.
My phone beeps in two abrupt seconds. I hand Clark's resignation letter back to Mr White and open my phone. There's a message from an unknown number.
Seek the Truth. Find it. Tell the world the lies they have been believing in. That's your job isn't it?
7 pm, Metropolis Central. I'll see you, Miss Lane.
I look at the sender's number again. Interestingly, the number is a string of 1's and 0's like a binary code. Not one sane phone number in Metropolis or the whole world has a binary code for a combination.
I quickly reply. Who are you?
"What is it?" Perry White's domineering voice breaks my jumbled thoughts.
"A lead." This is only the beginning.
Who is this binary stranger? Reviews are welcome 3 Thank you for reading!