1Well, it seems like every time I promise that the next chapter will take less time, it takes more. Odd.
Anyway - thanks to everyone who's stuck with the fic - offered me feedback and encouragement. And thanks to all the awesome Clois authors who remind me just how fun it is to read/write the couple.
There's 4 parts left after this – finally the ball o' action is rolling.
For those who like reading fic to a soundtrack, here's what I was writing to:
Half Life - Duncan Sheik
Only God can Explain (v-man's Chlark mix) - Splender
Falls on Me - Fuel
Collide - Howie Day
Part 4: Tangle
"Rigged games are the easiest to beat." - Shadow, American Gods.
All the kryptonite in the world could not remove the smile from Clark Kent's lips.
He let out a deep, content breath, and tucked his hands behind his head as he sunk deeper into the livingroom sofa. He was still in his clothes from the day before, which were now creased and sleep-rumpled. Not that he noticed, or cared for that matter.
There was only one thing on Clark's mind. One bright light at the end of his tunnel vision.
Lois.
The future Lois had been right. She and her younger counterpart really weren't all that different when it came down to it. His impromptu phone call had confirmed that fact.
When he had dialed her number late that night, Clark had braced himself for the worst. He fully expected her to chew him out and tell him off, all while rubbing her caustic salt into wounds she wouldn't realize thar she had lain bare.
But after her initial confusion - "Ack, Smallville, it's 3am. Wait. Lemme guess. That's like, 10 o'clock farm time?" - and then panic - "Oh god! Is Chloe dead again?" - she had actually heard him out. It was clumsy and awkward and in no way a sufficient explanation - "I just...needed to talk to you." - but she never called him on it. Instead he heard her yawn, a real jaw-cracker, and then she asked him for five minutes.
He waited patiently on a silent line as she made a mug of something she called "The Hummingbird" - a mixture of instant coffee, powdered espresso, Red Bull, and chocolate syrup - a concoction she used for late night cram sessions or to sober up from particularly brutal hang overs - "Liquid productivity. The stuff should come with an octane rating, but it's a hell of a lot better than a speed addiction at 18" - She settled in, took a giant swig, and let him spill.
They had talked forever, and he pumped her for all the information she was willing to share. He learned that she had a bratty little sister in boarding school somewhere in Eastern Europe. Her favorite color was yellow. She had a soft spot for dogs, hated cats, and was deathly allergic to both. She did the Daily Planet crossword puzzle in erasable ink as a cheat. And despite her tough as nails exterior, she still wore the pink bunny slippers Chloe had given her for Christmas. The last one had been a slip, and she threatened a slow and painful death if he told a soul.
He chuckled at the memory that was still fresh in his mind.
After what felt like minutes, but was actually hours, it ended. She had been the one to catch the faint rays of the morning sun first. "It's six o'clock already?"
He found himself thanking her, ostensibly for the talk, but in reality for what she would ultimately do for him. His final surprise of the night came when she didn't question it. "Anytime, Smallville," she'd said with one final yawn and then asked him to wish her luck on the intro to journalism class she'd be attending on 2 hours sleep.
"Goodnight, Lois."
A faint chuckle on the other end. "Good morning, Clark." And then a dial tone.
He was beginning to find redemptive qualities in every kind of Lois Lane.
Clark jumped at the sharp peel of his cell phone as it caught him off guard. He grabbed it and flipped it open, a surge of exhilaration shooting through him at the prospect of it being her. The hurried beat of his heart rang in his ears. The Hummingbird had nothing on this.
"Lois?" he answered, poorly masking his excitement.
There was silence for a moment and then, "No. Lana."
Clark sat himself up and rubbed his eyes. He tilted the clock on the shelf towards him and made out a blurry 9 am.
"Oh hey, I thought you were -"
"Lois. I got that. Is everything okay? Did Lois leave?"
"No, she's upstairs in my room." He looked towards the staircase. Maybe he should make her breakfast. He wondered if she liked eggs.
Lana made her confusion known with a long 'ummmm' . "Then why did you assume she'd be calling you?" she asked.
"Oh," Clark laughed. "Not that Lois. Our Lois. I was talking to her last night -"
"You called her?" Lana interrupted, he voice just an octave above stunned. "Are you crazy?"
He shook his head and laughed. "I'm beginning to think so..."
"Clark, you heard what Lois said. If they ever met up -"
"It's fine," he assured her quickly, before her words could sink in. "I'm pretty sure it flew under the radar of suspicion."
"As much as a late night phone call can," Lana countered, flippantly.
He frowned, knowing she was right. It had been a lot to risk for something that could have waited until this was all over. It's just that it somewhere, deep down, Clark knew it couldn't have.
"I just wanted to talk to her," he admitted, lamely.
Lana's deep sigh sounded like static in the receiver. "Clark, I know this is confusing for you. But you have to be careful."
"I know. And I appreciate your concern, I do. But I have it under control." Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bright red pulse of the caller ID box. He walked over to the phone to find that Chloe had called that night while he was in the loft. He would have to remember to call her back..
"Well, I just called to see if there were any updates." Lana broke into his train of thought.
Clark grabbed his boots from the hallway and brought them over to the kitchen table. "I was going to let Lois sleep for a while longer and then see what she wanted to do, " he explained, pulling his first boot on and lacing it tightly. "I'm sure she has some kind of half-baked scheme in the works. She is Lois Lane after all."
Lana's laugh seemed forced, and Clark could tell she was still hung up on the phone call. "Well, I'm here if you guys need me. For anything."
"Thanks. It means a lot."
Clark's head snapped up at the low rumble of tires on gravel.
"Lana, can you hold on for a second?"
"Clark, what's wrong?"
He walked to the kitchen window and pulled the curtain back. His stomach dropped. "It's my parents. They're home early. I've got to go." He clicked off the phone before she could respond and dropped it on the counter.
Clark was at his room in a literal flash. He knocked lightly on the frame before cracking the door and peeking inside.
"Lois?" he whispered. Hearing the distinct squeak of his mother's laughter as she reached the front porch, he sucked in a breath and plowed in. "Lois, we've got to get out of here. My parents are –"
He stopped at the sight of the empty bed.
Clark looked around in confusion.
She was gone.
Lois hummed tunelessly at the red light.
Smallville was not known for an excess of traffic signals - which was probably a good thing considering the one they did have seemed to have an affinity for "Stop". It was actually kind of fitting - stuck at a dead stop when everything depended on her forward motion. The writer in her thought it an appropriate metaphor for her trip back. The inner cynic groaned.
The green light finally came and she leaned on the pedal, ever mindful of her driving record in the town.
Lois hated lying to Clark. She'd done more of it in the past 24 hours than she had in her entire life. If she needed any sort of assurance as to why that was, the guilt that stuck thick to her ribs was doing the trick.
She had told Clark they had a two day buffer before Trask would arrive, but the actual ETA was two minutes and counting. The truth was that she wanted Clark nowhere near Jason Trask. He was a sick, and dangerous man who would do anything to kill Clark.
That is, if he knew he was Superman.
To let Clark within fifteen feet of him, especially without the quasi-security of his glasses, would be to type up the opening line to his obituary. She couldn't have that on her head too.
Lois knew going into this that she would have to do it alone. There was a plan. With Clark's life on the line, deception was a necessary evil.
The upshot to being from the future was that you had a pretty good handle on the past. All of the insignificant questions of day to day occurrences - Will it really rain? Will I see so and so- all had immediate answers. It was the closest thing to second sight that Lois was ever going to get and she was going to take full advantage of it.
She had known that Clark had received an old flatbed truck for his birthday. She knew that the gear shift stuck when in neutral. She knew that the radio only picked up four stations when set to AM, and that when making out, the parking break was hell on the lower back.
She also knew that Clark kept his spare keys on the wooden dowel above the kitchen stove.
Lois flipped the right blinker on as she approached the turn for Shushter's Gorge.
All she could do was hope that when she finally told Clark the truth, he'd let all the lying, and the grand theft auto, slide.
Clark jogged down the stairs into the living room, and stood mystified in its center. Where could she have gone?
Martha poked her head out of the kitchen. "Clark, honey. We're home."
He smiled, distractedly. "Hey, mom."
She set down the brown paper bag she had been lugging and walked over. "Is everything okay?"
He shrugged. "Yeah. Fine."
She eyed him skeptically, and tried a different tack. "How did everything with Lois go?"
That caught his attention. "Huh?" Realizing he may have given too much away, he immediately reverted back to cool and detached. "Oh, okay."
"Did she need some supplies for her project?"
"What?"
"We passed her on the way home."
"Passed her?" Clark echoed, surprised.
Martha nodded. "Yeah. In your truck."
"Where was she?" Clark snatched his coat off the hook and stuffed his arms into the sleeves.
Martha thought for a moment. She reached out and adjusted his collar, which had flipped up on one side. "She looked like she was heading toward the gorge."
She found Jason Trask doubled over, dry heaving by the edge of the gorge.
Lois killed the engine and grabbed the stun gun that rested in the passengers seat. She slid it into her jacket's inlaid pocket, and then fastened the blazer's bottom three buttons.
She slipped out of the front seat and slammed the door, successfully grabbing his attention for the first time since she arrived.
"Just catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror? It really is enough to turn the strongest stomach," she snarked.
Trask straitened himself and spit, wiping his mouth with a rough sweep of his arm. In his black flight suit and combat boots he was more intimidating than she remembered. It cause her to falter, just slightly.
"Lois Lane. A little far from home aren't we?" he asked. Something in his voice suggested, however, that he was not so surprised to see her.
Lois drew her eyes into thin slits, her game face on. The one she used to break informants. Intimidate heads of state. "I could ask you the same thing, but I'm anxious to get to the part where I'm punching you in the face." She continued forward.
"No need to be crass, Ms. Lane. In fact, you should be thanking me."
Lois blinked in surprise. She huffed loudly, and crossed her arms expectantly.
"Oh, I've got to hear this one."
"I know you've forged a friendship with Superman, allowed him to pull the wool over your eyes about his real purpose on Earth. He's got the world fooled. But once I destroy him here, in the past, they'll be safe. I'm doing everyone a service."
"Oh yeah, you're a regular champion of the people," Lois scoffed. "There is not a single person who would benefit from your plan, except you."
Trask's lips curved into a slimy smile. "Oh, I'm sure your husband would disagree." It grew larger as the color drained from the reporter's cheeks.
Lois chose her next words carefully. "What does Clark have to do with any of this?"
Trask brushed the dust from his pants, sending small smoke signals into the air. It looked as though his reentry had been as rough, and dirty, as hers had been. "It's no secret that you and Superman are close. Just how close, well I'll leave that to the gossip-rags and tabloids. But I can't help but think that the marriage bed is a little crowded with you, your husband, and the Man of Steel..."
"You bastard!"
Lois swung at him, her knuckles cracking on impact. Trask reeled backwards, taken off guard. He shook his head in a daze and spat again, this time blood.
"Why do you insist on saving him?" he snarled, cradling his throbbing jaw.
Lois shook out her hand, which now, admittedly, stung like a bitch. "Let's just say I owe him one or two."
"So you'll allow him to corrupt all of humanity?"
She edged closer until she was hovering just above him. "You don't get it. Superman doesn't represent corruption. He's moral goodness incarnate. He fights for what's right. He believes people can change and he offers them that chance for redemption."
Trask's smile turned wry as he thumbed away the line of blood that leaked from the corner of his mouth. "Is that what you plan on doing? Lecture me into submission? Show me the error of my ways?"
Lois smirked, dangerously. "I'm no Superman." She pulled the taser from her jacket and jammed it into his abdomen, sending a flood of electricity coursing into his body. She held on as it jerked wildly in her hand. "I just came here to kick your ass."
Trask dropped to his knees with a low howl, and then collapsed in a heap at her feet. Lois closed her eyes and blew out a deep breath of relief, ruffling her bangs. She tossed the taser to the ground and enjoyed the small reprieve.
Crisis averted. It would be nice to go home.
"Lois!"
Her eyes snapped open and she turned towards the familiar voice.
"Clark?"
He stood in the near distance, close enough that she could see the concern etched on his face. He looked unsure of what to do, but still ready to do it.
With her attention stolen for a split second, Trask took advantage, grabbing a nearby rock and slamming it into her scull. Clark watched on in horror as she fell into his waiting arms. Before he knew it, Trask had pulled out a gun and rested it on her temple.
"Well, well, well. Clark Kent," he mocked, giving him an amused once over. "Are we having fun yet?"
"Let her go!" Clark screamed. Trask just smirked.
"That's not how it works, I'm afraid." He traced Lois' jaw with the barrel. "She's a pretty one. But somebody needs to teach her some manners."
Rage heated Clark's blood to a boil.
"Speaking of which," Trask began, breezily. "I never did get to thank you properly for that article you wrote. I guess now's my chance."
For two agonizing seconds the world around Clark slowed as he watched Trask push Lois off the edge of the gorge. When time snapped back he found himself already in mid-sprint.
He was at the bottom of the gully before Lois had cleared the ledge. He positioned himself below her and watched her decent into his arms, doing his best to cushion the impact. His knees bent like shock absorbers, but still her neck jerked and rolled.
He looked her over frantically as he cradled her in his arms.
Above him Trask watched the scene unfold with wide-eyes.
"Lois?" Clark nudged her lightly. "Wake up, okay?"
He pulled his hand out from under her to find it wet with blood. "Please?"
With Clark's panicked eyes on Lois, Trask slipped out of sight.
When Lois' eyes finally fluttered open, she saw the sun.
She eased herself up, shifting her weight to her elbows, becoming acutely aware of the dull ache just behind her eyes as she did.
"Clark?" It came out in a near whisper, her mouth dry, but she knew she could count on him to hear it. And he did.
He wore a look of utter relief as he walked over and crouched beside her. It took all of her remaining strength to muster a brave smile back.
He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, you're up. How's your head?"
She brought her hand up to investigate the back of her head and discovered she was the proud new owner of a lump the size of the Daily Planet globe. "This is my second concussion in 24 hours. I'm gonna go with 'not so great' . You do realize you're only allotted, like, six of these in your lifetime before brain damage ensues."
Clark smiled. "Well then, you better start keeping a tally."
"Har har," Lois droned. "What happened?" She had a vague picture of the past twenty four hours, but the bleeding in a gully part? That was new.
"Trask knocked you out," Clark explained. He watched as she scanned her surroundings with confusion and then added, "And pushed you off the ledge."
Her nose scrunched. "Then how am I not a whole lot flatter?"
She sat up quickly and the world spun. When things slowed down Clark was there, in the foreground, looking at her skeptically.
It took a moment, and then it hit her.
Like a rock.
"Oh God, Clark. Please tell me you didn't."
He shook his head as he sat down beside her. "Did you want me to just let you test out your bounce potential?"
She paled. "You used your powers in front of him, didn't you?"
Clark shrugged. "What's the big deal? He knows what I am. He's here to kill me because of it."
She buried her face in her hands and took a moment to reflect on the complete and utter mess she had gotten them into. "No, he came here to kill Superman."
Clark's smile was fading, "I am Superman," he needlessly reminded her.
"But he doesn't know that! Or at least, he didn't." Lois dropped her head. For the first time she caught sight of her leg, and the large gash that ran knee cap to calf. She must have clipped it on the way down. Its presence formally acknowledged, it began to hurt like hell.
Clark's mouth opened in shock. Finally he managed, "What?"
Lois pushed herself up shakily and began to hobble towards the granite stairs that led back up to the top of the ledge.
"We have to get out of here," she said, more to herself than him. She tugged on her blood spattered skirt, which now torn, threatened to hitch its way up her thigh.
Clark caught her arm. "Lois you have to sit down –"
She shrugged off his grip. "I'm fine," she protested, teetering as she did.
"You're not fine. You need to see a doctor or –"
"Clark," she warned, the look in her eyes shifting from annoyance to fear. "There's no time. He knows who you are now. We need to get you the hell out of dodge - and as far away from Trask as possible."
A thought struck him. "My parents. They're home."
"Then we'll have to go there first."
Clark followed her up the stairs, a few feet behind in case her leg gave out, which he suspected it would. He tried to make sense of what she had told him but things weren't adding up. One piece in particular.
"I don't understand, if he didn't know I was Superman, why did he come to Smallville?"
Lois braced herself before scaling the especially high step in front of her. She wasn't sure she had the energy to give Clark the explanation he as looking for. But it was her cloak and dagger act that had gotten them into this mess, and the feelings of culpability gnawing at her conscience were making a compelling case for full disclosure.
"When Superman first showed up in Metropolis a few years back, it brought every whacko out of the woodwork with one ridiculous claim after another about his true origins. Trask spent years weeding through the testimonies of every single one of them."
Clark leapt up a few steps, like only he could, until he was by her side. "And one led here? To Smallville?"
"As all things of this nature tend to. Face it, Clark, This place is a beacon of weirdness." At the top of the steps, she spun to face him. "The earliest sighting Trask found was here, around this time. Now you, I, and sanity know that's impossible, but Trask is neither you, nor I, nor sane."
"But apparently, very lucky," he said, looking just beyond her.
Lois shot a glance over her shoulder and then did a double take. "Where's the truck?"
"Trask must have taken it."
Lois threw her hands up and stomped painfully over to the now vacant parking spot. She silently cursed herself for leaving the keys in the ignition. Then loudly cursed Trask for being an asshole.
"We have to catch him."
When Clark was finally back in arm's reach, she fisted a clump of his shirt and pulled him towards her. Bracing herself on his shoulders, she hopped into his arms, like she had done so many times before. It caught Clark by surprise.
"Lois, I can't run with you. Not when you're hurt."
She shrugged. "Then you have to fly."
"What?" He gaped down at her. "I can't do that."
"It's the only way."
"I can't."
Lois sighed and eased herself out of his arms, resting her weight on her good leg.
"Look at me," she instructed. She placed her hands on his cheeks and looked dead into his eyes. "If there is one thing in this world that I can count on, it's that you always save the day." Under the glare of the bright sun, her hair took on the red tint of blood. "Please, try."
Clark sucked in a deep breath and took a step back. He forced himself to focus at the task at hand. If he could fly in the future then it was in him somewhere, he just had to find it. He looked to Lois who gave him an encouraging nod.
He bent his knees, and set his jaw. Then, with all the strength he could find, pushed himself off the ground and into the air.
When he fell back down to earth, the ground shook on impact.
Clark got up slowly.
At that moment there was nothing in the world he wanted to be more than the hero she knew.
"I'm sorry."
Lois turned away. "We need to go," she said softly, before limping towards the dirt road.
"He's been here." Lois looked at the loft in horror. "Clark is he –"
But he was already two steps ahead of her, scanning the room with his x-ray vision to see if Trask was still there.
"He's gone."
Lois made her way through the piles of clothes and overturned furniture. She picked up pieces of crumpled paper and discarded books, studying them as if they were clues. Pro-activity always made her feel better.
Clark had set to turning the couch right, lifting it as though it weighed nothing and placing it back on its legs.
"Clark." She pointed towards his trunk. It took him a fraction of a second to understand the implications.
He crouched down and hunted for the lead box, finding it opened and empty on the floor. He stared at it dumbly.
"The kryptonite. It's missing."
"That's not the only thing."
He turned to find her standing as helpless as he'd ever seen her, the last flicker of hope draining from her features. In her hand was her bag and at her feet a pile of what used to be its contents.
He didn't even need to ask. He knew.
The scroll of Templar was gone.
