Pastime
Every time Clark purchased new shoes he needed a friction factor adjustment period, or in other words, that span of time it takes you to make sure you don't fall down in the rain because you're not used to your new shoes. And since he was only in the beginning of such a cycle, Clark was expecting to slide when he entered the elevator after the near-run to catch Lois. But these new shoes had more traction than his old ones, and thus Clark came up short on his pre-cogitated slide and more just sort of tipped up onto the balls of his feet, midair. This sudden, odd movement took place just as the elevator doors closed, eclipsing the SMACK that was Clark awkwardly falling into the back wall of the cabin, arms out and palms up.
He thought he must have looked like a startled antelope trying not to follow his fellows off a cliff at a full run. Lois, who was absorbed in her phone, didn't even bother to look up as she snorted with laughter.
Clark sighed, put his feet back under him where they belonged, and found it hard not to smile at Lois' laughter even while the tug of embarrassment near his stomach made him start to blush. He pushed his glasses up his nose and tried to regain a hold on his dignity by checking his pockets for essentials, since it was obviously decided that they were leaving the office. His mind drifted back to this heated Henderson story that Lois was all roiled up about. He didn't expect her to speak, and so he watched the numbers flick by as they descended in silence.
But Lois did speak, with laughter in her voice, a fond tone that adds affection to any sentence, "Oh Clark, I missed you."
And there it was. After three months and many heartless moments, Lois Lane showed the first glimmer of careworn friendship that Clark dared hope still existed. He turned to look out at her through his thick glasses and the pain of life eased out his toes, excitement rushing to his voice at this rare, heartfelt comment from the ice pick that was Lois Lane.
He made the conscious decision not to brush this moment aside. "I missed you too, Lois. I thought of you a few times, wondered what you would say to some of the things I saw." Like gaseous nebulae forty light-years in diameter. The remnants of supernovae.
He paused, smiling at her. The elevator 'DING'-ed at the lobby. Lois smiled back, and the moment settled nicely between them.
Lois started forward with the same determination that she had left the Bullpen with and clicked her way across the highly polished floors, careful to smirk at Clark as she passed him. Clark followed, the sudden entrance into the lobby from a quiet space pulling his hearing out too far: he could even hear heartbeats in the room. He pulled his hearing in almost subconsciously, but very consciously made sure to twist the toe of his shoe against the floor, testing.
He was fully anticipating a rush to her car in order to stake out the warehouse this instant, so he was taken off guard by her next statement.
"What say we go have a nice long lunch, Clark? You know, the kind that ends with iced coffee and a cookie instead of you still chewing while you pay the bill."
"Um, okay." Beat. "Where would you like to go?"
"Casino on 34th?"
"They have terrible egg salad."
"Screw the egg salad, Clark. Everything else is delicious. Egg salad? I said lunch, not a sandwich at recess."
"Yes, egg salad. Lunch. With lemonade. But Casino uses salad dressing instead of mayonnaise, why would they think-"
"We're going to Casino, Clark. I was only being polite."
"But you just told me to, well, you know, my egg salad!" Clark was indignant. He pulled his hearing back again as the roar of the city replaced the din of the lobby.
"Shut up, Clark. Lemonade with mayonnaise? That's disgusting."
"Salad dressing!"
They bickered the five blocks to Casino Diner, usually with Clark having to retaliate over Lois' shoulder since the tide of sidewalk traffic had them walking single-file. A random stranger's call of "Fuck yeah!" answered one of Clark's more vocal assertions about his mother's cooking, and Clark found himself irritated that Lois didn't need to raise her voice since he could hear her every sound. He x-rayed the diner over his glasses as they approached from across the block, and was disappointed that there were a few open booths. Lois looked smugly over at Clark when they shuffled into a vinyl booth and Lois kicked the table support by accident.
"Told you there wouldn't be a crowd."
Clark sighed. He started to move the condiments, sugar bowl, salt and pepper, and dessert menu under the clever 'look! it looks like a slot machine because it's a theme!' jukebox while Lois opened the menu. A waitress sauntered over.
"Good morning, can I get you two something to drink?"
"Lemonade, please." Clark ignored Lois.
"Coffee, as dark as you have it."
The waitress smiled and walked away just as Clark opened his mouth to speak and a ring tone came from his jacket pocket instead. He sighed again and made to move out of the booth, looked down at his phone while he muted the ring and tossed over his shoulder, "Egg salad on toasted whole wheat, Lois? 'Yes, please' to a pickle and coleslaw." He hurried away distractedly. He had been expecting this call and wanted to take it.
She nodded and answered, "You've got it, Smallville," as her eyes sought out the salad bar and a finger held her place in the laminated lunch specials.
Clark held open the glass door for an older woman before hurrying on the sidewalk and hitting 'answer' before the phone got to his ear. He knew it was his landlord with an update about the recent flooding in the basement.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Clark."
A pipe had burst above the tenant storage rooms in the building's sub-basement, and while Clark wasn't as upset as the rest of the people he saw charging the superintendent's office the next day, he did have pictures of himself as a teenager in one of the affected boxes. It had been awhile since anyone had heard from the freeze-drying company, and Clark was starting to get nervous that they would look inside.
Clark walked in a circle on the sidewalk as Max updated him, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and staring at a vendor's street cart on the corner. As he looked around he was reminded of the immediate days and weeks following Superman's reappearance. An entire artistic culture had flourished on cars, in windows, and under the overpasses of Metropolis. Many renditions of "WELCOME BACK, SUPERMAN!' screamed in vivid red and blue wherever anyone looked. Vendors eventually got orders in to various companies and a plethora of hats, t-shirts, bumper stickers, and little lapel pins donned everything that moved. Clark was initially shocked and pleasantly surprised by this outpouring, but soon lost faith as the dollars rolled in, the stickers peeled and the general mood shifted back to the blank blur of reality. Clark did still smile at the random, sun-faded child's drawing of him in an apartment window, but he cringed now at the scratched 'Superman Rules!' snow globe as he was jostled about between early lunch-comers. The 'Go Back Where you Came From!' snow globe made the evil-eye at him from next to its counterpart.
The boxes were back and his were still taped shut. He closed his eyes, relieved.
"I'm glad, thanks for telling me. Great. Yes, I've got food coming, alright thanks again, okay, you too."
Clark hit End and slipped the phone back in his pocket. He sighed as he re-climbed the steps, taken off-guard by another of the tiny close-calls that he often feared would be the end of him. He'd always had a feeling it was going to come down to something tiny, one weird moment that linked Clark Kent to Superman, and not some large, cosmic event. He had learned to fear the small things.
His hearing spread out around him in the relative quiet and familiar sounding diner when he stepped back in the door. Into the dusty corners and under the counters, his sense filled the room like a rolling wave. Dishes being washed in the back, a busboy clearing a table, and as he approached their table Clark found that the loud 'clink! clink! clink!' he'd been hearing was Lois.
"What are you doing, Lois?"
Her nose was in what was obviously a brand-new paperback of Murder on the Orient Express and she was smashing a saucer full of sliced hard-boiled eggs with her fork. There was a plate of salad in front of her, a little basket of bread, her coffee cup sans saucer, and some packets of mayo.
"Nothing."
Clark sat down gingerly, trying not to kick the table, just as the waitress swept out of the ether and slid a plate of whole wheat toast towards Lois and a little cup full of coleslaw with a pickle on top towards Clark. His lemonade was already on the table.
"Enjoy."
Lois kept mashing a few seconds more then put the book down into her purse and started opening packets with her teeth. A little bit of mayo on her right index finger later, some salt and pepper, a lot more 'clink!-ing' and Clark was eating an egg salad sandwich on toasted whole wheat... with mayonnaise.
He stared at her, swelling almost literally with both affection and bemusement.
"Lois."
"Yes, Clark."
"You put up a fight to come here to get salad?"
"Mmmhmm. They have sprouts!" She held up her fork. "Betty's doesn't have sprouts. Or this great vinaigrette. Or, " she pointed with her fork and took a bite of bread, "Hard-boiled eggs."
Clark took a sip of his lemonade.
"You're reading one of my favorite books."
"Really? Well, good, we can talk about it."
"What made you...?"
"Just in the mood for a mystery," she said quickly, spearing spinach onto her fork.
Clark's mind paused on what was an obvious lie, and he scanned Lois over the top of his glasses.
Lois Lane does not read mysteries, she finds and solves them. Clark took a bite, and thought about that while he chewed. Lois was reading his comfort book, a story he'd read so many times since childhood that it had become one of his favorites, even while his intellectual tastes tended towards more serious literature. She had obviously just bought it, since the bag from the bookstore was still sticking out of her purse. It could have just been a coincidence, it was hardly an obscure book.
Except that she covered for it, and Clark knew her better than he knew himself. He swallowed, and noted it for later.
"Hey Clark?"
"Mmmm?" Mmmm, egg salad.
"Tell me about baseball."
He stopped chewing, staring at her.
"What?"
"Baseball. Go on." Lois waved her hand.
She looked playful rather than mocking, and her voice was certainly honest enough, but Clark had long ago come to expect that whenever Lois went Random that she was thinking really, really hard about something. And this was definitely random. Lois hated sports.
"I thought you did not care much for sports?" Pickle. "Something along the lines of 'mass mentality and its role in human downfall.'"
"I just don't understand the devotion. There's an almost religious fervor over teams, games really, that mean nothing. Nothing is really being accomplished, millions of dollars go to a pursuit that fails to leave any indelible mark on human society. But I don't care, really. Either way." She cleared her throat looking wary of herself and sipped some coffee. "Yet almost all the men I know love at least one sport, usually baseball," a sweeping gesture with her fork, "Broadminded, intelligent and humanistic people. Why?"
Dishes clanked and someone made that desperate sucking sound with a straw for the last bit of diluted cola. Clark wondered at her from across the table and contemplated the answer to what was obviously an important question to Lois.
"Have you ever been to a baseball game?"
Pause. Lois met his gaze and then looked down, already defeated. She sighed a long-suffering sigh on her next words, "No, I haven't. That makes all the difference, right?"
"Probably."
"Fine." Lois took a dramatic pause. "Take me to a baseball game. Right now."
"What?" Clark's voice was sensible, "Lois, it's a weekday, we're supposed to be hunting down Henderson and I was expecting two years worth of story notes and you to go racing-"
"We'll take the day off, finish your sandwich. I must understand this."
"Understand what? We don't even know if there's a game!" He shook his head at her look, "I don't watch them everyday, I have no time in the evenings, believe me."
"Damn. Hold on, wait," and Lois rifled in her bag while Clark looked on. She picked out her phone and hit a number on speed dial.
Beat.
Beat.
Clark sipped his lemonade.
"Chief, is there a game today? Yes, a baseball game. What time? Ha ha! Thanks!" She snapped the phone shut and picked her fork back up, "Starts at 3:15. Do you want dessert?"
Lois and Clark left the diner at 12:30 after a very long lunch, and made their way back to the Planet building. Clark opened his hearing and took a deep breath in the noontime sunlight. He opened his palms to the sky and soaked in for a moment before resuming a normal stride. This, if anything, would be an interesting day. As they got nearer the building though, Lois piped up.
"I don't want to go back up," she gestured at the skyscraper to which they were headed. "What else can we do?"
"Um, Henderson?"
"No. Something else."
"McMillan – Gross?"
"No!"
"Want to help me bring paint to my apartment?"
Clark had not meant for Lois to take this seriously; he would never ask Lois for anything, what with the guilt factor through the roof lately. But the next thing he knew he was directing her through mid-day traffic towards the home repair store of his choice. Superman might be able to stem the tide of mighty rivers, but it is a pain to get five gallons of paint uptown by yourself, even in a cab. And he could hardly fly to his apartment with cans hanging off his feet. Lois was fiddling with her satellite radio the whole way and blew the horn more than Clark felt was necessary.
"Meet you at the register. I need a three-way fluorescent bulb, a new toilet seat, a nightlight, and 800 sandpaper." And Lois was gone in a flash of brown hair. The sudden lack of her strong presence in this unexpected day left Clark winded at the paint counter. He watched her depart and wondered how often people need to replace toilet seats.
"That's a lot of paint."
"I know," Clark sighed as he bent down a third time to pick up the last gallon. "How much time do we have?"
"Where do you live now?" She was already climbing into the driver's seat.
"88th and Westmore."
"Well then hurry the hell up!"
"And how, pray-tell, can you afford this?" Lois was walking around his sparse, still partially packed living room and Clark was getting a little punch-drunk in a good mood. He found the sight of her in his home very alien.
"You remember Max Rebellet?" he watched her stare up at the high ceilings and run her fingers along one wall.
"Yes," Lois hissed, obviously searching her memory. "Informant on the South Side Strangler..."
"I kept him anonymous in the weeks after the arrest and he managed to give his testimony without too much fuss. He said he owed me a favor. Being the owner of ten buildings in Metropolis he promised me a nice apartment for half the normal rent. For life. Or until he sells the building in question."
"Ha! Nice."
"I didn't want to take the offer, but I have to at this point." Clark was moving paint and primer into different rooms. He had closed his bedroom door the second they walked in, preventing a glimpse into the only room that he dared let be a mix of Superman and Clark. He had a feeling there was a suit laying out somewhere. Lois had gone through the kitchen, past his 'office' and into the living room / dining room with painter's tape all up and down the walls.
"Stripes?"
"Yes, believe it or not. Come back when it's done, it's not as crazy as it looks." He paused, hoping silence would remind her that they were late.
"Where's your ladder? That's way too high to-"
"It's 2:30."
"You're kidding."
"Well, unfortunately tickets prices have gotten ridiculous." Clark looked shyly at the woman beyond the box office glass, offering a mute apology.
"Oh, never mind. Here," Lois turned her head back to the box office window, "Two for whatever you called that section."
"Lois, please don't buy my-"
"Shut up, Clark. Lead the way." Lois waved her hand again and Clark once more obeyed. He turned to gaze up at the entrance to the stadium and suddenly missed home and Royals Stadium. As unrelated memories rushed over him, the two of them waited in line through the entrance, handed over their tickets, and walked through the turn-style. Lois gave an exaggerated swivel of her hips in order to made sure her purse didn't get stuck. They moved into the cool interior and away from the sun; Clark was grinning ear-to-ear at the familiar maze-like passageway into which they were corralled and Lois was simply looking around.
"Mmm, smells like beer. Let's get beer, oh shit, soft pretzels! Good, pretzels and beer. I feel American already."
Clark had tried to explain his complicated thoughts about baseball and being an American to a cynical Lois on the drive over. He also attempted to discuss the workings of the game itself, which was rather short lived. He took a different track while juggling a hot dog, beer, relish packets, his wallet, and his ticket stub on the walk away from the food vendor.
"A player named Dock Ellis once pitched a no-hitter on LSD." One way to keep Lois' attention was with weird, random facts, especially about people doing inappropriately crazy or illegal things.
"Oh that is fun. Good. Is this where we-" Lois stopped dead at the sight of the interior view of the stadium once they turned the corner towards the stands. Clark watched her take in the scene, the sweeping semi-circle of the raised decks on either side of them, the bleachers out behind center field. After stepping out next to her and gazing down at her face, suddenly the hot, glorious sun shining down from a clear sky took Clark off guard and he felt very light in his new shoes.
Clark froze as an odd sensation swept over his body. The bottom of his feet had raised away from the soles, that's how slight the levitation was, but a split second later Clark slammed down that half a centimeter as if falling from 30 stories.
'That was odd.'
"Which way?"
"Up and... uh, left. There, by the cotton candy guy."
'Great, five years passed for the degrading Ozone Layer, too.' Clark looked over his shoulder and directly at the sun. 'Maybe I should wear sunscreen?'
Clark kept track of the row numbers as they ascended and then sat next to Lois in Row 23. She stared around the park with wide eyes and frank interest and took a sip of beer. Clark went about shuffling the many ingredients for a baseball game around in his lap and tried not to spill or drop anything. Lois stared out at the field and failed to offer any assistance.
"It's both smaller and bigger than I thought it would be. And greener. And it feels so airy, that's nice." Lois cocked her head as she watched batting practice and Clark heard her voice change slightly, "I have a thing for wide open spaces, don't I?"
'Yes, you do.' He answered in his head.
"I guess, Lois. Here," change the subject, "I'll show you how to score the game in the program." And be promptly dropped the relish packets and accidentally tipped his wallet onto his hot dog. Being a rather tall man he sort of slid sideways and under the next row to retrieve his pickled delight. Lois snickered at him and waved a napkin at his wallet.
Just then a voice boomed across the stadium and Lois looked at the field expectantly, "Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Metropolis Savings and Loan Field."
Lois laughed. At least five people looked around at her.
The sun was strong, the beer was watery but forced into his hand by Lois, and the atmosphere was jovial. After lamenting the modern day of sponsorship and after Lois made a face at him when the players came out to the most bombastic jock jam the stadium could find that morning, the mood shifted to simple enjoyment rather than cynical commentary.
The intrepid reporter duo sat back, and Clark stooped a little in his seat in order to talk to Lois without annoying the fans closest to them as they debated the game, the score, that last play, and Clark's choice of condiments.
"Who puts ketchup on a hot dog? I'm never going to Kansas." She reached out and plucked some sauerkraut off his hot dog without invitation.
Clark's smile was so fixed for the first couple of innings that, had he the ability to feel it, his cheeks would have been sore. A light breeze blew familiar scents towards his nose, he listened out into the stands for the various calls for peanuts, the boo's at opposing players, the creak of the leather as the catcher stretched open his glove for the next pitch. Clark took it all in like a twelve year old and kept pointing things out to Lois; she said he was practically bouncing.
Time wore on, fans stood for home runs, Lois came back to their seats followed by a young man, who Clark realized was Lois' personal beer boy ("Those are for him, with the glasses.") and Clark received beers number five and six.
Soon Lois was giggling at the bad-mouthed woman two rows in front of them and was herself yelling at the closest umpire. Both their suit jackets lay defeated on the back of their seats; Clark let his attention wander as he gazed at Lois, unseeing, while rubbing the condensation from his beer on his forehead to make it look like he was sweating.
"You're Lois Lane!"
"Yes, I am." Lois turned warily to regard the fan who had just shouted from behind her. Clark watched her twist in her seat.
"You're not here to scrape up more lies about Mantleban, are ya? Because that shit you printed last year was pure lies!" Ire was rising against poor Lois. Clark was still thinking and a little drunk. The next few minutes were hard to wrap his mind around, even two days later as he thought back on them.
All he could really remember was watching Lois and thinking, 'You're so beautiful. What are we doing here?'
"Clark, what is this guy talking about?" Her voice didn't cut through his thoughts right away, she looked puzzled at the accusations coming her way.
'It hurts so much to live like this.'
"Clark?"
'It's really bright out here...'
"CLARK! What the hell?"
He could see her, he could feel the cold beer in his hand... but he could not hear her.
Clark had pulled his senses so far in that he couldn't hear anything except his own thoughts; a personal silence in the middle of a cheering baseball stadium. As soon as he realized, his hearing mushroomed out like a bomb and the full impact of 35,000 muttering, talking, cheering, and jeering voices slammed into him at once.
He gasped in overload.
It must have seemed like he just spotted her hand waving in front of his face for the last ten seconds.
"And he's NUTS! What is he, your photographer? Listen, you press better leave Manty alone, you lying scum-"
"Listen idiot, we came here to watch the game, you don't see a fucking pen and pad do you? Shut up! I'm trying to skip work and understand America here, asshole!" Lois whipped back to Clark and actually reached out to grab his chin, a little concerned, "Clark."
"Yes, Lois, I'm sorry, woo! Must have drifted off there in the sun. Little woozy, beer!" and he authentically sloshed some beer on himself as he held up the cup.
"Wow." She snorted at him, "Wow, Clark. You're fucked up!"
"Lois! No, just 'messed up!' I'm 'messed up.'"
Lois snorted even harder and gave the finger to the nosy fan two rows back who was still cat-calling her. "You're messed up, Clark."
"Lois. WHY are we drunk at a baseball game on a Tuesday?"
"You're drunk. I am not drunk. You're a lightweight, Smallville."
He paused. Lois didn't.
"You were right, this is fun!" She waved towards the crowd, neither of them knew the score. They both turned to regard the scoreboard. "It's like a giant picnic. People walk around to throw food at you, all the kids have these cute little gloves and jerseys that make me want to cry-" Clark was suddenly floored by the fact that Lois was the mother of his child. "- and things just meander on and everyone starts talking about nothing. And there's beer!"
"Why am I drunk at a baseball game on a Tuesday?"
"I told you. I want to understand," she paused and looked straight at him, considering him like a child wondering whether they should tell a secret. She decided in his favor. She finished with, "Someone."
Clark was still reeling from whatever had just happened to him. She sighed and looked out across the diamond, people were cursing, the count was 3-2, two outs, runners on the corners. "I think I get it now, though, thank you." She gulped more beer and started rubbing the salt off her second pretzel with her other hand. She looked back, waiting (he guessed) for judgment.
Clark's brain kicked in at that secretive look. He didn't know which emotion to let consume him first: utter shock that Lois remembered, and then acted on, what he just knew was the fact that Superman, him, he liked baseball (Clark's brain went a little fuzzy in this direction) OR soaring happiness that the lesser of his two personas should be once again back in Lois' confidence. He liked it when she confided in him. He knew even without being around for the last five years that Lois didn't mention Superman ever, to anyone, for any reason.
And well, she still hadn't, but she had.
He thought.
Clark stared. He drunkenly wondered what his reaction should be.
Someone hit a long ball to center and half the stadium stood up, yelling all around them. Clark thanked number twenty-seven (whoever he was and for whichever team) for the interruption, and smiled at Lois offering a 'you're welcome' for something he didn't even remember doing. With the situation suddenly spinning out of his control Clark then promptly tried to reign in his sobriety for the rest of the inning.
With beer still in hand, Lois had ended up leading them to the gift shop half an hour later, after having partaken in the 7th Inning Stretch and tripping down the shallow steps down to the exit. Clark was in the corner next to a rather corpulent man, both regarding a little boy sized uniform and getting a little sullen.
"You're pouting, drunky."
"I just think this is cute."
"Ever fathered any children, Clark?"
Clark was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the number of people around him, also bored and stiff from the game, who chose to meander. He blushed and glanced at the man, who looked, Clark realized in a moment of hilarity, just as disturbed as Clark by the question.
"Lois!" All innocent embarrassment. Really. The man frowned and moved away, also pouting.
Lois laughed and walked away. She was definitely drunk now. Clark was as amused by this as always.
"I think I'll get this for Jason's birthday, if you don't mind."
She answered from over by the caps, giving a rude look to a bright pink, sequined one on a display stand. "Sure Clark that would be nice. He'll love it. Two weeks." She held up two fingers unnecessarily.
"Yeah. I know." He sighed quietly.
"Listen you, come on, they've got frozen fruit bars!"
By the time Clark finished sucking on his fruit bar he had made his way out of his funk and was back to enjoying the game in Row 23. The visitors failed to tie in the top of the 9th and the home team won 7-4. Clark was pleased to note that Lois cheered with real enthusiasm as they were bade goodbye by the PA system. He tripped down the last three shallow steps and nearly killed a security guard on their way out.
Judging by the looks she was getting as Lois hopped up and down on the curb trying to hail a taxi, the effects of a long afternoon eating, drinking, and sweating in the sun had had its toll. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, her shirt unbuttoned so far that Clark was constantly trying not to x-ray the rest of her, and she was holding both her shoes in her left hand while waving the right.
"TAXI! DAMN YOU!"
"Ah! Lois, calm down, here, I'll get a taxi..."
"I see no positive impact on society because of a bunch of nostalgic 30-somethings. Baseball reminding the world of happy childhoods spent on sun-drenched pastures is not an indelible mark on human history."
The taxi sat in rush hour traffic, back to the Planet because Lois needed someone to get her car for her. And because her phone went dead. The driver must have known they were drunk at this point.
"Look around, I'd rather have nostalgia than almost any of the prevalent emotions in society. What's wrong with looking back to simpler times, it can aid in putting the current in perspective, don't you think?" Beat. "Maybe we should all remember to worry a little less." He spoke this last more quietly, as if only to himself.
"Fine. But is that worth millions of dollars and endless brainpower from rabid fans?"
"You know, now you've gone and ruined my childhood." Clark was probably pouting again. Lois giggled.
"You're messed up, okay there Clark? Wasted. The sun really got to you, didn't it?"
"Apparently."
"A baseball game?!" Richard was flabbergasted. As was Perry, although he was probably more angry really, and Jimmy was torn between amused and frightened. Clark looked around the early-evening Bullpen. More people stayed later in the summer as in-house daycare stayed open until seven. You learn these kinds of details when your secret identity is the father of the Bullpen child of another couple. Faces were turned in their direction.
"Yes, and NOT drunk, thank you, and now I'm back and planning to spend the evening researching the Henderson case. Starting, oh say, with showing Clark four months worth of relevant clippings from downstairs."
Lois turned to regard Clark, swinging her pointed shoes out in an arch with her finger, as she was still barefoot and frazzled looking. "What say you, Smallville?"
Clark had no idea how he looked, but it was probably better than Lois. He was sober now, but still a little dazed by the day. He started grinning before he could stop himself, even though he meant to answer her seriously, because one of her shoes had flown off her finger and hit the water cooler reservoir with a resounding 'CLUNG!'
Lois burst out laughing, doubled over, and hopelessly intoxicated for the moment.
Every one else looked on, stupefied. Richard openly glared at Clark for about four seconds as if this was all his fault. But, eventually, everyone sat down and resumed their work. Lois combed her hair with her fingers and really did start to review Clark on the story. He, meanwhile, tried to diffuse the haze left on him from his earlier hilarity and drifted back into reality with her. Richard had paced back and forth awhile, listening to them, before retiring to his office for the rest of the evening.
Clark had just gotten up to get some water when Perry and Richard came out of their respective offices at the same time. After saying goodnight to him and Lois, the pair stood waiting by the elevator for it to rise twenty-five floors.
"So what is so essential to your citizenship?" came Lois' voice as he sat back down next to her in his chair, taken from his own desk so that they could look over her material.
This question rang out in the silence, even though she had said it in a low tone. The Whites listened at this non sequitur.
"Lois, for whatever it's worth and I know it's not worth much, there is nothing - nothing - more American than the 'Y.M.C.A.'"