Hey everybody! Thanks for being so patient with me. I had a great vacation (that's why I didn't update last week) and I've come back full of pep and motivation to wrap this story up!
(Actually I've come back with a lot of motivation to work on ALL my writing...including-but not limited to-a new Man of Steel AU fic. I was really conflicted at first because I thought I was going to do a MOS/Avengers crossover with Baby Claire as a supporting character...but that might have to wait if Alternate Universe plot bunnies continue to bombard me, haha. We shall see.
[UPDATE: Nope, I changed my mind...it'll be the MOS/Avengers story. It makes more sense and quite honestly I can't resist ideas of Baby Claire, Clark/Tony/Steve, and Natasha/Lois. Sorry, hope that switch didn't give anyone mental whiplash!]
Oh, and by the way...no honeymoon chapter. Apologies to those who requested one, but 1) I've got to keep this train moving, 2) I've already written several chapters ahead, and 3) let's just say I prefer to leave Clark and Lois to themselves during that special time. Hopefully you'll still find them plenty romantic, though ;)
Six months later
Lois walked-or rather, stormed-up to the top floor of the Daily Planet building. Headquarters were on the top floor, where the publishers reigned supreme. She'd been summoned and had a pretty good guess as to what was wrong.
If a reporter was called up to headquarters, you knew it was serious. If you and your editor had both been summoned, then you had reason to believe you were about to get the pink slip. Lois knew the news must be spreading throughout the whole office like wildfire. She avoided eye contact with everyone she passed in the hallways until she entered the publishers' domain.
She was ushered into a large, richly-furnished room lined with hardbound books containing, she knew, the Planet's vast archives. The paper had been in existence since the 1870's, right after the Civil War; until Lex Luthor owned every other paper in the city, it had been the dominant news source of Metropolis.
And now we may be about to go down the drain, she thought gloomily as she approached the three men gathered in a small circle in the middle of the room. They were all talking in hushed voices with Perry White, who, she noticed, glowered with indignation and fury.
"Miss Lane," Albert Morrison, President of The Daily Planet,said in a grandfatherly tone. "Thank you for coming up here so promptly. Have a seat. White, you sit next to her."
Lois obeyed, locking eyes with Perry for a mere second. Mr. Morrison and his companions, Keller and Harris, sat down opposite them. Lois suddenly felt like she was sitting before the Nuremberg Tribunal. Harris began, loosening his collar with his finger.
"Miss Lane, we've received a, umm . . . a serious letter from Lex Luthor this morning."
Lois clasped her hands on her knee and forced her voice to remain steady. "Really?"
Harris nodded. "It's the first direct communication we've had with him since he sued the paper for libel, thanks to yours and Mr. White's fiery rebuttals to his opinion pieces against Superman."
"They weren't opinion pieces," Perry growled. "What Luthor wrote was the reallibel. He should be the one being sued!"
Morrison cleared his throat. "That's beside the point, White. This case is costing the Planet
more than we can afford right now."
"The paper is making more than it ever did since Luthor bought the Times," Lois said. "Now that Superman has consented to being interviewed on a regular basis, readership has escalated nearly forty percent."
"But we're being sued for far more than a few pretty pennies," Mr. Keller said gruffly. "And Luthor fights hard. He's got his teeth sunk into us like a lion with his prey."
"The reason we called you both in here is to discuss this letter we received," Harris said. He removed a folded paper from the breastpocket of his suit; he unfolded it and began to read, and as he did, Lois felt her heart rate steadily climb.
" 'I'm willing to settle,' he explains, after making all the necessary introductions," Mr. Harris said. " 'Here's my deal. Lois Lane has sensitive information regarding the alien Superman that she refuses to give me. Make her give me the information, and I'll drop the suit. Otherwise I'll drag you and your paper all the way to the end of this case. Even if I'm the one to lose it, I'll be satisfied enough to know that I've run your establishment to the ground.' "
Lois heard Perry curse under his breath. She herself felt numb with shock. Seven months ago Luthor told her never to breathe a word about his threat to harm Kal-El. And really, Luthor still hadn't said here that that was his main objective. But he was finally upping his game. He wanted that information now.
"It's a fine case of blackmail that, under normal circumstances, would earn us the right to sue him for his whole empire," Harris said. "The problem is, this letter is typewritten. Doesn't even have a signature. The envelope wasn't addressed in his handwriting and the stationary isn't watermarked. We could never prove in a court of law that this really came from him-and you know how the court has favored him anyway during this whole case."
"Then how are you so sure that it's really from him?" Perry countered.
"I'm not sure," Harris said. "I was going to ask Miss Lane if it's true, what Luthor says here about some information that he wants about Superman."
Lois swallowed hard, chose her words carefully. "I'm sure the letter is really from Luthor."
"You do have information he wants, then?" Morrison asked, in a gentle, sympathetic tone.
Lois nodded, forcing herself to look the old publisher in the eye. "I've been getting letters like that from him almost every week, ordering me to give him what he wants. They're done like that one-no signature, no official stationary."
Perry stared at her, stunned. "Good grief, Lane-why didn't you tell me?"
Lois didn't answer him, merely lowered her eyes and stared at her hands.
"What does he want to know?" Keller demanded.
"I can't tell you," Lois said through clenched teeth.
"Oh, for God's sake!" Keller shouted. "You'd lie down on a railroad track for that alien! Why are you always protecting him? It nearly got you charged with high treason two years ago and now you'll let the Planet go down the toilet?"
Lois pressed her lips firmly together and stared at the floor. There were plenty of things she'd like to say to Keller, but she knew she'd regret them later. Better to try to keep her job if she could. As it was, her chances weren't looking that great.
Mr. Morrison sighed deeply and took the letter from Harris' hand. He scanned it, looked up at
Lois. "Miss Lane?"
She lifted her eyes with an effort. His old face softened, and to the surprise of all in the room, he tore the letter in half, then in quarters.
"I don't believe in negotiating with bullies," he said. "And I don't believe in betraying a man who has done so much for our planet."
"Morrison!" Keller cried.
"The Planet has a solid reputation of standing on principle no matter the cost," Morrison said, his tone sharpening as he turned his eyes on Keller. "I will not tarnish it by cowing to this tyrant-wannabe and sacrificing Superman. If Miss Lane is so adamant about keeping her information to herself, I trust she has a very good reason."
Lois smiled wanly in relief. "I can promise you, it's a very good reason."
That evening she sat on her couch with her legs drawn up, snacking on a yogurt cup. The TV was on, but she'd turned the volume down low. Her nerves just couldn't take a noise overload, not tonight.
She was still infuriated and shocked by Luthor's tactics. He'd been content since February to simply keep the Planet paralyzed by the court case. She hadn't spoken to him face-to-face since then; she'd simply received the letters on a consistent basis. She refused to reply to them and always put them through her paper shredder before Clark saw them. It would do no good for him to know about the letters; it would only make him angry.
Lois reached for for the box of vanilla wafers she'd brought in from the kitchen. She was tired, and being tired meant she was also revolting against the idea of "healthy snacking." If Clark didn't get home soon she'd have to go to bed, no matter how much she'd rather stay up and wait for him. The fact that he hadn't come yet told her he was wearing the suit tonight. Someone, somewhere, needed his help.
The television, at least, kept her from dropping off. The news revolved around tomorrow's memorial service for the second anniversary of the Battle of Metropolis. It would be a much more elaborate ceremony than last year, when the city was still reeling too much for anything spectacular. She'd be there in the VIP stands-"a war heroine," someone recently called her-while Clark would be on the other side of the stands. Whoever was coordinating the event had decided on that seating.
Lois was grateful for the intended set-up. This would be the biggest test of their acting skills since their wedding. With the eyes of the world on them, she and Clark would have to pretend they were just war comrades when the fact was that they were still madly-in-love newlyweds.
Lois snorted a little at the thought, but was startled into silence by the sound of something at the window behind her. She whirled and knelt on the couch, pulling back the heavy shadow-proof curtains. Sure enough, she saw Clark in the darkness, hovering there in everyday clothes. She could just make out the laptop bag clenched in his hand.
Lois moved fast. She stood on the couch and opened the window. He forced himself through and scrambled off the couch as fast as he could, while she quietly, quickly shut the pane behind him and pulled the curtains tight. Letting out a sigh of relief, she forced a smile at him.
"How'd we do?" she asked, stepping off the couch.
Clark smiled, glanced down at his watch. "Eight seconds getting in tonight. Congratulations, we broke a record."
"Doesn't change the fact that you're late, Mr. Kent," she said, setting her hands on her hips with a half-scolding, half-teasing smile.
He shrugged, set his bag down on the couch. "Accident on the bridge to Moore Island, Mrs. Kent. I had to bring an old man to the hospital."
Her merriment vanished. "Oh no. Is he all right?"
"I think he will be. He's got heart trouble, some kind of arrhythmia. I could hear it all the way to Metropolis General."
"Maybe it was just from the shock of being carried through the night sky by Superman," Lois teased gently. He laughed, the very sound she'd wanted to hear. "Are you hungry? We still have leftovers in the fridge . . ."
Clark looked sheepish. "To tell you the truth, I'm starved.""
"Then come with me," she said, drawing him into the kitchen. "And if you don't care for leftovers there's still plenty of lunch meat for a sandwich-"
"Lois," he said, "hold it."
She stopped and knew what he wanted as soon as she took one look at his face and his gently beseeching eyes. He drew her up against him, pressing his lips to hers in a long kiss that made her heart race. For that one glorious moment, she forgot all about Luthor. Clark Kent was the only other person in the world who existed besides herself.
"I love you, Lois," he whispered. "Tell me you love me, please."
She opened her eyes, recognizing the desperate, childlike need for her in his words. He was thinking about tomorrow, and it made his confidence wane. Which in turn meant that now was not the time to tell him about the threat against the Planet.
"You know I love you," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "What time do you have to leave me?"
"No later than four," he said. "I have to be gone before every reporter in the city swarms here to see you off to the memorial service."
Lois frowned. "This'll be the first time they've had a real commemoration of the battle. Are you going to be able to stand the memories?"
He wrapped a strand of her hair around his finger. "I'll be all right."
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"I'm sure. You'll be there."
"But I won't be sitting next to you," she reminded him.
"I'll still see you." He kissed her forehead gently. "And that'll give me all the strength I need to get through it."
The crowd gathered around the gaping crater was absolutely silent, all eyes fastened on the band of solemn bagpipers playing the national anthem. Ordinary civilians, local politicians, prominent businessmen, world leaders-all were dressed in dark, somber colors. A few wept. The mood was heavy for the second anniversary of the Battle of Metropolis.
Under normal circumstances, Lois would be in the press pool. As an important figure in the battle, however, she stood with none other than General Swanwick and several other military officers and city leaders. It felt surreal to be here without even a notebook in her pocket in which she could scribble a note or two.
She kept her eyes locked on the bagpipers, and when they were all allowed to sit down again, she tried to pay attention to the sober speeches given by the mayor, the governor, the president. Her stomach had been churning since she woke up; she discreetly produced a peppermint from her purse and sucked it hard, hoping it would calm the butterflies.
When Swanwick went down to give his own address, however, her nerves and curiosity got the better of her, and she finally stole a stealthy glance to the far side of the VIP stand.
Clark was there-not as Clark, of course, but as Kal-El-sitting ramrod straight with his hands clasped in his lap and his knees pressed together. His eyebrows were drawn together and his lips slightly pursed in concentration; his eyes were locked, immovable, on Swanwick as the general approached the podium.
Lois quickly glanced away. The minute he'd appeared-and of course he flew in-the cameras had gone wild. The most disconcerting thing was that she sensed some of the flash had been aimed in her direction. It was uncomfortable being on the other end of those penetrating cameras.
Determined not to risk attracting attention, she turned her gaze again to General Swanwick, who was arranging his notes.
"Two years ago last night," he began in a calm, steady voice, "I was startled from my usual duties by reports than an unidentifiable object was flying between the earth and the moon. My concern escalated when a voice unlike any I'd ever heard before came over every loudspeaker, radio, and television in the world. I'm told even small radios in third-world countries carried the message."
Lois swallowed. She remembered it . . . standing in the Planet office, groping for something to hold onto when the lights all of a sudden went out, listening to General Zod's menacing voice.
"The tyrant who addressed us demanded the immediate surrender of his countryman-a man who, he said, had been living in our midst his whole life," Swanwick went on. "He didn't say why he wanted this man. He simply threatened to destroy us if we didn't hand him over."
The American general glanced up at his notes and looked over the silent crowd. "Let's face it-we were damned if we did and damned if we didn't. But let's admit, too, that the man Zod targeted had more courage and selflessness than all the people of Earth combined."
Lois' heart leaped into her throat as Swanwick threw out his arm in Clark's direction. "He didn't have to give himself up. Now that we know who he is, it's easy to see that he could've escaped this planet and saved himself if he'd wanted to-but he didn't. And even though General Zod went back on his word to us, this man fought him all the way to the bitter end."
She couldn't help it; she peeked at Clark and saw his jaw had gone tight, as if he was trying to
maintain his steely composure. His throat contracted and he blinked hard-but only once.
"Of course we thank men like Colonel Hardy and Dr. Hamilton, who lost their lives in the
attempt to stop the world engine. We thank the National Guard and the police who evacuated the center of Metropolis as best as they could. Many of them lost their lives in the attempt. We thank Miss Lois Lane, who bravely prevented a bloody conflict between American forces and Zod's army in the Nevada desert."
Now it was Lois' turn to fight off a blush and a downward glance; she clenched her hands in her lap and forced herself to keep her head up.
"But most of all," Swanwick concluded, "we thank this man for defending us against his own people, for throwing in his lot with us, for remaining faithful when we gave him up in a futile attempt to appease a tyrant. Superman, Metropolis thanks you . . . the world thanks you."
General Swanwick brought his hands together and began clapping. Slowly, surely, the rest of the crowd responded until it was a roar of applause. Everyone was watching Clark now. Lois' eyes were all blurry and she had to swallow hard to keep from crying outright, but she clapped harder than anybody and was the first to get on her feet in a standing ovation.
The object of everyone's gratitude simply sat there, too humble and stunned to do anything except stare over the crowd with an expression of overwhelming shock and relief.
Don't carry the guilt anymore, Clark! Don't let the memories torture you. The people love you for your sacrifice, they don't blame you for the destruction! You gave them hope . . . just like your real father said you would.
The rest of the ceremony went on without incident; a black granite wall was unveiled bearing the names of all the battle's victims, along with another memorial dedicated to those whose bodies were never found in the destruction. When the day's events finally came to a close, it was clear where all the attention of the dignitaries and press pool alike would be focused: on Kal-El.
Lois figured it would be better for her to keep a distance, so she rose, slung her purse over her shoulder, and cast one last glance in Clark's direction. He was surrounded by people, talking in that calm, regal tone of his, acknowledging questions from reporters with his lordly nods. He was so different from Clark Kent of the bull-pen, or the man who kissed her awake this morning. She drew a sigh of relief. No one would ever recognize him.
She'd just set foot on the steps leading to the bottom of the stand when a cry of alarm startled her. Lois whirled, saw people running towards the other end of the stand. General Swanwick, talking with some foreign head of state, dashed from his conversation towards the confusion.
"Get back!" someone shouted. "Get back, give us some room!"
The crowd obeyed, and in that second Lois saw something that sent her worst memory racing back into her mind. In her mind's eye she saw Clark on the floor of the Black Zero, blood spurting from his mouth. A few feet away from her right now, exactly two years later, she saw him awkwardly positioned between the rows of seats, on his knees and with his hands grasping desperately for something to hold onto.
He was coughing on the verge of gagging; before some lumbering oaf got in her line of vision again she saw that his skin had turned a deathly white. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth.
Lois dashed blindly forward, but someone grabbed her arm from behind. She whirled and saw Perry standing there. He must've been with the press pool.
"Stay back, Lois," he whispered firmly.
"I have to see him-" Lois gasped.
"Stay back," he repeated, more firmly still. "It'll do you no good to go over there-come back here!"
Lois felt weak-kneed, but she let him drag her away. She couldn't see Clark now. Everything in her wanted to break free of her boss and run to him, get him away from that press of people and whatever-or whoever-had exposed him to their worst fear.
But she couldn't. Their own secret compelled her to stay away.