1938 Sullivan Street.
11:15 p.m.
The elevator ride is interminably slow. And Lex Luthor's mind, as it always does in its futurist way, devises a complete and plausible direction for the conversation about to happen.
The first time he will have spoken to Lois, person to person, in months. Without platitudes. Without suits of armor, or killer robots, or Men of Steel. Away from intrigue and backstabbing. Away from the world.
The elevator ride is interminably slow. He wrings his hands tightly around a bundled bouquet of roses.
Luthor goes over the scenario in his head:
She stands there and stares at you stupidly for a moment and forgets her manners. Offer her the flowers.
She sidesteps and holds out a hand, directing you to the living room. It's a well appointed oak and burgundy affair. A plasma screen hangs from a dark wood panel in the eastern wall—Victorian scones with burning candles deck either side of the panel. The TV is showing Wolf Blitzer, muted.
She asks you to have a seat while she makes for the kitchen and asks if you want anything.
Head for the couch, a brown leather contraption that rather pulls you into it when you sit. You try to make up for the ungainly look of motion by making your spine rigid. Trying to look proper. Serious.
She brings out two tumblers of water, half-filled. One she hands to you, the other she keeps and sets in a crystal coaster on the coffee table. She exchanges it for the Planet daily crossword, and pulls a green and red plaid blanket over her legs. It's a very grandmotherly look for her.
"Lois?"
"Mm?"
"Can you put the newspaper down? I have something I'd like to discuss with you."
She looks at you. "…What?"
"Us."
"Us?"
"Yes. The way we were. Before all this happened. Before Superman. You remember, please tell me you do."
"I try not to, Lex. It's hard to forget when I have to see that building of yours blocking out the sun every damn morning."
"Point taken."
"Uh-huh. And what's your point? I can't remember the last time someone brought me roses out of the blue. Are you buying the Planet again? Because I can refer you straight to Perry if—"
"Lois, it's not about the Planet. It's about you."
That gets her attention. "Me?" she asks.
"It's always been about you. Everything I've ever done—ever since I landed that prototype craft all those years ago and started building LexCorp. That was when you and I were…well, you know."
"Yes, I do. And you don't seem so up to discussing it for what it was."
"It was good. Wasn't it?"
"You're an idiot."
"Lois—"
"Do you even remember what you did?! We dated for less than a year, Lex. Then you started to get these ideas about your LexWing and your company. And you bought office space on the top floor of the Planet, and I barely saw you. A girlfriend is supposed to see the other half, Lex—it's a two-way street. You took up one half and your ego had the other and…"
"What?"
"No," she says and touches one temple, suppressing a headache. "No, I'm not getting into this. I'm not, and I won't. I'm not. You understand?"
"I understand I hurt you," you say. Surprising even yourself, you move to one knee and grab her hand by the fingertips. "It won't happen again. You have my word."
"No…I can't. You think one instance of niceness is making up for years of…of lies? You hurt people, Lex. You hurt businesses, you hurt Superman. You hurt me!"
You feel your expression souring at the mention of Superman's name. Yes, Superman. The great equalizer, whose arrival heralded the beginning of mankind's slope to mediocrity.
Superman. The object of your hate.
You'd lost Lois for reasons all your own and you've pined for her ever since. Superman arrived and threw everything into chaos. He stole her from you.
He's a thief. A charlatan.
And when he personally affronted you. When he threw you in prison. When he stole the love of your life…
You gave everything up to hate.
Hating him. God, did you hate him.
Still do.
But Lois. The jewel of your eye.
Even after everything you still love her, don't you? You never stopped, probably never will—even though she's married to that clod Kent. Yes, you loved her, and still do. And true love never dies. Not for a person. Not for a city.
The elevator lurches to a slow and cringing stop. The doors ding and slide open. Luthor steps out and stops in the middle of the highway. Behind him the doors close and the elevator proceeds to pick up its next victim.
He stops in the middle of the hallway and turns right. 1938. Even number, left side of the hallway.
He stops just short of knocking on the door; a hand formed into a loose fist with the knuckles extended curled into a fist as he weighed his options. He sighs deeply and lowers his hand. Turns for the elevator bank.
On the way out of the building, he tosses what would have been Lois' bouquet of roses in a garbage can with one swift motion. He stops just outside the building, and turns his head down to see a bum huddled over a heat grate in the middle of the sidewalk. He rummages in his jacket pocket and flings a C-note at the man before striding quickly back across the street to his limousine.
He throws the door open and sinks into the car quietly, pulling his houndstooth tightly over his chest. He glares out the window. The hobo was gone, probably for the nearest state Liquor Agency.
"Mercy."
"Sir."
"Home," he says.
En route, he sends a message to Teschmacher on his Blackberry that he'll be taking a small vacation for the next two days.
It would've played exactly like that. You know that. She would've shut the door in your damn face. Nothing would have changed, least of all how a woman so efficiently removed from the past would care for you.
You're letting this son of a bitch clown scare you. You're better than that. Far better than him.
Lex Luthor.
Man of Steel.
Continued...