I'm (not) sorry for the long delay, but I had to go medieval on chapter 14. The original ending of it was just fuck awful and I would have been ashamed of myself to let it out into the wild in its original version. It took entirely too long.
Also got caught up in a necessary bout of spring cleaning. Either I need a more powerful vacuum or all that cat hair is just never coming out of my bedroom carpet.
Chapter Fourteen: Stuck in Between
Clark was starting to feel like he had set a record, however accidentally.
Lois Lane was too crazy and no one stuck with her for very long. Rookie reporters made to shadow her ducked out before the end of the first day and sometimes tried to make it through the second, but a week was rare. Photographers were gone in less than three weeks, unwilling to follow her over fences and past security cameras. If they didn't run away on their own, it was Lois's abrasive and determined personality that often scared them away just the same.
But here was Clark, starting his fifth week at the Daily Planet and still working right alongside Lois like they had been doing it for years. So naturally, everyone was whispering and sharing rumors over exactly what kind of relationship they had. And the bobbing eyebrows from Lombarde told Clark that the "athletic relations" rumor -- of Clark Kent bedding the Mad Dog and living to see sunrise -- had in no way died.
And probably wouldn't. Not with the way she perched on the corner of his desk that morning with the research on Sofia Gigante, showing a decidedly large amount of bare leg thanks to her usual attire of short skirts and business blazers.
Very nice bare leg, nonetheless. Definitely sleek.
"You do running." Clark observed, staring contemplatively at the lower half of her thigh. Regular running did have a noticeable effect on the quadriceps.
Lois blinked. "I swear to god, Smallville, you're the first person who's actually commented on just that." she said, almost sounding relieved.
Of course, her response would have been a little more annoyed if she'd known that Clark was thinking about a little more than just her leg musculature and the slimming effect her work-out routine had.
Her legs looked really soft.
"So, do you run?" Clark asked.
"Yeah, I run a mile and a half on the weekends." Lois nodded. "I'd go running more often, but the schedule around here is murder sometimes. Fifty chin-ups is quicker to crank out in the morning between making my bed and eating breakfast. I bike into work during the spring and summer. Easier to do it when it's not colder than a well-digger's ass-crack out there. Didn't you tell me the other day that you were still looking for a couch?"
"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm still looking." Clark nodded. His apartment was largely furnished by now and he had a nice armchair and one of those little loveseat sofas. He had a king-sized bed and an excellent writing desk. But he really wanted a proper couch, one that was long enough and wide enough to accommodate him. "Why?"
"I've got a pair of those neighbors who practically replace their entire living room every couple of years even if nothing actually needs to be replaced. They've got this great-looking couch up on Greglist, but they can't sell it and then I told them I had a friend who might be interested." she explained. "They're only asking three hundred for it and they don't mind installment payments."
"I'll swing by on the weekend."
"Do you even know where I live?"
Clark almost didn't hear the entourage that trooped into the newsroom, combat boots thudding on the floor, until the excess number of heartbeats caught his attention and the yelps of surprise made him jolt in fear.
Two dozen men had stormed in, dressed in battle fatigues and tactical vests, openly carrying assault rifles. Most of them looked grim. One of them was grinning downright sadistically. Another looked like he didn't want to be here.
"Clark Kent!"
The voice itself was not one that Clark had heard in something like seven years and it was the familiarity of it that scared him more than what was bellowed next.
"You're to be executed immediately for crimes against Planet Earth!" Agent Trask declared.
What happened next in the newsroom couldn't be adequately described as Hell breaking loose, but more like some of the plugs had popped out of Hell's retaining wall. The reporters had only been momentarily paralyzed by the heavily armed men barging in, but the second that Agent Trask had announced his intention to execute one of their own, they jumped out of their chairs and started shouting furiously, crowding the most direct path to Clark's desk.
"Get out of the way!" Trask bellowed.
But there was no retreating motion to the crowd's movement. Rather, they pressed forward. Wary of the guns, but forward nonetheless in the way only go-get-'em reporters could. Half of them were holding notepads and doing what they did best: Asking questions.
Clark would have been amused by the sight, had it not been for Agent Trask pushing his way past Lombarde to get at new rookie reporter.
"Who the fuck is that?" Lois demanded, hopping off the desk.
A snarl graced her expression for a brief moment and its appearance was startling; the things it did to her face. Clark had only seen her grinning and looking fairly pleasant all the time he had known her. Friendly, though maybe a little sneering at times. But not that snarl of anger like her entire ancestral lineage and personal pride had been defiled. She was clenching a pen in her fist and Clark had the sudden feeling that she could and would try to violently injure someone with that pen.
"Ms. Lane..." Clark started, worried that she would get into it with Trask. He was a dirty fighter, with no qualms about what he used or who his opponent was. And he was skilled. Clark wasn't sure if the smaller woman would stand a chance.
"I've got this. Stay back." Lois ordered.
Clark gritted his teeth. "Ms. Lane..."
"There you are!" Trask exclaimed triumphantly, having made his way past the muscle-bound sports columnist and only because his right-hand man was shoving the barrel of his rifle into Lombarde's kidney and Lombarde wasn't fool enough to start something with an assault rifle.
Lois planted her feet and took up position in front of Clark. It was like the tiny, territorial Shih Tzu against the angry mastiff and you had the feeling that the Shih Tzu would win through sheer determination.
"Don't take another step!" Lois ordered, stabbing her pen at the agent.
Trask blinked. "Who are you?" he sneered. He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Get out of the way."
"I don't think so." Lois said stubbornly. "I'm the coworker who is not going to move. Who the fuck do you think you are, busting in here with Beretta assault rifles that I have never seen outside of a military base! Screaming that you're going to execute some random farm boy from Kansas?! Where do you get off with that attitude, buddy?!"
Clark had to admit that he had never heard the word 'buddy' sound so threatening before.
"This is a newsroom!" Lois shouted, pointing at the floor with her pen. "What are you doing bringing guns into a fucking newsroom! Those are Beretta AR 70/90s! Who do you think you're going to be shooting?!"
"I said get out of the way, missy." Trask ordered. "I only want to waste one bullet today and it's not going to be on you."
Lois crossed her arms and stood her ground.
"Agent Trask, this is ridiculous!" Clark put in, unable to make himself stay silent in the face of a man who had spent five months harassing his friends and family. "I thought we had this settled seven years ago!"
"You tricked everyone!" Trask shouted, jabbing a finger at him. "The only reason I let you walk seven years ago is because no one was convinced, but I know what you are! I've seen what you do! You'll never be able to hide that from me!"
"You're the one bringing guns into a newspaper room!" Lois pointed out. "For the matter, who the hell are you!?"
"Get out of my way, you little bitch!" Trask roared.
"What in blue blazes is going on in here?!" Perry bellowed sonorously, finally summoned out of his office by the shouting. He stormed forward, his bulk parting the crowd like Moses had parted the Red Sea.
No one immediately jumped to tell him what the situation was -- they weren't quite sure themselves, honestly. But the editor could suss it out for himself. His eyes skimmed over the assembled heads of his reporters and landed on the reddened face of Agent Trask, standing in the middle of it all and trying to tower imperiously over an uncowed Lois.
"Who are you and why are you bringing guns into my newsroom?! Why are you threatening my reporters?!" Perry demanded, stomping over in such a fury that Clark actually felt the man's footsteps shake the floor. "Somebody tell me what the devil is going on in here!"
"Are you in charge around here?" Trask asked, turning to face the new arrival.
"I'm the editor. Who are you?" Perry demanded again, wedging himself in between Lois and the government agent. He was taller than Lois and more broad all around. Clark had a feeling that very few physical things got past Perry White when he was determined to hold his ground.
"Then you're under arrest." Trask declared firmly. "For harboring an alien fugitive as well as treasonous actions against the United States and her interests--"
"That didn't answer my question!" Perry shouted, bristling and appearing to grow several inches in the process. "This is a newsroom! Those are guns! You're standing in a newsroom with guns screaming about arresting me and my reporters for-- what was that again?"
"Harboring an alien fugitive--" Trask started, but Lois busted out laughing.
It was hysterical, largely inappropriate laughter that wasn't suited for a moment like this. The sort of laughter a person gave when they found something so ridiculously hilarious that they couldn't not laugh.
"Alien fugitive?" she repeated incredulously. "You think Clark Kent's an illegal immigrant? Get over yourself, tin soldier! He's Kansas born and bred!"
"Yeah, that's right!" Lombarde agreed suddenly, throwing his thick arm around Clark's shoulders. "You should read his farm reports! He knows that shit better than any of us! He could tell you all about running a farm!"
Clark wanted to tell the sports columnist that farm reports really weren't about that. It was usually about the weather around planting and harvesting days, advancements in the equipment needed to run a farm, soil content and fertilizer and such, and maybe tips to get a higher produce yield. It was generally accepted that if you were a farmer, then you already knew how to run a farm.
But he didn't say anything. For as sweaty and unpleasant Lombarde often smelled, having his bulk in the way and his support might help to deter Trask from following through his with vendetta on the spot.
Clark didn't want to get shot at in front of everyone. Bullets didn't work. Not on him. His skin was bullet-proof. And it would only serve to prove that Trask wasn't just spewing nonsense out of his mouth.
It wasn't like Clark actually was from this planet.
"I've got a copy of his birth certificate or..." Perry thought for a moment, because it wasn't a birth certificate, strictly speaking. "Whatever paperwork validates him as a citizen of the United States. I have a copy. Believe me, I wouldn't have hired him if he didn't have proper documentation. Now who are you?!"
If Trask intended to answer (which seemed very unlikely, considering that it had taken Clark over three weeks to even learn the agent's last name), he didn't get the chance when another dozen footsteps pounded into the newsroom. This group of people was led by a woman with short cut blonde hair, wearing black slacks and a long brown coat. Clark recognized one of the men in the group as Detective Dan Turpin. They had kept in touch the last few weeks, as the detective had kept Clark updated on the progress of Faust's court case and if Clark would need to be present at the trial.
Indeed, all of the new arrivals had a police badge gleaming from their belt loops or their coat lapels.
"Met P.D.! Agent Jason Trask, stand down now!" the woman ordered. She had one hand on her gun, ready to draw it if necessary.
That was the head of the SCU, if Clark remembered correctly. What was her name again... Something Sawyer? It had been a very fleeting introduction.
Trask chuckled. "Miss Sawyer, do we have to go over it again? I'm in charge--"
"You're overreacting!" Lieutenant Sawyer told him, striding forward through the crowd of reporters and government agents. "You might have the state's permission, but there are procedures to follow and laws to obey. You just don't get to storm the Daily Planet with assault rifles! This is a place of business! You've chosen to work out of the SCU, meaning you're beholden to city law!"
"Exactly!" Lois agreed. She thrust out her hand demandingly. "Let me the see the warrant you have for Clark's arrest!"
For a second, Trask looked to be at a loss. He proceeded to produce nothing of the sort. No warrant. He had charged in, expecting that no one would get in his way. He hadn't even bothered to introduce himself, much less actually explain what he was doing here.
"That's what I thought!" Lois grinned her Grinchy smile. It looked singularly disturbing. "Believe it or not, you can't arrest solely on suspicions, not without probable cause, at least, and from where I'm standing, there isn't any. You need a warrant. Then you need to tell them-- that is, you need to tell Clark what he's being charged with. Then you Mirandize him and he is to be duly tried in a respectable court of law with all the evidence you can gather that suggests his wrong-doing while the appointed jury determines whether or not he is innocent. All that needs to happen before you can even think about the idea of execution! Furthermore, capital punishment was abolished in this state in 1846 -- and made unconstitutional even when the crime is treason in 1963 -- meaning you'd probably need to take the case in front of the Supreme Court. But if you can't even produce a warrant, you won't even get him in a holding cell."
She held up her phone.
"One tap of my finger and I'll call my father. There's nothing he hates more than the violation of one's Fifth Amendment rights."
Trask snorted. "Is that supposed to scare me?" he asked.
"I don't know. Are you scared of General Sam Lane of the United States Army?" Lois taunted.
She was going to have to send her father a fruit basket full of figs for being a scary, uncompromising bulldog of a military general who had undergone the simple procedure to get his sense of humor surgically removed, otherwise her name-dropping wouldn't have had nearly as much effect.
At the very least, Trask recognized General Sam Lane and had enough piss-your-pants respect for him to look slightly terrified at the mere idea that Lois had him on speed-dial three. The agent hesitated for a second, using that time to re-think his intended course of action. Then he vetoed making any changes.
"Get the fuck outta my way!" he snapped.
And punched Lois in the jaw.
How his fist made it all the way past Perry's shoulder was something of a mystery. Clark must have blinked if he had missed it. But Trask's knuckles collided with Lois's jaw just the same and Clark felt something in him crack as he lunged to catch Lois before she hit the floor. The only thing he hated more than sleaze-bag men who propositioned unwilling women for sex were men who deliberately struck women. But he put his focus on catching Lois, because if he hauled off and retaliated, Trask's skull would not survive the encounter with his fist.
"Assault! That was assault!" Lois shrieked, slashing her pen at Trask like she was trying to cut his face. She had come up swinging and angrier than before. "Everyone saw that! That was unprovoked assault! I'm pressing charges, Lieutenant Sawyer!"
"Kent! Get yourself and Lois into the conference room!" Perry ordered, pushing them back from the agent. "We'll sort this out!"
"You're not going anywhere!" Trask yelled.
"Stand down, Trask!" Sawyer ordered, clicking off the safety on her firearm. "Stand down or I'll have you taken in to custody!"
"Come on, Ms. Lane." Clark coaxed, tugging her back from the scene. More corks were popping out of the proverbial dam. The longer this stewed, the more likely Hell really was going to break loose.
"No I'm not done yet!" Lois shouted defiantly.
"Yes, you are." Clark picked her up around the waist like a sack of potatoes, ignoring her startled yelp, and just carried her off to the conference room.
"Smallville! Put me down!" she ordered, slapping his arms with the flat of her palms, her legs curled up under her. "This is humiliating! You know that, right? My god, why are you this strong?!"
She was no dainty flower. Five-foot seven and about one-thirty; most of that was muscle. And Clark had lifted her clean off her feet. Her butt was pressed to his-- dear god, that was a rock-solid chest. And the almost delicious pressure of his lovely corded arms around her waist. She could feel the press of his biceps and flexor muscles against her ribcage.
She almost complained when he put her down inside the conference room.
Clark closed the door, shutting out the noise from the newsroom. Perry was shouting, Trask was shouting, it sounded like half the SCU was getting their dander up, and their fellow reporters were getting in on the action again, repeating all the questions Lois had hurled earlier.
"Let me see your face." he requested, beckoning her over.
"It's fine. Just get me some water from the dispenser." Lois requested, rubbing her fingers over the swelling flesh of the cheekbone.
"Will you let me see it first?" Clark asked. He wanted to check her pupils, see if she had any blood in her mouth or if anything was fractured. Trask didn't pull his punches just because it was a woman.
"Stop being such a gentleman." Lois grumbled half-heartedly, but gestured for him to come over.
"I can't. It's the way my parents raised me." Clark admitted, lightly touching the reddened skin. He could already hear the rush of fluid to the area and he could almost see the skin rising.
"Clark Kent the gentleman." Lois murmured. She trembled when his fingers pressed more firmly against the appearing bruise.
"Sorry, that must have hurt." Clark eased the pressure a little and the dark-haired woman shrugged.
Oh, it had hurt, but it wasn't the pain that had made Lois tremble like that. It was his fingers. The feel of them on her cheek. They were rough and calloused; she had already known that. He had spent years doing things like baling hay and cleaning out the cow barn and fixing fences. His hands had gotten rough and strong with all the work.
But the way they felt on the sensitive flesh of her cheek... Well, that was different.
She was so busy marveling at the way his fingers felt that she didn't quite notice the way Clark peered over the rims of his glasses or the way the navy-blue irises just gave way to bright blue. He took advantage of her momentary distraction to scan her cheekbone for any sign of a fracture and fortunately, found nothing except the early signs of a bruise.
"It seems okay." he told her, taking his hands away.
"Does it?" Lois touched her swelling cheek, lamenting at the loss of his fingers.
Clark nodded. "Let me get you that water."
There was a dispenser in the corner of the conference room. He filled a little plastic cup and brought it back over to her. Lois held the chilly cup against her cheek and left it there for a few seconds.
They sat quietly at the conference table for a few minutes, listening to the noise out in the newsroom. Clark could make out actual words. Trask was still shouting, threatening to arrest everyone in the newsroom for being contemptuous and harboring an alien, employing him. Detective Turpin was shouting procedure, sounding like he was regurgitating the handbook. Lieutenant Sawyer was actually shouting at Trask's men to put their fucking guns down and stop thinking with their balls. Perry was just shouting.
How long is it going to take for things to calm down out there? Clark wondered.
"What an asshole!" Lois burst out, slamming her free hand down on the glossy surface of the table. "Who the everloving fuck does he think he is?! Running in here with Beratta assault rifles? He doesn't get to violate your constitutional rights! I want his name! There's going to be an article on this, for sure!"
She put the cup down and suddenly turned on Clark with a thoughtful expression.
"You've met him before." she realized.
Clark nodded. "Agent Jason Trask, director of Bureau 39."
Lois shook her head. "Never heard of them."
"According to him, Bureau 39 handles situations that the government can't afford to be associated with. At first, I thought he meant political scandals; the sort that would destabilize democracy or bring down the White House. But he showed up in Smallville with the CDC after the meteor shower looking for aliens." Clark explained.
Her expression sort of slipped when it dawned on her exactly what he was talking about. Lois stared at him a second longer in disbelief, as it waiting for him to retract his comment.
"You mean aliens. Not illegal immigrants. You mean outer space aliens. This guy thinks you're an outer space alien." she said.
Then, just like the first time, she burst into laughter.
"That's delusional! You're as farm boy as they come, Smallville!" she giggled.
Clark was sure that she meant it as a compliment, but it still felt like something of an insult. Nonetheless, he was glad that Lois thought the whole thing was hilarious and ludicrous. It was the reason Trask hadn't been able to find any support for his claims. Johnathan and Martha had put on an excellent act of being completely flabbergasted by the idea that their son could be an alien and then vehemently denying it. They had played their roles perfectly; the doting, overprotective mother, and the outraged, belligerent father, waving the adoption paperwork and dragging an equally unhappy Judge Ross into the mess so she could confirm the legality. The adoption was above the board, fully approved, and ratified by the state of Kansas, and no one had any way of proving where Clark had actually come from.
Pete and Lana, the only other people who knew of Clark's extraterrestrial origins, had laughed hysterically and proceeded to tell somewhat edited horror stories that painted him as just being ridiculously clumsy and riddled with bad luck. The rest of Smallville, for the most part, just hadn't bought was Trask was trying to sell. It had still taken him five months to give up the chase.
In retrospect, Clark wondered if the only reason Trask had left at all was because he had found the shuttles.
"I know!" Lois snapped her fingers. "If by some bizarre and extremely unlikely chance that you turn out to be an alien, I'll stand in the middle of Planet Square bare-ass naked and hand out cupcakes shaped like butts."
I won't hold her to that. Clark decided.
"That guy's a little shit." Lois went on, crossing her arms as though she was indignant on Clark's behalf. "What the hell makes him think you're an alien anyways? You don't even look like one!"
Clark shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose he just saw something a little unusual and blew it out of proportion. He was looking for aliens." he pointed out.
"That's true." Lois agreed.
Clark really didn't know what had tipped Trask off and made the agent follow him around for five months. It had been a week after the meteor shower before the CDC had turned up, Bureau 39 following in their wake. By that time, the dust had settled and Smallville had started clean-up and Clark had had almost no reason to use his powers so extravagantly.
It could have been the proximity to the farm that had brought Trask running. The likely guess was that he thought the Kents were harboring the newcomer (which they were). Krypto's shuttle had landed in nearly the same spot as Clark's, about a hundred feet off. The Kents had gotten the shuttle moved to the barn before any agents had come snooping around, but there was no mistaking a fresh impact crater.
It took half an hour for the shouting in the newsroom to die off, fully stymied by the deep baritone boom of Police Commissioner Henderson ordering Trask off the premises and to quit upsetting the reporters. That only served to set Trask off again - Clark had all but tuned the agent out at this point.
The door opened and both of the reporters tensed, but the only person who let himself in was Detective Turpin and he closed the door when he was just barely over the threshold. He looked hassled and frazzled and otherwise very, very annoyed.
"What's going on out there?" Lois asked, standing up.
"Maggie-- Ahem, Lieutenant Sawyer called the commissioner and the D.A. when Agent Trask refused to vacate the building." he explained. "He's still refusing to leave."
"Phillip Parker the D.A.?" Lois questioned. "You know he's semi-corrupt, right?"
Turpin raised his wild eyebrows. "Really?"
"Yeah, illegal gambling circuits. You should look into that." Lois suggested. "You were saying? Why is Trask refusing to leave the building?"
Turpin shrugged. "He's spouted a lot of nonsense about aliens and spaceships, but he's not really giving anyone a good reason for anything. Maggie wants to arrest him on the grounds of disturbing the peace and armed assault. I can't believe Commissioner Henderson is trying to talk her out of it." he grumbled. "His paperwork's legit, but that's about the only thing. He has a letter from the statehouse that gives him permission to work with Met P.D. in order to capture his-- fugitives. But one of the agents told us that they were supposed to check in with the mayor's office and give Mayor Kovacs the run-down."
Lois smirked. "So they didn't make their courtesy calls." She was practically taking notes in her head. There was going to be a nice big juicy editorial for Wednesday's paper, if she could help it. "Who was Agent Stoolie Canary?"
"Some young dumb shit named Trevor. Trask fired him on the spot and then Maggie offered to hire him, so I'll bet anything he's going to be in a tell-all mood." Turpin assured her, looking a touch predatory, but he didn't like Trask very much at all either. "They're probably going to have half the city government breathing down their necks by lunchtime."
"Do you believe it? About the aliens?" Clark wondered. Turpin seemed like a level-headed fellow. Rational and taking fact over half-baked notions. Probably the sort of guy who would accept the impossible if there was enough evidence.
Turpin shrugged. "Our human lie detector told us that Trask actually believes the shit coming out of his own mouth." He looked at Clark apologetically. "Sorry you got caught in the middle, Mr. Kent."
"It's alright." the reporter shrugged. "Say, is there any chance I could get a restraining order on Trask? He's actually harassed me before for the same reason. I don't want him going after my parents again either."
"I'll talk to D.A. Parker for you." Turpin offered. "At the very least, we should be able to get him restricted from the Daily Planet building."
"And Kent's apartment building." Lois added.
"I'll see what I can do." Turpin assured both of them. He turned to leave, his hand on the knob before he paused. "And Ms. Lane. As crazy as it sounds, there might be some weight to some of things Trask is saying. Bits of it, at least." he added. "Swing by the SCU when you're done for the day and I'll show you. Might be the biggest story you ever write."
He added it to be an incentive, but Lois took it as a challenge. Sure there was always a big story. The jackpot of gold at the end of the rainbow kind of story would make a reporter's career.
"Well, it sounds interesting put that way." she said, adopting that little Grinchy smile of hers. "Hey Smallville--"
Clark all but jumped out of the chair for a reason not related to Lois's story-grubbing.
"Actually, Ms. Lane, could you tell Perry that I'm ducking out for an hour or two? Something's come up and I should take care of it now while I'm still thinking about it." he said, making tracks for the door on Detective Turpin's heels.
"Where are you going?" Lois asked.
"Uh, Dr. Sullivan emailed me last night. He wanted to do some follow-up." Clark fibbed, not quite making it up on the spot, since that was exactly what he planned to do. "I meant to tell you, but then Trask happened."
"You got real popular all of a sudden, Smallville. Why does Dr. Sullivan want to talk to just you and not me?" Lois demanded, frowning.
"Well... I'm not scary like you."
Lois stared at him incredulously for a second and then shrugged like she couldn't really bring herself to argue with that. She waved him off with a dismissve 'shoo-shoo' gesture.
Clark hurried out of the conference room and across the bullpen floor, only glancing up long enough to see the satisfying sight of Trask being handcuffed and Lieutenant Sawyer so far up in his face with a stern finger that she was practically picking his nose. He grabbed his coat on his way past his desk and hurried to the elevator block before anyone could really take notice of him.
The interview with Dr. Sullivan over two weeks ago had been gnawing on Clark's mind ever since. He couldn't shake the perception that the engineer knew far more than he was going to let on in mixed company, meaning that a one-on-one meeting was the only way to go.
He had been considering going back to see Dr. Sullivan again, albeit in an on-off way where he kept going back and forth over whether or not that would be a good idea.
But now, it seemed like the only idea that was even remotely good.
There were only two people on the planet who seemed to have any clue where Clark had come from and it was, quite literally, two more people than he'd ever expected. However, Dr. Essex was probably going to try and kill him if they crossed paths again (they hadn't encountered each other since the Hell's Gate docks, since Clark was not about to go looking for someone like that). Even though he clearly had answers, it was less likely he would care to share them.
Likewise, Dr. Sullivan appeared to have answers too, but if he was willing to share them was still up for debate. On the other hand, he hadn't shown any inclination of wanting to kill him and that made him the safer choice by far.
Clark exited the lobby of the Daily Planet building. The sky was still blue and cloudless, the sun almost rude in its brightness. He glanced up and down the road absently and then set off up the street, pondering the best way to get to S.T.A.R. Labs via conventional transport (there was the unconventional transport, but he was trying to keep a low profile).
The D-train would take him within walking distance of the lab, but the line didn't run this far into Downtown. He would have to take the west-bound C-train to its terminus station and transfer over, but he had no idea what the schedule was like for the trains at this point in the morning. He was only sure of the 5:18 C-train and the 5:46 J-train transfer that he took to get home after work. Lois had cautioned him to use cabs and the city buses sparingly. The cabs were expensive and the city buses were hygienically alarming at times. Neither were much faster when you considered the average traffic flow.
Clark made a noise almost like 'hmph' and took out his phone, unlocking the screen with a swipe of his finger. The Metro-Metro App was the probably the handiest thing on his phone; it gave him real-time updates and schedule changes and construction warnings about Metropolis's public transportation. Lois had been absolutely appalled when she discovered that he hadn't downloaded it and had promptly done it for him. There was no surviving the city without it, she'd told him, not when it gave such valuable information.
He went to check the train schedules to see if he could grab the C-train at the next station or if the bus would prove more timely and his spine did that prickly spidey-sense thing that told him he was being followed a little too closely.
Clark took quick stock of himself, mentally tallying up what valuables he had on his person -- which amounted to his phone, his wallet, and his apartment keys, and less than ten dollars. Traveling across a continent mostly on foot had taught him to reduce the number of valuable or expensive objects he carried at any given time. He hadn't bothered trying to break the habit, since it was good one to have.
Pearl smartphones were on their second generation, meaning the first was being re-sold for a mark-down price. He didn't have anything truly valuable on him and Perry was right. People usually didn't go after the big guys.
Usually.
Somewhere nearby, a dog barked, harsh and loud in warning. Clark sensed more than saw or heard the approaching hands -- like he knew the molecules of air were parting behind him. It was a sensation that tingled up and down his spine.
Then it was like time slowed down around him. A car that had been throttling up from a start suddenly slowed to a crawl. The pigeon above his head could have been trapped in amber, its wings moving torpidly into the downstroke. Ever present steam rising from the manholes appeared to freeze, twisting curls suspended in midair. And then the hands inching up towards him and he could almost see them from the corner of his eye--
The intruding hands grabbed him under the shoulders, with a strong grip that a normal human couldn't have hoped to throw off, and dragged him upwards. Gravity bent. Clark lurched forward, instinctively trying to break the grip that was actually pulling him right of the ground, but the whole thing happened too fast for him to process it.
Funny, considering how slow time had appeared to be moving just half a second ago.
It's him, the man from the docks Norman Essex he's back to finish the job--
The skyscrapers blurred past, long metallic streaks, faster than Clark had ever tried to fly, until they were bursting high into the bright blue sky, shedding the sound barrier behind them. The resulting boom shook Clark out of his momentary stupor and he heaved himself forward with all his strength, breaking free. He whirled around, intending to face his attacker head-on only to find himself facing a wall of white fur and a stiff tail smacked off his forehead.
Krypto had intercepted, back paws planted protectively on Clark's shoulders and blocking his view. The big wolf-like dog growled thunderously for about half a second, but the noise trailed off into a rumble of confusion.
"Krypto!" Clark hissed, wrapping his arms around the dog's middle to pull him out of way.
But hovering in front of him was not Norman Essex. Quite the opposite, it was Dr. Sullivan. He had his hands raised in surrender while a vague smile played around his lips. The glasses had slipped down his nose, displaying those eerily bright aquamarine eyes. And he was in the air alongside Clark with no apparent struggle.
This man wasn't exactly human either.
There was no question about it now.
"Hello Mr. Kent." Dr. Sullivan said politely, as though they weren't floating nearly a mile over the city. "I'm sorry about that. Perhaps we could talk like civilized gentlemen?"
-0-