JLU 2001 Fanfiction - Superman #12

This is an imaginary story about two men and a woman. One man wants only to help his fellow man while the other only wants to fool his fellow man into thinking he’s good. The woman is caught in the
struggle between these two men, and is forced to be apart from the truly good man that she
loves. Perhaps if the selfless man can end the threat of the selfish man once and for all,
he can finally be with the woman he loves. This is an imaginary story.
Aren’t they all?

Superman The Man of Steel.....

"NEVER ENDING"

Superman #19 - July, Year Two by Steve Crosby

    He was the on the front page of the newspaper. Not the Daily Planet, another newspaper, one of many owned by Lex Luthor. These publications almost never printed such stories, but in some cases it was unavoidable. So there was Superman on the front page, cradling the shaking form of a small child on the beach of a distant country.

    The caption read, “Superman Averts Tsunami in South Asia!”

    Enraged, Luthor crumpled up the newspaper and hurled it across the room. According to the story, the alien and flown the entire perimeter of the disaster, halting the waves with some sort of freeze breath and carrying beach-goers to safety. All very public and emotional, Luthor thought to himself. The alien had taken very good advantage of the situation.

    Of course, Luthor was not one of the ignorant peasants who blindly worshipped fraudulent messiahs. He knew that, had the alien truly been interested in saving lives, he would have moved to halt the tsunami immediately upon detecting the warning signs, which with his senses would have been months in advance. In the five minutes it would have taken him to stop that earthquake, the alien could have not only averted the initial disaster, but would also have prevented a shift if the Earth’s distribution of mass. No, instead the alien opted for the grand public rescue, potentially placing the entire planet at risk millions of years from now.

    As it were, Luthor’s own situation was in immediate peril. He’d had thousands of relief workers and millions in supplies waiting to be flown into the disaster area, all now a useless waste. There was also the matter of certain deals exchanged, promises that Luthor would be called upon to fulfill. That meant additional billions to destabilize governments that should have been swept away by the tide. With no disaster, the favors Luthor had managed to cull by evacuating certain individuals from the area would all be withdrawn. Luthor could force compliance, but that would not be worth the effort, and Luthor would be spending enough as it was.

    Billions of dollars wasted and the threat of exposure increased ten-fold, all because an alien had sought after the same spotlight.

    The intercom buzzed to life with the voice of Luthor’s secretary. “Mr. Luthor, the director of the scholarship fund is here.”

    Ah yes, Luthor’s appointment to give money for the cause of helping to drag rabble from their proper places on the streets. Once, Luthor himself had been down their in the muck, but he’d climbed to the top by himself, without the help of anybody and in spite of those who had tried to keep him down at their level. Luthor had nothing but contempt for those who were dependent on the aid of others, but such functions were helpful for his image.

    The scholarship director walked into Luthor’s office. Mr. Luthor rose from his chair and stepped around the massive redwood desk to greet the well-dressed older man. Both were extending their hands.

    “Mr. Luthor, you don’t know how much this will mean to the under-privileged in Suicide Slu-uuhhh!”

    As his one hand took hold of the gentlemen’s outstretched hand, Luthor brought his other hand up to smash into the gentleman’s solar plexus. Luthor then stepped to the side while swinging his arm back and up. Held by Luthor, the gentleman found himself flipped off his feet, spinning forward in the air. The backs of his legs fell against the heavy redwood desk, and he very nearly landed on his neck. Mr. Luthor, however, took hold of the man’s shoulders, preventing this fatal crash.

    With little effort, Luthor pulled the man back, so that his broken legs fell limply from the desk to hit the floor with a painful thud. Luthor then pitched the man forward, smashing his face against the top of the redwood desk again and again.

    Bones snapped. The desk and items on top of it became spotted with blood. Luthor didn’t stop until he felt the man’s movements cease. Then he whispered, mainly for his own enjoyment, “And you have no idea how much this means to me, you worthless parasite.”

    Luthor threw the dead body back to fall on the floor with a dull thump. The entrance to his office opened, but Luthor didn’t turn to face his secretary.

    “Ms. Teshmacher, I’ll be in my private washroom, changing.” Luthor was already moving for the door, was already undoing his tie. “Have the office cleaned and sterilized. I want the body dumped in Suicide Slums. Manipulate his bank records so that Intergang will be implicated.”

    It was with a chipper feeling that Luthor walked out of his office. And as he pulled off the bloodstained jacket, he thought about what story he would read to his daughter Lena later that night.

    After hours at the Ace O’ Clubs tavern were early in the morning, around six o’clock usually when the sun would begin to rise and the patrons realized they should get home before their spouses awoke. The bouncers, waitresses and bartenders would all leave soon after, without cleaning up. As far as they knew, a maid service hired by the owner tidied things up during the day, and by night they would return to find the tavern looking like new.

    There was no maid service. Within ten minutes of everybody leaving the owner would have himself taken care of everything. Nobody ever went into the Ace O’ Clubs tavern during the day except for this particular day.

    The door was unlocked when John Henry Irons turned the doorknob, just as he’d had been told. The large black man didn’t turn to look around on the street before stepping inside, but he knew that eyes were on him. The Ace O’ Clubs was popular in the neighborhood. Some people might call the police about a suspicious black man trying to break into a closed business establishment. Those weren’t the worry, though. The real worry would have been if any suspicious onlookers had decided to take matters into their own hands. Fortunately, at that time of day the regulars would either be asleep or at work, leaving only the old ladies with nothing better to do than watch everything and report whatever may be suspicious. For an emergency in Suicide Slums, the police may respond next week if you’re lucky, so John Henry Irons wasn’t worried one bit that the meeting may be interrupted.

    Two other individuals were already waiting for John by the bar. Behind the counter was a well-built man of above-average height, dressed in jeans and flannel. His short black hair was uncombed, and a spit curl dangled over the forehead of his naked face. Seated on one of the barstools was a blond woman at least half the age of either man, dressed in a white blouse and red skirt that showed of her attractive physique.

    “Hello Clark,” John greeted the man behind the counter. “Mae,” he said to the young woman. The name was short for Matrix.

    The woman made a face. “Eh, I’ve been thinking about a new name. No offense or anything, Clark, but Mae has too much of a country hick sound to it. I’ve been thinking of something, I don’t know, more like yours. I mean, you gave Superboy a Kryptonian name and all. Start it with a ‘K’, have it sound like Lana. Not Kana, that’s a little rough. But maybe Kara?”

    “I like it,” said Clark. “It sounds a lot like my mother’s name. John, thank you for coming. Have you eaten? I can make something up in the kitchen.”

    “I’m fine, thanks.”

    “What about something to drink? Some juice, or I could pour another glass of milk.” Two full glasses of milk were already on the counter, with about half a dozen empty glasses around them.

    “Milk would be fine, thanks.” Almost before John had finished talking, Clark had blurred slightly, and another glass of milk had appeared on the counter. No, two glasses. One of the full glasses had been emptied. For an instant before he wiped it away, there was the faintest trace of a milk mustache on Clark’s upper lip. Kara gave a girlish laugh.

    “So,” John said, getting things started. “Are you ready to go back to being Clark again?”

    “I know Lois would appreciate it,” Kara added. “I know you said not to, Clark, but I’ve been keeping any eye on her these past few weeks. I’m getting worried about her.”

    “Once Luthor’s been dealt with, I’ll talk with Lois,” Clark replied.

    “How do you plan on dealing with him?” John asked.

    “I’m sorry to impose again,” Clark told John. “But I need your help to falsify some records. Every piece of evidence that Luthor has needs to be discredited.”

    Kara was shaking her head. “Clark, you know that won’t work. Luthor will still know, and even without proof he can use the information to hurt you. Trust me, Clark. I know him better than, than probably all of you.”

    This last part was spoken aloud with some shame. Kara never liked admitting how Lex Luthor had manipulated her and taken advantage of her. Because she had been created by an alternate reality version of Luthor, she had been far too trusting than she should have been.

    “I know that, Kara. That’s where you’ll come in.” Even as Clark gave voice to his plan, in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but doubt. Not about the plan itself, but what would happen after. Would Lois understand? Even if she did, would she forgive?

    The Daily Planet newsroom was as crowded and busy as Lois Lane remembered. Reporters, photographers and interns weaved between the cubicles, all shouting and carrying papers. For a newspaper with morning and evening editions each day, the pace never stopped. Everybody was so focused on meeting deadline that Lois went unnoticed as she navigated through the newsroom to the office of Editor-in-Chief Perry White.

    The office door was thrown open as Lois approached. Out into the newsroom rushed photographer Jimmy Olsen, whose freckled face brightened up at the sight of Lois.

    “Ms. Lane, it’s so great, er,” Jimmy stumbled for something to say. The young photographer had never felt comfortable calling her Lois, and while he had often made the mistake of calling her Ms. Lane, Jimmy was suddenly conscious of the new circumstances.

    “Olsen, what are you still doing here!” roared Editor White from inside his office. “Get out and start taking some pictures. Now!”

    “Whup,” squeaked Jimmy. “Gotta run,” he told Lois as she rushed by.

    The door to Perry’s office was left open, but Lois closed it after she walked in. The Editor-in-Chief was sitting behind his desk, his attention focused on a mess of papers. At hearing the door closed he glanced up. The sight of Lois didn’t surprise him in the least. She had an appointment.

    “Tell me you’re ready to come back,” Perry said in that same voice he used when he wanted a front-page story. “Both as your friend and as your boss, Lois, tell me that you’re ready.”

    There was no hesitation before Lois replied, “I’m ready, Chief.”

    “Glad to hear it.” Perry reached under a number of papers and withdrew a sheet. He reached over the desk and held it towards Lois. “Press conference at LexCorp. This may be too much too soon, but I want this bastard nailed to the wall.”

    Lois accepted the paper, folded it, and slid it into her jacket. “You know I’ll do this, Perry.”

    “I want it done right,” he told her. Lois nodded. “Clean.”

    “Of course,” Lois said. “If it’s not all true then the real facts are tainted. Whatever he tries, Perry, I’ll stay with the truth and expose his lies. What Clark…what Clark started, I’ll finish.”

Superman was lost in thought as he flew out of Metropolis and sub-sonic speed. What would happen in the next few hours was critical, he knew. But still, the Man of Steel wondered if he could go through with what was necessary. The earlier story on Luthor had been a different matter. This time, Superman would be purposefully lying in order to discredit the man. Even if it is Luthor, even if it meant Clark getting his life back, do the ends justify the means?

    The ocean gave way to land, and Superman was soaring in the skies over Africa. It was night there, in the desert, and it wasn’t long before Superman caught sight of established training camps among the dunes. As he had done many times before, Superman swept into the camps and, faster than the eye could see, gathered up any weapons and munitions he could find. With these items piled high in his arms Superman flew up into the upper atmosphere. Quickly he tossed everything he carried and flew off. The armaments would burn up on reentry, and though not completely destroyed would still be useless in the purpose of taking lives. Countless times Superman had hoped that those who trained in the camps would catch the hint and cease their activities, but expectations of that had ceased.

    Farther east and south, Superman found himself flying over Somalia. He turned up his eyes so that he couldn’t see, but superhuman ears picked up the sound of bellies rumbling for lack of food. A previous attempt by Superman to feed the planet had been met with disaster. Irrigation canals he’d built in various regions were all quickly seized by militant groups, with many even dug back up. The suffering of others kept certain people in power, and those people were willing to sustain their power at all costs. Once Superman had removed a number of warlords and shut down their operations, but then the little order they kept had evaporated into total chaos, and new warlords rose swiftly to power.

    As much as he wanted to, Superman couldn’t change the world. That would mean changing the hearts and minds of others, and for all his power Superman just wasn’t capable of that. Sure, he could inspire people, give a small measure of hope, but too often people would come to depend on him and then feel betrayed when Superman couldn’t be there for them at every minute of every day.

    In the weeks since Luthor had forced Superman to abandon his identity as Clark Kent, he’d tried his best to be everywhere. But things would still happen in spite of his actions. Men and women killed themselves and others out of blind hate. Corporations would steal billions from hard working investors. Suffering went on while whole countries turned a blind eye.

    While flying over Antarctica, Superman looked under the ice and saw rich soil that could sustain crop fields enough to feed the world. The countless plants would also give off enough oxygen to more than make up for the Amazon rain forests and perhaps even repair holes in the ozone layer. Already Superman was working to expand his Fortress of Solitude to allow for farmland, but alone the feat would take him nearly a generation to achieve. And once this was done, Superman feared his attempts at distributing the foodstuffs would be met with the same results as before.

    A lifetime ago, Superman had had such dreams for his adopted homeworld. Those first years of successfully averting disasters and saving lives had fooled him into thinking that he could do so much more. Recently, the Absolute had tried to show Superman that there was another way to change the world. But forcing change through violence and fear was something Superman saw for the flawed concept it was, and refused to ever resort to such methods.

    The people of Earth can change the world themselves. All Superman had to do is show them the way.

    Curving across Antarctica, Superman flew from the Indian to the Pacific Ocean. He passed over thousands of islands, many of which were uninhabited but rich with indigenous life. By comparison, the inhabited islands were few, though some were densely populated. Small masses of land that had been thick with vegetation a hundred years ago were now covered in metal and concrete. The noise and air pollutions generated by these city-islands clogged Superman’s senses, and he was soon glad to leave them far behind.

    But pollution was not the only reason Superman wanted to be gone from the vicinity. Below the skyscrapers and past the clean streets he could see the price of both. Harsh penalties were inflicted for even the smallest of infractions. A lower class worked for extremely low wages with no benefits at all while their government shared profits with foreign businesses. The cries of hungry children haunted Superman’s ears as he flew past unseen, and he wanted so desperately to go help but knew that he could do nothing except to show them the way.

    North up the Pacific Superman continued, past warring Koreas and the still untapped potential of Siberia. Gold and oil and so much more was just waiting to be found on that frontier, but for centuries the land’s main purpose had been as a prison. At his point Superman veered east, into Alaska where the tapping of that land’s resources has led to what some may call ecological disaster. Under a wildlife reserve Superman could see the great ocean of petroleum, and in his head he envisioned the construction of an underground pipeline to safely extract the liquid without endangering those lives above. It would be so easy for Superman to just do it, but they had the capabilities to do so themselves and unless he allowed them to they would never know it.

    Far below Superman saw a pack of wolves track a herd of caribou on the Canadian plains. Someday when man overcame his energy crises no place on Earth would be uninhabitable, and those last refuges of wildlife would be pushed aside in the name of progress. Would humans someday find themselves alone on a dying world? Would they then turn on each other until only a few hundred thousand humans remained; each one alone in his own isolation? Such had been the final stage in Krypton’s evolution.

    Back over the Atlantic returned Superman, and he went almost over Great Britain before sharply turning south and west. His ears picked up the exquisite singing of whales from beneath the waves, but he could also hear whaling ships nearby. It was likely that the large and intelligent mammals would be killed; their immense carcasses divided up for a variety of purposes. For most of his life Superman had gone without eating the flesh of animals, and he had tried his best to never use any products manufactured at the expense of other living things. After all, if he treated any other form of life as inferior, how much longer before he would treat human beings as such?

    At last, Superman reached the point from which he had begun his worldwide journey, in Metropolis. The bustling urban municipality loomed out before him in the middle of the day, its grand skyscrapers proudly sparkling as though new and fresh. Not too far away Superman could see the working class section referred to by many as Suicide Slums, though its residents were mainly working class and Metropolis had a very small lower class population.

    Over two hundred years ago Metropolis was proclaimed the City of Tomorrow, a title it continued to live up to. Superman was proud to call this city his home. Whenever he thought about troubles throughout the world, Superman would look at Metropolis and know that that was what all of mankind could achieve. Any world with a Metropolis was a world with the hope of a great future.

    Superman hoped that he, both through his costumed exploits and Clark Kent’s informative journalism, could show everybody the way. The journey would be long, perhaps never-ending, but for Superman it was worth traveling.

    The clicking of camera and the flashing of lights greeted Lex Luthor as he stepped into the room. Long ago he’d been accustomed to such treatment. Rabble wanted to see how important people lived, wanted to try and make their insignificant lives more interesting by living through the powerful. Only when his daughter was exposed did Luthor ever mind. The last photographer to attempt a shot at Lena still has yet to found. Though nothing can be proven, the message has become clear. However much the tabloids offer, no other photographers had dared to capture Luthor’s daughter on film.

    The Press Room of LexCorp was packed with reporters and photographers, all standing shoulder to shoulder. Luthor was pleased to see how much attention this latest takeover had garnered. With the acquisition of Boeing, LexCorp would be able to compete with Wayne Enterprises in the field of aeronautics. His contacts in Congress and the Senate assured Luthor that his bids would win the next quarter’s contracts. LexCorp was soon to become the largest supplier of technology to the United States government, and the whole world was about to witness the beginning of this.

    The President, CEO, Chairman of the Board of Directors and majority stockholder of LexCorp stepped behind the podium and spoke into the microphones. The statement he made was brief, well-rehearsed; and the moment he’d finished Luthor knew that his stock had risen by at least two points. The hidden meaning was simply that LexCorp would earn well over five billion dollars over the next two quarters, and that was only the figure that would be on the books. With backdoor deals to various nations, another billion could easily be added.

    “I’m ready to answer any questions you may have,” Luthor concluded. Only if you are incompentent fools unable to comprehend the simplest of sentences, he thought to himself. Of course the reporters would ask questions, though they were educated enough to understand Luthor. That they would cater to the ignorant masses was repugnant to him.

    But for several minutes Luthor wore a smile and catered as well. He was asked to clarify several points, and more than a few questions were meant to yield information that could be harmful if released too soon. Luthor made a mental note of those reporters who dared to try and weaken his future negotiations. One such reporter, much to Luthor’s surprise, was Lois Lane.

    “According to a source in Washington, LexCorp had introduced a bid on a project that, frankly, you wouldn’t have had the resources to complete without this takeover. Isn’t it unethical and irresponsible to commit your company to something that you couldn’t have been able to handle at the time?”

    So you’ve been welcomed back into your community of truth-twisters, Luthor thought to himself. He was disappointed, as the actions used to destabilize the alien had also been meant to unbalance Ms. Lane. But in a way Luthor was gratified to see a worthy opponent in the newsroom, and as he answered Ms. Lane’s question he was formulating a plan to utterly destroy her reputation. As a matter of fact, with the alien now distancing himself from her, it would be so easy to just drop Ms. Lane off a building.

    “- Had the negotiations broken down, the bid would have been withdrawn,” was the ending of Luthor’s answer. A score of reporters then screamed out for his attention. But it was one reporter, standing in the back of the room with his back to the wall, that quietly raised his hand and, in a clear and powerful voice, let loose with a stream of questions as though Luthor had already called on him.

    This reporter was Clark Kent.

    “Isn’t it true that LexCorp owns an uncharted island in the Pacific and in fact operates factories there employing underage orphans in order to get around international child labor laws?”

    “Would you care to comment on allegations that you personally knew of the recent tsunami disaster months in advance yet made no efforts to evacuate or even to report this knowledge to public safety officials?”

    “Earlier today you met with Mr. Levin, director of the Bibboski Scholarship Fund. According to friends and coworkers he hasn’t been seen since. What exactly happened at this meeting, Mr. Luthor?”

The audacity of the alien! raged Luthor inside his mind. That he would dare to accuse me – me! – of such heinous acts without citing even the least smattering of evidence!

    Not that it would matter now, Luthor knew. The accusations would be enough for other reporters to dig around. Anything done to curtail the investigations would just lead to further scrutiny. Would anything be uncovered? Luthor doubted it, but damage would still be done.

    In a way, Luthor congratulated the alien. In cutting his ties from the Daily Planet and Ms. Lane, the alien had effectively made himself the sole target for any retribution. With his hand reaching into his pocket, Luthor decided that this was something to handle immediately.

    “No it is not true. I was as surprised by the sudden disaster as everybody else. Mr. Levin accepted a very large check for a worthy cause and left without incident. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Kent, I have some questions of my own. How could a woman with a history of failed pregnancies successfully carry a baby to term without any pre-natal care or delivery physician? Why do you wear glasses when you’ve never even had an eye exam? How could it be that you survived for months under a collapsed building that nobody remembers you being anywhere near during the Doomsday rampage?”

    Luthor took his hand out of his pocket and pressed a button on the device he held. He then stepped towards one of the armed security personnel on the stage. “Then answer, ladies and gentlemen, is that Clark Kent is in fact the alien Superman! That’s why he will be leaving us to contain the explosives I’ve just set off around the city. If he hurries he may just be able to save Ms. Lane!” screamed Luthor as he snatched a pistol from the guard’s holster and fired at Lois!

    Reporters were screaming, scattering as Luthor fired that one shot. The only person actually moving towards Lois Lane was Clark Kent. He’d begun forcing a way towards her from the moment Luthor had begun speaking, rather than zoom off to save hundreds of lives. By the time Luthor had fired, Clark had managed to reach Lois and pushed her out of the way.

    “Look out!” cried Clark, just before the bullet struck him in the shoulder. He fell to the ground, and immediately blood began to seep out from the bullet wound.

    A shocked Luthor stood there and watched as his hated opponent fell to the ground wounded. He didn’t even notice a towering figure appearing behind him until the gun was grabbed out of his hand.

    “I’ll take that,” declared Superman as he crushed the gun in one hand. He next addressed the guards on the stage. “I know this man pays your salary, but it’s your duty to hold him until the authorities arrive. They’ll be very interested in talking with him about those bombs I disarmed earlier.” So surprised was Luthor by the alien’s sudden arrival that he was speechless as guards took hold him.

    Almost faster than the eye could follow, Superman was at Clark Kent’s side and lifting him up in both arms. “Don’t worry, ladies and gentleman. I’ll get this brave man to medical attention immediately.”

    Just like that, Superman and his passenger were gone, flown out of an open skylight. Lois could only stand there watching, amazed at what had just happened. It took another minute for her to figure out exactly what had just happened.

    Several hours later, Clark Kent was lying in a hospital bed in a private room. The door leading out opened and Lois Lane stepped inside. She walked towards the bed.

    “How did the surgery go?” she asked.

    “The bullet was removed,” Clark responded. “The doctors say there won’t be any permanent damage. I’ll be staying overnight for observation, and if everything looks okay I can check myself out in the morning.”

    “Are we being overheard?” Lois asked as she looked around the room.

    Clark shook his head. “No, we aren’t be monitored.”

    Lois fixed her gaze on Clark. “Then could we please cut the crap and talk face to face?”

    Only Clark’s head changed to reveal the face of Supergirl. The body remained the same. “I would have to shift everything back exactly as it was,” she explained to Lois. “It’ll be hard enough when I return for the follow-up exam.”

    “I understand,” said Lois. “So, was this the plan all along?”

    “All I know is that he asked me today. Maybe he was waiting for a public event like this. I don’t know.”

    “Lex has been ranting and raving ever since he was taken into custody. He’s in this building right now, in the psychiatric wing awaiting evaluation. Was that Clark’s intention?”

    Kara looked down when she nodded. “Yeah. We had to talk him back into it several times, though. John and me.”

    “I imagine he’ll be the one fixing records and all that, answering everything that Luthor called into question.”

    “Along with some other friends, I suppose so, yeah.” It was then that Kara looked up to meet Lois’ gaze again. “Lois, we didn’t know you were going to be there. Out of everything we figured was going to happen, at the worst I thought Luthor would take a shot at me.”

    A rough laugh came out of Lois. “Well, it’s a good thing I was there then. Otherwise you could have been shot in the head and that would have been the end of Clark Kent.”

    “Clark was willing to accept that. I think, I think he saw it as getting what he deserved, for what we were doing to Luthor.”

    “It’s that bastard who’s getting what he deserves,” Lois hissed. “I hope he’s a candidate for electro-shock therapy. So what happens now?”

    “That’s…really none of my business,” Kara replied. “But, he said if you came to see me, to tell you he’d be on the roof of the Daily Planet. He wants to talk, Lois.”

    “I’m not sure if I want to,” Lois said as she turned to leave.

    She couldn’t fool me, alien.

    The doctors are on the other side of the glass, watching me. I know this because I’ve been on the other side so many times, observing, searching for information I could use. They’re trying to figure out how the great and powerful Lex Luthor could go mad like that. Because I must be mad to accuse a mild-mannered reporter of being Superman, mustn’t I?

    But I’m not mad. Oh no. We both know that. Don’t we, alien? You’re the mad one, to think that you could fool me with such an amateurish stunt. It makes me mad, that you would insult my intelligence like that. It’s not the same as being mad, which I most certainly am not.

    Soon, my lawyers will take care of everything. Scenarios for just this sort of thing were thought up years ago. All photographs and video footage of the conference will have been corrupted. Large sums of money will have been transferred into Swiss Bank accounts. The story will be that I was briefly under a villain’s mental control, or that an illusionist like Doctor Psycho briefly took my place. Everybody will be convinced that they were all fooled by the charade, that even you were fooled, alien.

    They’ll all have been fooled. But I wasn’t fooled.

    That inhuman thing didn’t fool me, alien. And when the time is right, I’ll make sure you know it.

    Perry White had practically proposed to Lois when she walked through the door. Sure, afterwards he was full of worry about her and Clark, but he was ecstatic about the Luthor story she had. Lois couldn’t blame him, of course. To reporters, the story is everything, and most of the time we have to step back from the emotion behind the facts.

    After typing up the story and having it snatched from her hands so that Perry could rush it for the evening edition, Lois left the office and started up the stairs. When she reached the top floor, Lois stopped at the door leading to the rooftop.

    Supergirl had told her that Clark would be out there, waiting to talk. Since then, Lois had spent the entire time wondering whether or not she wanted to talk to him. No, Lois thought, she had to be honest with herself. The truth was, she’d been wondering for the past few months, ever since Clark had up and left.

    For years, Lois had experienced doubts about herself and Clark. This latest incident was just part of an endless string that had begun the moment Clark revealed his dual identity to her. The last time, Lois had broken off the engagement, left the country and Clark. That hadn’t lasted long, but sometimes Lois found herself thinking that the sudden whirlwind marriage they had soon after may have been a mistake. They had just rushed into the event with little reasoning behind it, before they could really stop and think about consequences.

    The pain Lois had felt when Clark left had been one such consequence. Luthor had found out, threatened Clark, and Lois hadn’t been trusted enough to be informed about it.

    For months she’d tried to make sense out of their relationship, talked to other women who knew what Lois went through. Lana had once loved Clark, maybe still did. Even if it was only in Lois’ paranoid mind, Wonder Woman was something of a rival, the closest thing Clark had on earth to an equal. And Mrs. Iris Allen probably knew more than anybody what Lois went through, having been married to the second Flash. Sure, there were others; such as Sue Dibney, Abby Holland, Carol Ferris and Linda Park; but talking with Iris had made Lois feel as thought she’d spoken with the expert. Nobody else could have really added anything except for Lana who, along with Lois and his parents, knew Clark better than anybody.

    The entire time Lois had been thinking, her hand had gone to the handle and was turning it. She knew that, whatever happened, she’s wasn’t going to just avoid the situation. Never in her life had Lois Lane run from anything, and she wasn’t going to start now.

    The door opened, spilling in sunlight. Lois stepped out onto the rooftop. Standing not far away, looking at Lois as though he’d been waiting for her all his life, was Clark Kent. Not Superman in the costume, and not the public image of Clark that everybody saw. It was the real Clark Kent that stood there, ready to talk.

    The door closed. What would happen next was up to Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

The End

    “What are you doing? Keep writing!”

    Stephen Crosby took his hands off the keyboard and crossed his arms. “No. The story’s over. What happens next is, well, just like I wrote. It’s up to them.”

    Something pressed harder against the back of Stephen’s head. “I’m warning you-”

    “Go bug the next writer about it. I’m done.”

    With a sigh, the holder of the gun lowered it. “Yeah, right. Like anybody would follow your run after all the retarded praise it’s been getting.”

    Stephen shrugged. “Hey, I agree with you. I could have done a lot better. Especially with those later stories.”

    “Not to mention the bad start you had. I do not act like that!”

    “Sometimes you do. Remember what Alan Moore did?”

    “Please, your entire time has been a love-letter to that hack. Well, at first. I don’t know what you were doing with the Absolute except rip off what Joe Kelly did. Why can’t you write more like Rucka? I love appearing in his stories.”

    With a roll of his eyes, Stephen turned to face his captor. “If you love Greg Rucka so much, why don’t you marry him?”

    Floating in mid-air, Mxyzptlk looked down at the wedding dress he wore and blushed. “For your information, I’m helping my sister pick out dresses. She wants to see how they look before she buys, and I’m the only one her size.”

    This explanation didn’t satisfy Stephen, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Sure, whatever. Look, I did what you wanted, I wrote the story without using the Batman and his memory gas-”

    “It’s Batman!” Mxyzptlk yelled. “Not the Batman, just plain old Batman! You’d better hope that Bat-Mite doesn’t find out what you’re doing. And don’t even get me started on how you blatantly ripped off Identity Crisis!”

    The full-armed slap took Mxyzptlk completely by surprise. “I wrote that Oracle story well before Identity Crisis. Say anything about that again and I will kick you ass, midget.”

    Mxyzptlk rubbed his face. “I wish I could say I’m shocked and appalled, but your stories are just full of violence. You even made me a killer, for crying out loud!” He raised his gun as Stephen breathed in. “And don’t bring up Alan Moore again! The man more than redeemed himself with Szazs the Sprite Supreme!”

    Stephen nodded in agreement. “Oh yeah, that was a really fun story. If anything, I say Rucka was following that lead with the whole crossing the fourth-wall thing. Kind of like what I’m doing now.” He gestured around them. “Come on, you know I’m going to be writing about this to close out my final issue.”

    Mxyzptlk laughed. “Oh, of course I know! I even know that you considered having Superman break the fourth wall so you could talk with him!”

    “Hey, give me a break. I had just finished reading Animal Man.” Stephen raised his hands. “Now, rather than get into a whole discussion about my run and comparing it to other writers, can I just do a quick little acknowledgements things?”

    “Fine, but you’d better not mention Joe Casey!”

    “Don’t worry about that. I haven’t forgiven him for the Mxy twins either.” Stephen turns back to the computer and puts his hands back on the keyboard.

    “Okay, first, I’d like to thank Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, without whom none of this would have been possible. Also deserving of thanks are Elliot Maggin, Cary Bates, Curt Swan, Murphy Anderson, Mort Weisinger, Julius Schwartz and Alan Moore.” He turns to Mxyzptlk. “Hey, say what you want, what ‘Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow’ was an even better final issue than this one.”

    “Yeah, yeah. Just keep on with the thanks.”

    Stephen turned back to his typing.

    “Well, obviously there’s John Bryne, Marv Wolfman and Jerry Ordway, Dan Jurgens, Mike Carlin, Roger Stern, Eddie Berganza, Jeph Loeb, Joe Kelly, Jim Lee for making Azzarello’s run at least look pretty. Greg Rucka is doing a terrific job, and I recommend Adventures of Superman to everybody. Grant Morrison also did great with the JLA series, and he’s pretty much the reason this Fanfic group exists.”

    “Don’t think I won’t be paying him a visit for that,” Mxyzptlk adds. “Though he’ll probably just think it’s another of his daily hallucinations.”

    “Above all else, I’d like to think Will Short, James Hickson, and Curt Fernlund for their extraordinary support and praise about my run here. Dino Pollard did the run previous to mine, and though its not his best work was more than made up for my the Showcase story he did entitled ‘Hero’. Curt also is doing a great job writing Superman in JLA.”

    “That everybody?” Mxyzptlk asked.

    “I probably forgot a few people, but if so they’ll let me know.” Turning away from the computer, Stephen grinned. “You know, hands out, I would say that the Smallville episode had the absolute best portrayal of Mxyzptlk.”

Blam!