The Crusader
by ingrid
When Lois Lane arrives at the Kent farm one very late evening in October, Clark is the only one who doesn't seem the least bit perturbed by her presence at their back door. He opens it wide, grinning from ear to ear, his young face filled with bemusement.
Or, at least that's what she thinks it might be.
The two people behind him don't look anywhere near as pleased. "You said I could stay," she begins, fully expecting the door to close in her face.
It doesn't. "And here you are," Clark finishes for her before ushering her into the kitchen. He points to the counter where something black is bubbling. "Coffee?"
She's never wanted a cup of coffee more than she does at that moment, but ... "No, thanks." Clark's parents eyes are set on her like a pair of watchdogs and she can't help the nervous chuckle that rises in her throat. "Caffeine isn't my friend at this time of night."
A weather-beaten man rises slowly, his hand outstretched. He looks older than his wife. He looks older than Methuzala. He looks ... tired. "Welcome, Lois. I'm Jonathan Kent. Clark and Martha have told me about you and how you helped us. I'm glad to meet you."
"Oh. Thanks." Lois doesn't know what to say. Last time she saw this man he was hooked up to more tubes than a fishtank. She sticks out her hand gamely. "Thanks for letting me stay. It was hell living out of a Volvo last time I was here."
He shakes her hand as Martha's voice intrudes. "Welcome, Lois. So, how long will you be staying?"
Smiling, and it's just like the woman, Lois thinks sourly. Honey-coating her displeasure within an inch of its existence.
"Oh, not long," Lois lies. She plans on staying as long as it takes to gain justice for her cousin. A warm bed versus the back seat of her car is just a convenience but one she's willing to take advantage of if the opportunity presents itself.
Hello, opportunity. Lois turns to Clark with her best game face. The one that won over bouncers, bartenders and boys alike in her wilder days. "You know, I think I've changed my mind. I will take that coffee, thanks."
"Coming right up," he says, striding to the counter and reaching it in three steps.
His legs are long, Lois thinks and suddenly, a vision of them bare and creamy pale in the moonlight flashes. She tries to blink it away.
The blinking isn't working very well. Turning to smile at Martha and receiving a tight grimace in return works much better. "I don't want to put you out. I can eat outside and..."
The grimace gets even tighter. "What sort of hosts would we be if we didn't at least feed our guests?" Martha asks, reaching over and taking the steaming cup from her son's hand. She gives it to Lois deliberately, in some primal gesture of domestic queendom. "Now, drink up and I'll get your bed ready. Do you like down comforters? Some people are allergic, I have polyester too if you'd like that better."
The coffee is too hot and surprisingly burnt-tasting. Lois tries not to gag on it. "Anything is fine."
"It gets cold here in the middle of fall," Martha warns. She goes to a nearby closet and pulls down a riot of blue, red and yellow linens. "Very cold. You'll need all of these just to see you through a night."
"Being naked helps." It's Clark, his voice so close to her ear, she nearly jumps out of her skin.
She chokes on the bitter coffee. "Excuse me?"
"The body heat isn't trapped beneath a thin layer of clothing going nowhere," Clark says matter-of-factly. "It can circulate beneath the whole bedding and keep you much warmer." He looks at her so innocently it has to be a put on. Or does it? "I learned that in Boy Scouts."
Lois can't help but stare at him, at the black hair that falls on his forehead in wisps and the worn flannel around his strong neck. "The Boy Scouts are more progressive than I thought," she murmurs, before handing him back the half-empty cup.
He smiles again. Martha's lips purse. Jonathan seems like he doesn't know which way to look, so Lois takes the comforter from Martha's arms and hugs it close, smiling as big and fake a smile as she can muster, right at him.
"Goodnight, everyone. And thanks again." She strides purposefully up the stairs, as if she's been there a dozen times, hoping Clark will save her.
And he does. "It's the first door to the left," he calls up and Lois tries not to collapse with relief when she's in the room and out of their sight.
A light nudge with her foot to close the door and she plops face down on the bed with a sigh, the red comforter pulled around her shoulders like a cape.
Boy, she's sure stepped in it this time. Or is that stepped in it again?
Whatever. The bed is warm, the room less constricting than the car and she can deal with Martha Kent if she has to. Kill the woman with kindness, if Clark's overprotective mother doesn't kill her first.
Lois winces against the sheets.
This isn't going to be easy.
Lois is usually a deep sleeper, so it's surprising when she wakes up to the sound of moans coming from the room next to hers.
Sleepy wonder gives way to horror, thinking it's Clark's parents having a private moment that isn't so private, but it's one voice. A boy's voice, mumbling, then sobbing. Lois doesn't want to listen, tries not to, but not succumbing to curiosity isn't one of her virtues.
She leans her head toward the sound and strains to hear, until recognition hits.
It's Clark, talking ... crying ... in his sleep.
Lois slides from the bed and presses her ear to the thin wall. The talking become clearer, and a chill runs down her spine at Clarks' soft cries.
"Lex ... you promised," he babbles brokenly. "You promised!"
Again and again Clark repeats these words until eventually the crying softens before ceasing completely.
The dead silence that follows is more disturbing than the sobs. Lois swallows through a dry throat and backs toward the bed, tripping over the forgotten nightstand, hurting her ankle in the process. She curses and hops in pain for a few more seconds before breathlessly landing on the bed.
Some more shifting from the room next door, this time decidedly awake-sounding and Lois scurries beneath the sheets as if she's been caught. Pulls them up to her chin and tries her damnedest to get back to sleep.
She can't do it. Instead, her brain churns behind closed eyes, wondering what promise Lex Luthor could have made and why some beautiful, strange farmboy actually thought he'd keep it.
Sunrise is a noisy process on a farm, Lois thinks wearily. She's just started to nod off when the incessant lowing of some barnyard animal jolts her awake.
Yawning, Lois gets up, feeling heavy, every limb protesting as she sits up. There are breakfast-making sounds coming from the kitchen, pots banged onto a stove, the spit-and-rattle of an old coffee pot brewing. Smells follow and Lois makes a face at the bacon grease and buttered eggs scent coming through her door.
Lois lives unhealthily, but not that unhealthily.
Still, time to be a good little houseguest. She makes the bed the best way she knows how by throwing the comforter over the tangled sheets and smoothing it down at the corners. Yanks her hair back into a ponytail without looking and pulls her sweatpants out from the improper place they'd wedged themselves in during the night.
There. Call her Miss Presentable.
She tiptoes down the stairs, as if less noise would soften the discomfort of her arrival at the table. Slides into a chair and grins uneasily at everyone.
No one smiles back. Clark in particular looks tired and annoyed. His parents seem to have caught his bad mood and Lois sighs.
Maybe the car would be more comfortable after all.
Oddly enough, it's Martha who eases the tension. Maybe she works best in crisis mode, Lois thinks, startling at the warm hand patting her shoulder. "Good morning, Lois. Would you like some eggs?"
"That would be great." She pours herself some coffee, grateful to discover that when fresh, Kent-made coffee isn't so bad after all.
The eggs are served with toast and they are good too, not greasy or runny at all. Lois eats with gusto as Martha watches, her attitude much more relaxed. The older woman sips at her cup, looking at Lois over its rim. "What's on the schedule for today, dear? Have you found any good clues so far?"
Finally, they have something to discuss that isn't about family matters or raving, stark naked sons. "Oh, I have a few things on tap. Chloe had a lot of contacts during her newspaper time and I thought I'd talk with some of them. See if she's hiding out with any of them ... if she's alive." She wants to give Clark a meaningful look, but he's staring at his toast to the exclusion of all other things in the room.
Martha nods. "That's a good idea. Anything else?"
Lois hesitates. She watches Clark push his food around aimlessly and says, "I was thinking about stopping by to visit Lex Luthor. He's denied my calls, but I thought in person ..."
Lois has never seen three sets of eyes come to fix on a single point ... her ... so quickly in her life.
"That's a bad idea," Jonathan Kent says quickly, his throat working. "Lex isn't a trustworthy man. He has a lot of his father's blood in him, I doubt you'll get any information you can use. He only cares about himself and his own needs. I wouldn't bother with him if I were you."
Before Lois can reply, Martha cuts in sharply. "I'm sorry to say Jonathan is right, Lois. You'd be better off avoiding him."
Lois plays with her toast for a second, then turns to Clark. "What do you think?"
Clark's expression is stony. "I think I have some plowing to do in the lower forty. I'll see you later." With that Clark rises, and two steps later, the screen door bangs shut behind him.
"Okay," Lois says softly, watching Clark as he heads toward the tractor, head bowed, big hands stuffed in his pockets.
Jonathan rises slowly from his seat, leaning on the table for support. He wags a finger at Lois. "Really. Stay away from Lex Luthor. Don't learn things the hard way, young lady."
Is there any other way to learn, Lois wonders, but only says: "Thank you, Mr. Kent." She gets up, politely wiping her mouth. "This was so delicious, I'll be sure not to miss lunch, Mrs. Kent. See you later."
Her only reply is a sad nod. Because Martha Kent knows exactly where Lois is headed, Lois thinks, probably before she knew it herself.
A few moments later, Lane's old Volvo is chugging down the road at a clip well over the speed limit.
And it doesn't surprise Lois at all when a castle comes into view over the ridge, rising like an omen from the corn.
Lois is good at pacing and chewing gum at the same time. Especially when it's nicotine gum, the drug adding an unnatural snap to her gait.
Back and forth, back and forth, from the stained glass to the fireplace, from the desk to the door, Lois covers most of the room in a few minutes.
She's not nervous, she thinks. Not at all. Why be nervous even if she's in a house that makes her want to scream, "Hey, Luthor! Amityville called, it wants its horror back."
She sniggers at her own joke. Sniggers more at the ridiculousness of the castle itself, reaching almost hysterical, tearful laughter at the thought of Chloe ever taking this place and these people seriously.
She's about ready to burst into real tears when she hears:
"I'm glad you find my office so amusing."
The voice is smooth as glass. Lois whirls around, the gum nearly falling out her mouth. She quickly sucks it back in and her mouth works helplessly for a few seconds. "Sorry, sorry," she says, embarrassed, trying to get her chewing under control and wondering at how much older Lex looks than his many tabloid photographs. "Stupid nicotine gum. Damned when you're on it, damned if you aren't. But you know what they say about cigarette addiction. It's easier to quit drinking, did you know that? "
Lex doesn't smile. He sits and eyes her coolly. "I'm no stranger to addiction, Miss Lane. That is who I'm speaking to, correct?"
"Uh, yeah. Yeah. I'm here for ..."
"Information on your cousin's murder. I'm sorry I didn't return your calls from Metropolis. I've been ... indisposed." The last word is said carefully, as if he has trouble choosing the right one. "I also don't have much more to tell you than what's on police record. I wish I had some secret hunches or some private information, but I'm afraid not. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing."
Does he even blink, Lois wonders silently. "I didn't just come to Smallville only to see you, Lex. I can call you Lex, can't I?" Before he can reply in either the positive or negative, she continues. "You're just one of many leads I'm following. Since I'm staying at the Kent farm ... oh, by the way, do you know the Kents?"
A flinch. And a blink. "Yes. I know the Kents." That's all, and all emotion immediately disappears from Lex's face, leaving him as blank as a piece of black shale.
Still, Lois is impressed with his reaction so far. She presses further. "Clark's been particularly helpful. He's the one who insisted that I stay and try to find out exactly what happened to Chloe."
Not a twitch this time. "Clark is a helpful young man. I wish I could be just as helpful. But I can't, so, if you don't mind ..." He waves over the mounds of files on his desk as a broad hint, but Lois decides not to take it.
"We'll probably be around a lot. Hopefully we won't be bothering you too much in the near future."
"Hopefully not. Now, I really must get back to work. Have a nice day, Miss Lane."
Lois is just about to go on pressing, when she notices a splotch of black appear on Lex's chest, seeping through his white dress shirt. It spreads like ink, except there is no pocket to hold a pen there and she stares in horror as it gets larger and wetter, staining the white in a large, dark circle.
Another blotch appears, on the opposite side of his chest and Lex rises, his lips twitching. "Good day, Miss Lane."
"Um, but ... you're ... uh ..." Lois can't stop staring. It couldn't be blood coming out from Luthor's chest like that.
Or could it?
"I said good day, Miss Lane," Luthor growls and she gets up fast. Backs up toward the door, unable to remove her eyes from Luthor's chest until the hard hand of one of his servants takes her by the arm and drags her into the hallway.
A woman in a white coat shoves past Lois and slams the office doors behind her. She can hear muted arguing, then nothing as she's pulled right to the front door and deposited outside.
The servant doesn't even say good-bye before slamming the door in her face.
Not that Lois cares. She's too busy gaping at the silent wood, her mind whirling. Now she sees what her cousin saw in this place.
The mysteries didn't come in single soldiers through Smallville, they came in battalions.
Thoughtfully, Lois descends the stairs, clicking off the strange occurrences in her head, one by one.
She's still not finished when she reaches the bottom, but Lois does come to a decision while standing in front the ridiculously large fountain gracing the property's front lawn.
She's going to figure out what's going on here. Because if Chloe is alive, this is the beginning of the trail she took to wherever she is. And if she isn't, there would be no better tribute to than to find out exactly what the hell is going on in Smallville and tell the entire world all about it.
Just as Chloe would have done.
Lois bites her lip before taking off toward her car and back to the Kent farm.
Where Mystery Number One is plowing the lower forty, soon to be sitting across from her at lunch, passing the butter to the girl who was going to find out what he, and everyone else, was spending their lives hiding in the shadows.
Until Lois Lane brings it all out into the bright light of truth.
endThanks for reading! Reviews are welcome below.