Genre: SV, Clark/Lana
Rating: Adult, for a little bit of sex and one scene at the very end where there is a rather intense attempted sexual assault.
Disclaimer: All the characters, except for my self-created supporting characters, belong to D.C. Comics. No infringement is intended.
A/N: This is definitely an alternate universe version of Smallville. The entire story is already complete, so posts should come rather quickly. No getting stuck because the writer’s brain takes a vacation.
The American Airlines Boeing 747-400 had left Heathrow Airport in London early that morning. After a noontime layover at Gotham City’s newly refurbished Wayne International Airport for refueling and passenger transfers, the plane had taken off again and headed toward its final destination of the day, Metropolis.
The passengers aboard the shiny, aluminum-skinned jetliner were just beginning to prepare for landing. Books, portable DVD players, and laptop computers were being put away while flight attendants were waking the few remaining sleepers so they could return their seats to the upright position for landing. The plane was still in a holding pattern, waiting to begin its descent, but it was full of experienced business travelers, all of whom wanted to be ready to go.
One of the business travelers that had boarded in Gotham City was a young woman who was sitting in a window seat that looked out over the left wing of the plane. She could have chosen First Class, but she was flying at the taxpayers’ expense and thus, had responsibly opted for Business Class. She was on her way to Metropolis to start her new job as Metropolis’ Deputy District Attorney, a position which was only one rung below the District Attorney himself. The young woman’s name was Lana Lang.
Now 30, Lana had the looks of a woman years younger…except for her eyes. She had experienced a lot in the last five years and had the hard-bitten eyes to prove it. That time had been spent as a fresh-out-of-law-school prosecutor working in the Gotham City District Attorney’s office under the tutelage of none other than the legendary Rachel Dawes.
After Lana had been the lead prosecutor of the team that was responsible for putting The Joker on death row, both she and Rachel agreed that she was finally ready for bigger things. So when the number two job in the Metropolis D.A.’s office was offered to Lana, she leapt at the chance.
Lana thought about her new job as she tidied up in preparation for landing. The terms of her employment contract were more than generous. She now made plenty of money and the benefits were good, too. Moving back to her hometown and being able to live near her parents was another perk of the job.
She had already made one trip to Metropolis and, with the help of her folks, found a really nice condo. Then yesterday, movers had come to take everything she owned except for the things in her luggage. She’d be living out of suitcases for the next week or so until the moving company caught up with her, but she had enough stuff with her to last two whole weeks without wearing anything twice. To help her during the move, her mom had rented some basic furniture for her until her stuff finally arrived.
Lana was thinking over her new job’s responsibilities, when a loud ‘boom’ came from just outside her window. Startled, she turned to see what had caused the noise, and saw that an engine was engulfed in flames. The fire quickly spread to cover the entire far half of the left wing with orange-red flames. Streaming back from the wing were plumes of thick, oily smoke. The plane almost immediately began to yaw toward its left.
As the pilot fought to get the jumbo jet under control, the co-pilot grabbed a laminated checklist that covered the steps to be taken after the catastrophic loss of an engine, while the engineer immediately radioed a ‘mayday’ call to the control tower. Quick as a wink, a distant runway at Metropolis International Airport was cleared for the exclusive use of the stricken jetliner. At the same time, the airport’s firefighters were scrambled to take up positions to help once the plane was on the ground.
At this moment, Superman was hovering high over the center of Metropolis, his long, red cape streaming sideways due to the strong winds prevalent at this altitude. He looked down at the teeming masses as they made their way home from work and reflected that Metropolis was relatively carefree this afternoon. Few sounds intruded on his quiet as he listened just hard enough to pick out true emergencies.
Just when Superman thought it was time to go home and resume the earthbound life of Clark Kent, he heard what was, unmistakably to his ears, an explosion. What didn’t register in his mind, not right away at least, was the fact that the explosion had happened in midair. He turned toward the source of the explosion and went from a standstill to a red and blue streak in an instant.
It wasn’t until he saw the plume of thick black smoke trailing behind the Boeing that he realized what was wrong. The pilot appeared to be doing a masterful job controlling the massive airplane, but Superman thought he could use some help, so he altered his course to intercept the ailing plane. When he got close, he could see what had happened and was better able to assess what he needed to do.
From his position immediately under the plane’s left wing, he could see that one engine was completely gone. It had been, apparently anyway, the source of the explosion. The missing engine was something they could live without since the 747-400 had three more, but the fire had forced the pilot to shut down the second engine on this side and he was having to use full rudder to keep the plane in any semblance of a straight line.
First, Superman used his freeze breath to smother the fire, thus removing the imminent danger of a catastrophic explosion that would destroy the plane. Then, he took a position behind the left wing and slowly began exerting more and more force, so this side of the plane would end up with as much thrust as the other and make it much easier for the pilot to control the plane. Superman stayed in position all the way through touchdown, only releasing the wing once the plane had come to a final stop.
As the plane came to a halt, the passengers began cheering wildly, with the ones on the right side of the plane trying to squeeze over to the left to get at least a fleeting glimpse of Superman. As the fire trucks and other emergency vehicles raced to the side of the heavily damaged plane, the inflatable emergency slides deployed, and the flight attendants busied themselves helping the passengers prepare to disembark.
When everyone else lined up to leave, Lana continued to sit and stare out her window at the man in red and blue. She had heard about Superman and even seen video clips of him in action, but seeing him do his thing up close and personal was a whole different matter.
Watching Superman as he stood on the curved aluminum surface of the ruptured wing, with fists on hips and hair and red cape being blown hither and yon by the wind, Lana became an instant fan. Seeing his beautiful face and sculptured body, she allowed herself a moment to admit to a bit of instant lust, too. That man has the face of a choir boy, Lana thought, and a body made for sin.
For his part, Superman had seen a woman of surpassing beauty peering out at him after the plane landed. He knew that he’d remember her should he ever see her again, and briefly, he wondered what she was like…but then chided himself for letting his mind wander like that.
I mean, he thought, the chances of finding her again in a city with a population in the millions is vanishingly small…especially when I don’t even know her name. Besides, women like that are always taken…and I don’t have the time to devote to a real relationship right now anyway. His momentary fantasy taken away by the realities of life in the big city, Superman made sure the emergency workers had everything under control before taking off into the twilight.
A minute later and Superman had landed in some deep shadows on a lonely rooftop. In a split-second transformation he had completed thousands upon thousands of times, Superman reached to each side of his face and simultaneously pressed in lightly on both of his temples. As always, he was rewarded with a barely audible ‘click,’ and his synthflesh mask began to peel away in a transformation that took less than a second.
The mask was of Kryptonian design, and covered his entire head, significantly altering his facial appearance, hair style, and voice. An insignificant technology on Krypton, where synthflesh masks were used by actors to immerse themselves in a role, the mask had taken months to be recreated on Earth.
First, Superman had had to make some specialized tools, which were then used to make smaller, more refined tools, which were used to make yet smaller and even more delicate tools. Then, an exacting blueprint was made available by Jor-El, and after several failed attempts, a proper synthflesh mask was at last created.
The completed mask allowed for a complete range of facial expressions while giving him a deeper voice, best described as a rich baritone. His natural hair, which was wavy, unruly, and black, now looked to be marcelled, with a spit curl in the middle of his forehead. Even his eyes were disguised from recognition due to specialized emitters that created a small distortion, making his eyes appear to be cornflower blue instead of their actual pale jade green.
The last part of Superman’s transformation back into Clark Kent involved one more piece of Kryptonian technology: an N-space storage box. Superman kept a small, flat box clipped to the back of his yellow belt. About the size of a woman’s hand, but only half as thick, the box could hold anything that could be made to fit inside it’s opening, and since the box opening could expand like a collapsible drinking cup, all of his clothes would easily fit.
When he was Superman, the box held his human clothing, when he was Clark Kent, it held his Superman attire. All he had to do to change was pull the clothes out of the N-space box, remove his current outfit and stuff it into the box and then pull on the new outfit. The synthflesh mask then slid neatly into the box alongside his Superman outfit.
Now attired in a conservative black pinstripe suit, a red silk tie, and glossy black shoes, with the N-space box safely tucked into a pants pocket, Clark found the building’s rooftop stairwell entrance and headed for the street. He walked out of the building and into the nearest subway station. Two trains later, he emerged from the underground warren of tunnels only a block from his exclusive high-rise condo complex.
Winning a Pulitzer prize had done wonders for his bank account. When Perry hadn’t wanted to give him a raise, Clark had started seeking employment elsewhere. That threat had brought the publisher down from his penthouse office onto the news floor where he had promptly doubled the raise that Clark had been seeking.
Using his super-hearing to listen in on the conversation the publisher then had with Perry, Clark heard the publisher say, “We’re in the business of identifying and keeping talent like that, Perry. If that Kent boy had walked, you would’ve been out on your ass in a matter of days. Don’t you know that for the rest of his career, we get to refer to anything he writes as being written by a Pulitzer prize winner? That award gives him a layer of credibility with the public that can’t be earned any other way.”
Winning his second Pulitzer a couple of years later had gotten Clark another ridiculously large raise which allowed him his current lifestyle. The building had state-of-the-art security, for which he was glad. Not so much for his personal safety obviously, but he liked knowing his few possessions would be there when he came home.
Once in his condo, Clark happily switched into a t-shirt and sweatpants before starting dinner. As the electric burner heated up, he set his laptop on the kitchen counter and browsed his e-mails. Most were quickly deleted, but he sent two through his wireless print server so he could have a hard copy before he deleted them.
After a stir-fry dinner of beef, vegetables and rice, Clark walked over to his home office and picked up the laser-printed documents. The first was a late assignment from Perry for early tomorrow morning. Since half the newsroom was going to be busy covering the near-tragedy at the airport tonight and would thus be in late tomorrow morning, Clark got the assignment of covering an 8 a.m. news conference at the District Attorney’s office.
Apparently, Clark thought as he read, they’ve finally hired a new number two over there and this news conference is just to introduce…her? What’s her name again? Oh, Lana Lang. This is new, a female second-in-command. Well, as long as she’s an effective prosecutor instead of a grandstanding politician, her sex won’t matter to me at all.
The next e-mail had originally been encrypted for security purposes. The clear-text copy in Clark’s hand had been sent to him by Bruce Wayne, but Clark already knew that since only Bruce sent him secure e-mails. It read,
You’re always complaining that you don’t have anyone in the Metropolis D.A.’s office with whom you can have the same kind of trusting, working relationship that I have here in Gotham City with Rachel.
She knows of your plight and has come up with a solution. She’s talked one of her best up-and-coming young prosecutors into signing on with the Metropolis D.A.’s office as the new Deputy District Attorney. Her name is Lana Lang.
Clark, you can trust this one. She’s on our side. Take care of her, in both of your roles, and she’ll take care of you. DON’T let her suffer the fate of her predecessor, or I’ll get a big piece of Kryptonite which I’ll shove so far up your ass that a crew of cave explorers couldn’t find it.
Clark chuckled at Bruce’s threat, which he knew was only half in jest. Looks like I need to do some research tonight, Clark thought. Once again grabbing his laptop, Clark set to work. An hour later, he knew everything that was in the public domain about the career of Lana Lang. She had every appearance of being the hard-nosed, committed prosecutor that Metropolis needed. Learning she was still single, Clark shook his head and thought, She’s probably just like me, doesn’t have the time for someone in her life right now. Still, that’s the kind of dedication this job needs.
The only surprise for Clark was that there were no readily accessible photos of her. Since he didn’t feel like digging through digital back issues of Gotham City’s newspaper, he’d have to wait like everyone else. Maybe she’s hideous and that’s why she’s still single. Oh well, he thought as he shut down his laptop, I guess I’ll find out tomorrow…and once I know who she is, Superman will have to pay her a visit since Bruce is serious about me being her protector.