Metropolis, February 2008
The Daily Planet newsroom hummed with its usual controlled chaos. Clark sat at his desk, focusing on the final paragraphs of his exposé about suspicious real estate developments in Suicide Slum. The familiar sounds of the newsroom washed over him - phones ringing, keyboards clicking, reporters arguing over leads.
"Hey, Smallville," Lois' voice broke his concentration. "You planning on finishing that story sometime this century?"
He looked up to find his partner perched on the edge of his desk, coffee in one hand, morning edition in the other. "Just wrapping it up now. The development company's shell corporations all trace back to-"
"Kent! Lane! My office, now!"
Perry White's voice carried that particular tone that meant big news was breaking. Lois was already halfway to Perry's office, notepad in hand. "Coming, Chief!"
"Don't call me Chief," Perry grumbled as they entered. The editor stood behind his desk, holding a press packet with the Stark Industries logo prominently displayed. Through the office windows, the afternoon sun glinted off the Daily Planet's famous globe.
"How do you two feel about a trip to Vegas?"
"Depends," Lois said, dropping into a chair with her usual direct manner. "Are we investigating mob connections or covering some boring tech conference?"
"Neither. Apogee Awards. Tony Stark's receiving their highest honor for his contributions to national defense." Perry tossed the packet onto his desk. "But that's just the surface story."
Clark picked up the packet, scanning the contents. The official press release was full of the usual corporate propaganda, but there were interesting hints between the lines.
"The ceremony's at Caesars Palace tomorrow night," he noted. "Pretty short notice, Chief."
"Don't call me - never mind." Perry moved to his window, gazing out at the Metropolis skyline. "Look, this could be huge. My military sources say Stark Industries is about to announce something big - possibly a new weapons system that could change the balance of power in the Middle East. Everyone's sending their best people, but you two have something they don't."
"Sparkling wit and devastating good looks?" Lois suggested, though Clark noticed how she sat up straighter at the mention of a potential big story.
"Kent's got a way of getting people to open up," Perry said, turning back to face them. "Something about that farm boy charm makes sources trust him. And Lane, you've got the best instincts for finding the real story behind the PR shine. I want you both on this. First flight out tomorrow morning."
"What about my Suicide Slum piece?" Clark asked.
"Give it to Jenkins," Perry waved dismissively. "This is bigger. Stark hasn't given a real interview in months. The man's a genius who's revolutionizing warfare, but he's also notoriously hard to pin down."
Lois was already flipping through her notebook. "Stark Industries has some interesting connections to LuthorCorp. Maybe we could angle the story toward corporate partnerships in weapons development?"
"Good instinct," Perry nodded. "But don't limit yourselves. I want everything - the tech angle, the business angle, the human interest angle. If Stark's really developed something game-changing, I want the Planet to break the story first."
"What about expenses?" Lois asked. "Vegas isn't cheap, especially during an event like this."
"Already cleared with accounting." Perry pulled two plane tickets from his desk drawer. "But keep the receipts this time, Lane. The paper's still trying to justify that 'business dinner' at Le Cirque last month."
"My source wouldn't meet anywhere else!" Lois protested. "And we got the mayor's corruption story out of it, didn't we?"
"Just try to keep it reasonable this time," Perry sighed. "And Kent?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Make sure she doesn't get thrown out of the casino again."
"That was one time!" Lois objected. "And that dealer was definitely cheating."
"Just get the story," Perry said. "And remember - the Planet has a reputation to maintain. We print the truth, but we verify everything first. No speculation, no rumors, just facts."
As they left Perry's office, Jimmy Olsen caught up with them, camera dangling from his neck. "Vegas, huh? Man, you guys get all the good assignments. Think you'll get to meet Tony Stark?"
"Maybe," Clark smiled. "Though from what I hear, he's not easy to pin down."
"Still - the Apogee Awards, Caesars Palace, all those celebrities..." Jimmy's eyes were bright with enthusiasm. "Take lots of pictures for me?"
"Better get packing, Smallville," Lois interrupted, gathering things from her desk. "Meet you at the airport? Seven AM flight?"
Clark nodded. "I'll bring coffee."
"You're a lifesaver." She paused, giving him that appraising look she sometimes did. "And Clark? Bring a decent suit. These corporate types judge everything on appearance."
"I have suits!" he protested.
"Uh-huh. Just make sure it's not the brown one." She grabbed her coat. "See you tomorrow, partner."
That evening, Clark called his parents to let them know he'd be out of town. Martha's concern was immediate. "This sounds like a big story."
"It could be, Mom. But don't worry - I'll be careful."
As he packed, Clark thought about the story ahead. Tomorrow he'd be in Vegas, watching Tony Stark receive an award for revolutionizing modern warfare. Something about the timing felt significant, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
Clark arrived at Metropolis International Airport the next morning fifteen minutes early, balancing two cups of coffee from Lois' favorite café. He spotted her at the check-in counter, already arguing with the airline representative about carry-on baggage restrictions.
"It's essential equipment for a journalist!" Lois was saying, gesturing at her oversized laptop bag. "Do you know how many Pulitzer-worthy stories are on this hard drive?"
"Ma'am, the regulations clearly state-"
"Here's your coffee, Lois," Clark interrupted smoothly, handing her the larger cup. To the airline representative, he added, "I have some extra space in my carry-on if that helps."
The representative looked relieved at Clark's intervention. "That would be acceptable, sir."
Lois took a long drink of coffee before responding. "My hero," she said dryly, but Clark caught the genuine appreciation in her eyes. "Though I still say their baggage policy is ridiculous. How are we supposed to carry all our research materials?"
"Maybe that's why Perry booked us in business class," Clark suggested, showing her their tickets. "Extra baggage allowance."
"Huh. The Planet springing for business class? This Stark story must be even bigger than we thought." She studied Clark over the rim of her coffee cup. "You actually clean up pretty nice when you're not wearing that brown suit. Though your tie is crooked."
Before Clark could respond, she reached up and adjusted his tie with practiced efficiency. The gesture was so casual, so unconsciously intimate, that it caught him off guard. For a moment, he caught a whiff of her perfume - something subtle and expensive that she only wore on important assignments.
"There," she said, stepping back to examine her handiwork. "Now you almost look like a respectable journalist instead of a farm boy playing dress-up."
"Thanks... I think?" Clark adjusted his glasses, the nervous habit he'd developed to seem more ordinary but that around Lois was born out of genuine nervousness "Though I'm pretty sure my mom would take offense at any suggestion that she didn't teach me how to dress properly."
"Martha Kent is a saint," Lois agreed, leading the way toward security. "Which is why it's so baffling that her son owns a brown suit that looks like it was sewn by colorblind monks."
The security line moved slowly, giving them time to review their research. Lois had compiled an impressive dossier on Stark Industries' recent activities, including several contracts that raised interesting questions about weapons deployment in contested regions.
"Look at this," she said, showing Clark a series of shipping manifests. "These components are supposedly for 'agricultural equipment,' but the specs match perfectly with the new guidance systems Stark's been developing."
"Could be legitimate," Clark suggested, though his enhanced vision had already spotted several discrepancies in the documentation. "Some of their technology does have civilian applications."
"Please, Smallville. I wasn't born yesterday. These shipments are-" She broke off as they reached the security checkpoint. "We'll discuss it on the plane."
The flight to Las Vegas was smooth, giving them four hours to strategize. Lois had somehow managed to hack into the Apogee Awards' seating chart - Clark decided not to ask how - and was plotting their approach.
"Stark will be at table one, obviously," she said, sketching a rough diagram. "But look who's at table three - Obadiah Stane, Stark Industries' CFO. He's been making some interesting moves lately, especially in their international divisions."
"I read that profile you did on him last year," Clark said. "Wasn't he close friends with Howard Stark?"
"Practically raised Tony after Howard died. Which makes some of these recent decisions even more interesting." She pulled out another file. "Look at these board meeting minutes. Stane's been pushing for more aggressive expansion into certain markets, even over Tony's objections."
The captain's announcement of their initial descent interrupted their discussion. As the plane banked over the Nevada desert, the Las Vegas Strip came into view, glittering improbably in the morning sun.
"Remember," Lois said as they gathered their belongings, "we need to check in early enough to scope out the venue before the ceremony. The front desk at Caesar's knows we're coming - Perry called in a favor with their PR department."
The taxi ride from McCarran International to Caesar's Palace gave them their first real taste of Vegas heat. Clark, naturally immune to temperature extremes, watched with amusement as Lois immediately cranked up the air conditioning.
"How are you not melting in that suit?" she demanded, fanning herself with a folder.
"Good Kansas constitution," he replied blandly, earning an eye roll.
The Caesar's Palace lobby was a monument to controlled chaos - tourists dragging luggage, gamblers moving between tables, wedding parties taking photos with the Roman-themed statuary. At the check-in desk, a cheerful receptionist named Monica greeted them with practiced efficiency.
"Ah yes, Mr. Kent and Ms. Lane. We have you down for a deluxe suite with a strip view."
"Suite?" Lois and Clark said simultaneously.
Monica checked her computer. "Yes, the reservation specifically requested adjoining rooms with a shared living area. Perfect for honeymooners, though we usually recommend our dedicated wedding packages-"
"We're not- This is a business trip," Clark interjected quickly.
"We're reporters," Lois added. "Here to cover the Apogee Awards."
"Of course you are," Monica said with a knowing smile that made Clark adjust his glasses nervously, again genuine with Lois being involved "Well, honeymoon suite or not, you'll find the accommodations quite comfortable. The living area is perfect for... working late."
"Is there any chance we could get separate rooms?" Lois asked.
"I'm afraid we're completely booked with the awards ceremony. But don't worry - the suite has two separate bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. Very private." Monica's smile grew even more knowing. "Though the wall between them is rather thin, so you might want to keep the... work discussions at a reasonable volume."
Clark felt his ears turning red, while Lois muttered something under her breath that his superhearing decided to politely ignore.
"We'll take the suite," Lois said finally. "But make sure the bill shows two separate rooms. Accounting gets twitchy about these things."
"Of course," Monica agreed with a wink. "And might I suggest our couples' massage package? Very relaxing after a long day of... reporting."
The ride up to their suite was silent, though Clark could hear Lois's heart rate elevated with what he recognized as her "about to break a story" excitement rather than embarrassment about their accommodation situation.
"Well," she said as they entered the suite, "at least we'll have plenty of room to spread out our research. And Perry can't complain about the rate since it's cheaper than two separate rooms."
The suite was impressive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the Strip. A spacious living area connected two equally luxurious bedrooms, each with its own marble bathroom.
"Not bad," Lois admitted, wheeling her suitcase into one of the bedrooms. "Though if you snore, Kent, I'm demanding a different room even if we have to sleep in the lobby."
"I don't snore," Clark protested. "And shouldn't we focus on the story? You were saying something about Stark Industries' shipping manifests?"
"Right." Lois emerged from her room, already changed into a more casual outfit. "Let's set up in the living room. We've got six hours until the ceremony, and I want to review everything we have on Stark's recent weapons contracts."
They spread their research materials across the suite's dining table, creating an organized chaos of documents, photographs, and financial reports. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting long shadows across their work.
"Look at these export records," Lois said, pointing to a highlighted section. "Stark Industries shipped three times the usual amount of 'agricultural equipment' to this shell company in Dubai last month. But when I traced the company..." She pulled out another document triumphantly. "It doesn't exist. At least, not on paper."
Clark leaned closer, studying the documents. "And these components could be used in weapons systems?"
"Bingo." Lois tapped another file. "The specifications match perfectly with their new smart missile guidance systems. The same ones they're supposedly only selling to NATO allies."
They worked steadily through the afternoon, piecing together connections and identifying patterns. Clark found himself admiring how Lois would absently twist her hair when deep in thought, a habit she probably wasn't even aware of. Her intensity when pursuing a story was something to behold.
"We should start getting ready," Clark said eventually, checking his watch. "The ceremony starts at eight."
Lois glanced at the time and jumped up. "God, is it that late already? I need at least an hour to get ready." She began gathering her things. "Don't you dare use all the hot water in your bathroom, Kent. The hair doesn't do this by itself."
Clark retreated to his room, laying out his tuxedo - definitely not the brown suit Lois so despised. From the other room, he could hear her moving around, humming softly to herself as she prepared, punctuated by occasional muttered comments about missing hairpins and stubborn zippers.
In his bathroom, Clark took his time getting ready, making sure his appearance stayed on the right side of slightly disheveled. The bow tie gave him genuine trouble - these things were actually quite tricky when you tried to do them properly.
"Kent?" Lois called through the door. "You haven't fallen in, have you?"
"Almost ready," he replied, making final adjustments to his tie.
"Well hurry up! I need your opinion on something."
Clark emerged from his room to find the living area empty. "Lois?"
"Just a second!" Her voice came from behind her closed door. "I need to know if this dress is too much for a weapons manufacturer's award ceremony."
The door opened, and Clark felt his carefully maintained composure slip. Lois stepped out in a floor-length midnight blue gown that seemed to catch every light in the room. The dress was elegant rather than flashy, with a subtle shimmer that reminded him of starlight on the Kansas prairie. Her dark hair was swept up, revealing a graceful neck adorned with a simple silver necklace.
Clark realized he'd been staring silently for several seconds too long.
"That bad, huh?" Lois asked, misinterpreting his silence.
"No!" Clark said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "No, you look... it's perfect. Professional but... you look beautiful, Lois."
A slight blush colored her cheeks, though she covered it with her usual snark. "Well, you clean up pretty decent yourself, Smallville. Though your tie is crooked again." She stepped forward to fix it, and Clark caught that subtle perfume again. "There. Now we might actually pass for real journalists instead of small-town newspaper reporters."
"We are real journalists," Clark pointed out, trying to keep his voice steady as she smoothed his lapels.
"Yeah, but these corporate types expect a certain polish." She stepped back, giving him a final appraising look. "Not bad, Kent. Not bad at all. Though next time, maybe we coordinate colors beforehand? The whole 'matching couple' thing might help sell our cover to some of these sources."
"We're not undercover, Lois. We're here as Daily Planet reporters."
"Exactly. Which means we need to look the part of big-city journalists." She grabbed her clutch purse. "Ready? We should get down there early, scope out the room before everyone arrives."
The elevator ride down gave Clark another chance to appreciate how the dress caught the light, though he was careful not to be caught staring again. Lois was his partner, his colleague. The fact that she looked absolutely stunning tonight was... professionally irrelevant.
The Caesar's Palace ballroom was packed with military brass, politicians, and corporate leaders when they arrived. A massive screen showed highlights from Stark Industries' history - Howard Stark shaking hands with presidents, Tony graduating MIT at seventeen, technological innovations that had shaped modern warfare.
"Pretty glossy propaganda," Lois muttered, adjusting her evening dress. "Though I have to admit, the younger Stark's got a certain... something."
Clark tugged at his bow tie. "He's revolutionized weapons development. Some say he's even more brilliant than his father."
"And twice as reckless," Lois added. "Did you see the file I compiled? The parties, the scandals, the congressional hearings about some of his more... controversial projects?"
"I also saw the casualty reports from conflicts where Stark tech was deployed. Precision guidance systems, smart bombs designed to minimize civilian casualties. Whatever his personal life is like, his work has saved lives."
Lois gave him an appraising look. "Sometimes I forget you actually know what you're talking about, Smallville."
The lights dimmed as Lt. Colonel James Rhodes took the podium. Clark's enhanced hearing picked up conversations throughout the room - military officials discussing classified projects, corporate rivals speculating about Stark's newest innovations, and...
He focused his hearing toward the casino. There - the unmistakable voice of Tony Stark himself, explaining the mathematical principles of craps to an admiring companion.
"I should try to get some crowd reaction quotes," Clark said carefully. "Meet you back here?"
Lois was already focused on the podium, her notepad ready. "Sure, whatever. Just don't disappear on me again like you did during the mayor's corruption scandal."
Clark made his way out of the ballroom just as Rhodes began speaking about his long friendship with Stark. In the casino, he found exactly what he'd expected - Tony Stark holding court at a craps table, surrounded by beautiful women and eager hangers-on.
"...your hypothalamus is flooding your system with a chain of proteins called peptides," Stark was explaining to a mesmerized woman, "so that every cell in your body is opening itself up to the happy chemical: oxytocin."
Clark adjusted his glasses and approached the table, notepad in hand. "Mr. Stark? Clark Kent, Daily Planet."
Stark glanced at him while preparing for another roll. "Press badge says you're supposed to be in the ballroom, Kansas. Though I have to admire anyone who'd rather watch me win at craps than listen to my greatest hits compilation."
"How did you know I'm from Kansas?"
"The tie. Nobody from the coast would pick that pattern. Plus, your shoes have traces of red soil consistent with the mineral content found in the midwest, particularly Kansas." Stark grinned. "Also, lucky guess. Roll the dice for me?"
Clark took the offered dice, careful to make the throw look natural despite being able to calculate the exact force and angle needed for any result. The crowd cheered as the numbers came up favorable.
"Not bad, farmboy." Stark collected his winnings. "So what brings the Daily Planet to my little celebration? Besides the obvious journalistic duty to cover America's favorite genius/billionaire/playboy?"
"Actually, I'm interested in the humanitarian applications of your guidance systems. The reduced civilian casualty rates in recent conflicts suggest-"
"Hold that thought." Stark's attention shifted as he made another roll. "You know, most reporters lead with questions about the parties or the money or the women. But you jumped straight to the technical specs and their real-world impact." He studied Clark more carefully. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Clark Kent, sir. I've been following your work since your MIT thesis on autonomous targeting algorithms."
"You read my thesis?"
"The publicly available parts. Your theories about ethical constraints in automated weapons systems were fascinating."
Something shifted in Stark's expression - a flash of genuine interest breaking through the carefully maintained playboy facade. He gestured to his companions. "Ladies, give me a moment with the fourth estate here."
As the crowd backed away slightly, Stark lowered his voice. "The guidance systems were just the beginning. The real breakthrough is in the integration of ethical decision-making into the targeting matrix itself. We're talking about weapons that can make moral choices in microseconds."
"But who programs those moral parameters?" Clark asked. "How do you quantify ethical decisions?"
"Now that's the right question." Stark's eyes lit up with intellectual excitement. "See, everyone focuses on the hardware, but the real challenge is teaching machines to understand context, to weigh consequences beyond simple tactical objectives."
Their conversation delved deeper into the philosophy of artificial intelligence and ethics, with Stark becoming increasingly engaged. Clark carefully steered the discussion toward humanitarian applications, noting how Stark seemed genuinely passionate about reducing civilian casualties.
"The thing is," Stark said, rolling the dice almost absently now, "we can't eliminate war. But we can make it more precise, more targeted. Take the human error out of the equation."
"Some would argue that removing human judgment from warfare makes it too easy, too clinical."
"And some would argue that human judgment is what got us into most of our wars in the first place." Stark gave him a shrewd look. "You're not your typical reporter, are you, Kent?"
Before Clark could respond, he caught the sound of Colonel Rhodes approaching through the casino. His enhanced hearing picked up the military man's irritated muttering about Stark's absence from the ceremony.
"I believe your friend Colonel Rhodes is about to-"
"Deliver my award and a well-deserved lecture about responsibility?" Stark finished, amused. "Yeah, that tracks with the timeline. Tell you what, Kent - you've actually made me think tonight, which is rare enough to deserve a reward. Exclusive interview, next week, after I get back from Afghanistan. We'll really dig into the ethical implications of automated warfare."
"I appreciate that, Mr. Stark. Though I hope you'll still have time for the Colonel's speech."
"Rhodey? He's used to me by now. Besides, I think your article about weapons development and moral philosophy will be much more interesting than another ceremony speech." Stark pulled out a business card and scribbled something on the back. "My private number. Call my office next week to set up the interview. And Kent?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Keep asking the right questions. Too many people are afraid to dig into the real issues." He turned back to the craps table just as Rhodes approached, the Apogee Award in hand.
Clark slipped away, hearing Stark greet his friend with characteristic deflection: "My God, what are you, they roped you into this thing too?"
Back in the ballroom, Clark found Lois talking with Obadiah Stane, Stark's CFO, and Lex Luthor. Their small group had been joined by General Samuel Lane, Lois's father, who was deep in conversation with a tall, well-built man Clark recognized as John Corbin, Lex's head of security.
"Kent," Lex greeted him with his characteristic half-smile. "I see some things never change - still chasing stories instead of letting them come to you."
"There you are," Lois said, her tone carefully neutral in her father's presence. "Did you know Stark didn't even show up to accept his award? Stane here had to cover for him."
"Yes, that's... unfortunate," Stane said smoothly. "Tony gets very focused on his work sometimes. Speaking of which, Mr. Kent, I couldn't help overhearing that Tony offered you an interview next week."
Clark nodded, noting how Stane's heartbeat quickened slightly. "After his trip to Afghanistan, yes. We were discussing the ethical implications of automated weapons systems."
"Fascinating subject." Stane's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Though perhaps we should focus on less... sensitive topics. I'll have our PR department send you some suggested questions."
"Thank you, but I prefer to develop my own questions based on research and direct observation."
"Still the idealist, Clark?" Lex asked, swirling his champagne. "Some might say the ethics of warfare is a contradiction in terms."
"The military has very clear ethical guidelines, Mr. Luthor," General Lane interjected. "Though perhaps the press doesn't always understand the complexities involved."
"Or chooses not to understand them," Corbin added quietly, his voice carrying an edge that made Clark look closer. The former soldier's stance was rigid, his eyes constantly scanning the room with military precision.
"Lo," General Lane turned to his daughter, "how's your mother? She mentions you haven't called in weeks."
"I've been busy, Dad," Lois replied tersely. "Following leads, doing my job."
"Yes, I've seen your recent articles. Very... thorough. Though perhaps some stories are better left unexplored."
"If you're referring to the military contractor investigation-"
"I think what the General means," Lex intervened smoothly, "is that complex situations often require a more nuanced approach. Don't you agree, Obadiah?"
"Absolutely," Stane nodded, though Clark noticed him checking his phone with poorly concealed impatience. "If you'll excuse me, I really should check on Tony. General Lane, always a pleasure. Lex, we'll continue our discussion about those joint ventures soon."
As Stane walked away, Clark's superhearing picked up his phone conversation across the room: "Yes, everything's proceeding as planned. Stark won't be a problem much longer."
"Speaking of joint ventures," Lex said, watching Stane's departure with calculated interest, "LuthorCorp's new military contracts might interest you, General Lane. John here has been instrumental in developing some rather innovative security applications."
Corbin straightened slightly at the mention of his name, but his eyes remained fixed on Lois. There was something in his gaze that made Clark uneasy - a mix of admiration and resentment.
"You served under my command, didn't you, Corbin?" General Lane asked. "Third Infantry Division?"
"Yes sir. Until that IED in Fallujah cut my tour short." Corbin's voice carried barely contained bitterness. "Fortunately, Mr. Luthor understands the value of military experience."
"John's been invaluable," Lex added. "His... unique perspective has helped shape several of our defense initiatives."
"Lo," General Lane turned back to his daughter, "we should discuss-"
"Actually, Clark and I were just leaving," Lois interrupted. "We have a deadline to meet." She grabbed Clark's arm. "Come on, partner. That interview with Stark isn't going to write itself."
Clark noticed how her grip tightened when her father tried to speak again. He recognized her tell - the slight tension in her jaw that meant she was holding back words she might regret.
"Ms. Lane," Corbin called after them. "Maybe we could continue this discussion over dinner sometime? I have some interesting insights about military contracts that might help with your investigations."
Lois paused, her reporter's instincts clearly warring with her personal discomfort. "Thanks, but I make it a policy not to mix business with pleasure."
"Since when?" Clark asked before he could stop himself, earning a sharp elbow to his ribs.
"The Le Cirque incident was different," she muttered as they made their way toward the exit. "And you promised never to bring that up again."
"I promised no such thing," Clark smiled. "In fact, I believe you still owe me an explanation about that expense report."
"Fine," Lois sighed dramatically. "But if we're doing story post-mortems, you're going to tell me exactly how you got Tony Stark to agree to an exclusive when he wouldn't even accept his own award."
They were almost at the door when Lex caught up with them. "Clark, a moment?" His tone was casual, but Clark recognized the intensity in his old friend's eyes. "That interview with Stark - be careful what questions you ask. Some doors are better left unopened."
"Is that a threat, Lex?" Clark asked, taken aback by his friend's words
"A friendly warning. From someone who knows how these games are played." Lex glanced meaningfully at Lois. "Your partner's investigations have already attracted attention in certain circles. The kind of attention that can make life... difficult."
"We can handle difficult," Lois shot back. "It's what we do."
"Of course you can," Lex smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Just remember what we learned in Professor Harrison's class, Clark - sometimes the biggest stories are the ones that never get printed."
As they stepped out into the Vegas night, the desert air was still warm despite the late hour. The Strip glittered around them like a galaxy of neon and promise, so different from Metropolis's more stately illumination.
"I could murder a real meal," Lois declared, already kicking off her heels to carry them. "Something that isn't served on tiny plates by waiters who look judgier than my father."
"I saw a diner a few blocks from here," Clark suggested. "Unless you'd prefer room service?"
"God no. I need to get out of this dress and away from..." she waved vaguely back at Caesar's Palace. "All of that."