Doing research for my history class and I fucking love this union poster that is trying to say you need to join a union to have better workplace safety standards but instead sounds like a mob boss threatening someone
Prompt: No. 4 ‘Trust Fall’ - “Do you trust me?”, taken hostage, pushed
Trigger Warnings: threats
Word Count: 1763
Dinner-dates with Lois were always nice - good food, stimulating conversation, and excellent company were all a man could ask for, and she certainly made it interesting. Tonight they had picked out a local Italian restaurant in the university district and talked about… well, everything. How his mom was doing, what books the other was currently reading, the subway construction, Clark’s latest article, Lois’ most recent investigation - drug smugglers bringing in goods from Gotham, of all things - and whether lasagna was better with red sauce or alfredo. The discussion moved towards housing prices after Black Zero over a shared dessert of cannolis, and developed into a playful debate over whether the high taxi fare was worth it considering that it was twice as fast as the subway when they finally walked out of the restaurant.
Lois’ apartment wasn’t too far away and the weather was good, so they opted to walk hand-in-hand, simply enjoying each other’s company while they explained whatever articles they were currently working on. Clark was just beginning a short series assigned to him by Perry on recent changes made to libraries in the district and what sort of effects the changes might have on schools and poorer neighborhoods - a bit fluffy, not necessarily investigative but enough to get his wheels turning as he fit all the pieces together. Some of the Metropolis city council members were recommending closing the libraries a bit earlier in the afternoon, which Clark - bookish nerd that he was - was strongly against, and he proceeded to rattle off a list of statistics and arguments that pointed out the issue with shortening library hours while Lois bounced the ideas right back at him with a bit of journalistic review. She herself was currently in the thick of a story revolving around a smuggling ring that was gradually importing narcotics and other illegal items into Metropolis - from what she could tell, the drugs were coming from all over but a majority were ferried over from Gotham. Lois explained in a low voice as they walked that a tentative lead had pointed her towards Mal Sharpe, the owner of a few small businesses in the downtown of both cities, who seemed to have his hands in many pies… including drug trafficking. There was a low-priority warrant out for Mal’s arrest, but that warrant would soon be at the top of everyone’s list if Lois had anything to say about it.
Clark grinned at that, knowing full well that with his girlfriend on the case, it was sure to be resolved within the week. Gently steering the topic towards where they should go for dinner next week, he looped an arm around her shoulder and leaned in to kiss her cheek just as Lois turned to do the same. But instead of her arms slipping beneath his open coat to pull him close, Clark instead felt a sharp tug on his shirt collar, abruptly ending the kiss as it was followed by a kick to the back of his knees.
He hardly felt the blow, but it still caught him by surprise and Clark inwardly cursed when he realized that he had been so focused on Lois, he hadn’t noticed the two men sneaking up behind them - and when one of them pulled out a gun to press it against his head, Clark reconsidered fighting back and silently complied when he was once again shoved to his knees.
Lois’ eyes widened at the sight of the two criminals shoving her boyfriend to the ground, then narrowed dangerously when she spotted the gun in one’s hand and the knife in the other’s.
“What do you want?” she asked slowly, gaze flitting between the knife now pointed at her - a sure threat of what would happen if she screamed for help - and Clark calmly putting his hands on his head in surrender as they waited to be told to hand over their wallets. They both knew that a gun against Clark’s head wouldn’t do him a bit of harm, but their captors didn’t know that and if this was just your common-or-garden hold-up, they would simply comply and Superman or the police could get back whatever was stolen as soon as they were let go. But therein lay the issue: Lois was getting the feeling that this wasn’t just a robbery. It, unfortunately, looked an awful lot like a goddamned hostage situation, and her suspicions were only confirmed when the man holding the knife spoke up.
“Boss heard that you were sticking your nose where it isn’t wanted, writing a story about some stuff he brought over from Gotham,” he answered, “So Boss has decided to send you a very clear message: drop the story, or your boyfriend here is gonna go to bed tonight in a body bag.”
Clark winced as the gun was shoved against his skull, emphasizing his captors’ point, but Lois, instead of looking downright terrified, happened to look downright pissed.
“Alright, you’re Mal’s boys, aren’t you? I imagine that he’ll be pretty pissed when he hears that your hostage plan fell through.”
One look at her face, and Clark’s already-a-bit-dismayed spirits dropped - she was going to try something, and he wasn’t sure if it would end well. He knew for a fact that the gun currently pressed against his temple wouldn’t do him much harm, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to keep up the act of being scared while actually, genuinely scared and making sure said gun wasn’t pointed at Lois.
Clark was… well, Clark was a farmboy. He had grown up in the middle of Kansas where just about everyone’s pa owned a rifle of some sort, so it wasn’t as if he had never seen a gun before, it was just that he wasn’t used to having one pointed at him. Duck season had made him plenty familiar with what guns could do, and even though he knew it couldn’t hurt him, that did not mean that he was completely comfortable with it and to be perfectly honest, it made him just a little bit sick to his stomach.
“It ain’t gonna fall through,” one of Clark’s captors glowered suspiciously, breaking his train of thought, and Lois almost snorted in derision at the claim, hands on her hips as she snarled.
“Look, dumbass, anyone who’s read the Daily Planet knows the sort of people I go after, and they also know that said people almost always end up behind bars. I’m not your cocky, everyday journalist who happened to dig up some dirt on your operation - nah, I’m ‘Mad Dog’ Lane, Pulitzer Prize investigator, queen of the front page - and if you think pointing a gun at my boyfriend’s head will get me to drop a story once I’ve got it in my teeth, than you’d better fucking think again!”
Clark felt both men stiffen behind him, clearly rethinking having messed with someone as well-known as Lois, but their fear of Boss Mal’s wrath was just the littlest bit stronger than that of a tall red-headed journalist cussing them out.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Lane,” the man with the knife said decidedly, working up the courage to take a threatening step towards her, “But if you don’t want to do this here, we could easily take both of you along and get this whole thing cleared up in front of the Bo-”
Clark should have expected her to know at least some basic self-defense moves, considering her history of going into dangerous warzones and offices only to walk right back out with the info she wanted and a few bruises on her otherwise flawless figure, but seeing her in action was admittedly a little surprising. Lois Joanne Lane was an army brat through and through, so it was honestly no trouble to knock the knife out his grip with a simple wrist chop and the same ferocious elegance she used to mix her coffee. A moment later, she had kicked the weapon out of the man’s reach, sending it skittering across the asphalt, and promptly disabled her would-be attacker with a sharp knee to the crotch.
While his friend was groaning on the ground, the man holding Clark hostage fumbled with his gun, suddenly caught off-guard and having to decide between threatening his captive and pointing the weapon at Lois before Clark made the decision for him. Remembering the few moves Darcie had managed to drill into his head during one of her failed attempts to teach him the proper way to hit someone, he shoved his elbow back to make contact with the man’s nose, careful to limit the amount of force he used so that the bone was only broken and not the entire face. It worked better than he had expected, and before he knew it, both of the attackers were lying on the ground, one squirming uncomfortably and the other trying to stem the flow of blood suddenly rushing from his nose.
Clark hardly noticed their screaming as he jumped to his feet, absently rubbing the spot where the gun had been pressed against his head as he caught Lois’ arm to ask, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine!” she all but laughed, her good mood not disturbed one bit by the whole situation, “Damn, this will make for an excellent follow-up piece to the article on Mal and his gang’s activities. What about you, babe - are you feeling okay?”
“Me? Yeah… I’m fine too,” he answered slowly, even though it was the farthest thing from the truth. Having a gun to his head had shaken him up more than a little, despite the fact that they both knew it couldn’t do him any harm.
It’d been frightening, knowing that both him and Lois were in danger and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, yet her ecstatic mood - over a hostage situation, he had to remind himself - was more than a little infectious, and he was already feeling a little bit better by the time she had managed to get ahold of the police to report the incident. By the time they had given their statements to the two officers that arrived to the scene and finally reached Lois’ apartment, his anxiety was finally beginning to lose its clenching hold around his lungs and a hot cup of tea diminished it further - it was only when his hands finally stopped shaking that the hilarity of the whole situation finally dawned on him. Clark couldn’t wait to see Darcie’s face when she heard.
