ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT...?
By Doc. Klein's LabRat <labrat@blueyonder.co.uk>
Rating:  PG13
Submitted: December 2000
______________

Notes: This one's for Corrine, who - a very, very long time ago - had 
kind of an idea...and asked if I could run with it. Namely, what if 
Martha and Jonathan never made it to Metropolis in ASU, never 
connected with Clark...and what if he connected with Lois instead? ;) 
Thanks for the inspiration, Corrine. Hope it turned out, more or 
less, to be the story you wanted.

Some particular thanks are due in respect of this one, so bear with 
me. Firstly, thanks to Becky and KathR for their usual, thorough 
editing and to Ann and Wendy for their encouragement and occasional 
beta reading on various segments. Special thanks go to Helene, for 
all her naggi...er, encouragement and for those wonderfully 
productive brainstorming sessions on irc. And finally to Jeanne - a 
truly wonderful GE to work with - for all her help. :)

Thanks go too to everyone (Zoom, Ultracape, Becky and others) who 
responded to my email requests for recognition on the Balzar's Cat 
theorem, many moons ago. Most of you probably don't even remember my 
asking by now, but you came back with such witty answers that I just 
had to include some of them in Lois and Clark's conversation on the 
theorem itself.  And to the #lanekent regulars, who demanded to know 
on a regular basis when this would be finished and who, quite 
rightly, refused to accept 'I was abducted by aliens, so I didn't 
have time to write more this week' as any kind of excuse. Also to 
those FoLCs on the Fanfic List and Message Boards, who answered 
various queries - even the weird, twisted ones ;) - with their usual 
wit and intelligence. Thanks, guys. :)

I've used some lines of dialogue/situations taken from the original 
script of ASU by Bryce Zabel and added my own twist to them, just for 
fun.  And I've skewed the timeline to fit events herein. The timeline 
in ASU never made much sense to me, and when I watched the episode 
again just lately while researching this story, it made even less 
than it had previously. ;) We won't even touch how Clark managed to 
miss noting something odd was going on over several days of memory 
loss, yet still managed to shave each morning. ;) A very special 
thanks to KathyB for coming up with the k-razor. Just when I thought 
I was going to have to ignore that one entirely.


ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT...?


Strange, Clark thought often in the days that followed. That, at that 
time of all times, in this place of all places, with the world 
seemingly in the grip of its last, eternal night and what seemed like 
the snuffing out of hope, that the achievement of all his heart's 
desires should begin with a simple phone call...




"Clark? Hi, it's Lois. Listen, uh, I was just wondering if you could 
stand some company?"

"Lois!"

The immediate brightening in the voice that had sounded uncertain and 
depressed when it had answered warmed Lois and assured her that 
making the call had been the right thing to do. She had walked past 
four other pay phones, rolling over the idea in her head, before 
finally giving in to the temptation. Loneliness was a new phenomenon 
for her. At least, that was what she stubbornly maintained. How could 
any unattached, single female who liked it that way be lonely? She 
was *never* lonely. The idea was just plain ridiculous.

But then...these were far from normal times. And perhaps feeling 
small and lost and as afraid as a child alone in the night, filled 
with the need to reach out for some human contact, *any* human 
contact, was acceptable right then.

Of course, if it was simple comfort and companionship that she was 
looking for...she could have run back to Lex. At least spent some 
time with him, even if she couldn't accept his offer and stay. 
Wouldn't you think, in your last few hours on Earth, that the man 
you'd been dating most recently would be fairly high on your list of 
people to spend time with?

Curiously though, she had barely considered it. Perhaps because she 
felt she had already said her goodbyes and there was nothing left to 
say. Or perhaps because, deep in her heart and barely admitted, she 
already knew that she wouldn't be welcome. She had rejected him and 
she already knew enough of the man to know that he didn't take 
rejection lightly. Oh, he had been urbane about it, gentlemanly, 
civilized, and she doubted that he'd bear a grudge...but she was a 
realist and she knew the limits of his feelings for her. So she was 
equally certain that, in his quest for the perfect...companion...to 
share his lonely survival, she had undoubtedly already been replaced 
in his...'affections'.  Besides, a more pragmatic part of her had 
decided, Lex would be....well he'd be busy with preparing his refuge, 
making last minute arrangements...he wouldn't be expecting to see her 
again and -

No. No, she wouldn't be welcome.

And, besides, Lex had merely been a brief postscript in her thoughts. 
As she'd wandered the streets aimlessly, feeling the weight of what 
was coming settle heavily on her shoulders and the chill burrow its 
way deep inside of her, it had been her partner she had thought of.

The city she had always felt safe in had become a desolate and 
menacing place now. The stench of panic was in the air. And something 
darker - survival at its basest. A siren blaring in the dark, a 
common sound she barely noticed in saner times, made her startle like 
a rabbit under headlights. Standing by the pay phone, she'd found 
herself warily scanning the deserted street and had shivered, pulling 
the collar of her coat up tight. Feeling threatened by shadows that 
had never disturbed her before.

Besides, she'd told herself firmly, Clark needed her. Much more than 
Lex did. Didn't he? Well, he was all alone out there, unsure of who 
he even was, or who he could turn to. So, really, calling him would 
be doing him a favor, wouldn't it? Helping him. Nothing to do with 
how she felt at all. She couldn't leave him there, hurt and alone. 
So, calling him would be...the Samaritan thing to do. A humanitarian 
gesture. That was all. Least she could do.

Still, she had listened to the burring of the dial tone in her ear 
twice and to Clark's puzzled voice repeatedly requesting a response 
once before losing her nerve and hanging up. On the last, he had even 
murmured, tentatively, "Lois...?" before, spooked, she'd slammed down 
the receiver.

And, always, having decided this was a *real* bad idea...she'd 
immediately picked up the receiver and redialed a number she knew by 
heart. That need in her to reach out for human contact as 
irresistible and as difficult to fight against as the pull that was 
drawing death to them irrevocably from the cold, bleak heart of space.

"If...that's okay? I mean...well, maybe you have other plans or...did 
you manage to contact your parents? You said that last message from 
Martha said they were coming out here, didn't you? Are they with you? 
I wouldn't want to intrude at...a family time..."

She trailed off awkwardly, remembering her last moments with her own 
family a scant few hours before. Finding something sad and shaming in 
the fact all at once that, with time fast running out and the end of 
everything looming large, she was running to her partner for solace 
rather than those she should care about most. And who should care 
about her. She felt a sudden prickling at the back of her eyes. She 
blinked rapidly until her vision cleared, banishing the swell of 
self-pity that threatened to overwhelm her, and focused grimly on the 
richly warm voice caressing her ear.

"No! Uh, no. I finally connected with...the Kents. At least Mrs...uh, 
*Mom*...left another message on the machine. Seems like the planes 
are grounded. I guess it's chaos down there, just like everywhere 
else, huh? She said they were worried about me; they wanted me to fly 
to Smallville when I got the message. I don't understand that bit. I 
mean, if the airports are closed..."

Lois gave a mental shrug. "Well, maybe they thought there might be 
planes out of Metropolis still that might make it somewhere close to 
one of the surrounding airports. I mean, with this being a big city 
and all. Not a hick - uh, I mean, not a backwater...not so countryfi 
- " She blew out a soft, irritable sigh. "Clark, can I come on over?" 
she switched tracks abruptly and winced at the clear, plaintive note 
she heard in the question.

"Hey, sure!"

Lois closed her eyes. Relief made the threat of tears more immediate. 
She barely heard herself murmur a quick response before she hung up 
the receiver, hastily breaking the connection before they could find 
their way into her voice.

A sudden rustle to her left snapped her eyes open again. But it was 
only a rattle of litter, tossed along the gutter by a sudden gust of 
wind. The buildings around her were blank-eyed, seeming to study her 
like weary sentinels.

She shook off the morose mood that had settled on her, cursing her 
over-active imagination, knowing that even in the midst of this bleak 
darkness, there was light and warmth somewhere to welcome her. And a 
man who needed her, even if others didn't.

Yet she still felt the eerie prickle of those eyes on the back of her 
neck, as she wrapped herself tighter against the wind that tugged at 
her coat, and stepped out into the street.


~@*****@~


"Hey, sure!"

Clark tried to disguise the way his heart leapt at the plea in his 
partner's voice. He would have invited her anyway, even if she hadn't 
asked. He'd heard the tremor in her voice, the threat of tears 
beneath her words, and that worried him.

But, more than that, he realized with a small start of surprise as he 
hung up the phone, he wanted to see her, was anxious to see her. More 
than he had been at the thought of his parents arriving. He hadn't 
actually been looking forward to that at all. He'd felt awkward 
listening to the concerned voice on the machine.

Lois had said that he had a good relationship with his parents - 
close - yet he had felt nothing much at all listening to the tape 
spooling its way through that message. He had heard the fear in 
the...his Mom's voice, suppressed tears. Then there had been a 
moment's silence and a second voice, gruff and almost hurried had 
said simply, "Goodbye, son. Remember - we love you. Call us...if you 
can."

Clark had heard the distant sounds of the woman crying, the soft 
sounds of his father comforting her, before the line went dead.

He had stood there, in the darkness of the apartment, listening to 
the faint static hiss of the tape as the message ended and it played 
on in claustrophobic silence. Waiting for something to emerge from 
the dead feeling centered in his chest. Devastation was hurtling for 
their world. It was probable he'd never see his parents again. There 
should be something.

After a moment he'd reached out to put his fingers to the small 
square of plastic in the center of the answering machine. As though 
by touch alone he could bond himself to those voices, bring them 
closer, make them count. When the harsh click broke the weighted 
silence of the room like the crack of old bones, sounding the tape's 
end, he'd pressed the button to rewind and play the tape again. The 
plastic had felt hard and cool and smooth beneath the tips of his 
fingers as he'd listened. This was perhaps the last time he would 
hear those voices, the last memory of them he would ever have.

But nothing had come. No memory. No emotion. No sense of loss.

Nothing.

And it was that absence that made him cold inside.

He had tried calling back - he didn't like to upset anyone, even a 
stranger, and he could at least tell the woman that he was okay - but 
the phone lines to Smallville had been down.

Now, he let his hand linger on the phone a moment, pondering the warm 
sensation in his chest that his partner's voice - even the memory of 
her voice - kindled in him. After a moment spent puzzling over that, 
he wandered over to the large window that overlooked his terrace and 
stared out thoughtfully into the barren brick of the wall opposite. 
The red neon pulse of the ad sign mounted on the wall blared its 
fractured brilliance into the room behind him: a manic, disorganized 
strobe in the darkness.

It had been broken for days now. He had considered asking the 
ubiquitous Harry - whose 'Place' it apparently sign-posted - to have 
it repaired; the uneven flicker disturbed his sleep nights. But, 
somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Somewhere, along the 
way, the sign had become a metaphor for his own feelings, for the 
vague unsettled flicker of life within him. The connection wasn't 
hard to understand. Like him, the sign was disconnected, defective. 
It made no sense any more. As nothing in his world made any sense now.

And it was somehow...comforting...to know that he wasn't the only one 
with a crazy paving view of the world these days. That he wasn't 
alone.

Besides, without the sign as a convenient scapegoat, he might well be 
forced to examine too closely the other reasons that his sleep stayed 
disturbed and restless in the small, night hours that crept up on 
dawn. His head seemed full of half formed thoughts and dreams that 
had him starting up out of sleep, sweat soaked and trembling, afraid 
of some nameless dread that crouched in the shadows and watched him 
balefully from out of narrow, red-tinged eyes.

Several times, he'd found himself curled in a corner of the room, 
weeping. There had been the frightening moment the previous night 
when he had woken abruptly to find himself standing in the street 
below his apartment, with no memory of how he'd gotten there.  Naked 
but for the sleep shorts he'd worn to bed that evening he had, it 
seemed, been standing staring up into the blank, overhung sky, fists 
clenched into hard balls at his sides. As though confronting an enemy.

He hadn't been there long. At least he wasn't chilled, so he couldn't 
have been. But the experience had left him shaken and disturbed, 
worse for the fact that he had no idea why he was so afraid.

More frightening still was waking to find the soles of his feet mud 
stained...his skin wet with more than sweat, smelling faintly of salt 
with the tang of brine...leaves and turf strewn among his 
sheets...and no memory of where he had been.

Often, his dreams were filled with images and sensations that made 
even less sense than this nocturnal stargazing and unremembered night 
wanderings - vague feelings of disconnection, of being apart from the 
world, as though he were floating in a timeless void. Stronger, more 
powerful, than the feelings of panic and disorientation his lack of 
memory had bred in him. Something beyond the mere fear of not knowing 
who he was or how he fit into the world around him. It was so strong, 
so close, and so clear in the landscape of his drowsing mind that at 
times it almost seemed the only reality he had. And yet, always, it 
shredded itself into nothing, like early morning mist, and was lost 
when he woke.

Once, he had been startled to note that his hair was damp when he 
awoke. The chill dampness of morning dew. Or sailing through fog. The 
way it got when he hit pearled streamers of -

He shook his head sharply, shying instinctively away from the 
thought, pushing himself back from the brink of the strange, half 
formed idea that was morphing in his head, even as he tried 
desperately to hold on to it. The inner struggle between his 
subconscious and conscious mind was growing. He felt as though he was 
being softly torn apart. And he wanted to know. He did. He wanted 
desperately to know why the thought of clouds and damp, spring air in 
his hair and the softness of a breeze on his face could scare him so 
badly.

But it was gone. Like a flash of lightning in the darkness of night, 
barely seen before it was lost. And the night closed in.

A low shudder traveled through him before he could prevent it. No, he 
didn't want to examine his nightmares too closely here in the light 
of day. He focused his gaze on the wall opposite. Or under the red 
tinged flicker of that broken sign.

Harry's Place. He shook his head, turning to safer topics. What on 
earth had possessed him to choose an apartment with such a depressing 
view?

He sighed. Real estate in the big city was expensive and at a 
premium. Maybe he'd had no other choice. How much *did* he get paid 
for working at one of the city's most historic and prestigious 
newspapers anyway, he wondered. He turned his head and looked around 
the apartment with a judicious eye that he suspected hadn't been used 
on it for a time. By the looks of what he could afford to lease, his 
salary sure wasn't in the Top Five Hundred, he considered, a wry 
smile flickering for a moment at the corner of his lips.

He cocked his head a little, examining the idle thought, as he did 
with even the smallest stray idea these days, working it over in his 
head. Anything that provoked an emotion in him, no matter how small 
or how crooked, was worthy of examination now. From this particular 
thought came the idea that money wasn't that important to him. The 
wry tint to his mood deepened as his eyes roamed the room. *That* was 
plainly evident.

Still, although slightly spartan for his tastes, the apartment was 
kind of...cozy, he supposed. The thought brought him up short. His 
tastes? What kind of tastes *did* he have? And, considering that he 
had undoubtedly been the one to decorate the apartment in the first 
place, why weren't they the same tastes he'd had all along?

He frowned and then shook his head with a sigh and returned his blank 
gaze to the window. Don't go there, Kent, he admonished himself 
wearily. Second guessing yourself can drive you insane.

Behind him, in the background, the low, somber voice of an LNN 
newscaster drifted into his head. The station, as with all others, 
had been running a countdown on the approach of the giant asteroid 
that was hurtling towards them like a vast, unfeeling and uncaring 
colossus. There was so much fear in the man's voice, in the voices of 
the people they were polling in the streets. It hurt Clark like a 
spear in his chest.

How could he feel so much pity for strangers he'd never met and none 
for himself? And why did he think he should do something to calm 
those fears? What could he do? Write up a darned good piece for the 
hottest paper in town? Who cared when there wasn't going to be a 
readership tomorrow to read what he said? Or thought. Or cared about.

This defeatist attitude sat uneasily in him too. There was something, 
a small, quiet voice in the back of his head, which told him 
repeatedly that it wasn't a part of him. But he couldn't shake the 
mood. Over the past days, his own fear had vanished somewhere into 
the midst of this dead feeling in the pit of his chest. There had 
been moments when the loss of everything he had been had struck him 
in the heart like a physical blow, like a rending of his soul. There 
was no explaining that fear, the terror, the sense that he was lost, 
adrift, with nothing to anchor him to people and places he knew, 
people he should care about.

"...Superman sightings around the downtown area of..."

Clark's ears pricked up sharply with the newscaster's weary report 
and then his interest dimmed as he returned his gaze to the window. 
His lips twisted in a grimace. The great Metropolis hero: where the 
hell was *he* when they needed him? What a swell time for the guy to 
vanish into the smoke and let everyone down.

He didn't know what Lois saw in him.

The strength of emotion that the thought sparked in his chest might 
have surprised him, had it not been the one constant in his life. 
Still, he wondered at it. That she, alone, seemed able to drag him 
from the dead pool of emotions and the smothering blanket of apathy 
that his mind seemed to have dropped over his thoughts.

He had almost asked her about that today, about why she apparently 
meant so much to him, but, somehow, hadn't found the courage. He was 
plagued by the vague impression, strange but unshakable, that they 
were more to each other than she was confessing to. More than 
partners. More than just friends. There was a warmth in his chest 
whenever he thought about her - and he thought about her often, to 
his confusion - that disturbed him, that couldn't just come from 
knowing her as a friend and partner alone. He felt that, intuitively, 
more strongly than he had felt anything these past few days.

Earlier, when he had asked her in the most oblique way he could, he 
hadn't missed her fleeting, though obvious discomfort with the 
question. They hadn't *not* liked each other when they'd met, she'd 
said. But her body language had said she wasn't telling him the whole 
truth. And she was uneasy about the topic, that much was obvious.

But why would she lie?

He had sensed that same odd duality, a schism between words and body 
language, before, too. He had no idea, either, what had prompted him 
then to ask if they were more than friends, just an odd prickle of 
intuition and something about his partner. Strange, because he had 
had precisely the opposite reaction when...what was her 
name...Cat...yes, Cat...when she had insisted *they* were more than 
friends. He had felt nothing, nothing at all, when she had hugged 
him. Yet with Lois...with Lois there had been an instant shock 
of...well, not recognition - that was clearly expecting far too much 
in his present state of mind. His lips twisted wryly with the 
thought. But...something.

*Definitely* something. And strong. So strong that he had found it 
hard to believe that partners and friends were all they were. And 
though Lois had seemed to deny that he was right, there *had* been 
something odd, something out of kilter, in the way she'd responded to 
his question. Close, but not close. Friends...but not friends?

Clark frowned. It was all so confusing. Perhaps they had *been* an 
item, were now yesterday's news, and Lois, not wanting to upset him 
with that truth, was being just a tad too careful of his feelings.

Somehow though, Clark knew that, for him at least, his partner would 
never be old news.

Perhaps Lois hadn't - didn't - feel the same way.

He sighed. He knew he couldn't ask. The earlier lapse had been a 
mistake. He supposed he should be glad that it had borne no fruit. 
The psychiatrist at the police precinct who'd evaluated him had told 
him that he must find his own answers, his own memories, independent 
of other sources. If he relied too heavily on the answers others gave 
him, then he would simply find himself through their eyes, form 
himself around their template. It wasn't always the same thing.

"We have a tendency to perform for those we love," she'd said with an 
understanding smile. "We become all things to all men, in many ways 
what's expected of us rather than what we are. If you try too hard to 
feel what your family expects of you, become what your friends expect 
to *see* in you, there's a very real possibility you might never 
recover your memory. It will simply be replaced - overlaid - with a 
false set of standards. What you assume from them you should be and 
who they want you to be. Not who you are."

He had tried to heed the advice, which seemed sound, but it was hard. 
He felt as though he were fumbling around in a darkened room. And 
passing up the chance to grab an offered flashlight.

Anyway, he didn't think his partner was the type to be careful of his 
feelings. No, there was something more to their relationship, 
something he couldn't quite grasp. But he knew it was there. Like a 
shimmering haze of sunlight, just over the horizon, barely seen, hard 
to catch hold of. He was sure that given time he could have gotten 
her to talk to him about it, but then there had been Luthor.

Clark frowned, remembering the sudden animation that had overtaken 
his partner when she had received the message from the man. All that 
Clark knew of Lex Luthor was what he'd seen that afternoon on TV...a 
handsome, expensively suited and self-confident billionaire 
philanthropist...and Lois had certainly seemed to think he was 
someone who had all the answers. She had been very eager to meet him. 
Someone she had to interview. Was that all he was? She *had* been 
real eager. Too eager. Too delighted to hear from the man.

Clark's preoccupied frown narrowed his eyes. But it hadn't been 
Luthor that had gotten that reaction from her, had it? he thought, 
more darkly than he was prepared to admit to. Luthor was simply a 
means to an end. What Lois had been eager about was the possibility 
that Luthor might know where Superman was. That he might help her 
find him.

Superman.

There he was, that name again. Funny how he kept popping into the 
frame. Especially where his partner was concerned.

Of course, he was their last, best hope of survival. Naturally, Lois 
would be keen to find him. And he guessed her reporter's instincts 
hadn't been dulled by recent events either...the thought of pulling 
off that particular coup had been an obvious driving force. But, 
somehow, Clark didn't think that was it. There had been something in 
her eyes when she spoke about Superman. Something that Clark knew 
would have solved his confusion over his own relationship with his 
partner in a heartbeat if it had been directed at him. Like earlier. 
It hadn't been difficult for him to pick up on that vibration, that 
soft undercurrent, in Lois' tone when she had spoken of the 
superhero. The thought of him had transfigured her face, like a 
beatitude. He meant a lot to *everyone*, she'd said.

And you, Lois? What does he mean to *you*?

More than 'a lot', that was obvious.

There had been that kiss.

*The* kiss.

Clark scowled. He didn't want to think about that. He had few enough 
memories in his head right then. Why did half of the ones he retained 
have to be images he didn't want to contemplate?

He shook himself irritably, like a large dog getting rid of fleas, 
trying to displace both thought and mood. It remained stubbornly in 
his head though.

What *was* Superman to Lois?

And what was she to him?

And what did it matter to Clark Kent? Who surely had no right to be 
asking the question? Or even be interested for that matter. What had 
Lois' personal life to do with him? She was his partner. A friend. 
End of story. He wasn't her keeper. Or her judge.

Despite his vexation, however, and his attempts to cut off the path 
his thoughts were taking, they persisted. Like probing painfully at a 
decaying tooth.

The kiss. On the Plaza. As Superman was about to leave on his 
abortive mission to destroy Nightfall.

Lot of good the all-conquering superhero had done there, Clark took 
time out to think acerbically, and then immediately regretted the 
uncharitable thought. Superman might have died in that attempt to 
save them. Lois certainly seemed to be beginning to believe that he 
might have, although she was trying to cling to the hope that he 
would reappear in the eleventh hour and rescue them all.

The kiss now...that had been played and replayed, over and over, in 
the wake of Superman's vanishing act. It had even featured as the 
page one lead in several of the tabloids, under banner headlines such 
as The Last Farewell and Give It Up For Superman! Clark grimaced. He 
had been surprised that his partner had left herself open to such 
abuse, kissing Superman in public like that! At a press conference, 
for Pete's sake! But she had been unrepentant when teased about it by 
their colleagues. Although, he thought, a little embarrassed too. He 
suspected actually that at that moment she hadn't been aware of the 
milling reporters around them at all. Completely focused on her 
dashing red-caped, blue-spandexed hero.

Lois had initiated the kiss. Was that something he should be pleased 
about? Or dismayed over? Superman certainly hadn't made the first 
move. Was that encouraging? Did it denote an interest that burned 
more brightly in Lois' heart than in the superhero's? 
More...hero-worship...than true love? The former was much less likely 
to endure than the latter.

On the other hand, he thought dismally, Superman hadn't exactly tried 
to work himself loose from the stranglehold Lois had had on his 
throat, either. Nor had he looked displeased at her assault on him. 
On the contrary, he had seemed to put himself wholeheartedly into 
returning it. And Clark remembered the gesture that the superhero had 
made just prior to that kiss, studying it intently in his mind's eye 
as carefully as he had when he had seen it on tape at the Planet. A 
soft cupping of one hand against Lois' hair. A tender gesture...one 
that she certainly hadn't looked surprised at.

Clark felt his gut tighten with the memory, just as it had watching 
the tape. That the image of Superman and Lois sharing a clearly 
intimate moment could provoke such a strong and negative emotion in 
him was a further cause for confusion. But try as he might, he just 
couldn't seem to prevent it.

The look in the superhero's eyes after the kiss had been tender too, 
he pondered morosely. More than that. He had looked as though the 
entire world was carried in her eyes. Clark suspected that at that 
moment Superman had been less than concerned with reporters and 
cameras watching them either.

His mind tortured him, replaying that instant, slowing it to a crawl 
in his mind's eye, even as he tried to shy away from it uncomfortably.

It left him with one, undeniable conclusion. Superman was in love 
with Lois Lane. And she with him.

He froze a little on that one. Lois was...involved with Superman? He 
tried to discount the notion almost immediately, but it persisted, 
bolstered by what scant information he'd gathered on the superhero in 
the past couple of days, as he'd sifted through everything he'd heard 
about the man, everything his partner had said and her reactions to 
every mention of his name.

The TV stations had been running archive footage on the Man of Steel 
almost constantly since his mysterious disappearance. Much of it had 
also featured Lois. Lois in the forefront of the press pack; Lois 
interviewing the superhero; Lois desperately trying to attract his 
attention. And in those...Clark focused on those moments in 
particular, aware distantly that he was on to something...in those, 
although Superman seemed not to have noticed her, often flying off 
without so much as a glance in her direction or a word spoken between 
them, Clark had found himself completely convinced that he had 
noticed her only too well. That he was deliberately putting distance 
between himself and the reporter.

Now, why would he do that?

Because he didn't want the public to know that they were closer than 
they appeared?

A depressing thought. And one that he didn't particularly want to 
dwell on now. Or accept.

He sighed. Maybe it was nothing, he soothed himself. Maybe he was 
seeing dragons in clouds. Just because she'd kissed him didn't mean 
she was in love with him. Maybe she was just...trying to keep up his 
spirits. Women did that kind of thing. They had in the war. Kissed 
perfect strangers just because they knew they were heading off on 
dangerous missions and might not return. A little piece of...home 
comfort... He sighed again, not entirely convinced by the theory.

Well, Superman just seemed to be on everyone's mind. Why should Lois 
be any different? Or him, for that matter.  He didn't understand his 
*own* fascination with the superhero, let alone anyone else's. Or why 
his subconscious seemed to want to return time and again to the man. 
Maybe it was just the reporter's instinct he supposed he must have 
somewhere within him, the scent of an obvious mystery prickling at 
him.

Where *had* he gone? Was he out there, somewhere, perhaps as lost as 
he himself was? Was that what made him find such puzzling affinity 
with the missing Man of Steel?

Theories abounded, naturally, on the superhero's disappearance. 
Superman was dead, vaporized in the black heart of space when he hit 
the asteroid - their last savior gone.

He had seen that his efforts were futile and had abandoned them, fled 
his adopted home, choosing to find another and save himself while he 
could.

There were even those who accused that he had never intended to help. 
That it had all been a ruse. That Nightfall was the vanguard of the 
alien invasion that Superman had come to Earth to plan and spearhead. 
That behind the giant rock tumbling towards them a spaceship lurked, 
its alien crew intent on invasion now that Superman had joined his own.

Clark sighed. Now that one he *didn't* believe. Lois would never have 
trusted a coward or traitor. Though jealousy - an emotion he would 
never admit to - laced his chest tight around his heart with even the 
thought of connecting Lois and Superman - at any level - he had to 
reluctantly find that good in the man since his partner did. Lois was 
no fool. And if she found something to admire in the Caped 
Avenger...Crusader...whatever he called himself...then Clark had to 
accept that he was admirable. Despite the seeming evidence to the 
contrary that filled his TV screen night after night.

On the TV a sobbing woman was demanding that something be done to 
stop the asteroid's inexorable descent to impact. Her reasoning was 
hysterical, her anguish another pinprick in his head. A cut to a 
blustering man, hope desperate in his voice as he proclaimed that 
Superman would come through for them, just as he always had. He 
wouldn't *abandon* them. Not now. He couldn't. He was out there. 
Somewhere. Had to be. And he'd turn up. Save them. Yes, he would. And 
anyone who thought different was just toting a barrel of -

Cut to commercial.

Crazy Jack's was offering a once in a lifetime deal on luxury car 
hire in the downtown area. "...take a stretch...go out in style!!"

Right name, wrong offer, buddy, Clark thought acidly.

His Dad always had said city folks knew nothing about keeping their 
heads in a crisis.

/Had he?/ he immediately thought and then shook his head. Who knew? 
His head was a clutter of half-remembered statements and ideas, and 
none of them made any sense. Like a jigsaw puzzle missing a few vital 
pieces, the overall picture was skewed.

He sighed and returned his gaze to the flicker of the neon sign 
opposite. His mind cut back to the sound of Superman's advocate. 
Beneath the bravado had been a fear as sharp as the woman's before 
him. It pervaded the city, like a funeral stench, a fog of decay. 
Only that morning, LNN had carried a report about two looters found 
hanged in Suicide Slum. Riot squads had been drafted into the Hobb's 
Bay area. Ten people had been found, huddled together in the basement 
of their rented apartment building, their bodies contorted, their 
faces black and bloated - evidence of the industrial waste cleaner 
they'd drunk like cheap wine. Scrawled on the walls around them and 
hastily scribbled on tattered scraps of paper clutched in dead hands 
had been the last testament of their insane ramblings. Basically, it 
all boiled down to the fact that they'd rather be dead than subject 
to alien rule.

Madness. Of the worst kind. Spawned out of terror and helplessness 
and the crumbling of all that had once seemed unassailable, permanent 
like sunrise and sunset - constants that had proved less than 
constant at all in the end.

Clark thought, distantly and with as much concern as he might have 
focused on the approach of a thunderstorm, that he really supposed he 
ought to be afraid too. Of dying, of losing everything, of what was 
approaching them out of the unnaturally growing darkness.

But, just like the rest of his emotions, that fear wouldn't come 
either. Maybe he couldn't be afraid of these things because they 
were, for him, already lost. Had been lost, when he'd hit his head in 
that dumb accident with the car and what had been him, the essence of 
who he was and how he thought, the core of what made him Clark Kent, 
had been snuffed out like a candle's dying flame. How could he fear 
death when he was already dead inside?

How could he fear the unknown, when he faced it every moment of every day?

And how could he fear losing everything - everyone - he loved, when 
they were already reduced to shadows in his head, not even memories 
of them surviving. Lost and dead. Gone.

He waited - with a certain, cool and clinical detachment - for the 
spear of pain to follow that thought, for the following tide of 
grief. But all that he could muster was a slight distress at that 
lack of panic and fear. At the loss of emotions that he was failing 
to experience with the rest of humanity with whom he shared this 
city. This world. What he felt was nothing. There was that black hole 
in the center of his chest and it filled him like a tide of sand. 
And, somehow, that just didn't feel *right*. He had the feeling he 
wasn't normally so distant and remote from the world, that these 
things should matter to him, should mean something. There were people 
out there who were afraid. Who would die. And that should mean 
*something*.

He focused a little deeper on his feelings, trying to analyze his way 
to something stronger than the dead and shadowed emotions that sealed 
his chest tight, trying to force some reaction out of the fog in his 
head. But in the end all that he could think of was that he felt just 
a little...sad. Sad that he was leaving behind something that should 
mean everything to him and yet meant nothing at all.

Leaving everything behind...

Something that meant everything to him...

A flashbulb pop blinked into his mind with the run of his thoughts, 
the brief, flickering of an image that was there and then lost in an 
instant before he could truly grasp it. His partner. Lois. Seated at 
her desk, looking up at him with an expression of...

...of confusion...of loss...and betrayal...

...as he leaned down and put his hand against the soft warmth of her 
cheek and kissed her. He remembered the feel of her lips against his. 
And her eyes, brimming over with tears she refused to shed...

...and then, as quickly as it had come on him, the memory was gone.

Clark sighed and then reached up a hand to remove his glasses, 
closing his eyes as he pinched wearily at the bridge of his nose. He 
shook his head and paused as he moved to replace the spectacles. He 
looked at them as they dangled by one temple from his hand. Another 
minor mystery. His days were filled with them.

He lifted his hand, squinting through the glass lenses as he held 
them aloft to the fitful light of the window. Just why was he wearing 
glasses with plain glass lenses? His vision seemed perfect. There was 
no blurring, none of the haziness he expected when he removed them. 
They were completely unnecessary.

He'd known that from the first of course. He'd only worn the pair 
he'd been given because he had been confused and disorientated and it 
was easier to accept them than it was to upset someone who'd seemed 
anxious to help him. But then, Lois had given him his own pair when 
she'd taken him to the Planet from the police precinct. And that made 
no sense at all.

That helpful policeman, Inspector Henderson, hadn't seemed surprised 
to see him wearing glasses either. Obviously he was in the habit of 
doing so. So...what? They were some kind of fashion statement? He 
remembered what the down and out who'd rescued him had said when he'd 
urged that old pair on him. Maybe he hadn't been the only one who 
thought wearing these made him look more intelligent. Studious. Had 
he been trying to impress someone? Mr. White?

Lois?

Somehow the thought that he might want to impress his self-assured, 
beautiful partner didn't sound that far from the truth at all. But 
there were pictures scattered around the apartment of him wearing the 
things - apparently from his teens at least - and with the people 
Lois had said were his parents...

Clark shook his head again tiredly. None of it made any sense. He'd 
been about to question Lois on it at the time, when something even 
stranger happened. He had taken off the glasses the down and out had 
given him, paused to ask her - and the words just hadn't emerged. It 
was almost as though some small, wiser part of him had stepped right 
up, reached right out, and nudged a warning elbow into his ribs as it 
hissed caution in his ear. He hadn't understood that instinctive 
warning, but he had heeded it.

He looked at the glasses again and then put them back on. Well, maybe 
he would ask Lois. He couldn't see how it would hurt, especially now.

He found himself drawn to the dark patch of night sky he could see 
above the brick building opposite. Behind him, the lights of the 
apartment flickered, dimmed and then brightened. He frowned. There 
had been brownouts all over the city in thepast two days; services 
were breaking down more and more by the minute it seemed. He wondered 
if he should go search the apartment for a flashlight or candles and 
then grimaced. Candles and brownouts. What did it matter?

Metropolis had more to concern itself with than these.

And he had Lois. He thought about her imminent arrival, about how 
much he was looking forward to seeing her again. In the midst of 
madness a shining ray of...well, if not hope, then certainly a gentle 
solace.

His solace.

His mind filled itself with thoughts of her, like a flame in the 
dark, and he lost himself in the one memory he had. The one thing 
that was bright and shining still in his life.

Lois.

He was still staring blindly out into the growing night and the crazy 
paving stutter of a red neon glow when he heard the soft, tentative 
knock on the front door.


~@*****@~



Actually, he thought he'd heard a rustle of clothing and Lois 
muttering to herself just seconds before the knock. Something about 
straightening up and flying right and if you start crying now, Lane...

But he couldn't have, could he? So he must have been imagining that.

Lois looked pristine as ever when he bounded up the stairs and opened 
the door. If she *had* been considering dissolving into tears there 
was no sign of it on her face, which was cool and collected...and 
beautiful. Just as he remembered it.

He smiled at her and felt his heart give that inexplicable little 
double beat that the sight of her always seemed to produce. "Hey. 
Come on in."

But she stood there, her face changing, suddenly uncertain, poised on 
the stoop as though about to take flight. Clark regarded her 
quizzically. Behind her, in the shadowed darkness of the porch, he 
saw to his surprise that it was raining. Drops of it glistened on the 
upturned collar of her coat like a scatter of zirconia and in her 
hair, which had that slightly fuzzy, curled look of dampness.

He saw her swallow slightly. She shook her head, backed up a small, 
reluctant half pace. "You know, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I 
mean you must have lots to do...*I* have lots to do and - "

She stopped as he reached out to snag the sleeve of her coat, tugging 
her easily over the threshold before she could evade him.

"You forgot your umbrella again," he commented mildly, ignoring her 
dissembling as though she hadn't spoken at all, and suddenly, from 
out of nowhere, almost as though it was another who spoke, he heard 
his voice take on a knowing, teasing note, "I keep on telling you 
about that."

He saw her glance at him, looking just a little startled and felt his 
own sense of surprise at the words.

"Yes. Yes, you do." Lois' gaze turned examining. Under it, Clark felt 
suddenly like a fly caught in amber. "You think I should have it - "

" - permanently tied to your wrist. Like those mittens kids used to 
have so they couldn't lose them." he finished and then, awkward with 
the moment, shrugged. "Mother Hen Kent," he mimicked a scathing 
falsetto and then, more softly and dropping the mockery, "Funny...the 
things you remember."

And the things you don't.

Lois nodded and then gave him an uncertain smile. "I guess."

He smiled back. "Well," he said lightly, dismissive of the memory, 
taking nothing of hope from it and weaving a veiled warning beneath 
his jocularity that she shouldn't either, "looks like I can be 
certain of one thing, at least. I was...I am...clearly a pretty smart 
guy. I'm not the one who got soaked forgetting my umbrella in the 
rain," he elaborated with a small grin as she frowned.

Lois blinked and Clark gestured with an easy charm for her to precede 
him down the stairs before she could work up a retort in answer.

Closing the door sealed off the blast of chill air that had come in 
out of the night with her. Clark grew immediately contrite. "I should 
have had some tea already brewing. You must be freezing. I'm sorry, I 
got...kinda lost. I was thinking about - "

/...you.../

" - things. Well," he shrugged as she glanced at him, "you know."

She nodded. Both of them barely avoided taking a quick, flickering look 
at the darkening sky beyond the windows as it suddenly seemed much 
closer with the words, and the thoughts that lay behind them, making 
the room claustrophobic all at once. Then, the instant passed. Relief 
lay heavy as old dust on the air.

"I'll just go - " He indicated the kitchen nook uncomfortably and she 
smiled, nodding quick assent as she eased off her coat and settled 
herself on the sofa. She rubbed fitfully at her arms and he glanced 
at her as he set out mugs for them both.

"I can turn up the heat if you like."

"Oh no. That's okay. I'll be fine."

He shrugged and then smiled at her before turning back to his 
preparations. Lois settled herself back into the sofa.

It didn't take her more than a few moments to join him though. She 
leaned against the edge of the counter, watching him. "Need any help?"

He looked around at her with another smile. "That's okay. I can 
remember how to make oolong tea."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean - "

"No. I know." He cut through her blurted apology. "It's all right. 
Really. I think I'm kind of getting used to not remembering things. 
Like you said, maybe it's a good thing, you know? Not knowing what 
I'm missing." He gave in to the urge to take that glance at the 
darkening light outside the apartment windows and then cleared his 
throat softly as he pulled his gaze away again. "What I'm...leaving 
behind."

There didn't seem to be much conviction in his voice. His hands 
stilled on the mug he was holding, his gaze settling on it, becoming 
lost in its depths as though it held all the answers to the universe. 
As the uncomfortable pause lengthened, Lois said softly, "You 
know...some of us might envy you."

That jerked him out of his fugue. "Me?" He looked at her, startled.

She shrugged. "Maybe you're the lucky one in all of this. With what's 
coming..." her own gaze darted to the windows and back, before 
softening on him, "...if you can't remember how it was...how will you 
miss it?"

Clark considered that. Then he grunted, a soft, wordless protest, and 
shook his head as he reached to fill the kettle from the tap. He 
frowned as the water sputtered briefly before coming online. "Maybe. 
I never thought of it that way. I don't feel so lucky," he added 
bleakly. "I think..." he paused, struggling to find the words to 
express his thoughts and then blurted, '....you know, we're 
*reporters*, Lois! That means something, doesn't it? It should stand 
for something! I don't want to miss out. I want to experience it. 
*All* of it. I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't want to die. I'm not 
*crazy*. I'd really much rather none of this was happening at all. 
But, if it has to...if we can't stop it...well, not being completely 
there, not having the whole picture...it just feels wrong. I need to 
know. I need to...to..."

"Be part of it," Lois said quietly.

"Yes!" He looked at her gratefully and then repeated softly, "*Yes*. 
Otherwise...what was the point in being here at all? What's the point 
of being alive?"

Lois, struck by the echo of her own, earlier words to Lex, nodded. 
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize...that was a dumb thing to 
say, wasn't it?"

He smiled a little. "Not really. And not half as dumb as some things 
I've heard in the past few days." He shrugged, dismissing the impact 
of what had been at times hurtful and unconsciously cruel remarks 
from colleagues and others. "It's like being bereaved, you know? 
People don't know what to say, what to do to help. And sometimes what 
they say doesn't come out too good. But I know they meant to help. 
Their intentions were good. And I appreciate it." He reached out a 
brief hand and laid it lightly to her shoulder. "Really. Don't worry 
about saying the wrong thing. To be honest, I'm just glad someone 
mentions...my circumstances...at all.  Most people seem to think that 
it's not that bad a thing...all things considered. I mean, what's a 
little knock on the head compared to...well, you know. And as for the 
rest... That sports guy...the photographer..."

"Amos?" Lois said, her embarrassment overtaken by curiosity now as 
she watched him. She had never really considered what it must be like 
for him, fumbling around in a world he barely recognized any longer. 
She had thought of his amnesia as something that he would 'snap out 
of' eventually. And yes, it had seemed low on the list of priorities 
considering what was facing them. Like worrying over a rip in your 
jeans when you've just broken your leg, she supposed. Some of her 
colleagues thought it was almost a joke, she knew. She'd barely taken 
it much more seriously than that herself. And suddenly she was 
ashamed for not understanding just how frightening and disorientating 
his loss of memory was for him.

"Yeah, Amos. He almost tied his larynx in a knot yesterday trying to 
avoid mentioning my amnesia. Like it was some dirty little secret he 
wasn't supposed to know."

"Oh, Clark..."

She shook her head and he said hastily, "No, it's okay. He was trying 
to be nice. He just didn't know how, that was all. You know, that's 
one thing I think I've learned in the past few days that I suspect 
that I always knew? You know...before. There aren't many people 
around who are mean for the sake of it. Most are just blundering 
around, making the best of a bad deal. They don't always get it 
right, but, hey, you can't fault them for trying."

Lois looked skeptical. In her opinion, almost everyone was mean for 
the sake of it. And if they weren't trying to screw you over or pull 
a fast one on you they were going to have to prove it first, before 
she changed her mind about them.

"Anyway..." Clark smiled again, a little wistfully she thought, as he 
returned to his task. "Such is my life right now." He sighed a 
little, a small sound she knew she wasn't supposed to hear and then, 
as the pause threatened to stretch into uncomfortable silence again, 
"Mr. White called earlier," he said casually. "He said everyone was 
gathering at the Planet. I thought that's where you'd be too."

He looked back at her, questioningly, and she shrugged. "I wanted to 
be with...we can go there after the tea. If that's what you want?"

Clark paused, thinking about it. Then he turned his head to view her. 
"To be honest? No. No, I don't think I do. I mean Mr. White and Jimmy 
and the rest are a great bunch of guys, but...well, it's not really 
where I fit in. Is it? I mean, not right now. And..." he hesitated, 
his eyes resting solemnly on her face. "This is nice. Just being 
here. With you."

Lois smiled shyly and then, because she realized it was becoming an 
especially sloppy smile and that perhaps there was more in her eyes 
than she'd intended there to be, she cleared her throat and glanced 
away. Why did gazing into his eyes give her such a feeling of...home? 
Of comfort and warmth and a sense of belonging, of being exactly 
where she was supposed to be? Where she needed to be?

Should be?

Seemingly oblivious to her sudden discomfort, Clark reached into the 
overhead cupboard for the tea. "Did you get what you wanted?" he 
changed the subject smoothly. "From Mr. Luthor?" he added, as she 
looked faintly startled.

"Oh." She shook her head. "No. No, Lex...wanted to talk about 
something else." She paused and he turned his head after a moment as 
he felt the weight of her stare.

It was a look he recognized. One he'd been seeing more and more often 
on the faces of his friends over the past few days when they spoke to 
him, studied him, though they tried to hide it from him. As though 
they were waiting for him to do or say something he couldn't quite 
grasp. An almost palpable disappointment radiated from them when he 
failed to answer that faint questioning in their eyes, failed to fill 
in the expectant pause in the conversation they held out to him like 
a baited trap, failed to make the right move.

Whatever the right move was, he thought dispiritedly. Sometimes, he 
felt as though the whole world was keeping some awesome secret from 
him. In on the joke and laughing at his fumbling around. Playing a 
game with rules that only he didn't understand.

Lois' studying gaze on his held that same sense of expectant waiting now.

"What?" he said uncomfortably.

She shook her head, as though irritated with herself for expecting a 
response and, somehow, that hurt him more than not knowing. He didn't 
want to let her down, disappoint her. He *should* know. Obviously.

At least...it was obvious to her. Whatever it was.

He held back a small sigh.

"Nothing. I was just waiting for the usual Clark Kent Lecture on why 
Lex Luthor is a despicable person. He's not exactly on your list of 
nominations for Human Being of the Year," Lois explained, as he 
looked curious.

"He isn't?" Clark frowned as he went back to his preparations. "Why?"

She shrugged and regarded him quizzically, as though it was something 
she'd often tried to answer herself. "I don't know. I guess it was 
just one of those instant dislikes. Like two cats meeting on a 
rooftop. You...bristle..."

Clark gave her an amused sideways glance. "I bristle?"

"Every time you find yourself sharing the same room," she confirmed 
firmly. "You get this little...bite in your voice when you talk to 
him. He does too."

"Really? Well that's strange. He seems like a nice enough guy," said 
Clark slowly as he set out a plate of cookies on the counter.

"He is a nice guy," Lois said reaching over and snagging one of the 
almond and cherry squares. "He's a very nice guy. Mmmmmm...hey, these 
are good! Are they homemade?" She demolished the first cookie with 
the enthusiastic endorsement and reached to pick up another.

Clark regarded her and then the rapidly emptying plate as she took a 
third, before he said, "Thanks," sardonically and refilled it. "I 
think so. At least, I think maybe Mom left them for me at some point. 
I don't recognize the handwriting on the label of the container. I 
just know it isn't mine. I saw him on TV last night," he added. 
"Luthor. He's donating a substantial sum of money to emergency relief 
agencies, in the event any of them are still around to help out 
after...well, anyway, that seems like a humanitarian gesture. And 
he's asked for private collectors and museums to transport national 
art treasures to him for safekeeping in some safe storage facility he 
has that he says should withstand the impact."

Lois frowned. "What kind of...storage facility?" Hadn't Lex said he 
didn't want his private little hideaway advertised?

Clark shrugged. "Dunno. He didn't say. No one asked. That I heard of. 
I guess he meant a private bank vault somewhere. Most millionaires 
have one of those for storing their private art collections, don't 
they?" He gave her a half-curious glance and she nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess that's what he must have meant."

"Well, anyway, it seems a generous enough offer." He paused in the 
act of setting the small strainer with its cargo of leaves over one 
of the mugs. "Although..."

"Although?" Lois prodded as he stopped again.

"I dunno. Maybe I just think safekeeping people might be more useful 
than making sure some paintings survive, that's all."

Lois nodded sagely as she went back to nibbling. "Balzar's cat."

He glanced at her.

"Balzar's cat," she reiterated. "You know. Balzar's theorem. If 
you're standing before a burning building and you only have time to 
make one choice, do you rescue the cat trapped inside it or the 
Michaelangelo painting hanging on the wall?"

"Oh," Clark said. And then, after a few moments of silence, "The cat."

"The cat."

They spoke in unison, her decision overlapping his. Clark grinned at 
her and she returned it and then leaned her elbows on the counter 
with a sigh and took another bite of cherry. "You realize that proves 
us to be Philistines?"

Clark's grin widened as he went back to diffusing the tea with an 
unconcerned shrug. "But heroes to the cat," he predicted.

Lois laughed and he felt a small spark of warmth fill him, listening to it.

"Cats can look after themselves," she told him wisely. "By the time 
you got in there to rescue it, it would already be out the back door 
and watching you from the sidewalk."

Clark made an absent moue of agreement with this pessimism.

"Now, you ask Balzar's theorem of the cat and *he'd* choose the cat," 
Lois added, waving the remains of the cookie at him in emphasis. "Always 
looking out for number one, that's your basic cat."

"You could teach the cat to rescue the cat," Clark considered.

"Or rescue the painting," Lois countered.

"Or teach it fire fighting skills so it could put out the fire."

"Or hit the alarm."

"Or dial 911."

They paused and, in the natural lull formed in the wake of this 
batting back and forth, grinned at each other. Lois bit into another 
cookie.

Clark, feeling a slow warmth bloom in the center of his chest, knew 
that this was something familiar and known to him, something he'd 
indulged in often with the woman beside him. Sparring and teasing and 
exchanging thoughts as swift as ideas.

"Well, much as my Mom has an appreciation for good art, she'd never 
forgive me if I left the cat," Clark said after a moment. "Whether it 
needs rescuing or not."

Lois paused in her quest for the perfect cookie, which had now 
amassed four victims. Caught in his preparations, Clark failed to 
note her sudden attention.

"Your Mom likes cats?" she said finally, her tone both casual and careful.

"Well, yeah. I guess it comes from living on the farm, you know. Not 
that cats are her favorites. We never really had house cats. Most of 
them were barn cats. Big guys. Liked to live outdoors. They were 
friendly enough, but kinda aloof, you know? Knew their own minds. I 
remember - "

He blinked suddenly and Lois put a soft hand to his arm as she looked 
up into the startled expression that had overtaken his face. "You 
remember?"

"We had a cat called Barnabas. Big. Blue striped tabby. With the most 
amazing green eyes. Like jade. He used to lay in wait behind the barn 
and ambush me when I got home from school..." Clark's voice faltered 
and he turned his head, seeming to come back to her from a long 
distance. "I remember. I can see him so clearly."

Lois' eyes were alight. "What else do you remember?"

Clark paused, squinting into air. Lois watched him, her heart 
reaching out to him, and then he sighed, shook his head. "Nothing," 
he said.

His disappointment was painful to hear. Lois huffed out a sigh and 
patted him against the arm. "Oh, well. Never mind. It'll come," she 
said confidently. "Cats," she added and as he gave her a glance, 
shrugged. "Hey, you stick to what you know, right?" She smiled and, 
after the barest hesitation, he smiled back.

"I guess."

"Right!" Lois insisted firmly. "So...you like cats?"

"I...think - " He caught her chiding expression out of the corner of 
his eye and amended, "Yes." He nodded. "Yes. I like cats. You 
know..." he went on, more thoughtfully, losing the definite edge he'd 
injected into his voice as his eyes took on a faraway cast again, "I 
*do* like cats. At least...I don't think I've ever kept a cat...have 
I?"

He glanced at her. She shook her head, her expression riveted on him, 
her eyes softly encouraging...

Clark pulled his gaze away and fixed it on the mugs, before he could 
be lost in that velvet trap and lose the thread of a train of thought 
he was keen to explore further. "But," he continued falteringly. 
"I...I remember just last week I saw one stuck on the third story 
ledge of an apartment building. Goodness knows how he made it up 
there, but that little guy was pretty scared by the time I spotted 
him. Only took a minute to fly up an' get him though...he clung onto 
my arm with his claws all the way down to the street and when I took 
him to the animal shelter -- "

Lost in the unspooling memory now, he wasn't watching his partner at 
all any more. Had he been, he would have been silenced by her 
suddenly round-eyed expression. The cookie she'd been delicately 
nibbling at was frozen at her lips, oatmeal slowly melting, unheeded, 
on her tongue.

She remembered that cat. It had been a slow news day and a couple of 
the dailies had picked up the rescue as a page four, human-interest 
story. She had carefully cut out the three-quarter-page photo that 
had accompanied the two paragraphs of copy as a cute addition to her 
scrapbook. The Superhero intent on the cat, barely noticing the 
camera's attention as he cradled the wet and bedraggled little urchin 
ofan animal gently against his chest with as much care as he'd have 
taken with a child. The same care he took with her, she'd remembered 
with a wistful smile as she'd pasted it carefully into the book, when 
he took her flying with him.

Superman.

Had

Rescued.

That.

Cat.

Ohmi...*God*, she thought, the exclamation gibbering in her head as 
realization struck her. He thinks he's Superman now! She recalled the 
department shrink at the police precinct talking about how her 
partner was suffering from Superman Complex, but no way had she 
thought the woman meant it this literally! She opened her mouth to 
put him right --

/He's what we call a chronic do-gooder...this kind of frustration can 
be a set-back.../

Lois closed her mouth with a snap as the shrink's warning tones 
sounded in her head like an alarm.

Easy, Lane. Remember? she added her own warning to herself. Don't 
push. Go with the flow. Humor him. She frowned. Or was that lunatics 
you were advised to do that with? Dangerous criminals? Wild animals? 
Rabid Dobermans? She shrugged. Whatever. Anyway --

Clark, oblivious to her dilemma, was still rambling on softly to 
himself about cats he had known.

Lois pasted a smile on her face and reached out abruptly to pat him 
on the shoulder. It ended up slightly harder than she'd intended. 
Jolted, Clark stopped in mid-stream and threw her a quick, startled 
glance.

"That...that's great, Clark!" Lois enthused brightly. "Just...great! 
Um...you think this rain is gonna stop anytime soon? You know, if 
we're gonna check out soon I'd much rather do it with a tan than -- "

Clark frowned after her as she headed for the windows on the other 
side of the room and then sighed. Obviously he'd been boring her. 
'Course you were boring her, Kent, he admonished himself. Cats I 
loved when I was a kid? Geez...

En route for the windows, Lois bent quickly to switch off the TV.

"No, don't," he blurted, forgetting his self-castigation.

She froze, looking up at him and then straightened, awkward as she 
took back her reaching hand. Clark gave her a rueful look.

"Sorry, I just...I know it's kinda morbid, but I need to know what's 
happening. You know?"

She nodded. "Yes, I know. I guess it takes more than being hit by a 
car to dull those reporter's instincts, huh?" she added as she walked 
to stand by the window.

A few moments later, he appeared at her side. "Here." He handed her a 
cup of the hot, soothing tea and she sipped gently at it before 
making a small sigh of approval.

"You're the only person that I know of who can make good tea," she 
said with a soft smile. "And the only person who could persuade me to 
drink it."

He chuckled softly and she felt her heart leap suddenly. He hadn't 
laughed like that, easy and warm, since the accident. And all at 
once, she realized just how much she had missed it.

"What?" he said, watching her, his smile dying as his expression 
turned quizzical.

Lois shook her head. "It's just...oh, nothing." She returned her gaze 
to the window, took another sip of the warming tea.

"Do I keep it for you?"

She frowned and turned her head to view him with the question. "What?"

"The tea. Do I keep it for you?" He indicated her cup with a nod of 
his head and then looked in the direction of the kitchen. "I don't 
think I drink much tea myself."

"Are you kidding? Mister 'I invented oolong tea'? Clark, if it wasn't 
for my insisting you dose up on good old American deep roasted double 
blend at least once a day, I'd think you'd drunk enough tea to have 
some of that English ice-water permanently siphoned into your blood!" 
Lois smiled a little and then asked, puzzled, "What makes you think 
that?"

"Oh...well it just took me a while to find the kettle. It was tossed 
right in the back of one of the cabinets. So, I kind of figured tea 
didn't feature very much.  Or coffee, come to that. Although, 
strangely enough, I seem to have been enjoying both in the past 
couple of days. Maybe my tastes are changing. It's odd.  I eat a lot 
of takeout too. Right?"

"Well...some. I guess...but - " Lois shook her head as though 
re-orientating herself and then said, "Why?"

Clark shrugged. "No pot holders around. Not one."

"Oh. Well...that's odd."

"In a lot of ways, I don't think I spend a lot of time here at all," 
Clark mused, looking around the room with a jaundiced eye. "Usually."

"I wouldn't say that. Why would you say that?" Lois' frown creased 
deeper into her brow.

Clark shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"Well, maybe you needed *new* pot holders," Lois returned gamely to 
the earlier question. "Maybe you'd just tossed out the old ones when 
you had your accident and you didn't have time to replace them. Or, 
you know, maybe you've just misplaced them somewhere around here. 
Let's face it, Clark, you're not exactly compos men -- uh, I mean 
you're a little confused, that's all."

Her tone had turned sickly soothing, a patronizing undertone that 
once upon a time would have immediately had Clark seething with 
mingled frustration, annoyance and amusement, unable to decide which 
he should choose.

But now he said nothing and she went on cheerleading, in the same 
sweetly saccharine tone, "Once you get your memory back you'll 
probably find all these things you've lost and in perfectly sensible 
places too. Like the kettle. You probably put it in the cupboard when 
you were...well a little more confused than you are now...and you 
just didn't notice, that's all. I mean, it's always been out when 
I've been here. And I'm sure I've *seen* pot holders around. I mean, 
you must *have* them, right. So they must *be* here. Somewhere."

Delighted with this logic, she beamed up at him. Mystery solved.

"Maybe." Clark seemed to have lost interest all at once.  He shifted 
position, leaning up against the window frame. He looked out into the 
gloom of the alley. "Listen to us. Trying to solve the Great Pot 
Holders Mystery when everything's about to go to hell in a 
hand-basket.  It doesn't matter. None of it matters."

"Clark..."

He looked down at the slim hand she reached out to rest on his arm 
and then up into her earnest face in surprise.

"It's not over yet. I haven't given up. You shouldn't either. There's 
still time."

"Time?" Clark gave a short laugh that brought her up short. A sound 
she'd never heard from him before. Despair. Anguish. A fatalistic 
bark that chilled her to the marrow. That wasn't her Clark. Her Clark 
was the optimistic one of this partnership. The one who cheered *her* 
on, who refused to accept the bad in people or give in to the 
cynicism of failing hope. That was *her* role.  She was the cynical 
pessimist; he was her anchor who reminded her that, now and then, 
good people existed in a world she'd long decided had gone rotten and 
to the bad.  Hearing the bitter tang in his voice now made her as 
disorientated as though the ground had rocked under her feet.

"Time for what?" Clark asked and then, as he stared at her intently, 
disbelief flared in his eyes. "You still think he's going to save us, 
don't you? Superman. You *still* think he's going to fly to the 
rescue." He shook his head as though at a bad joke.

Lois flushed and pulled back her hand. "I haven't lost faith, Clark. 
Not in him," she insisted, and yet, she looked away, out into the 
gathering dark, and knew that she hadn't really meant the words of 
reassurance she'd tried to offer him, that he was right to be 
scathing about them. She'd lost hope long before. Superman wasn't 
going to magically appear to save them. Not this time. Nothing would 
save them now. They were living in a bad horror movie and doomed to 
extinction. And the one person she had relied on to provide a miracle 
had abandoned them all.

Clark seemed to regret his response, seeing her sudden despondency 
grow as a result of his mockery. "Hey, maybe he will," he said, a 
lame attempt to humor her.

Lois sighed.  An awkward, lonely silence ensued. "Is it just me," she 
said at last, "or is it starting to feel like Siberia around here 
lately?"

Clark nodded, falling in gladly with her change of subject, feeling 
ashamed of himself for baiting her. It was just so galling to hear 
her put so much faith in the superhero, somehow. It made him feel things 
he didn't understand. Anger for one. And frustration. Jealousy? He 
shook his head.

"Weather's getting rougher," he agreed. He followed her glance out 
through the glass. "The rain's stopped though. Why don't we take this 
onto the terrace? It'll be fresh out there. There's something about 
the air after the rain. It makes the whole world seem...new." A small 
sadness entered his voice with that last and he glanced automatically 
up into the grayed out sky.

He moved away from the window with the suggestion.  "No!" Lois 
blurted, darting out a hand and grabbing at his sleeve to stop him 
cold.

God, no! He thought he was Superman! He hadn't realized it himself 
yet, she could see that, he'd had no idea what he'd said, rambling 
over the gaps and new-found nuggets of his memory, just a moment ago. 
But what if he did? What if he figured it out? Lois glanced through 
the window. That terraced wall was far too low for her peace of mind. 
And way too high off the ground. What if he decided to try out his 
newly recalled 'powers'? What if he - ? A sudden, terrifying image of 
her partner leaping off the terrace headfirst and crashing into the 
garbage cans far below - far, far below - flashed into her tumbling 
thoughts.

No...no, she had to protect him from himself. She had to keep him 
away from...from high places and...sharp objects and electrical 
sockets and gas stoves and...and...tall buildings and locomotives --

Locomotives? Lois, what are you saying? Get a grip.

"No." She took a hard breath and then gave her partner, who was 
frowning at her now as though she was the freshest inmate in the 
asylum, a completely ingenuous smile.

A sharp rattle of the windows made them both jump, and they turned 
their heads to where a sudden gust of wind had lashed a spray of rain 
against the glass.

"There, see?" Lois breathed out thankfully, waving her free hand at 
the view. Her other hand seemed frozen onto his sleeve, her fingers 
clenched in the plaid material. She didn't think she could let go if 
he asked her to. "It's not stopped raining. We'll get wet. On the 
terrace," she went on. "Not good."

Clark was beginning to grow an amused gleam in his eyes. "No," he 
agreed solemnly, lips twitching. "Not good at all. It's okay, Lois. 
We can stay here," he assured her as his grin emerged.

Lois nodded. "Good. That's...yes. Good."

"So...you can let go now."

"Huh? Oh!"

She pried her hand loose of his sleeve and moved awkwardly away, 
heading for the kitchen with the intention of dumping her mug. Forget 
the tea. She needed coffee. Strong coffee.

And that was when the lights went out.


~@*****@~


There was a small pause.

"Where d'you keep your flashlight?"

Clark turned his head to find Lois peering around her, inching 
towards the kitchen nook as she felt her way across the wall. He 
wondered why she was having so much trouble. The unsettled strobe of 
the ad sign behind him seemed to be providing more than enough 
illumination for him to see quite well.

He moved closer and put a hand on her arm, then let go again hastily 
as she gasped out a small, startled breath.

"For God's sake, Clark!" she hissed. "Do that again and I won't live 
to *see* the end of the world!"

"Sorry," he whispered back and then, frowning, "Why are we whispering?"

She gave him an impatient glance and then turned away. Clark noticed 
for the first time that she'd stopped in front of the electrical 
junction box. Lois reached up to tug open the metal door and brought 
out the object of her quest.

"How'd you know that was in there?" Clark demanded as she switched on 
the Maglite with a satisfied sigh.

Lois shrugged. "Doesn't everyone keep their flashlight in there?" she 
said. She jiggled the circuit breaker half-heartedly, as though 
already aware that it wasn't going to make any difference. She wasn't 
disappointed. "Not local then. Half the city is probably out." She 
glanced across his shoulder at the still faintly glowing ad sign 
illuminating the alley. "Looks like the next block is on a different 
circuit."

Clark followed her glance briefly and nodded. "It's breaking down," he 
said morosely.

"What is?"

"Everything. The phones, the lights...people are abandoning things 
all over the city. Their jobs, their homes. I heard it on the news. 
The roads out are jammed with people trying to get clear before that 
thing hits. As though that'll do them any good. Shops are being 
looted...even the police are giving up and trying to get home to 
their families. Society's ripping apart at the seams."

"Tell me about it. Do you know how long it took me to find a cab that 
would take me here? And as for finding a bus or a train..." She threw 
up her hands in exasperation at the appalling lack of consideration 
public servants had in times of crisis.

"They've shut down most of the stations. Not enough staff left to man 
them. And I heard on the news that - "

"Yeah, well, anyway, right now I'd loot the nearest candle store, if 
I could find it," Lois cut him off with a dismissive mutter, as she 
used the shallow flashlight beam to pick out a path through the 
furniture of the living room. She didn't want to get into a 
discussion on how their world was going insane around her in its 
death throes. She couldn't bear it. Better to focus on the immediate, 
on the now...let each moment pass unremarked. Anything else was too 
painful to endure.

"Okay. Candles." She stopped by the kitchen nook and turned back to 
face him, sweeping the flashlight beam low to avoid hitting him in 
the eyes with its glare. "Candles?" she prompted again impatiently 
when he hesitated.

"Um...dunno."

"Oh. Sorry." She shrugged in the darkness, her expression turning 
suddenly contrite. "Dumb question, I guess, huh?"

He flashed her a bright grin from among the shadows. "Yeah. If you 
hadn't found the flashlight we'd still be looking for that too," he 
added ruefully as he followed her path through the furniture and 
ended up at her side.

She smiled back and then, drawing in a tight breath and looking 
purposefully around her before coming back to him, "Well," she put up 
a hand and patted him against one shoulder briefly, "you're a pretty 
methodical kinda guy. Usually. Organized. You know?" She turned 
around. "So, let's think. Where's the most logical place to keep 
candles?"

Clark tilted his head to view her. "Where'd you keep yours?"

"Mine? Oh," she shrugged again, looking slightly hunted, and he held 
back a smile, guessing that Lois Lane wasn't at all as methodical, 
organized or logical as she'd claimed *he* was. "I...forget. Kitchen 
cabinets," she added a hurried guess. She headed for them, sure of 
her direction now.

Clark reached out and snagged her arm, pulling her to a halt and 
turning her in the opposite direction. "*Bathroom* cabinets."

"Really?" She glanced back at him as he guided her carefully in the 
right direction. "Why?"

"Well, because...there's only two cabinets in there to search rather 
than a half dozen," he said, after thinking about it for a moment. He 
grinned down at her in the darkness. "And because if we don't find 
any in there, we can always use the scented candles I discovered in 
there yesterday."

"Oh," Lois said.

/Scented candles? Clark?/ she thought, as she followed him hastily 
through the bedroom. She tried gamely to match his long, determined 
stride and keep the darting, dodging flashlight beam ahead of him to 
light his way. But he hardly paused or hesitated as he made 
determinedly for the bathroom and it was hard not to have to skip and 
hop to catch him up. Lois frowned. The darkness hardly seemed to be 
bothering him at all. Must be all that country raising, she thought 
sagely. Martha probably fed him a ton of carrots when he was a kid. 
But Clark's enviable night vision hardly prickled at the edge of her 
thoughts any longer than a moment as they were swamped by the much 
more interesting and intriguing images provoked by those scented 
candles he'd just mentioned.

*Those*  produced thoughts she'd never considered before and gave her 
partner altogether a more sensual side that she'd never thought to 
ascribe to him. Well...at least...sometimes...she'd harbored the odd 
-  rare...very, very rare - thought that maybe there was more to Mr. 
Urban Reporter than a few semi-smart suits and some garish ties...but 
she hadn't really ever thought ---

Blushing slightly, she cut off the gibbering in her head with a quick 
shake. No need for embarrassment, Lois, she told herself firmly, if 
somewhat unconvincingly. Everyone fantasizes about their partner. Now 
and then. It's natural - obvious curiosity. It doesn't *mean* 
anything.

Her thoughts wandered on to an image of a steam filled bathroom and 
that sensual, handsome...muscular...partner about whom she wasn't 
curious at all. Not in the least. Uh-uh. No way...

...reclining in a foam filled bath. Sculpted chest and arms cast in a 
soft, golden glow from the candles flickering around the room...as he 
soaped up that barrel chest and ---

"Ooof!"

The erotic images scattered into oblivion as Lois buried her nose 
hard in the point between Clark's shoulders. They'd reached the 
bathroom, she realized belatedly as she righted herself with a grunt 
of annoyance. And he'd stopped dead in the doorway. Right in front of 
her. Without any kind of warning at all. What kind of place was that 
to stop? In the dark, like that? How was she supposed to see where - 
?"

"Lois?"

Clark had turned to lay a steadying hand on her shoulder. She 
shrugged it off, irritated. "You're a great case for fitting people 
with indicator lights, Clark," she grumbled, rubbing hard at her 
throbbing nose. Boy, those shoulder-blades of his must be made of 
plate steel! She saw the question forming on his face and added 
crabbily, before he could work up to asking, "I'm fine. Just give me 
a little warning next time, okay? Candles?" she prompted as he looked 
unsatisfied with her answer.

Clark paused and then, to her relief, he took the hint and went back 
to their quest, entering the bathroom and making straight for the 
cabinet above the sink. He opened its door.

Lois avoided looking at him as she directed the Maglite's beam into 
the cabinet's interior. Inside, she saw nothing remotely similar in 
any way, shape or form to utilitarian candles. Just a very orderly 
collection of typically male accoutrements, the type of thing they 
always seemed to find necessary to have around. And they said women 
were packrats with this kind of stuff! Hah! She hadn't known the man 
yet who didn't have more cosmetics hidden in his bathroom cabinets 
than a whole troop of Miss Universe contestants combined. The only 
difference was in the type of cosmetics they hoarded. The quantity 
was entirely the same. And she defied any macho he-man to prove 
differently.

Clark seemed to be one of the less vain of the species, she 
grudgingly admitted, as she swept a curious gaze through the small 
collection of bottles and jars. She raised a brow as she recognized 
an expensive brand of powder and cologne.  Mystique. She would have 
thought Adonis or Man About Metropolis would have been more his 
style. She actually *liked* that brand. She blinked as she found 
herself leaning forward a little on reflex with the drift of her 
thoughts and caught herself trying to sniff out the scent on her 
partner as he stood, oblivious, before her. Appalled, she rocked back 
abruptly on her heels.

What is *wrong* with you, Lois? she demanded of herself in dismay. 
You've smelled cologne on him before.

Yes, she had, but it sure hadn't been Mystique he'd been using then. 
Not that it hadn't been nice, what he'd been using previously, at 
least she had always thought it was and it had always made her 
feel....

/Oh, for Pete's sake, what does it *matter* what he used?/ a savagely 
impatient inner voice interrupted. /Or what he uses *now* for that 
matter? Geez!/

She didn't seem to have an answer. But, despite her inner self's 
disgust, she seemed very aware of him all at once as he continued his 
search of the cabinet's interior. Even in the shadows, she could see 
the broad expanse of his shoulders, filling the space before her.  A 
soft heat, ignited in her belly in the wake of her earlier carnal 
thoughts and barely extinguished, began to make its presence known 
again and she grimaced as she watched him,irked with herself.

So now you know, Lane, she told herself acidly. The End of the World 
makes a gal just plain horny as a bobcat in heat.

The deliberate crudity of the thought failed to produce its intended 
result. She flushed, ashamed of herself, but making herself feel 
guilty didn't stop her thinking about her partner in ways she never 
had before. Or, at least, in ways she'd never admitted to doing 
before. And in the lewdest of terms too.

And there was one unexpected result of her deliberate attempt to 
shame herself. She felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes.

She shook her head and sighed irritably, blinking them back into 
retreat before they could become a serious threat. The end of the 
world is nigh, Lois. For God's sake, that doesn't mean you have to 
check out as a quivering pile of emotional jello. Straighten up!

"Nope." Clark's voice broke into her sudden miserable mood. Lois 
craned closer automatically to view the cabinet as he sighed. 
"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Lois pushed past him to rummage through the cabinet 
herself. "Nope. You know, your reputation as a boy scout is in 
serious danger, Kent," she advised as she gave up.

There was a small, but discernible pause in the air of the room. She 
turned to find Clark looking back at her, a quizzical glint in his 
eyes.

"You think I'm a boy scout?" He sounded amused.

She frowned. She'd never really thought about it much, but... 
"Well...yeah. You give that impression."

"Rea--lly?"

The sudden drawl in his voice sent a low, electric shiver down her 
spine. Clearly Clark didn't view himself as a boy scout at all, to 
judge from the darkly humorous note that had suddenly entered his 
tone. And suddenly Lois was less than certain of that mild mannered 
reputation herself. There was something in that voice of his that 
made her feel...at risk...all at once. Something dangerous. She 
swallowed. "Um..."

He shifted his stance, a simple, sinuous motion of his hips bringing 
him a step closer. A step that crowded her up against the washbasin 
behind her all at once as it cut off her automatic move backwards in 
retreat. Flustered, Lois looked up into the face of her partner in 
confusion as he reached out a hand to cup her chin and tip her head 
upwards.

"Maybe I need to work on that," he murmured, locking her disconcerted 
gaze with his.

For one insane and crazy moment, she thought he was going to kiss 
her. Then, before she could decide whether to be horrified at the 
thought or merely curious, he let her go. Lois stifled a small spark 
of something that couldn't possibly be disappointment and eyed him 
with the same amount of wariness that she might have used had she 
found herself facing a rogue panther in his bathroom. A man-eater. 
About to pounce.

Clark didn't move back. He set his palms against the porcelain on 
either side of her, effectively trapping her in what was an 
unsettlingly small enclosure, making it impossible for her to reclaim 
her own personal space or avoid touching him in...places she didn't 
really want to think about. Although, she couldn't seem to help 
thinking about them, try as she might to keep her mind clear and 
detached.

She could feel the softness of his shirt against her arm, the firm 
pressure of his hip pressing into her own, and their heads were so 
close...so close she could smell the aroma of the shampoo he'd used 
that morning...so close she could feel heat rising from the skin of 
his throat...so close it would take only the barest motion from 
either of them to bring their lips into contact...for her to....for 
him to....oh, sweet....

For a horrified moment, Lois thought she'd moaned aloud. She 
swallowed the heart that had suddenly climbed into her throat, 
closing it up tight.  The electric heat that was coursing through her 
suddenly seemed to have transferred itself to the air in the room; 
heavy and cloying, tense with the friction of gathering storms. It 
prickled at the back of her neck like the brush of soft, teasing 
fingers against her skin. Lois was no novice. She was able very well 
to recognize the spark of sexual heat in the charged ion atmosphere 
drumming between them.  And, from the very uncharacteristic glint in 
the eyes of her partner - a feral gleam in the dimness of the room - 
it was clear he wasn't immune to it either.

His face was in shadow, but she found that she could trace every 
contour, every angle and curve from memory as her startled eyes 
traveled across it, trying to gain some clue as to his intentions.

This is crazy... she told herself faintly. This is *Clark*, for 
Pete's sake! This is your partner!

Crazy or not, the bathroom suddenly seemed very small and 
claustrophobic. And Clark still way too close for comfort.

"Um...the kitchen!" Lois squeaked. "Let's try the kitchen!"

"Hmmmm?" Clark's gaze traveled over her in a way that suddenly made 
her wish for body armor.  He tilted his head, eyeing her 
consideringly. "Okay...  A little kinky maybe.  But, hey, suits me..."

/Kinky?!?/ Lois blinked rapidly in shock and then hastily closed her 
mouth from where it had hung open. Not a word she had ever expected 
to hear emerge from the lips of her partner. And certainly not a word 
she'd ever envisaged hearing him voice in regard to her! To...them! 
But then...he wasn't her partner was he? He was a stranger suddenly, 
someone she'd never seen before, someone she didn't know at all. She 
had never met this man before. This tall, shadowed, hard-bodied, 
well-muscled man who was crowding her close, invading her space, 
heating her up and dizzying her with the heavy scent of musk and 
Mystique....

"No!" She jerked upright in panic, and then regretted the move as it 
brought her into tantalizing contact with the hard male body 
imprisoning her. The soft press of her breasts against his chest gave 
her her first indication of just how aroused she'd become and she 
flushed with shame. Despite her humiliation, however, she found 
herself still focused on how good he smelled up close, how firm that 
body was...she forced herself back the miniscule inch of space that 
remained to her, breaking the provocative touch of him against her.

"Uh...Candles! Remember? We're looking for candles!"

"*Were* looking," Clark corrected in a soft voice that Lois had never 
heard from him before and which widened her eyes even as it sent 
shivers coursing through her spine. "Right now though..." he smiled 
and Lois caught her breath, "I think we've got all the electricity we 
need."

He reached out and traced a light finger down the outer curve of her 
arm, all the way down to her wrist. Lois barely suppressed a shiver 
in response. Her breath was becoming a rasp in her throat, her heart 
a wild thing beneath her breast, its heavy thud a sharp staccato beat 
against her skin. His fingers curled around her wrist, ignoring her 
soft, wordless protest as he lifted her hand.

Lois found her eyes drawn to the dark gleam of his hair as he bent 
his head over her outstretched palm, and involuntarily closed her 
eyes as she felt the hot, light sweep of his lips graze her skin. 
This time the shiver that ran through her was more pronounced. She 
stuttered her eyes open again as she felt his touch recede, unwilling 
to let him see how easily he was able to arouse her, how disconcerted 
she was by his attentions.

He smiled as he raised his head to look into her eyes and she was 
suddenly mortified to realize that she wasn't hiding anything from 
him at all. He smiled as he straightened, a lazy, knowing grin that 
she suddenly longed to slap off his face, and then he said, "Don't 
you agree?"

That confused her. The intensity of the moment had made it seem to 
stretch to infinity; she had all but forgotten his earlier words, 
before his kiss had dizzied her senses and made a mockery of her 
thoughts.

"W-what?" she blurted, more than passing aware that he still held her 
wrist lightly within his grasp.  His thumb was caressing a soft, 
aimless path against the pulse point in its hollow in an entirely 
disconcerting way that made her want to squirm. The touch was so 
intense, she was almost surprised that it didn't produce an instant 
sizzle of heat or a flash of sparks, and she was aware that he must also 
be able to feel the panicked jolt of her pulse beneath the thin 
veneer of skin he was smoothly stroking with that feather-soft, back 
and forward glide of his fingertips.

His grin sharpened. He let her loose. "Electricity," he reiterated 
obligingly, his tone much like one would use to a backward child or 
foreigner who was having difficulty understanding simple English. 
"All we need. Right?"

"No..." Lois shook her head violently, suddenly roused to make some 
kind of protest. "No, we haven't! That's why we should go look 
in...in...the kitchen! That's right, the kitchen! Right now!"

Lois stifled a wince at the clear tinge of panic she heard in her 
voice. But Clark chuckled and stepped back, releasing her suddenly 
from the curious spell he'd cast. And, like a shattered picture which 
had been a jumble of jigsaw pieces and now had abruptly been put back 
together, he was her partner again. The same old Clark she'd always 
known. And how could she have seen him as threatening? As dangerous? 
How could she ever seen him as...

...as what?

Well, not *that*.  Definitely not that. Uh uh...she hadn't been 
thinking of him like *that* at all.

"*I'll* try the kitchen."

"What? No, wait! Here, take the - " Lois started after him, offering 
up the flashlight, and paused as he turned back briefly and shook his 
head.

"Don't need it. Keep it."  His hand brushed at her cheek fleetingly 
and she started. "You get those scented candles, just in case. Okay? 
I'll be right back."

Lois nodded, unable to speak any more and a moment later he had gone, 
leaving the room cold in his wake. The only source of heat the 
blazing throb against her cheek where his fingers had briefly 
connected with her skin, as though he'd branded his touch there. And 
leaving Lois weak at the knees and curiously aware of just how close 
peril had come to her before moving on. Like a mouse crouched in a 
burrow, feeling the shadow of the hawk sweep over it and away, she 
found that she was trembling.  She told herself that it was anger. He 
had been teasing her. That was clear by how quickly he had switched 
off the seduction and reverted to good old Clark, boy scout, partner, 
friend and safe bet in a heartbeat. Trying - *deliberately* trying - 
to confuse her, in retaliation for that boy scout comment. How dare 
he tease her? How dare he play around with her feelings like that?

/Oh? So you do *have* feelings then? For Clark?/

"Shut up," she muttered aloud.

/You're only mad at him because it worked,/ the irritating voice in 
her head informed her smugly.

Lois snarled under her breath and began a rough search of the bathroom.


~@*****@~


Clark made it all the way into the kitchen before the enormity of 
what he'd just done struck home.

He put his hands on the smooth top of the counter and leaned heavily 
on his palms, bowing his head. He took a long, deliberately slow 
breath as he tried to ease up on the ragged thump of his heart 
against his ribs, fighting against the heated flash of arousal that 
threatened still to sweep him into the maelstrom.

And then he took another.

And a third.

Finally, when he felt that he had a better grip on his emotions...and 
when the physical manifestations of that arousal had eased 
somewhat...he let himself review what had just happened, back there 
in his bathroom.

/Kinky?!?/ a dismayed part of him immediately demanded in a splutter.

Clark groaned, closing his eyes as though that could stop the flood 
of images scattering through his head and reminding him all too 
clearly of the word emerging from his lips and Lois' wide eyed 
reaction to it. He slid a hard palm across his face, leaning on his 
elbow. He dragged it down until it covered his mouth, as though the 
belated attempt to gag himself could change things, and then opened 
his eyes.

He hadn't, had he? Had he really, actually said that? Had he actually 
twisted his partner's innocent suggestion so brazenly, had he 
*actually* implied she wanted to - ?

A heavy flush of embarrassment flooded his cheeks and he felt hot 
with shame as he recalled that yes, he actually had done *all* of those, 
and his mind obligingly and somewhat irritatingly took the 
opportunity to remind him of some of the other things he'd said to 
her to boot. What had he been *thinking*? What must *she* be thinking?

/My God, Kent....you are seriously deranged, do you know that?/

Well, he hadn't meant to...he certainly hadn't intended to go *that* 
far! His only intention had been to get a little payback for that boy 
scout remark. He didn't know why, but there had been something in the 
way she'd said it that had irked him.

She hadn't meant it as anything derogatory, she hadn't been trying to 
be insulting, but still it had stung him all the same, pricked at his 
pride, goaded him into a response, a need to prove to her that she 
was wrong. That he couldn't be dismissed that easily, or ignored that 
lightly. He'd just felt the need to show her that she didn't have him 
as neatly pigeonholed as she thought she did. He'd just wanted 
to...prod back a little.

He wasn't a boy scout, or a...a farmboy from Kansas, he was a man. A 
man who was enamoured of his partner, a very beautiful woman, and 
he'd just wanted - needed - to convey that somehow. And it had all 
unraveled from there, gotten a little out of hand somewhere along the 
line, he still wasn't sure where or how. He had no idea where he'd 
taken the wrong turning, just that somehow, suddenly...there he was 
pressing his partner up against that washbasin and acting like -

/A total jerk!/

He groaned again and then began to laugh weakly and helplessly. Boy, 
that car didn't just scramble your brains enough to jar your memory 
loose, did it? he asked himself ruefully. It took away every last 
ounce of sense you had right along with it.

But...had it? For all *he* knew this was exactly how he'd always 
behaved with his partner.  Teasing her this way. Flirting with her. 
He had few points of reference to tell him either way. Maybe this was 
perfectly normal behavior for him. Shameful or not.  He cocked his 
head to one side, examining every nuance of his partner's reaction 
back there to his...

/...hitting on her, you were hitting on her, and don't deny it!/

He flushed, wondering just when his conscience had gotten to be that 
brutally honest.  And so much of an irritation, besides. He *was* 
going to deny it too! He'd been...teasing, like he said. That was 
all. He hadn't exactly expected her to...throw her arms around him 
and reciprocate! His brains hadn't been scrambled to *that* extent by 
that car!  He was still able to recognize wishful thinking when he 
encountered it. And though his thinking at the time had been *very* 
wishful, he was still capable of separating it from reality.

So...was it normal or not?

/To hit on a beautiful woman? You betcha, buddy!/

Clark sighed. No - he countered his other self's enthusiasm - to mess 
around with your partner.

Well...she hadn't been *that* surprised, it seemed to him...right up 
until he'd stepped over the boundaries of gentlemanly behavior with 
that kinky line. She had been...flustered. Yes. She sure had. A 
little confused, he thought. Disconcerted. Unsettled. All of which 
could be evidence on either side of the coin. What had been paramount 
in her eyes? Shock? Or...desire?

Okay, well - *against* desire - she certainly *hadn't* reciprocated. 
Wouldn't she have, if she'd been happy with the way he was behaving? 
On the other hand...perhaps she wasn't the type to take the lead in 
these matters. Maybe she liked a guy to be a little...pushy. Force 
the issue - so to speak. Just a little. Superman wasn't exactly the 
shy, retiring type. If she went for that kind of thing, 
then...maybe...he fit the bill back there.

Besides, he'd definitely gotten the impression over the past few days 
that his partner was a little too serious, a little more tense and 
strait-laced than he suspected she should be. More than anyone with a 
body that hot and a face that beautiful had a right to be, perhaps, 
he considered. He didn't think flirting was in her daily game-plan. 
That didn't mean, however, that she necessarily objected to being the 
target of some mild sexual teasing from a colleague, even if she 
didn't participate herself. Heck, it had been known to happen. Who 
knew what was going on in that head of hers? She might be secretly 
pleased. Flattered by the attention. Some women were.

And some weren't.

Clark pondered that and decided to lean heavily on the side of the 
former diagnosis. On the other side of the coin, after all, she 
hadn't exactly protested either.  If she'd objected, he was pretty 
sure he would have known about it. And pretty quickly too. She hadn't 
kicked him in the shins or kneed him in the groin or tried to claw 
his eyes out, or even slapped his face. Which, he reminded himself, 
he would have justly deserved, treating her as he had, like some kind 
of...plaything. Someone he could use to score points off, boost his 
own ego, without considering her feelings at all.

But she hadn't done any of those things.

/Maybe she liked it,/ a sly voice, way down deep in his head, suggested.

Clark shook his head. Oh, yeah, sure. Every young reporter's dream. 
To have some...Neanderthal...push you up against a bathroom washbasin 
and breathe lewd suggestions into your ear! Accuse you of having 
perverted ideas about making out on kitchen cabinets and....sure, 
that was just what you wanted to hear from your partner.

/*You* liked it./

Clark flushed. Well, yes, he couldn't exactly deny that one. It may 
not have been his partner's wildest sexual fantasy, but it sure 
appeared to have been one of his. His mind, as though given 
permission by the thought, immediately began to flick through the 
moments back there in the bathroom, images and scents, sounds and 
sensations flashing through his inner eye in a mortifying wave. Not 
to mention instant recall on the images that had flown through his 
head at the time - chief among them that romp on the kitchen 
cabinets. He might not have been entirely serious when he'd twisted 
her words and called it a suggestion. He may just have been trying to 
provoke her by challenging her as lewdly as he could think of in the 
heat of the moment. But, hoo boy, that hadn't stopped his libido 
trying it out as a darn good idea in his imagination.

/Hey, you know how much dollar value there is in that kinda thing 
these days? Women lap that stuff up. If you'd written up that little 
scenario in some cheap, trashy romance novel you'd be a millionaire 
by now. Maybe her imagination wasn't a million miles away from yours, 
buddy. I'm telling you, she was loving every minute. You know she 
was,/ the sly voice insisted.

Clark was beginning to suspect it belonged to a part of himself he 
didn't much like.

Okay....so maybe she was. So maybe she had gotten...heated up a 
little. What did that prove? That wasn't the point! So what if she'd 
been aroused by him? That didn't give him the right to come on to her 
like some kind of...sleazy Lothario!

Flirting, that's all, he reiterated, immediately denying the charge. 
That's all it was. Just harmless...innocent...flirting. People do it 
all the time. Don't they?

/Innocent! Hardly!/

Well, he certainly hadn't done much flirting with her during the past 
few days, that was true, Clark conceded, but, well, he'd had plenty 
of other things on his mind - and so had she. At the Planet there'd 
hardly been time to take a rest break or more than a few gulps of 
coffee and lunch on the run. And, apart from that brief interlude 
when she had brought him back here because he couldn't find his own 
way home in his current condition, they hadn't really even been alone.

She had flirted with *him* a little then. Well, maybe not so much in 
what she said...or did...or in the way she acted...or...okay, so 
maybe she hadn't flirted with him at all. There had been a definite 
spark though, he insisted doggedly as the memory of their 
conversation failed to live up to his interpretation of it in 
retrospect. More wishful thinking, his conscience suggested, and he 
scowled at it.

Maybe, he told it, stubbornly. But there *is* something. I don't know 
what it is, but it's something.

What had just happened proved it.

/Proves what? That you're a man...she's a woman...want me to draw you 
a diagram?/

Clark frowned. A diagram of what? he asked, confused by the intrusive 
thought, and then he sighed. This was getting him nowhere.

/A diagram of how many hormones you've got. And all of them raging 
and pointed at your partner./

That was true, he conceded. Maybe his 'something' was just something 
purely physical. Pure, animal heat.

Lust.

He winced at the bare sound of that.

Desire, he amended, feeling much more comfortable with that term than 
the other.

His other self snorted, obviously of the opinion that there wasn't 
much of a fine line between the two.

Clark ignored it. So, he considered, getting back on track, the 
million-dollar question remained. Was flirting with his partner 
something acceptable between them that they - he - did all the time? 
Or not?

And...just with his partner? it suddenly occurred to him to widen the 
question. Or with all women? Dear Lord - the idea jolted him all at 
once, enough that he straightened away from the counter abruptly - he 
wasn't the office Don Juan, was he?

He discounted the horrified thought almost immediately. His female 
colleagues hadn't shown any sign of wariness around him.  They had 
been friendly and casual with him, not on edge at all, and they 
certainly hadn't avoided him. Wouldn't they have avoided him if he 
spent his time constantly hitting on them?

Unless...well, all that that really proved was that maybe any move 
he'd made on them hadn't exactly been unwelcome. Maybe they weren't 
averse to him hitting on them?  And yet...still, they hadn't seemed 
to give any impression that he had a reputation as a bed 'em and 
leave 'em heartbreaker. Clark seemed to understand just how that kind 
of guy was tolerated in the newsroom and he knew the way that people 
- male and female - responded to them too. And that hadn't been how 
his colleagues had treated him at all.

There had been Cat, of course. She had certainly seemed friendly. He 
frowned. Turn it every which way he had though he just hadn't been 
able to make himself believe that she was his type. Oh, she was 
beautiful...no doubt about it. Sexy. But...they were involved? 
Intimate? No. He had called her bluff and she had more or less 
confessed that she had been lying when she had said they were...well 
whatever.

He remembered the way she'd wrapped herself around him in the 
newsroom though and the breathy way she'd whispered in his ear. He 
blew out a soft, mental breath. From what he'd heard elsewhere from 
Lois and the scuttlebutt around the newsroom that he hadn't entirely 
been able to escape, it seemed that Cat hadn't convinced only him 
that they'd been having an affair.

He could also remember how uncomfortable he'd felt when she'd hugged 
him. How grateful he'd been for Mr. White's interruption. And 
also...disappointed?

Had he been disappointed because they'd been interrupted or because 
Lois hadn't seemed to care whether Cat hugged him or not? Had he been 
hoping for more from her, some reaction, some sign, that she was 
angry or ---

/Jealous. You wanted her to be jealous./

And she hadn't been. She had been...exasperated? Amused? Irritated? 
But certainly not jealous.

He sighed and went back to considering his reputation around the office.

No. No, somehow, he knew he wasn't in the habit of dating his 
colleagues. At least not in the sense of tomcatting his way around.

For one thing, his days at the Planet - Cat Grant aside - had been 
entirely free of any conversation that would hint at a relationship 
with any of his female co-workers. Many of them had expressed 
sympathy for his current plight, there had been offers to help him 
out...and maybe one or two of those had had the hint of something 
more than just friendly advice or the offer to whip up a pot roast 
and bring it on over. But nothing that gave him the impression he was 
expected to reciprocate or take up such offers or even that those 
women had been in the habit of making such offers on a regular basis.

And his nights had been free of telephone calls or answering machine 
messages. Surely if he was involved with a woman - or women - be it 
someone he knew at the office or someone outside his professional 
life entirely, she - they- would have called him to find out why he 
hadn't been in touch lately? No irate girlfriend had come pounding on 
his door demanding to know why he'd stood her up at the MoviePlex.

His apartment showed no signs of co-habitation, no physical evidence 
that he was in the habit of bringing women back there, or having 
anyone stay over.  There were no feminine articles of clothing or 
toiletries lying around.  With the exception of a sweater and a worn 
pair of sneakers, which he had discovered in one of the closets, but 
they turned out to belong to Lois. Clark still couldn't decide if he 
was relieved or disappointed that what might have been proof he was 
seeing someone had turned out to be nothing after all.

No, he didn't think he was dating anyone. Not anyone in the office. 
Not anyone elsewhere.

Except...Lois. His thoughts came full circle. Was he in the habit of 
dating her?

She had claimed that the items of clothing he'd found had been left 
behind during evenings spent at his apartment trawling through story 
notes. Or on the (very occasional, she seemed at pains to point out) 
nights when they celebrated a scoop with pizza and a movie. And Clark 
was inclined to take her at face value on that one.  At least...until 
he was given proof to the contrary. It seemed...plausible.

Disappointing - definitely disappointing - but plausible.

Could pizza and a movie in his apartment be considered dating? he 
argued, somewhat wistfully and without any real hope of an 
affirmative answer.

Clearly, Lois didn't think so.

Did he flirt with her *then*, if not at the office? Snuggled up close 
on the sofa, did he resort to the old cliché of trying to slip an arm 
around her when she was engrossed in the on screen antics of those 
celluloid heroes, who always got the girl, when he apparently didn't?

He shook his head, ruefully. Or did he just say to hell with such 
subtleties, pin her to the nearest convenient piece of furniture, and 
let his hormones get the better of him - just like he'd done a moment 
ago in that bathroom?

He frowned. Now that he thought about it, considered it a little more 
clearly and logically and without the clutter of his fantasies or 
hopeful wishing to cloud his memory, he thought that perhaps he'd 
been wrong in his earlier assessment. Maybe she had been more than 
flustered, even before he'd stepped over the mark.

Maybe *more* than maybe, he was forced to reluctantly admit.

He gave himself a moment's pause to examine the incident with a 
clarity and detachment that had hitherto eluded him. It wasn't a 
conclusion he wanted to accept, but he had to recognize that...yes, 
she *had* been surprised from the first. Not just heated up, not 
simply confused, but genuinely taken aback by his behavior.

Right from the first.

Given that new-found admission, the surprise in her eyes back there 
would seem to suggest that the answer to his questions was no on all 
counts. He didn't flirt, he didn't tease and he didn't date her 
either.

And, of course, she thought he was a boy scout. Which was hardly the 
ideal for a romantic partner. He was either the most uninteresting 
lover in the history of time, or he was barking up the wrong tree 
entirely here.

Which sort of put a sizeable dent in the image of himself as some Don 
Juan seducer, cutting a swathe through the hearts of the Daily Planet 
newsroom. Or the heart of his partner either.

Boy scout!

He sighed. Horrifying an idea as it was, he thought he'd much rather 
be Don Juan.

Cat Grant didn't think he was a boy scout.

He wished that one made him feel better.

But it didn't.

Not even the conversation he'd had with Lois on the subject of Cat 
made him feel better.

Cat had thoroughly disconcerted him with that hug. Her story of a 
clandestine affair they had kept secret from his partner and their 
colleagues had left him bewildered. Not only because he felt nothing 
he expected to when being hugged by a lover, no sign of any 
reciprocal feelings at all, but also because at some gut, instinctive 
level, it just hadn't rung true for him. It just didn't seem...right.

But that was hardly a recommendation these days on which to base his 
opinions on what was true and what wasn't. His instincts seemed as 
skewed as the rest of his emotions, half the time. After all, he 
didn't feel any great warmth or friendship for Mr. White or Jimmy. 
They were colleagues and they were obviously very nice people, 
although Mr. White was a bit intimidating at times, but he didn't 
feel as though he knew them well either. And Jimmy stoutly maintained 
that they were real 'buds'. Hung out together at ballgames and 
everything.

So Cat had left him unsettled all afternoon. The EPRAD assignment had 
kept him and his partner out of the newsroom for most of the day, 
luckily or otherwise, since it left Cat unable to ambush him again, 
but also meant he couldn't confront her about it either. Finally, of 
course, Lois had noticed his mood. She'd been watching him closely, 
perhaps seeking signs of some returning memory. It hadn't been hard.

Clark could easily have put her off the scent; it would have been 
relatively easy for him to persuade her to put his distraction down 
to general disorientation. Instead, without any real design to it, he 
had somehow found himself confiding in her. Asking her advice. 
Perhaps because she was the only person he felt close enough to at 
that moment to talk to at all. He knew that Cat had told him that 
their relationship was especially a secret from Lois, but somehow he 
found himself blurting out his concerns anyway.

Lois hadn't exactly been sympathetic.  Nor had she given him any real 
consolation. Apparently, there had been some suggestion around the 
office that he and Cat were spending their evenings together 
exploring the boundaries of the Pleasure-Pain Principle, back at her 
apartment. Black leather? Chandeliers? Clark found himself shuddering 
all over again at the horrifying memory of his partner's scathing 
recitation of those rumors. At the time, he had simply gaped 
open-mouthed at her and blurted out something about not believing a 
word of it.

Actually, he wasn't all that sure that Lois believed a word of it 
either, he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly. There had been a 
certain something in her eyes at the time that had suggested she had 
certainly waited an awful long time to discomfit him with that one. 
Although she had pretended to be irritated by it at the time and had 
quickly changed the subject.

Which wouldn't have left him any the wiser on just where, precisely, 
Cat Grant fit into his life, had he not figured it out on his own. 
Although, for a time there, it had been touch and go as to what he 
believed on that one.

Which meant that the truth had to be faced. All the evidence pointed 
to his fears on that score being unfounded. He wasn't in the habit of 
hitting on his colleagues. Not even the beautiful ones. The ones that 
made his heart skip a beat or two whenever she walked into the room 
and...

No, not even her. Not even Lois.

A small sigh escaped him. No matter how he thought on it, no matter 
how many angles he considered it from, his musing just made things 
more complicated rather than simpler. He didn't know what to think. 
He didn't know what he was saying any more.

/That was pretty clear. Or doing either./

Or doing, Clark agreed dismally, ashamed of himself all over again.

Somehow she just seemed to work on him that way. The heat of her 
body, the scent of her perfume, the deep, drowning pools of her 
eyes...

They all seemed to conspire to make him act like a prize idiot. He 
just couldn't seem to help himself.

He pondered that. And more. Because there was something else though. 
Something more than just plain and ordinary, everyday lust. Just for 
a moment back there he had actually felt...alive. Connected. *Real*. 
The dead zone in his chest was gone. It had been the first time he 
had truly felt...no, he corrected himself as the word hovered again 
on his lips, no, not alive...anything. It had been the first time he 
had felt anything at all since the accident. Real emotion, real energy, 
real heat. Not something grafted on to a lost memory, not something 
manufactured because it seemed the appropriate emotion to feel for 
the moment.

For the past few days he had felt as though he were trapped behind a 
gray glass wall, a thick, impenetrable barrier that separated him 
from the rest of the world and his own feelings. Through which he saw 
and heard and experienced, but which cut him off from sensation and 
emotion. But back there, with Lois, teasing her that way, watching 
her respond and responding to her, he had suddenly felt as though a 
switch had been thrown. All of his emotions humming through him all 
at once like a current of wildfire. A heady sensation. And perhaps it 
was that more than anything else that had driven him, overwhelmed 
him, enticed him into pushing further than he might otherwise have 
done. Just to provoke her into more reaction and himself into another 
response. Another emotion. Another moment of reality.

To live. To feel alive. To banish the dead chill that had enveloped 
him since he'd lost his sense of self.

Except...it hadn't been reality, had it? It had been a fantasy played 
out against the wishes of someone he cared about, who he thought he 
might even...

He shied away from the thought, cutting it in half and going back to 
safer ground, almost instinctively. He cast a speculative glance out 
into the gloom that led to his bathroom. Provoking him into idiocy 
wasn't the only magic she could work on him then, it seemed. Maybe - 
he couldn't help the small grin that tugged at his lips with the 
notion - he should stick close, see what else she could prod him into.

He chuckled softly. Then shook his head, bewildered suddenly by the 
revelations he'd worked his way to.

His body - he grimaced - was certainly alive. Much more than he'd 
have liked it to have been.

He tried to force himself away from the subject of his partner, onto 
something just a little less dangerous, a little more innocuous, but 
it was difficult. His mind seemed full of her. Saturated.

Fascinated.

Just what was his problem with Lois Lane? Why was she a constant 
companion in his thoughts, a source of calm in a suddenly chaotic 
world? Sure she was his partner, obviously they worked closely 
together. And she was his friend, she'd said. Close...but not close. 
He frowned, slightly irritated by that. What did that mean anyway? 
Were they close or not? Well, okay, so friends. Close friends, he 
decided, for the sake of argument. And she was beautiful...stunningly 
beautiful...smart...

Images spilled through his mind's eye like falling autumn leaves in 
bright, spinning bursts of color.

Brilliant.

Funny.

Beautiful.

Vivacious.

Lois Lane.

It seemed that he could never get tired of finding superlatives to 
describe her.

Adorable. She was...utterly adorable.

He propped his elbows on the counter, sank his chin into his palms 
and gave vent to a low, soft sigh, barely even trying to stop the 
sloppy grin curve up his lips with the thought. After a moment 
though, it faded.

There had to be some reason she filled his head this way.

/You love her./

Did he? This time he allowed himself to consider the thought, now 
that it had been voiced in his head, broken through his attempts to 
stifle it.

He frowned. Was that what love was? Drowning in images, unable to 
escape the lure?

He sighed. Of course this didn't seem to be exactly a cause for 
celebration. Quite clearly, Lois didn't feel the same way. That much 
was obvious. In fact, depressingly enough, he could recall her only 
ever showing that kind of emotion and excitement over one man.

Superman.

Well, he thought stubbornly, wearing the habitual scowl that just 
seemed to appear these days whenever that name entered his head, 
Superman wasn't here, was he? He'd abandoned her, just when she 
needed him most. Clark flushed, but carried on doggedly with the 
train of thought, no matter how guilty it made him feel. Like he was 
stealing someone else's girl at the prom. He shook his head. That was 
an entirely juvenile way of thinking! He couldn't help it if Superman 
wasn't on hand to comfort Lois and he was. That wasn't *his* fault.

/Doesn't mean you have to take advantage of it,/ his conscience told 
him sternly.

Clark ignored it.  He wasn't taking advantage! Well, not in that way. 
He wouldn't! But, that didn't mean he couldn't....well, if Superman 
wanted to call him on it, he could show up before...well, he could 
show up at some point and Clark would be more than happy to discuss 
the issue, he decided bullishly.

Until then...he didn't see any reason why he shouldn't...be a friend 
to his partner. Help her through this. Help himself too. He needed 
her. More than he suspected she needed him, but that didn't matter. 
The plain fact was that he was here. She was here. This night was 
looking to be their last. And together they were all they had to 
cling on to.

The image of her kissing Superman flickered into his head again and he scowled.

He had wanted to kiss her too. Back there. In the dark. When just the 
smallest of moves would have put her in his arms, her body held close 
against his, every curve of her, every soft, scented part of her, in 
contact with him, filling his senses with white heat and blinding 
light and...her lips had been so close...why hadn't he kissed her?

Wouldn't that have solved all of his questions in one instant?

For a moment his mind played out the scenario for him, giving him 
what he had denied himself a moment earlier. Her lips were beckoning, 
so close, and he moved his head just a little, just an inch or so, 
and...there. She tasted salt and sweet all at once, her mouth moving 
moistly under the pressure of his kiss, her arms wrapping themselves 
around his neck as she pressed herself against him, driving him 
crazy. His hands smoothed their way down her shoulders, across her 
spine and lower to settle on -

"Clark?"

He was jolted out of the daydream so fast at the sound of that 
impatient yell that he almost hit his chin against the counter as it 
slipped from its resting place in his palm.

"Uh, yeah....I'm looking!" he yelled back hastily.

He shook his head. Like everything else lately, his feelings for his 
partner and the emotions she invoked in him were mysteries.

Mysteries he had no time to solve.

He sighed.

Why now? Why was time running out for him now, when he was on the 
cusp of understanding something that he sensed was more important 
than anything he'd been searching for these past days? Something 
that, if finally grasped, would light up his life like a flare and 
spin it around like a hurricane?

Another sigh escaped him.

Were you always this unlucky, Kent? Or did your luck turn when that 
car hit you?

Questions. More questions than there were time or answers for.

And she'd be wondering what was keeping him.

With another softly sheepish groan he levered himself clear of the 
counter and went in search of the candles.


~@******@~


Lois was leaning over the bath, training the flashlight over all its 
far corners in an attempt to find Clark's elusive scented candles, 
when she gradually became aware that she was being watched.

In practically the same instant, she also became aware of her 
position, stretched precariously into the bowl of the bathtub, one 
knee up on the rim, one hand clutching at the frame of the shower 
stall beside it for balance, the image not one that was in any way 
decorous, flattering or...just how short a skirt *had* she put on 
that morning?

Hastily, she jerked to stand, almost losing balance and ending up in 
the tub on her butt as she did so. The image *that* sparked into her 
head was so appallingly mortifying that it gave her the needed 
impetus to make sure it didn't happen and she managed to successfully 
land on her feet and face her partner without too much embarrassing 
flailing around.

She eyed him warily, trying to judge his mood as he filled the 
bathroom doorway. But he was surrounded by shadows, his expression a 
mystery, and she couldn't fathom what he was thinking.

Nothing at all, it seemed, as he appeared to realize all at once that 
he was simply standing there, doing nothing, and that she was 
expecting him to make a move.

"Found a couple of table candles," he said casually as he entered the 
small room.

Lois threw him an incendiary glance, irritated with his dissembling. 
How dare he act like nothing had happened!

/What *did* happen?/ a small, confused voice asked within her.

/Nothing. Nothing happened./

/But - /

/He confused me, that's all. That's all it was. I was...confused./

"Lois?"

She jerked up her head. "What?" she snapped and then, seeing his look 
of surprise, sighed. What was the point in being mad at him? He was a 
man, wasn't he? Men were all the same, even farmboys from Kansas who 
tried to fool you they were different. She'd known that all along. So 
he was a late developer. So it had taken a blow on the head to make 
him drop the polite, homegrown façade and show his true colors. She'd 
known he would eventually. She should have expected it. Didn't they 
all? Sooner or later? She glowered back at him, unforgiving. No one 
embarrassed the heck out of Lois Lane and got away with it.

Her stare turned challenging, daring him to engage her on the 
subject. His right eyebrow twitched, rising slightly.

"You got the others?" was all he said though. "The other candles?"

Lois hesitated, then gave it up. Or at least put it on the back 
burner, while she pursued more immediate concerns.

"No." She looked at him, her anger simmering down to exasperation, 
and waved a hand at the unadorned room. "No candles, scented or 
otherwise."

"Well, they were here just yesterday. I found them when I was looking 
around." Clark pushed politely past her and hunkered down at a 
cupboard to one side of the bath that she'd failed to notice in the 
darkness, ignoring her jolt back a pace as she hastily avoided 
contact with him. "You know, trying to orientate myself, like the 
doc. said. See if anything looked familiar or jogged a memory. 
Nothing did though. Might as well be living in a hotel room. Ah, here 
they are. Told ya."

"Well, you didn't say there were in a *cupboard*, Clark," Lois said 
waspishly. "You know most people have them where they can see the 
glow!"

"Oh, I didn't mean I used them." Clark sounded amused again. "Me? I 
might not remember much, but somehow I don't think scented candles 
are my style, Lois."

Lois glared at him. She was tempted to tell him differently, just to 
see the look on his face when he couldn't dispute it.  Just to teach 
him a lesson about playing around with your partner's feelings.

"I think they must have been gifts or something," Clark went on, as 
he rose to his feet with an armful of garish candles in various 
mind-numbing colors and others still in the unopened cardboard 
cartons they'd come in.

"They've obviously never been out of there in months." He blew a 
coating of dust from the nearest and juggled his burden into the 
crook of one arm. "Here." He offered her the nearest, a square, 
medium sized box with cheaply glued on labels.

Lois took it from him less than graciously and then blinked as she 
got a better look at the pictures that claimed to represent the 
contents.

"No *way*!" she breathed out. She hurriedly opened the box as Clark 
frowned at her, confused, and tipped what it contained gingerly into 
the palm of her other hand.

Together, they stared at the object, appalled. Clark's jaw dropped 
before he recovered, closing his mouth with an audible snap.

"Okay, now *that's* what I'm talking about," he blurted. "No way I 
actually bought that...monstrosity! I mean it!" he insisted as his 
partner looked skeptically back at him.  "That has to be someone's 
idea of a bad joke! I don't care if you're about to tell me I was 
some kind of kitsch freak in a previous life or...or I spent all my 
free time at conventions for junk fanatics...you are *never* gonna 
persuade me that I actually walked into a store and put down good 
cash for that...that...*thing*!"

The thing in question grinned inanely up at him from its haven on 
Lois' outstretched palm. A novelty candle - a bright, 
pink...perversion...in Clark's book, there was nothing novel about 
it! - in the shape of a fat pig sitting on its haunches, its snout 
wrinkled in an unconvincing smile and an overloaded suitcase beside 
it, bursting at the seams. "Greetings from Tuloosa" was scrolled in 
candy red across its base.

Lois pursed her lips. "Well, who knows," she suggested, unable to 
resist a little fun at his expense. She owed him. Let him be the 
uncomfortable one for a change. "Maybe it's a reminder of Smallville. 
I bet you spent a lot of time around pigs and - " she frowned, " - 
cows...and...things....when you were a kid. Maybe it appealed to you 
because you were homesick."

"Lois, please," Clark protested pitifully. "We're talking about taste 
here. My whole sense of style! Suggesting I'd ever give that thing 
house-room is...insulting!" His jaw twitched, tightening in a 
stubborn cast that Lois immediately recognized. "I'm telling you, it 
has to be a gift. From someone who's never had a visit from the Good 
Taste Police."

Lois grunted reluctant agreement. "Probably from Great Aunt Lilian 
from Palooka," she mused, raising her hand and bringing the obnoxious 
beast closer so that she could examine it with a jaundiced eye.

"Do I have a Great Aunt Lilian?" he questioned.

"I do. Well, she's called Great Aunt Beth and she lives in Florida, 
but the principle's the same," Lois concluded darkly. "Everyone has a 
Great Aunt Lilian, Clark."

"Yours send you pigs from Tuloosa?" Clark asked, continuing to look 
askance at the fat pink candle.

"No. She sent me Elizabeth Arden Makeover Vouchers from Neiman Marcus 
every Christmas."

"Oh." He met her eyes quizzically, over the pig. "Is this where I say 
you don't need makeovers?"

She scowled at him.

"You don't," he added hastily. "But I guess it's the thought that counts."

"I was six years old when she started, Clark."

"Oh," Clark said and then, sympathetically, "Ouch."

Lois' glare didn't lighten. The conversation had turned on her again 
- why did that always happen when she was around him? She never 
seemed to get ahead, never seemed to get a break, always ended up the 
one with the bloodied nose and the black eye, somehow. And now she'd 
been reminded of bad times and, even worse, the gnawing realization 
that she would endure the worst humiliations of her childhood all 
over again if it meant that she had - if they all had - a future. 
Somehow, with hindsight, it didn't seem that bad at all. And the 
truth was that she'd give anything to hug Great Aunt Beth or her 
father right now. If it would only ---

She tightened her fist around the pig candle abruptly. "This isn't 
getting us anywhere." She looked at him critically, searching the 
bundle of objects he was cradling against his chest and in the hook 
of one arm. "Matches?" she demanded.

"Matches?" Clark's expression turned blank. He sounded a little lo