The Circle Game
by Jude <judithwilliams@hotmail.com>
Rated PG-13
Submitted May 2000

___________


FEEDBACK: Feedback is solicited and welcome publicly on the list or
privately to the above address.

I loved the WAFFY ending of Brutal Youth but was dissatisfied with
the way it left questions about Clark's physical future unanswered.
I always wondered how Veda Doodsen's traumatic attack on his life
force would affect him in later years. This story is one answer to
that question.

WARNING: This story contains a giant WHAM and some very unpleasant
medical prognosis descriptions.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: My thanks to Nancy Nissen, Nan Smith and Judith
Tylke for their invaluable assistance and suggestions as beta readers
and to Sue Zabell for her excellent advice in helping me edit my nfic
to PG-13 and my Archive editor, LabRat, whose knowledgeable diligence 
and patience have no end. My special gratitude to Sheila Harper who, 
early on, encouraged me and helped me to sift through a plethora of 
ideas so that I could focus on the few essential to the telling of 
this story.

DISCLAIMER: The characters herein which are from Lois and Clark: The
New Adventures of Superman or in the Superman comics belong to Warner
Brothers and D.C. Comics, respectively, and no infringement is
intended. Those characters, which I have created and delineated for
this story, belong to me, as do the events narrated here, and are
copyrighted to me.

Emphasized words are enclosed by asterisks, * *, and direct thoughts
are bracketed within <> marks.


THE CIRCLE GAME


PROLOGUE

THE ANDES MOUNTAINS OF ECUADOR October 15, 2032

It was 4:52 P.M., Metropolis time, when the mountain blasted from its
dormant state, obliterating 1850 feet from its west face and spewing
rock, ash, water and downed trees over its apron. Percussion and heat
dissolved the snow-covered peak into a devastating flood carrying all
of the debris downward in a swift annihilating wave; water, ash and
earth quickly became mud slowing the momentum to 175 MPH of
suffocating death.

From the depth of the crater, a hole 18 miles in diameter, steam and
ash continued to billow. Then, slowly, as though it had been waiting
for the sliding mud to prepare a proper carpet, the flaming molten
rock began to bubble up from the abyss and spill over the edge,
undulating toward the distant ocean. Between the irresistible lava
flow and the immovable Pacific, stood seven tiny villages whose
inhabitants had barely realized their danger when Nature ordained
their inevitable fate.

METROPOLIS 5:00 P.M.

By the time evening newscasts hit the ether, international
seismologists had already noted the great cataclysm in the earth's
crust and informed the world of another disaster. The news media
responded with furious activity as the many reporters and pundits
began, in a manner reminiscent of the volcano, to spew out words,
sentences, paragraphs describing an event and a remote place they
knew nothing about but were unhesitant in discussing.

As darkness swept the sky, above the city two figures floated,
waiting. They were soon joined by a third and the three, turning
southwest, vanished in an almost indistinguishable streak of light.

THE ECUADORIAN SIERRAS

Throughout the long night, Superman, Ultra Woman and The Defender
worked unceasingly lifting terrified Serranos from the smoke and heat
that preceded the lava flow. They had no time for the thousands of
animals, domesticated and wild, which perished that night, and
certainly no way to save the millions of birds whose songs would not
return to the region for many years. They pushed from their minds
thoughts of the terrible consequences of this savage, destructive
waste. It was a self-defense they had learned through hard
experience. They concentrated on the task before them thinking only
of what *could* be done, leaving behind regret for what could not
until, at last, they could turn the rescue operations over to local
authorities.

METROPOLIS 3:47 A.M.

Upstairs inside an old townhouse in an aging but still genteel
section of town, a lovely dark-haired woman lay sleeping. She
stirred without quite waking and backed toward the other side of the
bed seeking warmth from the chilly night. Finding only cold sheets,
she sighed, curled around the empty pillow lying there, breathed
deeply its familiar redolence of shampoo and mint toothpaste and
snuggled deeper into sleep.

A few moments later, the bedroom's French windows opened inward; a
blue clad man stepped softly over the sill, closed the doors quietly
behind him and glided wearily into the bathroom. The sound of the
shower was broken occasionally by grunts, betraying sore and aching
muscles. Clark Kent stepped out of the shower, whirled gingerly into
a pair of sleeping shorts and soundlessly re-entered the bedroom. He
carefully eased himself into the space next to his wife, drew her to
him and buried his face in her hair. He was asleep even as she
nested herself against him.

++++++++++

METROPOLIS 10:34 A.M. OCTOBER 16, 2032

Mem'ries, light the corners of my mind,
Misty watercolor mem'ries of the way we were.
Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind,
For the way we were.
     Marilyn and Alan Bergman

Lois Lane Kent sat on the couch in her Metropolis townhouse, looking
through the worn scrapbooks detailing Lane and Kent's days as
investigative reporters for the old Daily Planet newspaper. In her
professional life, she was still Lois Lane, but at home she enjoyed
being Lois Lane Kent, wife to Clark and mother of Laura and Chris.
Seeing her, one might believe that she was still on the job exposing
the hypocrites and criminals of the 21st Century instead of the head
of an international relief organization. Her dark hair exhibited a
few light strands of gray. Her lovely face, only slightly blurred
with age, could still garner second looks. While her figure might
be a little fuller than it once had been, it was toned and athletic
and envied by many women several years her junior.

From the media unit behind her, the Musikon broadcasting old songs,
was playing, "All I Want To Do Is Have Some Fun", by Sheryl Crow.

Slowly Lois leafed back and forth in the book, following no
particular order but allowing fate to make the decision about what
she would read next. She loved reading these old scraps of newsprint,
which reminded her of the days before everything was published
electronically. Reading the new Daily Planet on one of their
electronic readers just didn't seem to have the same impact as
reading the old newsprint edition, and it left her nothing to wash
windows with.

A stirring to her left, then a deep breathy almost-snore attracted
her attention. She looked over at her husband, half sitting, half
reclining at the other end of the couch. He was deep in sleep.

Creases at the corners of his eyes and a slight graying of the hair
at his temples signified that his aging process was on a 'normal
human' track. The strength of his body was still very evident in the
T-shirt and jeans that he was wearing. Lois smiled remembering the
first time she had noticed his 'muscular definition', picking him up
at his room in the old Apollo Hotel, when they were on their first
assignment together, and finding the door opened by a Clark Kent
wearing only a towel. Seeing him like that had stirred her more than
she had been willing to admit. And he still had that effect on her.
Lovingly she placed the back of her hand against his cheek, then
turned back to her reading material.

The visi-phone began to chime softly. She answered quickly and saw
the face of her daughter Laura on the screen.

"Hi, Mom" Laura said cheerfully.

"Sweetheart! Wait a sec. Let me turn off the speaker and get on the
remote-phone. Your Dad's asleep here on the couch next to me, and
I'm trying not to wake him. What's up?" Lois spoke softly as she
accomplished her tasks.

"Well, one of my questions is already answered I think. I wanted to
find out if Dad's recovered yet from last night."

To Lois' relief, Clark didn't often go on these missions any more.
When he had begun to show signs of aging, he had reluctantly turned
'Saving the World' over to Laura and her brother, Chris, who were
young, strong and more than ready to assume their father's mantle as
Defender of Truth, Justice and the American Way. But there would
come an occasional tragedy so great in magnitude that a third set of
super powers could make a big difference in the scorecard of lives
saved and so he would shake out the old cape, whirl into the blue
suit (which still fit him *very nicely*, Lois thought) and dash off
to help save the day. She had resigned herself and would not worry
about what could happen as his powers declined. The erosion, so far,
had seemed to 'stabilize and slow', but she and their children were
aware of what *could* happen, for they had no idea whether his powers
would diminish in a gradual decline or a sudden drain. So they
conspired to monitor him surreptitiously.

Lois responded: "He must still be pretty tired, but he won't admit
it, and, I think he's a little sore, though of course, he hasn't said
anything; but we really haven't had much chance to talk yet. I tried
to get him to stay in bed, but he insisted he was hungry and wanted
some blueberry pancakes; so we had blueberry pancakes and then he
went back to sleep." Her voice was beginning to rise a little as
she rattled this off, so she stopped, took a deep breath and
continued more calmly. " How about you? Are you all right? Did you
have any problems?"

Laura Lane Kent-Forrest's now voiceless face still stared at her
mother from the screen. Those who had known Lois Lane when she was a
tenacious young reporter often remarked on the astonishing
resemblance Laura bore to that beauty, the dreaded 'Mad Dog Lane'.
But those who had met Laura, knew that her temperament was like that
of her father--calm, imperturbable, deliberative, trusting and
friendly.

On screen Laura's mouth moved, but her words were shielded in the
earpiece of the remote. "Of course I'm all right. You know I never
take chances. It was just a long exhausting slog and I'm not the
least surprised that Dad needs to sleep some more. *I* need to sleep
some more."

"Then you should be sleeping instead of talking to me. How are my
grandchildren? What are they doing right now? What about your
brother?"

Ignoring the apparently gratuitous advice in her mother's initial
sentence, Laura replied, "Lee and Carla are just fine thank you.
They're at daycare right now because I'm at the lab, but they've been
driving me crazy for days clamoring to have ice cream and cake with
their Gran to celebrate her...."

Lois interrupted. "Yes and I can hardly wait to put on three extra
pounds with them too; they're worth every ounce. Tell them their Gran
loves them with all her heart, and we'll stuff ourselves with double
marshmallow monster chocolate fudge cake slathered in whipped cream
and thick white chocolate sauce."

"Mother, do you have any idea how long it takes me to get their
bodies back to normal after one of your binges?"

"It can't be as long as it takes me, and anyway, I'm their
*grandmother*. It's allowed. I can show you in The Grandmother's
Handbook. Besides, they'll *never* be this age again. And you know
we only do this on special occasions. You'll understand one day."

"Are we in some kind of weird time warp, here? I thought I stopped
having to hear that 'understand someday' rot when I got out of
adolescence."

"You're never too old to benefit from your mother's good advice."
Thinking that over, "Don't repeat that to your grandmother. Now
tell me about your brother."

Like many mothers and daughters Lois and Laura sometimes had
disagreements, most good-natured, occasionally acrimonious, but they
always found their way back to the deep, abiding affection they had
for each other. Laura was Lois and Clark's oldest child, the miracle
baby they had hoped for but could never really believe was real until
they could hold her in their arms.

Lois loved her with the blinding emotion every mother feels for her
first born who reveals the previously unknown result of the
reproductive combination of two specific beings.

Laura, resignedly: "Well, you know Chris. He always has to push it
to the edge. Last night he kept dive-bombing the crater just to see
what it was like to be that close to the melting center of the earth.
As usual, he managed to stop short of disaster and avoid turning
himself into a fire ball."

"What is he *thinking* of!" Lois' voice began to rise again and to
increase in tempo. "I tell him and I tell him, but does he pay any
attention to me? No!" Suddenly, Ellen Lane's voice was coming from
Lois' mouth. "What do I know? I'm just the mother. I'm not a Super
Hero. I don't know anything about it. You're his sister. Can't you
stop him? Wait till I get my hands on your father. He'll regret
letting my son..."

Laura broke in with, "Yes, Grandma."

Lois halted, mid-sentence, with a horrified look on her face and
exclaimed in her own voice, "Omigod, I am. I've turned into your
grandmother! They say it happens; that daughters become their
mothers, but I never believed it; I mean, I know it happens to other
mothers and daughters, but I didn't think it would happen to me
because I would never be like my mother in a million years; and now
here I am..."

"You're babbling, too," said Laura in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.

Lois 'de-breathed', took another breath to calm herself, and sighed.
"You know, if I didn't love you so much, I could put you on my
enemies' list for that attitude of yours."

Laura, explaining the obvious: "I know Mom, but you won't. I can
always get you with my soulful puppy look, just like Dad."

Laura had inherited her mother's expressive eyes with their
explosive ability to move toward the object under question and launch
any number of pleasant or unpleasant electrical charges--the renowned
Lois Lane Look. But the lighter color of Laura's iris was identical
to the soft brown in Clark Kent's eyes, and like him she could use
them to affect an' I'm sorry, I didn't mean it' regret that few could
resist.

Lois was sure that Clark's look was genuine, but she wasn't always
sure about her daughter. Putting on her best
'don't-fool-with-your-mother' manner, Lois said, "Was there something
else you wanted, or is this just your 'torment Mom' moment of the
day?"

"C'mon, Mom, you know why I really called."

"I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about."

"Of course, you do. You know what tomorrow is better than *I* do.
Wait a minute. What are you doing right now?"

"Nothing." All innocence.

"Yeah, right. You've got those scrapbooks out again and you've
programmed all that old music on the Musikon, haven't you?"
Silence." Haven't you? And later you'll wheedle Dad into taking you
to The Farm for the night. You are *so* predictable."

"What!" This was too much. "Me? Predictable?" Her voice was rising
again. "Predictable?!? I have never been *predictable* in my life."
Not only was her voice rising to great volume, but the rapidity of
her words now rivaled Superman when he achieved vaporizing speed. "I
am anything *but* predictable. I'm, I'm...I'm the antithesis of
predictable! Why would you say I'm predictable?"

Uh Oh. Laura recognized the signs. It was time to pull back and
stop trying to rile her mother. Provoking Lois into babbling mode had
become a family game over the years, the kind of pastime that
close-knit families develop and practice as a cherished family
ritual. Chris was the Master Provoker, but Laura could rise to the
occasion when opportunity presented itself. Unfortunately, she
didn't have Chris' touch, and often went too far.

For her part, Lois always laughed as much as any of them when she
realized what was going on. But when she began to throw her
vocabulary around, danger was in the air.

"We-e-e-ll, I didn't mean predictable, *exactly*, Mom."

"Oh? Just what *did* you mean, then?"

"Well, uh, I meant, uh..." Laura had also inherited Clark's penchant for
becoming tongue-tied in emotional situations.

"You *meant* *predictable*." The loathing scorn Lois heaped on that
word reminded Laura of some unpleasant childhood memories. Desperate
measures were called for. She blurted,

"Happy Birthday, tomorrow, Mommy, dearest!"

Lois narrowed her eyes, those electrical charges beginning to mass.
"You're wishing me a happy birthday and insulting me at the same
time?"

Laura sensed that she had made another mistake, but she wasn't sure
what it was. "No, Mom, I'm wishing you a happy birthday." Pause.
"And, and...and inviting you to dinner at your favorite restaurant to
celebrate. That was the other thing I called about."

The atmosphere's sizzling ions hung motionless ready to move in any
direction. "Laura, you don't have to do that. You know I don't like
to make a big deal about my birthday."

"Sure, Mom, but this is a very special birthday, so it really
shouldn't go unnoticed. Chris and I talked and he and Helene and
Jack and I want to make it a *memorable* night."

"What? You want to commemorate that I'm finally eligible for Medicare?"

"No, that you're our mother, that we love you and we want you to have
a special night." No provocation, no teasing. Just real daughter to
mother affection.

Her father's daughter, Lois thought. Makes you mad enough to bite,
and then melts you with something so genuinely sweet you could eat it
like chocolate. Her anger disappeared with the dispersing ions, and
Lois smiled.
"Thank you Sweetheart. That's very thoughtful of you and Chris. I
wouldn't miss it for a date with Antonio Banderas."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Where are we going? What time shall we meet you?"

"It's your choice, Mom; you tell me and I'll take it from there."

"Well, it's not fancy or fashionable any more, but I've always been
partial to Chez Pierre." Lois smiled, glanced left and found Clark
grinning back at her.

"Eight o'clock tomorrow at Chez Pierre. Done?"

"Done. See you there. Our love to Jack and those precious children.
We love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

Lois looked over at Clark who, still smiling, said, "So why *do* you
get out those scrapbooks and listen to that music every year?"

She regarded him with annoyance. "You heard that? Umph, what am I
saying. You know you shouldn't listen in on private conversations.
You might hear something you really don't want to hear. Now I
suppose *you're* going to call me predictable? "

"I wouldn't have missed hearing it. This year's edition of the Lois
Lane Birthday Wrangle. But it *was* completely unintentional. I was
asleep and my super hearing kind of 'clicked' in, as you were
argu...ah, discussing Lee and Carla. And I wouldn't dare call you
predictable." He regarded her slyly. " *I* know too much about you.
But don't change the subject; you haven't answered my question."

"Oh, Clark, it's just fun to remember those days and listen to music
that I love but never get to hear. I'm so busy with CHILD and being
a grandmother and tending my roses and visiting Mother and going to
the gym and," reaching over to touch the side of his face briefly with
her palm, "taking care of you, that I never have time to do something
that seems kinda frivolous. It really has nothing to do with getting
older, honestly. *That* happens. You just go with it. And is that
something new: your super hearing just 'clicking in'? I don't recall
that happening before when you were asleep, unless it was some
emergency or catastrophe or something." She didn't want him to see
that she was distressed at this unusual 'power surge'.

"It's probably one of those functions of getting older that I'll just
have to go with, as you say. Being older doesn't seem to have slowed
you down though, Honey. You amaze me with all the things you do."

She gave him a lopsided grin. "Well, I have to do amazing things to
keep up with this family. Which reminds me, how did things go last
night? Do you want to talk about it?" She always tried to be sure
he didn't have any residual emotions pent-up after his
superheroics. He still tended to keep those things bottled up even
after 36 years together.

"It *was* a rough night, Honey, I won't deny that." A pause, then
quietly and more slowly, "So many people lost so much. We managed to
keep the death toll down...." A longer pause, then briskly, "The
devastation of land and the loss of homes and livelihoods were huge,
but those are just property and things. They can all be rebuilt and
I think WERC will provide the money to help."

When they left the ranks of working journalists Lois Lane and Clark
Kent had been much sought after to lend their talents and celebrity
to hundreds of worthy causes. But Lois already had a commitment to
CHILD, Communities Helping Innocent Lives Develop, an international
organization, founded by Lois' Aunt Liz, dedicated to eliminating
hunger, homelessness, disease, abuse and ignorance from the lives of
children.

Clark had chosen to work with the World Economic/Environmental
Recovery Council. Its purpose was to balance the economic needs of
the poorer nations with the environmental necessity of maintaining a
viable planet.

While CHILD and WERC were separate agencies, their work was
interrelated and their executive offices occupied adjacent floors of
Gates Tower, space donated to them by the building's owner, The
William H. and Melinda Gates Foundation.

Lois looked at him gravely. "Will you go down there for WERC?"

Clark was the council's chief troubleshooter, visiting nations
requesting aid and validating their need. His years of travel before
joining the Daily Planet and the many languages he spoke made him
ideal for the job.

"No, I think I'll send Hector. I've already seen it, and it will
give him a chance to visit his folks in Lima."

"What kind of an attitude is that for an ' executive bean-counter'?
You'd better watch out; they'll be naming you 'Boss of the Year',"
she teased.

"Not if they find out who calls the shots in this house."

She laughed. "If I really called the shots, I'd have made you sleep
longer this morning. You don't recover as quickly as you used to,
you know, even if you won't admit it."

She had been absently flipping the album pages back and forth as they
talked. Looking down she saw the headline NOTED RESEARCHER SEEKING
FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH GETS LIFE IN PRISON." Looking at the picture of
Dr. Veda Doodsen, Lois asked, "Do you ever regret it?"

"What?"

"This," she said pointing. "Giving up so much of your life force for
Jimmy. You could still be out there catching the bad guys and
charming women."

"I have two very capable surrogates catching the bad guys, and I've
already charmed the only woman I'm interested in," he said sliding
over and putting his arm around her.

She looked at him, laughing, affection shining in her dancing eyes;
then she became serious again. "Yes, but we still don't know how many
years you may have lost. Dr. Klein never could be really sure. Your
metabolism seems to have assumed a kind of human biological clock,
and you're aging at the same rate I am, but suppose it speeds up?
We've never really talked about this. Suppose all that trauma
should suddenly decide to cause a backfire and you started..."

"Honey, Honey. Honey. Don't go looking for trouble." How many times 
had he said *that*? He touched her arm. "Remember what we said. Live 
each moment as it comes and don't let opportunities pass you by." 
A pause. The Musikon began playing Joan Osborne's "Let's Just Get Naked."

Clark looked speculatively at the wall speaker and said, "Speaking 
of which."

He moved closer and began to nuzzle that very special spot between
her earlobe and her shoulder, dropping feathery little kisses in just
the right place.

She smiled slowly. "I thought you were tired."

"Not me. I'm wide awake and ready to rock and roll."

"MMMM. That's nice." He had both arms around her now, his hands
moving on her body. She leaned back, letting the moment take her, as
she closed her eyes.

Kiss. "What do you think?" Kiss. "Wanna go upstairs and *live the 
moment*?"

"MMHMMM." Suddenly she straightened and opened her eyes. "I think
we have a newly decorated kitchen."

Clark lifted his head, blinking owlishly with that 'Where am I? What
did I miss?' expression she loved that possessed his face when she 
took him by surprise. "Wha.. What?"

"I think we have a newly decorated kitchen...a-a-n-n-d ...a-a-a...
brand new kitchen table."

He sat, still puzzled, for a moment, then smiled, pulled her back
into his arms and resumed his pleasurable exploration of her neck and
body. Between kisses he said, "A new kitchen table, hmm. Sort of
unexplored territory."

"That's righ...hmmmmthere, oh yeah, right there."

He was very familiar with her reaction to his hands touching her
*right there* but hearing her say it still excited him.

"You..." kiss, "...might..." kiss, "...even say..." kiss, "...*virgin*
territory."

She turned in his arms and began trailing kisses toward his mouth
saying, between each one, "You. Might. Say. That." She
reached his mouth and forgot about talking.

Scooping her into his arms, he began floating toward the kitchen.

Laughing throatily she murmured, "*Never* call me predictable," then
occupied herself with determining how many kisses she could fit on
the side of his face.

The swinging doors closed behind them.

++++++++++

Not a day goes by, I don't think about you.
You left your mark on me; it's permanent, a tattoo;
Pierce the skin and the blood runs through-
O O O O H, ma Baby.

The way you move, it's right in time;
The way you move, it's right in time
It's right in time
With me.
     Lucinda Williams

Lois and Clark broke apart and collapsed on top of their new kitchen
table waiting for their rapid breathing to return to normal. Clark,
eyes closed, wore a smug "what a good boy am I" smirk. His
outstretched left arm pillowed Lois' head. Her eyes, open and
sparkling with delight, said that at this moment there was absolutely
nothing more in this world she wanted.

"Well," she said, "I was wrong. There's nothing *slow* about the
recovery of your powers."

"Oh, really," he said. "Well, as long as I didn't disappoint the lady."

"That's not a word I could ever use about you. You definitely
still know how to taxi down the runway and take off, Flyboy."

"So that's what it is. I thought it was my landings you liked."

"*Those* are the *best*!"

She shivered slightly, rolled over and snuggled next to him, her arm
across his bare chest. He automatically brought his arm down around
her.

"Are you cold, Honey?" he asked.

"A little," she answered; he reached down and pulled a patterned 
tablecloth over them.

"Furnace filters."

She lifted herself to look at him. "You say the *most* romantic
things, Sweetheart. What happened to that silver-tongued Space Man I
married?"

He smiled. "He got a house and a wife whose feet turn to ice when it
starts getting into chilly October weather. If we're going to turn
the furnace on, I need to get furnace filters and probably fuel
pellets, too. I don't want *anything about you* to be cold, Baby," he
leered mockingly. "So you see, it is romantic in a way."

'Baby' was not a word that Lois Lane had ever tolerated from a man. But
with Clark Kent circumstances made a difference. He had many
endearments for her that he had affected over the years-honey,
sweetheart, darlin', my love, my little tornado-- and she had
surprised herself by adoring them all. But this one had been the
hardest one to accept. Since he only used it in their most intimate
moments, and the way he used it wasn't deprecating but teasing or
loving, she finally came to tolerate it, and occasionally use it
herself for him.

She kissed his chest. "I suppose it *is* romantic in some weird 
Kryptonian way."

"I haven't had any complaints from all those other women I've charmed."

"They're just fly-by-night-ers; I'm the one with staying power."

"So you are." He kissed the top of her head. "Are you still
planning to wheedle me?"
She giggled as her finger traced patterns around his chest. "I
thought I just did."

"Yes, I'd say, you could probably get pretty much anything you wanted
right now."

"A diamond tiara? A sable coat?"

He frowned. " A diamond tiara *might* be do-able, but when and where
would you wear it? Definitely *not* a sable coat. I thought you
were opposed to, how did you put it, 'adorning your body with the
skins of dead animals'?"

"I am. I just wanted to see if you meant it when you said I could
have anything. But you men are all the same. *Promise* her
anything. Okay, how about a trip to Kansas and a sleepover at The
Farm?

"That I can do."

"Good. After lunch?" He nodded assent. "Then I'm headed for the
shower. This table is hard and it's starting to get cold in here."

"You'll have to find softer places for your *unpredictable* 
demonstrations."

He watched appreciatively as she escaped the shelter of the
tablecloth, retrieved her clothes and, carrying them, sashayed in
that provocative hip-swaying walk through the swinging doors toward
the stairs.

"I'll be right up after I check out the furnace," he called after
her; he was gone and back from the hardware store in a blur and
moving toward the utility room.

++++++++++

Clark sat at *that* table, now covered with a different cloth,
reading the Daily Planet's sports page on their electronic
newsreader. As the lines of type scrolled up the screen, he
reflected, again, that although this way of 'delivering' the news was
more environmentally sound, and much more economical, he missed the
feel of a real newspaper in his hand.

He missed the smell of ink, the crackle when he turned and folded the
page; sneaking looks around it at Lois wearing one of his big
sweatshirts over tights, as she stirred soup at the stove. That was
probably what he missed most. Of course, he could just look, as he
was doing now, but it wasn't as much fun.

The sweatshirt barely dropped below the...*seat* of his interest; the
tights clung teasingly to her long legs; on her feet were thick wool
socks. The hum of the furnace attested that the house was now warm
enough for her to wear her favorite around-the-house leisure outfit.

She always knew he was peeking; catching him at it was part of the
game. But no more. <Technological efficiencies don't necessarily
make the world a better place>, he thought.

He turned his attention to the scrolling screen, stopped it, ran it
back to the point where his mind had wandered and commenced reading
again.

"You know," he said, "I really miss having a *real newspaper*."

"I know. I was thinking the same thing today. But we both know that
the Planet wouldn't exist any more if they hadn't converted to
electronics. Although that was no consolation for all the trades
employees who lost their jobs."

"Yeah, well, they could have replaced a few of these sportswriters
with people who can actually write English. Sometimes I think those
guys are from a *Planet* called Dumb and Dumber. Listen to these
leads: 'Metropolis U rolled over Troy today flattening the Trojans
by a score of 10-7'; yeah, they were really *flattened* by those 3
points. But this is the worst one. 'Midwestern State, in a hard
fought game, squeaked by Utah 28-12.' How can that be a squeak?
They've reversed the verbs in those stories!"

"Well, Honey, I don't pretend to understand the mind of a
sportswriter, but is it possible that you're just a teeny bit annoyed
because you don't like the way they write about *your* team?"

His disgruntled eyes gave her a top-to-bottom scrutiny, which
improved his disposition tenfold; so he harrumphed and mumbled
something about Superman not getting annoyed by such trivial things.

She turned and looked around the room. "I don't see Superman, do you?"

He got up and advanced toward her. She backed away, wielding the
spoon like a sword. Feinting in one direction, he moved quickly in
the other brushing, aside the spoon and catching her around the waist.

"You make it hard for me to concentrate on guy things."

"*This* isn't a guy thing?"

He kissed her soundly and said, "You're right. It is. Now serve me
my soup, Woman."

She pushed him away, laughing and replying, "Watch it or I'll serve
it into your lap. You wanta get the bread?"

Bread and soup are simple foods--wholesome, nutritious, and basic to
cultures all over the world. In the Kent household they were not
only an enjoyable repast, but also a remarkable accomplishment,
because Lois created them.

While she had become an adequate cook through the use of her
intelligence and a good cookbook, she had not become an enthusiastic
one; preparing a meal was never something Lois looked forward to. She
might have persevered to reach a peak of culinary success, but as an
achievement this was not an Everest in her range of obsessions. So
she never got the knack of that natural sense of *what* to put
together and *how* to put together ingredients that made for
pleasurable eating. Except for these two things.

She had watched Martha making vegetable soup at The Farm and noted
how much Clark loved eating it, but really hadn't wanted to do all
that work until Martha told her,

"Honey, all this chopping and pounding is better than 10 sessions on
a psychiatrist's couch for getting rid of your frustrations. Try it,
you'll see."

So she had tried it and, amazing but true, chopping all those
vegetables was better than a dozen cutting remarks aimed, under her
breath, at incompetent assistants. And punching and kneading bread
dough was far more productive than fantasizing about punching out
glory-seeking politicians or CHILD Executive Board members. Whenever
problems at the Planet or the CHILD Foundation started driving her
crazy, off she would go to the kitchen. Clark quickly learned, when
he heard the accompanying mutterings and rants, to find errands
outside the house until calm and serenity prevailed once again.
Subsequently, the amount of soup and bread dough found in their
freezer was directly correlative to the frustrations Lois felt with
her working world.

It was a quaint, old-fashioned thing that hardly anybody did anymore.
Food preservation and processing were very sophisticated these days,
and there were machines to mix, knead and bake bread, but the
therapeutic effects were more than she was willing to give up. And,
she had finally found a use for those crock-pots.

They ate their meal, cleaned up and prepared to take off for The
Farm, quickly packing the things they would need for overnight.

As he carried their bags to the window seat, Clark said, "I have to
call Hector to fill him in on the extent of the environmental
recovery aid he's authorized to offer the Ecuadorian government from
WERC. After that, we can leave, okay?"

Lois responded, "Sounds good. I need to talk with Maria about
setting up the logistics for aid to the affected families in the
refugee centers. Otherwise, I'm pretty much ready to take off."

Comprised of representatives from the nations of the world, WERC
provided advice and economic support to second and third world
nations as they attempted to raise their people from poverty.
Through aid and funding, it also encouraged those nations recovering
from natural disasters to avoid depleting resources whose loss would
endanger the world's delicate environmental balance.

The presence of both CHILD and WERC would be vital to the people of
Ecuador as they restored natural harmony to their country.

Twenty minutes later, he lifted her in his arms and, departing from
their bedroom window, streaked through the bright blue sky toward
Kansas.

++++++++++

KANSAS 2:34 P.M.

And if you and I go wandering
Down the days-imagining--
We will find the things that we hold dear:
Like the shadows on the snow,
Like the light this time of year,
Like the birds that never go,
Like the first star to appear,
Like the coming of the Dawn
Like the running of the Deer,
Like love's old sweet song
With the words that bring a tear.
     David Bruskin

Clark timed their arrival in Kansas to coincide with the schedule of
an airliner from Metropolis. Now that The Farm was in the hands of a
caretaker, they could no longer fly straight in, but had to set down
in Topeka, rent a transporter, and drive to their final destination.
It was reminiscent of the days before Lois knew the *real* Clark
when he had resorted to subterfuge in his travel plans to prevent
her from discovering his alter ego.

It was a beautiful October day in Kansas, temperature hovering just
at 70 degrees, warm sun shining brightly on the harvested fields no
longer green but waves of brown and yellow with occasional splashes
of orange pumpkins, harbingers of Halloween. He could have
programmed their destination into the Global Positioning Satellite
System and let the vehicle take them but he enjoyed the feel of the
wheel in his hands, controlling the movement himself. As they floated
on an air foil down the transportation corridor, top down on their
sport speeder, hoping to put thoughts of Metropolis, their work, the
world, behind them for the remainder of the trip, they discussed final
details concerning Ecuador.

"Did you reach Hector to let him know about going to Ecuador?"

"Not personally; I left a voice mail and sent e-mail instructions to
Margaret at the office to check with him about making his
reservations. Did you talk with Maria?"

"No, but I left a message that CHILD would be getting supplies and
medical personnel to the area so she should find suitable space for
storage and housing. I also contacted Doctors Without Borders to let
them know that we would be picking up the tab for their services down
there. They told me they would have a medi-plane en-route within 12
hours and were faxing my office a list of the supplies they would
need. At this point I feel pretty good about our timetable. I just
hope we don't run in to any stonewalling I haven't anticipated."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I know it's hard to understand, but some governments can put
all kinds of barriers in our way when we're trying to help them.
You've run into that, haven't you? Some places it's even worse if
they don't like dealing with a woman. You'd think we could make a
little more progress than we have in that arena. Some countries in
South America are especially bad; I just don't know about Ecuador."

"So what will you do if there are problems?"

"Maria's very capable. *You've* met her. She's young but she
doesn't give ground to any of that old world macho stuff, so I'll
wait to see how she does. If necessary, I'll go down there myself."

"Honey--"

Lois was CHILD's president and the leader of its fund-raising
campaigns. As such she made frequent trips to cities around the world
reassuring local government officials and bringing encouragement and
hope to many who were living in squalid conditions and who had
thought they were completely abandoned. Clark worried about her, but
she kept trying to tell him that since she was no longer poking her
nose into bad guys' business, bad guys were no longer interested in
her.

She interrupted him, "Don't say it. I'm not going unless I
absolutely have to. And I'll be on the coast in Guayaquil. The
volcano's way up in the mountains, hundreds of miles away. What
danger could I be in?"

He looked sideways at her, shook his head and said, "I'm not even
gonna touch that one."

"Good, because you know it won't do you any good," she said, laughing.

"It never does. Well, if you have to go, Hector will be there and he
can look after you."

"I don't need *looking after*; and really, Hector doesn't strike me
as the rugged he-man bodyguard type. More like the bookish,
accounting type."

"Looks can be deceiving," he said, grinning at her, "as you should 
remember. He's very capable; he just prefers to use his brain, rather 
than his brawn."

"Okay, okay. I want Maria to be working with him anyway, so I guess
if it makes you feel better, he can "*look after* us. Besides, I may
not even be going, so this whole discussion is moot. What about you?
You're going to be content to sit here in Metropolis and let Hector
have all the fun?"

"That's what I do-- delegate-- whenever I can. And I won't be going
down there unless there are real problems, which I don't foresee
unless a certain little tornado turns everything upside down."

"Well it might be kind of fun to go together. A sort of South
American second honeymoon."

"How many second honeymoons do you need? Are you trying for every
country in the world?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Actually, I kinda like that idea myself. But sorry, Honey, I can't do
it this time. I have a report to the Council coming up and I've got
to get working on it."

"Spoilsport. Guess we'll just have to make do with The Farm."

"I'm weak with anticipation."

They smiled at each other, touched hands and relegated Ecuador to
obscure corners of their minds. Now free from intruding thoughts,
they rode: he, silent, listening delightedly to Lois chatter about
the sights they were passing, what a perfect day it was, describing
for him what he had already seen; the two of them enjoying the feel
of the warm sun on their bodies, the rush of air touching their
faces, and breathing in the smell of the soil. As they passed through
the heart of the Great Plains, their own heartbeats gradually slowed
to the pulse of the farmland.

When they finally reached their destination they were met by Andy
Sawyer, their caretaker and longtime friend.

"Hey, Andy."

"Good to see you, Andy," Clark said, shaking his hand.

"How're you folks doing? Lois. Clark. "

"Wonnnderful now that we're here again," said Lois spreading her arms
wide and pirouetting as she took in the familiar surroundings.

"We won't be able to stay long, but it feels great just to see the
old place again," said Clark.

"Here, I'll help ya get these bags upstairs and then you can just
unwind", said Andy. "Things are pretty quiet now that the harvest is
over. Had a real good Corn Festival this year. Too bad you couldn't
make it."

"We really missed being here. The Corn Festival is something really
special to us," Lois said, smiling at Clark.

Smiling back, Clark added, "Yeah. We'd never miss it if we had the 
choice."

By this time the bags were safely deposited in Clark's old room.
"Why don't you relax, Honey. I'm gonna walk Andy out. Shouldn't be
too long. You can decide how you want to spend the rest of the
afternoon."

With that, he and Andy walked down the stairs and out into the yard.
Lois knew that they would spend some time discussing the repair of
the place and what it needed to get through another Kansas winter.
And Clark would find out about Andy's family, his newly married
daughter and was there a grandchild on the way yet; and his son now
at Clark's old Alma Mater; would he be playing football and what were
the chances for the team this year.

Andy's wife had passed away 3 years before, after an unexpected
stroke, and it had been hard on him and the children, but they were
finally getting past their grieving time and Lois hoped that Andy
might even find someone to share, if not his life, at least some
happy times. She shivered as the thought fleetingly touched her
consciousness of what losing Clark would mean to her.

She unpacked their things, put them away and changed into jeans and a
sweater, deciding that she would like to go for a walk, maybe down to
the lake. She was just putting on her walking boots when Clark came
back into the room. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. You know, that guy is really something. The Farm couldn't be
in better shape, the house is tip-top, and he's worried that we might
think he's not doing his job. Also, it seems that Agri-Com wants to
re-negotiate our deal even though we have another year left on our
contract. Andy thinks another big outfit is nosing around this area
and that we might have some leverage to improve on the current
agreement. What do you think about that?"

"I think the business world lost another Donald Trump when Andy
decided to be a farmer. His family?'

"Everyone's doing fine. No grandchild on the way yet, the football
season looks promising, and Andy seems happier than I've seen him in
a long time. He mentioned that he asked Sarah Godden to come in and
cook while we're here and from the look on his face, I'd say they
might be doing a little cooking themselves." Noticing her boots, "A
walk?"

"Yep, through the woods and around the lake. Get that spin thing
going S-man and let's get outta here."

She had barely said the words when, clad in boots, jeans and a
flannel shirt, he was opening the door for her. "Shall we cross
Shuster's field first, or coming back?"

"Coming back. I want to go through the woods before it gets too
chilly. These sunny days are nice, but they don't last very long."

He nodded in agreement, saying, "Better take a jacket," as he grabbed 
one for each of them off the coat rack.

Then they were out the door and down the steps, headed past the house
toward the woods in back. As they entered the gloom of this 20-acre
patch of O-so-scarce trees in the Kansas prairie, the odor of the
damp earth rose to their nostrils. Clark breathed deeply as though
he were taking sustenance from the smell of the rich soil. Lois, too,
breathed in the scent of the cool loam, and smiled remembering that
the first time she came through here she had thought something was
dead. Where were the carbon monoxide, hot grease, mixed perfumes,
garbage, heavy musk smells that said 'life' in Metropolis? Now she
thought she would be content to walk this fragrant corridor daily for
the rest of her life. <What was that old poem? 'The woods are
lovely, dark and deep; but I have promises to keep and miles to go
before I sleep.' Well maybe someday, we can spend day after long
lazy day, quietly, here. But for now the occasional trip will have
to do.>

Clark took her hand and they wandered down the path delighting in the
colorful mix of dark evergreens interspersed with deciduous trees'
changing hues of red, orange, gold, an occasional autumn bronze,
burnt sienna or a startling magenta: an Impressionist's painting
capturing their eyes and enhancing their sensibilities.

The path suddenly opened to sunlight shining on still water mirroring
the azure sky; they stopped, immersed in the new sensations,
overwhelmed with the pleasure of absorbing them. He dropped her hand
and put his arm around her shoulders.

"It's almost too much to bear, isn't it?" she whispered. "I expect
the world will have to end after such a perfect moment." He squeezed
her shoulder in response; he had no words.

They circled the lake and found themselves in Shuster's field as the
sun dropped low on the horizon. Arm in arm they walked silently
across the grass, down the road and passed by the barn to lean on a
fence and watch the sun slowly dip beyond their vision, leaving fiery
yellow remnants in a haze of smoke from someone burning leaves
somewhere. They inhaled deeply the tang of the smoke mixed with the
sharp frost of the night air, freeing childhood memories of piling up
leaves, jumping in them, standing with Daddy watching the bright
patterns turn to ash.

They continued to stand while the blackness crept upon them; suddenly
they could see a single star, then a sky full of stars. A waxing
harvest moon nearly a perfect circle dispelled the dark and they
wrapped arms around each other gazing at the resplendent heavens,
heads touching until Lois shivered and had to put on her jacket.
Then they turned and walked into the farmhouse where cheerful lights
and a warm fire turned away the chill of the night.

Sarah had left a hearty country meal of chicken and dumplings with
green beans and carrots, a salad and a cinnamon apple crisp with
heavy cream. Clark loved the warm feeling of the good farm food.
Lois concurred except that she would have preferred something
chocolate for dessert.

They ate in the kitchen and, afterwards, quickly cleaned up; then, he
made a pot of tea. They adjourned to the comfortable family room and
sat in front of the log fire, feet up on the coffee table, enjoying
their tea-- finally decompressed from the vexations of Metropolis
living.

He put his arm around her and kissed the side of her forehead. She
leaned her head on his shoulder and watched the fire, pensively.
Finally she spoke:

"Clark, do you ever wonder if our kids could possibly have found as
much happiness as we have? Do you think it's possible that anyone
could?"

"I don't know, Honey. I just know that every day we have together is
better than the last, and I don't want to analyze it or question its
place in the great scheme of things. I just want to live it."

Raising her head, she turned his face toward her with her hand and
kissed him gently on the lips.

"How come you always seem to know the perfect thing to say at times
like this?"

"It's your influence, darlin'. You just seem to have that effect on me."

It was his turn now and he took her lips in his, lightly tasting
them, more loving than lusting. They settled together comfortably.

"I guess it would be a lot to expect for anyone, even Laura and Chris
to find what we've found. I just worry that they might have settled
for less. Well, not *they*. I think Chris is happy, or will be when
he stops playing Peter Pan. He has Helene and they're so *right*
together. But I'm afraid Laura may have made a mistake and is too
stubborn to admit it."

He looked at her in surprise. "You don't think she and Jack are
right for each other?"

"C'mon Clark. She's *my* daughter and she's married to *Ralph*. How
could they be right for each other?"

He chuckled at the image. Ralph who had been a reporter with them at
the Daily planet might have been charitably described as "obnoxious".
On any sensitivity meter applied to the terms "cultured" and
"political correctness", he would have ranked several degrees lower
than Ace Ventura.

"Yes, Jack *does* remind me of Ralph in some ways, but there must be
something solid there, or she wouldn't have fallen so head-over-heals
in love with him."

"Well, if there *is* anything worthwhile he sure keeps it well
hidden, because I haven't seen even a glimmer, except during their
first few months together. And by the way, that expression
'head-over-heels' could be an appropriate description for a very
physical attraction that burned itself out."

"You think that?"

"I don't know. I just feel that something's not right, but no matter
how much I hint, she won't talk to me about it."

"Honey, you know Laura. When she's ready, she'll tell you everything."

"Sweetie, she's *your* daughter. She needs a *lot* of prompting.
This is one secret I don't think I can figure out by myself."

He laughed, bent to kiss her again, when there was a knock at the door.

It was Andy who had come by at Clark's request, to finalize some
strategy for negotiating with Agri-Com.

"I'm sorry, Hon. This is going to take a while. Should we go out to
the workshop?"

"No, that's okay. I'm a little tired. I think I'll go on up to bed
and read. Take your time. Good night, Andy."

"'Night, Lois."

"I won't be too late, Honey. See you in a bit."

Later, Lois lay in Clark's old room, waiting for him to join her. He
was usually the one waiting, but tonight while he talked with Andy,
she had removed her makeup, showered, slipped on her nightgown,
brushed her hair 25 times and slid into bed, missing the liquid brown
eyes that usually watched her do these things.

She and Clark preferred to use his old room when they were at The
Farm, even though the larger master bedroom where Martha and Jonathon
had been comfortable for so many years was empty and theirs now by
default. At holiday times, with their family gathered, they did use
the larger room, but preferred the smaller one when they were there
alone.

The familiarity of something that had been only Clark's and the
intimacy of the narrow bed comforted both of them. Lying close to
each other, forced to touch even in sleep, they shared a chrysalis of
renewal, each taking strength from the other, so that when they woke
it was to be reborn into a fresh inviting world. The Farm had this
effect on them, always: a magical retreat where cares disappeared
and everything was possible.

Lois remembered the first time she had seen the room that she loved,
when Martha, in assigning sleeping arrangements, had wondered if she
and Clark were.... and she had quickly said "no...no!" rolling her
eyes at the impossibility of such a thing. Clark had blushed and
turned his head in embarrassment. But it was on that trip that she
had first seen Clark as something more than a partner who had been
thrust upon her; as someone she could care for as a friend. Every
time she visited The Farm after that, their relationship seemed to
have changed, as she grew closer and closer to admitting her love for
him. What a foolish waste of time it had been to first deny and then
resist those feelings.

Her husband finally came in, smiled at her, closed the door behind 
him, said, "I'll just be a minute," entered the batheroom and, almost 
instantly, re-emerged, hair damp from the shower, wearing sleeping shorts.

Lois regarded his well-proportioned body, her in-drawn
breath attesting to the effect his physique imparted and her
knowledge of how he could harness that strength and power to focus on
bringing pleasure to her and satisfaction to both of them. As he
aged, his bulk had shrunk slightly, and there were a few sags around
his neck, but the force that he radiated erased their visibility.

"Get all the problems ironed out?" she asked. He shook his head.
"There really aren't any. We're very lucky to have found Andy to
look after this place. I guess Mom and Dad *found* him when they
took him on as a hired hand. But to know that he actually *wanted*
to stay on here when they finally had to move into Silver Meadows..."
He shook his head again in puzzlement.

"I know," said Lois. "Not many people want to live on a farm these
days, much less want the responsibility of keeping it up. Even
though he doesn't do any actual farm work, he does have to keep this
old place in repair and check to be sure that Agri-Com doesn't
abuse the land."

"Well, Honey, that's not as likely as it once might have been. You
know with 15 billion people on the planet, there just isn't *enough*
land anymore. Everyone is forced to take care of what we have. If
we hadn't been able to lease our land for conglomerate farming, we'd
have had to give up the place long ago."

"I can't imagine our lives without this." She gestured around her,
pausing to consider what consequences that would bring. "This place
has meant so much in our lives and for our kids. The summers they
spent here with your folks kept them in touch with what's good in
life and away from the sick influences in Metropolis."

"I thought you big city girls didn't like spending time with all
these cows and us hayseeds. And Metropolis isn't the perfect place to
live?"

She smiled. "Let's just say, I've learned a few things from a pretty
impressive Farm Boy." She continued, speaking seriously, "Anyway, with 
such an overpopulation problem, I wonder how much longer we can justify
having two homes, It doesn't seem fair when so many have to live in
100 story apartment boxes. I'm really trying to make CHILD a force
for birth control, but many local communities, where populations are
low, just refuse to listen to anything that doesn't meet their
particular needs."

"Well you can't force it on them. Isn't that why CHILD has been so
successful? Because it leaves autonomy pretty much at the community
level, rather than sending directives from the top."

"You're right, but it's still frustrating when the problem is so
serious... I know, I know. It's always easier when a few people
make the decisions and everyone else just has to go along. I *do*
understand the Universal Code; I just don't always have to like it."

"What? You complaining about rules? I'd never have thought it."

"Yeessss, of course," she purred. "And how very bright of you to say
so. Now, are you coming to bed, or are you going to continue to
stand there showing off your, mmm," she languidly toured his body with
her eyes moving over his bare chest, down his washboard stomach and
lingering below his waist, before returning to his face, leaving
scorched flesh in their wake, "mmm intelligence?"

He looked at her-dark curly hair, lovely face, bare tanned shoulders,
diaphanous nightgown and retorted, "*You* have a very smart mouth. I
think I need to teach it and you another lesson."

Her voice was low and sultry: "Well I'm always receptive to
instruction, if you really think you have something to *teach* me."
She gave him a mock defiant look.

He dived on top of her, but controlled his descent so that he landed
very gently but firmly, holding her in place as her knees cradled him.

"Now, where shall I start?" He began to kiss her, his tongue seeking
entry at her lips. There was no struggle. Her mouth opened to him
and their tongues flicked lightly, exploring each other. Her arms
went around his shoulders, her hands feeling the taut muscles of his
back and moving across and around, delighting in the smoothness of
his skin. His response to her touch was instantaneous and his breath
quickened. He rolled to his side taking her with him.  Helping each 
other they removed the remainder of their clothing.

Now his hands began to gently search her body, imparting adoration 
with every touch, drawing from her equal moves and small sounds of 
appreciation.

He levitated above her, on his knees, and his eyes traveled slowly up
the length of her body, following the sinuous curves that lured and
entrapped him just as they had done in their first sexual encounters.
She was the embodiment of Woman in his eyes and would be at whatever
age.

She inhaled sharply as she caressed the completeness of him with her 
eyes, her gaze crossing over his chest, taking in his powerful biceps, 
his neck, chin and finally meeting his eyes at the moment he looked 
into hers.

In his she saw wonder tinged with the modicum of fear and doubt with
which he always regarded her in these moments, questioning, "Is it
true. Do you really love only me? Are you really mine? Will I never
lose you?" In her eyes he saw deep love, constant and sustaining
that said, "I love you. We belong together. You will never lose me."

No matter the number of times the act was repeated, the questions
were always asked, and the reply always given, in a renewal of
commitment exchanged freely.

Now he was kissing down her throat. She took his head in her hands
and helped him find the right places. They made love with the sweet 
familiarity borne of their years together.

They lay, resting; then his need of her and her desire for him
flickered again and he began to kiss and caress her, finding the
intense reaction he'd hoped for as she responded, moving into his
hands and under his body. They loved again, discovering once more 
the great passion that still burned between them.

Later they fell asleep--he, heavily and deeply; she lightly and
intermittently, waking frequently, her brain tumbling over with
uncontrolled thoughts. The Farm, the spell it cast, the years of
their lives.

It always seemed to be the same, the night before her birthday.
Memories, good and bad, crowded her brain and demanded to be taken
out and examined before they could be discarded for another year.

She watched him sleep, this man she had fought loving for so long.
Childlike, wise; naïve, sophisticated; farm boy, world traveler; the
gentlest, most selfless person she had ever known, the strongest man
in the world; best friend, passionate lover; alien being and
inhabitant of earth with a greater sense of humanity than most of the
natives of the planet; Clark Kent, Superman--all of these made up the
paradox and paradigm that were her husband.

What a miracle it was, not just that he had found her, but that he
had chosen her, and then refused to let her reject him.

And how lucky she was that her Aunt Liz had shown her that she was
being foolish about him; that loving and giving were indispensable,
too vital to squander. She thought of her Aunt Liz, her life and her
death too soon, in a plane crash, and what her life and death had
meant to her niece. Perhaps that was the story she would tell this
year at her birthday celebration.

Clark shifted slightly, his body warming the length of her. She
leaned against him, laying her arm across his waist, listening to him
breathe.

<His sleep is so deep these days, deeper but not as long.> She
wondered if it were something she should be worried about, or was it,
as he said, just another sign of growing old?

<Surely it was *that*, not some signal that his powers were going
more rapidly.> No, she was sure that all was right in their world.

But in Laura's world? <Oh, my precious little one, how I wish I
could kiss it and make it all better, but you bear your hurts alone
these days.>

<How beautiful the moonlight is through the window.> She yawned.

<What a lovely day this has been.> She snuggled against her husband,
and closed her eyes, just for a moment. As she wandered into sleep
her last thought was <Oh, Laura, please let me help.>

Feigning sleep, Clark lay savoring the warm softness of his wife's
body molded against him and thought sadly that perhaps this was the
last time they would share this bed.

After endless nights lying here, wondering if he would always have to
be alone, or if he would be lucky enough to find someone who could
love him; who could share his life; who could belong to him; through
some impossible whim of destiny, out of all the women in the
universe, he had found *her*. She was here, she loved him, she shared
his life and she belonged only to him.

Now he would have to give her up, if what he suspected turned out to
be true; he couldn't see any other way. His eyes, open in anguish,
closed against the unbearable thought.
++++++++++

METROPOLIS October 17, 2032

You can look into her eyes and live forever;
She's as restless as the sea;
She's as calm as a summer's dawn
She's that kind of mystery.

Love comes in the sound of a dream
In the whisper of a prayer and the promise in a sigh;
Love comes from the corners of a smile,
But it isn't meant for you; she'll only stay a while
     Bill Morrissey

On the night of her 65th birthday, Lois sat looking critically at
herself in her makeup mirror. Hair curled attractively and in place,
foundation lightly applied, eye shadow blended in evenly, eyebrows
shaded lightly, mascara and eyeliner perfectly highlighting her eyes,
lipstick shade just right and applied neatly-so what was wrong?
She had an unsettling feeling about something.

Rising, she walked over to the full length mirror to see a lithe,
attractive woman wearing a deep violet high-necked dress of velvet
with a matching short jacket, perhaps a little too dressy for a
bistro like Chez Pierre, but she liked to dress up for her birthday
and the kids expected it. Her shoes were black leather pumps and her
purse a matching Chanel clutch with a gold clasp. Around her neck
was a gold heart shaped locket Clark had given her many years ago and
her earrings were simple gold teardrops. She had forsaken her watch
this evening and wore plain gold bangles on her right wrist. She
looked --

"Sensational," said Clark from the doorway of their bedroom. She
turned her head and smiled at him.

"Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself," she said, taking in his
very nicely-cut charcoal suit, patterned white on white shirt
bedecked with a Dali-esque tie and well-shined black oxford shoes.

"And since you look so great, why are you frowning at yourself?"

As she opened her mouth to reply, the doorbell chimed once and then
again insistently.

"I'll get it," said Clark. "Hold that thought; I'll be right back."

She turned her attention back to the mirror. <Why *am* I frowning?
Everything *looks* okay, but *something* doesn't *feel* okay.> She
looked at herself, waiting for that person in the mirror to give her
an intelligent answer.

<This is ridiculous. Next I'll be getting out the Ouija board to see
if I can get Katie Banks to give me some answers. I know it's almost
Halloween, but spooks are definitely not a part of tonight's agenda.>

She heard a crash from downstairs and the sound of glass breaking.

"Clark?" she called loudly. "Is everything all right?"

"All taken care of, Hon. Everything's under control."

<Right. I'd better go see what the damage is.> She walked toward
the bedroom door just as Clark appeared carrying a white vase filled
with deep red roses interspersed with creamy tulips, folds lined in
red.

"Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!" He placed the vase on a table by the
door, took her in his arms and kissed her lovingly.

"Oh Clark, they're beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Is this what you were
on the phone about earlier?" She kissed him lightly on the lips.
"You are *so* sweet!" She gave him a radiant smile.

"If I can get that smile with just a few flowers, I might become a
florist." Another smile and another kiss.

"Uh, Honey. You know that big glass vase you had?"

Arranging the flowers. "You mean the Waterford Crystal one the Dublin
CHILD people gave me when..." Horrified pause. "You broke it?"

"I'm really sorry, Honey. I didn't know it had sentimental value.
Not that that would have made any difference; it just seemed to slip
out of my hand."

She stopped thinking about the vase. This was not a normal thing.
"What? It was wet, or you didn't get a good grip?"

"No, I was carrying it over to the sink to put water in it, and I
couldn't feel the vase for a second; it was like my hand wasn't
there. I must have been distracted by something. I'm really sorry
about it. I can get you another; it just won't be from the Dublin
people."

"Something from you is a hundred times more precious to me than all
the gifts in the world from someone else. You know that." She tried
to sound matter-of-fact, hoping he would not see her concern. "But 
how does your *hand* feel now? Is it all right?"

He answered in an offhand manner, "Feels just like always. As I said, 
I think I heard something from outside that distracted me. It won't 
spoil your evening, will it?"

She came over and put her arms around him, giving him a tight hug.
"As long as you're with me, it can't be spoiled." But she
determined, as she turned away to take the vase downstairs, that she
would definitely talk with Bernie Klein about this tomorrow.

+++++

When they arrived at Chez Pierre, Laura and Jack were already there
waiting at a table in an alcove, Laura having made arrangements for a
semi-private setting for the party.

Laura greeted her parents with a kiss and a hug, giving a special one
to Lois along with a "Happy birthday, Mom."

Jack shook hands with Clark saying, "Hey, Big Fella," and slapping him
on the shoulder. From his indistinct speech, it was clear he had
already visited the bar several times.

"Lois, Sugar! If you aren't just the sexiest thing I've seen in a
month a Sundays. You don't look like a senior citizen to me, heh,
heh." He laughed blearily.

Lois tried not to cringe, but Laura did it for her. Clark quickly
intervened, taking Jack by the elbow, moving him away from the two
women, saying, "Tell me about your last trip, Jack. I understand you 
were in Moscow. As I recall it begins to get really cold there this 
time of year."

"I'm sorry, Mom. He stopped at the bar as soon as we got here. He's
been really upset about something since he came back yesterday and
alcohol seems to be his way of forgetting."

"Alcohol is a very poor way of solving problems, no matter how much
you forget. You know you're just making excuses for him, Laura. Is
that your way of forgetting?"

"Forgetting what, Mother? Jack and I are going through a bad patch
right now. It's nothing serious. We'll work through it."

"Honey, you know I'm here for you whenever you need me. I wish you'd
talk to me about it, let me help you."

"Honestly, Mother, there's nothing to talk about. We'll handle it."

"Okay, Okay. I guess I have to apply the Universal Code even in my
own family."

"What?"

"Nothing, just something your father and I were talking about."
Lois, looking around, changed the subject by saying, "I really love 
this place."

At one time in the past there probably really had been a Pierre at
home in this restaurant, but he had long ago moved on to another
kitchen, in another place--a grand hotel in New York City or on the
Continent, maybe even Paris itself. Or perhaps he had gone into the
Great Beyond seeking a place as sous-chef at the feet of the great
Escoffier.

Chez Pierre itself had undergone many changes through the years,
most of them for the worse. It had served time as a Pizza joint, a 
Chinese take-out, even a Dairy Queen. Eventually, life being what 
it is, it had come almost full circle.

Where, in its inception, there had been white walls, white
tablecloths, gleaming cutlery, sparkling crystal, waiters in black
tie-- in short a high style Grand Cordon Bleu establishment -- there
were now the color, warmth and intimacy of a neighborhood Bistro
which, nevertheless, counted among its patrons professionals of all
ages from all over Metropolis.

At one side of the room, a serving counter of dark red brick fronted
an open kitchen whose cast iron stove and stainless steel appliances
sat before a similar red brick wall.

On the opposite side of the room was a huge natural stone fireplace
in which artificial logs containing fuel pellets blazed brightly. A
dark, carved oak mantle encompassed the opening and on it sat antique
implements, kitchenware from several centuries ago: pewter plates and
mugs, an iron kettle, a long handled warming pan and small black pots
with handles for hanging over a fire.

To one side, set into a wall next to the mural of a French countryside,
was the door to a hallway leading to the rear entrance. On the other
side were recessed alcoves providing semi-privacy for groups of 
party-goers.

The floor between was home for wooden tables bearing checked
tablecloths of white and red matching the color of the brick and
chairs of sturdy wood frames with comfortable padded backs and seats
covered in pewter colored fabric. Each table was festooned with bud
vases containing red and white carnations and votive candles in round
glass holders. Most of these tables were occupied by patrons
chatting and enjoying their food. The ordered sound of classical music 
from the Baroque period provided a pleasant background to the low hum 
of voices.

As frequently happens when restaurants come and go quickly, the
original electric sign on the building façade had remained through
all of the structure's incarnations, and was now a Metropolis
landmark. No matter who the proprietor might be, the place would
forever be known as Chez Pierre.

The current inhabitant, Maxim Lavalier, presided from the open 
kitchen. Beneath a white chef's hat, his round face, setting a tone 
of comfortable cheeriness, beamed a welcome to friends and 
newcomers. Since it was a family owned and operated establishment, 
Maxim's wife Angelique greeted customers and handled the cash 
register; son, Jean, and daughter, Amelie, waited tables clad in 
red striped shirts with knotted yellow neck kerchiefs and black 
wide leg trousers cinched at the waist with soft cord.

From the kitchen, depending upon the evening's Especialites des Jour,
came the enticing odors of Bouillabaisse, Ratatouille, Ragout de
Veau, Poulet en Cocotte or Cassoulet de Porc et Agneau. A Biftec
Bordelaise avec Champignons could be had by those who preferred not
to stray too far, gastronomically, from the good old USA.

The food was delicious; the wines, first-rate; the atmosphere
inviting; the ambience, comfortable; the small alcoves off the main
room made a semblance of privacy possible and she and Clark held
sentimental memories of having had their first real date here.

<I couldn't have picked a better place to celebrate. I just hope
Jack-ass doesn't get too unbearable> She had mentally bestowed this
name upon her son-in-law on another such night when he had been an
insufferable donkey, braying crude remarks loudly, drawing glares from
strangers surrounding them. But she would never have used the epithet
aloud, although she *had* shared it with Clark.

Her reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Chris and Helene.

"Happy Birthday, Beautiful. My favorite Mom is looking terrific as usual."

Chris lifted Lois off her feet and twirled her around while bestowing
a big wet kiss on her cheek. She gave him a playful punch to remind
him to have respect, but her smile belied any reprimand. Helene
followed with a hug and kiss of her own, then greetings were
exchanged among all family members, with Jack perhaps lingering a bit
too long in his embrace of his sister-in-law. Chris, noting this
unwelcome attention, moved in to separate the two; while doing so, he
and Clark exchanged raised eyebrows.

Christopher James Kent was 5 years younger than his sister and
different in looks and personality. Where Laura was dark like her
parents he was fair with striking auburn hair, a corporeal reminder
of Elizabeth Curtis, Ellen Lane's sister. His eyes were green with
brown flecks and the mischief in them was Lois' own when she was
deliberately going *her* way contrary to Clark's precautions. It was
Clark's broad smile he bestowed on everyone about him; although it
could, upon provocation, morph into Lois' impish grin.

Chris stood six feet three inches tall with muscles of steel and
inherited Superpowers. In his persona as The Defender he was forced
to cover his hair with a cowl and wear a mask and contact lenses to
hide his eyes so that he would not be recognized. He hated the
deception necessary to hide his real identity, but chafed even more
under the tight rein, which Superman imposed, that prevented the kind
of hi-jinks he loved to indulge in. He was a good-natured prankster
and found in laughter the zest for life he might otherwise have
missed.

At 29, he was still, in many ways, an errant schoolboy playing tricks
to keep from being bored. Why this was so was a mystery to his
parents. He had been their bonus baby, the icing on the cake, the
cherry on top of the sundae. Lois had just about decided that the
miracle of conception was not going to repeat itself, when without
warning, he was there, inside her, growing, moving, kicking with a
fervor Laura had not exhibited. He had continued this frenzied
commotion after birth and throughout his childhood and adolescence.

He had plagued his teachers with his tricks and impressed them with
his intelligence. A natural leader, he was as likely to lead his
friends on a truant adventure angling for bottom fish down near Hobbs
Bay as he was to astound with the lightning solution to a
particularly difficult math problem.

And always following him in silent attendance was the beautiful
little girl, Helene Friskin Klein, only and unexpected child of Ruth
Friskin and Bernard Klein. Born six months apart, the two special
children had grown up together and she had been under his protection
since nursery school.

Quiet, and so intelligent that she seemed almost otherworldly with
her still, beautiful face and silver blonde curls, she was a natural
target for other less fortunate children: girls who mistrusted her
beauty and intelligence and boys, especially, who wanted her to
notice them and therefore showed their interest by making her life
miserable.

Chris would have none of it and quickly established that anyone who
bothered her would answer to him. Since he was capable of inflicting
more misery on them than they could on her, her classmates left her
alone, which meant that she was virtually without friends. Except
for Chris. They became inseparable. Even when she had strayed from
academe as a teen to dabble in modeling, he was there on the fringe
of the sycophants and panderers who wanted to exploit her beauty and
amiability. He steadied her and when she decided to leave the high
life to study medicine he was at her side encouraging and supporting
her.

She became a psychiatrist conducting experiments in human behavior
at STAR Labs and he, following in his parents' footsteps, became a
hard-working journalist with the promise of many Kerth awards and
perhaps a Pulitzer in his future. It was accepted by both families
that they would marry and so they had, fulfilling everyone's
expectations and living happily ever after. If there were such a
thing...

Now they sat across the table from Lois and she smiled at them,
seeing, she thought, a perfect couple. Only...<Well, Clark and I are
a perfect couple, so why can't they be? So they've been married
three years and still haven't started a family. Maybe they have some
of the same problems Clark and I had. Maybe they're not ready for
children, yet. Maybe they don't want children. Stop this, Lois.
*One* of your children has a happy marriage. Don't look for trouble.
Oh, god, I'm beginning to sound like Clark.>

Jean appeared, distributing menus, and Amelie opened a bottle of
wine, pouring a taste for Clark's approval. Aware of her mother's
preferences, Laura had ordered Lois' favorite red wine, a full-bodied
Bordeaux from 2025. There were a number of synthetically produced
wines available, but none had yet been able to reproduce the earthy
undertones of vintages from real vine-produced fruit seasoned in oak
barrels.

Clark nodded consent after tasting and Amelie filled stemmed glasses
around the table. Clark looked around, then raised his glass. "To
the smartest, loveliest, most exasperating woman I have ever known.
Lois Lane Kent, my wife, your mother. Happy birthday, Sweetheart!"

The others raised their glasses joining the toast and saying, "Hear, 
hear."

Laughing, Lois replied, "Thank you to my husband and children who
tease me, ignore my advice and fill my life with joy," and raised her
glass and drank.

Clark leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, saying, "I love you,
Honey!" Before he could retreat, she took his face in her hands and
kissed him soundly on the lips to the cheers of everyone else at the
table.

Jean returned with bread and Pate de Veau et porc avec gibier, a
Lavalier family recipe highly prized by Metropolitans. The group
turned to enjoying the appetizer with their wine while perusing the
menu.

Lois noticed Laura and Chris look up with that familiar blank stare.
<Oh, dear.> She sighed. < One of these years we'll actually be able
to eat this meal together. Looks like no birthday story this year.
Aunt Liz will have to wait.> She glanced at Clark and saw that he
had also seen them, and, for a moment, seemed surprised. <Why is he
surprised? Didn't he hear it too?>

Laura and Chris rose simultaneously. "Sorry, Mom. We might be able
to get back in time to eat," Chris said.

"Wouldn't be my birthday without something happening. Just be
careful out there."

Clark added. "I'll walk out with you. Use the back way, so it'll look
like we're going to the rest rooms."

"Dad, you don't need to come; if we can get back before too long
we'll let you know telepathically. You could go ahead and order.
Jack can order for me and Helene for Chris," Laura said.

"Sure, Babe. I know what you like," Jack replied, leering
suggestively at his wife, whose face turned the color of the brick in
the kitchen.

Lois stiffened, narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth, but Clark
intercepted disaster by placing one hand momentarily on her arm and
saying, "Come on, Jack, you can walk with us," seizing him by the arm
and lifting him bodily from the chair.

Chris placed a kiss on Helene's cheek and turned away saying, "Don't
worry, Hellie. We shouldn't be long." Lois heard Helene whisper,
"Please be careful," and noticed her eyes fill with tears. While she
puzzled over this reaction, the others left the table and walked into
a hallway at the rear of the restaurant.

Once there, Clark spoke quickly and softly, "Chris, don't take
chances. And be sure there's no one around before you spin into the
suit. Send me a message, Laura, although I think this party's about
to break up, anyway. Chris, if it does we'll take Helene home." Then
the Superheroes hurried out the rear exit.

As the door closed behind them, Clark seized Jack's arm and firmly
moved him into the men's room, propelling him hard against the wall.
After a quick check of the stalls with his Super Vision to be sure
they were alone, he turned to his son-in-law. The deceptive softness
of his voice did not negate the intensity of his words as he lifted
the man to his tiptoes and thrust his face towards him in
confrontation saying,

"You've just publicly embarrassed my daughter, and I'm greatly
tempted to forget myself and hurt you. But you *are* her husband and
a member of this family, unfortunately. For whatever reason, she's
loyal to you, but if you ever, ever speak to her that way again, you
*will* face the consequences."

As he held Jack against the wall, he suddenly had an almost
uncontrollable urge to pick him up and throw him into the mirror
whose breaking shards would surely have gashed terrible cuts all over
his face and hands. The surge of strong emotion shocked Clark and
distracted him for a moment. It was a foreign and at the same time
strangely familiar feeling--one he had almost forgotten he possessed,
and that he had felt only a few times in his life--the first time
when he had fought Lord Nor and allowed his Kryptonian killer
instinct to emerge. <What is happening to me? I don't hear the
alarms that Laura and Chris hear and now I want to smash... to kill?!
...Jack? I can't give in to this.> With great effort he composed
himself and returned his attention to his daughter's husband.

"Now put some cold water on your face, try to sober up and be
grateful I stopped Lois before she annihilated you. When you're
ready, we'll go back to the table, where you'll apologize, say good
night and leave."

With that, he released Jack, stepped back, and watched him as he
splashed water on his face. To his surprise, Jack faced him and said
soberly, "You may not believe this, but I deeply regret my behavior
tonight. Please accept my apology."

Clark blinked, taken aback by this unexpected contrition, stared at
Jack for a moment, shrugged, and replied, "Very nicely done, but it's
Laura you should be saying it to. Now repeat it to my wife and
Helene and get out of here." Then he followed Jack back to their
table.

After Jack had gone, the three people left attempted to converse
while they waited for the promised message from Laura, but Helene had
retreated within herself and would take no part in the repartee
except for short, terse answers to questions. Lois kept trying to
draw her out without success.

Clark was very still for a moment and said, "Looks like they won't be
back. Anyone hungry?" Getting no reply, he followed with, "Helene,
wanna grab a pizza with us?"

To which, with tears in her eyes, she replied, "No, Clark. I'd just
like to go home. Thank you for asking, though."

Exchanging perplexed looks, Lois and Clark accompanied Helene to the
door, and made their way out after making excuses to the Family
Lavalier and paying the bill. The trip to Chris and Helene's
apartment was a silent one and they made quick good-byes leaving a
morose young woman to enter her home alone.

Stopping for a pizza, they decided to take it with them, and while
they waited, Clark telepathed a message to Laura that the party was
over.

Back at 348 Hyperion, as they finished their meal sitting at the
kitchen table, Clark commiserated, "Sorry, Sweetheart; that was
another fine birthday mess, wasn't it?"

She laughed and replied, "Just another day in the life of a Super
family." And then more seriously, "Except that there's obviously some
private misery out there that nobody wants to talk about."

"Well, I've given Jack fair warning. He should behave better from now on."

"Yes, publicly, but we have no idea what's really going on between
them. And what was with Helene tonight? I feel so frustrated!"

Placing his hand on top of hers, Clark said in comforting tones, "I 
know, Honey. Being a parent doesn't seem to get any easier, no matter 
how long you're at it."

She turned her palm over and linked it with his. "Well, you know us.
No problem too great for Lane and Kent to solve. Together we can
beat any challenge."

He dropped his eyes as an imperceptible flash of painful sadness
crossed them; then he looked up smiling. "That's us. Unbeatable."
They stood, clearing away the remains of the food, and climbed the
stairs to their bedroom.

++++++++++

The party's over; it's time to call it a day;
They've burst your pretty balloon and taken the moon away.
It's time to wind up the masquerade;
Just make your mind up that the piper must be paid.
The party's over; the candles flicker and dim.
You've danced and dreamed through the night;
It seemed to be right just being with him;
It's time to wake up; all dreams must end;
Take off your make-up, the party's over
It's all over, my friend.
     Betty Comden and Adolph Green

When Clark came into the bedroom, she was kicking off her pumps and
shimmying out of her pantyhose, gratefully shucking off those
signatures of feminine bondage even as, with her actions, she
amplified her inherent femininity. In normal circumstances he would
have watched her with the warm satisfaction of the lover responding
with growing excitement to the familiar. But tonight he was
preoccupied.

He sat on the end of the bed and removed his shoes and socks. She
realized that he was not spinning to undress, something he did, or
rather did not do, when he was thinking seriously. Walking over to
her dressing table to remove and put away her jewelry, she watched
sideways as he carefully took off each article of clothing, putting
it in its place either in the closet or the laundry hamper until he
was wearing only his briefs. As he opened the dresser drawer to get a
pair of sleeping shorts, she thought she really enjoyed it more when
he undressed this way. As she watched him, the anticipation of their
traditional intimate birthday celebration sent a tingle through her.

Clark's thoughts, had Lois been able to read them, would not have
left her with such a pleasant glow. <If Klein confirms my
assumptions tomorrow, I'll have to leave right away. How can I tell
her? How can I leave her? If this is our last night together ...>

"Clark, would you unzip me?" She caught him before he put on his
sleeping garment and admired him from the corners of her eyes as he
walked to her.

"My pleasure," he said, pulling the zipper down deep below her waist.
He stood against her then, breathing her, pulling the open dress
further apart and placing a hand on her bare back. Her eyes closed as
he pushed the material away from her shoulders so that it dropped
forward to her waist revealing the black lace bra underneath. He slid
his left hand around her and grasping the fold of her dress pulled
down until it passed over her hips and dropped to her feet. She
lifted her left arm placing her hand back around his neck, arching
and stepped out of the dress wearing only the bra and matching lace
panties. <She's so beautiful!>

He murmured his approval, moving his hands over her. Her keening moan
jolted him like a high-tension wire, entering his body where his lips
grazed her throat and coursing through him.

Fingering the front clasp of her bra, he unhooked it with a practiced
hand, drew the flimsy lace away from her, turning her around and
seeking her lips with his fevered mouth. He covered them, tongue
urging her to receive it and she gladly complied, joining her tongue
with his tasting, jousting and exploring. Her hands discovered the
warm smooth skin of his torso, caressing the shape of his strength on
his chest, his arms, his back.

His hands continued their search augmenting the flame within her,
drawing from her the helpless sounds of her surrender to him. His
mouth left hers and moved down leaving hot kisses in its wake burning
a trail across her throat and the soft flesh covering her breastbone.
She moaned with impatient pleasure.

He realized through the haze of heightening desire that everything
was moving faster than he had intended. He wanted this night to be
one long slow memory of unforgettable pleasure for both of them, but
there were certain preludes that he wanted for his memories, and to
have them he had to delay, for the moment, this roller coaster they
had begun to ride.

He lifted his head and pulled back; she grunted her protest moving
her mouth toward him. The haze threatened to blur his intentions
again, but he tapped into his cognizant being, whispering hoarsely,

"Lois?"

"Mmumh." She was raking her open mouth across his chest.

He whispered harshly and with great effort, "Lois, I want to watch you
take your make-up off."

Continuing her exploration of his chest, she paused long enough to
mumble distractedly, "Later, Clark, later."

He pulled her head up to look into eyes smoky with desire, dampening
his resolution for a moment. "No, Honey, now. I want to see it now.
Please?"

Her eyes focused on his and she saw within them that pleading little
boy she could never refuse, but the fire in her body flamed and she
moved against him in lazy insinuation, feeling the respondent
movement that gave her hope that he could be persuaded to forget this
whim and return to her priority.

He gasped in appreciation of her technique, but refused to be
diverted. Pulling her close, he whispered against her hair, "I
*promise* you won't regret the delay, My Love. And you know how
*good* I am at keeping promises."

With anticipation now spurring her consciousness, she decided that
she could do this little thing quickly after which he could
fulfill his promise with deliberate expertise all night long.
Trembling at the thought, she turned to sit at the dressing table.
He stopped her, reaching into the closet for a soft maroon silk kimono,
which he slipped over her shoulders. Giving him a one-sided smile
of wry amusement, she waved her arms into the sleeves, tied the belt,
and sat down.

He sat on the end of the bed and watched the ritual he had seen
almost every night since their wedding: the application of the gooey
cream, followed by the tissue smearing it away leaving her face pink
and glowing--the real Lois that only he saw. The mask with which she
faced the world every day was beautiful and he loved it, but it was
not that face he wanted to remember. He wanted to brand into his
mind the Lois, without barriers or defenses, who revealed herself
only to him and whom he loved more than life. It was this Lois he
wanted to see beneath him, to turn inside out and pleasure to
exhaustion.

She turned to smile at him, surprised to see adoration revealed on
his face. "Satisfied?" she asked.

"More than you know." He rose to take her in his arms, holding her
close, taking in the familiar scent of her skin, closing his eyes to
implant it in memory. His lips and hands moved simultaneously
kissing and caressing, slowly sketching the fine bones and soft flesh
that made up her body. His arousal was immediate and greater than it
had been before; in response her banked embers flickered brighter,
the heat suffusing her with a yearning glow.

He tugged at the sash of her garment, loosening it and, drawing the
soft gown open, smoothed it over her shoulders letting it drop to the
floor as his hands stroked up and down the length of her arms.

Her hands reached to grasp his head lightly and pull it forward so
that her lips could find his and search them for entry. Their open
mouths embraced in a long kiss, tongues questing for inner selves
revealed only to passion's insistence. From deep in her throat came
that growl of impatient yearning.

She moaned and gyrated causing him almost to lose control of the
planned scenario and complete their erotic dance by ripping the
remainder of her clothing away and attacking her without thought or
reason.

With this terrible passion to fulfill his hunger, he felt the
Kryptonian in him stir again. He had suppressed it for so long,
denied its reality because he had chosen not to hurt or inflict pain.
But Ching had said it existed within all Kryptonians; that it had no
doubts, no heart, no mercy; desired only the kill. As his ability to
maintain control over those feelings and protect Lois from them had
eroded and become more erratic, he had felt a terror overwhelming
him, that if he stayed with her, he would hurt her physically.

Pausing and breathing deeply several times, he regained his control.
His desire again became the gentle lover's: not to ravish but to
worship her with his body. He lifted and floated them both to the
bed; lowering her carefully to lie beneath him, he quickly removed 
their clothes.

His eyes devoured her body and the Kryptonian strained forward again.
She stroked the side of his face and whispered his name with deep
love and passion, "Clark..." and his love for her subdued its menace.
His touch became soft and gentle as he caressed her in all the secret
places for arousing her desire that he had discovered through their
years of making love together.

He lifted himself over her and she looked at his face, expecting to
see his eyes on hers in their ritual of question, answer and
commitment, but his eyes were not there. Her momentary puzzlement
was forgotten as she lost herself in the sensate messages that
coursed through her entire frame, hitting her heart and brain with
simultaneous shocks that returned again and again touching every
nerve ending she possessed.

He had told her once that every time they made love,
they...made...love and so it was still. The familiarity of years of
loving, only enhanced the sensations and desire as they took each
other to the edge of their need: he moved, she followed; she moved,
he followed in a rhythmic pas de deux that increased in tempo to the
point of complete abandonment. He became one with her as she slipped
out of herself into the one being they became together and they were
surrounded by an aurora borealis of sensation. They became a single
being in a circle of uncomprehending giving and receiving, lost in
the waves satisfying their mutual desire. . As all barriers fell
allowing the intensity of their shared oneness to overwhelm them, he
forgot the Kryptonian self he feared.

Suddenly, heat and rage boiled his blood, as it surged through his
body in a flood of lust. Attacking without warning, he hurt her
savagely, coarsely; her involuntary protest struck him but left no
impression. He became the Kryptonian Warrior, without heart or
mercy, demanding total subjugation, invoking a surprised cry of pain, 
"No, Clark, stop!?!"

The sound of his name in her rasping voice snapped him into reality;
he stopped himself abruptly. <Oh God, what have I done!> In horror,
he backed away from her, hunkering, arms around himself, saying over
and over, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," tears streaking his
cheeks.

She curled into a protective fetal ball, hand over her stomach,
pressing away the hurt. Deep within her primordial being where only
he and she existed she heard his words and raised her head searching
for their source. Her reflexive answer to his anguished cry came from
where she had no rationality only feeling, and reaction. She could
not deny his need for her comfort or her love for him. Dragging
herself across the bed she touched him gently, putting her arms
around him, cradling and rocking, whispering, "Shhh. It's all right,
It's all right."

++++++++++

METROPOLIS October 18, 2032

A lady stands by an open window
Staring so far away;
She can almost feel the Southern wind blow
Almost touching her restless day.
She turns from her window to me
Sad her smile of apology
Sad eyes reaching to the door.

* * * * *

Suddenly it's so clear to me
That I'd ask her to see what she may never see.
So I offer these words of apology.
There's a train every day, leaving either way;
There's a world you know; there's a way to go.
You'll soon believe it's just as well;
This is my opening farewell.
     Jackson Browne

Still reeling from Dr. Klein's diagnosis, Clark quietly let himself
into the front door of the townhouse. He had flown wildly around the
world for hours, speeding from pole to pole, circumnavigating along
the equator, plunging in out of oceans and soaring almost into the
sun's viscous bubbling heat, but he couldn't escape the words that
had set his fate:

"I can describe what's wrong with you, Clark, but the treatment we've
tried hasn't worked and I don't know what else to do. You seem to be
getting worse, not better, and the effect of the symptoms is
accelerating. I can't be totally accurate, but it appears that you
will lose more and more control over your body, rapidly age and," he
stopped, then finally continued hesitantly and with regret, "after a
few months, you will die."

In response to the question, "How long?" Klein had reluctantly
answered, "Three months at the most."

So that was it. There was no point in debating with himself. He had
made up his mind. He knew what he had to do and had tried to steel
himself for the ensuing scene, but he knew there was no way to
prepare for the pain he was about to unleash.

He could sense Lois' presence and made his way silently up the stairs
to the door of their bedroom, where he saw her facing out the window,
porta-phone in hand, saying, "I don't understand, Bernie. He left
there at 1:30? But that was five hours ago. Did he say where he was
going?"

She waited, listening to the response, and then said in an agitated
manner, "What do you mean he was upset? Why would he be upset?"

Clark' Super Hearing involuntarily clicked on and he heard Bernard
Klein say, "Well, he was understandably shocked by my prognosis," when
Lois broke in,

"What prognosis? What are you talking about?"

"Lois, I thought Clark had discussed his condition with you. I don't
feel that I should say anymore. Talk with him."

"Bernie don't you dare pull that on me. I know something's wrong.
What is it? You *are* going to tell me..." At this point she turned
from the window and saw Clark standing in the doorway. "Bernie, I'll
call you back." Then she hit the 'off' button on the phone.

They looked at each other without speaking; then Clark crossed to his
closet, opened it and pulled a soft travel bag off the shelf.

"Clark, where have you been? I've tried to call you all day. Have
you been avoiding me? What's going on?"

After the horror of last night, she had fallen asleep holding him and
when he was sure he would not wake her he had dressed and left, not
wanting to face her in the reality of morning. He had gone to his
office where he found a memo concerning suspicious anti-environmental
activity in the Congo, and had made arrangements to leave on an
evening flight for Kinshasa. He had instructed his secretary to take
messages because he would be in conference and did not want to be
disturbed by anyone including his family.

He knew that Lois had called several times, leaving messages that had
become increasingly demanding of his attention. He wanted to hold
her off until time to leave for his 11:00 A.M. appointment at STAR
Lab, because he needed to know the result of Dr. Klein's treatments
and tests before he saw her. Well, now he knew, and now he had to
follow through with the plan he had decided would be necessary if the
results were negative.

He spoke harshly, "It's too bad I came back so soon. A few more
minutes and Dr. Klein would have told you the answers to all your
questions."

"You were listening?"

"You're right as always, Lois. I finally heard something I didn't
want to hear. Go on; call him back. I'm sure you can force him to
tell you what you want to know."

"I want you to tell me, Clark. What have you been hiding from
me...and why?" She was becoming more agitated and he knew he need
press only a button or two more and she would erupt into full-blown
anger, effectively blocking rational thought.

"I don't have time to get into it now, Lois. I have a plane to catch."

"What plane? Where are you going?"

"I have to go to The Congo for WERC. My plane leaves in about 3
hours and I have to stop by the office to pick up my ticket and
passport."

"Clark, you are not leaving here without telling me about this."

"Talk to Klein. He can explain it much better than I can anyway."
He had finished placing underwear and lightweight clothing suitable
for the equator in his bag. He now added his jungle boots and
several pairs of socks.

"I don't want to talk to Klein. I don't want him to tell me; I want
you to tell me."

"Well, it looks like you won't get what you want *this* time." He
zipped the bag closed, picked it up and walked toward the door.

"If you leave here now..."

He turned at the doorway and looked at her. "You'll what, Lois?" He
paused, but she made no reply. "I'll call you from the airport."
With that he turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs.
He had managed to maintain a cold, emotionless tone in his voice, one
that he knew she hated and would always cause her to react badly. He
thought as he went down the stairs, how sad it was that, of all the
things they had learned about each other during their years together,
how to hurt should be the most important at the end.

She watched him go with furious surprise. When she heard the front
door close, she picked up the phone and punched re-dial.

At the sound of the answering voice, she said, "Bernie? Don't leave.
I'm coming over."

+ + + + + + + + + +

Every time we say goodbye I die a little;
Every time we say goodbye I wonder why a little;
Why the gods above me, who must be in the know,
Think so little of me, they allow you to go.
When you're near there's such an air of Spring about it;
I can hear a lark somewhere begin to sing about it;
There's no love song finer, but how strange the change
From major to minor,
Every time we say goodbye.
     Cole Porter

Lois Lane roared into Dr. Bernard Klein's laboratory at full
throttle, shouting his name, taking the turn around his work table
with rpm's undiminished, before braking abruptly in his office
doorway, halted by the brief expression of terror her entrance had
incited. He was backed up against the bookshelf, hands up,
protectively, to ward off her advance.

"Bernie, you can run but you can't hide," she yelled. "I want to know
what's going on with Clark and you're going to tell me NOW!"

Klein had known her too long to think he could avoid breaking the
doctor-patient privilege, which had never really existed for Lois and
Clark anyway. What one knew, the other was allowed to know. It had
been that way since Lois' first pregnancy and he had no reason to
think it would be otherwise now, especially since Clark had told him
that, if it came to such a showdown situation, he should just tell her
what she demanded to know.

"Calm down, Lois. I will, of course, tell you whatever you want to
know. It has been an unusual and complicated case, complicated by
the unusual manifestation of a human disease like Amyotrophic Lateral
Sclerosis in combination with human gerontological acceleration and
the retro gradation of Kryptonian Super Pow..."

"DR. KLEIN!" she interrupted.

"What? Oh! Yes. Sorry. How shall I begin?"

"You can start by explaining what you just said in a way that I can
understand." She was calmer and less angry now. The scientific
words had an ominous sound and she understood just enough of them to
be a little frightened.

"How much do you know?"

"Almost nothing except that Clark is not himself and has been acting
strangely."

"Clark came to me in March..."

"In March! This has been going on since March and he didn't tell me?"

"Lois," Klein said gently, "*I* can't tell you if you keep
interrupting. Why don't you sit down and listen for a while? I
promise I'll keep it simple and you'll have a clear understanding of
what he's facing."

Now she *was* frightened and she nodded in mute agreement as she sat
wide-eyed and tense.

"Clark's symptoms fall into three categories: physical weakness and
loss of muscle control; pain, weakness and loss of dexterity caused
by hyper-activated aging; and, finally, a declining ability to
maintain control over his Super Powers. In other words, he's losing
control of his muscles and Super Powers, rapidly aging, and becoming
progressively weaker. These symptoms can all be traced to a
neuro-muscular origin along the spine.

"I attempted the usual tests to compare with the data that I have on
file and made the alarming discovery that his muscular density was so
low that I was actually able to capture X-Ray pictures of his
musculo-skeletal frame.

"The spinal photos were the most revealing and indicated an advanced
stage of a human disease, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, which you
may have heard called Lou Gehrig's disease, a condition in which the
upper and lower neurons along the spinal cord progressively
degenerate creating muscle weakness. In fact ALS could conceivably
be the cause of all of the symptoms he is experiencing.

"There are several methods of treatment, but the only permanently
successful one involves manipulation of DNA molecules. Lois, we've
been trying all of the known remedies including cutting edge
experimentations. I'm sorry. Nothing has worked. I was forced to
present Clark with a prognosis of continued degeneration to a final
stage of helplessness culminating with the inability to swallow and,
finally, paralysis of breathing mechanics. He would be unable to move
his body, but his brain would remain completely alert and functional.
He would be completely aware of everything that was happening to him
right up to his final moments, when he would either drown in his own
saliva or suffocate."

She whispered, "Oh my God!" Her stricken face turned down into her hands.

"I'm sorry to be so blunt," he said softly, "but there's no easy way
to tell you."

"How horrible for him, and how frightened he must have been."
Remembering his actions of the previous night and their more recent
quarrel, she continued, "I understand what I didn't understand
before. He must have been so angry with everything," her voice fell
as she responded empathetically, "he had to lash out." Then abruptly,
"Bernie, how long does he have?"

"My best estimate is three months. It could be sooner."

"He has to come back home. We have to start figuring out a way to
beat this." She turned to leave. "I should get going. He said he'd
call from the airport."

"Lois, there is no way to beat this. The only cure is through DNA
and his body has rejected everything I've tried. There's nothing we
can do."

"You're forgetting who you're talking to, Bernie. Lois Lane here,
the female half of Lane and Kent, doers of the impossible, strongest
team on the planet, unbeatable and unstoppable. We don't give up and
we always find a way."

"I can't stop you, of course, and miracles have been known to happen
but..." he trailed off.

"And they will again." She stood with, "Gotta go. I only wish I'd
known sooner. You haven't left us with much time." She kissed him
on the cheek. "Don't worry. Everything is gonna be all right." And
she was gone as quickly as she had come, a determined look in her
eye, her step buoyant with hope.

Back at the Hyperion Avenue townhouse, she checked her watch and
waited for what should be an almost immediate ringing of the phone.
It came. Seated on the couch, she punched on the visi-phone and
said, "Clark?"

"Yes, it's me." There was no picture, which meant he was either
using his personal communicator or a public phone booth.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the airport. My plane is boarding so I can't be too long. I
wanted to say goodbye."

"Clark, Bernie told me everything. You can't go to
Africa; you'll have to send someone else. Sweetheart, you have to
come home so we can start figuring out what to do about this, how to
get you well."

"If Klein told you everything, then he told you there isn't any way
to do that. There's nothing *we* can do, Lois, except say goodbye.
You know what's going to happen to me, and I don't want you to see
that."

"Stop it. That isn't us. We don't give up and we don't run away."

"Oh, really? Just when did *we* get ALS?"

"What affects one of us affects both of us. Or was that so long ago,
you've forgotten?"

"It *was* a long time ago, and it doesn't work any more."

"You don't mean that. Honey, I know you're scared. So am I. That's
why we need to be together, helping each other, not hurting each
other."

It was getting harder and harder for him to maintain this distance
and continue provoking her as he heard the love and pleading in her
voice, but the vision of what the end would be like for her if he
stayed was in his mind, as well as the fear of a repeat of last
night's episode. What if he hurt her again? What if he didn't stop
next time? And he was sure that as his control slipped, there *would
be* a next time.

"That's easy for you to say, Lois. It's not going to happen to you.
I have to go. Just let me say goodbye."

"Clark, please don't do this. I'm here for you and you should be here
with me so that we can stand against this together. We'll find a
way; I know we will."

"Goodbye, Lois. Tell the kids I love them." He paused. "I won't be
coming back. You should start thinking about making a life without
me." He disconnected and whispered, "I'll always love you." Then he
turned and ran for the boarding gate.

The sound of the click was like an explosion, but Lois couldn't
accept what she heard. "Clark?...Clark?!" She stared at the silent
phone in disbelief. "Oh, Clark, no! Please come home." And she sat
staring at the gray static of the visi-phone screen as the silence of
the house pressed around her.

+ + + + + + + + + +

METROPOLIS 8:05 A.M. November 22, 2032

I get along without you very well.
Of course I do.
Except when soft rains fall
And drip from leaves, then I recall
The thrill of being sheltered in your arms.
But I get along without you very well.

I've forgotten you just like I should.
Of course I have.
Except to hear your name,
Or someone's laugh that is the same,
But I've forgotten you just like I should.
     Unknown/Hoagie Carmichael

Clark stood on the edge of the grass in Panhandle Park
looking across Bridge Boulevard at the entrance to Gates Tower hoping
to see Lois as she arrived for her day at CHILD. A month had passed
since the world had learned that Clark Kent had disappeared in Zaire
after his hovercraft had struck a snag and overturned en route to a
remote village.

Inspecting rain forest destruction had become a top priority on
WERC'S agenda since the organization had invested billions in African
and South American countries with the agreement that this wanton
desecration in the name of economic progress would stop.

Observers had reported new offenses taking place near the village 
of Monobele up the Lulonga tributary to the Congo River and it was 
Clark's responsibility to inspect the area, verifying or discounting 
the report and recommending a solution if there were recurring 
infractions.

He had not planned it that way, but when he went into the water as a
result of the accident, he realized that he had an opportunity to
disappear without suspicion and decided to take advantage of it. The
water was warm and not unpleasant and he could easily have submerged
and made his way to the opposite side to disappear unseen into the
jungle leaving everyone to believe he had drowned. But he had seen
three crocs glide silently from the far bank toward the splashing of
the pilot and other passengers traveling with him who, appearing to
be unhurt, were swimming toward the near side of the broad reach of
water. They had to be safe before he could leave.

Quickly assuring himself that no such reptiles were awaiting the
swimmers, he went underwater toward the silent killers, took one by
the snout, and rolled with it, struggling to keep the massive jaws
closed and avoid the threshing tail while keeping a wary eye on the
two remaining man-eaters. The adrenalin surge of the violent
struggle invoked his inner Kryptonian which, gaining momentary
control, snapped the beast's spine and gave it up as a decoy for the
other two to engorge. The delay allowed his companions to reach
their destination without harm. As his killer instinct subsided, he
went underwater again moving downstream away from the humans and the
antediluvian creatures, finally gaining a bank that was around a bend
and out of sight, certain that the survivors would report that he had
been attacked by a crocodile.

As he dragged himself from the water, he recognized what was getting
to be a familiar exhaustion from the depletion of energy that
followed an exertion of powers. He needed to rest but he could not
stay here because he did not know how quickly a rescue search would
be mounted. He felt strong enough to fly a short distance back down
the Lulonga and across the Congo to an area remote enough for him to
sleep for a few hours. He found a suitable tree, on which two adjacent
branches had grown together and become encircled with vines forming a
rough platform. After carefully checking for signs of snakes or Cats,
he positioned himself on his makeshift cot and was immediately
soporific.

When he woke he felt strong again and decided to fly on to Piraeus,
the Greek port city for Athens, where he hoped to lose himself among
the itinerant dockworkers offering to work at odd jobs for tourists
or merchants until his hair and beard grew and he could safely go on
to Berlin or Marseilles and disappear permanently into the demi monde
subculture.

Air and ground searches continued in the area where he had last been
seen, and Clark knew that his ruse had succeeded, that to the world
he was dead. But he was equally certain that Lois had not accepted or
believed it.

Almost from the moment he left, he had felt her reaching out to him.
He could hear her pleading with him, urging him to return to her, to
join their strengths and minds to discover the solution she was sure
was out there. He felt her love and confidence in the beginning,
then her disappointment and hurt when he did not respond and at last
the slow and burning anger of her rejection.
He had to fight his desire to respond to the fierceness of her
determination to bring him back and it made him restless and
irritable. Even though his mind refused to answer her call and he
knew he could no longer be a part of her life, he had not taken into
account his need to see her, to be near her. Finally, while he still
had the power to fly, he made the decision to return to Metropolis
and live incognito.

Back in the city, he had let his hair and beard continue to grow and
as they lengthened their gray strands had become more prominent.
Donning surplus military fatigues and a billed cap to complete his
disguise, he had blended with the homeless men and women who daily
occupied the park and nightly slept under the Hobbs Bay Bridge around
its supporting stanchions.

The deterioration of his physical abilities had continued as Dr.
Klein had predicted and his aging symptoms appeared to be increasing
with rapidity. His mind and memory remained sharp and clear, but he
no longer felt Lois trying to contact him. He didn't know if he had
lost the ability to receive or if she had stopped sending.

Also continuing to decline was his brain's ability to control any
Super powers that remained; these had become more and more erratic,
no longer available at his discretion but coming and going without
warning. He dared not attempt flying for fear the capability would
suddenly vanish mid-air leaving him to plummet to earth, perhaps to
be mangled and crushed by the impact. His Super Strength deserted
him. He could not, at will, use his Super Vision or Super Hearing,
but was at their mercy, suddenly finding himself listening to
conversations and sounds he did not want to hear; viewing through
opaque barriers sights he had no business seeing.

Occasionally he was able, with painful concentration and focus, to
control those powers for a short time, but the cost in exhaustion
afterward was always accompanied by an acceleration of the losses he
experienced daily.

He saw a Town Car glide to a halt in front of Gates Tower and a slim
dark-haired woman emerged through the door being held open by the
attendant. <She's here; I didn't miss her this morning!> He watched
her with an intense hunger, taking in every movement, unconsciously
demanding that she turn so he could see her face. She said something
to the uniformed man, and then turned to look at the group
congregated across the street.

It was an action she repeated every morning and evening and when he
first became a part of this sad fraternity, before his hair and beard
grew, he had hidden behind the others in fear of being recognized,
but now he was confident that his disguise would prevent this
possibility.

Clark knew that she was very cognizant of these downtrodden beings,
and it was because of her concern that CHILD had prevailed on various
agencies to provide a shelter and soup kitchen in the Gates Tower
Annex so that these jetsam of society could have a place to eat,
sleep and clean themselves and their clothing if they chose.

Clark watched Lois as she surveyed his companions. It was a typical
gray November day in Metropolis, and a light rain had been falling
all morning. Soaked through, he shivered slightly from the chill,
another manifestation of his physical weakness.

The doorman was holding an umbrella for Lois as he escorted her to
the entrance of the building. She turned and, gazing once more at
the derelicts in the park, spoke to him a final time before
disappearing inside. He wheeled and purposefully crossed the sidewalk
and street to the cluster of people. He spoke in a kind manner but
loudly so they could all hear, "Ms. Lane wants me to remind you that
the shelter is open and there's hot coffee and soup. You don't have
to stay here. You can go inside and be warm and dry." He paused and
asked, "If you want, I can see you across the street safely." He
looked at them expectantly.

The reply was the usual one. They returned his look but said nothing
and made no move toward him. After a moment, he shook his head
returned to his post.

People of the 21st Century had made progress in curing many of
society's ills, but they had not yet found a solution for
homelessness. The commitment to the Universal Code and its refusal
to interfere with the rights of individuals meant that unless or
until persons were physically or mentally ill and a danger to
themselves or others, they were left to lives of their own choosing.

Clark knew that one of Lois' greatest frustrations was her inability
to help these people find a warm safe haven, a place where they could
belong. Perhaps it was the outgrowth of her living so long with an
alien who had spent many sad years searching for his own place. Was
that why *he* chose to lose himself among these searchers, because he
had felt the rejection they suffered? Well, he thought, we can all
find comfort for a short time, and he began moving from one to
another urging them to cross the street with him.

"How about it, Karl? Let's go get warm for a while. You, too,
Violet. No use staying out here all day. They won't bother us about
rules, if a whole bunch of us go in together. They'll be too busy
feeding us."

Over to one side an older couple was obviously arguing, voices
raised. The man was saying vehemently, "Mary, I'm not goin' in there.
I don't like feelin' shut in like that and they're always askin' if
we washed like we had some kind of disease. We don't need to have
anybody lookin' down their noses at us."

"George," she said softly, "You need to eat and get warm. You can put
up with it for just a little while. Please; unless you rest and eat
you're going to get worse."

Clark had heard these arguments before. Mary and George were clearly
from a higher social stratum than most of their companions, but
George was dying from a mentally debilitating affliction and had left
his home to live in the park. When Mary found him, he would not
return with her, so she stayed, refusing to abandon him and doing
everything in her power to keep him comfortable and functioning. She
did not want to lose him before she had to. The irony of their
situation juxtaposed with his own was not lost on Clark, but he kept
it deep in his mind, refusing to analyze his feelings about it.

He went over to them saying, "George, Mary. A bunch of us are going
over to the shelter. We figure we can avoid a lot of the hassle if
we go together. C'mon. We need you to add to the crowd." He took a
grumbling George by the arm and, followed by the others, crossed the
street. Mary gave him a grateful look and took George's other arm.

High up in Gates Tower, Lois watched through her window as a tall
slightly stooped gray-bearded man gathered the vagrants like his
flock and shepherded them across the street. <Thank God they were
going to the shelter.>

She watched them until they were out of sight down the alley that ran
alongside the building to the annex then the river and bridge beyond.
The comings and goings of the riverbank's inhabitants disturbed many
of those who worked and resided in this part of the Hobbs Bay
reclamation area, but Metropolitans of 2032, while struggling to find
a solution to the question of what to do about these people, had
learned to see the human faces involved and were not inclined to rash
or punitive actions unless criminal intent was suspected.

As she turned her eyes back to the park, they filled with tears. <I
know you're out there, Clark. Please get yourself out of the rain
too.> But she was talking to herself, not sending a subliminal
message to him. She no longer tried to reach him. Her efforts had
met with a cold blankness too long and she was now too angry at the
rebuff to continue trying. <If he doesn't need me, then I don't need
him. I have other important things to do.> And she occupied herself
with the urgent business of CHILD, her legacy from Aunt Liz.

Elizabeth Curtis, world famous photojournalist, was a multi-Pulitzer
Prize winner, Ellen Lane's sister and Lois Lane's inspiration. She
had covered the Viet Nam War earning herself a final Pulitzer before
turning her prodigious talents to the cause of half-caste orphans
left behind after that conflagration by American fathers unaware of
their existence.

While Ellen was raising her children, then turning to drink and
sinking into the self-pity of a bitter, alcoholic divorcee, Liz, as
she was known to her family, was working in miserable centers of
filth and despair, washing, feeding and clothing children who had no
mothers, or encouraging and showing the mothers they had how to make
rotten conditions better for their children and
themselves.

She had pestered, bullied and charmed politicians and charitable
foundations around the world for money to provide for these
disenfranchised souls, and in the end had founded CHILD, so that
her work could reach children everywhere. Lois had grown up loving
and admiring her, seeing in her aunt the strong woman she wished her
mother could be.

It was because of her Aunt Liz that Lois found the additional
strength she needed now to concentrate on her responsibilities and
push Clark to the back of her mind. But her mind told her that Aunt
Liz would never approve as she suddenly heard her saying, "You're
letting pride and anger do your thinking for you." But she firmly
pushed that deep into her subconscious and turned away from the
window.

Sitting at her desk, she picked up a memo about Ecuador. There were
children in the world who needed her.

During the day, the light drizzle of the morning became a steady
rain, and at 5:30 when Lois again looked out from her office a wind
had begun to gust, sending sleet-like raindrops clattering against
her window. The grassy space across the street was empty; she hoped
that meant the homeless ones were still in the shelter, but she knew
it was more likely they had retreated out of sight amongst the trees
of the park, or down by the river under the bridge. <The bridge
won't be a shelter in this wind and those wet cardboard boxes will be
useless.> The frustration of being unable to find an answer for
these lost souls filled her with despair. <Oh, Clark, why aren't you
here? I need your comfort as much as you need mine.>
She had momentarily forgotten her resolve, but it came back almost
immediately. <No! He doesn't need me and I don't need him.>

She turned away and took her black evening coat from the closet. She
had showered and changed in her dressing room for another of the many
soirees she was obligated to attend for CHILD. Ordinarily she would
have gone back to the townhouse and taken some time to relax in the
happy atmosphere that enveloped her there. But since Clark had left,
she was in the place only when necessary because its cold quiet
depressed and unnerved her. Her office had become her home.

She checked herself in the mirror, as her assistant poked her head in
to say, "Marshall Stewart is downstairs, Lois, and I'm going to leave
now if everything's all right?"

"Thanks, Caroline. Sure, go ahead. You didn't need to stay this long."

"I just wanted to be sure you got away, okay. See you in the morning!"

Lois picked up her coat and evening bag and followed her to the elevator.

Clark was standing back in a corner of the building, half sheltered
by an overhang, waiting to see her again. He had pulled his cap down
low and buttoned his jacket to his chin trying to stay dry and warm,
but it was hopeless. The gusting wind was strong and sharp,
spasmodically sending the rain in horizontal sheets directly at his
corner. Nothing could make him leave, though. His need to see her
was too great.

He saw a limousine stop in front of the building and disgorge a tall,
silver-haired man wearing a black overcoat covering a black dinner
jacket. <Marshall Stewart? What's he doing here? It's too late for
a CHILD Board meeting.> He watched as the man entered the building.

Ten minutes later the door opened again and Lois emerged, obviously
dressed for an evening social gathering. Following her was Marshall
Stewart. She headed for the limo, sheltered by the doorman's
umbrella. <What's she doing going out with that... that...jackal! I
should have known *he'd* be the first one around. Humph! Didn't take
long for *her* to get over her grief!>

Clark knew he was being unfair. That this was probably one of those
functions that she used to drag him to because she was required to
attend as part of her job. But he had never liked Marshall Stewart
and had instantly recognized that this handsome, eligible Metropolis
millionaire and man-about-town would have seduced Lois in a second,
husband or no, if she had been the least bit susceptible. Clark had
told her so, but she'd laughed and said she could handle *that.* But
she had needed Marshall's money and contacts for CHILD, and so had
found a place for him on her Board of Directors in spite of Clark's
warnings.

<Take it easy, Kent. Wasn't that the point of the disappearance, so
she could get on with her life without going thorough your decline
and death? Wasn't that why you provoked the quarrel when you left-to
make it easier for her? Very noble of you, but you didn't think it
would be so hard, did you; to watch her go on with her life without
you. Especially with that smarmy toad!>

She looked out the window of the car and saw the gray-bearded man
from earlier in the day standing in a corner of the building. <What
are you doing there in this rain? I thought you were smarter than
that when I saw you this morning.> He seemed to be upset about
something and she kept her eyes on him as the limo moved away.

He angrily watched the limousine disappear into the rainy night
before he moved down the alley toward the river.

++++++++++

METROPOLIS 5:43 A.M. December 10. 2032

Well, I got a heart that burns with a fever,
And I got a worried and a jealous mind.
How can a love that will last forever
Get left so far behind?

What in the world has come over you?
What in heaven's name have you done?
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness;
You're out there runnin' just to be on the run.
     John Prine

Lois was lying, soft and warm, on top of him, her head on his chest
in her favorite position for floating. They had just made love and
were still suspended together 5 feet above the bed, his arms around
her cozy and comfortable. But something was intruding on their
idyll; a sound nearby. He was immediately awake and alert.

Someone was in trouble. Carefully he cradled Lois in his arms
bending to place her gently on the bed. But there was no bed; his
bed was the bottom of a cardboard box, and it was his sleeping bag he
cradled.

"Stop it! Leave me alone!" That was no dream and it was so near
that Super Hearing wasn't needed. He threw the sleeping bag down and
crawled out of the box, looking around to see where the sound was
coming from. He saw several figures to his left and knew instantly
what was happening.

He leaped to his feet running, but nothing seemed to work right; he
stumbled and fell to his knees. Getting up again he moved more
deliberately toward the sounds.

Three men confronted a boy of about fourteen who clutched a sleeping
bag possessively. Clark recognized the men. Their leader was Big
Mac, so called for his size and preference for a particular fast-food
sandwich. Real names were not often used down here. He was a bully,
a predator taking what he wanted from the weak and defenseless and he
never prowled without his gang of two, Earl and Marvin.

They had set upon Mickey, a 14 year old who had just found a place in
the camp the previous morning. He had few possessions, but everyone
who saw him when he arrived coveted two of them--a heavy fleece-lined
wool jacket and a rain-repellent down sleeping bag. He was instantly
marked as a victim waiting to be attacked.

Clark saw that he was not going to give them up easily, even though
Big Mac held a knife menacingly, and his rat pack had begun to
maneuver to get behind the boy.

"Hold it! What's going on here?" Clark said as he arrived at the scene.

"Butt out, old man!" Big Mac barked, barely giving Clark a glance.
"This ain't yer binness." Using correct English was not high on
Mac's list of priorities, but getting the coat and sleeping bag was.

Clark knew he had to take Mac out. Once he was vanquished, the other
two would scamper away. But did he have the strength left? Not
Super P