Introduction

This story is set directly after 'Neverending Battle,' and in some 
respects is an early Season 1 rewrite; the A-plots of several 
episodes form the background for some of the story. There are, 
however, numerous differences in what I'm using here, some subtle and 
some more noticeable - that's partly for convenience and also partly 
because I don't want to write a straight reprise of S1 with only one 
major difference. However, the episode plots are there in sequence, 
with the exception of GGGOH, which - in this universe - didn't 
happen. That's not because I dislike GGGOH (quite the opposite!); it 
simply didn't fit into the plot of this story. Jason Trask, however, 
does appear a couple of times.

While I don't wish to give spoilers, I would caution that it is quite 
possible that readers may find themselves disliking one character 
considerably early in the story. I'd just like to suggest that you 
carry on reading; major themes of this story are self-discovery and 
redemption. And it was a challenge to myself to see whether I could 
manage what I'd set out to achieve in that respect.

Several thanks are in order. To everyone who commented on this story 
on Zoom's message boards, PG and nfic, your thoughts and suggestions 
were very much appreciated, whether I agreed with them or not. <g> In 
particular, to people whose ideas I used in the story, I'm very 
grateful: Elisabeth, Sherry and Sheila, to name a few. Most of all, 
though, thanks to my beta-readers. Sheila and Pam, who came in late, 
and Irene, who read early sections of the story until RL got in the 
way: your time and very helpful comments are very much appreciated. 
Yvonne and Helene, you two are the best beta-readers I could ever 
dream of having. You suffered through every sentence of this story - 
sometimes more than once - and always, cheerfully, sent helpful 
comments, criticism and praise. *And* laughed at my weak jokes, which 
is always a bonus. Thank you both very much. This story could not 
have been finished without you.


This is a PG-13 version of the original nfic story. The nfic version, 
for anyone over eighteen who may like to read it, may be found at 
Annesplace (www.annesplace.net).


Wendy Richards


-----------------
Story: Faux Pas
Author: Wendy Richards <wendy@kingsmeadowcr.freeserve.co.uk>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: January 2001
-----------------



- Faux Pas -



"Hey! It's not as if I *asked* to be mugged! What do you think - that 
I go around with a sign on my back saying 'attack me'? Huh?"

Clark retreated further into the background as Lois took out her 
frustration on the duty officer. He would have liked to stand beside 
her, offering her comfort and support, but he really didn't feel that 
he knew her well enough to presume. And, in any case, he was well 
aware that his reluctant partner didn't particularly like him. No, 
his support would be even less welcome than the police officer's 
questions to which Lois was objecting.

"Well, make sure you do more than just put this on file!" she 
retorted to something the officer said to her. "There are things in 
that purse I want back, and I'm not prepared just to shrug and accept 
they're gone for good, you hear? After all, what do we pay taxes for? 
You know, I've a good mind to write an article about this for the 
Daily Planet - yeah, I'm a reporter at the Planet, did I tell you? 
Yeah, about police inefficiency..."

Lois trailed off as the officer turned his attention to someone else, 
and Clark saw her grimace in disgust, then turn away. "Let's go," she 
said abruptly; he assumed that she was referring to him, although she 
didn't look in his direction.

They exited the police station together; Clark noticed that Lois's 
angry defiance had now altered to bleak resignation. Daring to invade 
her privacy, something he wouldn't even have considered with this 
prickly woman he worked with under normal circumstances, he touched 
her arm lightly. "Hey! It's not so bad. You've already cancelled your 
credit cards, and tomorrow, once the bank's open, you can get a new 
cheque-book and withdraw some cash. And we can get a locksmith to 
change the lock on your apartment, and the Jeep too if necessary. And 
the police said they'd keep an eye on your apartment. It'll be fine." 
His tone was deliberately upbeat; there was just something about Lois 
which made him hate to see her in this state.

"I *know* all that, Clark!" she retorted. "And it's going to be a 
real pain in the butt, too. I can cope with all that, though," she 
added, more quietly.

"So what's really bothering you?" he ventured, now concerned for her.

She rolled her eyes, as if the answer should have been obvious to 
him. "Clark, I can't get into my apartment, and I've got no money 
apart from - " she dug her hands deep into the pockets of the smart 
trousers she was wearing, and came up with a rolled bill in one hand. 
"Apart from five bucks, apparently."

Wanting to kick himself for his thoughtlessness and insensitivity, he 
shook his head. "Lois, that's not a problem. You know I'll lend you 
as much as you need!" He gestured further down the road. "There's a 
cash machine over there I can use. Come on."

But she hung back, her expression now awkward. "That's... kind of 
you, Clark," she began, and he realised - apart from finding it a 
novel experience for her to say anything of the kind to him - that 
she was no doubt reluctant to accept such a loan from him. After all, 
she barely knew him. She'd worked with him for less than two weeks, 
after all, and their relationship was cool, at best. She didn't like 
him; of course she wouldn't want to accept his money!

"Look, I really don't mind, but if you'd prefer to ask Perry, that's 
okay too," he assured her. "We can catch a cab back to the Planet - I 
bet he'll still be there."

She seemed to be working something out in her mind, and he waited 
patiently; she was no doubt finding this very embarrassing. After the 
initial shock of being mugged, and her anger and frustration that the 
mugger had managed to make his escape with her handbag - containing 
so many necessary and indispensable items - had worn off, she was 
left with the very real problem of not being able to get home, get 
access to money, even get into her apartment.

That final thought made him pause. Yes, she had said that she 
couldn't get into her apartment. "There isn't anyone who has a spare 
key to your place, then?"

She shook her head. "Lucy - my sister - moved out last week and she's 
in California now. My landlord had a key so that he could do any 
repairs if necessary, but it got broken the last time he used it and 
I said I'd get another one cut. I never got around to it." Sighing, 
she added, "So if I borrow some cash from Perry, I need enough to get 
a hotel-room."

And reporters weren't paid so much that spending a night in a 
Metropolis hotel was no big deal - unless Lois earned a lot more than 
he did, Clark mused. And there was no way that Lois should even 
contemplate staying somewhere like the Apollo, where he'd stayed for 
his first few days in town, before he'd found his apartment.

For some reason she didn't seem over-keen to rush off and ask Perry 
for help, which suggested that she didn't feel too comfortable with 
borrowing money from their boss either. There was another solution, 
if she'd be willing to contemplate it. He buried his hands deep in 
his pockets and gave her a straight look. "You can always stay at my 
place tonight."

That seemed to take her even more by surprise than his offer of a 
loan had. "Clark... but you hardly know me!"

"True, but I hardly think you're going to murder me in the night and 
make off with my possessions," he answered dryly. "Anyway, I don't 
have anything worth stealing. I just moved in, remember?"

She gave him a suspicious look. "I remember when you were looking 
around that place - "

He interrupted quickly, thinking he knew what she was going to say. 
"Yeah. I know. It was a dump. I've cleaned it up, and painted, and it 
looks a lot better now."

But she shook her head. "How many bedrooms?" Her tone was cynical, 
and he couldn't help feeling a stab of bitterness at this response. 
When had he ever given her any reason to suspect his motives in that 
direction? He'd always behaved himself perfectly well around her - 
okay, she *had* caught him staring at her, that night he'd brought 
the Chinese takeout from Beijing, but as soon as she'd warned him off 
he'd reverted to being completely businesslike.

He took a step backwards, away from her. "Lois, I don't know what 
sort of man you're used to working with, but this is me. I'm not like 
that. I offered you a bed for the night, and that's all you'll get. 
No unwanted company. *If* I feel so inclined, you might also get a 
home-cooked meal, but whether or not you even get my company while 
you eat it is up to you." His tone was harsh, and he knew he sounded 
offended. So what? She deserved to know that her implied accusation 
was unfounded.

She looked away, clenching and unclenching her fists, then spoke 
awkwardly. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I... guess... well, you're 
from Kansas, maybe you don't know what it's like in the city. Here, 
everyone has an angle. No-one's as... as straight-up or genuine as 
they appear to be... as *you* appear to be. Can you blame me for 
suspecting your motives?"

He grimaced, hearing the bitterness and submerged pain in her voice 
which she hadn't allowed herself to express. His opinion of Lois Lane 
was changing by the day, ever since he'd met her. At first, he'd 
thought she seemed supremely self-assured, confident in her own 
abilities and personality; harsh, abrasive and intolerant of those 
who didn't match up to her. That had been disappointing, given the 
way he'd fallen head over heels for her the moment he'd seen her; 
though he'd quickly decided not to let her intimidate him, to give as 
good as he got. Then, a couple of days later, he'd seen a very 
different side to Lois: when they'd been chained together, waiting to 
find out what Antoinette Baines intended to do with them, she'd 
revealed a side of her which was riddled with insecurities and 
longing. He'd been intending to use his powers to get them out of 
there immediately , regardless of the consequences of her knowing, 
but her bleak words had delayed him. Even though he'd known that it 
was more than likely Baines intended to kill them (not that he could 
have been killed in any case, but he'd had no intention of allowing 
it to happen to his companions), it had been essential that he heard 
what she was saying.

Then, the following day, just as he was assuming that a new bond had 
been formed between them, she had made it clear that she didn't trust 
him one inch.

And later, of course, once he'd created his alter ego and Lois had 
fallen like a ten-ton truck for Superman, she'd made it even clearer 
where Clark Kent rested on the scale of human evolution. Completely 
beneath her notice; barely worthy of existence at all. That had made 
him see her in yet another new light. Was she really as shallow as 
her fawning over Superman made her appear? Probably. Definitely, if a 
bright suit and some flashy Super-powers blinded her to any reality - 
made her ignore completely the resemblance between her new partner 
and the man in blue and red Spandex. Shallow, arrogant and rude. Not 
someone he really should waste any of his time or emotions over.

And then she'd surprised him once again, a couple of days later, when 
she'd first shown concern for him - the partner she didn't want - and 
had then proceeded to give a really thoughtful insight into why 
Superman was so important to the people of Metropolis. Not why he was 
necessary to *her,* Lois Lane, who'd been one of the most tenacious 
in her attempts to hunt down his alter ego; but why the idea that 
there was someone out there to give people hope was so important. 
That she could be so insightful, and so caring, had touched him 
deeply, almost to the point of making him forget completely her 
selfish actions in stealing his story.

She was such a complex character; a complete mass of contradictions. 
She *was* selfish; yet at the same time she was loyal. She was rude, 
arrogant and could be obnoxious; and yet he'd seen her go out of her 
way to defend someone she thought was getting a rough deal. She had 
'No Trespassing' signs all over her; yet she could open up with 
childlike honesty at the most unexpected time.

So it wasn't surprising that he couldn't stop himself thinking that 
there was so much more to Lois Lane than she wanted people to see; 
that she wasn't really as brash and forceful as she seemed. He *knew* 
she was insecure underneath, and he knew that she'd have to be 
desperate before she let anyone see it - before she let him see it 
ever again. And now, stranded without her purse or her keys and 
realising that she had nowhere to go - didn't she have any friends? 
he suddenly thought, as the realisation dawned that for most people 
that would have been the first solution in these circumstances - now, 
her vulnerability was showing again.

It occurred to him then that Superman could probably find a way of 
getting into her apartment without damaging the locks. He could 
certainly fly her through a window, and he could repair it afterwards 
- as Clark - without too much difficulty. But, unfair to Lois though 
it might be, he didn't want to bring Superman into this situation. He 
didn't think he could bear to see her fawn over him when in that 
outfit, only to have her ignore him again minutes later. Selfish, he 
knew, but...

He realised that Lois was watching him, still waiting for a response 
to her apology. "Yeah, okay, I guess you're right," he acknowledged 
stiffly. "But *I'm* not like that. And, to answer your question, I 
have one bedroom, with one bed. The bed's yours, and I'll sleep on 
the couch in the other room. That satisfy you?"

"You don't have to give up your bed," she insisted, now sounding 
guilty. "I can take the couch."

Was she actually accepting? He hadn't expected her to, much as he'd 
made the offer in all sincerity. Suddenly he noticed the weariness in 
her expression, the dullness in her eyes which made him realise that 
it had been a *long* day, and that less than an hour ago she'd been 
sent flying to the pavement by some *lowlife* who didn't give a damn. 
Once again, his fists clenched; if only he hadn't chosen just that 
minute to go back into the building so he could take a peek at the 
visitors' register with his Super-vision! It wasn't as if he'd even 
learned anything useful; and by the time he'd heard Lois scream the 
mugger was already making off with her bag. He'd considered making 
pursuit, but the sight of his partner sprawled on the ground had 
tugged at his caring instincts.

She was probably in pain now, no doubt carrying several bruises, and 
desperately wanting just to go home. His conscience pricked him yet 
again, reminding him of the Superman option; but then he told himself 
that the mugger had her apartment keys, and even if the police and 
her landlord were keeping a watch on the place, she could be in 
danger.

He reached to take her arm, the gesture this time seeming more 
natural. "Come on, Lois. My place is this way."

She nodded, falling into step beside him.


*************

What was she doing, going home with this guy she barely knew? Lois 
could hardly believe she'd agreed to his suggestion. In fact, she 
hadn't really; he'd taken her acceptance for granted once they'd got 
past her assumption that he had something less innocent in mind. Yet, 
for some reason, she thought she could trust Clark Kent; that when he 
assured her that all he was offering was a bed for the night, he 
meant it. He wouldn't try to force anything else on her.

This man - this Kansas farmboy she'd had foisted on her - was indeed 
a 'strange one,' as she'd commented very early in their acquaintance. 
His country naivete was very, very obvious at times; and yet there 
were other times when he revealed a cool intelligence born of some 
worldly experience which left her feeling that she lacked something 
of his sophistication. Once or twice, she'd wondered just how he 
viewed her, and had come to the conclusion, based on his attitude, 
that he'd probably weighed her up and found her wanting. He certainly 
didn't approve of her.

And yet he'd been very kind after the mugging. Okay, if he hadn't 
left his pen inside the Freeman building and had to go back for it, 
she probably wouldn't have been mugged in the first place, but she 
couldn't really blame him for that. He'd helped her to her feet after 
initially seeming to be torn between chasing after the guy who'd 
grabbed her bag and seeing whether she was okay - though what made 
him think he could catch someone who was now two blocks away, she had 
no idea. Then he'd offered her his arm to lean on, saying that she 
probably felt a bit shaken up; she'd declined his offer, but it had 
been nice of him to make it.

Nice? she asked herself then, wondering whether she was turning soft. 
It hadn't been 'nice'; he'd just been flaunting his macho 
credentials. Big strong man offers help to little feeble woman.

Nevertheless, he'd escorted her to the nearest police precinct and 
had stayed with her while she'd filled out seemingly endless forms, 
and then waited while she made some phone calls to cancel her credit 
cards and sort out a few other things. He hadn't needed to do that; 
for one thing, it was well after six pm. He'd have been perfectly 
entitled to go on home; work was finished for the day.

She'd expected him to leave her to it once they'd left the police 
station, but again he was sticking around. Not that she'd given him 
too much choice after she'd let her guard down and reminded him of 
the practicalities of the situation; but even then, he could have 
just put her in a cab and sent her off back to the Planet. Money 
wasn't a problem - they both knew the fare could be put on the 
Planet's account, since they had been out in pursuit of a story.

Yet she hadn't wanted to go to Perry, even though she was well aware 
that he'd come through for her - he'd certainly lend her as much 
money as she needed, and he'd probably insist that she come home and 
stay with him and Alice. Yet... somehow, she didn't want her boss and 
father-figure to know that she'd been so stupid as to get herself 
mugged. He'd fuss too much, and... she just didn't want to ask him 
for help.

Clark's offer of a loan, and then later the offer of a bed for the 
night, really had taken her by surprise. He barely knew her, so why 
should he even care? And yet, just now when he'd taken her acceptance 
for granted, he'd really looked as if he cared about her. That was 
ridiculous, of course, but it was still good of him to offer.

Her hip was really aching now; she'd fallen heavily on the concrete 
when the mugger had shoved her down. Clark had wanted her to go to 
the hospital to get checked out, but she'd refused, insisting she was 
okay. Well, she *was* okay; it was just a few bruises. But they 
hurt...

Suddenly Clark halted, and she realised that he was flagging down a 
taxi. She gave him a puzzled glance; if she remembered correctly, 
they were only a little over half a mile from his apartment. His 
answering glance gave her no clues, but she guessed then that he'd 
somehow realised, or worked out, that she was in some pain and was 
being thoughtful. She was going to protest that she didn't need it, 
but another throb from her hip made the decision for her. She climbed 
into the cab.

After a few minutes, though, Clark asked the driver to stop; pushing 
a few bills into Lois's hand, he waved in the general direction of 
the kerb. "There's a pharmacy and convenience store over there. 
You're going to need a toothbrush and stuff like that. I'll wait 
here."

Even more considerate of him, she mused as she scrambled, not without 
some difficulty, out of the back seat. She needed more than a 
toothbrush if she was going to make an unscheduled overnight stay 
somewhere, and he was giving her the privacy to get what she needed. 
A quick check of the paper money he'd given her revealed a total of 
thirty dollars - "expensive toothbrush!" she muttered to herself, but 
his thoughtfulness was certainly appreciated.

Arriving at Clark's apartment a few minutes later, she waited while 
he paid off the cab, and then instantly his hand was at her elbow. 
Before she could protest or ask what he was doing, he was explaining. 
"You looked like you were starting to limp, before. And there's quite 
a few steps here."

There were; and by the time she got to the top she was grateful for 
the support of his arm. He opened the door, and for a moment she just 
stood and stared. The last time she'd seen this apartment it had been 
a mess. Dirty, dark, with peeling paint and grease and filth 
everywhere, she wouldn't have touched it in a million years. And yet 
now it was bright, airy, with light streaming in from the kitchen and 
the main door; comfortable and welcoming furniture making it clear 
that this was a home where someone relaxed and unwound at the end of 
a day, rather than a showpiece which was little used.

But he was urging her forward. "This way," he said, guiding her 
through into the kitchen, and then under an archway. "That's the 
bedroom," he added with a wave of his hand; it was an unnecessary 
explanation, since she could see the large bed with a 
brightly-coloured spread thrown over it. "And the bathroom's through 
there." This time, he indicated another door. "I think you might find 
some herbal bubble-bath in there - my mom left it behind when they 
visited at the weekend."

She frowned at him, and he gave a light shrug. "I just thought you 
might want to take a bath - it might help with some of those bruises 
I imagine you've got."

Good idea, she realised. "If you're sure that's okay...?"

"Course it is. Look, unless you need me to show you where anything 
is, I'll go and let you get on with it," he added, beginning to move 
away from her. "I need to get started with dinner anyway - pasta okay 
for you? Do you prefer a cream and wine sauce, or a tomato one?"

He was actually going to *cook*? She stared at him disbelievingly for 
a moment, then realised that he probably meant that he'd open a jar 
of sauce, or perhaps that he had frozen pasta dinners ready to be 
microwaved. "Umm... well, tomato is healthier, I guess...."

"But you prefer the cream and white wine, yeah?" he prompted, 
merriment in his brown eyes.

How did he know that...? "Yeah, I guess," she confirmed.

"Well, I think after being mugged you deserve a little treat, so 
forget the tomato sauce," he said, a teasing note in his voice. He 
took a couple of paces back towards the arch, then stopped. "Forgot - 
you'll need something to change into. I guess you probably won't want 
to wear that for the rest of the evening?" He gestured vaguely in the 
direction of her trouser-suit.

No, she didn't, but thirty dollars - thirty-five counting her five - 
had only been enough to get her the toothbrush and some clean 
underwear, pantyhose and a camisole top to go under the suit for 
tomorrow. Not that she was accusing Clark of being stingy, or 
anything like it; he hadn't needed to do anything for her, and he'd 
probably given her all the cash he had on him.

He was rummaging in a drawer, and a moment later he turned to her and 
handed her a pile of clothing. "T-shirt, sweat-pants and a 
sweat-shirt. They'll be way too big for you, of course, but you can 
wear the pants with the legs rolled up or something."

The thought occurred to her then that he obviously lived alone and 
probably didn't have a regular girlfriend at the moment, if he only 
had clothes of his own from which to choose. It hadn't so far 
occurred to her to wonder about his personal life - what was Clark 
Kent to her? - but for some unknown reason the absence of any 
evidence that there was a woman in his life made her feel oddly 
pleased.

He strolled off then, leaving her to investigate the bathroom.


************

Lois Lane was in his apartment. What was more, Lois Lane was going to 
be spending the night in his apartment.

As he chopped an onion, mushrooms and broccoli for the pasta sauce, 
Clark couldn't help musing on that thought and thinking that he could 
barely believe it. Despite his completely mixed feelings about Lois, 
he was well aware that she aroused sensations in him he'd just never 
experienced about anyone before. He wanted her, badly, though he 
wasn't foolish enough to imagine that that was ever going to happen. 
But even that - sex - wasn't on his mind now. As the knife in his 
hand moved with lightning speed over the chopping board, what he was 
focusing on was spending the evening with Lois. Talking. Getting to 
know her. Maybe, even, convincing her that he wasn't the naive, 
clumsy, idiotic country hick she seemed to think he was.

If she actually took the trouble to look about her while she was in 
his apartment, things like his collection of books and artefacts 
would tell their own story. He was an eclectic reader, and his 
bookshelves were filled with fiction of all kinds, plus biographies, 
history books, books on geography, travel and science, and 
journalism-related texts. He had artefacts and souvenirs from around 
the world, plus his cherished college football, given to him as the 
highest scorer in the winning game of the league.

Not that he thought Lois was especially interested in sports, but it 
would show her that he was a pretty all-round guy. Except that he 
didn't want her to know quite *how* all-round he was; she wouldn't 
find anything which would give her any clue as to his Super secret 
identity. The Suits were carefully hidden in his secret compartment, 
where he'd returned them when he'd unpacked the suitcase after his 
crazy decision to stop being the Super-hero. And there was no chance 
she'd find the compartment; he'd hidden it too cleverly for that.

His Super-hearing heard the splash of bath-water; so she was taking 
his advice. He hoped it helped, as he was very sure by now that she 
was in quite a bit of pain. He'd laughed at his Mom's purchase of a 
first-aid box for the apartment, knowing that he wouldn't need it, 
but it would certainly come in handy now. He was pretty sure that it 
contained some embrocation for bruises, as well as some painkillers; 
leaving the vegetables for a moment, he went to get the tube of 
embrocation and took it into the bedroom, leaving it on the bed 
beside the clothes he'd given Lois.


************

Kent was even more thoughtful than she'd given him credit for, Lois 
admitted when she found the tube of cream. Of course, the worst of 
her bruises *would* happen to be in the most inaccessible place on 
her body - not that she would dream of asking for help.

Some delicious smells were floating in from the kitchen, so once she 
was dressed in the very loose clothing Clark had given her - she'd 
had to fold the waistband of the sweatpants over on itself a couple 
of times as well as rolling up the hems - she walked a little 
awkwardly out of the bedroom. Clark stood in front of the cooker, 
stirring the contents of two saucepans. Clearly he *had* meant that 
he was going to cook, she realised, noting also that there was a 
chopping board by the sink which showed signs of recent use.

Her preconceptions about Clark Kent - admittedly, based on nothing 
except prejudice - were tumbling by the minute.

He turned as she approached, giving her a quick smile. "Feeling any better?"

She pulled a face. "A little. You're right about the bruises - thanks 
for the ointment, by the way."

A shrug. "No problem. I just remembered I had some." He turned back 
to stir the contents of one of the pans, then added, "Sorry I haven't 
anything which would fit you better."

"I think I can survive for one evening," she assured him dryly. 
"What're you cooking?"

"Told you - pasta. Tagliatelle, fresh vegetables, and a white wine 
sauce." He did something with the cooker controls. "Okay - the sauce 
is ready to be added to the vegetables, and I just need to boil the 
water for the pasta."

She noticed an open bottle of white wine on the worktop; it seemed 
he'd made his own sauce too! "You enjoy cooking?" she asked idly.

He smiled, giving her a flash of white teeth; she was forced to 
acknowledge, silently, that Kent had a beautiful smile. "Yeah, though 
I don't get a chance to do it as often as I'd like. I don't mind 
cooking for one, but with our job I'm just not here a lot of the 
time."

Yeah, they'd had a couple of late nights when they'd shared takeout 
of one kind or another, and Lois was aware that Clark had worked late 
on a couple of evenings when she'd had other plans. One thing he 
couldn't be accused of being was a shirker, even if he did have his 
mysterious disappearances.

"I don't cook," she informed him abruptly.

"Don't or can't?" he enquired, simultaneously taste-testing the sauce.

She shrugged. "Either. I'm not very good at it, but I don't see the 
point when there's so many takeout places able to deliver."

"True," he drawled, "but then, how many takeout restaurants will make 
a meal just how *you* like it, instead of how *they* like it? Okay, 
order a pizza and you can tell them to hold the anchovies and give 
you extra mushrooms instead, but it's not always so easy. Besides," 
he added as he reached into the fridge for a packet of pasta - 
*fresh* pasta, Lois noticed in amused surprise - "don't you miss the 
sense of achievement you get from having cooked something you enjoy?"

"I get that from writing front-page articles for the Planet," she 
told him, a little sardonically. "If I wanted to fulfil myself in 
domestication, I'd become someone's stay-at-home wife, or work in a 
restaurant. Neither appeals to me." And that should let him know that 
Lois Lane is just not interested in being someone's appendage, as 
well, in case the thought had crossed his mind, she mused.

"My mom loves cooking for her family, but she would never call 
herself a stay-at-home wife," Clark observed. "But then, the house 
and the farm are hers as much as Dad's, and it's important to her to 
make sure everything is as good as it can be."

"Oh, a *farm,*" Lois scoffed. "Definitely not my idea of the perfect 
lifestyle."

Clark looked her up and down, and Lois had the distinct suspicion 
that he was somehow judging her and finding her wanting again. "I 
don't really think you'd be suited to that environment, no," he told 
her, a faint smile playing about his lips as he returned his 
attention to the meal simmering on the hob.

His apparent condemnation of her as useless stung. "So, anything I 
can do to help?" she offered belligerently.

This time, his smile was more friendly. "No, everything's under 
control here. And you don't know where anything is, so you might as 
well leave me to it. Feel free to go and sit down, if you want - oh, 
and help yourself to some wine," he added, gesturing at the open 
bottle. "Glasses are on the table."

So they were; he'd already set the small table in his kitchen for 
dinner, she realised. Cutlery and napkins lay in appropriate place 
settings, each with a wine glass and another straight glass - for 
water, it seemed, since a jug of iced water was also on the table.

Typical bachelor male trying to impress the female he's invited for 
dinner, Lois thought cynically, but then another thought occurred to 
her. If he was really out to impress with a view to seduction, surely 
he'd have candles on the table? No; this seemed to be just the way he 
ate normally.

Taking him at his word, she walked awkwardly through to the living 
area. It was, as she'd noticed earlier, much more informal than her 
own apartment; she would never give that sofa house-room, much less 
the throw and the cushions on top of it, for example. And he had a 
very strange collection of ornaments... Her attention was drawn to a 
photograph, which depicted a slightly younger Clark Kent with a much 
older couple. Must be his parents, she decided; the farmers. His 
father was tall and broad, with a high forehead and a dependable 
face; his mother was quite a surprise, however. Soft blonde hair, 
slim, and with an impish expression, Mrs Kent did not look like 
Lois's image of a farmer's wife. And the way her gaze rested on her 
son made Lois experience a stab of envy; if only either of her 
parents had ever looked at her like that! And judging by the way 
Clark smiled back at his mother, the deep love between them was 
mutual.

Mommy's boy, she scorned silently as she moved away from the 
photograph, refusing to admit how much it had affected her. No wonder 
he can cook, she added to herself; he was probably tied to his 
mother's apron-strings before coming to Metropolis. He probably still 
called home every night.

He called to her then to say that dinner was ready, so she had to leave 
her examination of his possessions until later. When she returned to 
the kitchen, she noticed immediately that he'd changed his clothes 
and was now wearing a soft blue cotton shirt teamed with faded jeans. 
She frowned briefly - how had he had time to change while preparing 
the food? - but shrugged. Obviously he was quick.

Unsurprisingly, the meal was excellent; delicately seasoned with 
herbs and wine, the sauce was light and very tasty. And the pasta was 
perfectly cooked. The wine he'd chosen was also excellent - a 
Sancerre, with a label in French, she noticed in surprise. He 
shrugged when she questioned it, though, saying that he had a friend 
who'd recently returned from France and who'd given him a couple of 
bottles.

Conversation over dinner was a little awkward, though Lois had to 
give her host some credit for doing his best to keep it going. He 
asked the usual polite questions which tend to be asked of 
near-strangers: where she had gone to school, what she'd studied at 
university (journalism, as if he couldn't have guessed, she thought 
scornfully), how long she'd been at the Planet, what she'd won her 
Kerths for.

It was when they somehow got onto the subject of journalistic ethics 
that she had to revise her opinion of Kent once again. He wasn't 
merely a hack; he had a brain, and he liked to use it. He also had a 
very strong sense of morals, and even if she didn't share all of his 
convictions, she had sympathy with many of them. She was less 
inclined than he was to believe that most invasions of privacy were 
wrong; as she argued vigorously, many people deliberately put 
themselves in the public domain, for whatever reason, and therefore 
they lay themselves open to having their lives investigated.

Clark, however, argued just as passionately - but without losing his 
cool or his articulate manner - that for the most part, the private 
life of someone such as a politician should be no-one else's 
business. "So what if the President had affairs?" he observed with a 
shrug. "As a voter, I don't think it has anything to do with his 
political skills or his ability to run the country. I don't think 
it's any of my business."

"It shows that he's capable of deceit," Lois countered.

"Maybe, but whose business is that?" Clark challenged. "Personally, I 
think that the only person who deserves to feel hurt or betrayed here 
is his wife. She can call him a cheat, a liar, an adulterer or 
whatever, and she's entitled to. But no-one else has the right to 
even know about it, I think. I'd rather judge my politicians on their 
performance in their day jobs. Wouldn't you rather have Johnson, for 
all his alleged affairs, given that he seems to be doing a good job 
with the economy and foreign affairs, than Rooney - faithful husband, 
but barely lifted his finger off the nuke-button the whole time he 
was in power?"

Lois had heard that general argument articulated before, many times, 
including in the Planet conference room. But Clark presented his case 
clearly and in a good-humoured manner, his arguments sounding more 
plausible as a result. And, in fact, she agreed with him in relation 
to the two politicians in question. She'd voted for Johnson for a 
second term, affairs or not, so she couldn't deny the validity of his 
final argument.

To her surprise, she admitted that she enjoyed sparring with him, and 
when they were in too much danger of agreeing on that subject, she 
quickly introduced another one. "So, what's your view on elected as 
opposed to appointed public officials - judges, DAs and so on?" she 
challenged him.

He stood and removed their plates. "Interesting question." Indicating 
her empty glass, he enquired, "More wine?"

She nodded, and he emptied the bottle into her glass. "Don't avoid 
the question, Kent."

"I'm not. I was just going to suggest that we continue the discussion 
in the other room - it's a bit more comfortable. I'll get another 
bottle, unless you'd prefer coffee?"

Lois wondered briefly whether she'd had enough wine - they'd managed 
to drain an entire bottle between them - but then she decided that 
after being muggedshe probably deserved to over-indulge a little. And 
if he was offering more of that delicious Sancerre, she wasn't going 
to object.

"Wine. And yes, let's move. Unless..." She hesitated, feeling that 
she should make some gesture to thank him for his hospitality. 
"Unless you'd like me to wash the dishes?"

But he shook his head. "The pans are already done, so there's only 
the plates - they'll only take a minute." Scrubbing and then rinsing 
them as he spoke, he left them to drain. "I forgot completely - would 
you like some dessert? I think I have some ice-cream...."

Lois rolled her eyes; did everyone talk about her at work? "I suppose 
Ralph or someone told you about my craze for chocolate," she said 
snappily.

But he frowned. "It's pecan flavour. You like chocolate?"

"Oh, never mind," she muttered, taking the wine-glasses and wandering 
into the other room. He joined her, sitting on the armchair rather 
than beside her on the sofa, another point which made her question 
her perception of his character. That was soon forgotten as, within 
minutes, they were deep into a lively disagreement about the relative 
merits of election versus appointment, with Clark arguing that 
election surely made judges more prone to decide and sentence 
according to popular opinion, while Lois made a vigorous case for 
accountability.

Some time later, she noticed that it was almost nine o'clock. "Mind 
if we watch the news?" she asked him.

"No problem." He reached for the remote control and the television 
flickered into life. There were no major stories this evening, 
however - major as judged by Lois, that was, in terms of whether she 
should be following them up for the Planet. There was news of a 
bridge collapse in New Hampshire, which for some reason made Clark 
appear to tense momentarily. But when she glanced at him again, as 
the newsreader was saying that no-one had been killed or seriously 
injured, he was sitting apparently relaxed, so she decided she must 
have imagined it.

The final item on the news was a silly story about a survey of 
kissing preferences which showed a stark gender divide: apparently 
the researchers had found that women disliked French kissing, while 
men loved it.

"That's ridiculous!" Lois exclaimed as Clark reached for the remote 
control again, preparing to switch the TV off.

"What is? That women don't like it?" He glanced in her direction, 
raising one eyebrow.

"Absolutely! Whoever did that research asked completely the wrong questions!"

"Oh?" Now he was smiling in amusement. "So what questions should they 
have been asking?"

"Whether the men they've met have known how to do it properly," Lois 
insisted. "Tongue action can be really good, but too many men just 
want to shove their tongues in and go for it like a battering ram."

Clark's expression was comical; a mixture of apparent revulsion and 
innocent enquiry. "So what's the right way to do it?" he asked her, 
clearly struggling to maintain a serious note to his voice.

How did she get onto this subject anyway? Lois wondered 
incredulously. Of all the things she could be doing on a Thursday 
evening, sitting in her (unwanted) partner's apartment discussing 
kissing technique was not one she could ever imagine.

Clark leaned across and poured some more wine into her glass. "Come 
on - do a guy a favour and tell me what women really like in a kiss."

She pulled a face at him. "I'm not sure I should. If you know what we 
really want, it could give you an unfair advantage."

He held his hands out in front of him in a gesture of surrender. 
"Hey, I promise not to misuse the information! And anyway, I'm just a 
country boy from Kansas. Hardly a heartless seducer or anyone's 
pin-up guy!"

She had to acknowledge that was true, although... sitting across from 
Clark, she was aware, in an objective sort of way, that he was far 
more attractive than she'd realised. In those ill-fitting suits and 
jacket-trouser combinations he wore to work, he looked almost like a 
schoolboy dressed up in his father's clothes, sometimes. Now, though, 
the tight jeans clung to his hips and thighs like a second skin, 
revealing powerful muscles and not an ounce of spare flesh. The pale 
blue shirt wasn't quite so clingy, but when he'd leaned forward a 
couple of minutes ago, the fabric had stretched tight across his back 
and shoulders, revealing muscular biceps and upper body. That, 
together with his strong jaw and the way he looked when he smiled...

But that was all academic, she reminded herself. *She* wasn't 
interested in Kent. Hardly! Now, if it was Superman she was talking 
about...

"So? Come on, Lois, you can't say something like that and refuse to 
substantiate it!" he challenged her.

She supposed not... but how on earth did one describe kissing 
technique? After trying a couple of explanations in her head, she 
conceded defeat. It simply was not going to be possible to sit 
opposite Clark Kent and discuss licking as opposed to sucking, 
delicate stroking as opposed to slurping, and light touching of one's 
partner's tongue, as opposed to vigorous tangling.

It would be much easier to.... No. She stopped her thoughts in their 
tracks. No. No way. She was *not* going to do that. No matter how 
much Kent challenged her, no matter how smug his expression once he 
realised she wasn't able to answer him. She was *not* going to do 
that! She had *no* desire *whatsoever* to kiss Clark Farmboy Kent. 
Even if he did, in casual clothes and in the soft lighting of his 
living-room, look sort of attractive in a clean-cut, boy-next-door 
kind of way. That made no difference; he was still the highly 
annoying smart-ass rookie she was having to work with against her 
will - *and* who had sent her crawling through the Metropolis Sewage 
Reclamation Facility!

No demonstrations. She could do this; she was a professional 
journalist, after all. Words were her professional tools. Okay... how 
to explain it...

"You do *know* how to French-kiss?" he enquired then, in a 
deceptively idle tone; Lois wasn't fooled, however. She could see the 
mischief in his expression.

"Well, naturally!" she retorted. "Better than some of the guys I did 
it with, too!"

"So, come on then - tell me what it is we do so wrong!" He challenged 
her yet again.

She seized her wine-glass and took a sip as a delaying tactic. "Okay 
then... well, it's all to do with being subtle and erotic as opposed 
to just going straight for the target. Kind of like good foreplay, I 
guess."

He surveyed her from over the rim of his own glass, his eyes dancing. 
"But I thought women claim men aren't that good at foreplay either?"

"So I believe," Lois answered, her tone - she hoped - discouraging 
further questions in that regard. She had no intention of giving Kent 
any clues whatsoever as to her own experience on the subject.

"Well, how on earth are we going to learn if women don't show us?" 
Clark demanded.

He had a point, she supposed. Maybe... all in the interest of 
furthering understanding...

No! She was *not* going to kiss Kent! She had no idea what even led 
her to contemplate such a thing... no, that wasn't right, she 
corrected herself. The wine. It had to be the wine - only under the 
influence of alcohol would the thought even cross her mind.

Clark laughed suddenly, in what Lois interpreted as a rather superior 
fashion. "Okay, Lois. I was prepared to believe you, you know, but 
since you can't even give me any examples to substantiate your 
argument I think you're just going to have to admit that you lost 
your nerve and concede defeat."

Concede? Lois stared at the hick from Smallville in disbelief. Didn't 
he *know* that Lois Lane never lost an argument? She was *right,* 
dammit, and she was going to prove it, too. And how dare he imply 
that she was a coward? No-one called her a coward and got away with 
it.

"No chance, Kent," she drawled, deliberately raising one eyebrow. "If 
you insist, I'll prove it. You can show me how you'd French-kiss 
someone, and if you mess up you'll have to admit that I'm right."

Her challenge did appear to surprise him; he froze and gave her that 
deer-in-the-headlights look she'd seen a few times now. She felt a 
sense of triumph. She'd dared him and he'd chickened out! Hah!

But then, the nervous look vanished and he frowned slightly. "But 
I'll only have your word for it that I mess up, if that's what your 
verdict is."

He *was* going to do it... well, okay, she could cope with that, and 
she'd take great pleasure in informing him how bad he was at it. "But 
that's the whole point," Lois insisted. "Men don't know what women 
want, and aren't interested in finding out."

"And... if I am interested in finding out?" he enquired. "Will you teach me?"

"Don't push your luck!" she retorted.

He held his hands up again in a gesture of 'pax'. "Just tell me what 
I do wrong, okay?"

That seemed reasonable, Lois thought, wondering idly why her brain 
seemed a little cloudier than usual. After all, if someone didn't 
know the right way to do something, how were they to learn without 
proper instruction? That wasn't logical, was it?

Shrugging, she answered, "Might as well. No reason another woman 
should suffer, after all, is there?" She hesitated, then added, "I'll 
probably have to show you, I guess."

In a sudden movement, he shifted from the armchair to sit beside her. 
She lifted her face so that he could show her just how inept he was 
at this kissing thing... and was surprised when he paused, a 
concerned expression on his face.

"Lois... are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked her quietly.

"Yes, of course!" she insisted impatiently. "You have a point to 
make, so make it!"


************

Clark didn't quite know how the conversation had taken the path it 
had, or what had got into him to make him turn the discussion of 
kissing technique personal as opposed to generalised. He'd expected 
Lois to change the subject pretty quickly, and he'd been prepared to 
make some light-hearted quip about her not having the courage of her 
convictions but then let it drop.

But she hadn't done as he'd expected, and instead *she'd* called 
*his* bluff. She'd expected him to back down... and he'd known, in 
that moment, that if he had, she wouldn't have let him forget it. So 
he'd had to suppress all his doubts and fears and his sudden 
stage-fright at the whole idea of kissing Lois, and show willing.

Not that he was *unwilling,* precisely...

Oh, he was by no means averse to kissing Lois Lane. He'd wanted to do 
that, and more, from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her. She was 
quite simply the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but there was 
something more... something about her which seemed to appeal to his 
very soul. A kind of connection... which was a completely stupid 
idea, of course, since she clearly didn't feel it.

Now she was challenging him to kiss her, and he was torn. He 
desperately wanted to, but, for one thing, he was pretty sure that 
the wine was at least partly responsible for Lois's behaviour. They 
had drunk a bottle and a half between them, after all. And he 
suspected that Lois was not normally a heavy drinker - too committed 
to her work, she worked too long hours to have much time for drinking 
in the evenings. So if she was inebriated, was it fair to take 
advantage of her?

But he wouldn't be taking advantage, he argued with his conscience. 
It was just a kiss, for heaven's sake! Just one kiss! And she was no 
doubt going to tell him immediately afterwards what a lousy kisser he 
was, so he was hardly going to be the evil seducer here!

And anyway, he wasn't entirely convinced that she was drunk. She 
wasn't showing any of the classic symptoms: her speech wasn't 
slurred; she wasn't collapsing on the sofa or falling asleep; she 
wasn't rambling on drunkenly. If she was obviously drunk, then 
there'd be no question about what was the right thing to do. He'd 
just pick her up, carry her to the bedroom and leave her to sleep it 
off. No doubt at all about that.

But she wasn't behaving like that. Instead, she was watching him as 
if she now thought *he* was about to back out, her raised eyebrow and 
questioning gaze daring him not to respond to her challenge. So... 
well, he wasn't going to give her the chance to accuse him of lacking 
the nerve to put his money where his mouth was... or should that beto 
put his mouth where... oh, he couldn't be bothered to find the 
correct metaphor! All that mattered was that he had a chance to do 
something he'd dreamed of doing every night for the last two weeks.

Maybe she wasn't drunk, though, but she certainly wasn't sober, his 
conscience pointed out. And he had to ask himself - since he knew 
that alcohol didn't affect him - whether it was fair to take 
advantage of her when this was something she no doubt wouldn't even 
consider when sober. It wasn't as if he didn't know her opinion of 
him, after all. Clark Kent would not be her first choice when it came 
to kissing someone.

But... oh, it was only a kiss! And, what's more, when was he ever 
going to get such a chance again? One kiss wouldn't do any harm, 
surely?

However, to salve his conscience, he had to give her an opportunity 
to back out. Her response made it clear that not only had she no 
intention of changing her mind, but also that she was now challenging 
*him* to prove his point.

He moved closer, then wondered briefly what his approach should be. 
His instincts were telling him to show her that he was *not* the kind 
of inconsiderate male she seemed to expect, and therefore to kiss her 
with as much skill and expertise and consideration he could muster. 
Yet another part of him argued that if he played it the other way, 
kissed her in the way she was expecting, he'd earn himself another 
kiss - since she'd already promised to show him where he was going 
wrong.

But then he recognised, wryly, that either approach was based on a 
false premise. First, he wasn't exactly that experienced, so any 
notion he had that Lois would be bowled over by his kisses and 
realise that he was the man of her dreams was a complete fallacy. 
Wasn't going to happen. And, if he knew Lois, no matter how good his 
'technique', she'd still claim that he wasn't up to scratch. No, he 
had nothing to lose; he might as well just go for it.

She would ridicule him whatever he did, but it would be worth it, to 
be able to get closer to Lois than he had ever dreamed could happen. 
There was no way she would kiss him under normal circumstances, so he 
should just make the most of this.

Reaching towards her, he slid his hand behind her head and brought 
his lips to hers.


***********

Lois was prepared for Clark to slobber. She was prepared for his kiss 
to leave her completely cold. She was even prepared for a wet tongue 
to force its way into her mouth and leave her needing to rinse with 
mouthwash. That was okay; she would make her excuses and go to the 
bathroom to brush her teeth once she'd taught him a lesson.

She wasn't prepared for the heady sensation which swept over her the 
instant his lips touched hers.

His first kiss was gentle, a light brush of his mouth against hers, 
which ended even before she'd become accustomed to the sensation. 
Then he was back, his warm lips moving over hers in an intimate, 
sensuous caress. Involuntarily, her lips parted; as if he'd known she 
would do it, immediately he gently sucked her lower lip into his 
mouth, nibbled gently, then released it again.

Without conscious thought, she slid her arms up around his neck, 
drawing him closer. He responded by sliding his free arm around her 
waist, bringing her up against his hard, lean body. His strong thigh 
was pressed against her hip, his thick dark hair invited her to rake 
her fingers through it, and his mouth was still doing wonderful 
things to her senses. Her head swam, and she moaned softly as she 
opened her mouth wider so that she could push her tongue forward.

He anticipated her again, his tongue gliding over her upper lip and 
then invading her mouth, continuing the caress along the inside of 
her lip and then over her teeth. Experimentally, she touched his 
tongue with hers; instantly, he ceased what he was doing and joined 
her in a game of touching and stroking and tangling.

She yearned to get closer still... shifting position on the sofa so 
that she was leaning against his upper body, she lost her balance and 
fell against him. He grunted in surprise, breaking the kiss as he 
fell backwards; she grabbed his head and tugged his mouth back to 
hers, tumbling down to lie sprawled on his chest.

His kiss this time was deeper, more passionate, and it was with a 
sense of satisfaction that she heard him moan. His arms came around 
her, settling her more securely on top of him as he made himself more 
comfortable on the large sofa; as she wriggled into position, 
something became obvious to her.

Recognising Clark's arousal gave her an enormous sense of power. 
*She* had had this effect on him; not that she was going to do 
anything about it, of course, she told herself hazily. But it would 
be fun to.... Deliberately, she rotated her hips a couple of times, 
giggling as his hands moved to her waist to hold her steady.

"Stop that!" he muttered. "Lois..."

"Stop talking and kiss me," she instructed, rejoicing in her ability 
to control the situation, to tell Clark Kent what to do. Sure, she 
told him what to do at work all the time - not that he always obeyed 
- but here, now, in the privacy of his apartment and in a situation 
where she was the guest, he'd thought he was in control. He wasn't. 
He was at her mercy; she'd got him all worked up, and in a few 
minutes, she would...

Would *what*? Just get up and walk away? She'd always despised the 
concept of being a tease, though; why any woman would want to drive a 
man to the point of desperation, without any intention of following 
through, made no sense to Lois. She'd always made a point of being 
straight with a man. If she had no intention of going to bed with him 
- as she had with most men who'd pursued her - she made that very 
clear. She'd never deliberately teased anyone sexually the way she 
was now doing with Clark.

She should get up *now,* apologise for having let things get further 
than she'd intended, and go to bed.

She would... in a minute.

She just wanted to kiss him again, just for a couple of minutes, to 
figure out just what it was about Clark Kent's kisses which were 
making it impossible for her to think straight... to pull away from 
him...

Feeling his hand threading through her hair, she moaned again and met 
him kiss for kiss as her senses swam with the pleasure of his 
caresses, his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking inside her mouth and 
driving her crazy....


***********

Barely able to believe this was happening, Clark cradled Lois on top 
of him, trying to ignore his body's pleadings for him to take this 
further. She wanted him to carry on kissing her, and that was exactly 
what he was going to do. That was *all* he was going to do. Her 
tongue plunged deep into his mouth, and he welcomed it gladly. Her 
fragrance, the feel of her soft curves against his body, the silky 
touch of her hair as it brushed against his face... his senses swam 
with these unfamiliar but deliriously wonderful sensations.

A new touch took him by surprise. She'd slid one hand between them 
and was unbuttoning his shirt; her hand felt soft and warm against 
his skin, and he murmured against her mouth, "Yes... yes, please..."

She shifted, and moved to a kneeling position, leaving his lips 
bereft; but it seemed that ending their encounter wasn't what she had 
in mind. Instead, she unfastened his shirt buttons one by one, 
trailing a finger along the exposed skin of his chest as she parted 
the fabric. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she pulled 
at his shirt, freeing the material so that she could uncover his 
chest completely. She seemed completely intent on her task, unaware 
that he was watching her every move.

He shivered in anticipation as her questing finger glided over 
towards his nipple; some part of his consciousness wondered why he, 
invulnerable as he was, should feel every single light touch with the 
force of an electric shock.

She knelt back again, removing her hand from his body; again, he felt 
bereft. But then he realised her intention; in a swift movement, 
which he could barely believe was happening, she pulled her borrowed 
T-shirt over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her beautiful 
naked torso was inches from his face. To his amazement, she reached 
for his hand, drawing it to her breast.

"Oh yeah..." he sighed, his hand shaking as he touched her. Her skin 
was soft, warm and felt wonderful against his fingers; driven by an 
instinct he couldn't even explain, he reached up to touch her with 
both hands, stroking and caressing the warm skin which felt so soft 
and silky under his palms.

"Oh yes... yes, Clark!" she groaned, and he took that as permission 
to take the next step. Leaning forward, and tugging her towards him 
at the same time, he rasped his tongue across her chest. Again, she 
moaned, then wriggled forward so that her body was even closer to his 
face. Now, she was squatting over his hips, a beautiful torture.

Passion flared more swiftly and, finding that his shirt was getting 
in the way, Clark rolled them so that Lois was beside him; he threw 
the shirt to the floor and leaned over her to resume their kissing. 
But she now seemed to feel cramped, and he tore his mouth from hers 
to gasp, "You know, maybe we'd be more comfortable - "

"In the bedroom," she finished for him.

Scrambling to his feet, he scooped her up into his arms and strode 
quickly across the living-room and through the arch, depositing her 
on his bed. As he came down beside her, she grasped the belt of his 
jeans. "You're wearing too many clothes."

Without even stopping to think, he stripped off the jeans, lying 
beside her dressed only in his shorts. Trailing one hand down over 
her stomach and along her thigh, he murmured, "So are you."

"Take them off," she invited, her voice a low murmur.

He swallowed, then peeled off the baggy tracksuit pants; her legs 
were long and slender and gorgeous... As he stroked one hand along 
the inside of her thigh, she claimed his mouth again, kissing him 
furiously. Needing to get as close to her as he possibly could, he 
stretched out alongside her, their bodies touching at every point.

Kisses became increasingly passionate, every stroke of her hands on 
him felt like fire, the flames burning uncontrollably within him. 
When he felt her hand slide inside his shorts, he groaned aloud and 
dragged them off. He'd so often imagined how it would feel to have a 
woman touch him just like *that,* but reality was so much more *real* 
than his feverish dreams.

He wanted to touch her, too... Turning thought into action, he 
fumbled and reached for her. After a few moments, she cried out and 
shuddered; thus encouraged, he continued to stroke her. Her hand was 
now gliding up and down on his body in a movement which was 
guaranteed to drive him crazy....

Somehow he was on top of her... she was encouraging him by touch and 
by the little cries she was making, and he knew, by instinct, what 
she wanted. Nothing  else mattered now; his fears and self-caution 
had all vanished in the reality of what was happening between them. 
He wanted her and she wanted him, and they were together, loving each 
other, losing themselves in each other...

He finally collapsed, exhausted but replete, incredibly aware that he 
had never, ever, experienced such a profound sense of *rightness* 
about anything in his life before.


***********

She couldn't let him stop touching her, kissing her... she *needed* 
to feel him against her skin, his sensitive fingers finding her nerve 
endings and making her cry out, his passionate mouth driving her 
crazy. She'd needed to have him touch her; merely seeing his reaction 
when she'd touched his chest had made her long to have him caress her 
too. Ripping her T-shirt off had seemed the natural thing to do, not 
that she'd even thought about it. It had been pure instinct, driven 
by need.

She was dimly aware of agreeing with his suggestion that they move to 
the bedroom, of demanding that he remove his jeans, of wanting to be 
naked too, so that he could continue touching her everywhere with 
those clever fingers.

He responded instantly to her touch when she slid her hand inside his 
shorts; she was pleased when he seemed to read her mind, disposing of 
the shorts so she could have freer access to him. Her body was 
throbbing with fiery intensity, and she longed for him to touch her...

Yes! Yes, his fingers were there at last, and a shudder jolted her 
body as he touched her in just the way she needed; encouraging him 
with soft murmurs, she continued to stroke him, enjoying his body's 
silky smoothness under her fingers. She needed more, though, needed 
him to keep touching her, fill her, take her to ecstasy...

Instinct was now guiding her to demand fulfilment; clawing at him, 
she finally got him to move on top of her; he had to know what she 
needed, had to understand that she wanted him *now*. She wanted 
more...

...and then he was there. One hand reached up of its own accord, 
tugging his head down to hers so that she could kiss him again, drive 
her tongue into his mouth in imitation of the movements of his body 
against hers, showing him what she wanted and that she needed him not 
to stop, to take her all the way...

...and suddenly there was white light all around her, fiery, 
shuddering sensations streaking through her body, starting in the pit 
of her stomach and hitting every nerve ending, stealing her breath 
away and robbing her of awareness. Whimpering in ecstasy, her final 
thought as Clark slumped, exhausted, on top of her was that she had 
never, ever, before experienced such a powerful sensation, or such a 
profound sense of having come home.


************

Lois awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of unfamiliar 
surroundings. Opening her eyes momentarily, she realised that she was 
in a large, airy room with sunlight streaming in a sloping picture 
window in the far wall. The events of the previous day came back to 
her, and she remembered; her new colleague had offered her a bed for 
the night because she'd been unable to get access to her apartment.

She remembered the mugging clearly now, too; could feel again the 
hard ground as she was thrown backwards by the youth who'd made off 
with her bag. Her hip was still sore; she'd have to remember to apply 
more of that embrocation after she'd showered.

There was something else strange about the circumstances in which she 
now was... with a start, she realised she was naked. She never slept 
naked. Even without her usual nightgown, she'd have slept in a 
T-shirt - the T-shirt Clark had loaned her the previous evening....

No, she was naked, and there was something... warm flesh touching 
hers, a naked leg resting against her thigh, another human being 
breathing close to her.

Her eyes flew open again, and she saw that Clark was sprawled on his 
stomach beside her, his dark hair flopping over his forehead, his 
expression soft in repose.

Why was he...? She caught her breath as she remembered.

She'd started that stupid discussion about kissing - not just any 
kissing, but *French* kissing, and she'd been crazy enough to 
challenge him, claiming that he couldn't do it well enough to satisfy 
her. And then she hadn't had the sense to stop the game, and...

And she'd had sex with him. Let him invade her body.

She'd had *sex* with Clark Kent!

Groaning inwardly in despair, she blinked back tears. Would she ever 
learn? This was exactly what she'd done with Claude, and he'd 
betrayed her, walking out on her, stealing her story, and making sure 
that everyone at the Planet thought that she was an easy lay. After 
that, she'd vowed never, ever, to sleep with any man again unless she 
was positive that she could trust him and wanted to be with him on at 
least a semi-permanent basis. She'd learned from bitter experience 
that men just couldn't be trusted; they were selfish, disloyal, 
always out for the main chance. She'd never yet encountered a man who 
genuinely cared about what she wanted from their relationship, 
whether that man was her father, a friend, or a potential lover. And 
she'd been hurt too many times when she'd allowed herself to hope 
that *this* man could be different. She'd learned from experience 
that the phrase 'a decent man' was a contradiction in terms, a 
complete impossibility.

And yet last night she'd slept with Kent, the hack from 
Nowheresville, the junior reporter who, she suspected, viewed her 
with amused contempt most of the time - apart from when he lusted 
after her, she added bleakly. A man she barely knew.

She could see history repeating itself with a vengeance, now.

Now, he would no doubt regale the male portion of the newsroom with 
the story of his success; of how easy it had been to seduce Mad Dog 
Lane, the iceberg. How she'd fallen into his bed like a ripe plum 
from the tree.

How could she have been so *stupid* as to believe his promises that 
she was safe with him, that he had no intention of trying to lure her 
into his bed? Oh, he certainly hadn't seemed like a smooth-talking 
practised seducer, but he sure used that Kansas wide-eyed country boy 
innocent look to good advantage!

Bitter tears stinging her eyes, she stumbled out of bed and towards 
the bathroom. She had to get dressed and out of here. There was bound 
to be a subway station somewhere near, and she had a couple of 
dollars left over. That would get her to the Planet, where she could 
sort out her bank cards and getting a new lock for her apartment. 
Then she could decide how to handle Mr Super-Stud Kent, without 
letting anyone guess at how humiliated she was.


************

The sound of running water roused Clark from a deep sleep. He felt a 
sense of deep contentment as he stretched in the bed, and idly 
wondered why today was different... and then he remembered.

Lois.

Lois had stayed at his apartment last night... and they had made love.

It had been the most wonderful experience of his life. He still felt 
sated, blissfully happy and longing to love her again.

He'd turned towards her side of the bed before realising that the 
running water indicated that she was in the shower. That was a shame; 
he'd liked to have spent a few minutes just kissing and caressing 
each other before getting up. Of course, they couldn't delay long; 
they were both due into the Planet, and Lois also needed to get her 
keys and bank cards sorted out - he would help her with that, of 
course. But a few minutes just spent being close while they both woke 
up properly would have been the perfect way to start the day.

Still, if she was already getting washed, the least he could do was 
prepare breakfast. He pulled on his shorts and a T-shirt and padded 
into the kitchen, finding orange juice, cereal and - in a sudden 
impulse to impress his guest - flying at Super-speed to France for 
fresh croissants.

They needed to talk, but there wouldn't be time that morning, 
unfortunately. This wasn't how he'd imagined starting a relationship 
with Lois. They'd done it all backwards; they'd made love without 
ever having dated, while they still barely knew each other. Not that 
he really objected to that, he thought with a happy smile as he 
filled the coffee filter. It would be fun getting to know each other 
properly. There was so much he wanted to find out about Lois, and so 
much he wanted her to know about him - even his special powers. After 
all, she'd trusted him with her body in the perfect act of 
lovemaking. It was only fair that he trust her with the knowledge 
that he was Superman. What did it matter that she seemed to have a 
crush on the Super-hero? She'd made love, generously, beautifully, 
with the man behind the Suit.

He heard sounds from the bedroom, and quickly finished laying the 
table; by the time she emerged he was pouring coffee.

As he turned to look at Lois, his lover, two things struck him at 
once. First, she was wearing her business suit and looked ready to 
leave immediately. Second, she was absolutely furious, hatred burning 
in her dark eyes.

"Bastard!" she hissed venomously, and turned to walk towards the door.


***********

Lois had hoped that Clark would still be asleep when she finished 
showering, but when she crept back into the bedroom his bed was 
empty. She dressed hurriedly, not bothering about drying her hair 
properly; finger-combing it into position would have to do for now. 
Hoping that her host would have the decency to keep out of sight, she 
walked purposefully through to the kitchen.

Clark was there, to her dismay, putting some items on the table. He 
wore a T-shirt and a pair of hip-hugging shorts, but she quickly 
averted her eyes; she wasn't interested in his anatomy. He turned to 
face her and, unable to stop herself, she let herself vent her rage 
at him before heading for the door, just catching sight of his 
completely stunned expression as she did so.

<Probably thought I'd be so impressed by his... talents that I'd be 
begging for more> she thought angrily, focusing on just getting to 
the door and leaving Kent's apartment. She had to get out of there; 
what had happened was just too humiliating...

Suddenly, her arm was caught in a firm grasp. "Lois - what's this all 
about?" a very confused voice asked her. "What did I do to deserve 
that?"

Trying to shake off his hand, she glared at him. "What do you think, 
Kent? So much for your promises! Now I know exactly what your word's 
worth!"

She couldn't fail to see the bewilderment on his face, but she 
dismissed it. He was obviously not used to being rejected by women; 
like every other man she'd known, he clearly thought himself 
irresistible. Well, he'd soon learn that there was a first time for 
everything.

"Lois, I really have no idea - " he began, but she cut him off, angry 
at his fake show of innocence. What had he expected her reaction to 
be?

"Oh yeah, sure you don't!" she threw at him scornfully. "Try 
remembering what you did last night! You told me you had no intention 
of expecting sex when you offered to put me up for the night - you 
even got all offended when I questioned your motives. And then what?!"

He stared at her, apparently dumbfounded.

She shook her arm vigorously, hating the feeling of being trapped as 
much as the reminder of Kent's touch. "And let go of me!"

He suddenly seemed to realise that he was holding on to her, and 
released her arm. "Lois, hang on a minute!" he exclaimed as she again 
made for the door. Before she could grab the handle, he was there in 
front of her, blocking her way.

"Let me go," she demanded, struggling to keep her voice even instead 
of giving way to the fury - the self-disgust - which was so close to 
the surface.

"Please - we have to talk about this," he insisted, and she noticed 
that he now looked... what, hurt? That didn't seem to make sense, 
unless he was really taking it personally that a woman could reject 
him the morning after.

Unless... unless he'd assumed that this was going to be some hot 
affair, which would continue until he decided it was over. Maybe that 
was it - Mister Would-be Hot-Shot Kent thought she'd be begging for 
it the morning after. Well, he was in for a rude awakening.

"I don't know what you think you're going to gain from stopping me 
leaving," she told him coolly, all the time trying to prevent bile 
from rising up into her throat at the memory of what had happened... 
what she had done. She *didn't* sleep with men she barely knew - men 
she worked with, what was more. Once was more than enough for that. 
She'd vowed never again to let a good-looking man sweet-talk her into 
his bed. She felt... dirty. Humiliated. And furiously angry at the 
way he was behaving now. She just wanted to get out of here, get her 
life sorted out again so that she could go home to her own apartment 
and shower again and again, until she'd washed the memory of him off 
her body. It was taking a real effort to maintain this outwardly calm 
appearance.

"I just think we need to talk," he repeated stubbornly. "Lois, what 
happened between last night and this morning? I really am lost here!"

She shook her head, unwilling to be dragged into an argument with him 
when she only wanted to get out of there and try to forget this had 
ever happened. How could she have been so *stupid* - how could she 
have trusted him? Why hadn't she just made her excuses and gone to 
bed straight after dinner? But she hadn't; and instead she'd fallen 
victim to the most practised seducer she'd ever encountered.

"Lois, I really am serious," he said, his voice sounding strained; he 
still hadn't moved from his position in front of the door. "I don't 
know what's going on here. Last night - "

"Last night was a mistake. I never should have made the mistake of 
believing you could be trusted," she flung at him.

He stared at her, his expression incredulous. "Lois... *what* are you 
talking about?" He ran one hand agitatedly through his rumpled hair. 
"Okay, okay, I'm getting the message that you think our making love 
should never have happened. I'm sorry you regret it, I really am. But 
I really don't see how that makes me the bad guy in all of this!"

"No?" She gave him a scornful look, then tried to reach behind him 
for the doorknob.

He sighed. "Lois, I am prepared to take my share of the blame for 
what happened. My *share.* In case you don't remember, it was very 
much mutual."

She flushed, remembering her own behaviour all too well. It was 
mortifying to remember how she'd behaved with this man she didn't 
even like, kissing him so furiously, taking off her T-shirt and 
inviting him to touch her, agreeing with his suggestion that they 
move to the bedroom, touching him so intimately...

It had been the wine. Obviously. It had to be, because she would 
*never* have behaved like that under normal circumstances, and 
certainly not with Clark 'Farmboy' Kent. Of course she wouldn't. She 
wasn't even attracted to him!

She tilted her chin and stared straight at him. "You got me drunk," 
she accused flatly.

He stared back, the bewilderment in his expression now vanished 
entirely. In its place was a cold anger which made her shrink back 
involuntarily. "You think I deliberately..." He broke off abruptly, 
gritting his teeth. Then, in a sudden movement, he stood away from 
the door and flung it open. "Go. Get out of here, before your twisted 
imagination moves on to accusing me of rape."

She fled, hearing his biting words echoing in her head as she ran 
down the street.


************

Clark stood, almost rooted to the stop, as Lois rushed away from him 
as if he were the devil incarnate. How could two otherwise 
intelligent people have read the same situation so completely 
differently? How was it that he had been convinced they'd made 
wonderful, beautiful, mutual love, while Lois believed that he'd 
callously seduced her?

He couldn't fathom what was going on inside her head, how she could 
turn something so beautiful, so perfect, into an act of shame. He'd 
been so completely unprepared for her reaction, but even before he'd 
heard her first hissed word it had been obvious that there was 
something seriously wrong.

Closing the door, he turned to walk back through the apartment; he 
felt as if he'd aged thirty years in the space of five minutes. He 
made himself relive that crazy, passionate hour last night - had he 
been wrong? *Had* she been unwilling, reluctant? Could he have 
misread the signals - taken a shout of protest for a moan of 
encouragement?

No. He might have been inexperienced, but he had enough knowledge to 
know when a woman was encouraging him. And she'd been with him every 
step of the way - ahead of him in some ways. She'd been the first to 
move to an even greater level of intimacy; and even now he groaned 
silently as his body tightened at the memory of her slender fingers 
curling around him. She'd touched him, caressed him... and it had 
been she who'd encouraged him to move over her, to ready them for the 
culmination of lovemaking. Not that he'd been reluctant in any way... 
but, even carried away by passion as they had been, he was sure he 
would have been hesitant to take that step without some form of 
permission.

So why was she now behaving like a wronged innocent? It just didn't make sense.

Or... His jaw tightened as he remembered one overheard conversation 
as he'd been about to enter the men's room one day. It had been one 
of the times when he'd regretted his Super-hearing and its ability to 
activate at certain prompts. Like someone crying 'Help!' Or 'Fire!' 
Or... 'Lois.'

And it had been Ralph, of course; Clark had barely been able to be 
polite to the man subsequently. Ralph had - at what prompting Clark 
did not know - pronounced Lois a 'prick-tease.' He'd said that she 
got pleasure out of rejecting men in as superior a manner as she 
could; that she thoughtherself too good for just about every man she 
encountered, with the exception of Superman - Clark had concurred 
with Ralph's observation on the likelihood of Lois actually getting 
anywhere with Superman, but disagreed completely with the other man's 
reasoning. He'd decided, however, that Ralph's opinion of Lois's 
attitude to men was nothing other than sour grapes; after all, he'd 
heard Lois dismiss the older man's crass attempt at flirtation only 
the other day. Jimmy, who'd clearly seen Clark's surprise at the 
incident, had dryly informed him that Ralph frequently made passes, 
and Lois just as frequently rejected them.

Could Ralph have been right? Did Lois somehow enjoy having men at her 
mercy, delight in the knowledge that she had them in her thrall 
sexually but knowing that she never intended to follow through? *Was* 
she a...?

He refused to allow himself to articulate the word. Despite his hurt 
and bewilderment, and his cold fury at her final accusation, he 
couldn't bring himself to believe that Lois had deliberately led him 
on, intending to reject him. He'd never seen any sign of that 
behaviour in her - he'd be more inclined to believe that of Cat, who 
was quite definitely a vamp. And anyway, Lois hadn't tried to stop, 
at any point. If she was... what Ralph suggested, she'd never have 
practically dragged him on top of her, never begged him to make love 
to her.

Not that he'd needed any persuasion... but she hadn't tried to get 
away from him at any point.

So just what had happened to make her not only regret what had 
happened, but also to see him as some sort of vile seducer?

He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, and his gaze was caught 
by the breakfast he'd so lovingly prepared. Before he knew what he 
was doing, he'd seized a croissant; a second later it was only crumbs 
on the floor.

He'd been *stupid*! - stupid to imagine that last night had 
represented the beginning of the relationship he'd wanted all his 
life. There had been no reason to believe that, after one night of 
sleeping with him, being made love to by him once, Lois Lane would 
want to be with him. For all he knew, last night could have been the 
worst sex she'd ever had, instead of - as it had been for him - the 
most wonderful experience he had ever dreamt of. After all, she was 
an experienced woman. She hadn't been, unlike him, a virgin who 
barely knew what he was doing...

But...

But even if he was a lousy lover - which wouldn't be unlikely, since 
he *had* been inexperienced, that still didn't explain *this* 
reaction. She wasn't complaining that he had failed to satisfy her. 
She wasn't telling him that he hadn't a clue about how to treat a 
woman in bed. Nothing of what she'd said could be interpreted as a 
criticism of his skill as a lover - though, if he had satisfied her, 
he saw that as luck more than skill. No, this was Lois regretting 
that it had happened at all, not complaining that he hadn't done 
enough to make it good for her.

It still didn't make sense, he thought as he padded slowly through 
his bedroom to the bathroom. Sure, he could understand that she might 
regret sleeping with him. After all, she barely knew him, and, from 
her attitude, she didn't seem to like him very much. He hadn't gained 
the impression, in the couple of short weeks he'd known her, that she 
slept around; and now he remembered her reaction when he'd angrily 
accused her of trading sex for favours in the case of Lex Luthor. 
That had been the response of someone appalled at his implied 
allegation because she found the idea entirely repugnant.

She wasn't into casual sex - which was an attitude of which he 
entirely approved, though no doubt she'd never believe him now. Heck, 
*he* barely believed himself now! He'd *never* been interested in 
casual encounters - that was why he'd still been a virgin at 
twenty-six. And yet he'd participated more than enthusiastically in 
their lovemaking... but then, he'd assumed it *was* genuinely 
*love*making. It had been, for him, and it was that conviction which 
had overcome any reluctance he might have had. He'd been waiting, 
before, to find a woman he loved, with whom he wanted to share the 
whole truth about himself. And he'd been convinced, from the moment 
he met her, that Lois was that woman. Sure, in the cold light of 
morning he'd recognised that he would have preferred to take their 
relationship more slowly, to get to know each other as friends and 
then as two people who were dating before plunging head-first into 
bed. But that wouldn't have mattered if their feelings about what 
they'd shared had been mutual.

Since they weren't... well, he couldn't bring himself to regret 
having lost his virginity on what looked like being a one-night 
stand. It wasn't what he'd wanted, how he'd dreamt of his first 
serious relationship turning out. But it had been with the woman he 
loved...

...and who clearly hated him.

So if Lois wasn't the kind of woman who slept around, morning-after 
regrets wouldn't be unexpected. But what was still a complete mystery 
to him was why she should have persisted in treating him as the bad 
guy. If she'd just been embarrassed, told him that it shouldn't have 
happened and wouldn't happen again, he would still have been hurt. 
But he could have understood it!

This reaction was something else, though, and Clark had no idea what 
was going through Lois's mind. Although... A dim memory flashed into 
his consciousness as he scrubbed his hair in the shower; Lois, tied 
up and expecting to be killed, telling him that she'd broken all of 
her rules, that she'd slept with a man she worked with, and he'd 
abandoned her and stolen her story.

But that was *crazy*! How could she equate *him* with that worthless 
so-and-so? Didn't she know he wasn't like that?

Probably not, Clark concluded. But that still didn't excuse her behaviour.

Although...

In his fury at her accusation that he'd deliberately tried to get her 
drunk, he'd ignored the underlying implication of her parting shot. 
She'd been drinking last night - well, they both had, but *he* at 
least wasn't affected by alcohol. Lois, presumably, was. And he had 
even wondered himself whether she would have issued her challenge, 
behaved as she had, if she'd been sober. He hadn't thought she was 
drunk; in fact, he was certain that she hadn't been. But it was very 
possible that she'd been tipsy, at the very least. And if that was 
the case, her inhibitions would have been lowered, and she could have 
acted out of character.

And, since alcohol had no effect on him, *he* should have behaved 
sensibly. He should have stopped things before they got out of hand. 
*He* had undoubtedly been sober, even if he had been carried away by 
a rush of blood to the head.

Maybe Lois had a point.

Maybe he had behaved badly; taken what she would never have wanted to 
give, sober.

Maybe...

*No*!

He slammed his fist into the bathroom wall, only just remembering in 
time to rein in his strength so that he didn't make a large hole in 
the wall. He had *not* done what Lois suggested. He hadn't 
*deliberately* plied her with alcohol. There had been no 
pre-meditation whatsoever on his part.

And he had asked her whether she was sure about kissing him; given 
her every opportunity to back out. She'd made it clear she didn't 
want to. And later, when he'd tentatively begun to suggest moving, 
she'd pre-empted him and insisted they moved to the bedroom. She had 
been sufficiently in control to make it very clear what she wanted, 
both then and later.

If she hadn't been entirely sober, that wasn't his fault, he insisted 
to himself, ignoring the tiny voice of his conscience which repeated 
over and over that it had been his responsibility to stop things 
before they got out of hand. Lois could have refused more wine, he 
told himself. And he could swear she hadn't been drunk enough to have 
no control over her actions. Maybe he shouldn't have risen to her 
challenge, but that didn't make it his fault. If she had regrets the 
morning after... well, how was he to know that would happen? *He* had 
no regrets... or at least, he hadn't until less than half an hour ago.

As he dressed - at normal speed for once, since he was really in no 
hurry to get to the Planet - Clark remembered the reason why Lois had 
been at his apartment in the first place, and wondered whether he 
should offer to help her with gaining access to her apartment. If not 
as himself, then as Superman. But he dismissed the idea. The less he 
saw of Lois today, the better, for his own peace of mind.

Unfortunately, convincing his body to forget how wonderfully 
responsive she had been was going to be a lot harder.


*************

After a few paces, Lois slowed down, realising that her hip was still 
painful; but nothing would have prevailed upon her to go back to 
Kent's place to call a taxi. Even if she had to crawl, she would make 
it to the subway station.

Fortunately, there was one a little over a block away, and once 
inside the train - standing, as it was early rush-hour - she began to 
calm down and work out what she needed to do. The first, and most 
important, thing for the time being was to put Clark Kent from her 
mind. He could wait. She'd have to work out how she was going to deal 
with him, but she could do that later. For now, she had to sort out 
getting her bank cards back and getting the lock changed on her 
apartment door.

That took up most of the morning. She'd called Perry to say she'd be 
late in, and then spent well over an hour in her bank branch, first 
trying to prove her identity - not easy, when everything of that 
nature she had was in her purse, which had been stolen! Finally, the 
official agreed to match her signature with that held in the bank's 
records, and also asked her a list of questions to check whether the 
answers matched those on her details. She was then issued with some 
temporary cheques and was permitted to make a cash withdrawal.

Getting her apartment sorted out was simpler, since her landlord was 
around; he agreed to hang around while the locksmith did his work, so 
she was able to claim one of the new keys immediately and leave. Then 
it was the Jeep's turn; she had to get the garage to come and tow it 
back to the workshop, and then wait while new locks were fitted. 
While she was waiting, she called the precinct where she'd reported 
the mugging, but even when she'd managed to get hold of an officer 
who could find her file, there was no news. No progress whatsoever 
had been made in finding the guy who did it, let alone in getting her 
belongings back. Lois was singularly unimpressed by that; it was well 
known that, once they'd taken anything of value, thieves usually 
dumped the remainder of their haul somewhere. There were other 
personal items in that purse which she wanted back.

During the whole of the frustrating morning, Lois couldn't stop her 
thoughts from occasionally drifting back to Clark Kent and the 
previous evening's activities. She'd been so *stupid*! After Claude, 
she'd been determined never to be taken in by a smooth-talker again, 
and yet she'd allowed Kent to seduce her into bed. Oh, he'd played it 
so cleverly, taking the opportunity she'd given him over that 
French-kissing article and challenging her to support her assertion; 
he just hadn't let it drop, even when it must have been clear to him 
that she wanted to change the subject. No, he'd persisted; and then 
he'd issued that bare-faced challenge he *knew* she wouldn't be able 
to resist.

<You could have resisted. He even asked if you were sure you wanted to do it>

No. He'd been goading her, trying to make her back down so that he 
could taunt her with it. He'd persuaded her to kiss him, or to let 
him kiss her, at any rate. And he'd used all of his experience to 
make sure that it didn't stop at kissing.

She wondered grimly just how many notches Clark Kent had on his 
bedpost. Perhaps so many he'd lost count. He was clearly very 
practised at it, anyway; he'd managed to win her over so completely 
that she'd been with him all the way. She'd even agreed to his 
suggestion that they move to the bedroom... and the way he'd touched 
her, with such expertise she'd nearly been screaming underneath him, 
had ensured her surrender.

<At least he made sure *you* enjoyed it, too> her conscience objected 
at this point, but Lois brushed the thought aside. Any experienced 
guy should be able to make sure that a woman had an orgasm.

<But Claude hadn't... and nor did Joe in college> that irritating 
voice reminded her.

She gave a mental shrug. So Kent was a better lover than either of 
them; that still didn't justify what he'd done. She would *never* 
have slept with him by any conscious choice of her own, she was sure 
of that. He'd created the circumstances - well, not the mugging, 
though it had no doubt provided the perfect opportunity for him to 
get her to his apartment. He'd plied her with alcohol, goaded her 
until she'd ended up inviting him to kiss her... and that had been it.

And yet he'd had the... the *gall* to complain about her reaction 
this morning, to claim she was practically accusing him of raping her!

<Be honest with yourself, Lois; isn't that pretty much what you 
*were* doing?> her inner voice annoyingly pointed out. She took a 
sharp breath; *no*! She hadn't said that - she hadn't even thought 
it! She wouldn't...

<Admit it, Lois, you were willing. You are attracted to him>

That was the problem. She *had* been a willing participant, but she 
wouldn't have been if she'd been sane - no, *sober* - at the time. 
There was no way in any normal circumstances that she'd have gone to 
bed with Clark Kent. The only way she'd have done it was under some 
form of...

No! Not duress - that was the word which had almost come to mind, but 
she knew very well that wasn't true. But she wouldn't - couldn't - 
have slept with Kent if she hadn't been under the influence of 
something intoxicating. Would she?

<You weren't incapable, Lois. You knew exactly what you were doing!>

No! Clark *had* plied her with alcohol, and then used his powers of 
persuasion on her. No, he hadn't raped her, but he had made her lose 
her inhibitions; without the wine, she'd never have gone along with 
his little game. The fact that she, a grown woman, had been perfectly 
happy to enjoy the wine was irrelevant. Of course it was!

So how dare he accuse her of being unfair by turning him into the 
'bad guy'? He knew exactly what he'd done. Of course he did; he no 
doubt did it all the time.

<You weren't drunk. You know what a drunk looks like, and you weren't 
like that. And you don't even have a mild hangover>

She sighed, trying to push those thoughts aside for now. And now, she 
had to get to the Daily Planet before he capitalised on her absence 
by stealing stories. Especially Superman exclusives: Kent was showing 
that he was very determined to beat her to the finish on as many 
Superman stories as possible. And that wasn't fair; *she* had found 
him. She had broken the story of his existence, had the first 
exclusive interview. *And* she had named him.

But then she acknowledged to herself that her biggest worry wasn't 
whether Kent was busy grabbing all her stories in her absence. 
Instead, she needed to worry about what he was saying about her. Was 
he already boasting about how he'd taken Lane the Ice Maiden to bed? 
Who knew what he could be saying by now? The story was probably all 
around the newsroom, and the research floor and the morgue and the 
marketing division too, if she knew the Planet grapevine.

So how was she going to deal with that? And how was she going to cope 
with her own feelings of shame and mortification, whether he told 
anyone else or not?


***********

Because he hadn't done a Superman patrol the night before, Clark 
decided to delay his departure for work by about half an hour. He and 
Lois had put in quite a bit of overtime recently, covering Superman 
for the paper, so he figured that Mr White wouldn't object. And 
anyway, he needed some more time to calm down and collect his 
thoughts before seeing Lois again. He had no idea how he was going to 
behave towards her; he just hoped that she would have the good sense 
and diplomacy to keep their personal situation out of the newsroom. 
He certainly intended to. He *could* be polite to her, but only if 
she reciprocated. If she intended to brand him publicly as the 
'bastard' she'd labelled him that morning, it would be very difficult 
to maintain a facade of good manners towards her.

He *did* want to talk to her, to clear the air if possible and 
explain his side of what had happened, perhaps even to apologise if 
she really did think that he should have realised she'd had too much 
to drink, but he knew that there was no way they could have that 
conversation at work. The best he could hope for was to persuade her 
to come for a drink - non-alcoholic - with him after work, if she'd 
calmed down by then. Though he suspected that was probably unlikely...

Maybe tomorrow. Or some time next week...

It was some seconds before he realised that his flight-path had 
carried him over the part of town where Lois had been mugged the 
previous evening. He didn't know whether this was pure accident, or 
something subconscious, but he was just about to accelerate and head 
for another part of the city when something caught his eye in an 
alley not far from the building they'd been in.

He flew down and went straight for the large refuse container... yes, 
that was a black strap hanging out of it. Frowning, he pulled at the 
strap; that looked like Lois's purse. He used his X-ray vision to 
check the interior, and saw Lois's press pass as well as a photo of 
Lois with her sister Lucy. There were no bank cards, and no cash 
either.

He scanned the purse carefully, looking for fingerprints, but even 
his eyes could only detect one main set of prints - Lois's, no doubt 
- and a very blurred set which he knew he wouldn't be able to do 
anything with, so it was unlikely that the police would. He 
hesitated, wondering whether he should hand it to the police, but 
then wasn't sure how he'd explain having found it. Superman wasn't 
even supposed to know that Lois Lane had been mugged.

For a brief instant he entertained the thought of taking it to her as 
Clark. That would make her think twice about some of the things she'd 
said to him; she'd have to eat humble pie and thank him.

But he quickly rejected the idea. He knew enough about Lois by now to 
realise that she wouldn't back down that easily; he might get a 
grudging thanks, but nothing more. And she'd want to know why Clark 
Kent was searching in dumpsters for her purse; she'd no doubt accuse 
him of trying to impress her, or, even worse, suggest that he was 
somehow in league with the mugger.

In the end, he went back to his apartment and wrapped it in an 
anonymous plastic bag, including a note written in stiff block 
capitals.

"I FOUND THIS AND THOUGHT YOU WOULD WANT TO HAVE IT BACK.
SUPERMAN."

He would find a way to leave it on her desk in the newsroom.


************

Lois finally arrived at the Planet shortly before noon, tired, 
frustrated and still very upset and angry about the night before. 
Walking out of the elevator, she looked anxiously around her, 
expecting to be the focus of sniggers and nudge-nudge-wink-wink 
gestures. To her surprise, no-one looked at her.

As she walked to her desk, Jimmy came running over to her. "Lois - 
where've you been? The Chief said you called and said you had things 
to do, but that was hours ago and I think he's getting a little 
cranky now."

Lois frowned; didn't people know she'd been mugged and had to deal 
with the aftermath? Surely Clark would have told them that, as an 
explanation for why she'd been at his apartment in the first place... 
unless he wanted people to assume that he'd been as successful in his 
chat-up lines as in his seduction technique. She told Jimmy to tell 
Perry that she'd be in to see him in a minute, and proceeded to her 
desk. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Clark Kent at his 
desk, diagonally opposite hers, but she averted her gaze. Just as she 
did so, she noticed him glancing up, but looking away swiftly; his 
expression was unreadable.

There was a package of some sort on her desk. Curious, she opened it, 
and to her amazement her purse was inside. It was a bit battered and 
dirty, but... but what was it *doing* there? She opened it quickly, 
and discovered to her delight that, even though things like keys and 
cards and cash were all gone, her other personal items were intact, 
though left scattered loose.

A piece of paper fluttered to the floor, and she reached down to grab 
it. Scanning the note, she felt her stomach flutter. *Superman* had 
found it? Superman had brought it to the Planet for her? And she'd 
missed seeing him!

Jimmy passed her desk again on his way somewhere, and she grabbed his 
arm. "How did this get here?" she demanded, gesturing at the bag.

He shrugged. "Hey, Lois, I may look like I spend all my waking hours 
in this place, but I promise you, I don't! I have no idea where that 
came from or how it got there."

Disappointed, she released him. Sensing that she was being watched, 
she allowed her gaze to flick very briefly over to Kent, but he was 
already turning away. He would know, some instinct insisted; but 
there was no way she was going to ask him.

Instead, she contemplated calling the police to tell them that her 
purse had been recovered, minus valuables, but decided against it. 
Since they clearly hadn't shown any interest in trying to recover it 
themselves, and it was unlikely they'd ever catch the thief, what was 
the point?

It was time to see Perry, before he came out and started demanding 
whether she wanted to be put onto a part-time contract. And anyway, 
there were things she might want to say to Perry, depending... well, 
depending on exactly what Kent had been saying about her.

Nothing, it seemed; though Lois thought cynically that he was 
probably biding his time. Waiting for the right opportunity, and the 
right audience, no doubt. Perry had other concerns on his mind, since 
it seemed some Government agents had been sniffing around the Planet 
looking for information on Superman. They hadn't identified 
themselves, but one had called the man in command 'Trask,' and 
apparently Kent had managed to discover the man's full name and rank 
after they'd left.

They had already interviewed Kent, who apparently had *not* been at 
all happy at the idea, and wanted to talk to Lois as well. The 
alternative, she discovered when she protested, was having her 
computer confiscated and searched. She decided on the interview, 
which, it seemed, would probably occur the following day.

"Okay, Lois, but once you've seen off these guys I want you and Kent 
to investigate them. Find out who they are, who signed their orders 
and what the heck they're doing in my newsroom!" Perry ordered, 
looking more furious than Lois had ever seen him before.

But he'd given her an instruction she just couldn't comply with. 
Shaking her head in raw denial, she spoke jerkily. "No... Chief, no. 
I can't."

"Can't *what,* Lois? What the Sam Hill is going on here? You're my 
best reporter, Lois, and I need you on this! I want to know what this 
Colonel Jason Trask is up to!"

"And I'll find out," she promised. "Just not with Kent. I can't work 
with him, Perry," she whispered.

He frowned, then stared at her. "Judas Priest, Lois, I thought you'd 
got over that! I know you didn't want to work with him on the 
Messenger explosion, but even you had to admit that he did a good 
job! Kent's a good reporter, Lois. I know he doesn't have your 
experience or your instincts, but he'll learn. And he's intelligent, 
so it's not as if you're dragging around someone who can't keep up 
with you - "

"Chief!" Lois bit out, interrupting him. "It's got nothing to do with 
that. It's... personal. I just can't work with him."

His eyes narrowed. "Lois... are you okay? Did Kent do something I 
should know about?"

She was briefly tempted... but only very briefly. This was personal, 
and not something she wanted to drag into the newsroom. She didn't 
want anyone to know what she'd been stupid enough to do, anyway. 
Shaking her head, she denied his suggestion. "No, Chief - I told you, 
it's personal. I... don't like him and don't want to work with him."

Perry was silent for a few moments, then he nodded. "Okay. I don't 
like it, but if you're telling me that's the way it is, then okay. 
You work alone. I'm just going to have to put Kent on a different 
story, which is a pity because he was all fired up to work on this 
one..."

He paused, and raised an eyebrow at Lois as if to ask whether she was 
going to change her mind. She stared unblinkingly at him, and after a 
while he sighed deeply. "Go on, get out of here, Lois. I've got a 
newspaper to run."


************

Clark sat at his desk, pretending to work but unable to focus on 
anything in front of him. Today had gone from being terrible to being 
the worst day of his life. As if Lois's reaction on seeing him 
earlier hadn't been bad enough, he'd come into work to find some FBI 
agents demanding information on Superman. Why did the FBI need to 
know about a Spandex-clad Super-hero anyway? And, of course, because 
he was one of the reporters who had written Superman stories, he was 
prime target for their questions. He'd managed, with difficulty and 
not without the surreptitious use of some Super-powers, to pass the 
lie-detector test, but it had been obvious that the man in charge, a 
Colonel Trask, wasn't satisfied.

What did this mean? Were his father's fears finally going to be 
realised - *was* he going to be caught, and stuck in a laboratory, 
and dissected? Always assuming they could manage it, he thought with 
a cynical smile. On the other hand... He still had no idea who or 
what he was. What if he really was a government experiment - but a 
*US* government experiment? What if now was the time his creators had 
chosen to claim him? The thought made him go cold with fear and 
horror.

He *liked* his life. He was Clark Kent, reporter, working in the job 
he'd wanted ever since he'd started journalism school. He was working 
for the greatest paper in the country; he'd been there for under 
three weeks, and already he'd had three front-page stories. There was 
no way he wanted to give up that life because some government 
scientists who'd played God with genetics wanted their creation back.

So he *had* to find out what was going on; what Trask's agenda was 
and, if possible, who *he* was. Because he wasn't really Clark Kent. 
That was only the name his parents had given him when they'd adopted 
him. So perhaps he should try to see Trask's visit as an opportunity 
as well as a threat.

Perhaps. But he had a bad feeling about all this.

Then Lois had arrived; he'd watched her, wondering whether she'd 
calmed down at all and whether he could persuade her to talk to him. 
He'd toyed with the idea of inviting her for lunch, somewhere quiet 
where they could talk about what had happened. He could explain that 
the idea of getting her drunk had never crossed his mind and that he 
hadn't thought she was drunk anyway, and tell her that... well, maybe 
*not* tell her how much making love with her had meant to him, but at 
least try to get her to accept that he wasn't some kind of Casanova 
with a score-chart above his bed.

But she'd ignored him completely.

Her expression as she'd crossed the newsroom had told him that she 
wasn't over her temper, not by a long way. He'd mentally written off 
his plans to talk to her over lunch, though he knew that this was a 
conversation which shouldn't be avoided for too long. There were 
other concerns, one of which had only occurred to him after he'd 
arrived at work.

He'd seen her expression when she'd found her purse; delight, 
combined with chagrin that she'd missed seeing Superman. <Yeah, 
right> he thought bleakly, watching her ask Jimmy who had put the 
package on her desk. <If she only opened her eyes, she'd realise just 
how close to her Superman is...> Not that he really wanted her to 
know. Not now. It wasn't a good idea at all....

Now, if she'd thought to ask *Clark Kent,* the guy sitting almost 
opposite her, who'd left the package there... but he knew she 
wouldn't.

When she'd gone into Mr White's office, he'd been unable to resist 
listening in on some of the conversation. He hadn't even bothered 
trying to justify his eavesdropping to his conscience; he knew it was 
wrong, and he didn't care. He needed to know whether Lois was trying 
to get him sacked, for one thing.

The fact that she didn't do so gave him little cause for comfort. 
She'd made it very clear to their editor that there were good reasons 
why she and Clark could not work together. That was not going to do 
him any favours at all.

As Lois emerged from the editor's office, Clark tried to look busy; 
he didn't want to give the impression of having been watching for 
her. Pulling up a search engine on the Planet network so that he 
could begin checking out Colonel Jason Trask's credentials, he mused 
bleakly that whoever had said getting involved with someone you work 
with was a bad idea had been right. It was a *terrible* idea.

But they were both adults; they should be able to be professional and 
put it behind them. He *would* do that... once his body stopped 
reacting as soon as he saw Lois, once the memories of last night had 
faded into nothing, once he...

"Kent! In here!"

His thoughts were interrupted by the editor demanding his presence. 
Unsurprised, he entered the office and closed the door behind him. 
"You wanted to see me, Mr White?"

"Yeah. I have no idea what's gone on between you and Lois, Kent, and 
I don't much care. What I do know is I have a newsroom to run and a 
paper to get out, and it *doesn't* help me when one of my reporters 
refuses to work with another!" Perry White paused, and Clark avoided 
the older man's gaze. This was *not* all his fault, and he had no 
intention of taking the blame, but he had only been at the Planet a 
couple of weeks. Lois, on the other hand, had been there a few years. 
So, if Mr White was saying that he couldn't *employ* two people who 
couldn't work together...

But he wasn't. After a moment or two, the editor continued. "I'm not 
assigning any blame here, Clark. I know what Lois is like, and I'm 
not leaping to any conclusions. But I'm going to have to take you off 
that FBI story, since Lois is working on it."

"But I've already made a start - " Clark protested.

"Doesn't matter," the editor interrupted him. "If you've got anything 
useful so far, you give it to me and I'll pass it on to Lois. Look, 
Kent," he added, more gently, "I need an experienced reporter on this 
case. And out of the two of you, that has to be Lois. She's got far 
more contacts in this town, for a start." He sighed, then added, "You 
work with Myerson on the mayor's tax plans, okay?"

Clark reluctantly agreed, knowing that he didn't have a lot of choice 
and resenting Lois for being the cause of this setback. He didn't 
like it at all; working on this story had been one legitimate way of 
finding out just what Jason Trask and his superiors knew about a 
small baby abandoned in Smallville in May 1966.

It seemed that he would just have to sneak around, using his powers, 
and find out what he could behind both Perry's and Lois's back.


************

Lois was feeling frustrated. She'd spent most of the afternoon trying 
to track down this Colonel Trask, and coming up against a complete 
blank. The FBI had actually disowned him, which was a first for that 
organisation. In her experience, the FBI's response to most things 
was a bland 'no comment;' in this case, a senior information officer 
had called her personally to inform her that no-one by the name of 
Jason Trask was employed by the FBI in any capacity.

So was he a fake? What was he up to? It was all very suspicious.

A further major irritation was the continuing presence of Clark Kent 
only a few feet away from her. He seemed to be keeping out of her 
way, but he was *there;* any time she raised her gaze from her 
monitor she could see him out of the corner of her eye. And seeing 
him brought back lots of reminders she simply didn't want; memories 
of her anger at waking up and finding herself in his bed, the feeling 
of betrayal she'd experienced when she'd discovered that he was just 
like any other male. Only after one thing, no matter how much he'd 
insisted that she could trust him.

But at the same time, more frustrating memories kept flooding her 
brain: how it had felt when he'd kissed her, the sensation of his 
skin under her fingers, the way he'd stroked and caressed her when 
they'd moved to his bedroom, how she had felt when they'd moved on to 
still more exciting things. No matter how much she now regretted it, 
how much she hated him for having taken advantage of her, she knew 
that last night had been probably the best sex she'd ever had.

But she hadn't *wanted* it! And not with Clark Kent.

She ignored the nagging voice of her conscience which insisted that 
there hadn't been a lot of advantage-taking going on; in fact, it 
could as easily be argued that she'd taken advantage of him. She 
didn't want to admit anything of the kind! She didn't want to think 
about that incident in any way other than negative. She didn't *want* 
to have any kind of relationship with Clark Kent; she would have 
given almost anything just to be able to go back in time twenty-four 
hours to wipe out the entire incident.

It wasn't just that she worked with Kent, although that was part of 
the problem. After the Claude incident, she had determined *never* to 
get involved with a colleague ever again. It just carried too many 
risks. And she didn't want to be a main topic of conversation in the 
men's room; she didn't want to wonder continually if her lover was 
telling his pals all about their sex life. Nor did she want to cope 
with the inevitable fallout at work after a relationship ended.

There were other reasons for not wanting to get involved in any way 
with Clark Kent. He wasn't her type, for a start - he was far too 
much of a country hick, for one thing, and he was also profoundly 
irritating. He needed to smarten up, treat her with more respect and 
generally acquire a *lot* of street-smarts before he could even begin 
to cut it in the city and in the Daily Planet. She had little or 
nothing in common with Clark Kent.

<But you had no trouble carrying on a conversation with him last 
night!> her conscience reminded her. Kent had shown that he was both 
intelligent and articulate, and he had a wickedly subtle sense of 
humour.

That was irrelevant, she told herself. She had no interest in him at 
all on a personal level, and last night had been a *mistake.* A 
mistake he had contributed substantially to, by making sure that her 
inhibitions were lowered enough so that she would go along with his 
sly seduction technique. She should have guessed what he was really 
like under that faux-naive exterior; should have realised that he was 
a complete womaniser. She'd even seen him flirt with Cat, on his very 
first day at the Planet - hadn't that been enough of a warning for 
her?

Well, never again. And Clark Kent could whistle for the opportunity 
to work with her again; she'd told Perry that she wouldn't work with 
him, and she meant it.

A tiny voice again suggested to her that perhaps her anger was being 
directed at the wrong target; that she was blaming Clark so that she 
didn't have to face the unpalatable truth that she'd broken her own 
rules *again.* That Clark wasn't really the person she was upset 
with. The humiliation was all self-inflicted, and the only reason she 
was focusing on Clark Kent as the villain here was so that she didn't 
have to face up to the reality that this situation was all her own 
fault. Tears stung the back of her eyes as she tried to shut her mind 
to this possibility; it *was* Kent's fault. He *had* deliberately 
seduced her!

A phone call distracted her then; a few minutes later, she replaced 
the receiver, all thoughts of Kent forgotten. She had a lead!

On her way out of the newsroom, Kent suddenly appeared in front of 
her. "Lois, we need to talk," he announced, his tone quiet.

"I'm on my way out," she informed him bluntly, not wanting to talk to 
him at all. "And anyway, I said all I want to say to you this 
morning."

"This is important," he insisted, following her into the elevator.

The doors closed before she could dart out again, leaving her trapped 
with him. She was *not* going to show him that she was uncomfortable 
with the situation, she determined, and simply selected the button 
for the ground floor. He pressed the 'stop' button, however, and 
leaned against the control panel to prevent her starting the elevator 
again.

"Get away from there!" she demanded coldly, determined not to let him 
see how much she was shaking inside - from fear, from humiliation, 
from the force of the memories of him kissing her, touching her, 
sliding into her... "You want me to report you to Perry for stalking 
and harassment?"

"I just want to ask you something," he replied quietly, though she 
could see an oddly determined expression in his eyes.

"What?" she demanded, intentionally rudely.

"Well, to tell you something and then ask you something," he amended. 
"I wanted to *tell* you that I had no intention of getting you drunk 
last night, and I'm sorry you thought I did. I really didn't realise 
we'd had so much to drink, and I apologise for that."

She didn't respond, deliberately looking away from him; she hoped he 
would interpret her silence as meaning that she had no interest in 
the conversation. She did *not* want to talk to him; did *not* want 
to be reminded of last night in any way. She just wanted the whole 
subject dropped and forgotten about; better still, she wanted to 
pretend that last night had never happened.

"And I want - need - to ask you: is there any possibility that you 
could be pregnant?" His voice sounded strained. No wonder, Lois 
thought cynically once she'd recovered from her own momentary shock; 
she was amazed that the possibility of pregnancy hadn't even occurred 
to her. The reason for his question - and the strain in his voice - 
was evident. Kent was no doubt panicked at the thought that he might 
actually have to take some responsibility for the consequences of his 
actions. The idea that a child might result from one of his 
one-night-stands was obviously scaring him rigid.

Well, she had no use for a man who couldn't face up to his 
responsibilities anyway. But beyond that, she didn't want Clark Kent 
having any role in her life in any sense, so the prospect of having 
his child filled her with horror. But she wasn't on the Pill at the 
moment, which meant that pregnancy was a definite possibility. 
Resolving to make an appointment to see her doctor first thing in the 
morning to arrange emergency contraception, she turned a cold gaze on 
Kent.

"Rest assured, Kent, that I would do everything possible to ensure 
that I am *not* carrying your child," she bit out. "You'd never even 
know about it." He flinched slightly at her words, and she realised 
that she'd probably given him the impression that she would even 
contemplate abortion to avoid that outcome. Whatever her principled 
views on the subject in general, she wouldn't ever consider it for 
herself; but she had no intention of telling him that.

Anyway, it was no doubt what he would want her to do in any case, so 
she'd just saved him the trouble of insisting on it.

"Now, are you going to let me go to see my source, or do I have to 
start screaming for help?" she demanded icily.

He didn't answer; instead, he pressed a button on the control panel 
and the elevator began to move again. As they reached the ground 
floor and the doors slid open, he stood back to let her past as if he 
was deliberately avoiding any physical contact with her.

Ignoring him, she stalked past and out of the building, on her way to 
meet Mr Thompson, the man who had called her claiming to have 
information about Jason Trask.


***********

Standing back to allow Lois to pass him, Clark felt the cold fingers 
of shocked disbelief close around his heart yet again. As if Lois's 
unexpected accusations that morning hadn't been bad enough, he was 
now having to assimilate something far worse. The idea that Lois 
would have an abortion rather than bear his child was too awful to 
contemplate; did she really hate him that much, or did that reflect 
her opinion of children in general?

He felt frozen to the spot, only remembering to move when the 
elevator doors started to close. How could the woman he'd fallen for 
at first sight have turned out to be so... so cruel, so selfish, so 
cold-hearted? Did he really have such appalling taste in women? How 
could he have been so completely wrong about Lois? Oh, he'd known 
from the start that she had a hard, stubborn exterior, but he'd been 
so sure that the few glimpses he'd had of a different Lois meant 
that, underneath, she was a much nicer person. Kind. Soft-hearted. 
Generous. Lacking in self-confidence, and looking for love... a love 
he could offer her.

Even after her reaction this morning, he'd still been sure that the 
woman he'd thought he'd glimpsed in Lois still existed; it was just 
that he had to try harder to find her.

But now... his illusions had been shattered with a few harsh words.

He'd been fooling himself. The woman he'd thought Lois Lane was did 
not exist; in her place was a cold, hard, selfish bitch. He flinched 
at his mental use of the word, but he was well aware that many men of 
his acquaintance would use it to describe her.

And he'd actually genuinely wanted to apologise; that was galling. 
Her accusation that he'd got her drunk had refused to leave his head 
all morning, and he'd finally conceded that he *had* to accept some 
responsibility there. After all, alcohol didn't affect him. He *knew* 
that. So he'd been completely sober all along, and he'd *known* that 
she wasn't. She might not have been rolling-in-the-aisles drunk, but 
she had been inebriated sufficiently for her inhibitions to have been 
lowered. And, while he couldn't explain to her why he hadn't been 
affected by the wine, he'd decided that he did owe her an apology for 
what had happened. It *had* been more his fault than hers, he 
thought, despite her very obvious willingness.

The pregnancy thing had only occurred to him after he'd made his 
decision to offer her contrition. He'd suddenly realised that he 
hadn't used any protection - he didn't *have* any to use! - and that 
he couldn't take it for granted that Lois had. He was a responsible 
adult, and responsible adults did not behave carelessly and ignore 
the consequences; so, he'd decided, he needed to let her know sooner 
rather than later that, if she was pregnant, he would be there for 
her and help her in any way she wanted. He *would* be a father to 
their child, even if she didn't want him as part of her life in any 
other way.

Well, she'd made her feelings about *that* only too clear.

Could he ever have imagined that he would feel so disillusioned the 
morning after his first time making love? Last night had, for him, 
been so incredibly special, made even more so by being with the woman 
he thought he was in love with... the woman who clearly existed only 
in his imagination. He'd wanted his first time to be special, and it 
had seemed at the time that it *was* - but now, he felt empty inside.

He inhaled deeply and then blew out sharply; he had to make himself 
forget about that wonderful night. *He* might have enjoyed it; he 
might have fooled himself that it was the start of a beautiful 
relationship, but Lois Lane certainly didn't think the same way at 
all. Far from it. And the sooner he got used to the idea - and 
accepted the fact that Lois was not the woman he'd imagined - the 
better.

Right now, though, there was something more important to focus on, he 
reminded himself. Lois had a lead on the Trask story, it seemed, so 
if he wanted to have any chance of finding out what was going on - 
who and what he was - he needed to follow her.

He strolled out of the Planet building, quickly ducking into an alley 
and spinning into his Super suit. Moments later he was hovering in 
the air above the newspaper offices, looking for his colleague; 
within a few seconds he'd spotted her in a taxi which was cruising 
down the road. A nano-second later, he was hovering several hundred 
feet above, following her to her destination.


***********

Late that evening, Clark sat cross-legged on the window seat in his 
bedroom, staring down at the small object cradled lovingly in his 
hands. For the first time in his entire life, he knew where he came 
from.

Krypton.

Just a name, that was all; in an objective sense, it meant nothing to 
him, or to anyone else. He hadn't even needed to search through all 
the published works on astronomy he could find in the Metropolis 
University Library to discover that, although he'd done it anyway. 
Krypton was nota known planet, either in this solar system or 
anywhere else. But it was the planet from whence he came. The globe 
had told him that.

He was from Krypton. *That* was what made him different; not because 
he was an experiment gone wrong and then discarded; not because he 
was a freak; not because he was just inexplicably weird.

He was an alien, from another planet. He was Kryptonian. And, 
although he had no idea why he had ended up on Earth, or where 
Krypton was, or why his birth parents - or the Kryptonian community - 
had sent him here, that didn't matter for the moment. Time enough on 
some other occasion to wonder whether there were more Kryptonians on 
Earth, whether others had grown up, as had he, in complete ignorance 
of their origins. Although, he mused, if there were and their genetic 
make-up was the same as his, why hadn't they made themselves known 
when he'd started appearing as Superman, flying and revealing lots of 
other powers?

That wasn't important for now. Now... he knew. For the first time, he 
could answer for *himself* the question: 'Who am I?'.

"I am Kryptonian. I am from another planet." He spoke the words 
aloud, feeling elated. No more wondering... well, except about *why.* 
That was still the tough part. But now he knew *who.* And he felt a 
sense of wonderment about this knowledge, a feeling which hadn't left 
him since the instant he'd lifted that tarpaulin and seen... *it*.

His parents had been astonished when he'd flown to Smallville to tell 
them. They'd been delighted for him, that he finally knew the answer 
to at least some of the questions he'd asked himself, and them, over 
and over ever since they'd realised that he was *different.* His 
mother had told him that it would have made no difference to them, in 
any case, regardless of whether he was the product of a Russian lab 
experiment or a Martian. He was their son, and they loved him. As he 
loved them, the couple who had taken in a foundling and brought him 
up as their own son, protected him all his life, and especially since 
they'd all realised just how different he was.

They'd told him again, in detail, about the night they'd found him, 
the craft he'd been lying in, their rescue of him and Jonathan's 
burial of the spaceship... and the fact that some Government agents 
had come sniffing around a few days later.

He now knew what that was all about...

Allowing his mind to backtrack, he remembered floating above the 
anonymous-looking office in which Lois had spoken to the man she'd 
gone to see, someone called Thompson who'd claimed to have been sent 
by the Government to investigate Trask, apparently a rogue agent. 
He'd seen that she hadn't believed a word the man had said either; 
then he'd been irritated as she climbed into a cab afterwards to 
follow Thompson. *He'd* planned to follow the man. This was the best 
chance he'd ever had to find out the truth about himself, and he 
didn't want to lose it because Lois Lane did something stupid and he 
had to rescue her.

But, much to his relief, she merely watched Thompson enter the 
warehouse on Bessolo before leaving. Clark had hung around for almost 
an hour before Thompson and Trask had left. To his disappointment, he 
hadn't been able to hear their conversation, since it would have 
meant hovering too low in an open area where he'd be visible to 
passers-by, but he would find them again. And in the meantime, there 
was the warehouse to search; its contents looked intriguing...

He could never have dreamed of what he would find. The file had been 
the first shock: opening a cabinet at random and flicking through, 
he'd come across files labelled by year and place. The place-names 
all seemed to ring a bell, but while he'd still been trying to figure 
out the connection, suddenly he found *it.* One slim manila file, 
labelled 'Smallville, Kansas, 1966.'

His home town. The year he was born... no, the year his parents had found him.

He scanned the file's contents at Super-speed. There had been a 
report of a strange, unidentified light streaking through the sky 
above Schuster's Field. Some unnamed local source talked about a UFO. 
There was a mention of a man, unidentified by the source, burying 
something late at night a day or two later. When B-39 sent agents to 
investigate, the file recorded, no objects were found in the field. 
But there had been a depression in the grass, graduated, as if 
something had gradually come into land and then coasted along the 
surface for a few feet before coming to a halt.

B-39... what was that? he wondered. By the look of the other files in 
this cabinet, and the contents of this file, these people were 
interested in UFOs. But who were they? Government, or some mavericks? 
Thompson, allegedly a government investigator, knew about this place 
and about Jason Trask, so Clark was inclined to believe the former... 
which made his father's advice to him all the more resonant. 
Officialdom *was* dangerous to him.

Someone in the government knew that his ship had come to Earth in 
1966, and where it landed. Therefore it was possible that someone 
could know what was in that ship, and where he was now....

His heart beating frantically, he'd forced himself to continue 
reading. The buried space craft had been discovered after a lot of 
searching, and was in B-39's possession. No trace had been found of 
any objects or living organisms which might have been in the craft.

And the file said nothing whatsoever about the origins of the craft. 
It seemed that this organisation didn't even know there had been a 
baby in there, let alone where that baby came from and why. He was no 
closer to figuring out his origins.

But - assuming that Trask was part of this B-39 operation - what if 
they now linked Superman with that space craft? What if the link had 
already been made? He'd looked again at the file in his hand, and had 
realised something. It was less dusty than the other contents of the 
cabinet, and - he scanned it with his X-ray vision - there were 
recent fingerprints on it. Someone had been looking at this file in 
the last couple of days.

Was Trask close to figuring out who Superman was? The thought had 
made him shiver with fear.

He'd shoved the file back into the cabinet, worrying about protecting 
his secret and that of his parents.

But then his attention had been drawn to the tarpaulin-covered 
objects. What if...? Breathless, he'd started to float slowly around 
the room, coming to a halt beside one mound; he had no idea why he'd 
chosen that one, but with a shaking hand he'd reached out to lift the 
edge of the tarp. The strange figures along the sides of the smooth, 
dull-silver coloured craft meant nothing to him, but... on the front, 
the symbol carved there matched the one on his Suit. The one his 
mother had copied from his baby blanket. The stylised S.

This was *his* space craft. The one his parents had found him in. The 
one his father must have buried. The one a B-39 agent had dug up and 
stolen.

And... there was a small bag. Inside, a small globe - the one he now 
cradled in his hand as he continued his mental reconstruction of the 
afternoon's events. The globe had glowed as soon as he'd touched it, 
and for an instant had shown an image of Earth, before changing to an 
odd red-coloured mass.

<Krypton>

Somehow, looking at the globe, he had known. That red mass was 
Krypton, and it was where he was from. The name had just come to his 
lips. It wasn't even as if he'd somehow heard anyone speak it in his 
mind; he, somehow, had just *known.*

Krypton.

But before he'd been able to think about this amazing discovery, he'd 
heard voices. Deciding just to get out of there, rather than use his 
powers to hide, he'd thrust the globe inside the belt of his Suit and 
re-covered the space craft. It was too large and bulky to take with 
him now. He would return for it another time.

It had crossed his mind, just before leaving, that he probably should 
have stayed, at least to find out exactly what Trask was up to and 
why he wanted Superman; but he'd just needed to see his parents, 
share his incredible discovery with them. Trask would keep; this 
couldn't.

And so he'd seen his parents; they'd talked for hours about his amazing 
news, before he'd finally flown back here to his apartment, where he 
was still sitting, staring in wonderment at the small object which 
was of so much significance. He knew who he was, finally. And he 
felt...

Devastated.

Looking over at his bed once again, more of the day's events 
reconstructed themselves for him. Last night, less than twenty-four 
hours ago, he had made passionate, beautiful love with Lois Lane. 
This morning, she'd accused him of deliberately getting him drunk so 
that he could take advantage of her. And then later, she'd told his 
boss that she couldn't work with him - thus possibly sabotaging his 
career - and had told *him* that she'd abort any child she might have 
conceived, without even telling him.

Suddenly, his amazing discovery didn't seem so wonderful after all.


***********

Lois sat on the bench-seat of the small plane, glaring at Trask. How 
on earth had she got herself into this situation? It should have been 
straightforward; she'd agreed to be interviewed by Trask, at a 
location of his choice but which seemed reasonably safe, being a 
hotel conference room, and had been determined not to let him realise 
that he'd been rumbled. She'd answered all his questions - not 
entirely honestly - and had then been getting ready to ask some of 
her own about his interest in Superman, when suddenly his companions 
had produced guns and Trask himself had insisted that she accompany 
him outside.

Bundled into a car, she hadn't even had an opportunity to use some of 
her martial arts training to get away. Even when they'd arrived at 
the airfield just outside Metropolis, too many guns had been trained 
on her. And Trask had still refused to explain what he wanted with 
her.

Now, he was burbling on about something called the 'scientific 
method.' Advance a theory, subject it to a test, he'd said. *What* 
theory? *What* test?

"What are you talking about?" she demanded sceptically.

"Superman, Ms Lane," Trask drawled in sardonic amusement. "From what 
I see, you and your colleague Mr Kent - shame I couldn't get hold of 
him too - are the two people the alien seems to have had most contact 
with since his appearance a couple of weeks ago. Since he appears to 
favour doing good and saving lives, I'm betting that if, say, you 
should happen to fall out of an airplane at twenty thousand feet, he 
will rescue you. At any rate, if you should find yourself airborne 
without a parachute, you will do your best to contact Superman."

He was planning to throw her out of the plane! And she hadn't the 
faintest idea how to contact Superman! She was really going to die 
this time...

"One question, Trask," she demanded coolly, deliberately suppressing 
the fear which rose inside her. "Just why is it so important for you 
to find Superman that you'd break the law, even kill someone, in 
order to do it?"

His expression was a sneer. "That information is on a need-to-know 
basis, Ms Lane, and even so close to your impending death you don't 
need to know it."

He grabbed her, signalling to one of his men; instantly the door of 
the plane was thrown open and a rush of air swept in; she saw the 
other men grabbing hold of the plane's interior for support. 
Calculating her chances at minimal, at best, she decided that if she 
was going to get thrown out of the plane, she was taking Trask with 
her.

One swift movement had him on his back on the floor; but before she 
could take advantage of the situation, he was on his feet again and 
twisting her arms behind her back. He frogmarched her to the open 
door, Lois resisting the whole time. She was at the edge; her feet 
were already touching thin air as the wind rushed past her at an 
alarming rate.

Suddenly, his hands pushed and she fell forward; she tried to twist 
around, to grab his arm to pull him after her, but he had already 
moved back. Screaming loudly, only to have her words whipped away 
from her by the breeze, she went into freefall.


**********

Clark was in the conference room with Myerson, engrossed in the detail of
the mayor's tax plans. It wasn't exactly his favourite type of story, but he
knew he had a lot of ground to make up for, having disappeared in the early
afternoon the previous day and not returned. He hadn't even had a good
excuse for his absence, in the shape of a story; the events of the previous
day, in their entirety, had been so traumatic that the thought of covering
for himself hadn't even occurred to him.

So today, he was applying himself seriously to his work. He needed to; he'd
been hired on a two-month trial period, after all, and after his rift with
the Planet's most senior reporter, he'd be lucky if Perry White kept him on.
Although the discovery he'd made when he'd got to his desk that morning had
almost ruined his concentration for another day...

Money. Cash - dollar bills, just thrown on his desk. Puzzled, he'd collected
up the notes, idly counting the amount as he'd glanced around to see who was
nearby, whether there was anyone who could tell him why it was there. Thirty
dollars, he'd realised - why would anyone leave thirty dollars on his desk?
Then he'd noticed the business card underneath the final five-dollar bill.
Lois Lane, investigative reporter, Daily Planet.

For a moment, he'd felt cold inside. This felt like a pay-off for services
rendered! Apart from the offensiveness of the idea itself, which made him
feel sick, was she also implying that he was only worth thirty bucks? But...

He just hadn't been able to figure out, at first, why Lois would have given
him money. Then he'd remembered - of course, he'd given her some cash to buy
a few essentials on their way to his apartment. He couldn't remember exactly
how much he'd given her, but thirty dollars was probably about right. He'd
glanced over in her direction then, not really wanting to speak to her but
feeling that he at least ought to acknowledge her repayment, despite the
manner in which she chose to do it. But she'd been looking away from him at
the time - probably deliberately, he'd decided - so he'd abandoned the idea,
at the same time deciding to give the cash to the first charity collector he
encountered.

"So the Planet's line is that we approve of the increase in emissions taxes
on businesses located along the Hobbs River area, but not the hike in
householder taxes." Myerson was saying. "That's what Perry said to me
yesterday. We can say what we like about the rest of it, but the Planet's
position on those two areas has already been laid out in editorials."

"Um... yeah," Clark answered, trying to show some degree of interest. "Well,
shouldn't our position really be based on what the mayor plans to use the
additional revenue for, anyway, rather than on whether or not we approve of
the taxes?"

He saw Myerson roll his eyes, and realised that he was probably being naive.
Again. "It's not as simple as that, Clark. Even if we approve of the
spending plans, we might argue that there are better ways to raise the
revenue."

Just as he was about to agree, Clark froze. He was having the strangest
sensation that he could *hear* someone... someone calling for help, yelling
for Superman but without any real expectation that help would come. And yet
he wasn't hearing it; his Super-hearing hadn't kicked in. He couldn't
explain it. He wasn't telepathic, so how could this possibly be happening?

He had to be imagining it. Dismissing the sound, he turned his attention
back to Myerson. "Yeah, I see your point. So we need to look at both
aspects, then."

The cries in his head came back, even more urgent. And suddenly he realised:
this was *Lois's* voice! He had no idea how this was happening, or how she'd
managed to get herself into trouble this time, but none of that - nor how he
felt about her at the moment - was important. She sounded frantic, afraid
for her life. And his immediate reflexive reaction, that he had to save her,
was pure instinct.

Getting abruptly to his feet, he muttered something to Myerson about needing
the men's room, and hurried out. He went straight to the stairs, running up
at Super-speed and changing into the Suit en route; once he'd run through
the door at the top he was airborne.

Where was she? His instincts were telling him that her cries had come from
*above,* not below; yet how could that be the case? He focused intently,
willing her to keep calling so that he could track her down.

Then he heard her again, with his ears this time; above, and to the north of
the city. She really was somewhere above him! But how...? That wasn't
important. He flew swiftly onwards, and in a few seconds saw her
plummeting towards the ground, a mere few hundred feet below her at this
point, her arms flailing and an expression of frozen horror on her face.

In under a second he had her in his arms; he forced himself to forget about
the last time he'd held her in his arms, and instead to concentrate on being
Superman and making sure that she was safe and unhurt.

At first, she barely seemed aware that her downward plunge had been halted;
her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, her face a mask. Then she opened her
eyes, stared at him in disbelief and clutched wildly at his upper arms,
muttering something incomprehensible even to him. Her relief at being saved
from certain death was palpable, and Clark silently thanked whatever force
of nature had caused him to be aware in time of her frantic cries for help.

"Lois, are you okay?" he asked, his voice deliberately stiff and formal,
even more so than his usual manner as Superman; it was so hard to talk to
this woman with the memory of what she'd said to him the previous day so
fresh in his mind. But it would be a bad idea to give her any hint that
Superman was behaving any differently towards her; that would only make her
wonder why.

"Superman!" She sounded as if she was still in shock, and she no doubt was.
Her teeth were also chattering, and he increased his speed, landing them
outside the Daily Planet in under a minute. As he lowered her to the ground,
she clung to him; he wasn't sure whether it was the result of dizziness or
something else, but he steadied her and then released her before sweeping
her over with a gentle blast of heat vision. He didn't want her getting
hypothermia, he thought wryly; not after he'd gone to such trouble to save
her life.

He was about to fly off, not having any desire to stick around and talk to
her despite his curiosity about what had happened to her, but she caught at
his arm. "S-Superman, I have to warn you... Jason Trask... he's the one who
threw me from the plane, I think he wants to kill you!"

"I don't think there's anything that can kill me, Lois," Clark replied
automatically, but his brain was churning over as he assimilated the
information she'd just given him. Trask had *thrown her from a plane*? He'd
tried to kill Lois? But why? But he supplied his own answer: to draw
Superman out.

This was a trap...

He grabbed Lois by the arm, shoving her roughly in the direction of the
Planet's entrance. "Go inside!"

"But, Superman - "

"Go!"

She went, and he scanned the skies and the surrounding area in agitation.
Had he been wrong to bring Lois to the Planet? Was whatever Trask had up his
sleeve going to harm innocent people? But then he saw it; a large missile,
heading straight towards him. Somehow, Trask must have fitted a tracking
device to Lois; he would have to find a way of ensuring that it was removed.

The missile first; he flew directly towards it, catching it and reversing
its direction. It sped away from him, exploding violently and harmlessly
just beyond the Earth's atmosphere.

A few minutes later, Clark Kent strode back into the Planet's newsroom,
rubbing his forehead just above the frame of his glasses as if he was tired.
He wasn't; he was actually scanning Lois's clothes as she explained to Perry
White what had happened. And he'd been right: there was a tracer. It wasn't
even well hidden, just attached to the back of her jacket.

He deliberately knocked against her, in the process snatching the tracer and
crushing it in his palm. She turned to glare unpleasantly at him. "Watch
where you're going, Kent!" she snapped.

"Sorry," he muttered politely before making his way back to the conference
room, dropping the crumbled remains of the tracer in a trash-can on his way.


************

Lois left the Daily Planet several hours later, feeling somewhat pleased
with herself. She'd recovered from the acute shock of plunging, as she'd
believed, to her death; being rescued by Superman was certainly one way of
helping her forget such an unpleasant experience, she considered as she
relived those few moments in the Super-hero's arms. He was absolutely
incredible...

She had no idea how he'd known that she was in trouble: was his hearing
really so good that he'd heard her, wherever he'd been at the time? Or was
he somehow telepathic? Oh, how she wished she could get a proper one-on-one
interview, instead of having to content herself with yelling a question at
him after a rescue and perhaps getting a two- or three-word answer. There
were so many questions she wanted to ask him: who he really was, where he
came from, whether he really was from another planet as so many had
suggested, exactly what he could do and why he'd suddenly emerged from
nowhere the day of the Messenger transport shuttle flight.

She should have made better use of her time with him earlier - after all,
she'd been flying in his arms! Once they'd been on the ground, all she'd
been able to do was give him the warning about Jason Trask - which was just
as well, since that missile could have destroyed the Planet building if
Superman hadn't caught and deflected it. Would it have harmed Superman
himself? She had no idea, though the Super-hero himself had implied that it
couldn't.

Oh well, even without the interview she longed for, she had a guaranteed
front-page story for tomorrow's edition. The story of Jason Trask's abuse of
his position as a US government agent would make compelling reading: the man
who was so fanatical in his desire to destroy the man he thought of an alien
as to try to kill one reporter and endanger the lives of many other people.
The police and the FBI were now out looking for Trask, and it was only a
matter of time before he was arrested and thrown in jail.

And Lois had a story which was a strong contender for this year's shortlist.
So she was feeling very pleased with herself as she climbed into her Jeep to
drive home. Even the presence of Kent in the newsroom hadn't had as much
power to aggravate her as it had earlier and on the previous day. She could
almost believe, now, that maybe Kent had no intention of boasting of his
'conquest' where she was concerned; two whole working days had gone past and
she'd caught no amused glances, no leers, no whispered comments, and no
smart remarks aimed in her direction.

But just because he hadn't talked didn't exonerate him for what he'd done,
she reminded herself firmly. And because of what he'd done, she'd had to
endure a very embarrassing visit to her doctor that morning, to arrange
emergency contraception and also to discuss another potential consequence
which had occurred to her in the hours during which she'd lain awake the
night before. Kent was clearly a womaniser, a skilled seducer. And he hadn't
used a condom. That being the case... was she at risk of contracting any
sexually transmitted diseases? Even worse, what if he had HIV or even AIDS?
But he *looked* healthy, she'd protested to her doctor, earning herself the
disapproving response that HIV, and even AIDS, does not necessarily carry
visible symptoms.

So, thanks to Kent, she was now going to have to undertake some very
humiliating tests to ensure that there were no other unpleasant reminders of
that mistake.

All the same... she had to work with him. They were employed by the same
paper, and for the good of the Planet she was going to have to treat him
courteously - and far more so than she had the previous day. Even though she
knew *why* she'd done it - and she'd been shaking inside at the time, just
not wanting to be anywhere near him - she knew she'd gone too far with what
she'd said to him. She did feel guilty about that, but the thought of
apologising... well, that was unthinkable. She couldn't even look at the guy
without wanting to shrivel up inside. The memory of that night, and the
morning after, was just so humiliating that she'd made herself almost blot
it out, suppressed the details to prevent herself dwelling on it.

And yet she would have to get along with him, even work together with him if
a story demanded it. She knew that could happen - was quite likely to happen
in the future. Whatever her personal feelings about Kent, he had potential
as a journalist and had already turned in some good work, even if it lacked
the edge her own writing had. And when they'd worked together on the various
Messenger-related stories, she'd been surprised to realise how well their
styles complemented each other, and how good an investigator he was. She
might not appreciate his charm, but it certainly worked as an interview
technique, and as  a means of obtaining information which might otherwise be
denied.

Perry had been very understanding the previous day, but, as he frequently
reminded his staff, he ran a newspaper and not a social club. Personal
differences could not be allowed to interfere with the job. Sooner or later,
he was going to expect her to work with Kent again; apart from issues of
team-work and best fit, there was the simple truth that often there simply
wasn't another person available. There would come a time when it would be
Clark Kent or nobody. So perhaps, before she got forced into it, she should
make the first move and indicate to Perry that she was ready to be more
professional when it came to working with colleagues.

Not that such a move would mean that she had forgiven or forgotten Kent's
behaviour; she would make sure he understood that.


***********

Clark flew slowly over the city, watching and listening for anything unusual
below; he'd got into the habit now of flying a patrol at varying times of
the evening or night, as well as responding to emergencies which came to his
attention. Patrolling was another way of pointing out to criminals and petty
attackers that the chances of their getting caught were higher now that
Superman was in town, and the random timing of his patrols ensured that
offenders didn't just wait until the usual time had passed.

Most people, he knew, welcomed Superman's presence in Metropolis; he knew
that the way the Daily Planet had presented his arrival had done a lot to
soothe any worries about the presence of an incredibly strong being who
could fly. Lois was responsible for that, he knew; she had decided to trust
him almost at the instant she'd first seen him in the Suit. No-one 
who didn't know Lois would probably consider that at all surprising, 
but he did know
her and he was surprised. Lois notoriously trusted no-one; yet she'd
immediately decided that the man she'd dubbed 'Superman' was one of the good
guys.

Maybe that was why he'd assumed their night together meant that she'd
finally decided to trust Clark Kent?

But that was a question he couldn't answer. And after her comments the
previous day about her response to any pregnancy which might have resulted,
he no longer really wanted to dig very far into Lois's psyche. Although,
he'd told himself in the small hours of the morning after getting little
sleep, perhaps she was actually on the pill and her words had been just
that - words. Bravado. But even in that case, why couldn't she appreciate
that he would be appalled at the prospect? Hadn't she understood that he'd
asked her the question in the first place because he *cared* - about her,
and about wanting to take his share of the responsibility if she was
pregnant? That he would want to play a role in his child's life?

There was no point dwelling on that issue, though. Much as he hated the
idea, it was Lois's body, Lois's life. He'd made love to her on one
occasion, and she'd had regrets the morning after. He had to concede that he
had no influence in the situation; that if she wasn't on the Pill, any
decisions were up to her and her alone. She didn't want him involved. And he
wasn't sure he wanted to be involved with a woman who could behave so
callously... though he knew, even as his mind voiced the thought, that it
wasn't true. The sense of connection was still there. He'd felt it, earlier
that afternoon, as soon as he'd caught Lois in his arms to rescue her from
freefall.

That afternoon... the memory reminded him of Jason Trask and the loose ends
which remained there. He knew that Trask was now being actively sought by
the FBI, and he'd been tempted to offer his help in the search; but in the
end he'd decided that it was probably better if Superman stayed out of the
situation. After much thought, he'd concluded that Trask most likely hadn't
made the connection between Clark Kent and Superman; if he had, then why go
to the trouble of risking his cover by pretending to be an FBI agent at the
Planet, and kidnapping one reporter and attempting to kill her? Why the
tracer on Lois's jacket, so that Superman could be detected? If Trask had
known, all he'd have had to do the previous morning was march into the
Planet and declare Clark Kent under arrest; or he could even have found
Clark at his apartment.

No, Trask didn't know. But what had happened had left Clark with more food
for thought. For some reason, the organisation of which Trask appeared to be
in charge, Bureau 39, which had an interest in UFOs, seemed to think that
Superman was a threat. Trask, at any rate, had made up his mind that the
Super-hero was an alien and, according to Lois, had even muttered something
at one point about an 'advance guard.'

Clearly, there were some people out there who were not willing to be so
charitable where Superman was concerned. They suspected his motives, and
they resented his presence. And if that had led to one madman putting
civilians' lives at risk to try to kill Superman, then what would stop
others following in Trask's wake, aiming to succeed where he had failed?

Perhaps it was time for Superman to stop being so reticent. So far, he'd
dealt with whatever emergency he was helping with, conferred with officials
at the scene if necessary, perhaps answered one question, then left
abruptly. No reporter had yet managed to obtain that elusive exclusive
interview. He had observed this aloof manner deliberately, as part of the
persona he assumed when he was in the Suit; it was yet another way of
ensuring that Clark Kent was not recognised in the Spandex.

But if he wanted to assure the world that he really did mean no harm, that
he only wanted to help and would do so to the best of his abilities, then
perhaps it was time he emerged a little from under that mask of aloofness.
He needed to give an interview. He could, at the same time, answer the
question on everyone's lips about where he came from: that he was from
Krypton and, to the best of his knowledge, he was the only Kryptonian on
Earth.

Having decided that, the only remaining question was which reporter he
should choose to give the interview to. Television was out of the question;
he had no intention of being questioned live, or even recorded and edited,
in full view of millions of people. And anyway, he was a newspaper reporter
himself; he had a special affinity with print journalism. That narrowed down
the options somewhat, he considered in wry amusement: if he was talking
about a newspaper, then what else could it be but the Daily Planet? Quite
apart from the quality of the paper, loyalty to his employer meant that he
would never offer something as significant as this to another paper.

So... the Planet. Who would he choose to interview him? Again, the answer to
that question seemed obvious: the Planet's best reporter, without a doubt,
was Lois Lane. She was also Superman's discoverer. So naturally he should
approach Lois.

But he was reluctant. Trying to tell himself that he wasn't allowing
personal feelings to get in the way of what was best both for the Planet and
Superman, he explored the options in his mind, deliberately forcing himself
to ignore his opinion about her as a person. Lois was a good journalist - a
*great* journalist. What if she asked questions he didn't want to 
answer? That was a strong possibility. And although his own training 
would stand him
in good stead, he wasn't used to being on the other side of an interview
situation.

And anyway... Lois wasn't the only reporter at the Planet who'd had Superman
stories under her byline, he reminded himself pointedly. And he really
needed to do something to secure his position at the Planet. He was on a
two-month trial, and having Lois refuse to work with him as she'd done was
obviously not going to endear him to Perry; neither had his disappearing act
the previous day gone down well. He was on pretty thin ice at the moment as
far as his job was concerned, he knew. A huge scoop would earn him a *lot*
of brownie points.

He was above the Planet building. Dropping down swiftly, he landed in an
alley behind the building, spun back to his Clark clothes, and then walked
around and in through the front entrance. Catching sight of the elevator,
another thought occurred to him. Lois would be *mad*! And, right now, Clark
could only feel pleased at the prospect. He didn't enjoy the way she'd been
looking at him lately, as if he was something offensive the cat had dragged
in. While this was hardly likely to improve him in her estimation, at least
he'd have got one over on her.

Sitting at his desk a few moments later, he booted up his computer and then
began to type, slowly at first and then furiously as the words and phrases
formed themselves in his mind and demanded to be written. Half an hour
later, he sat back, scrolled to the top, and smiled in satisfaction as he
began to read the article through before emailing it to the night editor.


*************

'I AM FROM ANOTHER PLANET' -  Superman talks exclusively to the Daily 
Planet, by Clark Kent.

Lois stared at the front-page headline in sheer disbelief. She had 
emerged straight from the Planet's parking garage to the street in 
order to buy a copy of that morning's paper from the vendor outside 
the building, expecting to rejoice in the sight of her byline on that 
morning's scoop, the story of Jason Trask's attempt to harm Superman 
and kill herself in the process. Instead, her gaze alighted on a 
headline she had longed to see on the Planet's front page - but with 
a very different byline.

How had this happened?

Superman was *her* story! If anyone had gained an exclusive interview 
with the hero, it should have been her. She was the one who'd found 
him, after all. How had Kent managed to scoop her? What right had he 
interfering in her territory? How *dared* he steal what should have 
been her story?

More fundamental, she realised, was the question of why Superman had 
chosen to speak to Kent rather than to herself. She'd thought he 
liked her. The way he'd smiled at her when he'd left her at her desk 
in the newsroom, the way he'd looked directly at her as he'd flown 
off, telling her that he'd be 'around'... all those tiny signals 
she'd interpreted as Superman having some sort of personal interest 
in her. Not necessarily any sort of romantic interest - after all, 
why should he choose her, as much as she might want him to? But she 
had thought she was in some way special to him.

But he'd given what had to be the biggest story of the year to Kent.

Well, it was up to Superman, she supposed; whatever she felt about 
the matter, he clearly didn't think that she had any claim to 
exclusivity where he was concerned. But Kent... Kent was a different 
matter. He would certainly have known Lois's views on the subject. 
Had he done this deliberately?

Lois considered that idea as she travelled up in the elevator. He'd 
been pushing himself into the limelight ever since he'd arrived at 
the Planet, refusing to take instructions from her, challenging her 
at every turn, sneaking behind her back to grab stories she should 
have had. And now he'd grabbed *the* story which should have been 
hers, just a day after successfully making the moves on her in his 
apartment.

Just what was his agenda?

She wasn't sure, but she was getting a pretty good idea. And Clark 
Kent was not going to get away with it. Forget any notions she might 
have had the night before about working with him as a professional 
colleague; this guy was Trouble with a capital T. And she was *not* 
going to sit back and let him take over her position as the Planet's 
top reporter.

Oh, no. War had now been declared, on both a professional and a personal level.


***********

Over the next few weeks, hostility was barely hidden beneath the 
surface where Lois's relationship with Clark was concerned. At 
morning conferences, she either ignored him or treated him as if he 
was lower than the office junior, and made it her business to grab 
all the most interesting stories, if possible.

Clark, in contrast, treated Lois with a cool courtesy. It just wasn't 
in his nature to be rude to anyone, for one thing - and in any case, 
if the thought had even crossed his mind of being as unpleasant to 
Lois as she was to him, his mother would have given him a clip around 
the ear, invulnerable or not. In any case, he felt that his tactics 
were actually preferable in the circumstances. It was obvious that 
Lois hated his manner towards her, which gave him a perverse 
pleasure. He suspected that she would have preferred him to be rude 
to her, for there to be open hostility between them. As it was, Lois 
was the one who appeared discourteous; Clark was the one who was at 
the receiving end of sympathetic glances from newsroom colleagues.

His interview with Superman had definitely been a turning-point. He'd 
arrived in the newsroom the following morning to cheers and 
congratulations from his colleagues, and had been called to an 
immediate interview with Perry White. The editor had been delighted 
with Clark's scoop, clapping Clark on the back and declaring that the 
Planet so far that morning had outsold all other papers on the 
newsstands put together. Mr White had asked Clark how it was that 
he'd managed to obtain what every other reporter in the city had been 
after to no avail; Clark had decided to play the ingenue and had 
shrugged self-effacingly. "Just luck, I guess."

Lois, however, had sat stony-faced while Clark was being feted by 
newsroom staff; she'd met his gaze just once, briefly, as he'd passed 
her desk on the way to his own, and her glare, he thought, could have 
frozen the Great Lakes. She considered Superman her own personal 
property, Clark concluded sardonically; she seemed to believe that 
she had some sort of automatic right to any and all information about 
the Super-hero, and that no-one else should have access to him.

That attitude had prevailed, he'd noticed, at a charity bachelor 
auction a couple of evenings earlier. He'd agreed - well, Superman 
had agreed - to be 'auctioned', and it had been well known around the 
newsroom that Lois intended to be the one to make the winning bid for 
a date with the Super-hero. Although in many ways Lois would have 
been preferable to a complete stranger, Clark hadn't been able to 
ignore his distaste at the knowledge that she would fawn over 
Superman, while at the same time continuing to treat *him* - Clark - 
like dirt. He had, therefore, been very pleased when the bidding went 
beyond her financial limit; though he hadn't been able to help 
feeling a pang of guilt at seeing her extremely disappointed 
expression. He'd left soon afterwards, but a flight over the LexCorp 
building a few minutes later had allowed him to see her sitting at 
the bar, getting slowly drunk.

Had relations between them not been completely impossible, he would 
have been tempted to re-enter the building as Clark, to offer her 
some sympathy and put her into a taxi home. But he knew he was the 
last person she would want to see; so he'd put on a burst of speed 
and continued his patrol.

He and Lois had been working on very different stories over the past 
few weeks, which meant that, apart from the morning conferences and 
occasional encounters in the newsroom, he hadn't seen a lot of her. 
Perry had assigned him to investigate sightings of a supposed 
invisible man - something Lois had openly scoffed at, only to become 
very chagrined when it turned out that not only were there two 
invisible men, but that one of them was a known gold robber and 
escaped convict who was planning to rob the Metropolis GoldRepository. 
That story had gained another front page headline for Clark; what 
with that and his Superman story, he was beginning to think that his 
employment at the Planet was probably secure.

Lois had spent most of the intervening weeks chasing down Superman - 
not too successfully, although Clark had at one point paused after a 
rescue and given her a two-minute interview. His motivation had been 
mainly guilt, as well as self-preservation: he was aware that his 
scooping of the first Superman interview had actually hurt Lois's ego 
pretty badly, so he'd felt some twinges over that despite his 
instinct to believe that she deserved it. Additionally, he'd thought 
that perhaps, if she got an interview of her own, her general mood 
might improve. Even if she still treated *him* as beneath her notice, 
she might cheer up more generally.

However, he'd almost regretted his decision as soon as he'd walked 
over to her; she'd stared back at him with hero-worship in her eyes 
instead of the usual brief contemptuous stare before looking away, to 
which he had now become accustomed. She hadn't even been able to 
assume her normal highly-competent reporter manner, instead 
stammering out a couple of questions of which even Jimmy would be 
ashamed. And he hadn't known whether to be embarrassed for her or 
angry with her.

His anger sprang from the fact that, when it came to journalism, Lois 
was the best there was. And yet there she'd been going all dewy-eyed 
and uncertain in front of a guy in a flashy suit. *Lois,* Mad Dog 
Lane, who never let anyone see that they impressed her - not that 
people frequently did have that effect on her anyway. A three-times 
Kerth award-winning reporter, allowing herself to behave like a 
star-struck teenager. He hadn't even felt the sense of flattered 
delight he'd experienced the first few times he'd seen her as 
Superman; she'd looked at him in a similar way then, but then it had 
been a novelty for him. He'd basked in the warmth of her admiration.

But on that afternoon, he'd just felt sick inside.  Knowing that 
Lois's hero-worship would change to disgust in an instant if she knew 
who he was made him bitter; all of a sudden, he hadn't been sure who 
he despised more: Lois or himself. So in the end he'd given her a 
couple of platitudes and made an excuse to fly off.

That, together with her behaviour towards him since their night 
together - including the day after that night - had led him to the 
conclusion that Lois was just a very shallow person. Good journalist 
or not, how could she be anything else? And if she was as good as she 
was believed to be, why was she, of all the reporters in Metropolis, 
not looking for the real story behind Superman? Everyone else was 
focusing on what he could do and where he'd appear next; he'd 
expected Lois, with her hard-hitting approach to the job, to be 
*investigating* him. Where had he come from? How long had he been on 
Earth? How had he come here? What was his motivation for what he did? 
Where did he go when he wasn't rescuing people? Did he have a hidden 
agenda...? All the questions he had *expected* to be asked when he'd 
finally decided to give Lois an interview... and all she'd been able 
to say was something inane about how wonderful it was to see him 
again and how magnificent he looked when he was saving people. She'd 
asked him how he felt about knowing he could do all those wonderful 
things and that people were grateful to him - like some grinning host 
on a frivolous daytime chat show where tough questions were 
contractually barred.

Sometimes, now, it was hard to believe that their night together had 
ever happened. And sometimes, he wished it *had* never happened.

And yet... was he really able to forget what had been, what *might* 
have been, so easily? He still only had to look at her to want her; 
there were still moments, even when she was treating him like dirt, 
when he just *knew* that all he wanted was for them to be together. 
He couldn't even understand it himself: was he crazy, some kind of 
masochist, to long for a woman who clearly couldn't stand him and, 
what wasmore, could talk as she had that day in the elevator? Just 
what was it about Lois Lane which made it impossible for him to put 
her out of his mind?

And how, that day Trask had thrown her out of the plane, had he 
somehow *known* that she was in trouble? He hadn't been within 
Super-hearing range of her cries, and anyway it hadn't been his 
*hearing* which had heard her calling for him. It had been as if 
there was some sort of mental connection between them - or from her 
to him - which had enabled him to know she needed him.

He'd wondered for a while whether he did indeed have some sort of 
telepathic abilities of which he'd been previously unaware. But 
nothing of that kind had manifested itself again in the interim... 
leading him back to the inescapable conclusion that what had happened 
was something which really was exclusively between him and Lois.

Which made no sense whatever in the light of their current 
relationship - or lack of one.


*************

Lois put the finishing touches to her story on the use of cyborg 
technology to rig boxing matches, and stretched her weary shoulder 
and back muscles. This was another late night for her; nothing new 
for Lois Lane, top journalist, but these days she felt under 
increasing pressure to deliver the goods, whatever it took in terms 
of working hours.

Somehow, Clark Kent seemed to have turned from a naive hick, too 
innocent to recognise when someone was lying to him, into a talented 
and successful reporter. Not that she would dream of admitting that 
to *anyone*, of course. But Kent had turned in several impressive 
scoops over the past two or three weeks - starting with that long 
interview with Superman. She'd still love to know just how Kent had 
pulled that one off. She would have been only too happy to consider 
that a fluke, though; but then Kent had pulled in more scoops one 
after the other. The 'invisible man' stories, the gold bullion 
robbers, more Superman rescues... Kent seemed to be incredibly lucky.

Lucky... or deliberately trying to muscle in on Lois's position?

At the rate Kent was going, he'd be made permanent by the end of the 
week. Lois was aware that he'd been appointed on two months' trial, 
but she also knew how Perry operated. He was impressed by Kent; 
somehow, Clark Kent not only turned in the work, but also sucked up 
to the editor in grand style. She hadn't once heard the new reporter 
address Perry as anything but 'Mr White.'

Although... Lois frowned and conceded that she probably should acquit 
Perry of vanity here. After all, if Ralph suddenly started calling 
the editor 'Mr White, sir,' it wouldn't make any difference at all to 
the way in which Perry viewed him. No; much as it pained her to admit 
it, Kent was just darned good - or good at taking advantage of 
opportunities, at any rate. He'd managed to position himself to be in 
the right place at the right time on sufficient occasions to make 
himself look very good indeed.

And if Lois wasn't going to be overtaken as the Planet's star, she 
had to work even harder to compensate for Kent's lucky breaks. Now, 
if *she* could get a full-length interview with Superman.... But 
unfortunately, the only time she'd even had a chance to speak to the 
Super-hero recently, he'd only given her two minutes of his time 
before he'd had to fly off. And she'd still been over-awed by the 
sight of him flying in and out of a burning building, carrying 
trapped victims to safety, to concentrate properly on the kind of 
questions she really wanted to ask him. If he'd stayed, given her a 
little longer to relax and get into her stride, she could've had a 
front-page interview far better than Kent's - he hadn't asked 
Superman any of the difficult questions.

Still, she knew her current story was good, and it looked as if she 
might be getting closer to that exclusive Lex Luthor interview as 
well. Lex had been charming to her when she'd run into him earlier, 
and he'd also saved her from being attacked by one of the boxers. If 
she could cultivate him... she could be the first ever journalist who 
managed to get an in-depth interview with Lex Luthor. He knew what 
she wanted, and he hadn't said no yet. She just had to keep trying, 
that was all. And that was a story which would certainly put Kent's 
perfectly-proportioned nose out of joint.

Thinking about Kent's physical appearance was a bad idea, Lois 
realised immediately. He *was* undeniably good-looking, and to her 
disgust her dreams over the past couple of weeks had been infested 
with images of being in bed with him. No matter how hard she tried to 
forget what had happened, to blot out the details of that night, she 
couldn't ignore the fact that he was a skilled lover. Before Kent, 
she'd almost come to the conclusion that she was incapable of 
reaching fulfilment with a man - not that she imagined herself to be 
a lesbian or anything like that. She'd considered that either she 
wasn't capable of responding properly - frigid, as one previous 
boyfriend had claimed when she'd refused to go to bed with him - or 
else that the men she had made love with were somehow incapable of 
arousing her adequately. Now, she inclined to the latter possibility, 
which in some ways was a relief; she really hadn't wanted to think of 
herself as just not good at sex. There was no doubt that she'd 
climaxed that night with Kent. But, she thought bitterly, that was 
doubtless the result of his obvious years of practice, the countless 
women he must have slept with.

Which reminded her of something else... She'd seen her gynaecologist 
again after taking the emergency contraception she'd been prescribed, 
and had been relieved to discover that she wasn't pregnant. Nor had 
she contracted any nasty infections, but unfortunately the question 
of HIV infection was still unanswered. The initial test had come back 
negative, but the doctor had explained that she would need to be 
tested again in three months' time, since the infection took time to 
show in tests. The doctor had suggested that she should simply ask 
Clark Kent his HIV status, but Lois shuddered at the thought of doing 
that. No, she would simply have to wait the necessary nine or ten 
weeks.

Grimacing, she sent her story to the editor-in-chief's email box and 
shut down her computer. It was far too late to be sitting in the 
Planet newsroom; that was no doubt why her mind was drifting to 
subjects which were really best forgotten. She needed a good night's 
sleep before the following morning's news conference, because she had 
a killer idea to present to Perry for her next investigation.


************

Clark was already feeling weary by the time he arrived at the Planet 
the following morning. He'd been up most of the night helping to put 
out a spate of fires which had broken out overnight; both he and the 
emergency services were sure that the fires were arson, but so far no 
trace had been found of how they could have been started. Also 
confusing was the fact that some of the fires had started, not quite 
simultaneously, but very close together in time. They seemed to have 
been confined to the West River area, but other than that there were 
no other clues as to what was going on or what the link was between 
them.

He intended to propose to Perry that he be assigned to work on the 
arson story; he already planned to offer an exclusive - though brief 
- interview with Superman on the subject, gained, he would say, in 
the early hours of the morning. He'd gone out, he would say, to see 
what was happening when he'd seen smoke and the glow of fire, and 
he'd been fortunate enough to run into Superman.

There was just enough time before the morning conference to type up 
his 'interview'; printing it out, he hurried across to the conference 
room where the rest of the staff were already gathering. Lois was 
already there, he noticed instantly. His body reacted just as it 
always did when he saw her; a flutter in his stomach, a tightening in 
his groin, and a bitter taste in his mouth. Why had things had to go 
so wrong between them? He wondered briefly whether it would be 
worthwhile trying to make another attempt to patch things up; perhaps 
sufficient time had now passed to enable her to be more objective 
about it. Perhaps he'd ask her to have coffee with him after the 
meeting.

With that thought in mind, he caught Lois's eye and gave her what he 
hoped was a friendly smile. She frowned briefly and then looked away; 
he sighed as he took a seat some distance from her. It looked as if 
nothing had changed.

About half-way through the meeting the arson attacks came up, and 
Clark instantly produced his Superman interview. Perry was initially 
impressed, but less so once Clark revealed that neither Superman nor 
the police or fire chiefs had any leads as to the cause of the fires.

"I've got a lead," Lois interrupted, sounding very pleased with 
herself. Clark swung his head around in her direction, taken aback.

"You do?" Perry demanded, looking pleased.

"Yeah. One of my sources came through early this morning - and it's 
really convenient, Chief, because it ties in with another story I was 
going to pitch you. That same source told me yesterday that there's a 
power struggle going on for control of the Metro Gang, and I want to 
go undercover to investigate that."

"So what does that have to do with the fires?" Perry now sounded 
puzzled and a little wary.

"Seems the Metros might be behind them," Lois answered triumphantly. 
"I'm not sure why, but I know I can find out."

"Uh... I'm sure I'm going to regret asking this, but how?" Perry was 
now definitely wary.

"I told you. I go undercover."

"Undercover doing what?" Perry now sounded irritated; Clark had 
already figured out that whatever idea Lois had in mind was not one 
she expected the editor to agree to immediately. It was no doubt 
dangerous, he concluded wryly, thinking that Superman would probably 
end up being very busy over the next few days.

"Simple." Now she was smiling broadly, a sure sign that she knew what 
she was about to suggest was risky. "I'll get a job at the Metro 
Club. I've already got an audition for an opening - in fact, I'll 
have to leave here in half an hour."

Clark ignored Perry's shout of "What?!" His blood ran cold at the 
thought of Lois doing what she proposed; he'd been right. It was 
*far* too dangerous.

"Lois, you can't!" he exclaimed in alarm. "You know that place is run 
by the Metro Gang. They're ruthless criminals! If they suspect who 
you are, they won't ask any questions - they'll just kill you!"

But she gave him a ferocious glare. "Butt out, Kent," she fired at 
him before turning back to the editor. "It makes sense, Perry. I'm in 
the perfect position to get inside their operation and find out 
what's going on. And if I'm right - which I'm sure I am - we get at 
least two great stories out of it."

"And you could get killed!" Clark pointed out sharply.

Lois ignored him. "Perry - "

"Now, Lois, maybe Clark here has a point. This *is* dangerous. And I 
know you've taken risks in the past and been okay, but this is 
different. I'm not sure I want to take the chance that one of my 
reporters could get bumped off by the mob."

She glared at the editor this time. "Perry! Are you going to listen 
to a... a junior *hack* who obviously hasn't the guts ever to take a 
chance for a story?!"

"Oh yeah?" Clark intervened hotly, not even stopping to think about 
the wisdom of his words. All he could focus on was the fact that Lois 
had just insulted him in front of the entire newsroom staff, 
including the editor.  He leaned across the table, staring her 
straight in the eye. "At least I don't act like a starry-eyed 
teenager when I'm interviewing, unlike *some* people I could mention! 
Exactly *what* hard-hitting questions did you ask Superman the other 
day?"

She stared at him, clearly aghast; regretting his words already, 
Clark heard her whisper, "How did you know...?" before getting up and 
stalking over towards the door. "Sorry, Perry, but I refuse to stay 
here if certain people can't treat this as a serious discussion. If 
you want to talk to me about my investigation, I'll see you in your 
office."

Clark saw the editor's gaze flick from Lois to Clark and back again; 
he looked obviously irritated. "Okay, Lois," he agreed after a 
moment. "I think we're about done here anyway. I'll see you in..." he 
checked his watch, "ten minutes."

*Why* had he said that about her interview with Superman? Clark 
slumped back in his seat as the door closed behind Lois, barely able 
to believe that he'd done it. How could he possibly have been so 
needlessly cruel? Besides which, he'd given the impression that 
Superman had talked to Clark about Lois's questioning of him, which - 
apart from identifying Clark Kent with Superman in a way he didn't 
really want - made it appear that he and Superman had been laughing 
at Lois behind her back. That wasn't an impression he wanted anyone 
to have about Superman...

How could he have been so nasty? It was obvious that what he'd said 
had hurt Lois - he'd seen the pain and withdrawal in her eyes before 
she'd got to her feet. She'd been surprisingly restrained in her 
comments before leaving the room; she'd certainly come out of this in 
a far more professional light than he had.

Okay, Lois had lashed out at him - indirectly - but although her 
words had stung, they in no way excused what he had just done. He had 
publicly humiliated her. He had challenged her competence as a 
reporter and made public something no-one else should ever have found 
out about. Yes, she was starry-eyed around Superman... but then, so 
was a large proportion of the people with whom he came into contact 
as Superman. They just weren't sufficiently used to him yet to treat 
him with equanimity. So Lois's behaviour wasn't that unusual.

He should never have said it, despite the provocation.

Aware that some of his colleagues were watching him - with varied 
expressions, some taken aback, some even admiring - Clark got to his 
feet. The meeting was clearly over, and he knew what he needed to do. 
He caught up with the editor by the door. "Mr White - could I talk to 
you for a minute? In private?"

The editor nodded. "I think that'd be a good idea, Clark."

He followed Perry White across the newsroom, noticing as they went 
that Lois was at her desk, typing furiously and clearly doing her 
best to ignore everyone emerging from the conference room. Her 
heart-rate was still faster than normal, Clark could tell, and his 
mouth turned down at the corners. Stupid, stupid, *stupid*!

"So, Clark, you want to tell me what that was all about?" Perry 
asked, once they were safely behind the closed doors of the editor's 
office.

Clark grimaced. "It's... personal, Mr White. But that was very 
unprofessional of me, and I'm sorry."

Perry gave him a gimlet glare. "Not sure I'm the person you should be 
saying that to. Anyway, seems to me that Lois wasn't exactly 
complimentary about you either." He sat down behind his desk and 
gestured to Clark to take a seat. "Now, Kent, I don't interfere in my 
reporters' personal lives. But about three weeks ago Lois told me she 
didn't want to work with you any more, for 'personal reasons'. I 
didn't ask her what those reasons were, but now you're telling me 
that that little scene out there was also 'personal'. I don't 
appreciate people bringing their personal problems into my newsroom, 
Clark, especially when something like that happens."

"I'm sor - " Clark began, but was interrupted.

"Now, in case you think I'm being unfair to you, let me assure you 
that I'm going to be saying exactly the same thing to Lois in a few 
minutes. This has got to stop, you hear?"

"It will," Clark said heavily. "Mr White, I've come to the conclusion 
that it would be best if I left."

"What do you mean?" Perry demanded.

"Quit, I mean. Looked for another job." Now that he'd convinced 
himself that this was the best way out of what had become an 
impossible situation, Clark was determined to persuade the editor 
that it was the only solution. "Lois and I clearly can't work 
together, and - as you've just seen - it's damaging the Planet. She's 
been here a lot longer than I have. She's got three Kerth awards - 
you can't afford to lose Lois. I've only been here a couple of weeks 
- I won't be missed."

The appalled look the editor gave him was actually gratifying, Clark 
thought bleakly. He didn't want to do this. Working for the Planet 
was his dream, and he'd been so happy when he'd achieved it. But the 
current situation couldn't continue. The prospect of the two of them 
coming to some sort of accommodation looked ever more unlikely - and 
today he'd probably blown all chances of resuming a good working 
relationship with her. It was best all round that he should leave and 
get a job at another paper.

"Now, Clark, don't be hasty..." Perry began.

But Clark shook his head. "I'm not. I really think it's for the best 
- and I think you do too, Chief."

"Kent, I think you're forgetting who makes the hire and fire 
decisions around here - "

"No, I'm not, Mr White," Clark replied soberly. "But you're also the 
one who has to get a newspaper out at the end of the day. And you 
can't do that when two of your reporters are at each other's throats. 
It's for the best if I go."

"Clark, listen to me!" the editor said sharply. "Lois will get over 
whatever it is about you that's bugging her. I don't know what it is, 
and I don't want to know, but she's a professional right down to her 
little toe. When the crunch comes, all she'll care is that you're a 
good reporter. Now, I went along with her request at the time to 
*give* her time - it doesn't help me if one of my newsroom teams 
can't even speak to each other without biting each other's heads off. 
That's people management, and that's what I do."

But Clark was shaking his head. This was more that just Lois having 
taken a dislike to him - and him to her, come to that, and while he 
had no intention of revealing any of the circumstances, he knew that 
there was little or no chance of their getting over their animosity. 
He realised now, after what had happened in the conference room that 
he couldn't forget what she'd said to him in that elevator - and if 
he ever found out that she had aborted his child without consulting 
him or even letting him know, he could never forgive her either. She 
hated him for her own peculiar reasons - the facts just didn't seem 
to matter. And so there was no chance that either of them could carry 
on working for the same newspaper.

"Chief, no. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn't 
some little disagreement which will blow over. The two of us just 
can't work together, and that's not good for the Planet. I realised 
this morning that it has to be either Lois or me, and in the 
circumstances it should be me."

Perry was silent for several moments, his expression torn. Then he 
sighed deeply and gazed at Clark. "I guess you're probably right. Not 
that I want to lose you - you may be new, and pretty raw, but you got 
a lot of potential, son."

"Thanks, sir!" Clark said awkwardly, feeling complimented. At least 
he had managed to make something of a mark in his few weeks at the 
Planet.

"I'll give you a reference, not that you need it with what you have 
in your portfolio," Perry continued. "And if you ever want to change 
your mind, there'll be a job here for you at the Planet. Just give 
Lois time to forget this, yeah?"

"Maybe," Clark agreed, though silently he considered that it would be 
best if he never came back to the Planet. Perhaps if he no longer saw 
Lois every working day, it would be easier to forget that magical 
night together, and how badly everything had gone wrong afterwards. 
Maybe...

He shook hands with the editor, having agreed on a week's notice, 
then left the office to start job-hunting.


*************

Lois marched into the venue for the mayor's press conference and 
glanced around her while she waited for the event to begin; her gaze 
alighted on a tall man standing several feet from her, and she rolled 
her eyes.

Clark Kent. Again.

Ever since Kent had shocked her by handing in his resignation a month 
ago, she'd seen more of him than she had in the weeks he'd been 
working at the Planet. It seemed that every story she covered for the 
Planet was also one he'd been assigned to cover for the Metropolis 
Star.

She'd first heard about Clark's resignation when she'd gone to see 
Perry about her Metros investigation. The editor had refused to 
listen to her pitch at first, ordering her to sit down and then 
delivering a lecture about professional behaviour and not bringing 
personal problems to the workplace. She'd been about to protest that 
Clark Kent's behaviour had been even worse, until she'd admitted to 
herself that he *had* been provoked. What she'd said about him, in 
front of all their colleagues, had been unnecessary and 
unprofessional.

"You're right, Perry. I'm sorry," she'd conceded. "I may not like 
him, but that's no excuse. We have to work together, so I'll try to 
do better in future."

"Well, looks like that won't be necessary." Perry's response had 
puzzled her, until he'd totally shocked her by explaining. "Kent's 
quit. He's given me a week's notice."

Lois's immediate reaction to Kent's impending departure had been 
relief; she would no longer have to come into the newsroom every day 
and see him sitting across from her, no longer have to wonder just 
when he was going to tell their male co-workers that he'd stormed the 
citadel that was Lois Lane. She wouldn't have to be on her guard in 
case he tried to hit on her again; and she would no longer be in 
competition with him for the best stories, no longer be conscious 
that the competition within the Planet had just got a lot tougher.

And she would no longer be tormented by memories of his seduction of 
her, drifting off into daydreams in which she remembered the feel of 
his fingers caressing her, his hand drifting up her leg, his mouth 
plundering hers, the incredible sensation she'd felt as they'd made 
love. In time, memories of their night together would cease to fill 
her dreams, and she would stop waking up shuddering, sweating, 
appalled that she'd given in to such an obvious Lothario.

So she'd been happy; nothing so crass as to let Clark Kent actually 
see that she was delighted about his impending departure, but she 
certainly hadn't joined in the chorus of regrets which their 
colleagues were making. And when it came to signing his good-luck 
card, all she'd written was 'Goodbye. L. Lane.'

But after his farewell party she'd begun to experience some regrets. 
After all, before he'd revealed himself to be a complete bastard by 
taking advantage of her when she'd had too much to drink, he'd 
actually shown signs of being a reasonably decent person. He'd 
certainly been understanding the night she'd confessed some of her 
deepest secrets to him - and none of those had ever made it to the 
newsroom grapevine. Nor, she had to acknowledge, had the story of 
their night together. A womaniser he might be; a boaster he was not.

And he *was* a good journalist; and he'd actually been a useful 
partner on the couple of occasions when Perry had teamed them 
together. She had to concede that she'd far rather have Clark Kent as 
a colleague than Ralph, for example.  And he'd quit the job she knew 
he loved, that he'd wanted ever since he'd graduated from college - 
he'd told her about that over dinner at his apartment. Because of 
what had happened between the two of them, and her inability to let 
it go at work, he'd had to quit; and as far as she'd been aware at 
the time, he didn't have another job to go to.

So, as she'd watched him leave the Planet building for the final 
time, she'd found herself feeling sorry for him. Not only that; she'd 
been on the point of calling him back to wish him well in his 
job-search and to tell him to...

To what? To keep in touch? To take care of himself? She'd shaken 
herself and abandoned that thought as soon as it had formed itself in 
her mind. She'd made her feelings very clear as far as Clark Kent was 
concerned - she could still visualise his expression that day in the 
elevator when she'd deliberately allowed him to conclude that she'd 
have an abortion rather than bear his child - and so he'd be far more 
likely to tell her to go to hell than to thank her for her 
consideration. He no doubt held her entirely to blame for the loss of 
his job at the Planet, on top of everything else he probably held her 
responsible for.

So she'd said nothing; instead, she'd stood in the shadows, 
unobserved, as he'd marched swiftly out of the Planet's main entrance 
carrying a small box containing his personal belongings. A minute 
later, he'd turned into a nearby alley, and that, she'd thought, 
would be the last she'd see of Clark Kent from Kansas.

Not so.

A few days later, as she'd been working undercover in the Metros Club 
as a singer, she'd noticed someone behind the bar. A man. The hair 
and glasses had been different, but it was Kent. He'd noticed her 
staring, and had inclined his head very briefly in recognition. 
Later, when she'd managed to corner him to demand to know what the 
*hell* he was doing muscling in on *her* story when he no longer 
worked for the Planet, he'd had the cheek to tell her that *he* was 
now investigating the Metro Gang for his new employer. The Planet's 
biggest rival, the Metropolis Star.

She'd been furious. Not just that Kent was still in town and 
apparently planning to remain underfoot, but that he'd made use of 
the information she'd mentioned *in confidence* in the Planet's 
conference room only a little over a week earlier in order to give 
himself a head start with his new employer. She'd been tempted to 
tell him exactly what she thought of him, but the need to preserve 
her cover had been more pressing, so she'd simply glowered at him and 
walked off.

Even more galling had been the discovery that Perry *knew* Kent was 
working for the Star. Apparently he'd already secured the position 
before he'd worked out his notice for the Planet, and it had been 
Perry White's reference which had clinched the offer. Lois had been 
amazed that Perry would countenance helping someone get a job at a 
rival paper, but the editor had simply shrugged and commented that 
he'd had no desire to see a talented writer like Kent out of a job.

"And if he's out getting stories for the Star now, you'll just have 
to work even harder to make sure that the Planet gets there first, 
Lois," Perry had drawled, giving her a challenging stare.

He hadn't been wrong there! Okay, Lois had managed to get the scoop 
on the Metros, but Kent had beaten her to the story behind the 
Toasters and Toni Taylor's involvement with them. Then he'd been 
dogging her trail as she'd investigated the 'smart kids' and 
Mentamide 5, and to her chagrin he'd gained some more Superman 
scoops. Only that morning, on her way to work, she'd seen that day's 
Star on the newsstands with a story about Superman saving a stricken 
plane, complete with quotes from the Super-hero. The Planet had the 
bare story, on an inside page, with no quotes; the Star had somehow 
managed pictures!

Needless to say, Perry hadn't been very pleased at being scooped by 
the Star, which he considered to be a lower-quality paper in every 
way. The fact that the front-page splash carried the byline of Clark 
Kent had certainly not improved his mood, and Lois had found herself 
wondering, in a momentary crisis of confidence, whether her editor 
was beginning to think that he'd let the wrong reporter go. Her only 
consolation had been the knowledge that the Star was not in the same 
league as the Planet in terms of quality or reputation. Reading 
Kent's articles, she could see how his style had altered, become far 
less sophisticated. He hadn't seemed to find that adjustment 
difficult, she thought, and that made her wonder in some satisfaction 
whether, when it came to writing as opposed to finding stories, Kent 
just didn't have what it took to compete at a top paper like the 
Planet.

But, regardless of that, he kept getting the scoops...

However, three days ago she'd pulled off a coup, exposing a leading 
accountant who'd been on the take from his clients for several years. 
A combination of off-the-record interviews with staff in the man's 
office, a couple of clients whom she'd persuaded to speak out, and a 
little bit of good old breaking and entering had got her the proof 
the Planet's lawyers needed in order to go to print. That had been 
another front-page story, and one which had set the news agenda for 
the remainder of the day. The Star had been reduced to following the 
Planet's lead, following up the story in its evening edition and 
quoting from Lois's article. Kent had written that story for the 
Star, and seeing her ex-colleague having to refer to her own 
exclusive had given Lois an enormous sense of satisfaction.

But now, here she was waiting for the mayor's explanation of what 
additional measures the city was taking to cope with the very 
unseasonal heat; and once again, Clark Kent was covering the same 
story for the Star.

He glanced across, as if realising that he was being watched, and saw 
her; giving her a brief nod in acknowledgement, he then turned his 
attention back to the platform, where the press conference was about 
to start. He didn't even look *warm,* Lois thought in disgust; every 
other person present was sweating uncomfortably, fanning themselves 
with their notebooks or anything else which came to hand, or trying 
to get into the draught created by the feebly-performing fans. Clark 
Kent stood there in his dark suit, not even breaking sweat, looking 
for all the world as if it was a cool sixty or seventy degrees in 
that room.

The press conference itself was fairly predictable, Lois thought; as 
usual, Mayor Berkowicz had nothing new to offer, although a ripple of 
interest was caused by Lex Luthor's announcement that his new nuclear 
power station would be ready to go live within a couple of days. Kent 
jumped on that statement - he still had it in for Lex, Lois noted 
with cynical distaste - referring to some safety concerns which had 
been expressed. All resolved, Lex assured the assembled reporters.

Then Lois was finally able to ask the question she'd been waiting 
for: what was the cause of the heatwave? The mayor and one of the 
scientists present tried to fudge the answer, but another scientist, 
a Dr Sayer, clearly had some theories in that respect; the reporters 
bayed for their answer, and finally it was forthcoming.

Superman.

Lois stared at the speaker in disbelief. Superman couldn't be 
responsible for this! There was no way that he would cause harm to 
anyone, let alone to the city's ecological balance. For a moment, she 
almost expected Superman to fly into the room and deny categorically 
that it had anything to do with him. But as the clamour rose in 
response to the allegation, it was clear that others were taking the 
suggestion seriously.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Clark Kent; ashen-faced, he 
was discreetly making his way to the back of the room.


************

Once outside the conference room, Clark darted along the corridor and 
into a stairwell; checking first to ensure that it was empty, he ran 
at Super-speed up the steps to the top of the building. Once on the 
roof, he spun into his Suit and took off at lightning speed, only 
slowing down when he was out somewhere over the Atlantic.

*He* might be responsible for the heatwave?

Could it be that his use of Super-powers while in Metropolis had 
damaged the eco-system to such a degree that normal weather patterns 
had completely altered? If so, then...

If so, he would have to stop using his powers; stop being Superman. 
There was no other solution. He couldn't reconcile with his 
conscience the pleasure of his powers versus people's lives. The 
heatwave had already cost people their lives - people had had heart 
attacks, some had been electrocuted trying to repair appliances which 
had burnt out through over-use, and others had suffered sun-stroke. 
If all that was really his fault, then Superman would have to go.

And yet Superman saved lives; if Superman hadn't been around over the 
past three months, then many people would have died. The passengers 
on the Prometheus's transport shuttle, would-be suicides, plane 
passengers, car drivers, pedestrians, people trapped inside burning 
buildings, Lois...

Lois would be dead. He had saved her life, as Superman, three times 
now, and once as himself while surreptitiously using his powers.

Lois. He'd seen her at the press conference, as he'd seen her at 
several others since his precipitate departure from the Planet. She 
frequently ignored him altogether, though at other times - like this 
morning - he would sense her looking in his direction. Although he'd 
always acknowledged her in some way, she rarely reciprocated.

Time and distance hadn't altered the way he felt about her, the way 
his body reacted when he saw her. Even after what had transpired 
between them, he still felt as if a light had come on inside him 
every time he saw her; his senses were still aroused simply by the 
knowledge that she was in the same room. She was as beautiful as 
ever, and still as remote.

He couldn't understand his feelings for her. With everything that had 
happened between them, he ought to despise her, or at the very least 
be indifferent to her. The fact that he didn't could only indicate 
that he was some sort of masochist. He'd been sure, the day he'd told 
Perry he wanted to quit, that he hated her. She'd slept with him and 
subsequently accused him of taking advantage of her. She'd threatened 
to abort his child if she'd conceived - and, for all he knew, she 
might already have done that. She'd treated him like dirt, and at the 
same time had continued to fawn over Superman like some teenage 
groupie, barely able to string together a coherent sentence. She'd 
been contemptuous of him publicly, and ultimately had been 
responsible for his walking out of his dream job, at the Daily Planet.

No... no, he'd done that all by himself, his conscience forced him to 
acknowledge. He had lost his temper in a spectacular - and, for him, 
very unusual - way and had insulted her publicly. He'd been ashamed 
of himself a second after he'd said it, but it'd been too late then. 
But he wouldn't have done it if Lois had been prepared to keep their 
personal issues out of the way when it came to work. She hadn't; and 
he'd retaliated. And in that moment, he'd known that they couldn't 
continue to work together. Either they'd come to blows in devastating 
fashion, or Perry White would lose his temper and take definitive 
action.

It had seemed a far better option, therefore, for Clark to make the 
decision to quit. He hadn't wanted to; he'd loved working at the 
Planet. But he couldn't deny that working there under circumstances 
in which Lois Lane behaved as if he was something the dog had dragged 
in, and in which most of his colleagues quizzed him every chance they 
got about exactly what had happened between him and Lois, was not 
ideal. In fact, he'd been beginning to hate it. And since Lois seemed 
to be able to carry on, most of the time, almost as if nothing had 
happened, it had seemed he was the only one who was finding things a 
strain.

So he'd quit, and had then been faced with the task of finding 
another job. Much to his shock, Perry White had helped him there, 
pointing him in the direction of Mike Lloyd, the editor of the 
Metropolis Star - the Planet's rival.

Mr White had explained that, much though he hated to lose a good 
journalist to the competition, he did hold out hope that one day 
Clark could rejoin the Planet; if he stayed in Metropolis, that move 
would be easier. And, he'd added, he didn't want to see Clark out of 
work and short of cash. The Star needed another city news reporter, 
and Clark was better than anyone they'd ever managed to hire before, 
in Perry's opinion. It was the Star Perry was doing the favour, not 
Clark, he'd explained.

The Star was not the Daily Planet. Clark had decided that during his 
first morning there. Stories Perry wouldn't have touched with a 
barge-pole - too salacious, too little evidence, just plain trivial - 
were grist to the mill of Mike Lloyd and his team, and Clark had 
found himself having to adapt to a very different set of news values.

As well as that, he had also had to adapt his style of writing 
considerably. After his first few articles had come back from the 
sub-editors covered in blue pencil-marks, with commas changed to full 
stops, paragraphs broken up and vocabulary choices rejected 
throughout, he had been forced to simplify his work - dumb it down 
significantly, he thought dryly. He'd heard it said, before moving to 
the Star, that while the Planet's reading age was around sixteen, the 
Star's was no more than twelve at best. Now, he knew that was true. 
 From the subs' alterations to his work, he'd deduced that sentences 
should be no longer than a single line, with at most one comma. 
Paragraphs should be, at most, three lines. And woe betide him if he 
didn't use at least two exclamation marks in any one story. No words 
of longer than three syllables; he sometimes wondered how 
'Metropolis' managed to make it past the subs.

While Clark had never used what he considered to be complex sentence 
structure in his articles for the Planet - no colons or semi-colons, 
for instance, unless he was writing a longer op-ed piece rather than 
a news report - this made him feel as if he was writing for a comic 
book. Still, he had swallowed his distaste and learned to adapt. It 
was a job, after all, reporting the news, and he was still in 
Metropolis.

Of course, he could have taken the excellent reference Perry had 
given him, and his newly-augmented portfolio, and just started again 
in another city; there were other papers with reputations equally as 
good as the Planet's. But there was something about Metropolis which 
compelled him. He loved the city. He loved its people, the buzz he 
got when walking through the busy streets to and from work. He loved 
the atmosphere at night, and in the early morning. And, most of all, 
he loved seeing the city from above when he was flying.

And he loved Metropolis because it was Lois's home. Despite 
everything, he just couldn't turn his back on her; regardless of her 
feelings for him, and the way she'd treated him, he found the idea of 
leaving unthinkable.

Except that now...

Now.

Forcing himself to push aside his thoughts of Lois and of Metropolis, 
he reminded himself again of what had been said at the press 
conference. Dr Sayer, the physicist who was investigating the cause 
of the heatwave on behalf of the city, seemed sure that it was 
Superman who was responsible... or Superman's use of his powers.

He thought back over the past few days, slotting together incidents 
in a logical order. Despite it being November, the temperature had 
been increasing almost steadily for about a week. There had been a 
couple of days when it had seemed to cool down a little, but he 
realised that those days had something in common.

Superman hadn't been required to assist at any emergency.

On the other days, he had helped out somewhere - a fire, a train 
crash, a freeway pile-up, the usual kind of emergencies with which he 
was now accustomed to helping. And on each of those days, the 
temperature had gone up again.

He had worked out, some years ago, that his powers were somehow 
solar-induced. That had been simple observation; if he stayed out in 
the sun, he tended to feel 'recharged'. In winter, especially if he 
stayed indoors during daylight hours, he tended to notice a 
diminution of his strength after a couple of days. Yet a flight to 
somewhere warm and sunny always left him feeling stronger. So he was 
clearly drawing down the sun's energy to himself.

He had no idea, really, how strong his powers really were, or how 
much energy it took to recharge him. He could be drawing the sun's 
rays down to Metropolis like a giant funnel, and never even know 
it... until now.

But why hadn't any of this become apparent before? He'd been using 
his powers for years before coming to Metropolis.

There was a simple answer to that, he realised. He'd been travelling 
the world for the past two or three years, never staying in one place 
longer than a few months. This was the longest he'd stayed in one 
place since leaving college. And although he'd had the full range of 
his powers since he was eighteen and had discovered that he could 
fly, he'd never used his powers as much, as openly, as he had since 
becoming Superman. This increase in Super-activity - including the 
*degree* of strength and other powers he now used on a daily basis - 
could easily be what was causing the change in the climate.

If that was true, then everything in Clark's life could be about to change.

He would have to stop using his Super-powers, not only for rescuing 
people, but also as part of his everyday life. He used his powers 
every day, and frequently his use was so automatic that he didn't 
even think about it. He shaved using heat vision. If he wanted a hot 
drink, he heated the water with his eyes. He floated cross-legged in 
front of the TV when watching a ball game. He flew to India, China, 
Malaysia, all over the world whenever he felt like having an exotic 
meal. He floated in his sleep sometimes - now, how on earth was he 
going to stop doing that? He used X-ray vision and Super-hearing in 
the course of his work; perhaps that was cheating, but he always made 
sure that he had printable evidence for everything.

So giving up the use of his powers wouldn't be easy; but would it stop there?

Although the other physicist present had tried to stop him, Dr Sayer 
had effectively told the whole of Metropolis that the heatwave was 
Superman's fault. How would the citizens of Metropolis receive that? 
What would his colleagues in the print media be writing about him, 
now, at this very second? What editorial line would be taken by the 
next editions of newspapers, the next news bulletins on TV and radio?

Would there be a movement to drum Superman out of town?

Of course, if Superman was asked to leave, that didn't mean Clark 
Kent had to, he told himself. He could stay; after all, no-one knew 
he was Superman. He didn't have to leave the city he loved; there was 
no need for him to give up hope of some day returning to the Planet.

But what if he stayed, and he occasionally forgot and used his 
powers? Would the hot weather come back? If it did, and people's 
lives were put at risk as a result, he'd never be able to forgive 
himself.

<The research is not conclusive. We need to carry out more studies. 
It hasn't been proven that Superman is responsible>

Clark reminded himself of the second scientist's words. He needed to 
calm down and not make any hasty decisions. Sayer could easily have 
jumped the gun, and the next study might show a completely different 
probable cause.

He flew back to Metropolis, conscious of the fact that he needed to 
show his face at the Star and write up this story for the afternoon 
edition. Nearing the Star's offices, he suddenly realised that he was 
directly above the Daily Planet; pausing in mid-air, he used his 
X-ray vision to see into the newsroom. Perry, Lois and several other 
reporters were in a heated discussion about the line the paper should 
be taking, he realised quickly, but as he listened it suddenly came 
to a swift conclusion. Perry White had made up his mind.

Holding up his hands, the editor declared loudly, "Headline: 'Super 
Feat Equals Super Heat.' Afternoon edition."

Without waiting to hear more, Clark flew on to the Star's offices 
with a heavy heart.


***********

Lois watched on the newsroom monitor as Superman rescued a group of 
dock workers who had been trapped in a burning building, then shut 
down the transformers to prevent a gas explosion. How had Metropolis 
managed before Superman arrived? And how could anyone suggest that 
his actions were responsible for the heatwave? Didn't they see how 
much good he did for the city, every single day?

Turning back to her computer, she continued the search she'd begun 
before the LNN broadcast had caught her attention: an attempt to 
quantify the number of lives Superman had saved since the day he'd 
swallowed the bomb which would have sent everyone on board the 
Prometheus's transport vehicle into oblivion. It was a difficult 
search, since there had been some degree of exaggeration, and also 
since he'd saved many people from serious injury rather than death, 
but who was to know whether they might have died from those injuries?

Even still, an approximate count was yielding a figure well in the 
upper hundreds, not far short of a thousand. One thousand citizens of 
Metropolis, alive today because of Superman - and there were other 
people in other cities, since Superman didn't confine his activities 
to city limits.

Was this the way to repay Superman? Lois intended to write an article 
on that very theme, and then she would argue with Perry until he 
agreed to run it. It just wasn't fair that everyone was jumping on 
this Dr Sayer's bandwagon before his hypothesis had been properly 
tested; Lois had argued that earlier, but Perry had still insisted on 
his 'Super Feat' headline. Despite that, she'd managed to get Jimmy 
to start doing some research; she wanted him to contact that other 
physicist who'd been on the platform with Sayer, and at the same time 
she'd given him instructions to start plotting some observations on 
maps of the city.

One way or another, no matter how long it took her, she would prove 
Sayer wrong and exonerate Superman of blame for the heatwave.


***********

"Looks like Big Blue's finally found a problem he can't solve with 
his fancy powers!"

"Yeah, he's not looking so *cool* now, huh?" A shout of laughter followed.

"Wonder if he'll get hauled out of town by the tights?" someone else 
suggested, following up the remark with raucous laughter.

Clark sat at his desk in the corner of the Star's large open-plan 
newsroom, desperately trying not to listen to his colleagues' 
comments. It wasn't easy to concentrate on his work and ignore them, 
however; apart from the fact that they were talking very loudly, they 
were only expressing his own thoughts - though considerably more 
crudely.

*Was* that going to be the reaction of the general public to the 
theory that Superman might be responsible for the heatwave?

He sighed. Only half an hour earlier, he had rescued several workmen 
from certain death in fire or an explosion; he'd also prevented the 
explosion from happening, which had saved a lot of valuable property 
in the docks area. And yet people were talking about drumming him out 
of town? He'd thought he'd been exaggerating earlier when that 
possibility had occurred to him, and yet now he was listening to his 
co-workers discussing that very notion. And they thought it was 
*funny*!

It was all so different from the general mood a few weeks earlier, 
when he'd been declared Metropolis Citizen of the Year and feted by 
the city council. He'd hated the adulation; all he wanted, as 
Superman, was to get on with what he did best: saving people and 
property from disaster.

Had inventing Superman been a mistake after all? Should he simply 
have carried on with what he'd done for all of his adult life 
previously: helping in secret, moving on whenever people started to 
ask too many questions about the mysterious person performing 
startling feats? But he hadn't wanted to do that. He'd known, as soon 
as he'd arrived in Metropolis, that he wanted to stay here. Even 
before he'd met Lois Lane, he had known that Metropolis was his home.

Could he, if necessary, give up the use of his Super-powers? Never 
use anything greater than human strength or speed? Never use his 
vision or hearing powers? Never fly again?

His thoughts were interrupted as the volume on the TV screens 
suddenly increased. The City Attorney was standing on the steps of 
the courthouse, apparently about to begin a press conference, and 
according to the LNN reporter covering the story, it was about 
Superman. Clark frowned; why hadn't he heard about this? Why wasn't 
he down there covering it?

Ms Cheng, the attorney, began to speak. "As the City Attorney for 
Metropolis, I will be seeking an injunction tomorrow ordering 
Superman to immediately cease and desist in the usage of his 
Super-powers," she announced clearly.

Clark stared at the screen, a cold lump beginning to form in his 
chest. He'd been expecting something like this, but it still came as 
a shock. He was relieved to notice, however, that the crowd reaction 
to the statement was hostile.

As he continued to watch the broadcast, a very familiar voice 
shouted, "Under what authority?"

Lois. The picture on camera changed, the LNN producer obviously 
wanting to see who had asked the question; Lois's familiar features 
became visible, her expression determined.

Ms Cheng was ready for the question, though. "I am acting under 
municipal code, section 12, article 5, the so-called 'Civic 
Emergency' provision," she explained, holding up a copy of the 
document. "I have a subpoena for his appearance tomorrow morning to 
show cause why he should not be so enjoined. I am making this public 
appeal this afternoon asking him to	submit to the laws of this 
community."

As if he wouldn't submit to the law, Clark thought bleakly. Why would 
anyone suspect that Superman would put himself above the law? Had he 
ever done anything to give the impression that he would consider 
himself above the law?

But as Clark was still recovering from that statement, he received 
another shock. A reporter for a tabloid TV news programme asked, "But 
what if he doesn't?  And if he's endangering the lives of everyone in 
Metropolis, shouldn't you be issuing a shoot-to-kill warrant?"

McKee. Clark knew the man's reputation, so in a way he shouldn't have 
been too shocked at the question. But he found it hard to credit how 
Superman could have overnight gone from a civic hero to a criminal 
who should be shot on sight. Not, of course, that anyone *could* 
shoot him, he mused wryly. He was invulnerable... at least, in a 
physical sense. He was relieved to note that most of the crowd didn't 
share McKee's views, although Cheng's response that she hoped the 
city wouldn't be forced to use any extreme measures wasn't especially 
comforting.

So he had to appear in court the following morning. Well, he had 
better do his own investigation of Dr Sayer's theories in the 
meantime - there was certainly no doubt that it had got even hotter 
since his return from the warehouse, but that didn't necessarily mean 
it was his fault -

"Kent! What are you doing here? Why weren't you down at the 
courthouse?" The irate voice of Mike Lloyd, editor of the Star, 
interrupted Clark's thoughts. He sighed heavily and prepared to 
justify his position as reporter; good practice for justifying 
himself in court the next day, he considered bleakly.


***********

But by the following afternoon Clark was beginning to think things 
couldn't get any worse. Despite working on it all night, he hadn't 
been able to find anything which could challenge Sayer's theories, 
and then he'd had to get ready for his appearance in court. Telling 
Mike Lloyd that he'd be covering Superman's hearing would, he'd 
hoped, have stopped any questions at the Star as to Clark Kent's 
whereabouts... but that had been earlier. Now, he was locked up in a 
prison cell.

Not that bars could hold Superman in any case; but that wasn't the 
point. The court had granted the City an injunction banning him from 
using his powers, and he'd voluntarily agreed to comply in any case. 
And he had genuinely intended to keep his promise - at least until 
more research was completed as to the cause of the heatwave. But 
then, outside the courtroom, a prisoner had escaped, grabbed a 
bailiff's gun and put the lives of innocent people at risk. He'd had 
to do something, and he'd used his heat vision. He'd saved people's 
lives... and yet he'd been hauled back inside the courtroom, declared 
to be in contempt of court, and remanded into custody. And he was in 
a cell trying to ignore the taunts of the other prisoners, who were, 
not surprisingly, highly amused at finding as a fellow prisoner the 
Super-hero who had actually captured at least one of them.

He couldn't blame the judge or the City Attorney, or even the police 
who'd booked him in and taken him to the cells; they were only doing 
their jobs. And if his Super-powers really were responsible for the 
meteorological problems... well, the city was entitled to demand that 
he cease to use his powers. That, no doubt, was what he would be told 
when he was brought back to court later - or would he be sent for 
trial and possibly a prison sentence? That would create all sorts of 
problems; no doubt Clark Kent's absence had already been noticed, for 
instance. What if Superman offered to leave? Then Clark could carry 
on with his normal life, and he'd just have to try to manage without 
his powers. That wouldn't be easy...

"Superman? It's time for your court appearance!" The prison officer's 
shout caught the attention of the other prisoners as well,and several 
renewed their earlier taunts.

"Hope you got a good lawyer, Supes!" one sneered.

"Don't enter a plea until they offer you a bargain," someone else 
suggested; that was possibly well-intentioned, Clark thought, but he 
had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

"Aw, if he had any gumption at all he'd zap the judge and the cops 
and fly out of there," a thick-set man with a crooked scar across one 
cheek scoffed. "He's not the Man of Steel - he's the Man of 
Cardboard!"

He shook his head, ignoring the men's remarks, and followed the 
prison officer away from the cells.


***********

Sitting in the sweltering courtroom, Lois was barely able to believe 
this was happening. *Superman,* the best thing to happen to 
Metropolis, was actually on trial for contempt of court.

A couple of fans were half-heartedly spinning in a feeble attempt to 
lower the temperature; most people were fanning themselves with 
sheets of paper or anything else they had to hand. The hot weather 
was still showing no signs whatsoever of dissipating.

She was there in her capacity as a reporter, covering the story for 
the Planet, but she would have attended in any case to support 
Superman. To her surprise, Perry had accompanied her; she'd wondered 
if that meant he was planning to do or say something in support of 
Superman, to act as a character witness perhaps, but he'd so far 
given no indication of his motives. Even when she'd suggested that 
the Planet could hire a lawyer for Superman, he'd refused.

Superman sat alone at the defendants' table; she couldn't see him, 
since he had his back to her. But she thought he looked despondent; 
his shoulders were a little slumped, and at one point he sighed 
wearily. She willed him to turn around and see her - at least he 
might draw some comfort from her presence - but he continued to face 
straight ahead, at the empty seat where the judge would sit.

But he stood straight and tall as the judge entered the courtroom, 
and remained standing as the charge of contempt of court was read 
out. Lois listened intently as Superman was asked how he pleaded.

"Court is not something I'm contemptuous of, Your Honour," he 
declared firmly. "I've sworn to fight for truth and justice."

"Clever," Perry murmured. "See - I told you he didn't need a lawyer."

But that didn't satisfy the judge, who insisted that she needed a 
guilty or not guilty plea. "Not guilty," Superman responded clearly.

"I don't know about that," Perry whispered, leaning towards Lois 
again. "He may have respect for the law, but he did break the 
injunction. You saw him do it!"

"Yeah, but he only did it to save people's lives!" Lois objected, and 
was immediately hushed by an usher.

The question of bail was discussed, with Superman wanting to be 
released on his own recognisance pending trial; Ms Cheng, the City 
Attorney objected, and at that precise moment she knocked over her 
coffee cup. As the liquid spilt out in Superman's direction, he 
jumped aside...

...and floated several feet into the air.

"Oh, no..." Perry groaned. "Can't he avoid using his powers for five minutes?"

The courtroom dissolved into laughter as Ms Cheng declared Superman 
an obvious flight risk, and the judge hung her head in her hands, 
wondering what to do with him. To Lois's surprise, Perry got to his 
feet.

"Your Honor, Perry White, Editor of the Daily Planet. I just want to 
say that Superman is a person of absolute integrity, honesty and 
decency," Perry said firmly. Lois wondered what he was up to; was 
this why he'd come? To give Superman a character reference?

The judge stared straight at Perry. "So you're willing to vouch for him?"

"Absolutely."

"Sold!" the judge exclaimed, banging her gavel down.

Perry looked puzzled, but Lois smiled, beginning to guess at what was coming.

"He's yours," the judge explained. "The Daily Planet is now 
responsible for the whereabouts of Superman.  I mean, what am I going 
to do? I can't hold him if he doesn't want to be held. You do it for 
a while."

Perry clearly hadn't expected this; he looked taken aback, but Lois 
reached for his arm and squeezed it. "Well done!"

The judge was still speaking, this time to Superman. "No 
Super-powers. Period. Is that clear?" Lois saw Superman nod; she 
found herself wondering how on earth he would manage that. But, she 
told herself, this was *Superman* she was looking at. There didn't 
seem to be a lot he couldn't do.

She turned to grin at Perry. "See? You can't be objective about this 
either, Chief!" But Perry was already moving towards Superman, who 
was now watching the two of them cautiously.

"You ready to go, son?" the editor asked the distinctly wary-looking 
Super-hero.

Superman nodded, but Lois could see that he was not at all happy with 
the arrangement. She moved to stand in front of him and reached out 
tentatively to touch his arm. "We'll find out what's really behind 
all this, Superman, you'll see. This will all be over very soon and 
things can get back to normal."

He gave her a wry smile. "Thanks for your concern, Lois. But, you 
know, they could be right. It might be my powers causing the problem 
with the weather."

"I refuse to believe that!" Lois retorted, then turned back to Perry. 
"Superman's coming back to the Planet with us, right?" As Perry 
nodded, she linked her arm with Superman's. "Come on - my car's 
parked around the corner."

"Your car?" he queried, frowning.

"Well, you can't fly!" she pointed out, teasing. "So you'll just have 
to put up with my driving."

His expression was resigned as he walked out of the courtroom with her.


************

Walking out of the elevator on the newsroom floor with Perry White 
and Lois, Clark was reminded once again how much he missed working at 
the Daily Planet. The Star just wasn't the same; apart from the 
different news values, its atmosphere was clinical compared to the 
Planet's old-fashioned newsroom ambience. At the Star, he felt as if 
he was part of a production line, under the complete control of Mike 
Lloyd. Too much initiative on the part of reporters was definitely 
frowned upon, whereas at the Planet Perry White required his 
reporters to come up with ideas for stories. He might not always 
sanction the spending of Planet time on these ideas, but he did at 
least consider them.

Thinking of his new employer reminded Clark of what was now his most 
pressing concern. He was stuck here at the Daily Planet, as Superman, 
while Clark Kent was supposed to have been back at the Star's offices 
hours earlier. There had been nothing at all he could do about it 
beyond the very brief phone call he'd made to his editor while at the 
police station; he'd said then that he was covering the story of 
Superman's arrest and would write it up later. But that had been 
hours ago, and if he was going to stand any chance at all of not 
being fired, he needed to report into the Star as soon as possible.

He wryly wondered what his chances were of getting left alone in an 
office with a telephone, before discarding the idea as hopeless. Even 
if they did leave him alone - which was hardly likely, after all, 
given Superman was probably the biggest story in town right at the 
moment - he couldn't take the risk of calling the Star as Clark Kent 
from the Daily Planet. There was no guarantee, after all, that any 
call wouldn't be recorded, nor that someone wouldn't later check to 
see what number Superman had called.

"Can I get you something to drink, Superman?" Lois's eager voice 
suddenly broke into his thoughts.

<That's all I need... Lois fawning over Superman!> he thought 
bitterly. On the other hand, he was thirsty, and it would give her 
something to do...

"Yes. Please - coffee, milk, one sugar, if that's okay," he replied, 
deliberately not asking for his usual two sugars; he didn't want 
anyone noticing that Superman had at least one thing in common with 
Clark Kent.

Lois hurried off, and as she did so Perry White attracted his 
attention. "Ah... you want to wait in my office for now, Superman?"

"I really don't want to be any trouble, Mr White." Clark repeated 
what he'd already said on the car journey back to the Planet, hoping 
that perhaps this time the editor would listen and suggest that 
perhaps Superman should go and get on with whatever else he wanted to 
do.

But it seemed that Perry was determined to take his responsibilities 
seriously; he smiled in what Clark assumed was intended to be a 
welcoming manner. "It's no trouble at all, Superman. It's a pleasure 
to welcome you to the Daily Planet."

"It sure is!" Lois exclaimed, bouncing up with the coffee. "And, you 
know, Superman, this could be a great opportunity!"

"Umm... it could?" Clark asked awkwardly, wondering what was about to come.

"Sure! No-one's given you the chance to put your side of the story so 
far, have they? This is your chance - an exclusive interview for the 
Planet. 'The Heatwave - Superman Speaks Out!' What do you think?" 
Lois's animated expression made it clear what *she* thought.

Clark shook his head. "Lois, I'd... um... I'd really prefer not to. 
This is _sub judice_ now, anyway. I wouldn't want the Planet to get 
into trouble with the courts..."

"Oh, I'm sure the lawyers could find a way around that, can't they, 
Perry?" Lois turned to appeal to her boss.

Perry shrugged. "I'd be amazed if it wasn't possible. How about it, 
Superman? You know the Planet will treat you fairly."

But Clark just didn't want to do it. He knew that part of his 
instinctive refusal was a reluctance to be interviewed by Lois, but 
alongside that he was still feeling very raw from his treatment by 
the judge and the police. No matter how many times he told himself 
that they were only doing their job and that it was perfectly 
possible that his powers could be causing the climate change, it had 
*hurt* to be hauled into court, ordered to desist saving people's 
lives, and then accused of being in contempt of court simply because 
he'd prevented an escaped prisoner from killing anyone who stood in 
his path.

If he gave an interview now, he wouldn't be able to maintain his 
now-trademark Superman behaviour; he would become over-emotional and 
angry, rather than calm and collected. It was out of the question.

"No. I appreciate the offer, and I know you mean well, but I can't do 
it." His tone was deliberately cold, and he knew that he was being 
rude to two people who were actually helping him, but there was 
nothing he could do about that.

Lois looked disappointed, and after a moment she excused herself and 
went back to her desk where, within a minute or two, she was deep in 
conversation with Jimmy. Perry, meanwhile, began to usher Superman 
towards his office, beginning what Clark could tell was going to be a 
long story about Elvis facing some sort of adversity. Sighing 
inwardly, Clark longed for some excuse to get him away from here.

Ten minutes later, the door to the editor's office burst open and 
Lois entered, the formal jacket she was wearing earlier discarded to 
reveal a camisole top which, because of the heat, was clinging to her 
upper body. Clark swallowed, trying not to look. "Sorry, Perry, but 
we need Superman," she announced.

"What? Lois, I hope you have a good reason for barging in here like 
this - " the editor began, but Lois over-rode him.

"Jimmy and I are going through every kind of map of the city we can 
get hold of. Satellite, geothermal, meteorological, everything - and 
we're trying to find another possible explanation for the heat. We 
need Superman to help us."

Clark stood up slowly, reluctantly. "Lois... I'm not sure how you 
think I can help."

She gestured vaguely in the direction of her eyes. "You know - 
Super-speed, Super-vision, telescopic vision - all of that kind of 
stuff. You can search all those maps far quicker than we can!" She 
turned back towards the door, then paused. "Well, come on - what are 
you waiting for?!"

Clark wanted to roll his eyes at her, but Superman didn't do things 
like that. Instead he allowed his mouth to turn down at the corners. 
"Lois, you know I can't do that. I've promised not to use my powers."

In fact, it wasn't so much the use of his vision powers which was 
troubling him. He had never before spent so much time as Superman in 
the company of anyone who knew him as Clark, and he was worried that 
his disguise could be penetrated at any minute. And if he agreed to 
help Lois, that would be even more likely; despite her apparent blind 
spot where Superman was concerned, she was a reporter, and a good one 
at that. And he was a reporter too; if he helped Lois, he'd have to 
be completely on his guard to ensure that he wasn't seen to know too 
much about the work.

It was just too risky.

But Lois wasn't satisfied; crossing the room to grab his arm, she 
urged him to come with her. "Superman, this is important! And I'm 
sure just a tiny use of your vision thingy won't hurt."

Clark raised an eyebrow; his 'vision thingy' indeed! "Lois, I told 
you - I can't. I've given my word - would you want me to break a 
promise? And anyway," he added with a sigh, "I don't know why you're 
bothering. There's no point. The general consensus seems to be that I 
*am* causing this."

"Well, I don't share that consensus!" Lois retorted. "And I'm sure 
the Planet doesn't either."

"Now, Lois, we can't let personal feelings get in the way here," 
Perry interrupted. "The Planet has to report the news."

"Yes, and you're saying it isn't news that scare-mongerers are 
turning the city against Superman?!" Lois demanded, flapping her 
hands in front of her face in an attempt to cool down.

"Lois, you know we try to tell all sides of the story," Perry pointed 
out, his tone chiding. "So we'll report the scientific evidence, as 
well as the fact that some people doubt it."

Lois wasn't happy with this response, Clark could see. He moved 
further away from her. "Lois, come on, we all have to accept the 
facts. Dr Sayer's right."

She glared at him - that had to be a first, Clark considered wryly. 
"You accept it if you want to, Superman. I refuse to, and I won't 
stop digging until I prove him wrong."

She turned swiftly to leave the room, then just as quickly turned 
back as a thought clearly struck her. "Where are you going to stay 
tonight, Superman?"

<The same place I stay every night... why should it be any different 
*now*?> Clark thought, but remained silent.

"I guess... well, the court did make me responsible for you," Perry 
White commented, frowning.

"He can stay with me, Perry!" Lois offered instantly.

But that gave Clark an idea. "I could stay with Clark Kent," he said 
slowly. "In fact... if I could call him, I could get him to meet me 
at his apartment. Then I can get out of your way here."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Lois was not at all 
happy with this suggestion, but he ignored her, focusing on the 
editor. Perry grunted, then nodded. "Sounds like a good suggestion to 
me." He gestured at the phone. "You want to call him now?"

Clark gratefully stepped to the phone, dialling his own voicemail at 
the Star; that way, should anyone check to see what number he'd 
dialled, they would be satisfied. Once he heard his own voice, he 
spoke quickly into the receiver, telling 'Clark' that he would meet 
him at his apartment shortly, then ended the call having first 
pressed the key to delete the message he'd just left.

"Clark can meet me now, so I'll be able to get out of your way," he 
announced to Perry, avoiding looking at Lois.

"How are you going to get to Clark's apartment?" Lois demanded before 
the editor could speak. "You can't fly..."

"I'll be fine, but thanks for your concern," Clark interjected 
swiftly, now just wanting to get out of there.

"I'll drive you," Lois offered immediately.

"No! - I mean, there's no need," Clark insisted, now finding it very 
difficult to maintain his Superman persona. "And anyway, you're busy, 
aren't you?"

But she smiled at him. "Not too busy to help out a friend."


************

Lois had made her offer before she'd had time to think about the 
consequences: she now had to drive Superman over to the one place she 
had no wish to be, ever again. She hadn't been near Kent's apartment 
since that awful morning when she'd woken up and found herself in his 
bed; she'd even found alternative routes to avoid Clinton Street any 
time she had to be in that part of town.

But Superman had looked so alone and vulnerable in court, and even 
though he was clearly putting on a brave face for the benefit of the 
Planet staff, he was obviously hurting. She'd wanted to offer him 
comfort herself, but it seemed that he was too proud to admit that he 
needed someone to care about him.

Well...  not *too* proud after all, maybe.

It hurt, Lois had to admit, that he'd asked Clark for help rather 
than herself. After all, *she* had been a friend to Superman right 
from the start. Kent had only come on the scene, as far as Superman 
was concerned, later - although, of course, Kent had managed to get 
far more Superman scoops than she had over the past couple of months, 
including the first big official interview. That hurt, too. As did 
the fact that Superman had obviously told Clark about her 
embarrassing behaviour the one time he'd offered her an interview. He 
hadn't needed to do that. And it had been cruel - though maybe, she 
thought with a tinge of hope, it had never occurred to Superman that 
Clark would use the information in that way.

She stole a glance across at her passenger; he was staring straight 
ahead, his expression unreadable.

"Superman?" He turned slightly towards her at her tentative voicing 
of his name.

"Yes?" His tone was neutral.

"I've been wondering... You seem to see a lot of Clark Kent - I mean, 
he's had a lot of interviews with you recently, and you called him 
today..." She trailed off uncertainly, not sure how to phrase the 
question she really wanted to ask, which was why Superman chose Kent 
over her.

Was it her imagination, or did the expression in the brown eyes 
become cooler? His tone was still fairly neutral when he did speak, 
though. "Clark is a friend, Lois. Just like you are, I guess."

He thought of her as a friend? Lois felt warmed inside at the 
thought, until she recollected that he'd also described Kent in the 
same way. A tiny voice nagged her, suggesting that if Superman 
considered Clark Kent a friend, then the man couldn't be all bad. But 
Lois rejected that thought; *obviously* Superman didn't know his 
so-called 'friend's' true nature. Or... depressingly, she 
acknowledged that it was quite possible that Superman did know about 
Kent's sexual proclivities, and thought nothing of it. They were both 
men, after all...

Rounding the corner onto Clinton Street, Lois felt torn suddenly. If 
Superman invited her in for coffee, would she accept? Knowing that 
she'd be spending time in Clark Kent's company? But maybe Kent 
wouldn't be there yet - he didn't have a car, after all - unless he'd 
acquired one more recently - and if he was coming by public 
transport, he'd take longer than she had in her Jeep. So... but she 
really didn't want to be inside that apartment again, even if it did 
mean she had the chance of more time alone with Superman.

She should have used the journey time more effectively, she realised 
as she drew the car to a halt. This had been a perfect opportunity to 
get an exclusive interview with Superman; okay, he'd refused earlier 
when she'd asked, but he might have changed his mind now. Clark Kent 
certainly wouldn't hesitate to grab an interview once he got home, 
that was for sure.

That was what was really bugging her about Superman's decision to 
stay with Kent, she told herself. Kent would have every opportunity 
to scoop a great story for the Star, while she and the Planet had 
missed out again, *despite* having had Superman in their custody. It 
was *nothing* to do with feeling jealous that someone else - let 
alone someone like Kent - would get to spend time alone with 
Superman. No, she wasn't that petty. She was a professional, and what 
really mattered was the story.

Wasn't it?

Superman thanked her for the ride, then left the Jeep without asking 
if she wanted to come in with him; she watched him walk up the steps 
and into Kent's apartment, noting with dismay that he seemed so 
familiar with the place that he even knew where the spare key was 
kept. As the door closed behind him, she bit her lip and drove off.


************

Mike Lloyd was every bit as furious as Clark had expected, and only 
the promise of an exclusive with Superman on his response to the 
court injunction and his time in prison calmed the Star's editor 
sufficiently so that he stopped hinting that pink slips were on their 
way. Clark hadn't actually wanted to give Superman's side of the 
story at all; apart from the fact that the whole thing was still in 
the hands of the courts, he'd refused the Planet an interview, and it 
seemed disloyal to give one to the Star.

When he thought about that objection, he realised that it sounded 
crazy. How could he be disloyal to the Planet when he was employed by 
the Star? But that only made him realise that, while he might have 
worked at the Star for almost a couple of months now, it wasn't his 
journalistic home. It had only ever represented a temporary position 
for him; he'd spent his time at the Star feeling as if he was marking 
time. Waiting for what? he wondered. But the answer was simple; 
waiting for a time when he could apply again for a job at the Planet.

Not that he could realistically envisage that happening in the near 
future, he realised. Seeing the Planet's newsroom again just a short 
time ago had reminded him how much he missed the place, but the same 
problem remained: Lois Lane.

It was clear that her feelings towards Clark Kent remained hostile; 
he hadn't missed the way she'd looked when he'd mentioned his own 
name. And later, in her car, as they'd arrived at Clinton Street he'd 
been able to tell how little she'd wanted to be in that 
neighbourhood: her heart-rate had accelerated, a tiny pulse had 
beaten in her throat, and he'd noticed her hands clenching on the 
steering-wheel. No, Lois Lane was nowhere near ready to make up with 
Clark Kent yet. And anyway, he wasn't sure whether Clark Kent was 
ready to make up with Lois Lane either. Regardless of this totally 
illogical attraction he felt towards her, the woman she really was 
just wasn't a woman he felt he could love or want to be with.

No matter how his body reacted to the sight of her; no matter how 
many nights his dreams were filled with memories of that wonderful 
night when he'd been in love and all his dreams had come true. The 
woman he'd been with that night just didn't exist.

There was, of course, another reason why he *should* have done 
something for the Planet, and that was because of what Perry White 
had done to help him. It had been very bad manners not to grant the 
interview which had been requested of him. He should have done it.

But it was too late now. Instead, Clark resolved to ensure that the 
Planet - Lois, or whoever - got the next big Superman story.

Always assuming, of course, that there would ever be other Superman 
stories in the future, if he really was the cause of the heatwave.


***********

By the following evening, Clark knew that he'd run out of options. In 
fact, to be strictly accurate, he'd run out of options the previous 
evening when he'd heard the news of the impending train crash. He'd 
had no choice than to do what all his instincts had screamed at him 
to do: to go and stop the train. Flying. Super-strength. Super-speed. 
Super-human abilities in every respect.

The train crash had been averted and three hundred lives saved.

And his life - or rather, Superman's - had come to an end.

He hadn't needed to hear the news broadcast to know that he'd be 
expected to surrender; he'd known it since he took the decision to 
stop the train, and the article he'd written late the previous night 
for the Star, calling into the newsroom around midnight, had 
suggested as much. He'd tried to include a sense of Superman's 
dilemma in the article, even though it was a news story and not an 
op-ed piece; readers should be made aware that it couldn't have been 
a straightforward decision. Superman had known what stopping the 
train could mean, as far as both the weather conditions and his own 
position were concerned; he'd weighed up those consequences against 
the fact of up to three hundred deaths if he'd done nothing.

But his article had been cut to pieces by Mike Lloyd, Clark had 
realised as soon as he'd reported for work that morning. As he'd 
walked in the entrance to the Star's building, he'd seen the paper's 
headline: 'Superman Defies The Law!' Underneath was a smaller 
headline, which read 'How Much More Does He Expect Metropolis To Put 
Up With?' In a text-box near the bottom of the page was a phone poll 
asking whether Superman should be thrown out of town.

He'd scanned the article, noticing with barely-suppressed fury that 
it carried his own byline. It bore no resemblance to the story he'd 
submitted the previous night, however. Instead, the article was a 
heavily-biased polemic which almost ignored the lives which had been 
saved, the damage to property and infrastructure which had been 
averted. Its main focus was on the fact that Superman had broken the 
court injunction, clearly considering himself to be above the law.

When he'd remonstrated angrily with the editor, Mike Lloyd's response 
had been sneering. "Sentiment has no place in a newspaper, Kent. 
Public opinion is turning away from Superman, and the Star has to be 
ahead of the game. That's all there is to it." Pointedly turning away 
from Clark, Mike had continued, "Make sure you're in court later to 
cover the guy's appearance there - and if he's thrown in jail, I want 
you to get the inside story. I don't care how, just make sure your 
expense claim looks kosher."

Which meant, Clark assumed in disgust, that he was supposed to bribe 
his way to any salacious disclosures. Yet again, he'd sighed inwardly 
and wished he was back at the Planet. If he hadn't already known that 
he only saw the Star as a temporary position - and if it wasn't that 
he had too much on his mind otherwise - he'd be considering 
resignation at this point. He was furious enough at having his byline 
over an article which he couldn't support, without his editor 
demanding that he follow practices of which he thoroughly 
disapproved. But this was no time to make that kind of decision. 
Later, when all this was over, he would think very seriously about 
moving on, and what Lloyd had done to him would certainly be an 
important factor in his decision-making process. He might not want to 
stay in Metropolis anyway after this, Superman or no Superman.

Turning himself in had been an experience he wouldn't want to repeat. 
He'd been tempted to go to a police station on the edge of the city, 
where he knew no-one, but in the end had decided to turn himself in 
to Inspector William Henderson. He knew Henderson slightly as a 
result of his reporting work, and had met him a few times as 
Superman, and he liked and respected the detective. If there was any 
police office he could trust not to make some kind of capital out of 
Superman being under arrest, it was Henderson. But even though 
Henderson had been matter-of-fact about the whole thing, it had still 
been profoundly embarrassing.

His court appearance had been far worse - even more so given that he 
could hear the shouts of the crowds outside the courthouse. He hadn't 
even needed his Super-hearing for the cries of "Superman Must Go!" to 
reach him. The judge had been less sympathetic than on the previous 
day, completely unmoved when he'd pointed out how many lives had been 
at stake the night before. She'd offered the city attorney a deal, 
and the city's demands had quickly been made: Superman to leave 
Metropolis, by noon the following day.

It was that or prison, not that Clark would have volunteered for the 
latter in any case, and he couldn't really envisage any state 
penitentiary wanting to take the responsibility for holding Superman 
prisoner. So, with a heavy heart, he'd agreed to the city's demand 
that he leave.

He hadn't missed the expressions on the faces of some of those in the 
courtroom: relief on the judge's, victory on the attorney's, delight 
on the faces of some of the people in the public area, sneering on 
some of the reporters'. Not all, though. Lois was there; he'd almost 
been able to feel the force of her gaze on him throughout the brief 
hearing. As he'd turned, after nodding his agreement to leave the 
city, he'd seen her.

She'd looked stricken.

For an instant, he'd reminded himself that this was the woman who'd 
accused him of deliberately seducing her, who had threatened to get 
an abortion if she was pregnant with his child. Hardening his heart, 
he'd turned away. After all, she didn't care about *him* - she was 
only interested in the Super-hero. She'd proven that by her behaviour 
the previous day, after all. She'd wanted a piece of him, just like 
everyone else.

But had she been that callous - or even that groupie-like? He'd 
forced himself to acknowledge that Lois's concern had been genuine, 
reminded himself that she'd been trying to find some alternative 
explanation for the heatwave. And it *was* possible that there was 
another explanation, he reminded himself. The judge had even 
implicitly acknowledged that. Not that it had made any difference; 
she'd still agreed to Attorney Cheng's demand that he leave 
Metropolis and never come back during the period of his natural life.

Lois had looked stricken.

He'd glanced at her, wordlessly signalling his thanks and 
appreciation, then had left the courtroom to face the waiting crowds; 
they'd begun to boo loudly as soon as he'd appeared. No-one had 
listened to his farewell speech - not even the reporters it had been 
aimed at. Worse still had been the Superman doll flung at him by a 
small boy who'd clearly decided that his hero was no hero after all.

Lois had stopped him on his stumbling route out of the building; 
she'd put out a hand towards him, staring at him. "You can't leave," 
she'd said, pain in her voice. He'd wanted to take that hand, to hold 
it close to his heart and to bury his face in her soft hair.

But he couldn't; she didn't know who he was, and she would never 
again want to touch Clark Kent in that way. So he wouldn't let her 
get that close to Superman.

Instead, he'd blinked and looked away. "I don't have a choice," he'd muttered.

"They can't be right!" she'd exclaimed, obviously wanting to 
accompany him wherever he was going.

But he'd just looked at her, willing her to understand. Superman had 
to leave, and he had to go alone. Silently saying goodbye, he'd then 
turned away and made his way out of the building.

And now, it was late evening and he was sitting in the Star's 
newsroom. Most of the staff had gone; there was only a small skeleton 
staff now preparing the morning edition. He wasn't even sure why he 
was still there. He'd done his job for the day, filed the story of 
Superman's final court appearance - and, much to his amazement, Mike 
Lloyd had even allowed it to appear as he'd written it; perhaps the 
editor had felt some twinge of guilt over butchering and twisting his 
other story. Not that that had stopped the editor from emblazoning 
the front page with a 'Good Riddance!' headline, and writing an 
editorial praising the city council for ridding Metropolis of a 
health hazard.

As if Superman was contagious, carrying disease like the rats which 
crawled in the city's sewers, Clark had thought in revulsion. He was 
from another planet - was that suddenly a hanging offence?

Okay, he knew that the city had a point. If he was causing the 
heatwave, then they had every right to insist that he leave. But that 
didn't excuse the manner of their 'request'. Superman had gone from 
hero to villain in the space of weeks, and no matter how many times 
Clark told himself it didn't matter, it hurt.

His parents had offered to come to Metropolis, but he'd told them not 
to. Much though he loved them, he wasn't sure he could face them 
right now. Not feeling as he did; as if he had failed. Oh, they'd 
assure him that he hadn't, but he didn't feel as if he could accept 
that from them. And anyway, he still hadn't decided what to do. 
Superman had to leave Metropolis, but did that mean Clark had to? He 
could remain, as Clark; he would just have to bury Superman 
permanently and try never to use any Super-powers.

<But what if I can't stop?> he'd asked himself earlier that day, when 
he'd first considered that option seriously.

He could. He would have to. And anyway, he reminded himself now, it 
wasn't the little things which seemed to cause the trouble. He'd been 
shaving and cutting his hair with heat vision for almost ten years 
now. And he'd been using some of his other powers for small domestic 
tasks for even longer. The problem had only arisen when he'd started 
doing much larger, more impressive feats; every day he'd done 
something major, the temperature had risen. It had gone up another 
couple of points after he'd stopped that train last night. But his 
everyday usage of powers hadn't seemed to affect anything, ever. Even 
flying hadn't been a problem, though he'd clearly have to stop that - 
he couldn't risk being seen.

So Clark could stay, and that was probably the best thing to do. He 
was tired of running away.

His decision made, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair 
and headed for home.


*************

Lois sat surrounded by maps, scraps of paper on which she'd been 
scribbling ideas, and half a dozen cold and congealing cups of 
coffee, one hand raking through her very tangled hair and the other 
fanning herself with that afternoon's Planet. Although the logical 
side of her brain had been telling her for the past several hours to 
give up, that it was hopeless, her emotions refused to allow her to 
stop searching for something - *anything* - else which might explain 
the meteorological problem.

"Hey, Lois, I got those textbooks you asked for," a weary Jimmy Olsen 
announced, approaching her desk. He snagged a spare chair, pulling it 
over, and collapsed into it. "Phew! I'm bushed! Rushing around in 
this heat sure ain't a good idea!"

Lois merely grunted, dropping the paper and reaching for the books to 
make a start. The newspaper fell on the desk with the front-page 
photo of Superman uppermost; Jimmy had arrived at the courthouse just 
in time to see the Super-hero emerge from the building, and his photo 
had captured the weariness and misery on Superman's face perfectly. 
That, along with the headline Perry had approved - City Turns on Hero 
- made the front page doubly poignant. Lois could barely bear to look 
at it, and she immediately flipped the paper over.

Catching the hurt expression on Jimmy's face, she said quickly, "That 
was a great picture, Jimmy, you know that. The Chief told you so 
himself - and I heard it's already being sold in syndication."

But Jimmy shook his head. "That's not what I meant. It's just 
terrible - how could they believe that about Superman? How could they 
just order him to leave like that?"

"I don't know," Lois answered wearily. "All I know is that I want to 
prove them wrong." Noticing what looked like a crumpled newspaper 
sticking out of Jimmy's pocket, she gestured at it. "What's that?"

"What?" He looked puzzled for a moment, then realised what she meant 
and pulled the paper out of his pocket.

Lois frowned as she recognised the Star's masthead, then became angry 
when she read the headline. "Did you *have* to bring that in here?"

"Huh? Oh, that." Jimmy's expression made his opinion of the headline 
clear. "No, it's not that. It's CK's article, inside - you really 
should read it, Lois."

Kent? Lois frowned; she had no wish to read anything written by Clark 
Kent. Although... She hesitated suddenly, remembering that Superman 
had told her Clark was a friend of his. Had he given Kent an 
interview? But she'd seen the Star's front page lead story that 
morning - it had carried Clark's byline and she'd been appalled at 
the content. It sounded as if the writer was working his way up to 
demanding a lynch-mob to take care of Superman. That was weird... how 
could someone Superman called a friend write an article like that? 
Unless Kent made a habit of betraying friends and co-workers...?

She opened the paper, quickly finding the article on page three, and 
scanned it in silence. As she reached the end, a lump began to form 
in her throat at the final two paragraphs.

	'The crowd reacted with surprise and relief. It was all over. 
Superman knew it.  He felt an object strike him in the chest. 
Something hard, small, thrown with a force much less than that of an 
adult. Searching the mob as he knelt to retrieve it, Superman's eyes 
fell on the face of a young boy. The boy appeared to force back tears 
as Superman identified the object -- a plastic Superman action figure.

	'Superman slowly rose with the toy -- a ninety-nine cent lump 
of moulded plastic that was once priceless to its young owner. 
Superman wanted to return it but in a second the boy was gone. And so 
was his hero.

	'They say the Man of Steel is invulnerable. I don't think so.'

"CK hasn't lost his touch, has he?" Jimmy observed quietly.

No, he hadn't, Lois admitted silently. So much for betraying his 
friend - and so much for her thoughts about how his style had dumbed 
down in his weeks at the Star; he could still write poignant, flowing 
prose when he needed to. This piece was heart-wrenchingly good; she'd 
been there, she'd seen the way Superman had looked when that boy had 
thrown his toy at the hero. Superman had looked gutted; hurt to the 
core. She had wondered if he was close to tears.

And Kent had reflected that pain so well in this article; so well 
that she was jealous. She hadn't written anything half as good as 
that, and she'd been there!

Wait a minute...

Clark Kent hadn't been at the courthouse that morning!

So how had he known about this? How could he have written an article 
as passionate as this without having been there?

Unless... She closed the paper and thrust it back at Jimmy. Superman 
had clearly talked to Clark about it. So much for claiming that he 
saw her as a friend - he'd refused to give her an interview the 
previous day! And he had to have known he could have talked to her 
that morning, after the trial. She'd been there, she'd offered her 
sympathy; but he'd shaken his head and walked away.

She snorted. Superman clearly hadn't seen that earlier article by 
Kent. Unless... unless he had, and he'd gone to see Kent to tell him 
he didn't appreciate it, and demanded that Kent write something more 
sympathetic. But Superman didn't seem the type to use his media 
contacts in that way - and surely he knew that if he wanted 
sympathetic coverage all he had to do was come to her?

What had Kent got that she didn't?

But there was no point getting worked up about that now. It was far 
too hot for that, anyway. She turned back to her books; it was more 
important to find a way of clearing Superman before it was too late.


************

Troubles always seemed worse at four o'clock in the morning, Clark 
mused as he lay, sleepless, in bed at his apartment. Normally, if he 
couldn't sleep he'd go out flying, but he couldn't risk that, not 
now. Public opinion was too hostile to Superman. No matter that he 
was pretty convinced that simple flying wasn't affecting anything; 
there was already mass hysteria over the probability that the 
heatwave was Superman's fault. He didn't want to do anything to add 
to that.

He was well aware that the general public knew that Superman would be 
leaving in... he checked his watch. Under eight hours. That wouldn't 
make any difference; this wasn't like allowing the condemned man a 
hearty breakfast. Superman wouldn't be permitted a final flight. They 
just wanted him gone.

Well, that was easy; he'd already bundled up his Suits and stored 
them in his old battered suitcase again. He would take them to 
Smallville some time soon, by commercial flight if he had to, though 
he was toying with the idea of waiting a couple of weeks until all 
this fuss calmed down and then flying out at dead of night, dressed 
in black. The way he used to go flying before Superman was ever 
dreamed of.

Maybe. Or maybe he would try to forget he'd ever had Super-powers.

It was certainly going to be very difficult, in future, to hear cries 
for help and not be able to do anything. And the fact that Superman 
had existed, albeit for only a few months, meant that he would have 
to be even more careful in future. Now, people knew what heat vision 
was and what it could do; before Superman, such powers were beyond 
most people's imagination. So Clark Kent could no longer take the 
kind of risks he used to take in helping people unobtrusively. Now, 
certain things would alert people to the presence of Superman.

Could he really go back to not being able to help? To seeing and 
hearing people in trouble, knowing he could save them and not being 
able to lift a finger to help?

He didn't know; but he intended to try. Otherwise, what was the point 
of anything?

He turned to stare out of the large picture window; it was still 
dark, but dawn would break in a couple of hours. Dawn would be 
breaking soon in Smallville, and for an instant he was tempted to 
take the risk, to dress all in black and fly across to his parents' 
farm. There, he would be welcome, and he could talk to the only two 
people in the world who understood his dilemma.

But it wasn't worth the risk. And anyway, he could call his folks if 
he wanted; they'd be getting up about now in any case.

No. He could cope with this on his own; his parents had worries of 
their own, and he didn't want to make them feel even worse about him.

It was at times like these, though, he mused bleakly, that he wished 
his birth parents had never sent him, a Kryptonian, to Earth.


*************

It was mid-morning, and Lois was conscious of Superman's noon 
deadline getting ever closer. She and Jimmy had been at the Planet 
all night, she slowly making her way through the stack of physics 
textbooks, while he was checking some things out on a computer. 
However, by the time the morning shift had arrived they'd still been 
nowhere near a solution. They had made one advance - well, Jimmy had, 
and it had seemed important at the time. Jimmy had discovered that, 
while the days on which the temperature had risen did correspond to 
days on which there had been reported Super-activity, the locations 
of the hottest spots did not correspond to places where Superman had 
been in action.

But as the clocks ticked inexorably onwards, the likelihood that they 
would find out what was really causing the heat was diminishing. Lois 
had asked Jimmy to contact the other scientist who had been at Mayor 
Berkowitz's press conference, Dr Goodman, to see whether she had any 
ideas based on the maps Jimmy had created; there was still no 
response, however.

The atmosphere in the newsroom was now gloomy; even the heat wasn't 
leading to raised temperatures this morning. While Perry had insisted 
that the Planet's official line on Superman as a cause of the heat 
was neutrality, even the editor was depressed today; he made periodic 
visits to Lois's desk to enquire whether she'd discovered anything 
new, and she noticed that he made no attempt to assign her any other 
stories. Unofficially, without any explicit discussion, exonerating 
Superman was now Lois's most important task as far as the Planet was 
concerned.

Suddenly, everything seemed to happen at once. Perry came out to 
demand that several newsroom staff start compiling material for a 
tribute to Superman, and Lois, furious at what she saw at his 
premature move, began to argue with him about it. Perry, insisting 
that if it was to go in the afternoon edition it had to be written 
*now*, stood his ground. As the two were arguing, Jimmy ran up to 
Lois.

"Not now, Jimmy!" Lois barked at him.

"But, Lois - "

"Ms Lane?" An unfamiliar female voice now entered the shouting match, 
and Lois turned to see the other physicist from the press conference.

Breaking away from Perry, Lois hurried towards her visitor. "Dr 
Goodman! Oh, I'm so glad you could get here! Do you have any ideas?"

"Well, those maps you sent over were certainly interesting. They 
showed a pattern I'm very sure that no-one else has looked at, and it 
got me thinking..."  The scientist began to talk rapidly, and despite 
all her research Lois was soon lost by the jargon. A momentary memory 
of Clark Kent explaining and simplifying scientific information when 
they were investigating the Messenger explosion came to her, but she 
pushed it away. She didn't need Kent. When had she ever needed him?

However, Lois's lack of precise scientific knowledge was no barrier 
to understanding what Dr Goodman wanted to show her. Emerging from 
the entrance to the city's aquifer, Lois was exultant. She'd known 
all along that the heatwave was nothing to do with Superman, and now 
she had proof. Now, all she needed to do was to get in touch with 
Superman, tell him that he was exonerated, and get him to stop the 
LexCorp nuclear power plant from going live.

All...

That was easier said than done, she reflected immediately. How was 
she going to contact Superman, for a start? For all she knew, he 
could already have left town. She checked her watch; it was a little 
after 11am. Okay, his deadline wasn't until noon, but on the other 
hand, why would he stay around in a city which had made it perfectly 
clear that he wasn't welcome? He could be anywhere by now.

But there was one method of attracting Superman which had always 
worked up until now. It had to be worth a try; if she failed, maybe 
she'd look a fool, but what was that compared to the chance that she 
could save Superman - and, more than that, save the city from a 
nuclear meltdown?

Hurrying back to the Daily Planet, she rushed inside and into the 
elevator, and pressed the button to go up to the roof.


***********

"Help! Superman, help!"

Clark, busy typing up what he considered to be a completely trivial 
story about a TV chat show host's cosmetic surgery, suddenly froze in 
his seat as his Super-hearing kicked in. Someone was in trouble.

His hand automatically went to his tie, but he stopped himself. 
Superman was gone. By order of the city, courtesy of the judge, 
Superman was banished for ever. He couldn't respond to the person 
calling him.

"Superman! Help!"

The cry came again, and Clark squirmed in his seat. How could he not 
help? But he'd promised the city - a city which was calling him a 
criminal, he reminded himself caustically. Even still, he'd made a 
promise. And if he really was causing the heatwave, he had an 
obligation to everyone in the city not to make things worse. He 
couldn't do anything. He had to ignore the scream, just as he would 
have to ignore every single cry for help from here onwards. There was 
nothing he could do about it. As much as it tore him apart, Superman 
was gone - Superman had to be gone. For every single person he saved 
by using his powers, he reminded himself, he could be causing the 
deaths of many more. He couldn't have that on his conscience. So 
Superman had to ignore that scream. No matter how many times his 
father had told him, when they'd talked again early that morning, 
that it wasn't possible that *he* could be causing the problem, Clark 
just couldn't take the risk that the scientists might be right.

But... there was something familiar about that voice; he hadn't 
noticed the first time, since he'd been taken by surprise. But now, 
he knew - Lois was calling him!

Lois. His mouth twisted; what did she think she was doing? She knew 
Superman was banished, and she knew why. What on earth was she up to, 
trying to make him disobey the court injunction? Didn't she realise 
what she was asking?

But she's in trouble, he told himself. She needs help... she needs *me*.

And when it came down to it, he would never leave Lois in any kind of 
trouble and refuse to help her. Even after everything which had 
passed between them... something in him still responded to her in a 
fundamental way, and always would. Why, he wasn't sure. After 
everything she'd done, he *couldn't* still care for her! And yet, 
that time Trask had thrown her out of the plane, he'd *known* she was 
calling for help. His ears hadn't heard her, but his heart certainly 
had. He'd concluded then that the only explanation had to be that 
there was some sort of connection between them, but he couldn't 
understand why... except that it had occurred to him some time 
afterwards to wonder whether it was because he'd slept with her. She 
was the first woman he'd made love with - he couldn't dismiss the 
possibility that something of that kind happened to Kryptonians when 
they made love. Perhaps, as a result, he would always feel this tie 
to Lois, whether he liked it or not.

And, it occurred to him suddenly, could this link, connection, 
whatever it was, be the reason all his instincts rebelled against the 
thought of leaving Metropolis? Eventhough leaving would be the most 
sensible option - after all, what was there to keep him here? He 
hated his job, and the city hated his creation - he just couldn't 
bring himself to cut all ties with this place... because it would 
mean finally cutting all ties with Lois?

And now, she needed him.

He got swiftly to his feet and hurried over to the stairwell, running 
at Super-speed up to the roof. There, he realised that he had a 
problem; he wasn't wearing the Suit. There was nothing else for it; 
he took off dressed as he was, shooting straight up at Super-speed 
until he was above cloud cover, then flew to his apartment. Under a 
second later, he was flying out again dressed in the blue and red 
Spandex.

<Hold on, Lois, I'm coming!> Where was the cry coming from? He could 
only hope that he wasn't too late.

The calls were coming from the Daily Planet... from the roof, in 
fact. What was she doing up there? What could be happening? His mind 
flooded with visions of Lois being pushed off the roof by some 
villain she'd threatened to expose and who had decided that disposing 
of the too-nosy reporter was worth the risk of a murder charge. He 
put on an additional burst of speed, and in another second the Planet 
globe was visible ahead of him. And there was Lois on the roof, and...

...and... she didn't seem to be in any danger at all!

She was standing in the centre of the roof, looking around and up 
into the sky, an anxious expression on her face. No-one else was in 
sight, and she seemed to be completely unharmed. His mouth tightened; 
was this some sort of stunt, to force him to come and say goodbye to 
her or something like that? Surely she wouldn't be so crass, so 
thoughtless? But, he reminded himself, this was the woman with a huge 
crush on Superman. Maybe she could...

He landed heavily in front of her and instantly glared at her as she 
swung to face him.

"Super - "

He cut across her excited greeting. "Lois, what do you think you're 
doing?! You made me think you were in some sort of danger - that's 
the *only* reason I broke the injunction and came after you. And now 
- " he gestured at her, his expression as scathing as his tone, " - 
you seem to be perfectly all right to me. So," he continued, his tone 
suddenly as cold as chipped ice, "just what is this all about?"

She was staring at him, apparently shocked by his cold, chastising 
manner. "Superman, I needed to talk to you and I didn't know any 
other way of getting hold of you," she managed after a moment.

"Lois, whatever you have to say, I can't imagine that it's so urgent 
that it justified making me break the injunction!" he snapped back at 
her. "You know they think my powers are causing the heat - "

"But that's just it!" she interrupted. "They're not!"

" - and if you *really* needed to talk to me that badly, you could 
have called Clark Kent and asked him to get in touch with me. That 
is, if you could bring yourself to -" He stopped abruptly and stared 
at her, suddenly realising what she had said. "They're not? You have 
proof?"

Her hands on her hips, she raised her eyebrows at him. "That's what 
I've been trying to tell you, if you'd stopped yelling at me long 
enough to listen! Dr Goodman figured it out, once Jimmy and I gave 
her the right information. The city aquifer is overheating, and we 
think it's coming from the LexCorp nuclear power plant."

"A leak?" Clark demanded, alarmed at the thought of what that could 
do to the city.

"Dr Goodman thinks so. She's gone to try to convince the city council 
and some other scientists, but I knew I had to get hold of you. That 
plant is due to go live in half an hour!"

"Less than that now," Clark amended dryly. "And the mayor is flipping 
the switch, isn't he? He'll probably be enjoying Lex Luthor's 
corporate hospitality. I have to get over there now."

He prepared to take off, but Lois caught at his arm. "Take me with you!"

Finding himself irritated despite the fact that she'd just done him 
an enormous favour, he raised one eyebrow at her.

"This is a huge story, Superman! And if it wasn't for me..."

"I know. There'd be no story, and I'd have left Metropolis," he 
finished for her, recognising that she was right - he owed her a lot. 
"Or rather, there could be a different story if that plant goes live 
and a meltdown happens,"  he added soberly. "Okay, come on." He 
extended his arms to her, and she moved forward so that he could pick 
her up in the usual way he did when taking someone flying with him.

As he swooped upwards, he remembered what his temper had allowed him 
to say to her, and he groaned inwardly; he'd actually told her that 
if she needed to contact Superman all she had to do was get in touch 
with Clark Kent. What a stupid move! Even without the addition of his 
bitter reference to her unwillingness to talk to 'Clark', it had been 
a stupid move. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to link Clark 
Kent too closely with Superman - and especially not for a talented 
reporter like Lois Lane to make that link.

Still, it was too late; he'd said it. But her mind had clearly been 
on other things at the time. If he was fortunate, she might not have 
even noticed.


************

The flight was by far the most exciting of any she'd had with 
Superman so far. He'd warned her that he was going to be fast, and 
suggested that she hide her head against his shoulder, but Lois had 
no intention of missing any of this. He'd flown downwards at what 
felt like at least twice the speed of any roller-coaster she'd ever 
been on. Ignoring the shouts and curses of onlookers, he'd then found 
an entrance to the aquifer and flown along inside to see for himself 
the temperature levels below ground before emerging again to take 
them to the LexCorp plant.

Once inside, he let Lois go, gripping her for a moment or two until 
she regained her balance, then he shot forward at Super-speed, 
completely ignoring the objections and the stunned faces of Mayor 
Berkowitz and Lex Luthor, the former having been interrupted 
mid-speech. Once Lois mentioned the words 'possible nuclear 
meltdown', and the fact that Dr Goodman was at that moment showing 
her research findings to the city council's energy approvals 
committee, the mayor's face turned grey and he began to gibber 
incomprehensibly.

Lex Luthor frowned, looking mildly perturbed. "Ms Lane, are you quite 
sure about this? You do realise that this plant has been through the 
full complement of safety inspections - "

"Not from what I understand, Mr Luthor," Superman observed crisply, 
returning from the containment chamber. "I heard that some of the 
checks on this facility had been short-circuited in order to give it 
an early approval certificate."

"The approvals committee was completely satisfied as to the safety of 
this plant," Luthor insisted firmly. "It is simply not possible that 
there could have been a leak."

"There has to be," Lois persisted. "The only other explanation is 
that someone was creating a chemical reaction in order to heat 
Metropolis up on purpose." The idea hadn't even occurred to her 
before, but as she watched Lex Luthor now it struck her that it had 
to be a distinct possibility. A leak in a nuclear reactor was 
something pretty major, after all, unlikely to have been missed by 
any thorough safety inspection. If, on the other hand, all someone 
wanted to achieve was to ensure the departure of Superman - while 
gaining a little bonus in the shape of a fat contract with the city 
to supply power - then a chemical reaction would achieve that aim 
much more easily.

Assuming that it was possible...

Lois resolved to contact Dr Goodman again once she returned to her 
desk. In the meantime, she needed to catch Superman before he left, 
to interview him about how he felt at being exonerated -

She stared in stupefaction as Superman took flight, her call of his 
name going unheard in the >whoosh!< of his departure. No interview; 
not even his thanks for having saved him.

She grimaced as she emerged into the stifling November daylight and 
heat shortly afterwards. Lex Luthor had already hurried off, refusing 
to talk to her since, he'd said, he needed to consult his technical 
staff and his lawyers. The mayor had taken cover in the middle of his 
entourage and had rushed for the official cars. No-one on the street 
outside seemed to be in any way aware of the momentous discovery 
which had just been made inside the power plant: the fact that 
Superman was in no way responsible for the heat.

Except... She stared at the solitary figure of a man, silhouetted 
against the strong sunlight, who stood turned away from her gazing 
over at the plant's main entrance. He looked familiar... and then he 
turned, and she recognised him.

He nodded in acknowledgement. "Lois."

"Kent," she bit out abruptly. What was he doing here? How could he 
possibly know anything about this? But then something she'd heard 
earlier but had been unable to react to at the time came back to her 
- something very surprising. Superman had told her that if she wanted 
to get hold of him urgently, all she had to do was contact the man 
who stood in front of her. Clark Kent.

Clark Kent had direct access to Superman.

Kent - the man who'd written that story on the front page of 
yesterday's Star. The man who, she'd thought, had betrayed Superman, 
just as surely as he'd betrayed her.

It didn't make sense - why would Superman give Clark Kent that kind 
of access to him? Why Kent and not herself?

Superman had begun to say something else, before he'd stopped and 
listened to what she was trying to tell him. He'd said 'if you could 
bring yourself to - '

*What?*

There was no doubt about it; Superman knew about what had happened 
between Kent and herself, and he was taking Kent's side. Lois 
grimaced, wanting to say something extremely cutting, something which 
would make Kent feel very ashamed of himself - or, better still, make 
him feel inadequate next to her. Something which would show him that 
she did not care one way or the other whether he existed or not.

No doubt she would think of the perfect exit line later, when she was 
back at the Planet, or that night in bed. Right at that moment, 
though, she couldn't think of anything.

"Lois? Are you okay?"

To her shame, she realised Kent was looking anxiously at her and had 
taken a couple of steps towards her. "I'm fine," she bit out. "Is 
there a reason why you're here?"

His mouth twisted. "Probably the same reason you're here."

"How do you know about this?" she demanded.

He raised one eyebrow in a challenging gesture. "About what, exactly?"

But she wasn't going to fall for that old trick. "About my story. 
Which I have no intention of telling *you* about."

He shrugged. "For all you know, I could be here to write an expose on 
the environmental consequences of the nuclear power industry, Lois. 
Or I might be here for a completely different reason. Have a guess if 
you want - or else you can read about it in the Star's evening 
edition."

"No thanks," she told him coolly. "I prefer my reading matter to be a 
little better quality."

Great exit line, she told herself as she turned and walked away, only 
to hear the soft sound of Clark's laughter following her. She 
grimaced in frustration, trying at the same time to ignore the little 
voice which told her that she'd *missed* this kind of exchange. One 
thing she really had enjoyed about working with Clark Kent, for the 
brief period during which they had worked together, had been the 
continuous cut and thrust of their verbal sparring. She'd never, 
either before or since, worked with anyone who was a match for her on 
that level. She'd actually got to the point where she enjoyed his 
company, looked forward to finding out how he would choose to 
challenge her next. She'd thoroughly enjoyed the mental challenge he 
presented... and she missed it.

<No, I don't!> she insisted. <Kent was a nuisance, a troublemaker; 
and he couldn't be trusted>

You still find him attractive, her conscience pointed out.

<No!>

But the thought refused to leave her brain; as she travelled by taxi 
back to the Planet, she couldn't erase from her mind the image of 
Kent, in short-sleeved shirt and well-fitting tailored trousers, as 
he'd stood outside the power plant. That broad, muscular torso; the 
long and powerful legs; the arms which, she had good reason to know, 
were very strong; the sensitive hands which seemed to know 
instinctively where to touch and how to stroke in order to make her 
whimper in ecstasy; that mobile, generous mouth which had driven her 
insane.

Those thoughts were *crazy*! she told herself. Kent was history. 
She'd never wanted to sleep with him in the first place; she wouldn't 
have done it if he hadn't seduced her. And she should be thankful 
that she didn't have to work with him any more, instead of dreaming 
about his admittedly halfway-decent body!

Forget Kent. She had a story about Superman to write.


************

  "So Superman's back to stay, then?"

"Yeah, Dad - looks that way. The judge lifted the injunction right 
after the city council received Dr Goodman's report, and Mayor 
Berkowitz made a public apology early this afternoon," Clark 
answered, cradling the receiver under his chin as he stood by the 
wall-mounted phone.

"And are you happy about that?" his mother asked.

"What do you mean, Mom?"

"She means that only this morning you were getting booed and the city 
wanted to drum you out of town," his father answered. "You said there 
were some very hostile editorials and news reports too. Why would you 
want to stick around in a city which treated you like that?"

Clark grimaced. "I know, Mom and Dad, but, like I told you the other 
day, I love Metropolis. And I've had enough of moving all the time." 
He'd thought again about that during the afternoon. The city's 
knee-jerk reaction had hurt him, more than he'd allowed himself to 
admit at the time. If they'd wanted him to stop using his powers, why 
hadn't they just asked? Why go to the trouble of obtaining an 
injunction? That had been a hostile act; okay, he'd defused it by 
voluntarily agreeing not to use his powers, but the city could have 
achieved that aim just as easily by asking him to come and talk to 
the mayor. And then, later, treating him like a criminal! - that had 
really hurt. It still hurt. All he'd done was save a few hundred 
lives. And they'd repaid him by throwing him in jail, and later 
refusing to release him on his own recognisance. Their lack of trust 
in Superman - who had never lied, never done anything to harm any 
other person - had spoken volumes.

Even throwing him in prison had been a stupid thing to do. He was 
Superman; he could have been out of there in under a second. So 
they'd clearly trusted him to stay put, then. So why couldn't they 
have trusted him not to use his powers? Why the threat of the 
National Guard, and the demand that he leave Metropolis?

So the temptation to leave anyway had been quite strong, and had been 
bolstered when he'd considered his feelings about working at the 
Star. But he'd ultimately realised that he wanted to stay in 
Metropolis. He would give the city some time to show that the mayor's 
apology meant something. As for the Star - whose editor had run an 
incredibly hypocritical 'You're The Greatest, Superman!' headline 
that afternoon - he was considering his position very seriously. He 
felt no loyalty whatsoever to the paper which paid his salary. But, 
unless he wanted to move to TV journalism, or work for a tabloid or 
the specialist press, he didn't have a lot of other options in this 
city. And anyway, quitting two jobs at reputable newspapers in as 
many months would not look at all good on his resume. Who'd want to 
employ someone with a record of lack of staying power?

For now, therefore, the Star was his only option, though he'd decided 
today to set himself a target date, four months hence. By then he 
would have built up a far greater portfolio and track record, and he 
would have a decent history of continuous employment. He hoped he 
would also have Perry White's support for any future job 
applications; the Planet's editor had promised that. And if he wasn't 
in a position to return to the Planet by the end of that time, he 
would seriously consider leaving Metropolis and looking for work in 
another city. Which meant, if he was being honest with himself, that 
he would be leaving Metropolis in four months'  time. He knew very 
well that the only way he was likely to rejoin the Planet was if Lois 
were to leave - which was about as likely as anything being able to 
kill Superman.

"Yes, but you're sure about bringing back Superman?"

"Absolutely. He allows me to help, Dad. I can do things as Superman I 
could never do as Clark. I need to be Superman."

"And how do you feel about Lois?" his mother asked carefully.

"Lois? What about her?" Clark answered uncomfortably, knowing that 
she'd been on his mind ever since that morning. He just didn't know 
what to think about her. He'd told his parents a heavily-censored 
version of what he'd described as a difference of opinion with Lois, 
trying not to make it too clear how torn he was where his feelings 
for her were concerned.

"Well, we know what she did to you before - that it's because of her 
you left the Planet," Martha explained. "But it's because of her that 
Superman is exonerated."

"I know, Mom, and I'm grateful to her. But it doesn't change 
anything. She has a crush on Superman - that's why she wanted to 
help."

"Does it matter why she did it?" Martha objected. "She cleared you of 
causing the heatwave, when no-one else cared enough to ask questions."

That was true, Clark realised. He'd reflected on that himself; that 
only a month or so ago Superman had been named Metropolis's Man of 
the Year, and yet suddenly the populace was prepared to run him out 
of town. He was pretty sure that, had there been a known way to kill 
or severely injure him, the city's police or the National Guard would 
have been issued with instructions to do something about it. And yet 
Lois had continued to believe in him.

Superman owed Lois a huge debt of gratitude. Okay, Clark Kent had 
good reason to dislike her - not that he actually did; whatever it 
was about her, he still couldn't help feeling attracted to her 
regardless of what she'd done - but Superman had no reason to share 
that dislike. Not without leading her to wonder whether Clark had 
'told' Superman what had happened between him and Lois.

"You're right, Mom. It was good of her, and I am grateful... in spite 
of everything."

As he ended the call, something else struck him. Earlier, when he'd 
carried Lois in his arms on the way from the Planet building to the 
LexCorp plant, was the closest he'd been to her in a couple of 
months. Her trim figure seemed no different. So she certainly wasn't 
pregnant. He was pretty sure of that; even at two months, she'd have 
some weight gain. But then, she'd told him she had no intention of 
carrying his child. He wondered, with a bitter twist of his mouth, 
whether she just hadn't become pregnant in the first place - which 
was entirely possible, of course, he reminded himself; after all, he 
was an alien, and he had no idea whether he could procreate with a 
human - or whether she had taken steps to end a pregnancy.

He would probably never know. So he should stop torturing himself about it.


*************

Chocolate ice-cream was a great comforter, Lois told herself yet 
again as she ate another large spoonful of her favourite 
double-chocolate, double-chunky-chocolate-chip flavour. She wasn't 
even sure why she was feeling down this evening - after all, it had 
been a very good day. Not only had she saved the day for Superman, 
but the Planet had led all the other news media with its evening 
edition. The Star and other sources only knew that there had been a 
problem with LexCorp's power plant and that Superman was in the 
clear. Lois had been able to tell the story of her search for the 
truth, and how the Planet had led Dr Goodman to the real source of 
the problem.

She had also, she suspected, uncovered a chink in Lex Luthor's 
apparently perfect armour. If her guess was right, Lex was by no 
means innocent in the heatwave business, though she had no idea how 
she was going to prove anything. What she did intend to do, however, 
was to start being a *lot* more sceptical where Metropolis's most 
powerful businessman was concerned. And if she managed to expose him, 
that would definitely be a Pulitzer-winning story.

So why was she still feeling so depressed?

She wasn't depressed, she insisted. Just suffering from the feeling 
of anti-climax she sometimes got after a big story was finished. 
Nothing more than that.

She was just feeling a little bit low. That was all. And it had 
absolutely *nothing* to do with having run into Clark Kent today. 
That sleaze had no power to harm her in any way. She felt *nothing* 
for him. Only contempt and disgust, and delight that she was still 
working for the Planet and he was with that inferior paper, the Star.

<He's still a very attractive man...>

He was still the man who had seduced her! And who could have left her 
with a very unwanted disease, for all she knew; she'd been trying to 
forget about it, but she knew that in about a month's time she had to 
go for a further HIV test, to ensure that she was clear. So she was 
worrying about that, while all the time Kent was still strutting 
around town with not a care in the world. He'd *laughed* at her today!

As far as Clark Kent was concerned, she was history; a now-old notch 
on his bedpost he'd probably almost forgotten about. Who knew how 
many he'd had since her? In fact, Lois remembered suddenly, her old 
college contemporary Linda King was at the Star now - she was no 
doubt exactly Kent's type, and it was a dead cert that she was by now 
very familiar with the interior of Clark's bedroom.

Why was she even thinking about Kent?! Lois got to her feet and 
marched over to the television, clicking it on with a furious push of 
the power button. <Because you still dream about that night; because 
you *don't* regret it as much as you pretend to!> a tiny voice 
objected. <Because, if you hadn't been so hasty the morning after, it 
could have been the start of something really good...>

"No!" she exclaimed aloud, then clapped her hand over her mouth in 
horror. She really was going insane - earlier she'd almost regretted 
Kent's departure from the Planet, and now she was not only pondering 
the wisdom of blowing him off, but she was talking to herself too!

That, too, brought to mind another aspect of her current situation. 
She was almost turning into an old maid; it was months since she'd 
dated anyone, and a long time since she'd been with anyone she really 
felt she wanted to make love with. She'd always told herself that 
being single wasn't a problem; that, in fact, with her career and her 
aspirations, it was a distinct advantage. Men just didn't like women 
who also had career ambitions; they preferred to have a little woman 
who'd sit at home and have their dinner waiting for them when they 
deigned to get in. She was happiest alone, she'd decided a long time 
ago. But now... in recent weeks she'd begun to wonder.

Even with the example of her parents' marriage to put her off serious 
relationships, she was beginning to feel her solitary state more and 
more. Other people had someone to *talk* to in the evenings; someone 
they could confide in, laugh with, curl up and watch videos with, 
cuddle with... make slow, sweet and *loving* love with.

She had... an empty apartment, a TV set and a carton of chocolate ice-cream.

She was lonely.

Obviously so much so that she was even starting to think of Clark 
Kent as a potential...

*No*!!

She jumped to her feet and headed into the kitchen. Clearly the 
ice-cream wasn't enough to stop her thinking stupid things; she 
needed something else to cheer herself up, and a quick flick through 
the TV channels had revealed nothing but dross. There was some wine 
in the fridge... She poured herself a glass and was about to take a 
sip when she froze, suddenly seeing the significance of what she was 
doing.

She hadn't really touched alcohol since that night at Kent's 
apartment, apart from the night of the bachelor auction when she'd 
stupidly got very drunk. Lois had never been much of a drinker; she'd 
seen the impact too much of it could have on a person. Her mother's 
drinking had always been something the family never talked about; 
something they hid, as if it was shameful. It was only in the last 
couple of years that Lois had acknowledged that her mother was an 
alcoholic; Ellen herself had been attending AA meetings for some time 
by then, without telling her daughters. Lois's own view on the 
subject had always been that alcohol was very pleasant in small-ish 
quantities, but she knew she could control herself sufficiently not 
to over-indulge, and she would never get herself in a position where 
she was unable to control her reactions.

But that was precisely what had happened at Kent's apartment that 
night. She had drunk too much. Her inhibitions and natural good sense 
had completely been over-ridden by the alcohol and by Kent's 
blandishments, and she had tumbled into bed with him.

She might have blamed him for pushing the wine on her, but in reality 
she was the one who had drunk it. She could have stopped him filling 
her glass at any time, but she hadn't. She had been enjoying it too 
much. She *liked* alcohol too much. And so, while Kent was still to 
blame for seducing her, she had brought much of it on herself by 
letting herself get out of control... by drinking too much.

*She* had lost control... she still had dreams - nightmares - in 
which she pleaded with Kent to touch her, stroke her, do all sorts of 
thing to her... She'd deliberately blotted out most of the details of 
that night, but if she'd lost control, if it had happened in the way 
her dreams suggested, then whose fault was it really?

Rebelling against the conclusion she was about to reach, she told 
herself that maybe she was making too much of it. Maybe it hadn't 
been just the wine... maybe, somewhere underneath, in a completely 
off-the-wall kind of way, there was some infinitesimal part of her 
which was somehow attracted to Clark Ke -

No! That was completely impossible. It didn't even bear thinking 
about. She was *not* attracted to Clark Kent. Clearly alcohol had the 
sort of effect on her which made her *completely* unable to control 
her reactions, or to act with any sense of decorum or good taste. And 
Kent had somehow taken advantage of that fact.

She closed her eyes and groaned. She was obviously a total lush, a 
female barfly! Give her a few glasses of wine and she'd sleep with 
any darned Casanova who paid her a compliment!

She was just like her mother. She must have the same genetic 
propensity towards alcoholism, Lois realised, going cold at the 
thought.

Why hadn't she realised this before? With another grimace, she 
recognised that she must have been trying to block it out. The last 
thing she wanted was to be anything like her mother - or her father, 
come to that. So naturally she hadn't wanted to see the truth in 
relation to her attachment to drink. She wasn't an alcoholic, nowhere 
close; but it probably wouldn't take much to turn her into one, 
judging by how she'd behaved with Kent.

But why today? Today had been such a good day, after all.

Simple, she realised. Today she'd seen Kent - even spoken to him - 
and that had reminded her again of what had happened, and made her 
face up to her own failing. Given the chance - if she wasn't careful 
- alcohol could become a dangerous addiction for her. When she drank, 
she was not in control of her actions. It was just as well she'd 
recognised that now; who knew what she might do some other time when 
she'd drunk too much? She'd gone to bed with a man she wasn't in love 
with - a man she didn't even like - on that occasion. And there were 
worse things she could do; it didn't even bear thinking about.

Shuddering, she poured the wine down the sink.

Tomorrow, she would start to get herself a social life. That was what 
she needed - it was obvious, and she couldn't think why she hadn't 
realised it before now. She could join a club, take evening classes, 
try to contact some of her college friends - any number of things. 
Once she had an active social life, all these strange thoughts she'd 
had this evening would seem as crazy as they really were.

Relieved to have taken that decision, she went to her desk and booted 
up her laptop; she could have a quick look on the Internet to see 
whether there was anything local which she might be interested in 
joining. But then, astrange sound distracted her, and she frowned. 
What was it? It sounded like tapping, but it was coming from...

It was coming from one of the large windows in her living-room. But 
she wasn't on the ground floor; how could anyone be knocking on her 
window? Ever cautious, she went into the kitchen; rummaging about in 
her cupboards, after a few moments she found the wooden rolling-pin 
one of her optimistic aunts had given her when she'd first got her 
own place. The implement had never been used for its designated 
purpose - not that Lois had ever disillusioned her aunt about that - 
but at times like this it made a useful weapon.

She returned to the window then, standing just slightly to one side 
as she twitched the curtain a little in an effort to see who or what 
was out there. All she could see in the darkness was a faint flash of 
red; then suddenly she heard a familiar voice.

"Lois? Lois, it's me. Can I come in?"

Superman! What on earth was he doing outside her window? Very 
puzzled, but with her heart beating in delighted anticipation, she 
quickly raised the casement to allow him to enter.


***********

The first thing which struck Clark about Lois was that, while she was 
certainly pleased to see him, she looked as if she was upset about 
something. That puzzled him; after all, she'd had an excellent day as 
far as work was concerned. Had she had some bad news, perhaps? If so, 
then maybe this wasn't a good time...

"Lois, are you okay?" he asked her quickly, unable to ignore his 
concern. "You know, I can come back another time..."

But she gave him a quick smile. "No! - no, I'm fine, Superman. I was 
just... thinking about some things. Nothing important. Not at all 
important now you're here... can I do something for you?"

Oh, so they were back to the Superman hero-worship,  Clark thought 
glumly. Still, he was there for a purpose, and it wasn't fair to let 
his feelings about Lois's obvious crush on his _alter ego_ get in the 
way. "Actually, Lois, I came because I wanted to thank you for what 
you did for me."

She blushed, and he tried not to show the mild irritation he felt at 
her reaction. He owed *her* a massive favour, and yet here she was 
acting as if he'd shown her great condescension by deigning to come 
and thank her.

"You don't have to thank me, Superman," she told him, apparently 
sincerely. "I just couldn't stand to see all those people turning on 
you like that, completely ignoring everything you've done for this 
city."

"It's thanks to you that I'm still here," he reminded her. "If you 
hadn't kept looking, asking questions and doing everything you did, 
I'd have been gone hours ago. And I hate to think what could have 
happened if that LexCorp plant had gone live."

"Me too, Superman," she agreed. "It was just lucky Dr Goodman made 
the connection between the hot-spots and the aquifer."

"Oh, I'll be thanking her too," Clark assured Lois. "But she never 
would have had the information on which to base her deduction if it 
hadn't been for you. Believe me, Lois, I won't forget what you did 
for me."

She blushed again, and gave him a rueful smile. "I'm sorry I made you 
think I was in some sort of trouble earlier. I couldn't think of any 
other way to get hold of you."

He had been a little harsh on her about that, Clark realised. "It's 
okay, Lois - I can see you didn't really have any other choice. And I 
guess that yelling 'Help!' is really the best way to get hold of me."

Suddenly she was regarding him with an assessing look; no sign of 
that hero-worship now. "How does... Clark Kent do it?" He must have 
appeared puzzled, because she explained. "You told me earlier - if I 
want to talk to you, I should tell him and he'll let you know."

He was right to have been worried about letting that slip, he 
realised. He should never underestimate Lois Lane; even obsessed with 
Superman as she clearly was, she had no intention of letting a good 
story opportunity slip through her fingers. Or was this just personal 
- jealousy, perhaps, because Clark had access to information about 
Superman which she did not?

He needed to be very careful in his explanation of this. "Lois, I 
told you the other day that Clark is a... friend. I see him quite 
often, so all I meant was that he could pass on a message the next 
time he sees me."

She was studying him intently, and he wished he knew what conclusions 
she was drawing from his words. There were several which *could* be 
drawn, he realised, most of which he had no wish to let people 
think... such as that Clark and Superman could well be 'very close 
friends' indeed. Would Lois think that? But she had very good reason 
to know that Clark was heterosexual. Or, at least... but he wasn't 
going to go there.

Instead, he quickly decided, he was simply not going to answer any 
more questions. He was *Superman*, after all, and he had a reputation 
for not answering intrusive questions about himself or about his 
relationships with other people. He might have told Lois he was a 
friend - and after what she'd done for him today there was no way 
that he could retract that, even if he wanted to - but she was still 
a reporter, and she'd have to understand that there were lines which 
even she was not allowed to cross. And that wasn't unreasonable, he 
considered. Friends respected each other's privacy; that was how 
friendship worked.

But she moved away from him and went to stand by the couch. "I'm glad 
that you have... friends," she told him. "What you must have gone 
through the last few days... you must have felt so alone sometimes."

"I did," he confessed without thinking. "That is... well, I didn't 
know whether it was my powers causing the heat or not, so that made 
me wonder a lot about whether I was doing the right thing by staying 
here. But I was grateful for your support," he assured her.

"And - Clark's?" she asked, a little jerkily; he could see that she 
wasn't comfortable using his name. "Though he did write that horrible 
article in the Star yesterday morning."

Clark flinched; of course, people thought *he* had written that! 
"Actually, Lois, he didn't." At her look of surprise, he elaborated. 
"I know it carried his byline, but his editor redrafted it 
substantially after Clark submitted it. He told me he barely 
recognised more than a couple of sentences as his own work. He... was 
very apologetic - he told me he'd have refused to let it go out under 
his byline if he'd seen it."

"Oh... that explains it, I guess," Lois said with a shrug. "I saw the 
piece he wrote after your final court appearance. I guessed you must 
have given him an interview - after all, you stayed with him the 
night before, didn't you?"

That would teach him to write up incidents as Clark Kent when he 
hadn't been seen to be there as himself! Of course, Lois had  been 
there, both in court and in the melee afterwards; she would know that 
Clark had not. He shrugged. "It seemed a fair return."

"I guess," she agreed quietly. Then, giving him a curious look, she 
added, "It's good of you to come, Superman - but is there something 
else you wanted? Are you sure I can't get you a drink or something?"

"Oh - nothing, thanks." This was ridiculous; what was he doing?! "As 
well as telling you I'm grateful, Lois, I wanted to ask if there was 
anything I could do to thank you." That was clever, he told himself 
cynically - now she'd be asking him for a date! Perhaps he should 
just have suggested the one thing he was really offering.

She frowned. "Superman, you don't need to do anything for me! You've 
already saved my life at least three times - this was the least I 
could do to help!"

Surprised, Clark gave her a faint smile. "That's what I do, Lois."

"And investigating's what I do, Superman."

"Okay." This time his smile was wider. "How about I give you an 
interview? You asked me the other day and I refused - I wasn't very 
polite to you, I'm afraid."

That clearly pleased her; her expression immediately became 
businesslike. "That'd be great, if you're sure, Superman. I know my 
editor will be pleased - the Star seems to be getting a lot of 
exclusives lately."

"Well, I can promise you that Clark won't have an interview for the 
next day or two," Clark offered, as much for his own 
self-preservation as to appease Lois. If it was becoming noticed that 
the Star - and Clark Kent - had a lot of Superman stories, questions 
might be asked which he had no desire to answer.

Lois offered him a choice of the couch or the dining-table; he chose 
the latter as offering a greater sense of formality and distance, and 
he waited while she set up her tape recorder and notepad.

This time, her questions were serious, thoughtful and probing; there 
was no trace of the nervous, starry-eyed woman who had interviewed 
him a few weeks earlier. This was quite definitely Lois Lane, 
award-winning reporter. She went back to basics, asking him question 
which had already been covered, to a degree, in other articles, but 
he couldn't fault her for doing so. This was her first opportunity to 
have an in-depth interview with a mysterious and highly sought-after 
public figure; as a journalist himself, he would have done exactly 
the same thing.

He gave her the same information which he had already made public 
himself: that he was from Krypton, that as far as he knew his home 
planet no longer existed, that he didn't know whether everyone on 
Krypton had possessed the same powers he had, that it was possible 
that the Solar System's sun enhanced his abilities in some way. He 
added that he believed his powers also imposed on him the 
responsibility to use them for good and to help people; since he was 
privileged enough to be allowed to remain on this planet, then he had 
an obligation to do what he could.

He had to side-step some awkward questions then; she asked him the 
one question he'd been grateful that no-one had raised so far. With a 
direct stare from her assessing brown eyes, she asked, "So when did 
you come to Earth?"

He hated lying, and had determined that he would not do so as 
Superman. With swift mental adroitness, he answered, "You were the 
first person to see me, Lois, remember? On the passenger shuttle."

A shrewd look met that response. "Superman, you know that's not 
actually the question I asked you."

He decided to be blunt. "It's still the only answer I'm going to give you."

She sat back, smiling. "Okay, but it's only fair to warn you that I 
won't forget. I'll find out, one way or another."

"And then print the answer?" he asked, more sharply than he intended.

"Superman, I'm a reporter," she reminded him. "But on the other hand, 
if you gave me a good reason why the answer shouldn't be made public 
knowledge, then..." She shrugged. "I'd consider it. I don't always 
print everything I know."

Clark thought that was probably true; he was pretty sure that she'd 
held some stuff back from that boxing story, for one thing - probably 
to help her father. And he remembered a time a few months ago, when 
all those strange incidents kept happening and needing his attention. 
He knew they'd been tests of his abilities, and something Lois had 
said around that time had suggested that she'd guessed someone was 
testing Superman. Nothing of that suspicion of hers had ended up in 
the Planet.

"Well, I'll consider myself warned," he answered, then raised an 
eyebrow at her to remind her that the ball was in her court.

She moved on to the heatwave then, asking how he'd felt when he'd 
first realised scientists were blaming him; he tried to remain 
nonchalant about it, explaining that he'd just wanted to get to the 
truth.

"But they took you to court," Lois pointed out. "As if you'd broken 
the law - which you hadn't!"

He shrugged. "They had to do their job."

"Well, what about when they decided you were in contempt of court? 
And threw you in jail?"

He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat. "Lois, I think you can 
probably imagine how I felt. How would you feel if someone jumped to 
conclusions about something you'd done, without considering whether 
there could be another explanation, condemning you without even 
giving you a chance to explain - " He cut himself off quickly, 
realising what he was doing, then added more soberly, "But I just 
don't want anything appearing in the Planet which might make me 
look... well, vengeful or anything like that. Because I'm not. This 
thing is over, and I'm willing to put it behind me."

"That's fair enough," she agreed. "I won't print anything you don't 
want me to. But surely you must have felt betrayed? After all, you'd 
only ever done things to help people. You saved lives the night 
before they told you to leave Metropolis - that must have hurt."

Oh, she was good, Clark thought; subtly leading him to agree with 
her, sympathising in a tone which encouraged confidences. He caught 
her gaze and held it, giving her a direct stare. "Yes, it hurt. But 
that's as much as I'm going to say. You can write that, but I'd 
rather you didn't make it the focus of your article."

She met his gaze for a few moments, her own expression revealing 
sympathy and a sense of anger - on his behalf, he realised. "If 
that's what you prefer, Superman. Okay, so how about you tell me 
exactly how you see your role, in relation to the emergency services 
and so on..."

Clark had to revise his opinion of Lois as an interviewer, and to 
some extent as a person, he thought a little later as he left her 
apartment. He really had been wrong to assume that, just because she 
had a crush on Superman, she couldn't be professional. And, although 
his motivation for offering this interview had been both to thank 
Lois and to ensure that some exclusive coverage appeared somewhere 
other than the Star, he recognised that what she wrote was likely to 
do him a lot of good too. He'd had an opportunity to respond to some 
of the criticism he occasionally encountered which argued that he 
behaved like a vigilante, and to reiterate that he saw his role as 
helping where needed. It would be, in a way, a new start, both for 
him and for Metropolis.

If only, he thought as he stared through the wall of Lois's apartment 
and watched her working at her laptop, he and Lois could start again 
as easily.


************

She'd written a great article. But somehow, that didn't give Lois the 
adrenalin high it usually would have.

She tossed and turned for most of the night, unable to rid her mind 
of the thoughts which had haunted her during the earlier part of the 
evening. Was she just like her mother? Did she lose her reason after 
a few drinks? Was she fatally attracted to the wrong men at the wrong 
time? And if she was alone... was it her fault? Did she really 
frighten people away, as Lucy had once suggested?

And why couldn't she get Clark Kent out of her mind?

That morning, he'd actually looked *concerned* for her - that was 
such an unexpected response from most men that Lois had barely 
believed it was happening. But if it had been real... She pummelled 
her pillow furiously as she tried to banish the thought that maybe, 
just perhaps, she could have misjudged the man.

She *couldn't* have! He'd seduced her. And then, later, he'd shown 
how scared he was that he might have to share the responsibility of 
having made her pregnant.

But there was something else which refused to go away. That had been 
a very odd thing Superman had said. "How would you feel if someone 
jumped to conclusions about something you'd done, without considering 
whether there could be another explanation, condemning you without 
even giving you a chance to explain..."

He'd said it in the context of his own experiences at the hands of 
the city attorney, but Lois couldn't help feeling that it was a very 
pointed remark. And it wouldn't be the first time Superman had 
alluded to something about Clark Kent. What was it he'd said on the 
Planet roof? Something about 'if she could bring herself to talk to 
him.' She'd thought at the time that Superman obviously knew what had 
happened and was taking Clark's side.

What if he was trying to tell her that there was another side to the 
story, that she *had* misjudged Kent?

She turned over in bed yet again. *If* she had, it was a bit late to 
do anything about it. It was over two months ago now, and Kent no 
longer worked at the Planet. She had little or nothing to do with 
him; okay, they occasionally ran into each other at press conferences 
and the like, but they didn't need tospeak to each other. Wouldn't it 
just be for the best, she asked herself, if she let things lie? It 
would be embarrassing for them both if, after all this time, she 
brought the subject up. Apart from anything else, it would make it 
look like she was still really bothered by it, which wasn't at all 
the impression she wanted to give. After all, to him she was no doubt 
just a ship which had happened to pass by one night... he probably 
would have forgotten all about it long ago if it hadn't been for her 
prolonged hostility afterwards.

But if she had misjudged him...

Well, if she had, she would just have to live with it. She'd been 
feeling vaguely guilty for a long time for allowing Kent to think she 
would have an abortion without even telling him, had she been 
pregnant. That had been nasty; even if her assumption that he 
wouldn't want the responsibility had been correct, there had been no 
need to be so cruel. And... he had looked shocked. Hurt, in fact - 
just as he'd looked hurt that awful morning in her apartment.

But to apologise... that would just be humiliating. Lois had for a 
long time cultivated a very forthright, determined manner. She never 
explained, and certainly never apologised. That, she knew, was the 
way to get respect. If she kept changing her mind, or running to 
people with apologies, then she would just look weak; and she had no 
intention of ever being made to look weak.

Unable to sleep now, she got out of bed and padded into the kitchen 
to make herself a mug of milky hot chocolate. Even though she was 
wrapped in her warm dressing-gown, she felt chilled through. The 
temperature had very quickly returned to normal once the LexCorp 
power plant had been completely shut down, and Metropolis in November 
was cold, especially at three am.

But she knew that the cold feeling which just wouldn't go away was 
not entirely due to the external temperature.

A hot tear fell onto the work surface suddenly; she gulped, and 
realised that her eyes had suddenly become blurred.

It was no wonder that she had no friends, no social life. She really 
was a horrible person. Who would want to be friends with Lois Lane, 
someone who had pushed away anyone who'd ever tried to be a friend to 
her?

It had only taken Lucy just over a month to get completely fed up 
with Lois's bossy behaviour before she'd moved out and gone to 
California. And she hadn't exactly tried to find out what Clark Kent 
was really like before dismissing him as just another typical male - 
she'd been rude to him at their first meeting and contemptuous of his 
background subsequently. Later, he'd been a sympathetic listener when 
they'd been chained up together by Toni Baines, and had then saved 
her life; she'd repaid him by telling him in an extremely offensive 
manner that she didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut.

One thing that incident, and their sleeping together, seemed to have 
shown her was that Kent *did* know how to keep his mouth shut. Okay, 
it looked like he'd told Superman, but that wasn't exactly the same 
as telling all the guys at work; she had to concede that. And 
Superman had emphasised that he and Clark were friends.

And he'd accused her before of jumping to conclusions about him - 
when she'd questioned his motives for offering to let her stay at his 
place. What was it he'd said then? "I don't know what sort of man 
you're used to working with, but I'm not like that" - or something 
like that. Of course, the following morning she'd thought that he'd 
lied - that he was *exactly* like she'd imagined. But yet he'd looked 
so offended when he'd said it, as if she'd accused him of something 
which he'd consider beyond the pale.

Oh, she just didn't know *what* to think!

For so long she'd convinced herself that it was all Kent's doing; 
that she'd been the injured party, lured to his apartment under false 
pretences, persuaded to drink more than was good for her, and then 
taken advantage of just when she was vulnerable. But she'd been 
thinking some very uncomfortable thoughts this evening.

If she was really as susceptible to losing control of herself as she 
now believed... if her dreams were an accurate picture of that night 
which she'd practically forced herself to forget...

Cupping the mug of hot chocolate, she went to curl up on the couch 
and tried to think of all the times recently when she'd had alcohol. 
At Kent's place. Then nothing for a long time, because she hadn't 
been able to touch the stuff. But then there'd been the night of the 
bachelor auction; she'd been so utterly depressed because she hadn't 
come close to buying the date with Superman, and the hero himself had 
completely ignored her. She'd sat at the bar for a couple of hours, 
becoming progressively more drunk, until Lex Luthor had taken pity on 
her - or decided that she was an embarrassment, more likely - and had 
sent her home with Nigel St John.

Nothing then for some weeks, but then just this evening she'd 
actually craved a glass of wine. Drinking alone... wasn't that 
supposed to be one sign of addiction? That, and not knowing when to 
stop - and not being in control of one's actions after a few drinks. 
And drinking when you're miserable, she reminded herself bleakly. 
That was why she'd wanted a drink this evening. It was why her mother 
had started drinking to excess.

That was easily resolved, she decided firmly. No more alcohol. Ever. 
If she had inherited that genetic trait, she needed to nip it in the 
bud. Now. Tomorrow, every single alcoholic beverage in her apartment 
was going in the trash, and she'd stick to non-alcoholic drinks when 
out with other people.

That was the easy part. The harder part was facing up to the reality 
of what she'd done.

For the first time since that fateful night, she laid her head back 
against the sofa-back and forced herself to remember exactly what had 
happened and how it had happened.

There had been the challenge - *her* challenge - and the kiss. *He'd* 
looked concerned, asked whether she was sure she wanted to go ahead 
with it; she'd scornfully accused him of trying to back out. She'd 
very quickly completely forgotten what was supposed to be happening - 
and it had been *she* who had taken things to the next step by 
sitting up and stripping off her T-shirt. *She* had practically 
begged him to touch her - not that he'd needed too much encouragement.

And... her face flooded with embarrassment as she remembered how she 
had taken the lead, told him to take his clothes off, made it clear 
by words and touches that she wanted sex with him.

She'd been lying to herself all along. There had been no smooth 
seduction technique. Oh, he was a skilled lover all right, but if 
anyone had been persuading the other to greater intimacies, it had 
been her rather than him. Kent might not have been blameless in the 
situation, but he wasn't the lowlife she'd portrayed him. She'd known 
that all along, subconsciously, but somehow it had been easier to 
demonise Clark Kent than to acknowledge her own appalling, sluttish, 
drunken behaviour.

So that was what Superman had been trying to tell her.

And, of course, it was far too late to do anything to put things 
right. She'd cold-shouldered Kent for too long, quite apart from the 
vicious things she'd said to him - there was no way that he would 
even listen to her now, even assuming that he had any interest in her 
apologies, if she could bring herself to make any. Yet again, she'd 
wrecked any chance of what could have been a good friendship with 
someone everyone else she knew had known was a decent guy - but, as 
usual, she'd made a snap judgement based on her own prejudices, 
instead of opening her eyes and actually seeing what was underneath 
her nose.

The tears came freely now, as her hurt and humiliation and loneliness 
and the depression she'd been feeling all evening poured out of her. 
Shivering, sobbing, she curled up in a foetal ball on the 
uncomfortable couch and tried to sleep.


***********

With shaking hands, Lois ripped open the envelope which had just 
arrived bearing the logo of the hospital where she had taken her HIV 
test. She'd tried to ignore the feeling of dread which had been 
lurking at the back of her mind for so long, but eventually she'd 
realised that she couldn't put it off any longer. She'd gone for the 
second test several days ago.

And now, the results were here. Or, at any rate, the letter was here 
asking her to make an appointment to come in for her results - the 
clinic insisted on giving the results of these tests face-to-face.

The sooner the better, she decided; better to get it over with.

But was getting it over with really such a good thing after all? 
Emerging from the hospital, clutching her print-out almost with a 
death-grip, she debated with herself whether she would have preferred 
just not to know the truth. Even her thoughts carried a sense of 
black irony, she mused as she realised that she was mentally 
verbalising her actions. That apparently harmless piece of paper, a 
computer print-out, carried a death sentence.

She was HIV positive.

The doctor had assured her that this did not necessarily mean that 
she would develop AIDS, but Lois was aware of the research; she'd 
only recently written an article on HIV and AIDS, and had interviewed 
victims of both. She knew the prognosis, just as she knew the 
symptoms and the growing hopelessness as the days went past.

And yet not all that long ago she'd thought that her greatest 
problems were a tendency towards alcoholism and feeling depressed! 
Now, she was facing a premature death from a disease considered even 
more shameful than cancer was once thought of, one which would, in 
its later stages, make people shrink from her, and even now, if her 
status became known, would cause people to keep their distance.

Could her life get any more horrible? she wondered as she got into 
her car and drove out of the parking lot.

It was dark when she stepped out onto the roof of the Daily Planet. 
It was a cold, clear, windy night; the stars were a visible blanket 
across the black sky, and there was a full moon. The lights of the 
city stretched far on either side, and to the south the harbour was 
ringed with dull yellow light and the red lights of warning beacons. 
The low, booming sound of ship's horns echoed across the few miles 
separating her location from the river.

Lois had lived in Metropolis all her life, and she loved the city. It 
had a buzz, an atmosphere of excitement which she'd never found 
anywhere else she'd visited. She could never imagine wanting to live 
anywhere else. But now, the city had lost its excitement; and she 
knew that was because life itself held no attraction for her any 
more. It was precisely her love of excitement which had got her into 
this position - the thrill of sensation, from alcohol and from sex. 
And yet, she thought bleakly, before that night just three months 
earlier, she'd thought sex held no real attraction for her. How wrong 
she'd been... and how she had paid for that hour of pleasure.

She had learned a lot about herself in the last few months, and she 
didn't like the person she'd become.

She was cold, bitter, a woman no man would want as his partner in 
love, someone who judged on the basis of prejudice rather than making 
the effort to get to know people. She had alienated everyone who 
could have been a friend, and what she'd done to Clark Kent had been 
particularly despicable...

...except that it was now thanks to him that she was facing a living 
death by a horrible route.

He could have told her! He could at least have had the decency to use 
protection!

No, there was no reason why she should feel in any way guilty for the 
way she'd behaved towards Kent, she argued with herself. She might 
have rejected him and made him believe she would destroy a child of 
his, but did he deserve any better?  After all, he was still alive, 
and seemingly healthy. He seemed perfectly content with his life. It 
was possible, she supposed, that he didn't know of his HIV status; 
but that was his problem. She wasn't going to tell him.

And anyway, wasn't it just as well there would be no baby? She'd 
thought before that she couldn't have countenanced an abortion, but 
what if she'd been pregnant and received the news that she was 
HIV-positive? What kind of start in life would that be for a baby? 
Clark Kent would be a double murderer, in that case.

<Murderer... the guy only had sex with you...!>

He might as well have injected her with a fatal poison! she retorted 
to her conscience. And not even one which would bring death swiftly.

She stepped towards the edge of the building and looked downwards. It 
would be so easy... just one step further, and then an end to it all. 
No more pain, no more fear, just... nothing.

After all, what reasons were there to stay? Her job? Okay, she loved 
her job - the challenge of that hadn't gone away, but who at the 
Planet would miss her? She knew she was almost universally disliked. 
Her family? When was the last time she'd spoken to either of her 
parents? At least a month ago, she realised... and Lucy even longer 
ago than that. No, they wouldn't miss her. No-one would.

Cars passing below became an indistinct blur as her eyes filled with 
tears. Her body rigid, she shuffled one foot forward and it 
encountered empty air.

There was a sudden rush of wind... Superman was hovering in front of 
her, reaching out a firm hand to steady her. "Lois, why?" he shouted 
at her, the wind whipping his voice away from her.

"Why not?" she shouted back, trying to pull away from him.

"You know why not!" He sounded angry. "Lois, you have everything to 
live for! I won't let you do this!"

"I have nothing - and no-one would care anyway," she yelled back at 
him, pulling away from his grasp.

"I would!" he insisted, grabbing hold of her and preventing her 
taking the final step off the roof.

She hesitated, staring at him, seeing the concern in his expression, 
the caring in his dark eyes. "You... would?"

A gust of wind caught his hair and ruffled it; an instant later, his 
cape flapped in the breeze and surrounded him. The moon disappeared 
behind a cloud which seemed to appear from nowhere, and when it 
re-emerged the figure before her abruptly seemed to metamorphose... 
all of a sudden the man holding her had floppy hair, and wore a dark 
business suit and glasses.

Clark Kent laughed cruelly. "You really think I'd miss you, Lois?" 
With a swift gesture, he flung her from him.

She swayed, wobbled, lost her balance, and...

...and then she was falling, arms splayed, down into the great empty 
space beneath her. Something seemed to catch as she plummeted, some 
item of clothing  getting caught in the flag-pole, perhaps, but then 
it gave way and she was in free-fall. Too late for it to matter, she 
realised that she hadn't really wanted this, would never have taken 
that fatal step off the roof. But it was too late now... death was 
surely only seconds away.

She closed her eyes and screamed, terror-stricken, as the ground 
rushed up to meet her...

...and, with a bump, she met solid, carpeted floor. Opening her eyes, 
she found herself on the floor beside the couch in her apartment, her 
dressing-gown tangled around her and the belt caught in the 
sofa-cushions.

It had been a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

Breathing heavily, Lois struggled to her feet and walked shakily back 
to her bedroom. That would teach her to drink hot chocolate in the 
middle of the night... no, it hadn't entirely been the chocolate. Her 
nightmare had reflected the thoughts which had been running through 
her mind all evening - except for one thing.

She was *not* so desperate that she would consider suicide.

Life was far too valuable just to throw it away so carelessly. That 
was something she could never do.

<But what if> an insidious little voice asked tormentingly, <you 
really are HIV-positive?>

But Lois refused to contemplate that at the moment. She would face 
that if it happened. Right now, she had some real issues to resolve: 
deal with whatever it was which was making her feel so depressed and 
alone, stop herself drinking, and make an effort to be nicer to 
people around her.

<Including Clark Kent?> that little voice asked again.

Clark Kent wasn't in her life any more, she reminded herself. She 
encountered him only rarely. And, even if she had misjudged his 
motives that night, even though it really had been she rather than he 
who had taken the initiative and demanded intimacy, there was still 
the question of whether she had contracted anything nasty from him. 
Okay, it was possible that she hadn't. In fact, extremely probable - 
her doctor had told her that the probability was pretty low, given 
the overall incidence of HIV among heterosexual professional males. 
But she couldn't assume, until she had that final test and the 
results showed her in the clear... or not.

She just didn't know what to think about Kent. Earlier, she'd come to 
the conclusion that she must have misjudged him badly - even Superman 
had seemed to be telling her that. But what could she do about it? 
She had no doubt whatsoever that, as far as he was concerned, what 
had happened between them was ancient history. So how could she set 
the record straight without making it appear that, for her, it was 
still a big deal? How he'd laugh at her!

So it would be better just to let sleeping dogs - or Kents - lie. She 
might have wronged him in one respect, but she was certainly paying 
for that now.


**********


She just didn't know what to think about Kent. Earlier, she'd come to 
the conclusion that she must have misjudged him badly - even Superman 
had seemed to be telling her that. But what could she do about it? 
She had no doubt whatsoever that, as far as he was concerned, what 
had happened between them was ancient history. So how could she set 
the record straight without making it appear that, for her, it was 
still a big deal? How he'd laugh at her!

So it would be better just to let sleeping dogs - or Kents - lie. She 
might have wronged him in one respect, but she was certainly paying 
for that now.


**********

The next few weeks were painful for Lois, as she set about a 
reassessment of her life in a number of respects. She knew she was 
regarded as cold and hard, unfriendly, superior and unhelpful, by her 
colleagues at the Planet, and while once upon a time she would have 
considered that irrelevant - why should she care whether they liked 
her, when she had little or no respect for them? - she could see that 
her attitude was arrogant in the extreme. Perry had been right to 
give her that lecture on unprofessional behaviour all those weeks 
ago; she knew she'd been at fault in not taking it to heart sooner.

She'd arrogantly assumed that with Clark Kent out of the way it no 
longer mattered. But that was manifestly not the case. The morning 
after her nightmare she'd gone into work and made a particular effort 
to notice how her colleagues behaved to each other and to her. She 
barely got a 'good morning' from most people. Yet other reporters 
yelled friendly 'hi!s'  to each other, swapped stories about what 
they'd got up to the previous evening, showed each other photos of 
offspring, holidays and so on, and were always quick to help each 
other out.

It occurred to her that Clark Kent had been equally friendly with the 
others, and they with him. He, for example, Lois remembered, knew 
that Eduardo had twins, a boy and a girl - he'd reminded her, in what 
had been only his second week at the Planet, that the daughter had 
just been in hospital for a minor operation, when she'd wondered 
aloud why several people had asked Eduardo how Susie was. Clark had 
always been greeted warmly by colleagues; at the time, she'd put it 
down to his being 'one of the boys', but she now remembered that the 
women had been equally friendly with him. And not just Cat; he had 
been universally liked.

And that was because he had put himself out to be nice. Which, she 
noticed on that day when she made a special effort to do so, was 
something which most of her colleagues seemed to do quite naturally. 
Jimmy, on his way across the newsroom, paused by Vanessa to ask after 
her mother - how had Jimmy known that the fashion correspondent's 
mother had recently had a stroke? Even Ralph, who Lois would have 
readily believed to have no redeeming features at all, had got up 
from his desk and gone to help old Wilbert from Security with a large 
and heavy-looking package which had arrived for Perry.He had even 
demanded to know why the front desk didn't seem to possess a trolley 
or something similar.

When Marie from the financial section did her sandwich run, she went 
around a large section of the newsroom asking what people wanted; but 
she came nowhere near Lois. After some thought, Lois remembered that 
this had started some months earlier; a different person did the run 
each day. Lois had been asked once whether she wanted to join in, but 
she'd shrugged and turned away, and had never been asked again.

She'd gone home after that day feeling shell-shocked. For the first 
time, she had realised that, while she might work in the Daily Planet 
newsroom, she was not a part of its community. Once, that wouldn't 
have bothered her. Now, it depressed her even more.

But there was no point brooding over it, she decided. She couldn't 
change everything which was wrong with her life, but she did have the 
power to change some things, and how she was regarded by her 
colleagues was one of those things. She'd assumed that people 
respected her because they saw that she was resolute and determined 
and good at her job. She now understood that respect had nothing to 
do with that. Respect had to be earned; it wasn't given 
automatically. And liking was even harder to gain, and for the first 
time in her life Lois realised that she wanted to be liked. But 
instead, she could see that she was viewed as stubborn and unfriendly 
and sometimes just plain rude.

So, slowly, Lois had begun to adjust. She began by making a point of 
greeting colleagues warmly, by smiling at people instead of glowering 
when they approached her, by addressing people by name - and not in a 
tone of voice which suggested that they were one degree lower than 
pocket lint in importance. It clearly surprised some people, and she 
even heard that Ralph had opened up a book on how long Lois Lane's 
new leaf would last, but she ignored that. The important thing was to 
prove to herself that she could be nice.

Being nice didn't mean losing her edge, though. Perry had been 
delighted with her Superman interview, and her follow-ups on the 
LexCorp nuclear power plant; but they were old news now. What 
mattered was the next story... and the next, and the next....

She wasn't finished with Superman yet either; while she'd finally got 
the big interview she'd been waiting for, in many ways that had left 
her with even more unanswered questions. He'd been very evasive about 
his arrival on Earth, and there had to be a reason for that. She'd 
assumed, as had everyone else, that he'd only just arrived when he'd 
made his first appearance in the passenger transport shuttle - no-one 
had seen him before that and, after all, he would have been pretty 
noticeable in that suit of his.

But what if he *hadn't* just arrived then? Where would he have been? 
How had he disguised himself? And why had he chosen to reveal himself 
at that precise moment? - why not before?

If he was being evasive, that meant he had something to hide. What if 
he had been on Earth before then, and had done things in secret?

That raised two questions: when had he got here, and how had he 
disguised himself? It was certainly possible that he'd been here 
earlier, and that he had found discreet ways to help. Staying late at 
the Planet one night, Lois had searched a web-page of unexplained 
occurrences from around the world, and it was at least possible that 
some of them could be explained by the presence of Superman. A man 
mysteriously saved from certain death in front of a car; a train 
crash mysteriously averted; an explosion which was somehow less 
devastating than it should have been; survivors of a capsized boat 
claiming to have been rescued by an angel... all of these *could* 
have been Superman, acting in secret. They had all happened in 
different places - Australia, Brazil, the North African coast... so, 
if it was Superman, why was he now largely confining his activities 
to Metropolis? And why had he gone public?

The latter question wasn't too much of a puzzle; acting in secret, he 
had to disguise himself and he would always have run the risk of 
discovery. By going public, he showed he wasn't afraid of discovery; 
he awed people with what he could do, and for the most part he was 
safe. Oh, reporters wanted their pound of flesh, but he was always 
able to fly away.

And that raised yet another question: where did he fly away *to*? 
Now, that was an intriguing thought. No-one ever asked where Superman 
lived. No-one ever asked what he did when he wasn't saving people. 
No-one asked how he earned a living - if he did. And yet, if he 
didn't, how did he live? How did he manage to eat, to provide a roof 
over his head?

Perhaps people assumed that Superman didn't need such mundane things; 
and yet Lois wasn't so sure. He hadn't refused coffee that day at the 
Planet, and she was sure she'd seen him eating *somewhere*. He had 
been in her apartment once, and seemed perfectly at ease with the 
concept of an apartment - if he lurked in a cave somewhere, surely 
he'd be less... well, *house-trained*, she thought.

So just who was Superman? She didn't even know his *name*, she 
realised suddenly, recalling that she had been the one to dub him 
Superman - no-one, in interviewing him, had thought to ask him his 
real name.

And Clark Kent apparently knew how to contact him. That raised a 
number of interesting possibilities, such as that he really did live 
somewhere and Kent knew where that was, or that he was telepathic and 
had told Kent how his powers in that regard worked - or, perhaps, 
that he'd given Kent some sort of signal mechanism. Lois would love 
to know which - and she'd give her eye teeth for Superman to offer 
her the same privilege.

So it was possible that Superman was hiding rather a lot of things. 
And Lois intended to be the one to find out and print the story.

But even before she'd been able to get to work on that, other things 
had intervened, as they usually did in her job. What turned out to be 
a pheromone spray had caused most of the Planet staff to fall madly 
in love - or lust - with people around them, and she'd put all her 
energies into finding out who was responsible for that. She'd done 
it, too, exposing a famous Metropolitan perfumier who appeared to 
want to take some sort of revenge on the city.

That had been another great front-page story with the Lois Lane 
byline. However, two things from that incident niggled at her still. 
First, Lex Luthor had been at the Planet when Miranda had struck, and 
he'd obviously been sprayed; he had, for some reason, become 
attracted to Lois. It had been very embarrassing, in fact - she'd 
been invited to his penthouse apartment for what she'd thought was an 
*interview* - and he'd spent the entire evening trying to flirt with 
her and had eventually made a very crude pass at her. Since then, 
although he'd apologised for his crass behaviour, he'd several times 
called her up to ask her for a date. She wasn't really interested - 
well, she didn't think she was, and anyway, Lex Luthor was someone 
else on her list of people to investigate in a serious way when she 
got the opportunity. But, although it was flattering to have the 
third-richest man in the world wanting to date her, it was also very 
unsettling.

The second thing which bothered her about that incident was the fact 
that *she* had not been affected by the pheromone at all, as far as 
she could tell. She hadn't felt the slightest frisson of attraction 
to anyone around her. She hadn't wanted to rush up to any of her 
fellow reporters and kiss them, as one or two of her co-workers had 
done. Her thoughts might have once or twice have drifted to romance, 
but there had been no-one specific on whom her imaginings had dwelled.

Except... well, once she'd found herself re-living having sex with 
Clark Kent, only she'd found herself thinking of it as making love...

No! She thrust that half-formed thought out of her mind. That lurid, 
totally irrational fantasy had nothing to do with any effect of the 
pheromone.

What was clear from the pheromone incident was that Lois seemed to be 
somehow incapable of loving. That probably wasn't too much of a 
surprise, she finally decided. After all, given her experience of her 
parents' marriage and her father's affairs, as well as her own 
disastrous experiences of romance, she certainly had no real desire 
to put herself in a position where some man had the power to hurt 
her. But what really worried her was one question: had she become 
part of the problem here? Perhaps it wasn't just that there were too 
few trustworthy men; it was that she herself was just not able to 
fall in love. Loving was an unselfish act, in its truest form; and 
she was too selfish to be able to do it.

Though she was working on it... She'd set herself a target of doing 
at least one unselfish act per day, and so far she was doing pretty 
well. Sometimes it was something small, like not taking the last 
chocolate donut from the newsroom box, but at other times she made 
herself do something significant, something which was actually 
*difficult*.

Like the other day, she reflected as she let herself into her 
apartment late one evening towards the end of November. She'd been 
downtown, following up on a bank robbery story, and she'd decided to 
have some coffee in a nearby deli while she wrote up her notes. On 
entering, she'd noticed a familiar figure in a booth near the back... 
Clark Kent. Her first instinct had been to leave, but then she'd 
reminded herself that not only had she turned over a new leaf, but 
that she'd also admitted to herself that she'd treated him badly. 
Okay, she was still waiting until she could have the second HIV test, 
but she was less worried about that now than she had been - after 
all, if she'd misjudged Kent in one respect, then perhaps he wasn't 
the serial seducer she'd imagined either?

She owed him an apology. And that was something else she'd learned 
recently: apologising was not a sign of weakness. On the contrary, it 
took enormous courage to walk up to someone and admit to having been 
wrong; even more so to beg forgiveness. To apologise to Clark Kent 
might be humiliating, but better that than to know she was a coward.

So she'd taken a deep breath and advanced towards his booth, 
intending to ask him nicely how he was, and if he didn't tell her to 
get lost, then to apologise for her behaviour and her accusations. 
She was just about to take the final steps which would bring her into 
his line of vision when she noticed that he wasn't alone.

There was a woman with him.

She was about Lois's age, with long auburn hair which she was combing 
through her fingers in a manner designed to draw attention to both 
her hair and her long painted fingernails. She was smiling at Clark 
in a way which said 'I'm beautiful - don't you want to kiss me?' And, 
with her other hand, she was reaching across the table and patting 
his hand.

And Lois knew her. Linda King, old college rival, now reporter for 
the Star. And, by the look of it, Clark Kent's latest bedmate - or 
soon to be so.

She had never liked Linda King. And that impression had only been 
reinforced when she and Linda had both been interested in Paul, the 
editor of their college magazine. Lois had worked her butt off on a 
story in order to impress Paul, hoping he'd ask her out... but Linda 
had tried the direct route. She'd slept with him. And along the way, 
she'd managed to steal Lois's story too.

The woman was no better than... than a slut! And a thief. She was as 
bad as Claude.

And she was with Clark Kent.

Well, maybe they deserved each other, Lois had decided as she exited 
the cafe. She hadn't managed her goal of performing an unselfish act 
that day.


**********

Snow was falling as Clark emerged from the Metropolis Star building 
late one evening in early December. It was time he thought about 
making plans for Christmas, he decided; he wasn't sure how many days 
he'd be able to get as vacation, especially as he was still 
relatively new at the paper. Still, even if he was only able to get 
away late on Christmas Eve and had to be back at work on the 26th, 
he'd still be able to spend the time with his parents - unlike most 
people, he wouldn't be at the mercy of commercial flights, bad 
weather and congestion.

The last month at the Star hadn't been so bad, he conceded. Shortly 
after the heatwave had ended Mike Lloyd had teamed Clark up with 
another reporter to concentrate on investigative work, which meant 
that Clark was no longer required to report on just about anything 
which might conceivably interest the Star's readers. This new 
arrangement gave him, together with his partner, far more freedom to 
choose what to concentrate on. Just recently, for instance, they'd 
beaten the Planet - and Lois Lane - to a scoop about Congressman 
Harrington taking bribes to ensure that Congress adopted a specific 
missile defence system; that had pleased Mike Lloyd enormously, and 
ensured that the Star's editor gave his new top reporting team still 
more autonomy.

Clark liked Linda King; she was a good reporter and writer, and while 
her investigative instincts weren't on a par with Lois's, for 
example, he saw that as an advantage. Linda was unlikely to make any 
connection between Clark Kent and Superman. Lois, on the other hand, 
could well have begun to ask some very awkward questions had he still 
been working with her, Clark knew. She was still the only reporter 
yet to have asked when Superman arrived on Earth, and as far as he 
knew she was the only person to have come close to suspecting a link 
of some sort between Clark Kent and Superman. That was largely his 
own fault - he knew he should never have told her to contact Clark if 
she wanted to speak to Superman. But she had also been putting 
together clues from other sources, he'd realised that night he'd 
given her the interview.

She'd written an incredibly good article following that interview. In 
fact, Clark thought it was one of the best she'd ever produced. It 
certainly served the purpose he'd hoped for: it reinforced Superman's 
desire to help and to be a friend to the inhabitants of this planet 
where he was welcomed as a visitor. It had stressed that Superman 
presented no danger to any citizen of Metropolis, and that in fact he 
was regarded by many to be their protector, someone who made the city 
a safer place to be. His own statements about wanting to belong were 
well highlighted. At the same time, Lois had made it clear that the 
city had badly mistreated Superman, and that Metropolis was very 
fortunate that he had decided to stay. It was clear in the article 
that this was her own view; in fact, she'd stressed that Superman 
himself had refused to criticise any city official for what had 
happened. He'd insisted that they'd simply been doing their jobs, she 
had written. At the same time, however, she had managed to convey the 
impression of a Super-hero who had been hurt by what had been done to 
him, however much he tried to hide it.

What had surprised - and touched - him most had been Lois's 
description, close to the end of her article, of Superman as a 
solitary, sometimes lonely, figure who was forced because of his 
position to hold himself aloof from others, whatever his instincts 
might be. She commented that she suspected he was a very warm, caring 
person at heart, but that he had to suppress that side of himself 
most of the time in order to ensure that criminals were less able to 
use those emotions against him. She had referred to the counselling 
services typically offered to emergency workers who might suffer from 
trauma after assisting at major disasters, and wondered how Superman 
coped with his reactions in such situations since this kind of outlet 
was not available to him.

And she was right, Clark had thought on reading the article. Most of 
the time he kept his emotions to himself after helping at a major 
emergency; sometimes he talked to his parents, but he didn't want to 
burden them with too many horrific details, so he frequently suffered 
alone, blaming himself when he failed to save lives. Yet no-one else 
had imagined that Superman might experience emotions such as 
frustration, pain, grief or horror - not even after the article he'd 
written about himself on the day the court had ordered Superman to 
leave town. And she'd been right in another respect as well: Superman 
couldnot allow himself to be seen to be close to any other person, as 
it would be an open invitation to any criminal to use that person's 
life as a weapon to control Superman.

Why was it that Lois seemed to understand Superman so well, when she 
had got Clark Kent so spectacularly wrong?

He'd wondered for some time after giving her the interview whether 
his pointed reference to misjudging someone had sunk in. He hadn't 
been sure at the time whether it had been the right thing to say - he 
still wasn't sure - but he'd done it and that was that. But had she 
thought about it at all? Had she seen the relevance to her own 
position? He'd hoped that she might; that she'd think about it and 
realise that she'd jumped to conclusions where Clark was concerned, 
and that she might even make contact to apologise or suggest that 
they needed to talk.

But she hadn't been in touch, and on the few occasions on which he'd 
seen her since - at a distance, mainly - she'd made no effort to 
acknowledge him, let alone speak to him. So, he concluded, she hadn't 
seen any relevance to herself in what he'd said, or she'd simply 
refused to accept it.

Or, most likely, she simply didn't care. What was Clark Kent to her? 
Nothing but some guy she'd slept with, changed her mind the morning 
after, and then pushed all the blame for it onto him. And whose child 
she'd probably got rid of, if she'd been pregnant - although, he was 
pretty sure, someone like Lois would take darned good care to ensure 
that she never got pregnant in the first place.

Still, whatever he felt about her personally, there was no denying 
that she had done him a huge favour - a couple of favours, in fact. 
Without her intervention, Superman would have been banished. And her 
article had made it much easier for the Super-hero to re-emerge and 
to show that he bore no grudges. His approval ratings had shot 
through the roof in the days following the discovery that the LexCorp 
plant had caused the heatwave, and the publication of Lois's article, 
which the Planet had splashed on the front page. Superman was 
considered a friend again by the general populace, and woe betide any 
politician or public official who spoke a word against him.

He owed her for that, and in return he'd ensured that she got a few 
Superman exclusives in the intervening weeks; nothing major, and 
certainly no more interviews. That, of course, had helped him as 
well; he'd realised that it really wasn't a good idea for Clark Kent 
at the Star to be too closely associated with covering Superman. 
Better to spread it around - and with that aim in mind, he'd also 
ensured that his new partner got a couple of stories as well, 
including one brief interview at the scene of a rescue.

His new partner... that brought to mind the only downside of his 
working relationship with her. Linda liked him. That was good, as far 
as it went; it was certainly pleasant to work with someone who wasn't 
constantly trying to undermine him or assert her superiority. 
However, Linda wanted more than that. She *really* liked him - to the 
point of wanting them to be more than work colleagues and casual 
friends. He'd realised that on the second occasion she'd suggested 
they eat out together after working late; suddenly the conversation 
had taken a sharp turn from the lively discussion of current affairs 
and Metropolitan politics, and Linda was asking him about his 
personal life and whether he was seeing anyone. At the same time, her 
bare toes had - accidentally, of course - made contact with his ankle.

She was certainly forward, he'd realised with a shock. And, as he 
just wasn't interested, he'd had to fumble to find some way of 
letting her down gently while at the same time leaving her in no 
doubt whatsoever that, while he liked her, he didn't want a closer 
relationship with her; he didn't want yet another reporting partner 
to refuse to work with him! And, while he'd been not-very-tactfully 
extricating himself from what had become a very awkward situation, 
he'd been depressingly aware that had this been his former partner 
making such advances towards him, he would not be rejecting her.

And that was *crazy*! Somehow, he knew, he had to get these feelings 
he still seemed to have for Lois Lane out of his mind. He knew why he 
still thought about her. She had been his first. The first - the 
*only* - woman he had ever made love to. Of course he still 
remembered that night so vividly!

He had tried, just once, to fool himself that making love would be 
just as good with another woman. Oh, not that he'd actually tried to 
do anything to prove it - he'd simply told himself that had to be the 
case. But underneath he'd known that he was wrong, and he'd very 
quickly given up even trying to pretend. Something very special had 
happened that night with Lois. And she was in every sense the one 
who'd got away.

He could almost believe that the Lois he'd laughed with and argued 
with and kissed and touched and made love with had been replaced by 
an alien life form the next morning - she'd undergone such a complete 
personality transplant from the night before. And yet he'd been 
warned that Lois was cold, was hard, was just not interested in the 
men she worked with or came into contact with.

Thinking about Lois was a waste of time, he told himself as he headed 
towards the subway, deciding to ride rather than walk back to his 
apartment. He didn't mind the snow and the cold, of course, but it 
wouldn't do to let anyone else see Clark Kent walking the streets of 
Metropolis at after nine o'clock on a winter evening, even wearing an 
overcoat. No-one walked very far in these temperatures.

A car drew to a halt beside him and he glanced at it curiously, 
wondering whether the driver needed directions. The passenger window 
rolled down and a man leaned out; his words confirmed Clark's guess. 
Carefully he explained the most straightforward route to the city 
hall, leaning towards the car and indicating with his hands as he 
spoke. His attention thus distracted, he didn't see the car's back 
door opening.

To his shock, he suddenly felt something hard jabbing him in the ribs.

Carefully, he turned his head; a tall, stocky man stood very close 
beside him, his face obscured by shadow. Without even glancing down, 
Clark could see that what was pressed into him was a gun.

Guns, of course, presented no danger to him. But that wasn't 
something he could afford to let anyone else know; and anyway, he was 
curious to know why he was being targeted. This didn't seem like a 
straightforward mugging. But best not to let his attacker know he 
realised that.

"What's the problem?" he drawled quietly. "You want my wallet?"

"Get in the car," the man grunted in response, and Clark instantly 
recognised the voice. He took another swift glance at the man, and 
his suspicions were confirmed.

It was Jason Trask.

He could have made his escape easily, even without giving himself 
away. But this discovery made things very intriguing indeed. Jason 
Trask had been missing ever since the day he'd thrown Lois out of the 
plane; occasionally Clark had called his contact in the FBI to find 
out whether there was any progress in the hunt for the rogue 
operative, but the routine response was that Trask seemed to have 
gone to ground, or that he could have left the country. The FBI still 
considered him a wanted man, but no-one considered that he was likely 
to show up any time soon.

Neither had Clark been able to make any progress as to discovering 
exactly who the man was, or what Bureau 39 was or had been. The 
article Lois had written hadn't told him any more than he'd already 
found out himself; in fact, he knew more than she had, since although 
she had discovered something about Trask's interest in aliens, she 
hadn't seen the warehouse he'd discovered. It had, of course, been 
swept clean when he'd gone back, and he hadn't seen his space craft 
since.

Here, then, was his chance to discover exactly what Trask wanted with 
Superman, and possibly to regain his spaceship.

He wasn't going to seem too eager, however. He hesitated, tried to 
take a step backwards, and protested. "Who the hell are you? And what 
do you want with me?!"

Trask jabbed the gun roughly at him and then, deliberately, noisily, 
cocked it. To Clark's sensitive ears, the sound seemed to echo around 
the deserted street. "I take it you want to stay alive, Kent," the 
rogue agent said harshly. "If you don't want your folks to get you 
home in a body bag for Christmas, get in - now!"

Clark climbed into the back seat of the car, pretending to shrink 
into the far corner as Trask joined him. The car moved off into the 
night.

"What do you want with me?" Clark demanded, deliberately making his 
voice sound shaky.

"Oh, I don't want *you*, Kent," Trask said with a short laugh. "I 
want what you can get me. You're one of the two reporters the alien 
Superman seems to talk to. I want you to bring me Superman."

That was no surprise, Clark thought. After all, Trask had previously 
kidnapped and tried to kill Lois in order to draw Superman out, and 
he'd had a trap planned that time as well, he remembered - the 
missile. Whether Trask had actually thought that the missile could 
harm Superman, Clark had no idea. As far as he knew, he was 
invulnerable. Which meant that he would be all right; all he needed 
to do was to play along with Trask for the time being, find out as 
much as he could, and then make his escape in some way in due course.

But, he realised suddenly, Trask had said, 'one of the two 
reporters'. Lois! What if he went after Lois, too?

Well, he told himself in an attempt at reassurance, they had him - 
which was another good reason for him not to make his escape just 
yet. If they had him, why would they want Lois as well? At least, he 
had to hope that was their thinking. After all, the last time Trask 
had tried to flush out Superman, he'd shown himself willing to commit 
murder. He had thrown Lois out of that plane, uncaring whether she 
lived or died. Why should he behave any differently this time? At 
least Clark knew he would be safe - he couldn't be harmed. Lois 
could. This man would kill her in a second if he thought it would 
increase his chances of getting to Superman.

And therein lay one big problem for Clark. If Lois was involved here 
too, there was no way he could stand idly by and see her hurt. He 
would have to rescue her...

Even if it meant risking his secret identity? he asked himself in 
silent incredulity.

Even then, the answer came immediately. He could not stand by and 
allow Trask to kill her. To kill *anyone*, he insisted quickly. How 
could he retain his secret at the expense of someone's life?

Better to try to stop this before it started. "What makes you think I 
can get Superman for you?" he threw at Trask, making his voice sound 
belligerent.

"Oh, if the alien knows you're in danger, I think he'll come to your 
rescue, don't you?" Trask drawled sarcastically. "It worked the last 
time with the Lane woman - too bad he saw the missile before it hit 
him."

"Do you seriously think that you can kill Superman?" Clark demanded 
incredulously. "He's invulnerable!"

Trask smiled slowly, clearly savouring the pleasure. "That's what 
everyone assumes. But everything has a weak point. And that's what 
I'm good at - finding the enemy's vulnerabilities."

The enemy... clearly his hard work over the past few weeks, the 
interview with Lois and Superman's efforts to show himself as 
friendly and non-threatening, had not served to convince this 
fanatic, Clark thought frustratedly. Now he was even more determined 
to find out exactly what Trask wanted, and what he thought he knew 
about Superman.

"So exactly what vulnerabilities do you think Superman has?" Clark 
retorted, deliberately scornfully.

Trask looked him up and down with a  disdainful expression. "You, for 
a start, Kent. The alien's principal flaw is that he seems to care 
about people. He was stupid enough to stop that train crash a few 
weeks ago even knowing that it would lead to him being thrown in jail 
or asked to leave Metropolis. I found that fascinating. He really 
doesn't seem to have much sense of self-preservation. Though no doubt 
it's all an act," the colonel added carelessly.

"An... act?" Clark queried.

"Naturally. After all, if he is the advance guard for an alien 
invasion, he needs to lull the populace into a false sense of 
security. Convince us he's here to help. That he presents no threat. 
That he values human life above his own safety. And," Trask added, 
"the vast majority of these idiots are allowing themselves to be 
duped!"

"Have you ever thought that he might be alone? That he might really 
be the last of his race?" Clark suggested.

Trask waved his gun in Clark's direction. "You're as big a fool as 
the rest of them! Of course his presence on Earth is not innocent." 
Turning away from Clark then, he leaned forward and addressed the 
driver. "How much longer is this going to take? We should be there by 
now!"

Where, wondered Clark, but he didn't ask. Instead, he focused on 
learning as many clues as he could about their destination. He didn't 
dare adjust his glasses so he could use his Super-vision, but he 
could listen, and his night-vision was also better than most 
people's. They had left Metropolis behind, and from what he could 
tell they were driving up into the mountains. But, even with his 
facilities, he couldn't see enough of any road-signs to work out 
where they were.

It didn't matter, he told himself. Once they got there, and he found 
out exactly what Trask was up to, he could escape and then work out 
where the guy's headquarters was - which was where he figured they 
were taking him. Then he could call the cops and the FBI.

In the meantime, he decided, he would just stay quiet and look and listen.


*************

An hour later, the car finally drew to a halt, and Clark was quickly 
pushed outside. He was somewhere in mountainous, wooded countryside, 
that much was clear; he couldn't get his bearings yet, but once he 
was looking from the air it would be much easier, he knew. Ahead, 
there was a low building, built of solid grey brick; Clark suspected 
that it had once been an army installation, but it looked abandoned. 
A relic of Cold War preparation, perhaps, or simply an abandoned 
training post.

A shove in the middle of his back pushed him in the direction of the 
building, and he made his steps reluctant, still watching and 
listening and using all his senses to work out what was going on. He 
could hear voices and the low humming of some sort of electronic 
equipment from inside the building, and he was pretty sure that a 
space or clearing to the side of the building looked like it could be 
a helicopter pad; there was no chopper there right now.

Inside, two men in fatigues sat at a table, one apparently listening 
to a monitor attached to some electronic equipment; Clark focused his 
Super-hearing, but could hear no more than the rustling of wind in 
the trees. Trask either was taking a great deal of care that no-one 
should find his hideout, or he actually believed that he would be 
able to hear Superman coming.

To his delight and relief, Lois was nowhere in sight. He 
concentrated, focusing his senses on the other rooms in the building, 
but he could hear nothing. There was no-one else here, particularly 
not Lois. A silent sigh of relief escaped him; that was one 
complication he would not have to deal with.

A gun in his back nudged him further into the room. Holding up his 
hands in a gesture of surrender, he moved and then waited.

"So, Kent, you are about to become bait for Superman," Trask drawled.

"Only if he knows I'm here," Clark pointed out calmly. "And even 
then, how can you be so sure he'd come for me?"

"Of course the alien will rescue you!" Trask sneered. "I told you - 
that is his fatal flaw. And since he seems to have gone to so much 
effort to recruit you and Ms Lane to his cause, he is hardly going to 
risk losing you." Trask paused, lowered himself into a chair, and 
added, "What did he do to brainwash you? Did he take you to his ship? 
Or some high-tech hideout somewhere? Or does he use telepathy?"

Clark stared at this madman in disbelief. "Brainwashing? Telepathy? 
Trask, you really don't have a clue, do you?"

"You don't have a clue, Kent," Trask rapped in return. "But then, 
it's obvious that you have been completely traduced to the enemy's 
side. No matter," he continued briskly. "The alien will most 
certainly rescue you, because you yourself are going to beg him to."

"You're kidding!" Clark exclaimed harshly.

"Don't mock me, Kent!" Trask shouted, slamming his hand onto the 
table. He gestured at one of his associates, and the man immediately 
went to stand behind Clark, twisting his arm up behind his back. 
Clark reminded himself to yield, to pretend that it was uncomfortable.

"You *will* make the alien come to save you, because you will die if 
he does not," Trask explained in triumph.

Clark stood perfectly still. "Shoot me. See if I call him."

"Oh no. Nothing that simple. After all, what could be easier than 
dying of a bullet?" Trask mocked. "No. I'm going to lock you up, with 
no food, no water, and no ventilation. After a few hours you will be 
feeling very uncomfortable. By morning you will be very thirsty and 
dehydrated. At unspecified intervals one or more of my men will visit 
you and apply some persuasion. After twenty-four hours you will be 
extremely hungry. And because of the lack of fresh air, you will 
begin to feel ill. And you will also be in pain. And your only way 
out at any point will be to send for the alien."

The man really was crazy, Clark thought in disbelief. Straightforward 
torture would have been a better strategy if he wanted to force his 
prisoner to beg for mercy and call for help. But, apart from that, it 
was obvious that Trask had no intention of allowing his prisoner to 
leave alive, so what would be the point in Clark's calling for 
Superman anyway, if he had been in a position to do so? Or did he 
think that Clark might actually believe that he would be set free?

He shook his head, exaggerating his disbelief in order to persuade 
Trask to reveal more of his thinking. "I still don't understand why 
you think this is going to work. If I do what you want, Superman will 
come, get me out of here, and be gone before you even know he's been 
here."

"Oh, I doubt it'll be as simple as that." Trask snapped his fingers, 
and another associate went to pick up a bulky object which had been 
covered by a rough blanket. Laying it on the table, the man removed 
the blanket. Clark stared, at first too stunned to hide his reaction. 
It was his ship, which he hadn't seen since the day he'd been inside 
the Bureau 39 warehouse. He clenched his jaw. Whatever happened, he 
was determined that Trask would not have that in his possession very 
much longer.

"I have reason to believe that the alien might be interested in 
this," Trask drawled. "Do you know where this was found, Kent? 
Smallville, Kansas. Yes, I thought you might be surprised at that," 
he added cynically. "Quite a coincidence, isn't it? The alien's 
space-craft found in the same small town where you were born and grew 
up. In fact, it was even found in the same year as you were born, 
Kent. Now, that's an even bigger coincidence."

His fist slammed into the table again. "Too bad I don't believe in 
coincidences, Kent!"

Clark froze, a feeling of sick dread running through him. Trask knew 
who he was!

"I've been suspicious of you all along, Kent," Trask continued 
coldly. "The right age, the right background, and behaving like a 
fifth-columnist in the presence of the enemy... it's obvious."

Trask knew. His life was over.

Okay, Trask couldn't kill him, Clark knew that, but he could still 
destroy him. If he was exposed as Superman, then he would have no 
life. Even worse, anyone close to him would never be safe - his 
parents, the people he worked with, anyone who had any connection to 
him in any way.

His breath caught in his throat as he waited for the denunciation.

"The alien obviously chose you at a very young age," Trask continued 
distastefully. "It invaded your mind, brainwashed you and took you 
over. Then it bided its time until you were in a position to help it. 
Reporter for the Daily Planet," Trask's voice was scathing now. "You 
were in a position to influence what other people thought about the 
alien invader. You persuaded your then partner, Lois Lane, to do the 
same. Then you cleverly left the Planet and went to do exactly the 
same at the Metropolis Star. Spreading propaganda and false messages 
of comfort about the alien."

Trask snorted loudly. "You're a traitor to your race, Kent. You 
deserve to be executed for treason. And you will be, once you've 
brought the alien to me."

He *didn't* know! Clark's first emotion was sheer relief, coursing 
through him in waves and making him feel weak at the knees. His 
secret was safe.

Then he focused on what Trask had actually said, and he reeled in 
disbelief. The man really was insane! Brainwashing, aliens 
infiltrating human brains... the guy had watched far too many 
second-rate sci-fi movies.

And he'd actually admitted that he intended to kill Clark once he'd 
done what they wanted and called Superman. Didn't Trask realise that 
any incentive his prisoner might have had to obey had just been 
removed?

He'd heard enough now. Once Trask locked him up, as the man had 
threatened, it would be time to make his escape. And the sooner he 
could come back as Superman and restrain this lunatic and his thugs 
until the FBI got here, the better.

Trask was leaning over the space-craft now. "You asked how I can be 
so sure that I will succeed in killing the alien." Opening the lid, 
he continued. "This isn't the only thing Bureau 39 found in 
Smallville." Inside the craft was a small box, made of some metal - 
it looked like lead, Clark thought. "From our tests, it appears to be 
of extra-terrestrial origin. It is harmless to humans, but it emits 
an extremely high-band radiation."

What was he talking about? Clark wondered in bewilderment.

Trask raised the cover of the metal box, and instantly Clark felt a 
wave of acute pain wash over him. What was happening to him? He 
couldn't believe this was happening - he was invulnerable! What had 
this madman got there?

Without looking at his prisoner, Trask continued, "My theory is that 
if a Kryptonian were exposed to a significant piece for any length of 
time, the result could be lethal."

Desperately fighting the pain, and a weakness which threatened to 
overcome him at any moment, Clark recognised dully that Trask was 
most probably right.

The object in the box glowed a sickly green. Clark's vision was 
blurring now, but he knew that if he ever saw that rock, or whatever 
it was, ever again he would know it instantly. And something inside 
him bleakly resolved, in a moment of dark humour he could barely 
believe he was experiencing under the circumstances, that if by some 
remote chance he got out of this alive he would never again allow 
himself to get within Super-seeing distance of it.

But right now, getting out alive seemed a very remote possibility indeed.

He stumbled forward, losing his balance, and just about managed to 
thrust out his arms in front of him, grasping almost sightlessly at 
the table in an effort to prevent himself collapsing completely. 
Despite the extreme pain he was in, despite feeling as if he was 
going to lose consciousness at any second, his entire being was 
sending urgent messages to his brain that he could not afford, under 
any circumstances, to allow Trask to guess that the rock in that box 
was causing any reaction at all in his prisoner.

One of the thugs shoved him heavily. "Get up."

Ignoring the waves of pain coursing through his body, Clark made 
himself stand up again. Trask turned to see what was going on. 
"What's the problem?"

"Nothing," Clark managed to say; he hoped his voice sounded normal. 
"Just... lost my balance. Minor dizzy spell. I... get them at high 
altitude," he improvised, hoping that Trask would swallow the excuse.

"Weakling," Trask scoffed, but Clark barely heard him. The waves of 
pain were increasing in ferocity, and he couldn't... fight it... any 
longer...

Wanting to scream in agony, unable to make his body do anything at 
all, Clark finally yielded to the blackness which had been 
threatening to overcome him for the past several minutes. Slowly, 
inexorably, he slumped to the floor.


************

It was almost eleven pm when Lois finally began to unlock the 
complicated array of locks and bolts on her apartment door. Another 
late night at work. But this had been well worth it; she had another 
scoop, a huge front-page story which would lead the news agenda for 
the rest of the day, if not for several days to come. And it was all 
the result of her own hard work, some clever intuitive leaps, a lot 
of tedious digging around, working out the right questions to ask and 
the right people to whom she should ask them.

Tomorrow, the CEO of a large software company called E-nable was 
going to resign following news of his arrest, having been proven by 
her investigation to have been installing deliberately-defective 
email and internet software into companies. The software had been 
doctored to allow E-nable staff to gain access to the security codes 
of these companies, which would then be used to gain access to secret 
documents, formulae, or anything else E-nable's criminals clients 
wanted to acquire.

It had taken a lot of hard work and comprehension on Lois's part even 
to understand what E-nable was doing, since computer technology was 
not her strong point. But she'd managed to work it out, and had then 
caught E-nable's CEO red-handed giving instructions to his operatives 
as to what had to be done with a new customer's software. And, along 
with the story she'd written about her investigation, she and Jimmy 
had written a two-page spread about electronic security and major 
organisations' vulnerability to hackers. That was a major story, and 
it would get people - politicians, industry leaders, technophobes and 
information technology specialists - talking for days.

And, best of all, the Metropolis Star - in particular, Clark Kent and 
Linda King - had absolutely no idea what was going to hit them 
between the eyes first thing tomorrow morning.

Lois was on an adrenalin high; it was late, but she didn't feel ready 
to sleep. Instead, she wanted to make some coffee and wind down with 
a late-night movie or something. Already mentally ticking through 
what she had on video and wondering what might be showing on TV, she 
finally pushed the door open and entered the apartment.

Immediately she was seized from behind by a large man who had to have 
been waiting behind the door.

Lois didn't hesitate. Exactly as she had been trained, she reached up 
and grabbed the man's hand, spun slightly and threw him over her hip. 
He lay sprawled on the floor, momentarily dazed.

Immediately she reached for the switch, flooding the room with light 
so that she could see what she was up against, and then turned back 
to her attacker, who was already climbing to his feet. She assumed 
the readiness pose of her martial arts training, hands poised in 
front of her ready to strike.

Then she felt something hard and cold pressing against the back of her neck.

Lois stilled instantly, forcing her body to relax as she considered 
the implications of the fact that a second intruder was holding a gun 
on her. Her initial thought on being attacked was that she'd 
disturbed a burglar. The fact that there were two of them and that 
one had a gun put a different complexion on things. And anyway, she 
noted unemotionally, nothing seemed to be disturbed in the apartment, 
which made burglary a less obvious motive.

"Okay, what do you want?" she said flatly.

"You're coming with us," the first man, who was now standing in front 
of her, informed her.

"You think so?" Lois replied coolly. "And just how are you going to 
do that? March me out of here at gunpoint? If even one of my 
neighbours sees us, they'll call the cops."

"They won't, because you're going to look like you're coming 
willingly," the man standing behind Lois drawled.

"And why would I do that?" Behind the facade of her apparently 
unperturbed attitude, Lois's mind was racing through possibilities. 
She could try to throw the guy with the gun over her shoulder, but 
her impression of these two was that they were thugs she shouldn't 
underestimate. They both appeared strong and watchful, and she'd bet 
that the one facing her had had combat training. She'd managed to get 
the first strike in by taking her attacker by surprise. If she tried 
to take on both of them, she'd end up dead.

The obvious option was to yell for Superman, and she was seriously 
contemplating that. But what held her back were her thoughts about 
what exactly was going on here. These guys weren't burglars. Her 
guess was that they were somehow associated with E-nable, and that 
this was a retaliation for her expose of the company's illegal 
activities. But then, a straightforward retaliation would surely mean 
that they'd just kill her, so why hadn't they shot her as soon as 
she'd got into the apartment? If these were professional hit-men, 
she'd already be dead.

Okay. So this wasn't a straightforward murder attempt. They wanted 
her to go with them, which meant that someone wanted her brought 
somewhere. Now, that was interesting; she might well be surprised to 
find out exactly who wanted her. It could make a great follow-up to 
her story if she could expose and bring down another link in the 
chain. So it might well be far better to go with these bully-boys, 
and save calling Superman until later. After all, as long as they 
didn't kill her, she could call in the cavalry any time. And if her 
guess was right about someone wanting to see her, she wasn't about to 
be killed in the immediate future.

"You'll come quietly because if you don't, you'll be dead," the man 
behind her rapped. Lois mentally raised an eyebrow, knowing that to 
be unlikely given her deductions. But she would play along. She 
allowed her body to slump, as if resigned to her fate.

"Okay, okay. Just don't shoot me, all right?"

She was hustled between the two men out of the building and into the 
back of a dark sedan parked outside; probably a Chevy or a Buick, 
Lois thought, and she tried to look for any indications of the make 
of car once she was inside. She caught sight of an insignia on the 
steering-wheel which identified it as a Chevrolet, but then a blanket 
was thrown over her head and she was forced down onto the floor.

It was a bumpy ride, made even less pleasant by the stale smell of 
the blanket and the occasional kicks from her captors, who seemed to 
feel the need to use physical force to make her stay down. Then, 
finally, the car came to a halt and she was dragged out. The blanket 
was held firmly over her, and they made her run.

She had absolutely no idea where she was, but she could feel the wind 
and the harsh sensation of icy snow hitting her as she ran. There was 
concrete of some description under her feet, so they were crossing 
some sort of large paved area or a wide road. And there was another 
noise, she realised, louder than the wind... a whipping sound, 
something mechanical, which sounded very familiar...

...and then she realised. It was a helicopter.

Whoever wanted her kidnapped was going to an awful lot of trouble, 
she mused as she was bundled into what she assumed was the cabin area 
of the helicopter. Her hands and ankles were tied then, and they left 
her half-sitting, half-lying in the back of the cabin. She tried to 
listen to the men's conversation, to get some clue as to who they 
were and where they were taking her, but the noise of the engine and 
the rotor blades drowned most of it out and the blanket made what 
little was left muffled and incomprehensible.

She had no idea how long the flight lasted; it could have been half 
an hour or even as much as an hour. Finally, the helicopter came in 
to land with a thump and a shudder, and after a few moments the ropes 
which bound her were untied; she quickly massaged her ankles before 
she was dragged to her feet.

The next walk wasn't very far at all, which was a relief; it was now 
extremely cold, and while the half-length coat she was wearing was 
suitable for a winter's day in the city, it didn't provide anywhere 
near enough protection against snow and hail and a biting wind. They 
were walking across grass, Lois thought, or at least earth and mud 
rather than concrete; that, and the crisp quality of the air which 
she was managing to breathe by lifting the blanket as far away from 
her face as her captors allowed, suggested to her that they were out 
in the countryside somewhere. Possibly even somewhere in the 
mountains, she guessed.

But then they were inside, and as the door slammed behind them Lois 
could feel blessed warmth. Suddenly the blanket was dragged away from 
her and she tensed, ready to find out exactly who had wanted her 
brought here.

The man she saw sitting at the rough wooden table was not anyone 
she'd been expecting.

"Trask!" she spat in disgust. "What rock did you just crawl out from under?"

"I see your manners haven't improved at all, Ms Lane," Jason Trask 
drawled, getting to his feet.

"What do you want with me?" Lois demanded. "Got another plane you 
want to throw me out of?"

"You make a lot of demands, Ms Lane. Too bad you haven't yet realised 
you're not in a position to demand anything," the fake FBI officer 
told her scornfully. "You're here because I want to finish the job 
properly this time."

"You don't still think you can kill Superman?" Lois was incredulous.

"I know I can," Trask snapped. "And you are going to help me, by 
getting him here for me."

"No chance!" Lois spat at him, ignoring the fact that her earlier 
plan had been to call for Superman once she worked out what was going 
on. If Trask had some trick up his sleeve, it wasn't a good idea to 
bring Superman here - even if she was right and Trask couldn't kill 
him.

"Oh, you will," Trask replied, his tone menacing. "Maybe not yet, but 
give it about twelve hours and you might just be desperate enough."

Twelve hours? That puzzled Lois more than anything else which had 
happened that evening. If Trask was talking about that length of 
time, then he wasn't planning on threatening to kill her on the spot. 
Which was strange; it seemed to her that holding a gun to her head 
would appear to be the most straightforward way of getting her to 
comply with his wishes.

And twelve hours gave her plenty of time to plan her own escape. She 
was pretty confident of being able to do it, too; they weren't going 
to be able to stand guard over her the whole time. Some of the thugs 
would want to sleep; they'd need to eat and go to the bathroom... She 
glanced around the room. In total, including Trask, there were six 
men. Far too many for her to take out on her own, especially as, now 
that she knew Trask was involved, she was pretty sure that they all 
had army training. But there would be a way, she knew. There was 
always a way.

But there had to be a reason why Trask was willing to wait so long. 
Which meant that it probably wouldn't be a good idea for her still to 
be here in twelve hours' time.

She tilted her chin and gave Trask a challenging stare. "Want to bet?"

"Oh, I don't bet on certainties," Trask told her. Turning away, he 
gestured roughly towards a couple of his aides. "Take her away."

She was then roughly hustled out of the room. She considered trying 
to take down the two men who were escorting her, but one of them 
brushed very close to her right at that moment - deliberately, she 
was sure - and she could feel the hard pressure of a gun against her 
thigh. Probably best not to risk it right now.

A door at the back of the building was unlocked, opened, and she was 
given a hard shove forward. Realising too late that there were steps 
down into the room beyond, she stumbled and fell, landing in a heap 
on the cold floor.

The door slammed behind her and was locked again.


**********

It took a few moments for Lois's eyes to accustom themselves to the 
very low-wattage lightbulb in the windowless room; a couple of 
moments longer for her to realise that the odd sound she could hear 
was actually someone's laboured breathing. With a shock, she realised 
that she wasn't alone.

In the far corner, the huddled shape of a man lay, his body curled up 
protectively into a foetal ball as if shielding himself from further 
pain. He wore a heavy wool overcoat which looked dusty and crumpled.

Lois dragged herself to her feet and hurried over, bending to touch 
his shoulder. "Hey! Are you okay?" she called softly, wondering who 
he was and why Trask had taken him prisoner too.

He didn't respond, so she knelt on the floor and leaned over to take 
a proper look at him. With a shock, she realised that she recognised 
him.

It was Clark Kent.

And that made perfect sense, she realised instantly. Trask had gone 
for the two people who, it seemed, knew Superman best. And, in Clark, 
he'd found the only person who actually knew how to contact Superman, 
though whether or not Trask knew that was debatable.

He'd been beaten up rather badly, she saw. His lip was split in a 
couple of places, and he had a two-inch cut on his cheek which was 
still bleeding. His glasses were still in place, but one lens was 
smashed. Clearly he'd already experienced some heavy-duty 
'persuasion' - and, she thought, the fact that he was still alive and 
that she was here as well suggested that Kent had so far refused to 
yell for Superman. Clearly he, too, believed that Trask had something 
up his sleeve which was potentially dangerous to the Super-hero. In 
which case, she decided, her resolve to get out of this without Super 
help had just been redoubled.

And, she realised on further investigation, Kent seemed to be 
sweating profusely. Puzzled - after all, it was freezing cold in the 
room - she laid the back of her hand against his forehead. He was 
burning up. Feverish, she recognised, and wondered whether Trask had 
drugged him. Did sodium pentathol cause someone to break out in a 
fever? Could that be what they'd done to him?

"Clark! Clark, come on, wake up," she urged him. He emitted a low 
moan, but otherwise didn't respond.

Lois took a deep breath, trying to remember what she knew about first 
aid. Rummaging in her pocket, she found a clean paper tissue and used 
it to blot at the cut on his cheek. She managed to clean away the 
coagulated dried blood and was able to see the injury properly. It 
looked like a clean cut, though she knew she couldn't possibly tell 
just by looking at it in this poor light, and it wasn't as deep as it 
had looked on first sight. That was a relief; she didn't want him to 
bleed to death!

She needed some water, and she glanced quickly around the room; they 
had to have left some drinking water! But all she could see was a 
bucket in another corner, covered by a plastic lid. Hurrying to 
investigate, she found that it was empty; then she realised its 
purpose and grimaced. So Trask wasn't even prepared to offer them 
proper sanitary facilities!

So, no water. She would have to make do, not that she knew quite how 
she was going to do that. Returning to Clark, she sat on the floor 
beside him, feeling the cold, hard concrete beneath her backside and 
legs and wishing that she still had the blanket which had been thrown 
over her earlier. It might have been malodorous, but it would have 
been warmer.

He was still unconscious, and his breathing was still rasping, 
painful to listen to. A sudden, panicky thought occurred to her: what 
if he had internal injuries? A punctured lung? Desperately trying to 
remember what little medical knowledge she had, she tried to decide 
whether a punctured lung would mean that he would be coughing up 
blood. He could have broken ribs, or any other kind of injuries - and 
while he was lying there out cold, he couldn't tell her where he was 
in pain.

But lying on the cold floor couldn't be doing him any good, and if he 
was having trouble breathing, then surely it would be better if he 
wasn't lying all hunched up? For a moment, she was indecisive; she'd 
always been told that it was best not to move an unconscious patient 
in case there were broken bones. But there was no way that she was 
going to be able to get medical help for him right now, or in the 
very near future. All he had was her, and she had to hope that she 
was making the right decisions.

Reaching for him then, she gently tugged his upper body towards her; 
apart from making it easier for him to breathe, surely, she could 
watch over him better if he was lying across her lap.

There was little she could do about determining the extent of his 
injuries, but she kept the tissue pressed firmly to the cut on his 
face to staunch the bleeding; then a thought occurred to her and she 
unbuttoned her coat. Pulling her blouse out of the waistband of her 
trousers, she grasped the hem and pulled. It ripped, and shortly 
afterwards she had a strip of pale blue cotton fabric. With that, she 
began to wipe the beads of sweat from Clark's face. He really was 
feverish, she realised very quickly. He was burning up. His face, his 
neck and... she loosened his tie and felt the base of his throat. He 
was sweating all over, and he was beginning to thrash around a little.

She undid the buttons of his overcoat, loosening it and allowing the 
sides to fall across her lap - it was warmer for her, and might help 
to lower Clark's body temperature.

Lois had no idea how long she sat there holding Clark in her arms. It 
could have been hours, though might just as easily have been only 
twenty minutes or so. She continued to wipe his brow with her 
wadded-up cotton, concerned that he was still so hot. Occasionally 
his body would jerk a little in her arms and she would wrap her arms 
more tightly around him to prevent him falling, or hurting himself on 
the hard floor. Just twice he emitted a low moan, which sounded to 
Lois like pain; she wondered anxiously whether the injuries he'd 
sustained when he'd been beaten were worse than she could tell.

How ironic, she thought at one point, gazing down at her 
ex-colleague's battered face. Three months ago, she would never have 
imagined willingly getting this close to Clark Kent ever again, let 
alone being so concerned about him. Yet now she just couldn't have 
done anything else. There was no way that she could have just let him 
lie there. Nor could she have been content with just sitting beside 
him and watching him. He was in pain; and she had to hold him, to 
give him what comfort she could, if he could in his present condition 
take any comfort from the presence of another human being.

Clark Kent. The man she'd slept with and regretted it the morning 
after. The man she'd hated for so long, whom she'd built up in her 
mind to some sort of demon, a callous seducer and serial romancer. 
The man she'd driven into resigning his job at the Planet. The man 
she'd never wanted to see again.

And yet, here she was in the small hours of a freezing cold December 
morning, locked up by a madman, holding Clark Kent in her arms as if 
he was somehow necessary to her survival. Yes; she realised with a 
shock that her decision to hold him was not made purely out of 
altruistic concern for him. *She* had needed the comfort of his 
nearness, even though he was unconscious.

His body seemed so familiar to her, even after so many weeks. She 
knew exactly what she would find if she opened the buttons on his 
shirt. She could visualise precisely what he looked like under those 
well-cut trousers he wore, and the thought actually made her feel hot 
despite the temperature.

This was *not* a time to remember how good Clark Kent was in bed, she 
told herself ferociously. He could be dying, for all she knew! Hell, 
they were both going to die unless she could figure a way of getting 
them out of here. The thought of calling for Superman occurred to her 
again, but she dismissed it instantly. She had no idea why Trask 
seemed so confident that he could hurt or kill Superman, but she 
wasn't prepared to take the chance. No; she was on her own. And she 
had an unconscious, sick and injured man to deal with as well.

The thought occurred to her that she could try to make her own 
escape; she didn't have to stick around and take care of Kent. He was 
no responsibility of hers. But she dismissed the idea immediately, 
furiously. How could she go and leave him here like this? He didn't 
deserve that. She was the only chance he had; there was no way she 
was going to abandon him.

His cut appeared to have stopped bleeding, so she removed the tissue; 
as she did so, her fingers involuntarily brushed the corner of his 
mouth. She stilled, allowing her fingers to linger. His lips were 
hot, like the rest of him, but his mouth was beautiful.

"Clark," she whispered without thinking, gazing down at him. He didn't respond, 
and she swallowed suddenly, discovering that an enormous lump had 
suddenly appeared in her throat.

He couldn't die. She wouldn't let him die! Lois had no idea why it 
mattered to her so much, and she refused to dig too deeply inside 
herself for answers. She was a prisoner of that madman, Jason Trask, 
and if she didn't manage to escape, she would die one way or another; 
he would either kill her, or leave her to starve. Clark was the only 
person from whom she could derive any comfort at the moment. 
Unconscious or not, seriously ill or not, she needed him.

Her arms grew tired, and she released him to stretch and massage 
weary muscles. In the dim light, she caught sight of her watch; it 
was close to three am. So she had been locked up for about two hours. 
She was now very cold, apart from her lap and lower stomach which 
were kept warm by the presence of Clark's upper body; but her legs 
and feet, and her head, felt frozen. And her bottom and thighs had 
been close to numb for some time from the very cold floor.

She picked up the now-damp strip of cotton fabric, then discarded it; 
it was too sodden to be any good. Tugging her blouse free again, she 
tore off another strip; this one left her chest partially bare, but 
she didn't object. It was the only part of her garment she'd been 
able to get at, given that her movements were constrained by Clark's 
heavy weight lying across her lap. She wiped his brow again, then 
laid the back of her hand across his skin. It felt cooler.

That was a relief, she thought. Had his fever broken at last? But if 
it had, she realised in alarm that now he would probably become very 
cold. And if he started to shiver, and she couldn't get him warm 
enough... she would probably lose him anyway.

As a precautionary measure, she wrapped his overcoat around him 
again, noticing immediately the absence of its warmth on the tops of 
her legs, and then continued wiping his face and neck, unable to 
prevent herself stroking his skin lightly with the tip of one finger 
as she did so. He was definitely cooler. If he was lucky, she 
thought, he might just fall asleep straight from the fever, and then 
he wouldn't notice the cold so much. And if she continued to hold 
him, their combined body temperatures would help to keep each other 
warmer.

"Oh, Clark..." His name escaped her this time in an involuntary sob. 
Here, now, it just didn't matter what had happened between them, who 
had led on who, whether he had given her anything nasty, what he was 
doing with Linda King... he was just Clark, someone she now 
understood she hadn't been able to get out of her system in the past 
few months. And someone she'd behaved very badly to.

And she didn't want him to die before she had a chance to talk to 
him, to apologise for what she'd said and done.

She thought she saw him blink, but she dismissed that; it had to be 
her imagination. She was tired, and so cold, and facing possible 
death. No wonder she was imagining things.

Then his eyes were fully open and he was staring up at her.

"Clark! Oh, Clark... you're..." She trailed off, completely at a loss 
as to what she could say to him. His dark eyes were disconcerting her 
completely, and she couldn't interpret his expression at all beyond 
the initial surprise when he'd first met her gaze.

Then he shifted awkwardly, dragging himself slowly away from her; she 
felt cold and lost as his welcome warmth left her. And with a cold 
shock she realised that it wasn't only his physical warmth she had 
lost in that moment. She huddled into herself, wrapping her arms 
tightly around herself in a movement which was as much for protection 
as for warmth.

Propping himself up against the wall, he turned and regarded her 
coolly. "So tell me, Lois," he began, his voice sounding even more 
harsh due to its hoarseness, "when did you have the abortion?"


***********

He was still in pain; coming to a slow awareness of himself and his 
surroundings, Clark wanted to keep his eyes tightly shut and sink 
back into unconsciousness. But the soft voice calling his name had 
awakened him, and as he blinked and looked up to find out whether it 
had just been his imagination, he realised that he was lying on 
something soft... on some*one*.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, and immediately decided that he had 
to be dreaming. Lois Lane wasn't there. If she was, and if he wasn't 
dreaming, there was no way that she would be holding him in her arms, 
no way at all that she would be speaking to him in that agitated 
voice which seemed to show concern for him, or looking at him like 
that. No, he was dreaming.

Then the freezing cold began to seep in. He never felt the cold. He 
was Superman; he was invulnerable.

<But you never feel pain either, and you're feeling it now...>

Then he remembered. Jason Trask and his insane vendetta against 
Superman. The strange green rock in his spaceship, and the agonising 
effect it had had on him. Passing out - collapsing - in front of 
Trask and his men. Coming round when he'd been kicked in the ribs a 
couple of times... did his ribs hurt? He thought, and realised that 
they did. Then being beaten, and thrown in this room.

Had Trask guessed that he was Superman? No, Clark didn't think so. He 
had a vague, hazy recollection of Trask telling him that far worse 
was to come unless he called his alien friend. So his identity was 
safe, at least.

He wasn't dreaming, and that meant that Lois was really here. And 
what was he *doing* letting her hold him like that, laying himself 
open for more accusations of manipulation or something equally 
ridiculous?

With far greater difficulty than he'd anticipated, he dragged himself 
away from her and into a sitting position; a wave of dizziness and 
more pain instantly swept over him, though he tried to fight it. It 
was cold, too; he realised as he propped himself up against the cold 
wall that Lois must have been keeping him warm with her body heat.

Lois. Clark turned to look at her, but all he could see was a blurry 
haze as memories of his last proper conversation with her combined 
with the pain which his movement had caused. He opened his mouth, and 
words over which he seemed to have no control emerged.

He had no idea what he'd intended to say, and he regretted his 
obnoxious question the minute he actually heard it spoken.  Once he'd 
realised who was holding him his feelings had been an indescribable 
mixture of amazement, delight, horror and dislike. Lois Lane was the 
woman who'd rejected him  so cruelly and who'd taken pleasure in his 
pain. He still felt dizzy, woozy, disorientated and aching all over, 
sensations which were completely alien to him. So somehow, 
instinctively, he'd just lashed out.

And he didn't need her gasp of shocked hurt to understand that he had 
been wrong and unfair.

She flinched and shifted a little, moving further away from him. "I 
didn't have an abortion," she replied in a low voice, her tone 
clipped. "I wouldn't have... I only said that to... to make you go 
away. I thought - I thought you would be glad to know you wouldn't 
have to worry about the responsibility," she added in a whisper. 
"Then you looked so appalled... and I didn't know how to take back 
what I'd said." He saw her swallow, and then she turned away from him.

He'd known it was just bravado. Of course he had - he'd accepted that 
weeks ago. There had been no need for him to make such a gratuitously 
hurtful comment. Especially as, he was gradually realising, Lois had 
to have been taking care of him for however long it was they'd been 
in this room together. He still had no idea how Lois had come to be 
in the room with him. He'd been positive that she wasn't in the 
building when he'd been brought there - assuming that they were still 
in the same place, that was.

Wanting to apologise for his crass remark, and needing to find out 
from Lois what was going on, he shifted and turned towards her. 
"Lois..."

"And anyway, whatever I did to you, I can promise you that what I've 
been going through the past three months, waiting to find out whether 
I've caught anything from you, was far worse!" she threw at him 
belligerently.

Clark stiffened. "Caught...?" What on earth did she mean? Had it something 
to do with his being an alien? But Lois didn't know that? Or... did 
she? Had she somehow figured it out while he'd been out cold?

But that didn't make sense. Lois had said '...the past three months.' 
She certainly hadn't known he was Superman during the heatwave 
crisis. So what on earth did she mean?

"Yeah, caught!" she retorted. "Like HIV, AIDS... You didn't use a 
condom, and I haven't a clue how many women you go through in a year, 
Kent, but I wasn't going to take any chances!"

Stunned, Clark could only stare at her. She'd thought he was...! 
She'd imagined that he was so promiscuous that he might actually have 
something like AIDS! But... but he was Superman, so he couldn't be 
infected by anything like that anyway, much less pass it on to her, 
could he?

But... *she thought he was promiscuous*? Quite apart from his total 
confusion as to how she could have imagined that he would treat women 
so carelessly, was she saying that she hadn't known he was 
inexperienced? It seemed like it - in fact, it looked like she was 
implying that he'd seemed very experienced indeed!

For a moment, he was tempted not to deny that impression. Why should 
he embarrass himself, after all, by admitting to having been a 
virgin? Why should he lay himself open to her scorn once again? But 
then he sighed and admitted to himself that he couldn't lie to her 
like that, not merely to save his own ego. And, he realised as he 
stole a quick glance at her, she was genuinely worried.

"Lois." His tone was deliberately firm but calm, and as he heard 
himself speak he realised that it also sounded stronger than it had 
when he'd first woken up, or come around, or whatever had happened. 
"Lois, you can't have caught anything like that from me," he told 
her, holding her gaze firmly.

"Oh no?" she challenged him. "You have certificates to prove it?"

"No," he replied patiently. "I don't need them, Lois." He hesitated, 
feeling nervous about making this confession, but knowing that he had 
to do it. No matter what she'd done to him, he couldn't let her carry 
on thinking that she might have contracted an incurable illness 
because of him. "I don't need them because before we slept together, 
I'd never been that intimate with anyone. You were my... I was a 
virgin that night, Lois," he finished, feeling a warm flush of 
embarrassment creep across his face.

She stared at him in amazement and frank disbelief.


************

Clark had been a *virgin*? No... no, that was just too incredible. 
She shook her head and glared at him. "You expect me to believe that? 
No way! No way you'd never..." But the expression on his face, a sort 
of deer-in-the-headlights look - which made him look very peculiar 
given that he had one broken lens - told her that he'd been telling 
the truth.

"Oh my god... am I that out of practice that I didn't even realise?!" 
she muttered to herself, still completely thrown by Clark's 
revelation. All these months, she'd been worrying over nothing! "You 
could have told me," she said flatly.

"Huh? Lois, you weren't exactly listening to anything I tried to tell 
you!" he protested. "And anyway," he added, "it never occurred to me 
that you'd be worried about... about something like that."

"Well, I was," she muttered darkly, staring down at her ice-cold 
feet. "And I was about to see my doctor again next week and get the 
second set of tests done."

Clark was silent for a few moments. Then she heard him sigh. "I wish 
you'd asked me, Lois. You wouldn't have had to go through any of 
that."

He was right, Lois recognised as she thought through the implications 
of what he'd just confessed to her. Somehow, although this was 
completely unlike the image of Clark Kent she'd held in her mind for 
the past three months, she knew that he would have told her the 
truth, to save her from worry. Unlike her reaction when he'd asked 
about a possible pregnancy...

And if this had been his first experience of sex, she hadn't exactly 
made it pleasant for him, had she? Accusing him of getting her drunk 
and seducing her, and storming out of his apartment. Now that she 
remembered, he'd looked completely stunned. She'd dismissed it at the 
time, thinking that he clearly wasn't used to women who didn't fall 
at his feet begging for more the morning after. But in the light of 
this revelation his behaviour could now be seen in a very different 
light.

But she hadn't known - she *couldn't* have known!

She raised her head and turned to look at him again. He looked 
embarrassed and awkward, not meeting her gaze, and something made her 
reach out to him and touch his arm lightly. "You're right, I should 
have asked. If I went through three months of... well, it's my own 
fault for assuming." It cost her a lot to make that admission, but 
she could tell that Clark had also found it difficult to make his 
confession to her. One admission deserved another, she decided.

He raised his head then and gave her a rueful half-smile. "Better 
late than never, huh?"

She shrugged, then decided that it was time to get on to more 
important matters. "Let's forget that for now. I need you to tell me 
what you know about what Trask's up to - and we need to figure a way 
out of here!"

He nodded, instantly becoming more matter-of-fact. "Trask thinks he 
can kill Superman, but he needs us to lure him here."

"That much I figured," Lois said dryly. "He never heard of standing 
on a roof somewhere and yelling 'Help!'?" She didn't expect Clark to 
understand the reference, so she was surprised to see his lips quirk 
briefly in the beginnings of a swiftly-smothered smile. Maybe this 
was something else Superman had told him about, she thought bleakly, 
but pushed that thought aside. "Anyway, surely nothing can kill 
Superman?"

Clark was silent for a moment; then he frowned at her. "Trask has 
something. He claims it can harm Superman - who knows whether it can 
or not, but I don't want to take the chance in the circumstances. And 
I don't want you calling for Superman either!" he added roughly.

Lois stared at him, hurt by his implied accusation. "You think I'd 
deliberately bring Superman into a situation where his life could be 
in danger, just to save my own skin? Well, I know you don't think a 
lot of me, Kent, and I guess you have reason, but you're supposed to 
be a friend of Superman's, and I hope he knows me better than that."

"Lois, I was just saying - "

"I know what you were just saying!" she interrupted him, furious. "I 
would never want to do anything to harm Superman! I... I love him," 
she found herself adding, biting her lip as soon as she realised what 
she'd said. How Kent would mock her now!

But he regarded her thoughtfully. "Lois, you barely know the man - "

"I know him," she insisted, her voice quiet but determined. "I know 
he's decent, and honourable, and good, and kind. I know he puts other 
people's welfare above his own - I saw that when the city wanted him 
to stop using his powers during the heatwave. He could be anything he 
wanted to be - he could rule the world if he wanted - but all he 
wants to do is to use his powers to help. He's incredibly special, 
and I love him for everything that he is. And although I know he'll 
never see me in that way, it doesn't matter. I'll still love him 
anyway."

Clark greeted her declaration in silence, which was not the response 
she'd expected. She glanced over at him again and saw that he was 
chewing his lip; he winced, and she guessed that he'd forgotten it 
was split. "Careful - you don't want to let it bleed again," she 
warned.

He gave her a rueful grimace. "Too late."

"Oh." She hesitated, then reached for the second piece of her blouse 
which she'd been using to wipe his brow. "Use this."

He accepted it and blotted the blood which was pooling on his lip. 
"Thanks. And... I'm sorry if you thought I was ridiculing you. I 
didn't mean to."

Lois shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first time," she muttered, then, 
regretting it, added, "Sorry. This isn't the time to resurrect old 
arguments."

He gave her a faint smile. "Time enough for that when we get out of here, huh?"

She nodded, then gave a violent shiver as her body tried desperately 
to warm itself. "What's Trask's plan anyway?" she asked him."He said 
something to me about giving me twelve hours  - well, us, I guess. I 
didn't know he had you too then."

"Was I here when they locked you up?" Clark asked, and she nodded. He 
paused for a moment, then continued. "He told me I'd - well, we would 
- get no food or water.  He'd starve us to death. And that some of 
his men would come and do their best to 'persuade' me to do what they 
wanted."

"Looks like they already tried with you," Lois remarked. "What does 
the other guy look like?"

He rewarded her attempt at lightening the atmosphere with a quick 
grin, immediately followed by a wince as his lip burst again. "Got 
away lightly, unfortunately. I... uh, had a kind of dizzy spell and 
they kicked me about while I was on the floor."

"Cowards," was Lois's instinctive reply. "Was that why you were 
feverish? Is it flu or something?"

He gave her a quick, almost alarmed, look, then said, "Something like 
that. Uh... how long was I out for?"

"Couple of hours after I got here," she told him. "I don't know how 
long you were here before that."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he reached out and covered her 
hand with his. "Thank you."


***********

What was he doing touching her? Clark asked himself incredulously as 
his hand covered hers. She'd start accusing him of attacking her 
next! No, she wouldn't, his instinct immediately responded; whatever 
had happened three months ago, the Lois he was with now seemed to 
have changed markedly from the person she was then.

As he was about to remove his hand nonetheless, he became aware of 
something. "You're frozen!" he exclaimed.

She turned her hand over and caught hold of his. "You're not much 
better," she commented dryly. "Though your fever seems to have gone 
pretty quickly."

It had, though he was by no means back to his normal self. He was 
still in pain, for a start, and as far as he knew, he had no powers. 
Clark concentrated for a moment, testing whether his enhanced hearing 
was working; nothing. He was probably lucky to be alive, he mused 
with an inward grimace; regardless of that, however, that green rock, 
whatever it was, had robbed him of his powers. Whether or not its 
effect was permanent he had no idea, but that was hardly important 
right now, he told himself. As much as the prospect of losing what 
had been a part of him for so many years scared him, it was hardly 
significant if Trask was going to have his way. As Lois said, they 
needed to find a way out of here, and soon.

But first, he grasped her hand between his two, rubbing it in an 
effort to warm her up. She gave him a grateful half-smile. "Thanks, 
but it won't help much - the rest of me is still frozen." To his 
surprise, she got to her feet. "Walking around will help me get my 
circulation back," she told him, then mimed listening and zipping her 
mouth shut. At first he didn't know what she meant, then he 
understood. She was right - It was entirely possible that Trask had 
the room bugged.

As she walked towards the door, he said loudly, "You're wasting your 
time walking around, Lois. You'll only burn off calories, which will 
make you get colder faster."

She rewarded his attempt at disguising her true intentions with a 
swift smile; he was suddenly transported back to the earliest days of 
their acquaintance, before that fatal night, when they'd been working 
on the Messenger investigation and things had started to fall into 
place. Then, they'd almost seemed to be attuned to each other; each 
had almost seemed to understand what the other wanted before he or 
she had said it, and they'd worked as a perfect team. And yet, he 
supposed, that was what had happened just now too...

She was trying the door, and he frowned in puzzlement, getting to his 
feet as well. "Damn, it's cold!" he exclaimed roughly, as much 
because he meant it as for the benefit of any listeners. He *was* 
cold; for the first time in many years, he could actually feel 
extremes of temperatures, and it was a shock. Wrapping his overcoat 
more tightly around him, he made his way over to Lois. He still felt 
shaky, and he suspected that he wasn't even backto human strength 
yet. But Lois couldn't know that... although if she'd thought that he 
had the flu that could be a convenient explanation.

Coming to stand close to her, he murmured very softly, "What are you 
up to? And can I help?"

She turned, startled. "You any good at picking locks, Kent?" she 
answered, her own voice equally low.

<Not the slow way> he was tempted to quip, but he managed to prevent 
himself. "I haven't had a lot of experience at that," he told her 
with a  grimace.

She nodded, then bent back to the door; she'd taken something from 
her trousers pocket and was fiddling about with the lock. Realising 
that he was supposed to be providing cover for her, he began to 
complain loudly about the standard of their accommodation, the cold, 
the lack of anything to sit on and the sanitary facilities. Lois told 
him to stop whining a couple of times, but he could see her face; the 
nods and quick smiles she was giving him assured him that he was 
doing what she wanted.

After several frustrating minutes, she stepped back. "No good. I 
can't do it," she muttered, her posture slumping.

"We'll find another way," he replied quietly, trying to sound 
confident for her sake. They *had* to find a way out. He didn't want 
to die - he didn't want to let Lois die, if there was any way he 
could help it. And there was no way on Earth he wanted to let Trask 
win.

As she turned completely to face him, he noticed something very 
strange. "Ummm... Lois, why is your blouse torn?" A horrible thought 
occurred to him then, and he caught his breath as a blaze of anger 
swept through him. "They didn't molest you, did they?"

"What? Oh, no..." She looked embarrassed, then explained. "You were 
feverish, and I needed something to wipe your forehead... and you 
were lying on my lap and I couldn't reach the hem of the blouse, 
so...."

Then he remembered the pale blue cloth she'd given him to dab the 
blood from his lip, and felt guilty again. She'd been taking good 
care of him while he'd been unconscious, and the first thing he'd 
said to her when he'd woken had been vicious.

No point dwelling on that now. He looked at her again, noticing again 
how cold she appeared. And no wonder, with her blouse torn! He began 
to strip off his overcoat, saying, "Here, take this. You look frozen!"

But she put up a hand in rejection. "Clark, you're just getting over 
flu or whatever kind of fever you had! You were really sick, you 
know. And you're cold too."

She'd called him 'Clark', not 'Kent', he noticed abstractedly. He 
took a tentative step towards her. "Look, Lois, we're both cold. And 
the only way we're going to conserve as much body heat as possible is 
if..."

"Is if we huddle together to keep warm," she finished for him. She 
looked embarrassed, though, standing rigidly exactly where she was, 
looking down at the floor.

"Yeah," he confirmed, and took another step towards her. "Come here." 
In an awkward movement, he wrapped his arms around her; she stood 
motionless for a moment, and then relaxed against him, wrapping her 
own arms around his waist. He felt her shiver almost uncontrollably, 
and instinct made him rub his hands up and down her back, trying to 
warm her.

"Let's sit down while we try to come up with a plan for getting out 
of here, hmm?" he suggested.

She seemed uncertain. "We have to keep trying..."

"You have to get warm first or you won't be in any state to do 
anything," he pointed out.

Lois still seemed reluctant, and as a possible explanation struck him 
he grew angry. "You still think I can't be trusted, don't you?!"

She stared at him, her dark eyes showing hurt and resentment. "I do 
trust you. Which is more than you did for me when you woke up back 
there! You couldn't get away from me fast enough! What did you think 
I was going to do?"

She tried to pull away from him then, but he wouldn't let her. "I'm 
sorry about that. It was... unnecessary. And ungrateful, too - you 
probably saved my life," he acknowledged quietly. That was very 
possible. After his exposure to that strange rock Trask had, he'd 
been convinced he was dying. He guessed he'd been unconscious for 
some time, and if Lois hadn't taken care of him he could have slipped 
into a coma.

Although it had to be difficult when he was holding her so close to 
him, Lois shrugged. "You were pretty sick. I couldn't leave you like 
that."

Not too long ago, that wouldn't have bothered her, Clark thought with 
a touch of cynicism. But maybe he was being unfair, he instantly told 
himself. After all, he'd learned over the past month or so that there 
was far more to Lois than he'd given her credit for. The way she'd 
proven that Superman was innocent of causing the heatwave, for 
example. And, he remembered, when he'd come to thank her she hadn't 
reacted in the way he'd expected. He'd been prepared for her to 
demand kisses, some declaration of his feelings for her, or to tell 
him that she'd only done it because she loved him. But she hadn't, 
and her manner towards him had been mature and dignified, if a little 
nervous. Even her claim, just a short while ago, that she loved 
Superman had been convincingly made. Even if he found a bitter irony 
in the fact that she could claim to love the Super-hero when she so 
clearly disliked the man standing in front of her now, he couldn't 
deny that she believed her feelings were sincere - and that there was 
nothing groupie-like in the way she'd expressed them.

She wasn't the shallow, selfish person he'd concluded that she had to 
be. Which left him completely baffled as to her motive for treating 
him as she had.

But this wasn't the time to worry about that. Leading her over to the 
side of the room where they'd been sitting before, he lowered himself 
awkwardly to the floor; his ribs still hurt, which made movement 
painful. Lois sat next to him, and for a moment he hesitated, then 
ventured, "It might be better if you sat on my lap. We could keep 
each other warmer that way, and you'd be off the cold floor."

"You're on the floor," she pointed out.

"Yeah, but I have my overcoat. And your blouse is torn." He inhaled 
deeply, then added, "Look, all I'm suggesting is that we keep each 
other warm, not..."

"I know," she interrupted. "I guess you wouldn't want to touch me 
with a twenty-foot bargepole now anyway."

That surprised Clark. For Lois, that was a very melancholy statement 
- and it also suggested someone who was feeling very self-critical, 
almost self-pitying. That was not the Lois Lane he knew, by any 
means, and he wondered what on earth had happened to make her feel so 
miserable, and so unsure of her reception so far as he was concerned.

He was now very sure that she seemed to have changed her view of him 
completely. If she still believed that he'd deliberately set out to 
seduce her, she wouldn't have said something like that, of that he 
was certain. Her words not only suggested that she accepted her 
error, but also that she understood that he had every right to be 
angry with her. So, somewhere along the way, she'd worked out that 
she'd been wrong about him - or perhaps she'd simply stopped lying to 
herself about what had happened and admitted that it had been mutual.

But if that was the case, why hadn't she told him she'd changed her mind?

That was easy to answer, he supposed. After all, she'd been pretty 
vehement in her condemnation of him. It couldn't be easy to admit to 
being wrong in those circumstances. And, after all, he'd no longer 
been working with her, so where was the need to put things right? He 
could just about understand that, although he himself could never 
have ignored the need to apologise in similar circumstances. However, 
he ignored his feelings, instead helping her to get comfortable on 
his lap and wrapping the folds of his overcoat around the two of them.

Despite the cold, and their predicament, he very quickly realised 
that having Lois so close to him was having an embarrassing effect on 
his body. Shifting a little so that she was sitting a little lower 
across his thighs, he hoped she wouldn't notice. To his surprise, she 
leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping 
her arms around his shoulders. "Thanks, Clark," she murmured as he 
tightened his grip on her.


**************

Lois felt very uncomfortable about being so close to Clark. To begin 
with, sitting on his lap, being in such close proximity to his 
muscular and undeniably attractive body, was affecting her in a way 
she wouldn't have believed possible in present circumstances. Staring 
at the top of his head, she wanted to run her fingers through his 
dark hair. In an attempt to distract herself from that, she leaned 
down and rested her head on his shoulder. Not that that proved to be 
much better; in that position, she was gazing at his strong jawline 
and the tiny pulse which throbbed in his throat.

In the uncomfortable silence which fell between them, she found 
herself remembering what he'd told her. Sleeping with her had been 
his first sexual experience. If she hadn't known instinctively that 
he was telling her the truth, she would never have believed it - a 
guy as good-looking as Clark, and as skilled a lover as he had been? 
It seemed impossible. And yet it was clearly true.

It couldn't have been the way he'd have wanted to be introduced to 
sexual intimacy. And that made her feel bad. Almost without thinking, 
she blurted out, "I'm sorry, Clark."

His surprise was palpable. "What for, Lois?"

"For the way I behaved that morning - that can't have been what you 
wanted for your first time," she confessed awkwardly, not looking at 
him.

He stilled, and was silent for several moments. Then he spoke 
hesitantly. "So you don't still think I deliberately got you drunk?"

She laughed without humour. "Oh, no. I did that all by myself - my fatal flaw."

She thought he seemed puzzled by that, but he didn't query it, for 
which she was grateful. After a lengthy pause, he said quietly, "We 
both made mistakes that night, Lois."

"Yeah," she replied in a low voice. "At least you were willing to 
admit it, though. I wasn't. And I'm sorry. Not that saying so makes 
up for it - at least, not after all this time."

Again he was silent, though she fancied that his arms tightened 
infinitesimally around her. She wasn't surprised that he wasn't 
accepting her apology. In his position, she knew that she wouldn't. 
The offence was too great, and the delay too long.

His response, when it came, was voiced in an almost neutral tone. 
"Why?" The single word cut through her like an ice-cold wind. That 
was the one question she just couldn't bear to answer; how could she 
explain the past humiliations, the betrayals, which had led her to 
expect no better from a man than that he should want to use her? And 
yet he deserved an explanation, especially now that she'd admitted 
that Clark Kent was nothing like her father, or Chris, or Claude, or 
any other man who had used and discarded her. He was nothing like Lex 
Luthor either, who - for all his wealth and charm - simply wanted to 
possess her and, if she gave him the chance, would turn it into a 
crude business transaction.

Clark Kent, she'd finally realised, was the one decent man she'd 
refused to believe existed. He was the last Boy Scout, the courteous, 
considerate gentleman. His country-boy manners hadn't been an act, 
and he hadn't been part of the boys' club in the newsroom. As she'd 
finally admitted a few weeks ago, people had liked Clark Kent because 
he was a genuinely likeable man... and she'd refused to see it. She'd 
been the only person who had looked at him and seen someone putting 
on an act. And that was because she was far too suspicious for her 
own good. And, as a result, she'd lost what was probably the best 
chance she'd had to have a relationship with a man who would treat 
her as if she was the most precious thing in his universe - and who, 
in bed, would put her satisfaction before his own.

He, more than anyone else who had ever asked her why she was so 
mistrustful of men, deserved an answer. And yet, ironically, that 
made it even harder for her to contemplate telling him. How could she 
lay her past open for his judgement like that? While part of Lois was 
telling her that Clark wouldn't judge, another part insisted that he 
knew her as a highly-competent reporter, a Kerth-award-winning 
journalist. How he'd laugh if he knew how she'd let herself be fooled 
in the past!

Realising that he was waiting for an answer, she raised her head from 
his shoulder and met his questioning gaze. "Not here... not now. If 
you really want to know, I'll tell you once we get out of here," she 
offered, knowing that it was only a delaying tactic. Of course, they 
had to *get* out of there first, and if they didn't... well, then she 
wouldn't have to tell him, would she?

He gave her a quick, accepting nod. "Okay, you got a deal. So now, we 
figure our way out of this, huh?"

She studied his face; the flush caused by his earlier fever had now 
receded, and he was as pale as she felt sure she was herself. The one 
unobscured eye of his she could see appeared to be clear, however; no 
sign of dizziness or anything else, from what she could tell. But 
he'd really been sick before... Before she even thought about what 
she was doing, she'd raised one hand to touch his forehead. It was 
cool and dry.

At his enquiring look, she explained. "You were really sick earlier, 
Clark. I need to know whether you're going to be well enough to help 
us get out of here."

He shrugged. "All I can tell you is that I'm not as strong as I 
usually am. But I can still do my bit. So..." His tone became more 
businesslike; simultaneously, his voice lowered to an undertone, "... 
do you have a plan in mind?"

She nodded. "Tell me again what Trask said about sending men in to 
persuade us?"


***********

Clark repeated what he remembered of what Trask had said to him; his 
mind was still a little hazy on some of those finer details. But 
while he did so, he was trying to deal with Lois's apology and 
retraction. That was something he hadn't expected to hear from her, 
and it was even more amazing that she'd decided for herself - or 
admitted to herself - that she'd been wrong about his motives. 
However, he found himself wishing somewhat bitterly that she'd come 
to this conclusion a couple of months sooner - for example, before 
he'd had to quit the Planet.

Still, he was well aware that it must have taken a significant degree 
of courage for Lois to make her apology. She was, in fact, behaving 
towards him in a very humble manner, quite at odds with her normal 
behaviour; that suggested that she felt very embarrassed - or guilty 
- indeed at the way she'd treated him. But, while that was gratifying 
to a degree, Clark found himself thinking that he didn't want her to 
feel nothing but guilt when she looked at him. Just what he did want 
from her he wasn't prepared to articulate right at that moment, 
however.

But Lois, her mouth distractingly close to his face, was outlining a 
tentative plan, and he needed to concentrate on that. Getting away 
from Trask was the priority, after all, especially now that he knew 
what Trask had. Clark was pretty sure that if he came into any kind 
of contact with that green rock again at the moment he'd be very 
lucky to survive. He still felt weak and drained, and as far as his 
powers were concerned he couldn't help but fear that they'd gone for 
good.

Her plan was good, but had some weaknesses; between them they 
thrashed out the details until they were agreed on how to proceed. It 
was a long shot, but, Clark knew, it was their best chance at freedom.

Lois slid off his lap and stood up. "We should get into position - no 
telling when someone might come in."

"Sure," Clark agreed. "But first - Lois, would you mind if I tried to 
lift you up?"

She gave him a very puzzled look. "What...?"

He gave a faint shrug. "I know I'm still not back to full strength. I 
need to know what my limitations are, and that seems like the best 
way of finding out."

"Oh." Her face cleared, and she stood in front of him, looking a 
little nervous.

"It's okay, I'll try not to drop you," he teased lightly, sliding one 
arm around her waist and bending to put the other under her knees. 
Then he lifted. At once he felt the impact of her weight in his arms, 
and he staggered backwards; she clutched wildly at his shoulders. 
Taking a deep breath, he steadiedhimself. It was a very long time 
since anything had felt heavy to him, and now, he realised, he was 
gaining a real insight into what life was like for *normal* men. 
Although, he wondered, would a normal, fit man of his height and 
build find Lois heavy? For all that she was of average height for a 
woman, she was very small in build and, he was sure, very light. And 
yet he was staggering under her weight.

Feeling depressed, he lowered her to the ground.

"Everything okay, Clark?" she asked him, concerned.

He gave her a rueful smile. "I guess so. Well, I know my limitations, 
anyway." She was about to move away when he reached out to lay his 
hand on her shoulder, delaying her. "Lois, if this doesn't work..."

"It *will* work," she insisted.

"If it doesn't," he repeated, "I want you to get out of here if you 
can. Don't stick around for me - if there's any chance at all that 
you can escape, do it. I don't want you to die because I'm holding 
you back."

She stared at him, her brown eyes wide in dismay. "Clark, either we 
both get out of here, or neither of us does. That's non-negotiable."

He shook his head. "I mean it, Lois. If you get the chance, take it! 
Anyway, if you get away you can go and call for help."

But her expression showed total rejection of his words. "Clark, you 
know as well as I do that this place would be deserted by the time 
anyone managed to get back here. Trask would kill you rather than 
take the chance that he could get caught." Her words were said in the 
same soft undertone they'd both been using for most of the time since 
they'd sat down together, but Clark could hear the emotion and fierce 
intent in her voice, and it touched him.

He grimaced. "Lois, I appreciate that, really. I just... I don't want 
to think that you could have escaped."

She moved closer to him, laying her hand on his arm. "We're in this 
together, ex-partner." This time her voice was rough, as if she was 
almost afraid to say the words; as he gazed down at her, he could see 
her blinking away tears she hadn't wanted him to see.

"Here." He fumbled in his pocket and awkwardly handed her his 
handkerchief, trying to ignore the swelling in his throat at the word 
she'd used to describe him. Ex-partner. It sounded so final, placing 
an emphasis on the fact that they had once worked together, but no 
longer did. Except that... except that it suggested that she still 
thought of their time working together - and, judging by her 
expression, they were not unpleasant reminders. And ex-partner was, 
after all, a far nicer way to describe him than a one-time and 
despised ex-lover.

She dabbed at her eyes, avoiding his gaze; a wave of emotion swept 
over him and, ignoring all the reasons why this was the one woman he 
should not touch, he reached out and pulled her into his arms for a 
hug.

She came willingly, nestling against him and wrapping her arms around 
his waist and laying her head against his shoulder. He tried to 
transmit, without words, a reassurance that everything would be all 
right; he didn't dare say the words aloud because he was every bit as 
aware as she was that the changes of either of them getting out of 
this alive were very slim indeed.


*************

Lois pulled slowly away from Clark, doing her best to ignore the 
little voice which told her that she really wanted to stay in his 
arms and plead with him never to let her go. That was foolish. They 
needed to get out of there, to save their own lives and to warn 
Superman that Trask was after him again and claimed to have something 
which could kill him. That was what was important, not forgetting her 
fears and the cold in Clark Kent's arms. And besides, Clark was only 
being considerate - taking pity on her. If it wasn't for their 
current circumstances, she was only too aware that he wouldn't want 
to touch her with a sterilised cattle-prod.

So she had to push all those thoughts and suppressed yearnings back 
out of her mind. Even if his picking her up had reminded her of 
*that* night, when he'd scooped her up in his strong arms and carried 
her so effortlessly into his bedroom, laid her down on his bed, then 
come to join her, smothering her in mind-blowing kisses...

"Let's get into position," she said shakily, then mentally kicked 
herself. <Pull yourself together, Lois! This is no time to fall 
apart!>

Clark nodded, but then glanced down at her and frowned. "What is it?" 
she asked, more sharply than she'd intended.

He grimaced. "You need to fasten your jacket, Lois," he observed 
quietly, then turned away to pick up the metal bucket.

She glanced down at herself, and immediately saw what he'd been 
referring to. Her blouse gaped open at the front, and several inches 
of creamy flesh were revealed where she'd torn a strip off. Flushing, 
she fumbled with the fastenings on her jacket before taking up her 
position.

Now, they had to wait.

It was a long wait; Lois had to walk around in tiny circles to 
prevent herself getting so cold that her circulation stopped working 
properly. After about five minutes, Clark offered her his overcoat 
again, but she again refused, reminding him that he was still sick. 
And anyway, it would be far too long and bulky on her; it would 
impede her movement.

He looked very weird with his broken glasses, she thought as she 
surveyed him in his position at the other side of the door. She 
wondered idly why he didn't simply remove them, then figured that he 
really did need them to the extent that one lens in usable condition 
was better than neither.

Even with a black eye, a split lip and that ugly-looking cut on his 
cheek, Clark was still a very attractive man. Standing not three feet 
from him, studying him, Lois was hard put to deny that truth; not 
that she really wanted to deny it, but her inner voice kept reminding 
her that, since there was absolutely no possibility of their having 
any kind of relationship at any time in the future thanks to her 
stupidity, there was absolutely no point in coming to an appreciation 
of the finer points of Clark Kent's physique. Anyway, he was all 
Linda King's now.

She was engrossed in compiling a mental inventory of all the names 
she would at one point have called Linda King when a sound in the 
corridor outside caught her attention. She stiffened, then gestured 
at Clark. She had his attention instantly. "Someone coming?" he asked 
quietly.

She nodded. "Action stations."

He gave her one brief nod in return, then he focused intently on the 
door. She flattened herself against the wall beside it.

It opened, and one fatigues-clad man strode in and down the steps. 
Before he reached the bottom step, Lois shot forward and hooked her 
leg around his. He stumbled and fell forward, and as he tried to 
regain his balance another man pushed into the room behind him.

"For crying out loud, Johnson, look where you're going!" the other 
man said angrily, then noticed Lois. He was about to make a grab for 
her when Clark thrust the metal bucket roughly over his head and 
banged it hard, at the same time giving him a hard shove in the back. 
The man stumbled and fell hard, cursing.

The first man, Johnson, was struggling to his feet, at the same time 
reaching for his gun. Lois assumed her 'on guard' position again, 
ready to throw him over her hip if he came closer. But then she 
noticed Clark behind him; he'd grabbed the second man's gun and in a 
swift movement held it to Johnson's neck. "Drop it," he said softly.

Johnson dropped his gun; Lois reached for it and, checking that the 
safety catch was on, shoved it in her pocket. "The key?" she 
demanded, at the same time glancing quickly over at the second thug. 
He was still struggling to wrench the bucket off his head and 
presented no immediate threat, she decided.

Johnson hesitated. Lois saw Clark grimace, and then he pushed the gun 
more firmly against his prisoner's neck. Lois wondered whether they 
were going to have to be more forceful still, but then Johnson slowly 
reached into his pocket and produced the key. Grabbing it, Lois 
glanced at Clark. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

Not a moment too soon; the second man, who had been momentarily 
stunned, was pulling the bucket off his head and scrambling to his feet. 
The two reporters hurried up the steps and out of the room, locking 
the door behind them.

"Which way?" Lois demanded, exchanging glances with Clark.

He shrugged. "I was pretty much out of it when they brought me down here."

"This way," she decided, turning left. "That way's the control room. 
Let's hope there's a rear entrance." And they had to hope it wasn't 
guarded, she added silently to herself.

They crept carefully along the darkened corridor; Lois noticed that 
Clark pushed past her and remained in front. Boy scout, she thought 
dryly, wondering what he would do if attack came from behind. He was 
still holding the gun he'd confiscated, but it was obvious to her 
that he wasn't comfortable with it at all. She wasn't a fan of guns 
either - in fact, she was strongly pro-gun-control - but in this 
situation she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If 
pointing a gun at someone would help them get out of there, then she 
would do it.

Her foot struck something, and it shot along the floor with a 
rattling sound. Clark turned and frowned at her, and she paused, 
heart in her mouth, listening for any sign that someone had heard. He 
grabbed at her arm and muttered, "Come on! We can't hang around."

Just then, voices could be heard from the other end of the building; 
someone said, "What the heck's keeping Johnson and Terry?"

Then Trask's voice, a little louder, barked, "Get after them and see 
what's going on!"

"Come on!" Clark urged again; she glared at his back. She *was* coming!

"You go in front," he murmured then, slipping behind her.

She knew what he was up to; muttering, "You got a death-wish or 
something?" she did as he said and hurried on. They had to be around 
the back of the building now; there was no light here at all, and she 
didn't dare look for a light-switch. They couldn't afford to let 
anyone know they were here.

"Hey!" Clark called softly. "A window."

"Yeah, but can you get it open?"

"Think so," he answered, and she could hear him fumbling with the 
catch. Endless seconds ticked past, and she was positive that anyone 
anywhere close to them could have heard her heartbeat. Any second, 
she expected Clark to turn around and demand that she breathe less 
noisily. But he didn't; and after another few moments he gave a grunt 
of satisfaction. "Okay, come here," he said.

She hurried to his side, and he held out his linked hands for her to 
step into. "Careful jumping down - we don't know how far the drop 
is," he warned.

"I know how to land," she assured him.

"If you're sure... well, just be careful. You don't know what the 
terrain is like," he cautioned.

Just then, she heard further shouts. "Johnson! Terry! What the f***'s 
going on? Why is this door locked?"

"Hurry, Clark!" she muttered urgently to him, then let herself drop 
from the windowsill.


***********

Clark heard the soft sound of Lois landing on the ground outside; 
peering intently into the darkness, he thought he could see her 
moving aside. He hoped so; he didn't want to land on top of her! Yet 
again, he found himself yearning for his Super-powers; even using 
them surreptitiously, he could get them out of this situation so much 
more easily. He'd been amazed that Lois's plan for getting them out 
of the room had worked; although he'd agreed with her that it was 
their only chance, he'd been sure that it could never work. He 
shouldn't have under-estimated Lois's courage and resourcefulness, 
however; she was even better than he'd remembered. He hadn't felt 
comfortable holding the gun to that second thug's head, but he'd had 
little choice. And anyway, although Trask's bully-boy had been 
completely unaware of the fact, he wouldn't have used it.

The shouts were getting closer now; he swung his legs over the 
windowsill and let himself drop. It wasn't too far down, and he 
landed easily, though with a painful jolt to his ribs, quickly 
regaining his balance and hurrying away. Lois was waiting for him; 
she muttered, "They brought me here by helicopter and kept my head 
covered, so I haven't a clue which way to go. Got any ideas?"

Clark momentarily considered hiding out in the woods, but dismissed 
that. Trask and his men were all army-trained; they'd be sitting 
ducks. He made a snap decision. "This way," he urged, grabbing her 
hand and striding quickly around the building. "Can you still boost a 
car? How about an army jeep?"

"Should be able to fix either," she answered, breathing heavily as 
they both pushed their way past bushes and tried to avoid stumbling 
over roots and on the rough ground.

"Good. The jeep'd be better on mountainous roads," Clark replied, 
thinking aloud. He just hoped they were able to get to it before 
Trask realised that they were outside and sent men out the front 
entrance. He still had the gun he'd stolen - and so had Lois - but he 
felt very unhappy about even carrying it. He had no wish to use it. 
He wished that there was some way of rescuing his space-craft - he 
was extremely unhappy about leaving it in Trask's possession - but he 
knew that there was absolutely no way that he'd be able to run in and 
grab it. Even if all Trask's men had deserted the main operations 
room, there was still that green rock. If he went near that again... 
Well, he couldn't take that risk.

"Come on! Over here!" he whispered suddenly, as they rounded the 
building and he saw the jeep parked outside. Running up to it, he 
tested the door and found it unlocked; he would have smashed a window 
to get into it, but this was easier. "Okay, Lois, all yours," he told 
her, stepping back. "Anything I can do?"

She was already inside the vehicle. "Just keep a look-out, okay?"

Suddenly the shouts were closer still; their escape had definitely 
been discovered, and the men were searching for them outside. Clark 
reached into his pocket and awkwardly felt the gun he'd stuffed in 
there before he'd jumped from the window. He didn't want to use it... 
but if Lois's life was in danger, if Trask and his thugs were there, 
threatening to shoot her... He didn't know what he would do. He knew 
what was right; but he also knew that he had no powers and that there 
was no way on earth he would see Lois killed if it was somehow within 
his power to save her.

"Hurry up, hurry up," he muttered agitatedly.

"I'm trying, okay?" she threw at him. "I'm good, but I'm not Superman!"

"And neither am I right now, Lois," he replied under his breath. He 
so much wished he was; then he could find a way of delaying Trask and 
his thugs, or of helping Lois surreptitiously, or if it became 
absolutely necessary, he could fly Lois out of there.

The engine spluttered into life, shattering the near-silence of the night.

"Get in, Clark!" Lois yelled at him. "They're coming!"

He threw himself into the back of the jeep as Lois shoved it into 
gear and floored the accelerator. To his shout of, "Careful - you 
don't know how these things drive over frozen earth," she threw him a 
dirty look over her shoulder.

"Look, I'm driving and I'm going to get us out of here, okay? You 
just concentrate on keeping Trask and his bully-boys away from us!"

Clark didn't want to speculate on what Lois meant by that. As she 
swung the jeep onto the road - and impressed him by controlling the 
skid which resulted - he kept his gaze fastened on the building and 
its surroundings. Suddenly running figures appeared through the 
darkness, gesticulating and shouting, and pointing guns.

"There they are! Stop them!" Jason Trask ordered.

"Keep your head down behind the head-rest, Lois!" Clark yelled as 
several fatigues-clad men aimed guns at the vehicle. He leapt down 
and crouched on the floor, hoping that none of the bullets rattling 
against the jeep hit the fuel tank. Suddenly the jeep began to swerve 
crazily over the road, and his heart went cold. They'd hit Lois!

Hoping, praying, that she was still alive and that he could help her, 
he leaned forward between the two front seats and grasped her arm. 
"Lois...? Are you okay?"

"Get down, Clark! And hang on," she yelled back at him. "I'm making 
us less of a target. If we're swerving about..."

"Okay, good thinking," he told her, withdrawing, feeling the sense of 
sheer relief overwhelm him.

Through the side window, he could see Trask and a couple of his 
associates leap into the sedan car in which he'd been brought from 
the city. "They're going to follow us," he told Lois.

"We'll lose them," she said matter-of-factly.

Raising an eyebrow, Clark commented, "You're pretty cool in a crisis. 
Anyone else I know would have been panicking long ago."

"Yeah, well, I'm not like anyone else you know," she replied dryly. 
"Hang on - I'm going to leave the road."

Well, it was an off-road vehicle, Clark mused, but he wished he was 
driving. Even though he wasn't yet back to full strength, he had more 
muscle-power in his arms than Lois. Steering a heavy off-roader along 
this kind of terrain, and at night, in circumstances when they 
couldn't even use lights, wasn't an easy task and he didn't want Lois 
to injure herself.

But she was able to control the vehicle extremely well, he realised 
very quickly.  He leaned forward between the seats again, keeping his 
head low. "You've done this before."

"Yeah, years ago. I persuaded Perry to send me on an army assault 
course, and I made them teach me how to drive these things while I 
was there," she replied without taking her eyes off the view ahead. 
"Where's Trask and his crew?"

Clark glanced behind. "Still on the road, but following."

"Yeah, well, at least they can't see us properly now," she said with 
satisfaction. "They haven't managed to hit this thing with any of 
their last eight or ten bullets."

"True,  but I guess we're lucky they only have hand-guns," Clark 
acknowledged. "If they had automatics, or even semis..."

"Yeah, well, let's just be grateful they don't!" She made a sharp 
right turn, bypassing a tree and swinging the jeep down into a 
stream, which meant that they were lower down than before.

Looking behind again, Clark saw that the sedan was also making its 
way - though with far more difficulty - over the rougher ground. It 
was having to go much more slowly, and as he watched one of the 
wheels seemed to get stuck. He could hear the engine revving and the 
wheels spinning around and around.

"You've bought us a little time," he informed Lois. "Great work!"

"We're not out of here yet," she muttered, putting on more speed.

A deafening explosion resounded from behind them in the next instant, 
and Clark whirled around to see what had happened. As he did so, Lois 
exclaimed, "Oh, my god..." and slammed on the brakes.

The car following them was on its side and in a blaze of flames. 
Instinct led Clark to fumble at the door of the jeep, until he 
remembered that he had no Super-powers and wouldn't be able to help.

"It's too late. There's no way anyone's going to get out of there 
alive," Lois said after a moment. She was right, Clark knew from his 
experience in assisting at the scene of accidents. It had been too 
late the moment the explosion had occurred.

The driver must have managed to free the trapped wheel, but then 
failed to slow down; it was clear that the car had hit a tree, and 
Clark guessed that it must have been at considerable speed. In the 
impact, the car had tipped over and the fuel tank had exploded.

"How many of them were in there?" Lois asked him after a pause.

Clark pulled himself together. "I saw three get in. There were four 
altogether outside, back there - I have no idea whether the fourth 
guy got in the car or not."

"And there's still two locked up in the room where we were," Lois calculated.

"Yeah, if they're still in there."

"Looks like we're safe," she said heavily; he glanced at her, and saw 
that she was still staring with an appalled expression at the burning 
car. "What a horrible way to go."

"Yeah." Clark slid forward until he was crouching on the front 
passenger seat. "You okay, Lois?"

She turned to look at him. "Yeah. A little shaky, but okay."


***********

Lois slumped into the seat-back, allowing her body to relax for the 
first time since they'd worked through their plan for escaping. They 
were out, and Trask could no longer harm either of them. They were 
safe.

She turned to glance at Clark. For someone who had been really sick - 
in fact, unconscious - a couple of hours earlier, and who she 
suspected had at least badly bruised ribs, he was holding up very 
well. She'd certainly caused him to be thrown around the back of the 
jeep in a manner which would have been very uncomfortable even for 
someone in the best of condition. Yet, judging by his question and 
the concern in his voice, his anxiety was for her well-being.

Guilt flooded her again. She had completely misjudged him, treated 
him shamefully, and probably destroyed his career in the process.

She was about to say something when he shifted and reached for the 
door-handle. "I guess we ought to go and see whether there's 
anything..."

It was hopeless, Lois knew, and she was aware that Clark was just as 
conscious of that as she was. But still, he was right. She inhaled 
deeply and gripped the steering-wheel again; the jeep's engine was 
still running, mainly because she couldn't cut it, having bypassed 
the ignition. "Stay where you are - we can drive back."

Taking the jeep carefully out of the stream, she turned around and 
drove it with caution back to the still-burning wreck. As she drew to 
a halt, Clark was already getting out; she hurried to join him, 
catching his arm as he drew too close to the blazing car for her 
liking. "Come on, Clark, there's nothing we can do here," she said 
quietly. "No-one could have survived that."

"No," he said heavily after a while.

"Clark, I'm as shocked as you are, but they would have *killed* us!" 
she reminded him. "And if it was us in that wreck, you imagine any of 
them would feel the slightest remorse?"

He turned to look at her then, and in the pitch darkness of after 
four o'clock in the morning, illuminated by the flames, she could see 
the agony in his expression. It hit her again at that moment: Clark 
Kent was a man who cared about his fellow human beings.

Why could she not have recognised that long ago?

"That doesn't make it right," he murmured softly, and for a moment 
she was confused; then she realised that he was referring to what 
she'd said to him moments earlier.

"I know, Clark, but that's life and that's the way this has turned 
out," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's happened, and we have to 
deal with it and move on. Which means calling the cops and getting 
out of here and home."

He inhaled deeply, then turned away from the flames. "You're right. 
Though, instead of the police, I'd prefer to call a contact of mine 
in the FBI - I talked to him a few times about Trask after what 
happened before."

Lois nodded; that made sense. She'd spoken to a couple of FBI agents 
as well around that time, and she supposed that they would be more 
efficient than the police in clearing this up - and would probably 
ask fewer questions about the dead bodies. There was only one 
problem. "You realise that if we call in the FBI we can kiss goodbye 
to any story out of this?"

Clark blinked, and she wondered whether he thought she was being 
callous to think about a story when three or four men had just been 
burned to a crisp. But he gave her a crooked smile. "*We*, Lois? I'm 
sure you already have *your* story written in your head, and I can't 
see you letting the FBI stop you!"

Oh... he meant that it wouldn't be *their* story; there would be her 
story, and his story. That thought saddened her; it was a reminder 
that, while they'd worked so effectively as a team for the last few 
hours, that was coming to an end. She would return to the Planet and 
he to the Star.

An impulse led her to stop and gaze straight at him. "Who says we 
have to do this separately? We were in this together - at least we 
could liaise on what we want to say about what happened. I think 
Perry would understand, for once."

Clark grinned suddenly, briefly. "I'm not sure Mike Lloyd would, but 
you know what? I don't care!"

She grinned back at him, delighted that they seemed to be enjoying a 
moment of accord. "Okay, let's go and make that phone call."

He swung into the jeep beside her, and she noticed that his 
expression was thoughtful. "Mind if we go back to Trask's 
headquarters to make that call? There were a couple of things I saw 
there which I want to check out again..."

Lois gave him a curious look. "You realise that one of his men could 
still be there? You said you didn't see the fourth guy get in the 
car. And we don' t know whether the other two are still locked in the 
room."

Clark hesitated, then pulled the confiscated gun from his pocket. 
"I'm willing to take that chance."

She watched him for a moment, part of her surprised at his seeming 
willingness to use the gun now, given his obvious distaste earlier. 
"Well, if it's important to you..."

"It is." His grim expression told her how much, and she shrugged.

"Okay, let's go."


***********

It was a short drive back up to Trask's hideout, although Clark 
barely noticed the passage of time. His mind was filled with images 
of burning bodies, screams, the guilt of not having been able to save 
people.

<It wasn't your fault! You had no powers - and the *reason* you have 
no powers is because Trask took them away from you with that rock 
thing!> his inner voice objected.

Clark knew that; inside, he was very well aware that there was 
absolutely nothing he could have done and so he shouldn't blame 
himself. But somehow that didn't stop the feelings of guilt and 
regret. He stole a glance at Lois at one point; intent on the road 
ahead, she wasn't looking at him, and he almost, for a moment, wished 
that he shared her sense of pragmatism and lack of guilt. But then he 
remembered that it was precisely that self-assuredness and confidence 
which had enabled her to reject him so comprehensively the morning 
after he'd shared his body with her, and had led her to blame him 
entirely for the incident.

He grimaced. No, he would not want to be like that.

Although, from what she'd said to him in the last couple of hours, 
she was regretting that very much. He was pleased about that, and 
very relieved that she'd told him she didn't blame him any more. He 
still wanted to know why she'd reacted as she had, but that could 
wait.

Now... now, he had to figure out how he was going to get his 
spaceship out of this place. It had seemed simple when he'd told Lois 
he wanted to go back: he would go in, grab the space-craft and hide 
it in the back of the jeep. There was no way he was leaving that for 
the FBI to find.

But he'd forgotten one major stumbling-block: the glowing green rock. 
That was still in there, he imagined, waiting for the arrival of 
Superman. And if he walked into that room he would get sick again. 
And that meant that, even if he could get the space-craft out of 
there, he couldn't even take it with them in the jeep because of the 
rock - and yet, there was no way that he wanted to leave that rock 
behind for anyone else to find and potentially use. That rock was 
lethal to him. He couldn't let it fall into the wrong hands again.

And yet if he came into contact with it - was even in the same room 
as it - it would cause him excruciating pain; could even kill him. 
Even the thought of it made him shiver internally; his body reacted 
as if guarding itself against the pain it had encountered once Trask 
had opened that lid.

Wait... opened the lid?

That was right, he reminded himself as Lois braked and halted the 
jeep outside the building. He hadn't felt a thing until the lid of 
the box had been opened.

So perhaps, then, if he could just get close enough to close the lid 
of that metal box, he would be okay. But he rejected that idea almost 
immediately. There was no way he'd be able to get that close without 
collapsing. Not judging by the reaction he'd had to it earlier. And 
yet he had to get that and the space-craft out of there.

Clark turned to gaze speculatively at Lois. How much could he trust her?

He answered his own question swiftly. She'd been there for Superman 
during the heatwave, and had proved his innocence. She'd then 
supported him by that article she'd written.

But that was Superman. How far would she go to protect Clark Kent? 
Okay, she felt guilty about her treatment of him, but how far would 
that last?

On the other hand, he reminded himself as he became aware of her 
staring enquiringly at him, he didn't have a lot of choice.

"Clark? Are you all right?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just thinking. We need to be sure that 
there's no-one else around before we go in." Suddenly realising that 
he was still holding the gun, he glanced down at it in repugnance. He 
didn't want to use it, even to threaten someone. He didn't even want 
to have it in his possession. But if there was a chance that even one 
of Trask's thugs was on the loose, he needed it for protection.

<To protect Lois>

Although she had the gun she'd confiscated, too; and although he was 
aware that she was no fan of widespread gun ownership and use either, 
he had a sneaking suspicion that she knew rather better than he did 
how to use one...

"I'm not sure there is," she said, answering his question and turning 
to scan the outside again. "We've been here for almost a minute, and 
the engine's been running the whole time. If there was someone here - 
if those two weren't still locked up - they'd have been out to grab 
us."

"Not necessarily," Clark replied pessimistically. "They could be 
waiting until we get out of the jeep."

Before he could stop her, Lois had thrown open her door; grabbing a 
walkie-talkie which had lain on the dashboard, she threw it out. 
Nothing happened; no doors flew open, no shots rang out.

"There's no-one here," she announced, and swung herself down to the ground.

Hurrying out and around to catch up with her, Clark made a swift 
decision. "Lois, I need you to do me a favour. Please. I'll check 
first to see that there's no-one inside, and then I want you to go 
into the control-room and go over to the strange silver-coloured 
object on the table. The top should be open. If it is, you'll see a 
metal box inside with the lid open. I need you to close that lid. 
While you do that, I'll call my FBI contact."

<And, if I'm lucky, she won't notice that I didn't follow her into 
the room until she'd closed that lid> he thought, biting his lip as 
he waited for her agreement.

She gave him a puzzled look, then nodded. "Okay."

The room was empty, Clark established, but even putting his head 
around the door made him feel dizzy. He could see the strange glow 
emitted by the object; in fact, it somehow compelled his gaze, 
seeming to call to him to come closer... come closer...

He stepped back abruptly. "It's all clear."

Lois moved past him then, and he risked another glance into the room 
a moment later. She was standing by his spaceship, touching it gently 
with her fingers as she stared at it in wonder. As he watched, she 
moved to touch the glowing green rock; he saw a very puzzled 
expression on her face, and then she reached for the lid. As it 
closed, the faint dizziness he'd been experiencing vanished.

He inhaled deeply and entered the room.

"Clark, what is this?" she asked him, clearly very intrigued. 
"There's a symbol on the front... does it belong to...?"

"I'd guess it belongs to Superman, yes," he told her quickly. "And 
that thing inside - that's what Trask thought could hurt Superman. 
And since we don't know for sure either way, it's best that it stays 
locked up."

"Oh... yes, absolutely!" Lois agreed. "Are you... should we try to 
give it back to him? I mean, I'm guessing that he'd want to have it?"

Clark nodded. "He would. And I'm also very sure that he wouldn't like 
the idea of anyone else getting their hands on it. We'll take it with 
us."

"Okay," Lois agreed. Casting one last wistful glance at the 
spaceship, she said idly, "I guess we better see what else is here. I 
want to know who Trask worked for!"

"Bureau 39," Clark answered abstractedly as he lifted the receiver of 
the old-fashioned telephone on a far wall.

"What on earth's Bureau 39? And how do you know about it?"

"I did some digging round about the time Trask threw you out of that 
plane," Clark explained carefully. "After all, he'd also tried to 
kill Superman, and I... wanted to know exactly who he was and what 
his motives were. I found Bureau 39 - it's some murky 
quasi-government outfit interested in UFOs - but that was all."

"Oh, yeah, Superman told me you're a good friend of his, so I guess 
you'd want to find out as much as you could to try to protect him," 
Lois answered pensively. Clark wondered what she was thinking; but 
then the person he was calling answered, and he had to concentrate on 
the phone call. To his relief, he noticed a map on the wall close to 
where he was standing, with the co-ordinates of their location 
marked, and so he was able to give his FBI contact the details of 
where to send the team.

When he looked around again, Lois was thumbing through some files 
which she'd found on a side table. "Anything interesting?" he asked 
her.

"Yeah," she murmured abstractedly. "This Bureau 39 you mentioned - 
all this stuff has their name on it. And Jason Trask was a real 
colonel, by the look of this - and it seems that at one point he was 
taking orders from a General Newcombe."

"That name sounds familiar," Clark commented, frowning as he crossed 
to read over Lois's shoulder.

"Yeah. Burton Newcombe. Wasn't he found dead about a month ago? 
Suspected suicide."

Clark nodded slowly, remembering the story now. A lonely widower, a 
retired general, had been found at home with a bottle of bourbon and 
an empty container of morphine-based prescription drugs. It had been 
assumed that he just hadn't been able to bear living any longer. But 
if he was associated with Bureau 39 and Trask, could there be more to 
the story? He knew his investigative hackles were rising, and he knew 
even without looking at her that Lois felt the same.

If only they could pursue it together...

But that wasn't possible, so he made himself focus on the task at 
hand. "We've got about twenty minutes before our FBI friends arrive," 
he told her briskly. "I'm guessing you don't want to be here then? I 
know I don't."

She turned away from the folders. "You guess right. How much of this 
stuff can we take with us?"

He grimaced. "Not a lot, unless you want to have federal agents turn 
your apartment over later today."

"Okay, so shove these inside your overcoat," she ordered him, 
thrusting several documents at him.

Clark raised an eyebrow, but did as she requested. At the same time, 
he wondered whether she saw those documents as being part of the 
story of their kidnap, which they'd agreed they would work on 
together - and he knew that co-operation would necessarily be 
limited, since their employing newspapers were commercial rivals - or 
whether she was expecting him to guard *her* evidence and hand it 
straight back to her afterwards.

"We need to get out of here," he said abruptly. "I'm just going to 
check that those two guys we locked in are okay, then I'm ready to 
go."

Lois frowned at him. "You're not going to let them out?"

He shook his head. "No. We'll leave them there - but hey, write a 
note for the FBI agents, would you? Just to let them know."

Checking on Trask's men didn't take long; they made their presence 
felt, loudly, as soon as he banged on the door, demanding to be 
released instantly. He refused firmly, informing them that they would 
be freed within half an hour by the authorities. It was clear that 
his was a voice they hadn't expected to hear; his words were followed 
by loud demands to know where Trask was. Clark didn't quite feel 
himself equal to answering that question, however, and he reminded 
them that they would be released in due course, before leaving.

When he returned to the main room, he found Lois gone; the spaceship 
was also missing. He felt a momentary panic, before telling himself 
that she'd no doubt taken it out to the jeep. He was about to leave, 
when he remembered something; reaching inside his overcoat pocket 
again, he pulled out the gun and carefully laid it on the table, 
having first wiped it all over with the hem of his coat. This was one 
souvenir he was happy to leave behind.

He was suddenly reminded of the state of his glasses, and removed 
them, idly knocking out the shattered remains of the left-hand lens. 
Tempted to leave them off - after all, they were only plain glass - 
his inner sense of caution advised against it. Sure, his face was 
bruised and he probably had a black eye, so there was little chance 
that Lois would recognise him as Superman at the moment, but it was 
still unwise to take any unnecessary risks. And anyway, she would no 
doubt question how he could see properly without glasses.

He had, of course, got away with it the night they'd slept together; 
at some late stage in the proceedings his glasses had got in the way 
and one of them had removed them; she'd been too engrossed in kissing 
and touching him to look at his face properly. And afterwards they'd 
both fallen asleep; and when he'd wakened in the morning, his face 
had been buried in his pillow and Lois had been in the shower.

He paused for a moment as he replaced the glasses, assessing his 
state of health. To his relief, he no longer felt dizzy, and his ribs 
didn't hurt as much as they had earlier. Maybe the effect of that 
rock was wearing off; he concentrated momentarily to see whether 
there was any sign of his Super-hearing coming back.

Nothing. He was still without powers, even though the sickness had 
worn off. Maybe the effect of this thing was permanent, in that 
respect. Maybe Superman really was gone for good.

And if he was, how did Clark feel about that?

He thought about that for a moment, and realised that the only word 
he could find to describe what he was feeling was... numb.

For almost all his life, he'd known that he was different. That he 
could do things which no-one else could. That he had to hide those 
differences from other people, so that no-one realised that Clark 
Kent, son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, was not quite the ordinary 
farmer's son he appeared to be.

There had been many times when he'd wished he hadn't been different - 
that he was *normal*. Normal would mean that he was just like every 
other guy. Normal would mean that he didn't have to hide, didn't have 
to come up with excuses as to why he could do things, didn't have to 
pretend to be human, with normal human limitations. And yet, having 
Super-powers was special too. He'd enjoyed being able to do things at 
Super-speed; and the day he'd discovered he could fly had been the 
most wonderful day of his life.

Until he'd thought that he and Lois were starting a relationship... 
but he pushed that thought away.

How did he feel about the prospect of a life without Super-powers? A 
life in which he would be *normal* - just like any other guy? No more 
Super-speed; no more flying; no more Super-hearing; no more saving 
people. How did he feel about being plain Clark Kent from Kansas, who 
could be hurt, who could get sick, who could even be killed; for the 
rest of his life?

Numb.

And yet he'd contemplated giving up being Superman only a bare month 
earlier. When the entire city - well, almost the entire city - had 
thought he was responsible for the heatwave. He'd thought, then, that 
it would be an enormous sacrifice - all those people whose cries he 
would hear, but whom he could never save. But he'd decided to do it, 
because he'd thought a greater good would be served.

<Yeah. And you were incredibly relieved when Lois proved you innocent 
and you could be Superman again>

And now, all of what made him Superman had been ripped away from him 
completely without warning. He was nothing more than any ordinary 
man. Not that there was anything *wrong* with being an ordinary 
man... it was just that he had never *been* ordinary.

And now he was.

And he felt numb.

Pulling the door shut behind him as he left the building, he went to 
join Lois at the jeep.


***********

Lois had just finished wedging the spaceship carefully in the back of 
the jeep when she heard a soft tread behind her. Glancing back, she 
saw Clark, looking at her somewhat owlishly through his broken 
glasses. She noticed that he'd removed the shattered glass from the 
broken lens, and wondered how well he could see.

"Ready to go?" he asked her briskly.

"Sure."

"I'll drive," he offered, heading for the driver's seat. Surprised, 
she frowned at him in response.

"Clark, only a couple of hours ago you were really sick! And you're 
hurt, and you probably can't see properly!"

"I'm not too bad now," he assured her, and she studied him as much as 
was possible in the early-morning darkness. He did look better; 
certainly less likely to keel over, she thought, and he didn't act 
like someone with a couple of possibly-broken ribs either. And she 
was feeling very weary all of a sudden.

"Okay," she agreed abruptly, and went around to the passenger seat. 
As soon as she slammed her door, he moved the jeep off, turning onto 
the road leading down off the mountain. Glancing at Clark, she 
frowned. "Can you see properly? I mean, with one lens..."

He threw her a quick smile which she could just make out in the dim 
interior. "Sure, I can see fine. Don't worry, I'll get us home 
safely."

An awkward silence descended inside the jeep then; Lois, shrinking 
into the far corner of the passenger side, found herself wishing that 
she'd suggested she stay to deal with the FBI. But Clark had been 
right; they didn't want to be any part of a Federal investigation. 
Not at this point. If agents came to track them down later, that was 
a different matter; by then, they should have written up whatever 
story they wanted to write, instead of being ordered under some sort 
of government order to stay silent.

The awkwardness of the silence, she realised uncomfortably, was all 
down to her guilty conscience. She'd told Clark earlier, when he'd 
asked her 'why', that she would explain all later, once they were out 
and safe. Well, 'later' had just arrived. And Clark was entitled to 
his answer. He hadn't said anything, but she could guess from his 
silence that he was waiting for her to talk to him.

For a moment, she considered taking the easy way out, telling him 
that she couldn't talk about it, it was too difficult or too painful. 
But she dismissed that instantly. She'd been so unfair to Clark for 
so long; she'd had sex with him and then rejected him quite brutally, 
and to add insult to injury had blamed it all on him.

She owed him his pound of flesh. And it was time to deliver. She 
would eat as much humble pie as he wanted her to; that was only fair. 
And then she would tell him again that she was sorry, and then say 
goodbye and wish him well for the future. After all, once they got 
back to the city he'd be only too happy to be rid of her. Of course 
he would. After all, it wasn't as if they were *friends*, was it? 
Just two people, one of whom had wronged the other appallingly, who 
had come together in adversity and worked as a team out of necessity, 
in order to save their lives. They would naturally go their separate 
ways once they got back to the city. Okay, he'd talked about them 
possibly working together to decide what they would say about 
tonight's incident, but perhaps he hadn't really meant it. Or else 
he'd just meant that they could agree something quickly en route back 
to Metropolis. Either way, it certainly didn't suggest that he'd ever 
want to see her again once this nightmare experience was over.

If only... if only she hadn't just begun to realise what a darned 
nice guy Clark Kent really was, she thought miserably.

Before the silence could move from being merely awkward to being 
oppressive, Lois grasped her courage firmly between both hands and, 
refusing to face her companion, spoke hesitantly. "Clark?"

"Yeah, Lois?" He sounded a little distracted; concentrating on 
driving, she assumed. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. 
Maybe it would be best if she just sat there and didn't say a word. 
After all, he really didn't want to have this kind of difficult 
conversation here, surely? He probably wasn't even interested in her 
explanation anyway...

But that wasn't fair. She took a deep breath, then willed herself to 
look at him. He was focusing intently on the dark, winding road 
ahead; the jeep's faint lights didn't seem to make a great deal of 
difference. Okay, she had to do this. "You asked me a question 
earlier, and I said I'd answer it..."

"After we got out of there, yeah," he finished for her. "I remember."

She swallowed, finding a large lump in her throat which refused to go 
away. Did he really want an explanation?

"Why, Lois?" he asked her, right on cue.

Did he just want his pound of flesh?

She felt his gaze on her, and turned to give him a wary look. But his 
expression was uncertain, awkward, as if he too was finding this 
difficult. "I just need to know, Lois," he told her quietly. "I need 
to understand... what did I do? What did I say?"

Suddenly his reason for wanting an explanation dawned on her. She 
hadn't just offended him by her behaviour: she had hurt him really 
badly. His ego had clearly suffered quite a knock. And, while that 
realisation wouldn't have bothered her one whit some weeks earlier, 
now she knew that Clark Kent was not the egotistical, over-confident 
guy she'd imagined him to be. He was shy, in a way; he might well be 
confident and outgoing professionally, but on a personal level he 
seemed to lack confidence.

And, of course, when he'd slept with her it had been his first time - 
and given how much emphasis men tended to place on sexual 
performance, her behaviour the following morning had no doubt shaken 
his self-confidence pretty badly. And there was something else, too - 
if he'd waited that long to have his first sexual experience, there 
had to have been a reason. He'd obviously been waiting for someone 
special - he'd never seemed the religious type, from what she could 
tell - and she'd taken away that special time from him forever. He 
couldn't get that back. And that was yet another crime to lay at her 
door.

She was a total bitch.

She grimaced, and tried to reassure him. "It wasn't you, Clark. I 
know what I said - but really, it wasn't you."

"I just find that hard to believe," he replied after a moment, his 
voice heavy. "I mean, come on, Lois! I was a... a virgin - of course 
I didn't have a clue what I was doing!"

"You... didn't seem inexperienced," she answered quickly. "I'd never 
have guessed."

"Yeah, well..." he began, before trailing off a little uncomfortably. 
He swallowed audibly, then spoke again, not even glancing at her, and 
seeming to choose his words carefully. "Lois... I'm not trying to... 
well, to rub it in that you got my motives wrong. It's just that... 
well, I've spent the last three months wondering what the heck I did 
that was so wrong, just why you were so disgusted at the thought that 
you'd gone to bed with me. It... well, the knowledge that you'd found 
going to bed with me so... so revolting - it made me feel dirty, 
Lois."

While blushing at his direct reference to what they'd done together, 
Lois could tell, by the tone of voice in which he'd spoken as well as 
Clark's obvious embarrassment, that he wasn't out to increase her 
sense of guilt. Regardless of that, every word he spoke seemed to 
flay her with increasing ferocity. It struck her then that by leading 
him to believe that she'd have an abortion rather than carry his baby 
she'd given him yet another reason to believe that he'd disgusted 
her; her threat had suggested that his inexpert lovemaking had made 
her so sickened that the thought of becoming pregnant by him was far 
more dreadful than her worst nightmare.

"It was nothing you did, Clark," she reiterated miserably. "In fact, 
I... um, it was good. Umm... yeah, it was good." She swallowed again, 
embarrassment flooding her, then forced herself to continue. "I know 
I accused you of doing all sorts of things - of getting me drunk, 
seducing me - but I knew all along that I was the one who'd set the 
pace. I just wouldn't let myself admit it, and I hid behind the 
excuse that you'd set out to get me drunk. I was lying to myself 
every bit as much as I was to you." She swallowed, struggling to get 
rid of the huge lump in her throat. "I know 'sorry' is totally 
inadequate, but I do mean it."

She felt his gaze on her again, albeit briefly. "I know you mean it, 
Lois. I'm not asking you for endless apologies. Like I said, I really 
just need to understand why - what I did, if I did anything wrong. 
Why did you need to lie about what happened?"

Lois bit her lip, wondering where to start; how to explain so that he 
wouldn't think that she was a horrible, man-hating witch. Her dilemma 
was made more difficult still by the fact that she was still trying 
to understand her own behaviour herself.

After a pause which, to her, was beginning to feel uncomfortable 
again, she spoke hesitantly. "I... guess I've just had some bad 
experiences with men, Clark. And I... judged you by them."

"What happened?" His question was softly-voiced.

She shrugged uncomfortably. "I... think I just have a habit of 
getting entangled with the wrong guys - guys who don't want me for 
myself, but for what they can get out of me. My father always used to 
tell me I had lousy judgement in men - he never thought much of any 
of the guys I dated when I was at school." She fell silent for a 
moment, remembering her father's scathing comments on 'losers', 
'jocks with no ambition' and guys who only wanted to date her because 
her father was a well-paid doctor and the Lane girls were never short 
of the usual teenage 'must-have' consumer goods.

"I remember that story Perry put you on a while back," Clark replied 
after a moment, his voice sounding thoughtful. "From what I could 
figure out, you were mad at him because it meant you had to interview 
your father for it - I thought you just didn't want to have to use 
family contacts for a story, but then something someone said made me 
wonder if it was more than that."

Lois nodded. "My father and I have... a difficult relationship. I 
guess I finally got tired of always trying to be what he wanted, and 
never succeeding."

"He set high standards? Lois, I can't believe - I mean, I've never 
met anyone who's more of a perfectionist than you when it comes to 
work!"

"It wasn't like that. It's just... well, I never seemed to be good 
enough for him," Lois muttered miserably. "It wasn't bad enough that 
I wasn't a boy like he wanted, but I had no interest in going into 
medicine like him. So I probably disappointed him too."

"I don't understand that," Clark answered immediately. "You're smart, 
successful, pretty - what more could he have wanted in a daughter?!"

"Someone who always got 100% on a test, and not 98%," she told him 
dryly. " 'That leaves two points for improvement, Lois'!" she quoted 
at him. Before he could answer - she didn't want platitudes aimed at 
reassuring her that of course her father loved her - she rushed into 
speech again. "Anyway, that's not answering your question, Clark.  He 
always said I have bad judgement in guys, and that seems to be true."

She paused for a moment, wincing at the memory of her first serious 
boyfriend. He'd been a college contemporary, and she'd been 
absolutely crazy about him, thinking he felt the same way. "The first 
was Chris," she said tonelessly. "I was crazy about him for a whole 
semester before he even noticed I existed. We had some classes 
together, and I used to offer to study with him, give him my notes 
when he missed a class, help him with his assignments... and then 
finally he asked me out. I thought I was in love - I'd have done 
anything he wanted. The night before mid-terms, we were revising 
round at his place, and he asked me to go to bed with him. I... well, 
he said he loved me, and I wanted him - I wanted to know what my 
friends all thought was so wonderful."

Lois swallowed hard. "It hurt. And after, he just rolled over and 
went to sleep. And in the morning, he threw me out. He... he told me 
I was useless, frigid, that he'd only slept with me because I was 
begging for it, and that he didn't want me hanging around him any 
more." She inhaled deeply, a long, shuddering breath. "And I was so 
shattered that I couldn't think straight in the exams, and I almost 
failed. While he -" She stopped briefly, bile rising in her throat at 
the memory. "He sailed through. Thanks to all my help, of course," 
she finished bitterly. "He was too lazy to do a proper study plan 
himself, and I'd put together all his notes for him."

She thought she could hear Clark mutter something uncomplimentary 
under his breath; then a moment later he said, in a more normal 
voice, "That's rough, Lois. But not all guys are like him."

"I know," she acknowledged. Well, at least, she did now - she was 
sharing this old jeep with the one decent guy she'd ever met. "And I 
tried to put him from my mind, and in my final year I met a guy I 
wanted to try again with. Paul... He was the editor of the college 
paper, and I was a reporter. I worked my *butt* off, Clark! I kept 
bringing in great stories, but he never seemed to notice me. Until I 
got a real scoop - I slaved over it, confident that he'd finally see 
that I was a great reporter and the woman he wanted to be with. 
But..." She hesitated suddenly, remembering that Linda King worked 
with Clark and was possibly more than just a co-worker. There was no 
way that she could allow herself to wreck his second chance at a 
relationship - if he loved Linda King, she wasn't going to 
disillusion him about her. Anyway, for all Lois knew, Linda could 
have regretted that long-ago incident.

"But?" Clark prompted.

"But my room-mate was also interested in him, though I never knew. 
She was a journalism student too - she stole my story and took it to 
him, and she went to bed with him. He took her to the graduation 
ball," she finished sourly.

"That was unlucky," Clark agreed, "though it sounds like it was more 
your room-mate's fault than this Paul's. Maybe he didn't know how you 
felt about him?"

She shrugged. "I think he did, but he didn't care. Well, maybe guys 
just aren't interested in me in that way."

Clark was silent in response to that, and Lois wondered whether she'd 
sounded self-pitying. That certainly hadn't been her intention, but 
it was proving even more difficult than she'd imagined to explain to 
him exactly what had given her such a cynical view of men. She wasn't 
finished yet, though; she still had to tell him about the worst 
betrayal - but then she remembered another intense conversation, on 
an earlier occasion when the two of them had been prisoners, waiting 
to die.

"I told you about the worst one," she said abruptly. "Claude. The 
reporter at the Planet. I thought I was in love with him too, but it 
wasn't really love, of course. He was... very charming, very 
persuasive. And good-looking, and he seemed to like me a lot too... I 
thought he was serious about me - about us."

"This is the guy who seduced you, and then stole your story, wrote it 
under his by-line and got an award for it?" Clark asked, his voice 
again soft.

"Yeah, that's him. Though why I should have imagined that he could 
really want *me* -" she began bitterly, before stopping herself. 
"Yes, Claude stole my story, and then walked out on me and told 
everyone at the Planet that I was a pathetic slut who couldn't 
satisfy any man in bed," she finished, hating herself for still 
letting the memory of his betrayal hurt her even now.

"Thus confirming your view that all men are only out for one thing, 
and devious to boot," Clark added, a harsh note to his voice.

Put like that, Lois could certainly see why he was angry. She'd 
judged him on the basis of her past experience with men, without 
waiting to find out whether he was different. She'd asked no 
questions, just leapt to a conclusion and made him suffer for it.

"I know now you're not like that," she told him, her voice miserable. 
"I made a big mistake where you're concerned."

He was silent for a long time, and she finally ventured a glance over 
at him. A tiny muscle was jerking in his jaw, but to all intents and 
purposes he was concentrating on the narrow, winding road ahead. Then 
he seemed to sense her gaze on him, and he braked carefully, bringing 
the jeep to a halt.

Turning in his seat, he watched her for a moment, his expression - 
much to her surprise - actually sympathetic. "Lois, I feel bad that 
you've been betrayed by just about every man you've ever allowed 
yourself to care for. But I feel far worse about what it's done to 
you as a person."

"What do you mean?" she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

He breathed deeply, looking uncomfortable for a moment. "Lois, have 
you ever thought that the way you behaved to me is kind of like the 
way you expect men to treat you?"

That stung; she was about to fly into angry speech, denying every 
word of what he'd said, until she made herself stop and think about 
it for a moment. Just how had she treated Clark? They'd gone to bed 
together... and *she* had led him every step of the way. And then 
she'd walked out on him the morning after, having no doubt made him 
feel very small indeed as a result of what she'd said to him. She 
knew how she had felt once she'd realised what Claude had done to 
her, how he'd betrayed her; for the first time, she recognised that 
she had probably made Clark feel exactly like that.

"Am I really that bad?" she asked, in a small voice, knowing she 
sounded pathetic but unable to help it. She already knew the answer. 
"Of course I am. I seduced you. Then I rejected you. And, okay, I 
didn't steal your story, but I made you quit the Planet. I destroyed 
your career. And all because I got scared the morning after..." She 
swallowed again, this time unable to hold back the tears.

Clark didn't speak immediately; instead, he offered her his 
handkerchief for the second time that night and waited until she'd 
blotted her tears. "We both made mistakes that night, Lois. What 
happened - us ending up in bed together - wasn't only your fault, and 
it wasn't only mine. I shouldn't have opened that second bottle of 
wine. I shouldn't have taken you up on your challenge. And I 
shouldn't have made love to you without protection."

"We're both adults, Clark," Lois pointed out. "I didn't have to drink 
so much. I didn't have to issue that challenge - or insist that you 
follow through on it. And I certainly should have stopped you and 
asked about protection. But that's not the real issue here, is it?"

He shook his head. "Anyone can change their mind the morning after, 
Lois. And I honestly wouldn't have minded - well, I guess I'd have 
been hurt, but I could have dealt with it - if you'd just said you 
thought we'd made a mistake. But you didn't."

"I didn't," she agreed. "Instead, I made you feel lower than a 
cockroach, in the scale of evolution, didn't I?"

"Well, yeah," he agreed. "But, Lois, I'm not trying to make you feel 
bad about that here. I already know you feel bad about it. I guess 
I... well, I want you to stop and think, before you do something like 
that to some other guy, and realise just what you're letting yourself 
become." His voice was gentle, holding a note of caring which Lois 
recognised with shock. This was yet more evidence that Clark Kent was 
nothing like any other man she'd ever known. He was forcing her to 
face some hard truths, but he was doing it because he thought she 
needed to understand her own behaviour, not because he wanted to 
punish her. His attitude told her that he wasn't holding what she'd 
done against her; in so far as anyone could forgive what she'd done 
to him, he had forgiven her.

She had demonised Clark in her mind for so long that, over the past 
couple of hours, it had felt as if scales had fallen from her eyes. 
The picture she had built up of a conscienceless, selfish seducer was 
just that - a picture. A false image. Clark Kent the man was nothing 
like that, but she'd allowed her own stupid prejudices to prevent 
herself seeing the truth about him.

"I already figured out, a few weeks ago, that I'm... well, I've been 
selfish and thoughtless for far too long," she told him miserably. 
"But I'm trying to do something about that now..."

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you really need to accept 
responsibility for your own actions, Lois," he told her, his body 
language suggesting that he was choosing his words carefully. "Yeah, 
we both made mistakes. But..."

"But I tried to pretend I'd done nothing wrong," she acknowledged. 
"And I almost destroyed your career as a result." She halted suddenly 
as a horrible realisation dawned on her. "My god, Clark! I've become 
as bad as Claude! I treated you the way he treated me - the way the 
other guys who hurt me treated me. I've become just like them, and I 
never even saw it." She covered her face with her hands, unable to 
meet his questioning gaze any longer. "I'm just a totally horrible 
person!"

Suddenly his hands were on her wrists, gently pulling her hands away 
from her face and forcing her to look at him again. "You're not, 
Lois. You've got so much going for you! You're a brilliant 
journalist, you've won awards, you're really intelligent. You're also 
beautiful, though sometimes I wonder if you know it. You're staunchly 
loyal to your friends - I happen to know that Superman's very 
grateful to you for everything you did for him a few weeks ago. And 
you're the most resourceful person I've ever met. If it hadn't been 
for you, we wouldn't have got out of that situation alive. And you 
looked after me when I was sick. You are a really great person, Lois 
Lane - I just don't know why you can't see it!"

She stared at him in disbelief. "I don't know how you can say that, 
Clark - after everything I did to you!"

He gave her a wry smile. "No-one's all bad, Lois. And although some 
of what happened still hurt, I'd kind of recovered from the worst of 
it a while ago. And..." He paused, and his grasp tightened on her 
hands. "You apologised, Lois. I was brutal to you when I first woke 
up and saw you - you could have refused to say anything to me after 
that. But you apologised, and you told me you knew I hadn't done what 
you'd accused me of. That made a huge difference. And, you know, I 
really admire you for doing that."

"You do?" The words emerged almost breathlessly, but she didn't care.

"That took courage, Lois. And lots of people wouldn't even have tried."

"I left it long enough," she countered, refusing to accept the credit.

"That meant it took even more courage." He squeezed her hands, gazing 
intently at her; the look in his eyes, which she could just see in 
the dim interior lit by the vehicle's instruments, was kind. "Lois, I 
don't want to tell you to forget about it, because I don't want you 
ever to forget and fall into a pattern of being a female version of 
every guy who's ever betrayed you."

She understood what he was saying. He was making it clear that he no 
longer held what she'd done against her, but he wanted her to learn 
from the experience. That wasn't difficult, she thought with dark 
humour; she didn't think any experience had ever affected her quite 
so much as sleeping with Clark Kent and its aftermath.

"Trust me, that won't happen." Her voice sounded rusty; the effort of 
holding back the tears and forcing the lump back down her throat was 
making it difficult to speak. "And... thank you, Clark."

To her surprise, he smiled; it was the wide, friendly, caring smile 
she'd seen him use on several occasions while he'd worked at the 
Planet, and even once or twice that evening at his apartment. It 
warmed her, making her begin to think that perhaps he meant what he'd 
said; that there was some good in her even in spite of what she'd 
done to him.

"Come on, let's go home," he told her, taking the handbrake off and 
recommencing the long drive back to the city.


************

Clark was glad of the silence which descended in the jeep after that 
long and emotionally-draining conversation. He'd had no idea that 
Lois was so insecure on a personal level; the Lois he'd known and 
worked with at the Planet had always seemed to be highly confident 
and self-assured. The discovery that she believed herself to be 
inadequate in any way - and in particular, in relation to her own 
desirability - had amazed him. In addition to the other things he'd 
said to her, he'd wanted to tell her that she *was* desirable, and 
that she was pretty darned fantastic in bed - but he'd reminded 
himself just in time that, since she wasn't attracted to him, she 
wouldn't be interested in knowing that he found her desirable. And he 
had to admit that an assertion that she was a great lover would be 
less than worthless coming from almost-a-virgin Clark Kent. He didn't 
have anyone to compare her with - not that he wanted to have - so 
that wasn't going to reassure her at all.

He hadn't missed her description of their night together as 'good'; 
he couldn't help wondering, though, whether she'd just said that to 
make him feel better about his inexpert performance. Perhaps she'd 
realised just how much that had bothered him... no, what was he 
thinking? Of course she'd realised! It was nice of her to say so, 
even if she hadn't meant it, he decided.

It was an enormous weight off his mind, however, to know that he 
actually hadn't done anything wrong apart from those things he 
already blamed himself for. She didn't think that he'd deliberately 
plied her with wine in order to seduce her. Her earlier comment, 
about alcohol or drinking or something along those lines being her 
'fatal flaw', came back to him then, and he wondered what she'd meant 
by it. Had she had too much to drink before any of the previous 
encounters she'd mentioned? But he didn't want to ask her about it 
now. She'd had enough soul-searching for the moment, and he didn't 
want to cause her any more distress.

Clark couldn't help but feel guilty about having distressed her so 
much already, although he told himself that he had needed her to tell 
him the truth about what had happened and why. For all sorts of 
reasons, he'd needed to know. And once she had told him, it had been 
apparent to him that she was in danger of getting into what was 
frequently considered the typical abusers' cycle: those who abuse 
others, in whatever way, are frequently themselves victims of abuse. 
There was no denying that Lois had been extremely unlucky in the men 
she'd known and had relationships with; they had treated her 
appallingly, and what she'd told him had made him very angry indeed. 
Ironically, the worst of his anger was reserved, not for Claude or 
for that first lover who had told Lois she was frigid and useless in 
bed, but for her father, whose careless scorn had, he guessed, caused 
her to undervalue herself. And he'd convinced her that her own 
judgement in men was terrible, thus, he suspected, leading her to 
rely on past experience as a guide, rather than her own instinct 
about the man she was with at any time.

Without that lesson from her father, Lois might have been more 
inclined to realise that *he* wasn't another Claude.

He knew he'd spoken harshly to her in suggesting that she re-evaluate 
her behaviour and be ready to accept blame for her actions. He 
certainly hadn't enjoyed doing it. But he'd had enough lectures on 
considerate behaviour from his own parents to be able to recognise 
just what Lois's refusal to acknowledge her own responsibility was in 
danger of doing to her. And he felt that she'd understood his point 
without thinking that he was lecturing or being patronising; at 
least, he hoped so.

He'd meant what he'd said to her about her apology and explanation. 
Much though he'd wanted to know why she'd behaved as she had, and 
much as the apology was important to him, he hadn't actually expected 
her heartfelt confession just now. He'd have been more than happy 
with her - clearly sincere - apology earlier. But he now understood 
Lois a lot better, and he admired her for her courage in talking to 
him. After all, since she barely knew him, she could have anticipated 
that he'd be angry with her, or just plain unpleasant; she'd ignored 
that possibility and opened her heart to him.

Even if they did part company once they were back in the city, he 
knew that from now on he would consider Lois Lane his friend. Even 
without that strange connection which seemed to draw him to her, he 
*liked* her. But now, he suspected that she was very unsure of 
herself where he was concerned, and he needed to do something to 
reassure her that he really had forgiven her for what she'd done. 
Apart from anything else, as he'd tried to tell her, part of the 
blame for their precipitate bout of passion was undoubtedly his.

Finally, they were out of the mountains and heading for a state 
highway; visibility was better here, and the road was of a better 
quality, which meant that he wasn't having to concentrate so much. 
Glancing quickly at Lois, he saw that she was staring down at her 
hands, which were clenched around the hem of her jacket. "Hey," he 
said in a deliberately upbeat tone. "How are you doing? I guess 
you're tired, huh?"

She gave him a surprised but grateful smile. "Yeah, I am - but you 
must be too! That was a horrible drive." She hesitated for a moment, 
then offered, "You want me to take over for the rest of the journey?"

He shook his head. "I think I've got my second wind or something. I 
feel okay, anyway." He did; although he had no powers now, he'd 
recovered very quickly from his injuries and although he was pretty 
sure that he'd sleep well once he finally reached his bed, he didn't 
feel anything like as weary as he had earlier, when they'd still been 
imprisoned in Trask's headquarters.

"Um... that's good," Lois answered, sounding a little abstracted. 
Then, to his surprise, she asked, "What's it like, working at the 
Star?"

He shrugged, reluctant to tell her his true feelings about his 
current employer, or about Mike Lloyd's editorship. She seemed to 
feel guilty enough about causing the rift which had ultimately led to 
his quitting the Planet without his adding to her pain by telling her 
that he really didn't like working at the Star. "It's okay. It's not 
the Planet, sure, but it's still a good paper."

"Okay?" she repeated.

He grimaced. "Well, at first it was a bit of a culture-shock, but 
things have been better lately."

"I saw that article about Superman your editor butchered," Lois said 
abruptly. "Superman told me what had happened to it. You must have 
been furious!"

"I was," he admitted. "And mainly because I was afraid that people 
who knew me would think that was really my own opinion. I had a huge 
fight with him about it - I think it might have helped, actually, 
because he realised I wasn't going to let him do something like that 
again. I'd have quit if he had, no doubt at all."

"Well, he wouldn't want to lose someone like you," Lois surprised him 
by remarking.

"You think?" He let his amazement show.

"Of course! Clark, you're far and away the best writer the Star has. 
And you get far more Superman exclusives than anyone else in the city 
apart from me - he needs you for that alone. But apart from that, 
you've had some pretty terrific stories in the last couple of months. 
That human-interest piece from outside the courtroom the day Superman 
was ordered to leave town was incredible. And your story on 
Congressman Harrington made us all jealous at the Planet."

Clark could barely believe what he was hearing; all the time he'd 
been at the Planet, Lois had alternated between contempt and grudging 
acceptance as far as his reporting and writing was concerned. Now, 
she was praising him in terms which, as far as he knew, he'd never 
heard her use about anyone else before. "That's kind of you, Lois, 
but you don't need to make me feel good about my work - "

"Out of guilt, you mean, Clark?" she interrupted him, an edge to her 
voice. "I'm not. I was paying you a compliment because I *meant* it. 
You're a great reporter, and it shows. It's just a pity that you're 
working for the wrong newspaper. And before you say it, I know that's 
all my fault too."

"That's not your fault, Lois," Clark insisted immediately. "I handed 
in my notice all by myself - just like I was rude to you all by 
myself in that newsroom conference. I shouldn't have said what I did. 
That's not how I normally behave, and that was why I resigned. I was 
unprofessional."

"So was I, Clark," she told him quietly. "But you were the one who quit."

"Because you'd been there longer," he pointed out. "Anyway, that's 
not important now. It's not as if I was unemployed or anything - I 
went straight from the Planet to the Star, so you don't have to think 
you 'destroyed my career'. You didn't, trust me." He knew that he was 
dissimulating here; after all, the Star certainly was not the Planet, 
and he'd wished many times over the past couple of months that he was 
back at the Planet. However, he'd wished that a little less often 
lately, now that he was allowed a little more independence through 
being partnered with Linda, and in any case he figured that he'd 
given Lois enough cause to tear herself apart with guilt for one day.

She glanced at him briefly, then said, "I saw you with Linda King recently."

Raising an eyebrow in curious surprise, he said lightly, "She's my 
partner - you hadn't heard? We were teamed up about three weeks ago."

"Oh?" It was clear she hadn't known. "You like working with her?"

"Linda's a good reporter," Clark answered easily. "And it's great to 
be working with someone on meaty investigations again. She's fun to 
work with, and she's pretty intelligent too. Yeah, I like working 
with her." A thought struck him then, and he asked, "You know her? 
Apart from just seeing her around the Metropolis beat, I mean?"

"Yeah - we were at college together," Lois told him, to his surprise.

"And did you get along? Funny, I've never heard her mention you, and 
she knows I was at the Planet before moving to the Star."

Lois shrugged. "Well, it's ancient history now, but... well, not really."

Clark was about to ask her for an explanation, when something 
occurred to him. Lois had mentioned a friend - a room-mate - who was 
also a journalism student and who had stolen her story. He wondered 
whether that could have been Linda. It was possible, he realised. 
Although if that was the case, why didn't Lois tell him?

Then he answered his own question: he'd just told her that Linda was 
his partner and that he liked working with her. He could imagine, 
especially as she was already suffering from an overload of guilt, 
that Lois had simply decided not to shatter his illusions about his 
new colleague.

"That day I saw you... I wondered if you were dating," Lois ventured 
awkwardly then.

He stared at her, before remembering to return his attention to the 
road ahead. "Dating? No! We're just partners, Lois." He hesitated 
then, unsure whether to tell her about Linda's hints; it seemed to 
him to be a very egotistical thing to do, as well as possibly being 
unfair to Linda. Deciding against it, he simply added, "We work 
together, Lois. We get along pretty well. And she's a good reporter, 
like I said."

"Better than - ?' Lois began, breaking off abruptly. He shot her a 
quick glance and noticed that she was blushing.

"You need to ask?" he enquired, incredulous. "You're the best, and 
everyone knows it."

"I wasn't good to work with, though," she told him with a rueful 
grimace, sounding unhappy again.

He gave her a quick, teasing smile. "I wouldn't necessarily say that, 
Lois - working with you definitely had its moments."

"Oh yeah, like the time I called you a hack from Nowheresville, 
sure!" she reminded him dryly.

"And the time we cracked the Messenger sabotage," he pointed out. 
"That was great team-work."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" She sounded pleased that he'd remembered 
it. "You know, you were the only person I've ever been able to stand 
working with. Perry never bothered to team me up with anyone else 
after you left."

Now, that surprised him - not that she hadn't worked with anyone else 
since; he was aware of that from reading her work. But her admission 
that she'd found him a worthy partner was certainly a major shock to 
his system. And it yet again made him wish that, somehow, he could 
turn the clock back three months, so that he could ensure that *that* 
fateful night had never happened.

But it had happened, and it was too late for regrets or for turning 
back the clock. They had made their bed - quite literally, as it 
happened - and they would have to lie on it. Just not together, he 
reflected sadly, realising, as he mentally finished that old saying, 
that he was every bit as attracted to Lois Lane as ever.


************

It was an hour before dawn when they reached the edge of the city. As 
they approached a major junction, Clark turned to Lois and said, 
"Okay, where to?"

"Huh?" They'd travelled in silence for about the last fifteen 
minutes, although unlike earlier it had not been an uncomfortable 
silence in any respect. Lois had almost, but not quite, dropped off 
to sleep, and Clark's question took her by surprise.

"Well, we said we needed to talk about what we're going to write. I 
wondered where you wanted to go to do that." He hesitated for a 
moment, then added, "The Planet and the Star are both out of thequestion. 
Want me to see if I can find an open drive-in or something?"

Recalled to reality, Lois exclaimed, "We need to get you to a 
hospital first, Clark!"

He seemed surprised at that. "I'm fine, Lois. I don't need a hospital."

"Clark, you have a cut on your face which I'm *sure* needs stitches, 
and you had a lot of pain in your ribs. You need an X-ray to be sure 
that you don't have any broken bones. And you were unconscious and in 
a fever for *hours*!" He was clearly still in some sort of state of 
denial so far as his health was concerned, Lois decided; he'd had to 
put it out of his mind while they were trying to escape, and 
obviously his over-active male sense of responsibility had led him to 
insist on driving back to the city, but now they *were* back and 
there was no need for him to ignore his condition any more.

"Honestly, I'm fine. I think I must just have been bruised. And as 
for the cut, I'm not sure what you did to it, but it seems to be 
doing just fine. Look!" Stopping at the approaching red traffic 
lights, he turned so that she could see the left side of his face. 
The bleeding had stopped some time earlier, and a scab was forming. 
It looked like any normal minor cut, Lois realised in surprise; that 
was certainly not how it had looked a few hours earlier, but 
obviously Clark was one of those people who just seemed to heal well 
and quickly, for some unaccountable reason.

"Lois, I promise you that if I still have pain in my ribs tomorrow I 
will go and get it checked out," he assured her. "Right now, it's 
nothing like as bad as it was, which makes me sure that it's only 
bruising. I'll put something on it when I get home."

The same embrocation he'd given her after the mugging, Lois realised, 
again getting a mental flash-back to that night in his apartment. 
Needing, for the sake of her sanity, to change the subject, she 
remembered Clark's original question. "You're right - we need to 
discuss the story. There's no need to find a drive-in, though - why 
not just go to my place?"

He gave her a surprised look. "If you're sure, Lois. I just didn't 
want to assume that that would be okay with you."

Clark's hesitance surprised Lois; it looked to her as if he was 
anxious in case she didn't want to be alone in her apartment with him 
- as if *she* didn't trust *him*, whereas, as she saw it, he had 
every right to feel he couldn't trust her. "My place it is, then," 
she announced firmly, wanting to make it clear that she had no 
reservations about having him invade her personal space. She wanted 
Clark to know that she trusted him implicitly.

<Too bad you couldn't have trusted him - and shown him that you 
trusted him - long ago, Lois> her conscience pointed out sharply, to 
her discomfort.

"Okay, if you're sure," Clark replied easily, and clearly supremely 
unaware of Lois's feelings of embarrassment as she was reminded, once 
again, of just how badly she'd treated him.

"I'm sure. What do you want to do about the spaceship?"

Clark shrugged. "It belongs to Superman. I'll give it back to him the 
next time I see him."

Lois shifted in her seat, turning to look at the small craft again. 
"I wonder what it is? It's too small to be a real space-ship - I 
mean, I know Superman has to have come to Earth from Krypton somehow, 
but there's no way he could have got inside that!" From what she'd 
seen of the interior at Trask's headquarters, the craft was far too 
small to hold an adult, or even a child. At best, it could take an 
infant, but even then the child would have to be under a year old, 
she surmised, based on her limited knowledge of babies and young 
children.

"Well, I guess that's Superman's business," Clark answered. Something 
about the way he said it made Lois turn to look at him sharply. He'd 
sounded evasive, as if he knew something and didn't want to tell her, 
didn't want her to ask any more questions.

"Clark? What do you know about how Superman came to Earth?" she asked 
him, a little sharply.

She saw his jaw tighten. "Lois, are you asking me to betray a confidence?"

So Superman had confided in Clark... but then, she'd guessed some 
time ago that the two were good friends. Clark clearly knew a lot 
more about Superman than he'd ever printed. And yet, if he wrote 
everything he knew, he'd be in line for any number of awards! He 
could even write a best-selling book about Superman - the inside 
story on Metropolis's incredible Super-hero.

And he would be betraying a friend.

Silenced for a moment by that realisation, Lois looked back at the 
small craft. It certainly would not hold an adult. It would, however, 
hold a baby.

Superman had come to Earth as a baby.

And Clark knew.

And Jason Trask had probably also known, if he had the craft - the 
guy might have been insane, but he hadn't lacked intelligence.

Lois turned back to Clark, still reeling from her discovery. "He's 
been here all this time, hasn't he? Since he was a baby?"

She saw Clark bite his lip and tighten his grip on the 
steering-wheel; his knuckles whitened.

"Clark!" she exclaimed immediately. "Look, I understand why you 
didn't tell anyone. He's... I hope he's a friend of mine too. And I 
told you how I feel about him. If he doesn't want this information 
known, then no-one will find out about it from me, I swear to you."

She heard the sudden rush of breath as he exhaled. Then he said, his 
voice a little jerky, "Thanks, Lois. My... Superman's life would be 
hell if people knew he'd been here that long. Think about it - where 
was he all this time, who brought him up... the papers would be 
digging and digging."

Lois knew exactly how some of her colleagues, especially in the less 
reputable press, would respond to that information. But then, as she 
remembered what had happened to her and Clark, another thought 
occurred to her. "Whoever brought him up - if it ever came out, 
they'd never be safe! Every criminal in the world would want to get 
at them as a means of controlling Superman!" she exclaimed, horrified.

"Exactly." Clark spoke abruptly, which told Lois a lot about how 
concerned he was.

"Tell him his secret's safe with m