Hysteron Proteron
By Christy  <attalanta@aol.com>
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: October 2001


This is an elseworlds story that, in the 
series universe, fits in somewhere mid-season one. It is 
also somewhat of a joke...  An author's note is included at 
the end of the story.



"With you I'm not a little girl, with you I'm not a man.

"When all the hurt inside of me comes out, you understand.

"You see that I'm ferocious, you see that I am weak, you 
see that I am silly, and pretentious, and a freak.

"But I don't feel too strange for you, don't know exactly 
what you do.

"I think when love is pure you try to understand the 
reasons why. 

"And I prefer this mystery; it cancels out my misery and 
gives me hope that there could be a person that loves me.

"Rescue me!" Lois Lane belted out after mimicking the 
enticing whispers blaring from her speakers. She maneuvered 
her jeep through the dim, deserted streets of Metropolis, 
her heart beating in time with the reverberating bass.

She knew she should have been exhausted from the long 
night's work, but Lois was pumped full of adrenaline. She 
was headed home after what was, to date, her most 
successful Superman stakeout. Her fingers drummed anxiously 
on the steering wheel, and Lois wished it were her 
computer's keyboard; she was eager to get home and type up 
her latest exploits.

"You see that I am hungry for a life of understanding and 
you forgive my angry little heart when she's demanding," 
Lois intoned in the breathy voice between song and 
seductive whisper.

"You bring me to my knees while I'm scratching out the eyes 
of a world I want to conquer, and deliver, and despise, and 
right while I am kneeling there I suddenly begin to care 
and understand that there could be a person that loves me. 
Rescue me!"

THREE HOURS EARLIER...

She had started the stakeout at 10 p.m., driving slowly 
through the streets of Hobbs Bay, where there had been an 
upsurge of gang warfare in the past few weeks. Superman had 
made appearances there twice in the last five days alone, 
and Lois was convinced that this was it: this would be her 
night for an exclusive with Metropolis's mysterious Man of 
Steel. He had managed to evade her carefully plotted 
stakeouts thus far, but this was the night. Lois could just 
*feel* it.

Stopping at a red light, she patted the camera tucked 
beneath her seat. She kept it hidden despite its 
unobtrusive black leather case; she wasn't taking any 
chances in this neighborhood. Lois double-checked the locks 
on the jeep doors, then began a slow scan of the area. It 
was just a matter of time, she assured herself as the light 
turned green and Lois sped away.

Twenty minutes later she drove by a handful of brightly 
dressed teenage girls who were embroiled in a large fight. 
Not a catfight, Lois thought almost proudly, but a real, 
honest-to-goodness brawl. Lois was torn between feeling 
proud of the women's fighting ability and feeling ashamed 
at their behavior.

Slowing the car to a crawl, Lois snatched her camera case 
from beneath her seat and deftly unsnapped the cover, one 
hand on the wheel, the other on the camera. She finally 
pulled to a stop in an abandoned alley and, raising the 
camera, watched the fight unfold through the circular lens.

Five minutes passed and still no sign of Superman. Lois 
sighed, shifting position uncomfortably. She used the 
camera's state-of-the-art lens, which she had borrowed from 
Jimmy Olsen, the Daily Planet's cub photographer, to zoom 
in close, allowing her to see the knife that appeared from 
one of the girls' pockets. Why it had taken her so long to 
go for the knife, Lois didn't know.

She was torn between being worried and scared that someone 
- maybe even her - might get hurt, and the overriding 
feeling of hope that - now that the big guns were out - 
Superman might show up.

					* * * * *

The night sky was a dismal gray, lit from beneath by the 
skyline of Metropolis. Its distant, glittering stars were 
obscured by the diamond-studded, limousine-riding variety 
bustling about below. Metropolis spread beneath the cloudy 
sky, snaking around Hobbs Bay, pushing into the waters of 
the Atlantic, an eager organism desperate for a new 
habitat. It teemed and pulsed with commotion, stoplights 
blazing, headlights flashing, street lamps spreading dimly 
lit pools.

But Superman registered none of this as he flew high above 
the city, same as he had every night for - what was it now? 
- six months?

All Superman noticed were the screams, women's screams - 
no, he corrected himself sadly, *girls'* screams - coming 
from the direction of Hobbs Bay. Without a thought, he 
zeroed in and zipped towards the sound, and seconds later 
he hovered above the fight.

Before landing he quickly took stock of the situation: five 
teenage girls who, from the familiar patterns of their 
bandannas, were members of rival gangs. Two girls 
brandished pocketknives, practicing short under-handed 
thrusts. Several other girls, their rivals, squealed when 
the shiny knife points came to close.

Unfortunately, the two knife-wielding girls were on the 
same side; there was no chance at the two groups deciding 
they might as well give it up since they were fairly 
matched. The other group of teens had only a crowbar, 
hastily grabbed from an open trash can, to defend 
themselves. Not that they would have ever come to that 
conclusion, Superman thought ruefully before landing.

Superman landed in the path of one of the armed girls, 
positioning himself to take the slash that was meant for 
her opponent. The girl jumped back in surprise at 
Superman's landing, then stared in disbelief at her knife, 
which was now folded like an accordion.

The other armed girl had the good sense to drop her knife 
and flee the scene, not that she was going to get anywhere. 
Before she knew it, she was in the custody of the caped 
superhero, who had by that time borrowed a crowbar dropped 
by one of the girl's rivals, bending it into a makeshift 
handcuff.

Unfortunately, while Superman was securing the wrist 
restraint, the other teens took off running. Superman was 
quickly on their trails, though, as several of the girls 
had disappeared down the same alley. He rounded them up and 
gently herded them together, stretching another restraint 
from an errant wire coat hanger before heading off in 
search of the single girl who had found her own hiding 
place.

Superman didn't have to look far; the girl, who had 
scampered down an alley to his left, was now lying 
unconscious next to a silver jeep. Standing behind the open 
door of the jeep was a woman in her late twenties, 
unusually well dressed - though in black - for a nighttime 
visit to the city's distended underbelly.

Superman scooped the girl into his arms. "Uh, thank you. I 
think..." he said to the woman, then carried the teenager 
over to her bound cohorts.

"You better get along now, ma'am," Superman said to the 
older woman, who had followed him back to the scene of the 
fight. "This is a dangerous place to be alone at night."

The woman frowned and jutted her chin out. "I can take care 
of myself," she said. "Obviously."

"Yes, thank you." He waited a minute, then, since the woman 
was obviously not going anywhere, asked, "Then, if you have 
a cell phone - and haven't done so already - would you mind 
calling the police? This girl," he gestured to the 
unconscious one lying at his feet, "is going to need some 
medical attention." He scowled pointedly at the woman.

But she just grinned proudly before dashing back to her car 
for her phone. After a quick call to the police, she 
dropped the phone into her purse and held out her hand.

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet."

Superman felt his insides constrict. The woman was a 
reporter. Of course. No citizen in her right mind would be 
joyriding through Hobbs Bay at 1 a.m. on a Wednesday. Only 
a reporter, sniffing out a scoop, would be brazen enough. 

Superman glanced at the woman. Her refusal to leave could 
mean only one thing: she had found her scoop. Superman only 
hoped it was the gang fight and not him.

But he had no such luck. Ms. Lane was now standing next to 
him, a pad of paper and pen perched, ready to record what 
the smug look on her face revealed she was sure would be 
worthy of the next Pulitzer. Her face was set, steely and 
determined.

Superman crossed his arms stubbornly; he wasn't going to 
let this tiny woman beat him at a battle of wills. The two 
stood and stared at each other for several minutes, the 
group of girls watching with a common interest.

Superman took the opportunity to study the reporter's face. 
She had dark hair, cut chin-length, and dark brown eyes. 
Her pursed lips were a natural red, and her cheeks pink 
from the cool night air and the excitement of the 
situation. If he had to be in a staring contest with 
someone, Superman conceded, at least he had a worthy 
opponent.

Minutes later the police arrived. Finally Superman allowed 
himself to relax - thereby losing the staring contest - to 
talk to the officers as they arrested the teenagers. An 
ambulance arrived for the girl Ms. Lane had knocked 
unconscious, and off it sped after the tentative diagnosis 
of a minor concussion.

After speaking with the police officers, who then sped 
away, two girls in each car, Superman was ready to resume 
his nightly patrol when he realized that that dreaded 
reporter still hadn't yet left.

"Are you interested in an interview?" she asked, now giving 
him a sweet smile, designed, quite obviously, to enchant 
him into agreeing to bare his soul - and maybe a little 
more - to her. Nuh-uh, he thought, nuthin doin.

"No thank you, Ms...." He paused, pretending to forget her 
last name. Take that, he thought.

The reporter frowned, displeased, but quickly recovered. 
"Lois Lane, of the Daily Planet. And are you sure? I mean, 
you've been helping the people of Metropolis for at least 
six months now; no one knows for sure exactly how long. 
Maybe you want clear up some of that uncertainty..."

She smiled at him as if they were sharing a secret, as if 
she already knew everything about him but was waiting for 
his permission to write the story. Superman couldn't help 
smiling back.

"Uh, well, what do you want to know, exactly?" he asked, 
giving in at last.

					* * * * *

Lois grinned triumphantly. She had caught him; he was hers. 
She fought to keep the self-satisfied grin from spreading 
over her face. "Let's start with your name," she suggested.

He considered her question. "Superman seems to have caught 
on."

"How long have you been in Metropolis? The sightings 
started six months ago. Have you been here longer than 
that?"

"No, I'm new in town," he said with a smile.

"And where *are* you from?"

"Uh, from far away. I'm sure you haven't heard of it," he 
said quickly. "Anything else?"

Anything else? Lois asked herself. There was *everything* 
else! But there was one question that was burning brighter 
than the others. Up until this point it had all been 
exposition; she had been building him up for this. It all 
came down to this next question.

"Every Superman sighting has been between the hours of 10 
p.m. and 3 a.m., Metropolis time. What do you do during the 
day?"

Lois waited, watched as Superman froze in place. His eyes 
darted back and forth before finally settling on a spot 
approximately in the middle of her forehead.

"Well?"

"Uh, oh! Did you hear that?" 

"What?" 

"Help! A cry for help. Someone needs me."

And with a whoosh he was gone. Before Lois even realized 
that he was ditching her, Superman had disappeared. She 
spun on her heel and returned to her jeep before weighing 
the events of the evening.

On the one hand, Superman had skipped out on her, but on 
the other, she had gotten more of an interview than any 
other reporter in the city ever had. Their brief 
conversation alone would make for a short article, but, 
together with a sidebar on Superman stopping the knife 
fight and capturing the gangbangers, it would make for a 
decent front-pager.

But Lois couldn't help feeling that something was missing. 
Superman hadn't answered her last question, about what he 
did during the day. Like every other Metropolitan, Lois had 
her theories: He was from out of space and needed to 
recharge in an energy pod all day. He was allergic to 
sunlight. He was kept locked up in a lab by day and could 
only escape at night, after the cruel-hearted lab 
technician who imprisoned him had gone home. And then there 
was her least favorite: He lived a "normal" life and worked 
a 9-to-5 job like any ordinary Schmoe.

But Lois put all that out of her mind and concentrated on 
what she did have: a page one story for the morning edition 
of the Planet.

She was still glowing when she pulled into her parking 
space in the garage beneath her building. Before pulling 
the key out of her ignition she finished the rest of the 
radio tune.

"It's not my business to decide how good you are for me, 
how valuable you are, and what the world can see, only that 
you try to understand me and have the courage to love me 
for me.

"I believe in the power, I believe you can rescue me..."

					* * * * * 

"Let's hear it for Lois Lane," Perry White cheered as Lois 
walked into the Planet the next morning. Lois smiled at her 
adoring public before clearing off the Superman memorabilia 
that had accumulated on her desk since the previous day. It 
was a well-known fact that the Planet's number one reporter 
was also the number one fan of a certain caped superhero, 
and some of the Planet staffers liked to amuse themselves 
by adding trinkets to Lois's collection whenever she was 
hot on the Superman trail.

"Great article, Lois," said Paula Myerson, a long-time 
reporter on the police beat. "How'd you manage it?"

Lois grinned. "It was nothing."

"No, really," Paula pressed. "Every reporter in the tri-
state area has been after Superman for months and you 
somehow manage to land his first interview. I'm impressed!"

"I'm not," chimed in Cat Grant, the Planet's society 
columnist. "She probably had to use her *ass*ets," she said 
with a scornful scan of Lois's body, "- that is, assuming 
she has some under those boring brown suits - to stun the 
tights off the guy. What I *can't* understand, though, is 
why he would choose *you* out of-"

"Why wouldn't he choose her?" Clark asked, stepping into 
the conversation. "Lois is..."

All eyes turned to look at Clark, who promptly blushed. 
"Lois is very... I mean, she's a good reporter," he 
concluded with a triumphant grin. "She doesn't need to 
charm the pants, er, she doesn't *need* to use her looks to 
get an interview."

"Thank you, Clark," Lois said with a haughty, high-browed 
look at Cat.

"Yeah, and it's not like she got that much of an interview 
anyway. I mean, really, what did the guy tell her? He's 
from 'far away.' Big deal; anyone with half a brain knows 
*that,*" Cat said.

"You're just jealous," Lois taunted. "And besides, all I 
needed to do was introduce myself, get an in with the big 
guy. Next time I see him I'm sure he'll spill the beans," 
she said with a confidant grin.

After an unpleasant grunt from the direction of the Editor-
in-Chief's office, the Planet staff wandered back to their 
own desks, discussing Lois's reporting skills - or 
perceived lack thereof - and, of course, Superman. 

Superman had been the talk of the town ever since he flew 
in from parts unknown to save the colonist transport from 
exploding. With a little help from me, Lois added proudly. 
She had been the first to see the guy; it was only fair 
that she name him. So she did, calling him Superman after 
the large S patched - almost haphazardly, she had noticed - 
onto his spandex suit.

Since then he had been the golden egg of every goose-eyed 
reporter in town. And Lois was no exception; she had gone 
after the man full force, leaving the office early and 
coming in late to accommodate her near-nightly stakeouts of 
some of the worst areas of town. So far she had had her car 
windows shattered, almost gotten car-jacked, and been 
mugged. Twice. But the criminal element needed more than a 
couple of misdemeanors to discourage Lois Lane.

Lois was determined to get the story on Metropolis's 
strange, secretive visitor. Superman only appeared at night 
and could be seen patrolling the city in his black spandex 
suit and blue cape. From time to time, he had made 
appearances overseas, but those were rare. He had spoken to 
no reporters - until Lois - and had never been seen in the 
city in daylight. The prevailing opinion was that he was 
related to Batman: a creature of the night who lurked in 
the clouds instead of the shadows.

After his first appearance in Metropolis, reporters started 
paying closer attention to the press releases distributed 
by the city's large scientific research institutions. Was 
it possible for STAR Labs to introduce the genes of a bat 
into a human genome? This guy was more a Bat Man than 
Batman; maybe he had the DNA of a bat or a bird. Eduardo 
Friaz, the Planet's top science reporter, theorized that 
Superman was the prototype of a biological experiment.

And then there was Lois's favorite theory: that some 
friendless female scientist with too much free time and too 
many gene-splicing gizmos on her hands had created Superman 
as an experiment, as a cure for her insufferable 
intellectual loneliness: the perfect man.

Lois liked that theory on more than one level; not only was 
she sure Superman was the perfect male specimen, but it 
gave her a thrill to think that a woman had created him. 
Lois wanted to meet her, shake her hand, and ask the 
scientist to make one for her, too, one with enough good 
sense to spend his nights at home...

					* * * * * 

"Okay, Lois, I think we all agree that the Superman 
interview was a great catch," Perry said as he ushered Lois 
and Clark into his office. Clark closed the door behind 
them, then he and Lois took a seat across from their boss.

Clark nodded in agreement with their Editor-in-Chief. Clark 
didn't know how Lois did it, but she always managed to out-
scoop the rest of the news division. It was as if her sheer 
determination was enough find any story, even if it seemed 
to be buried so deeply that she would need a backhoe and a 
construction crew to dig it out.

"And just in case a week in Cancun with Alice has fried my 
brain, bring me up to speed on what the assistant editor 
assigned y'all while I was gone," Perry said with the grunt 
that always seeped into his tone when he spoke of Alex 
Fowley, the Planet's newest assistant editor and Perry's 
newest pain in the ass.

"Well," Lois began, "of course I'm still doing the Superman 
stakeouts."

"Of course," Perry agreed and again Clark nodded. He knew 
Lois had spent many a night lurking around Hobbs Bay, 
trying to sniff out Superman, and, frankly, he was a little 
worried about her safety in that part of town.  But he 
understood - and had been so reprimanded by Lois - that he 
did not yet have the tenure to express such concerns to his 
partner.

What he couldn't understand was how she was so lucky to be 
in the right place at the right time. Either she had the 
most finely-honed journalistic instinct in existence, or 
she had spent so much time around Superman that his super-
hearing had rubbed off on her.

"And Alex assigned us to check out the possible wrongdoings 
at Roush, the pharmaceutical company."

"Roush? What're they up to now?" Perry asked.

"We've still got lots of digging to do on that one," Clark 
said. "But we talked to a source last week, a guy who's a 
member of one of their drug study teams."

"Yeah," Lois input. "His title is Data Manager, which in 
itself sounds a little suspect to me. I mean, why do data 
need managing? And he says his job is to 'clean up' the 
data, make it look pretty for the feds."

"It seems Roush is trying to speed up the development of 
some of its drugs," Clark explained. "Not the big ones, 
like for cancer or AIDS, but some of the smaller-scale 
drugs, like for insomnia or irritable bowel syndrome."

"You know," Lois input sarcastically, "boring, small-money 
illnesses like that."

"See, if the disease is fatal, the FDA's more likely to 
accept less conclusive data or to speed the drugs through 
the lengthy approval processes. But since illnesses like 
insomnia and irritable bowel aren't usually life 
threatening, the process takes a little longer, maybe nine 
to twelve months," Clark said.

"And pharmaceutical companies aren't know for their 
patience," Lois said, "especially considering the money the 
company's wasting. Every day a drug's marketing is delayed, 
it costs the pharmaceutical company millions of dollars."

"How's that?" Perry asked.

"Well," Clark began, "patents only last so many years. So 
if they waste a bunch of time in getting the drug to 
market, they lose out on some of the time the drug is 
protected under patent, and consequently some of the 
boatloads of money they'd be making."

"We want to get someone to corroborate what the Data 
Manager said, so we asked him to sniff around, see if any 
other members of the drug study teams are willing to talk," 
Lois said. "At least we know we're on the right track, 
though."

"Just make sure you don't get run over," Perry advised them 
with a grin. "And if the two of you need help, just holler 
and I'll get someone else on the story to help you. With 
such big stakes, I think we can spare it."

"We're okay for now, Chief," Lois assured him. "But 
thanks."

"And what else did you all have going?" Perry asked. "I 
know I'd assigned you something else to look into before I 
left," Perry said absently while he shuffled through a 
stack of papers on his desk.

"Yes, sir," Clark piped in. "You wanted us to do an update 
on the police investigation of those murder cases, you 
remember, where the victims' mutilated bodies were found 
down near Hobbs Bay."

Perry snapped his finger. "That's the one. How're you two 
comin on that? Or, I should ask, how're the police comin on 
it?"

"Well, everything's been pretty hush-hush," Lois said, 
"especially after last year's debacle."

Perry nodded, but Clark furrowed his brow in exasperation. 
He had been a member of the Planet staff for months now, 
but still he felt out of the loop sometimes. "What 
debacle?" 

"Oh, that was before you flew into town, son," Perry said. 
"The police were investigating the murders of some co-eds 
on the downtown campus of Metro U. There were, oh, maybe 
five victims before they had any good suspects, and then 
they picked up a guy, another Met U. student, whom they 
apparently found at the scene of murder number six. He 
claimed he heard the police calls on his scanner and just 
happened to beat the cops to the scene. But the cops 
smelled a rat and brought him in for questioning."

"They didn't get anything out of him," Lois said, "but the 
cops were so sure he was the guy that they started leaking 
stuff to the press. Evidence and other details of the case, 
you know. They even let the guy's name get out, even though 
he hadn't been identified as an official suspect."

"That's horrible!" Clark exclaimed.

"Sure is," Perry agreed. "So of course the papers ran with 
the story. I put Paula Myerson on it and she did a bang-up 
background piece on the guy: spoke to childhood friends, a 
high school girlfriend, his neighbors."

"And the guy came out looking like a total sleaze," Lois 
added. "Stalked some poor girl in high school, had been on 
both academic and disciplinary probation at the U., you 
know the type."

"Well," Perry said, "it eventually came out that he was 
completely innocent: just a weirdo with a police scanner 
and too much free time. Apparently he wanted to be a cop 
but didn't pass the physical. Eventually they caught the 
guy who did it, but-"

"But not before ruining the other guy's life!" Clark said. 
He tried to put himself in the man's place: you were going 
about your business with a legitimate - albeit strange - 
hobby of listening in on police conversations, when, 
whammo, your name was smeared from here to Smallville!

"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Lois said. "But all the local 
papers were charged with libel - the Planet included - but 
the cases were mostly settled out of court. I think the 
city footed most of the bill since the cops were the leak. 
And anyway, it turned out that the guy was wanted for some 
frat party rape of a high school student. They only caught 
him for *that* crime because the girl saw his picture in 
the paper. It wasn't like he was a saint or anything."

"Yeah, but he wasn't guilty. At least not of murder," Clark 
replied, but immediately jumped out of the guy's shoes. "He 
might not have been perfect - and I'm certainly not 
condoning what he *did* do - but he didn't kill those other 
students."

"I'll tell ya, son, it was a tough one, deciding whether to 
run with that story or not. But eventually we did, on the 
strength of the police sources. It certainly gives ya pause 
to think, though, when you consider the power of the 
press," Perry said with a tap of that day's issue of the 
Planet, which was open to the crossword puzzle.

"Give me a break," Lois said scornfully. "Doesn't the 
public have a right to know what's going on in their own 
city? It was news, and, besides, the guy could've been 
dangerous. The press had a duty to warn the public."

"I don't know, Lois," Clark began. "The information was 
incorrect. The public shouldn't be ill-informed."

"Of course not-" Lois began.

"I mean," Clark interrupted, "part of our job as 
journalists is to assess the situation before we write the 
story: Is the item newsworthy? Will the public benefit by 
learning about it? Or are we just passing on gossip?"

"The public has a right to the truth," Lois insisted, 
shaking her head stubbornly.

					* * * * * 

Clark stepped into the lobby of Lois's apartment building, 
tucking the morning issue of the Daily Planet under his 
arm, and waited for the elevator. It was a sunny Tuesday 
morning, and he was on his way up to fetch Lois for an 
early breakfast before heading in to work.

He glanced around the busy lobby, noting several teenagers, 
backpacks hanging off their shoulders, congregating near 
the doors. A young mother, her hand rocking a stroller to 
and fro, stood near the mailboxes, sorting through a stack 
of envelopes. Entering the building and breaking up the 
pack of teenagers was a man dressed in the drab brown 
uniform of a parcel delivery company, his bag of packages 
slung over his shoulder as if he were Santa Claus. His gaze 
intercepted Clark's, and Clark smiled politely.

Just then the elevator door binged to herald its arrival, 
and Clark stepped inside, pressed the button for Lois's 
floor, and flipped open the morning issue of the Planet.

"Hold the elevator, please," came a gentle voice from the 
lobby, just as the doors began to close.

Clark looked up from Lois's and his most recent article to 
see Mrs. Butters, an elderly woman who lived in Lois's 
building, plant her walker in the path of the sliding 
doors. Clark jabbed at the "Open Door" button with one hand 
and placed the other against the closing doors.

"Thank you, Clark," Mrs. Butters said as she maneuvered 
into the elevator, hanging a small bag of groceries from 
the bars of her walker. "Could you press the twelve 
please?"

"Sure," Clark said, pressing the button for the twelfth 
floor. "So, how are your grandchildren doing, Mrs. 
Butters?" he asked, knowing the magic words to get Lois's 
upstairs neighbor to open up.

The elderly woman smiled with pride, her papery skin 
wrinkling at the edges of her twinkling eyes. "How kind of 
you to ask!" she said, gazing up at Clark with an adoration 
he was more used to receiving from women a generation or 
two younger than kindly Mrs. Butters.

"Well," she began as the elevator zoomed up to the third 
floor. "Little Linzey, the baby, is just learning to walk, 
and I'm afraid Anne and Alex have their hands full with 
that little one tottering around the house."

The elevator binged as the doors slid open to reveal the 
third floor, Lois's floor. But Clark simply re-pressed the 
twelve and watched the doors close. He knew he was early 
picking up Lois, and he figured he could ride the elevator 
and chat with Mrs. Butters in the meantime.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Butters exclaimed, flustered. "That was 
three, Clark. Isn't that the floor where that sweet young 
girlfriend of yours lives?"

Clark smiled, at the idea of both Lois as his girlfriend 
and Lois as "sweet." Lois was lots of things, Clark 
thought: intelligent, tenacious, beautiful, impetuous, 
curious... But "sweet" definitely wasn't one of them. That 
is, unless she decided that "sweet" would get her an 
interview or a juicy quote...

But to the elderly woman gazing up at him expectantly, 
Clark simply said, "Oops, missed the floor. I guess I'll 
just have to ride up with you first."

Mrs. Butters bestowed a loving smile on Clark. "Such a 
gentleman," she muttered, shaking her head as in disbelief. 
"One of a dying breed... Oh, and I forgot to tell you about 
Eric, the oldest. He's applying to college now, you know." 

"Really?" Clark asked. "Where is he applying?"

"Oh, all those names sound just alike: Something State 
University, South Something College," Mrs. Butters 
admitted, "but he did come to visit Metropolis University 
last month, and I think it's his first choice. Having him 
close by would just be so exciting," the tiny woman 
exclaimed, letting go of her walker long enough to clasp 
her hands together in anticipation. "He hasn't lived nearby 
since he was a tiny baby, when his parents had an apartment 
across town.

"Oh, and he's sent me his senior picture!" Mrs. Butters 
remembered. "Come in for a minute and let me show you. Oh, 
you won't believe how big he's gotten - bigger than me, 
but, then, he's been bigger than me for years. Just like a 
grown man!"

Mrs. Butters was still reveling in the thought of having 
her eldest grandchild nearby, when the elevator doors again 
opened. Clark stuck a hand in front of the doors while Mrs. 
Butters hobbled into the hall. After a quick check of his 
watch to make sure he still had some time before meeting 
Lois, Clark stepped off the elevator after the elderly 
woman.

"Oh, and then there's Maggie, Liz and Mike's youngest. 
She's still playing soccer, you know, and she's just won a 
position on one of those traveling teams.

"I just can't get over how quickly they grow up," she told 
Clark as she slid her key into the keyhole and opened the 
door for her guest. "You'll see," she told Clark in a 
knowing tone. "You'll see when you have children of your 
own. One day they're tiny infants, completely dependent on 
you, and the next day they're all grown and having their 
own babies!"

Clark smiled as he followed Mrs. Butters into her kitchen, 
then helped her stock her cupboards with the groceries 
she'd been carrying. Mrs. Butters had just removed a box of 
teabags from her bag when the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Clark offered, then weaved his way through 
Mrs. Butters's crowded, antique-bedecked living room, 
leaving the white-haired woman in the kitchen, murmuring 
under her breath, "a dying breed, indeed."

After a quick check with the peephole, Clark opened the 
door to a UPS deliveryman holding a large box wrapped in 
paper the same dull brown as the man's uniform.

"Sign here, please," the man said curtly, shoving thin pad 
of paper and attached pen at Clark, who took them and 
signed. The man then snatched back the implements, handed 
Clark the package, and took off towards the elevator.

"Thank you," Clark called out after him.

"Are you expecting a package, Mrs. Butters?" Clark asked as 
he shut the door and slid the chain into place.

"Not that I know of, dear," Mrs. Butters answered, coming 
to meet Clark in the living room. Clark handed the package 
to the elderly woman, who squinted at the label before 
handing it back.

"Would you be a dear?" she asked Clark. "I've left my 
reading glasses in my bedroom. Could you read the return 
address?"

"There isn't one," Clark said, puzzled. He examined every 
surface of the box, but still could find no return address. 
"Wait a minute," Clark exclaimed. "This isn't *your* 
package; it's Lois's."

"Lois's?" 

"Yes, my girl- er, coworker on the third floor. Look, it's 
addressed to her!"

"Well, what do you know?" Mrs. Butters said. "Good thing 
you're here to take it down to her. With my walker, I could 
never have carried that heavy thing all the way down to the 
third floor. And the deliveryman would have been driving 
away in his truck, before I would have found my glasses. I 
could never have caught up with him to return the package."

"Yea, awfully convenient," Clark said, thinking that *he* 
couldn't even have caught up with the deliveryman, as fast 
as the man had handed Clark the package and fled the scene. 
"Do you get other people's packages often?" Clark asked.

Mrs. Butters crinkled her brown in thought. "No, now that 
you mention it," she said. "Only once around Christmas, and 
that's not for another few months."

"Hm," Clark said, reexamining each surface of the box and 
taking note that Lois's apartment number was missing from 
the address label, which listed only her name and the 
street address of her building. The box wasn't even 
plastered with the usual half-dozen UPS tracking stickers; 
the only blemish on its brown-paper surface was the sticker 
with Lois's name and building address. "Maybe I better call 
Lois. Mind if I use your phone, Mrs. Butters?"

"Of course not, dear. It's just in the kitchen, there," she 
said, following Clark over to the phone.

"Hello?"

"Lois, it's me. Clark."

"Clark! Where are you? You were supposed to be here five 
minutes ago and I've-"

"Yeah, and I'm sorry, Lois," Clark interrupted. "I came up 
in the elevator with Mrs. Butters-"

"Mrs. Butters?" Lois asked.

"Your twelfth floor neighbor," Clark said quietly, hoping 
the old woman, whom he knew was slightly hard of hearing, 
wouldn't overhear and realize that Lois didn't recognize 
her name.

"Yes. Mrs. Butters. Right," Lois said, though Clark could 
tell from her tone that she didn't recognize the name any 
more than she had recognized his on his first day at the 
Planet.

"Anyway, while I was here she got a delivery from UPS. Only 
it's not addressed to her. It's addressed to you."

"Me? Great!" Lois said. "Bring it down. And hurry up."

"Were you expecting something?"

"Well, no," she admitted reluctantly. "But so what? Someone 
sent me a surprise. Bring it down, would you?" she 
repeated.

"I don't know, Lois," Clark said. "It just seems a 
little... well, strange."

"How strange can it be?" Lois asked. "Where's it from?"

"That's the strange part, Lois," Clark told her. "There's 
no return address."

"I'll be up in a minute," Lois said before slamming the 
phone down and leaving Clark with a ringing dial tone.

"She's not expecting a package, either?" Mrs. Butters asked 
when Clark replaced the receiver on the wall.

Clark shook his head, then went to the door and unlatched 
the chain in preparation for Lois, who arrived just minutes 
later.

"Let me see," she said, pushing her way into Mrs. Butters's 
apartment. Clark handed her the box and she examined it as 
he had.

"No return address, like I said," Clark told her as she 
gently shook the box.

"Do you hear that?" Lois asked, her ear pressed up against 
the box.

"Hear what, dear?" Mrs. Butters responded.

"That. That... ticking," Lois said, her eyes growing wide. 
"It's ticking. It's a bomb. Someone sent me a bomb," she 
said slowly, holding the box at arms' length.

"A bomb?" Clark asked, disbelieving. "Lois, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said, regaining her composure. "I'm more 
than sure; I'm *positive.*" She placed the bomb gently on 
Mrs. Butters's coffee table, then she and Clark quickly 
ushered the old woman out of the apartment. "We've got to 
get out of here," Lois said, removing her cell phone from 
her purse as they went.

"Henderson?" she said into the phone. "Yeah, it's Lois. I 
need to know what to do with a bomb..."

					* * * * * 

"I don't understand why I couldn't have stayed in my 
apartment," Lois complained as she hefted another box off 
the floor and headed towards the door. "The bomb went off 
all the way up on the twelfth floor."
 
Clark laughed, then followed Lois, letting the door slam 
shut behind them. "Yeah, but the bombers - whoever they 
were - were after *you,* Lois, not nice, old Mrs. Butters 
on the twelfth floor."

"Nice? That woman's a barracuda, Clark. She cheats at poker 
worse than Perry." Lois balanced the box on her knee as she 
and Clark waited for the elevator to arrive. "How did *you* 
meet her anyway?" Lois asked, peering over at Clark 
suspiciously.

"I shared an elevator with her a few months ago. I was 
coming up to see you, and she was coming back from visiting 
her daughter and grandchildren in Gotham City. She even 
showed me the picture her grandkids finger-painted for 
her."

"Ha!" Lois snorted as the empty elevator arrived and she 
stepped in.

"Seriously, Lois, this building isn't safe. The bomb 
probably weakened the supports or something. You're lucky 
they're letting us move your stuff out. And that they're 
letting you use the elevator."

"And *you're* lucky you get to help me move," Lois said 
with a self-satisfied grin as the elevator dinged, the 
doors opened, and they stepped into the lobby. Maneuvering 
around Lois's neighbor's lives, now packed in cardboard 
boxes and sealed with masking tape, they made their way 
outside.

Lois's jeep, already half-packed with boxes and suitcases, 
was parked directly in front of the building. They loaded 
the two boxes they'd carried and headed back upstairs.

"You know, I don't know why you just didn't let the movers 
take everything," Clark said with a sigh as he leaned back 
heavily against the wall of the elevator.

Lois pressed the button for the third floor, wiped the 
sweat from her brow with her forearm, and looked over at 
her best friend. "What are *you* complaining about? Look at 
you; you aren't even sweating!"

Clark wiped his dry brow, then ran his hand over the back 
of his neck. "Guess not," he said with a shrug.

"Anyway," she continued, "I didn't give these boxes to the 
movers because they're important. Fragile."

The elevator doors parted and they headed back to Lois's 
apartment. "Those movers, they aren't careful; they don't 
care one bit about your belongings. All they care about is 
getting them there in good enough shape that you'll still 
pay them. They don't even stick around long enough to see 
what they broke."

They picked up the last two boxes and, leaving the 
apartment, locked Lois's door behind them. Clark pressed 
the elevator button, set his box down, and lifted the cover 
off. "So what do you have in here that's too valuable to 
trust movers with?"

He moved aside handfuls of styrofoam peanuts to uncover a 
glass plaque: one of Lois's Kerth awards. Clark laughed. 
"This is it? You're afraid the movers are gonna break your 
Kerths?"

"Close that," Lois snapped, pushing the peanuts back over 
her awards and jamming the lid on. Still grinning, Clark 
stepped into the newly arrived elevator and pressed the 
hold button. Lois bent over, shoved the box into the 
elevator, then pressed the lobby button.

					* * * * *

Lois stopped the jeep across the street from Clark's 
apartment and got out, jingling her new set of keys in her 
hand. When she first heard about the bomb that had exploded 
in her apartment building, she had worried about where she 
was going to live. She didn't really have any friends she 
could stay with.

Lucy was living with a new boyfriend, Dirk... or was it 
Kirk? Perry and Alice had offered their guest room, but it 
was already furnished so she would need to put most of her 
belongings in storage; besides, it was in Metropolis's 
outlying suburbs, far from the Planet, and she didn't know 
how long it would take for her building to be repaired. 
From the letters sent by her landlord, it was questionable 
whether it would *ever* be repaired.

Of course Clark had invited her to stay with him. Even 
though his apartment had only one bedroom and she would 
likely be sleeping on the couch, Lois had considered the 
offer for a minute. She would be most comfortable there, 
she knew, but she couldn't imagine going home every night 
to an apartment that wasn't hers, sleeping - maybe - in a 
bed that wasn't hers, not free to be herself, by herself, 
every night.

So the vacancy in the apartment building across the street 
from Clark's had been a godsend for Lois. She was actually 
closer to the Planet now than she had been in her old 
building. Plus, she was close to Clark, which, she decided, 
wasn't *completely* bad, though she figured Clark would 
find the arrangement more convenient than she did; her 
proximity made it easier to give him a ride to the Planet 
in the morning.

"Lois, come on," Clark called out. He was holding the door 
open for her, plus managing several heavy boxes stacked 
atop each other. Lois knew he was muscular - she had never 
been able to get out of her mind the picture of Clark, a 
towel draped across his hips, hair wet from the shower, 
answering the door during the Platt investigation - but she 
was surprised he was *that* strong.

"Careful," she called out as she made her way carefully 
towards him. "You're gonna break something! You don't need 
to carry all those boxes at once, Clark."

"That's okay," he said with a grin as she carried a single 
box through the door. "They aren't that heavy, actually."

Lois frowned, then turned, opening the door to the 
stairwell with her back. "Go ahead," she told Clark, who, 
with his pile of boxes, wedged himself between Lois and the 
doorframe. Lois held her breath as his body brushed against 
hers, then maneuvered into the stairwell herself. She 
followed him up the single flight of stairs, then again 
played doorframe tango, with Clark now on the receiving end 
of Lois's squeeze-through.

"What's the number again?" Clark called out from behind. 
Lois turned to see him, eyes behind shiny glasses peering 
over the flap of a cardboard box.

"It's eight. Right here." Lois set her box down in front of 
the door to number eight and slipped the key in the lock. 
Abandoning her box in the hall, she stepped into her new 
apartment. Inside, boxes were stacked from floor to ceiling 
and the furniture was all pushed against one wall. But the 
floors were wood, the walls freshly painted, and the 
woodwork new. This place definitely had potential, Lois 
decided.

"Wow, nice," Clark said, with a whistle. "Too bad there 
wasn't a vacancy here when *I* was looking."

Lois grinned. "Too bad, it's all mine."

After shoving their boxes inside the apartment, Lois gave 
Clark a cursory tour: living room, kitchen, bathroom. Clark 
was impressed that, having the same landlord he did, the 
place was in such good shape. When they ended up in the 
bedroom, Clark took a peek out the window.

"Nice view," he said with a teasing grin.

Lois hurried over and craned her neck. "What view?" All she 
could see out the window was the side of a brick building 
and a few other apartment buildings across the street.

"That's my building," he said proudly. "And see, that first 
window on the left is my bedroom."

"Yeah, great view," Lois derided. "I get to watch you 
undress for bed every night. Woo hoo."

Clark blushed. "I was thinking that we could tie a string 
up between the windows and play telephone. You know, like 
kids do with tin cans? I never got to do that since our 
closest neighbors were almost a mile away, but..."

"You know, Clark, there's this great new invention," Lois 
deadpanned. "It's called the *telephone.* You pick it up, 
dial a number, and then talk to the person on the other 
end. And the best part is, it doesn't involve hanging out a 
second-story window with a dirty old can pressed against 
your ear!"

"You're no fun, Lois. Besides, I'm sure Superman would 
rescue you if you fell out the window."

"I'd rather not chance it," Lois retorted before returning 
to the living room.

					* * * * * 

Two nights later Lois's alarm clock went off at 11 p.m. She 
had taken a short nap after a long day at the Planet, and 
was primed to resume the Superman trail. Funny, Lois 
thought, how an hour-long nap had the power to rejuvenate 
her when six straight hours of sleep at night could not.

Her bedroom dimly lit by a street lamp across the street, 
Lois changed her clothes without turning on her bedside 
lamp. She gathered her cell phone, camera, notebook, and 
cassette recorder, along with a few Chocolate Crunch bars 
for fuel. After grabbing her keys off her bureau, Lois 
paused at the window, looking up into the gray sky. It was 
a cloudy night and she saw no stars, but what she did see 
was infinitely more interesting.

Across the street, exiting the window Clark had claimed as 
his own bedroom, was Superman.

What was Superman doing in Clark's bedroom at eleven 
o'clock at night? she wondered, dumbstruck. She watched as 
the Man of Mystery disappeared into the clouds, his blue 
cape rippling behind him. Lois plopped down on her bed. 
Superman, in Clark's apartment, at night?

Were they friends? she wondered. Could Clark be a close, 
personal friend of Superman's this whole time and never 
told her when he knew that not only was she his biggest 
fan, but she spent her nights following him through the 
city? The nerve of that man! How dare he?

But if Clark and Superman were friends, why wasn't it 
*Clark* who was following Superman around at night? After 
all, could Superman really deny an interview to a friend? 
To a *close* friend, by the looks of the late hour 
visitation.

And how close a friend? The light in Clark's bedroom wasn't 
on, Lois realized as she reviewed the scene, which was 
burned in her mind like the red flash of her camera. Now 
what would Superman be doing leaving Clark's darkened 
bedroom at eleven o'clock on a Friday night?

There was only one reason Lois could come up with: could 
they be... lovers?

Even in her scant dealings with the man, Lois had never 
taken Superman as gay. Yes, he wore a spandex suit and a 
cape, but that didn't really mean anything... did it?

Somehow, Lois had an easier time picturing Clark as gay. In 
all their time working together at the Planet, he had not 
hit on her, save that one time he had asked her to go out 
to dinner with him. But he had been quick to assure her 
that it was a congratulatory supper, certainly not to be 
confused with a date. 

Clark was always the gentleman with her, acting more like a 
best buddy than a potential boyfriend. And it wasn't only 
her. Clark hadn't seemed particularly receptive to Cat 
either; he had looked positively embarrassed when the woman 
draped herself over him. At times he didn't even seem to 
notice when Cat came on to him - a talent, surely, as 
coming on to men was what Cat Grant did best. Clark had 
only been in Metropolis for a few months, but Lois had yet 
to see him with a girlfriend.

Sure, she had seen him flirt - sort of - with Dr. Baines 
while they were investigating the Messenger explosion. But 
even then Clark didn't take it very far. And Baines was a 
relatively beautiful woman, Lois grudgingly admitted, 
certainly the kind that most men fell for: skinny, blond, 
and confidant. But Clark hadn't fallen for her, not really; 
he had just used his own obvious appeal to get what he 
wanted... kind of like she herself did at times, Lois 
realized.

Lois stared at Clark's bedroom window. That had to be it: 
the two were having a tryst! Lois grinned with pride over 
her detective skills. Actually, that would explain why 
Clark hadn't interviewed Superman; it would be an awkward 
subject to broach with your boyfriend, Lois guessed. After 
all, if it was *she* who was dating Superman, she would 
certainly think twice before asking for a one-on-one fit to 
print.

					* * * * *

Ten and a half hours away, on the other side of the globe, 
Superman was busy at work in Varanasi, India. The Poorva 
Express, the train connecting Varanasi to Delhi and 
Calcutta, had derailed, spewing train cars and passengers 
across the landscape. The train had come off its tracks 
before reaching the station, its cars ricocheting down the 
track, barreling into trees, buildings, and each other.

After a quick survey of the scene, Superman made himself 
useful by flying the most injured to the closest hospital, 
nearly - but not quite - breaking a sweat under the 
sweltering sun. It was mid-morning and the train station 
was busy, working overtime to avoid the midday heat, which 
paralyzed the area on the hottest summer days.

Varanasi was a common pilgrimage site. An old city, it was 
a stopping point for both the Ganges and the many Hindu 
visitors who hoped to die there and so that their ashes - 
or even their entire bodies - could become one with the 
holy river.

After several jaunts to nearby Sir Sunder Lal Hospital, 
Superman worked quickly, digging passengers out of 
overturned cars, pulling doors off their smashed hinges to 
uncover people who, minutes before, had been standing on 
the train platform, waving good-bye to family and friends.

The passengers of the derailed train, who were 
significantly less injured than those waiting at the 
station, were now being tended to by local paramedics, who 
were organizing the hurt travelers into groups based on the 
severity of their injuries. After being sure no one 
remained beneath the rubble of the crash, Superman set the 
cars back on their tracks.

A few hand gestures went a long way as the train's engineer 
attempted to explain to Superman what had gone wrong. The 
man's fractured English was better than Superman's non-
existent Hindi, and the Man of Steel soon learned that one 
of the train's brakes had somehow failed as it came upon 
the station. The remaining functional brakes had managed to 
stop the train, but the failed brake had prevented a 
uniform deceleration, and the cars had collided, each 
flying off in a different direction.

After all was put back together, Superman and the train's 
engineer said their good-byes, each bowing shallowly and 
wishing the other a soft "Namaste." After a courteous bow 
to the small, uninjured crowd who had gathered while he was 
talking to the engineer, Superman disappeared into the sun-
baked sky amid gracious, thankful cheers of "Dhanyabad."

					* * * * * 

As he showered in the morning, Clark liked to plan the rest 
of his day. He was a quick showerer, but he was also a 
creature of habit, so his planning didn't take long. After 
his shower he would get dressed, gather together any papers 
he had brought home from work, and stop at Maxine's for 
breakfast.

Clark ate at Maxine's several times a week, ordering a full 
breakfast of fried eggs, white bread toast, hash brown 
potatoes, bacon, and coffee. Some days he bought a muffin 
or danish for his post-dinner dessert.

Once when he had met Lois at Maxine's to go over story 
notes, she had said, over her cup of black coffee and 
unbuttered English muffin, that he ate like an eight year-
old and must have an overactive thyroid to be able to burn 
off all those calories.

No, he told her, no thyroid problems. In fact, he hadn't 
been to a doctor in ages, he was so healthy. Lois had 
shaken her head as she picked at the burnt edges of her 
English muffin, wondering aloud how he could stay in such 
good shape and gorge himself at every meal. He tried to 
assure her that it was a combination of hard work and good 
genes, though, being adopted, he had no idea *whose* good 
genes.

That morning in the shower, Clark hummed to himself as he 
planned his schedule for the morning: first a staff 
meeting, then time before lunch to work on whatever story 
Perry assigned Lois and him.

Clark was so busy with the chorus to "Oklahoma" that he 
almost missed the smear of black filth that appeared on his 
washcloth after a swipe behind his ears. Almost, but not 
quite.

Clark stared at the washcloth dumbly. What was that? He 
touched it with one brave finger, then sniffed the residue, 
detecting a burnt odor and the vague, bitter smell of 
sulfur. Not bothering to turn off the water, Clark stepped 
out of the shower and examined himself in the mirror.

Smears of black were lurking behind his left ear and on his 
left temple, as well as at the base of his neck. He noticed 
that his fingernails were lined with a thin ribbon of 
black, though their smell must have dissipated in the 
shower.

Odd, he thought. What had he done yesterday that might have 
gotten him this dirty? After coming home from the Planet 
last night, he had made dinner - nothing messy, just a 
chicken breast, baked potato, and some vegetables - gone 
over some notes for the ongoing Roush investigation he and 
Lois were working on, then watched a bit of television 
before turning in. All in all, a boring night.

So where had this dirt come from?

					* * * * *

Clark was still pondering the mystery of the grime when he 
arrived at the Planet an hour later. The staff meeting 
wasn't scheduled to start for twenty minutes yet, so he 
flipped on his computer and did a quick email scan. Then he 
searched his fairly neat desktop for anything with black 
dirt. Nothing.

Lois arrived just minutes before the meeting was to begin, 
blustering in and rifling through her mail, coat still on 
and purse still tucked under one arm. Clark went over to 
greet her, after a detour at the coffee pot to fetch her a 
cup. Clark knew from experience that Lois was a lot more 
pleasant to deal with after she'd had her morning infusion 
of caffeine.

"Good morning, Lois."

She looked up from the pile of envelopes on her desk, her 
eyes wide with surprise.

"Clark! You're- Hi! How are you?" she stammered.

Clark regarded her suspiciously, then handed her the 
coffee. Probably Lois wanted something, he surmised, 
thinking back a week to when she had skirted around him for 
days, buttering him up before swallowing her pride and 
asking him to help her move into her new apartment.

"Thank you, Clark," she said with a wide smile as she 
accepted the steaming mug. "Thank you."

Yup, Clark thought, she definitely wants something.

"See anything interesting last night?" Clark asked 
innocently, and Lois almost dropped her mug.

"What? No, of course - Where would I have seen-?"

"I meant on your stakeout. You did do a Superman stakeout 
again last night, didn't you?"

"Oh! Oh, yes," Lois said with a phony giggle. "A Superman 
stakeout, yes, I did."

"Did you find anything?" he asked again, this time more 
slowly, as if he were speaking to a child. Normally this 
would have enraged Lois; she would have called him on his 
patronizing tone, then, as payback, conveniently 
"forgotten" to tell him she was leaving for an interview 
later in the afternoon.

But Lois simply smiled. "No, nothing. Nothing at all."

"That's too bad," Clark said, eyes still narrowed 
suspiciously.

"I don't know, Clark, maybe it's not. Maybe I should just 
let the man be. I mean, he deserves to have a personal 
life, too, doesn't he? Just like I do, just like you do..."

Now Clark knew something was wrong with Lois if she was 
ready to allow Superman - the biggest story for as long as 
they or anyone else in the newspaper business could 
remember - to have a personal life. Especially if it was a 
Lois-less personal life, Clark thought ruefully, since he, 
along with the rest of the Planet staff, knew of Lois's 
infatuation with the man.

"You okay, Lois?" he asked, placing a hand on her forehead 
to feel for a temperature.

Lois smiled. "Fine, I'm fine, Clark. Just fine... And how 
are you this morning? Sleep well last night?"

Clark nodded. "I guess." As was normal for him, Clark had 
fallen asleep immediately and had not woken until his alarm 
went off early that morning. Then he remembered the smears 
of black that he had found on his body this morning.

Maybe he *hadn't* slept very well, after all. Maybe he was 
a sleepwalker!

Yes, Clark thought suddenly; that would explain it, though 
he didn't know where in his apartment he could possibly 
have gone to get him that thoroughly dirty. Those smudges 
had been in odd places, after all: behind his ear and 
around his head and neck. He made a mental note to ask his 
parents during their next phone call whether they had ever 
caught him sleepwalking when he was a kid.

Then he noticed that Lois was still standing there, smiling 
dumbly. She checked her watch.

"Looks like time for the staff meeting," she said 
cheerfully, gathering her coffee mug, a pen, and a legal 
pad. "Come on. We're going to be late."

Clark shook his head, then wandered after Lois. Since when 
had Mad Dog Lane ever worried about being on time for a 
staff meeting? Usually Lois waltzed in whenever the mood 
suited her, not caring one whit whether she disturbed the 
proceedings or not. In fact, she usually liked to make an 
entrance, then complain if anyone had "stolen" her usual 
seat.

Clark stopped at his desk to grab his own pen, paper, and 
coffee mug, all the time wondering. Lois was sure acting 
strangely, being needlessly nice to him, getting to the 
staff meeting on time - no, early, Clark noted, checking 
his watch... What was she up to, and why had she asked him 
how he had slept...?

					* * * * *

Lois waited up that night, eager to see whether Superman 
would make a return appearance at Clark's window. Not 
wanting to miss anything, she didn't take her customary 
pre-stakeout nap.

Had Lois taken her nap - had she not fallen asleep - she 
would have seen a familiar figure bedecked in blue and 
black spandex hurtling himself out of Clark's bedroom 
window at 10:45 that night.

But, instead, Lois fell asleep just before ten o'clock, and 
saw no such thing. Instead she saw, when she did awake, the 
flashing red numbers of her alarm clock: 1:37. Lois slammed 
her fist onto her notebook, which lay beside her on the 
makeshift stakeout post she had hastily constructed on her 
bedside table earlier that evening.

"Damnit!" she said, peering out her window and across the 
street into the darkened bedroom of her partner. Lois 
groped on the floor beside her, afraid even to use her 
flashlight, not wanting to reveal herself in case anyone 
happened to be watching *her.* Lois wasn't paranoid, but 
she *was* an investigative reporter, and she wasn't going 
to delude herself into thinking that city-dwellers weren't 
peeping Toms in their spare time.

Finally she found what she was looking for: her binoculars. 
Lois squinted through them, examining Clark's bedroom, 
thanking her lucky stars that he hadn't drawn his shades. 
Inside she could see a bureau and the door that led to his 
bathroom. She could also see his bed, which was, of course, 
neatly made.

"Goody two-shoes," Lois muttered with a sideways glance at 
her own bed and the pillows and sheets strewn on the floor 
beside it.

Lois adjusted the binoculars in an attempt to get a better 
angle to see into the main room of Clark's apartment. But 
then, with a start, she realized something and swung the 
binoculars back to gaze on Clark's bed. Clark's *empty* 
bed...

Why was Clark's bed empty at - Lois glanced at her clock - 
1:41 in the morning? Either he was an extreme night owl - 
which didn't seem to be the case given the lack of light 
coming from both his bedroom and main room - or he had a 
more active social life than she had given him credit for 
(this she doubted), or... Or what?

Where was Clark? Could he possibly be on a story? Nah, Lois 
decided. He would surely have told her about it, especially 
if it involved a stakeout of her favorite caped crusader. 
Her expertise in all things Super was notorious around the 
Planet newsroom. And they hadn't really been assigned any 
other stories that would merit a stakeout, especially a 
solo one.

Lois inspected Clark's bedroom closely, trying to pick out 
shapes from the shadows cast by the few lampposts shining 
from the street below. Nothing else interesting.

Then something caught her eye. Not something *in* Clark's 
bedroom exactly, but something just outside it. Lois 
refocused the binoculars and studied the window, which had 
been left open, just barely.

Lois estimated that she could fit half her hand into the 
crack between the bottom of the window and the ledge. A 
bigger man - say, Superman - could probably only fit the 
tips of his fingers, she realized. But, then, fingertips 
were all Superman would need to pry open a window.

Lois sat back with a thud. Clark was missing and it was 
past one o'clock in the morning. His bedroom window had 
been left just open enough to fit a man's fingertips. Had 
Superman and Clark gone flying?

Try as she might, and despite the exhaustion that came with 
too much spent in a dark jeep in the wee hours of the 
morning, Lois couldn't fall back to sleep that night. She 
could not get out of her mind the picture of Clark flying 
with Superman. Oh, the image was a familiar one; it had 
appeared in her dreams ever since Superman had swooped 
aboard the colonist transport, eaten the bomb, and lifted 
the mammoth space station into orbit.

In her dreams Superman came to her at night, waking her 
with a tentative tap on her window. She awoke, pulled on an 
alluring robe, which, coincidently, knew enough to fall 
open on occasion, and the two of them took off into the 
night sky. They flew in silence, not needing words to 
express their deepest feelings, their deepest longings. 
Superman showed her the wonders of the world: the pyramids, 
the Eiffel Tower, the Alps. He presented them to her like 
an offering, and her acceptance was cool and controlled, 
ever gracious.

But now Lois had another picture in her mind. The image of 
herself bedecked in a flimsy robe and negligee - of course 
needing Superman's cape to protect her against the harsh 
winds of the upper atmosphere - was now replaced by that of 
Clark. 

And what would he be wearing? she mused sullenly. Lois 
couldn't imagine Clark in anything resembling her fictional 
robe, but certainly he wouldn't fly with Superman in a 
business suit and those strangely patterned ties he wore to 
work. An image popped unbidden into Lois's mind: Clark, as 
he had appeared answering the door of his hotel room at the 
Apollo, wearing nothing but a towel, which was draped 
haphazardly across his waist. Did he fly with Superman 
wearing *that?* Lois wondered. Was *he* being kept warm by 
Superman's cape that night?

					* * * * *

The next day when Clark came to work - a full 45 minutes 
after she had, Lois noted - she didn't rush over to greet 
him. Instead she watched him as he hung his coat on the 
coat rack, poured himself a cup of coffee, and then sat 
down at his desk and booted up his computer.

Lois studied him carefully, looking for anything that 
suggested the man had been up half the night, flying around 
God-knows-where with Lois-knew-who. But there was nothing, 
no bloodshot eyes, no haggard appearance, no bags beneath 
his eyes.

She wasn't sure what to say to him, but she knew that she 
needed to say something; she needed to be one hundred 
percent certain that the object of her affections was 
indeed in a relationship with her partner. But how do you 
come out and ask your partner if, well, if he was 
*Superman's* partner?

Lois went instead to the wire room, the tiny closet 
situated off the main newsroom. She found it thankfully 
empty, so she gathered that morning's newswires and began 
sifting through them. There was nothing to indicate that 
any Metropolitans had spied Superman flying through the 
skies accompanied by anyone, never mind Clark.

After reading every wire report, she did, however, discover 
that Superman hadn't been spotted anywhere the previous 
night. There hadn't been any emergencies at all that night: 
no bridge collapses, plane crashes, not even an avalanche. 
Nothing to suggest to anyone but Lois that Superman was 
doing something other than faithfully guarding their city.

Lois was still trying to set it all straight in her head. 
So Superman and Clark were in a relationship and, from the 
looks of things, the two spent at least part of some nights 
together. Lois figured, though, that they must not spend 
the *entire* night together since Superman did regularly 
perform his nighttime rescues, despite the previous night's 
lack of excitement.

So they met in the late evening - Lois made a mental note 
to be pay attention to what time Clark left the office at 
night - got together, and then Superman flew off, sometimes 
on a joy ride - er, fly - with Clark, but probably more 
often on a rescue.

Lois brushed the piles of papers from her lap and was about 
to exit the room when she noticed Clark leaning casually 
against the doorframe, his coffee cup in hand.

"Good morning, Lois. Getting caught up on the news?"

"Just wondering what Superman was up to last night," Lois 
said nonchalantly, watching Clark carefully.

But Clark didn't take her bait. He said nothing, didn't 
even show any signs of comprehension; he just shrugged.

"Find anything?"

Lois shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "In fact, he 
hasn't been spotted around the city in a few days. I wonder 
what he's up to..."

Again Clark shrugged. "It's been a pretty slow news week. 
Perry was just complaining that unless something more 
exciting pops up, tomorrow's lead story's gonna feature the 
New Troy dog show."

"At least we've got the Roush story to keep us busy," Lois 
reminded him. "Since nothing else seems to be going on 
around here."

"Well," Clark said, "maybe Superman'll get bored with 
Metropolis and go elsewhere. I mean, if there's no action 
for him around here..." And with that, Clark headed back 
towards his desk.

But all Lois could do was stand there in a stunned silence. 
She had caught the double entendre in his last statement, 
but she wondered if it had been intentional. Was Clark 
trying to hint that he and Superman had broken up? After 
what Lois had seen the night before, it certainly seemed 
that Superman had gotten some action the previous night.

Or maybe what Lois assumed to be a *relationship* had in 
actuality been only a fling. While that fact would allow 
Lois to scratch Superman back into the "available" column 
of her mental dating list, neither Superman nor Clark 
seemed the type to indulge in a one- (or two-) night stand.

Clark *had* to have meant for the phrase to have a double 
meaning. If he hadn't, Lois reasoned, that meant one of 
three things: That he was even more innocent than she gave 
him credit for (and she had to remember that, despite his 
Green Acres childhood, Clark's relationship with Superman 
was anything but na�ve). Or that Clark, either suspecting 
she knew or just to amuse himself, was trying to be clever. 
Or that there hadn't been a double meaning because there 
was no opportunity for one... because Clark had no 
relationship with Superman.
 
Lois didn't know what to think.

					* * * * * 

"Clark, this is so nice of you. Really," Lois maintained 
after Clark shrugged off his latest goodwill gesture.

Lois snapped her end of the crisp cotton sheet but Clark 
held tight, and together they tucked it around the cushion 
of Clark's couch.

"It's nothing, Lois. Your apartment needed to be 
exterminated - and I still think you should make the 
landlord foot the bill since you just moved in and it 
obviously isn't your fault the place has fleas. Anyway, you 
need a bed for the night and I have one," Clark said with a 
pointed look into his bedroom.

"No," Lois insisted. "I told you that I don't intend to put 
you out of your own bed. I won't be any trouble. I'll just 
sleep here on the couch and stay out of your way. I mean 
it, Clark. Business as usual. Pretend I'm not even here," 
Lois said with a scheming grin.

Please, *do* pretend I'm not here, she thought. After all, 
Clark wouldn't dream of entertaining visitors in his 
bedroom if he remembered Lois was asleep on the couch. 

That was why Lois had insisted on Clark remaining in his 
own bed, in his own bedroom. She knew that if there was any 
chance of Clark and Superman continuing their nighttime 
liaisons with her in the apartment, it would only be in 
Clark's bedroom. And that was why she had invented the lame 
exterminator excuse.

Oh, her apartment did need exterminating - she had killed a 
handful of cockroaches already - but it wasn't overrun with 
fleas as she'd told Clark. She wanted her situation to seem 
urgent, and four cockroaches in one week wasn't nearly 
catastrophic enough.

Of course Lois realized that the chances of Clark and 
Superman continuing their relationship with her asleep in 
the next room were slim. But she had thought through the 
situation - she had been thinking it through for the past 
week - and she couldn't think of any other way to confirm 
her suspicions.

Lois had her plan all figured out. After feigning 
exhaustion, she would pretend to fall asleep on Clark's 
couch sometime after nine o'clock. The time was early, but 
it needed to be if she was going to lull Clark into a false 
sense of security. If Lois was to see anything interesting, 
Clark was going to have to believe she was sound asleep.

Then, after Clark had gone to bed himself, Lois would creep 
off the couch and station herself near the door to Clark's 
bedroom. And this was where the architecture of Clark's 
apartment was going to work to her advantage.

There was no door between Clark's bedroom and the rest of 
his apartment. That meant that Lois was going to have to be 
quiet, but it also meant that she needn't risk the squeak 
of an opening door to catch a glimpse of whatever was going 
on between Clark and Superman.

Lois knew the chances were slim - almost non-existent - but 
if she was going to get to the bottom of things, it was her 
only shot.

"Lois, Earth to Lois..." Clark said, and Lois snapped her 
mind back into focus. Clark was standing in front of her, 
waving one hand in front of her face. She grabbed his 
wrist.

"Yes, Clark?"

"Penny for your thoughts."

Lois paused, thinking. There was no way she could tell him 
what she had been thinking, but how to stall?

"Check the Planet's financial page, Clark," she replied 
snappishly. "My price has changed: inflation. You 
understand."

Clark opened his mouth to respond, but Lois clamped her 
hand over it.
 
"And before you start a bidding war, I should inform you 
that *my* thoughts are not for sale, certainly not in 
*your* price range."

Clark finally gave in. "Fine, Lois, you don't want to 
share. I get it. Now how 'bout dinner?" he asked, already 
stepping towards his kitchen.

"Dinner," Lois agreed. "Now you're on the right track."

					* * * * *

So far, Lois's plan had worked perfectly. At 9:15 she had 
begun to close her eyes and let her head droop to the side. 
At first Clark had nudged her awake, but, eventually, he 
had given in.

For a moment while Clark was standing above where she was 
sitting on the couch, uncomfortable and slumped over, she 
thought that her plan had backfired. She was suddenly sure 
that Clark, ever the gentleman, would lift her and carry 
her into his bedroom. Panicked, Lois had snuggled even 
further into the couch, trying to find a comfortable place 
for her head.

And Clark had let her be. Instead, he took a blanket and 
covered her gently, then, lifting her head slightly, 
propped a pillow beneath it. Now much more comfortable, 
Lois had to refrain allowing a self-satisfied smile to pass 
her lips.

Lois kept her eyes closed and listened while Clark cleaned 
up after their dinner, then straightened the stacks of 
papers they had been sifting through for their Roush story.

Then the light turned off and Lois could hear Clark's bare 
feet padding across the apartment and towards his bedroom. 
She heard a door close - undoubtedly the bathroom since it 
was the only doored room in the place - and then some water 
running.

Several minutes later the door squeaked back open and Lois 
held her breath as she heard Clark's footsteps approach 
her. The apartment was again silent as he again stood above 
her. Lois gave what she hoped was a delicate - but fake - 
snore. She heard Clark chuckle gently in response, then his 
retreating footsteps as he padded back to his room. His 
footsteps were soon accompanied by the opening of drawers 
and what she assumed to be the unzipping of his fly.

Finally Lois heard Clark's bed squeak as he got in, and she 
felt free to open her eyes. The apartment was pitch black, 
save a few shafts of light shining in from the direction of 
Clark's bedroom.

Lois forced herself to listen for several more minutes 
until she heard a heavy breathing come from Clark's 
bedroom; he was already asleep.

Carefully, Lois snuck out of bed, grabbing a blanket with 
her. If she was going to lie on the floor, at least she 
could be warm, she reasoned. It wasn't like she was going 
to let Clark catch her there or anything.

When Lois finally crawled her way to the open doorway of 
Clark's bedroom, she noticed that the beams of light were 
coming from his window, which was, as it had been the night 
she had first watched him, uncovered. A set of vertical 
blinds hugged the top of his window, allowing in the light 
from several street lamps.

Lois smiled. The open blinds could also allow something 
else - some*one* else - in, she realized. But, she noted 
with disappointment, the window wasn't open. Not one crack. 
Then Lois remembered her own Superman dream, in which he 
knocked on her window, awaking her from sleep. Maybe that 
was the system Clark and Superman had set up, too. Maybe 
they just left the window cracked open when they went out 
flying, since there was no one inside to let them back in.

Lois lay on the floor in Clark's doorway for what felt like 
an eternity. She wasn't sure how long, exactly, since she 
had taken her wristwatch off earlier in the evening, and 
Clark's alarm clock wasn't the light-up kind, so she 
couldn't see the time from across the room.

But - perhaps uncharacteristically - Lois was patient, and, 
eventually, patience gets rewarded. At least it did that 
night.

Lois estimated she had been lying in Clark's doorframe for 
about an hour when he suddenly sat straight up in bed. Lois 
froze, sure she had made some noise to awaken him. She was 
also sure that he could see her from his new position.

But Clark didn't give any indication that he had noticed 
the tiny, blanket-covered shape huddled in his bedroom 
doorway. Instead, he got up and walked across his bedroom, 
heading straight for his closet. He stood tall, erect, his 
back as straight as a board.

Lois tucked her legs beneath her and folded herself into 
the tiniest ball she could manage. She didn't know what 
Clark was doing or why he wasn't reacting to her presence, 
but she wanted to keep it that way.

Then Lois realized that Clark was probably sleepwalking. Of 
course, that explained it, she thought with a sigh. She 
just wanted to see what he was doing, though. So Lois poked 
her head out from under her blanket, glimpsing Clark's back 
end, which was sticking out from his closet.

Clark suddenly straightened and pulled out of his closet a 
wad of dark-colored clothing. Lois couldn't make out what 
it was, but one skinny, shiny pants leg hung limply from 
the bundle, and what looked like a boot dangled from his 
right hand.

Clark moved into the middle of the room and, just as 
suddenly as he had sat up, he spun - for that was the only 
word Lois could think of to describe it - out of his 
pajamas and into the clothing from his closet. With one 
quick motion, he pushed his hair back off his forehead.

Lois's stomach plummeted to her feet, then flew up into her 
throat as she watched Clark - no, *Superman* - stride over 
to the window, his cape billowing behind him. He opened the 
window and stepped out, out into... nothing. Lois knew from 
her night of spying that there was no fire escape outside 
Clark's bedroom window.

The window slid (almost) shut behind him and Lois could 
tell, even from her perch across the room, that it had been 
left open just a tiny bit. Then Clark disappeared into the 
dark Metropolis night.

					* * * * *

Lucky for her, Lois's pajamas looked something like jogging 
clothes. So when she snuck out of Clark's apartment early 
the next morning, she didn't look *too* foolish. She had 
left Clark a note on the kitchen table, saying that she had 
gone for a run and suggesting he leave for work without 
her. She hoped he would.

After what she had seen the previous night, Lois didn't 
know how to face Clark that morning. In fact, she didn't 
know how she was going to face him ever again! He had lied 
to her; he had looked her straight in the eye and told her 
shamefaced lies, with his brown eyes round and innocent.

Lois hadn't slept much that night, so it hadn't been very 
difficult to awake early, even without an alarm clock. 
After Clark - no, Superman, she corrected bitterly - had 
flown the coop, Lois had stalked about the apartment in a 
huff.

How *dare* he not tell her? How dare he not acknowledge her 
when she met him, as Superman, after that street fight the 
other night? The nerve of that man, sitting on the juiciest 
story of the century - a guaranteed Pulitzer - and doing 
nothing.

Lois didn't expect him to give up his secret for a mere 
award (and she swallowed hard when she thought this, asking 
for forgiveness from the journalism gods for insulting the 
Holy Grail). No, he needn't come completely clean, but 
together they could have concocted one hell of an interview 
with the Man of Steel. That alone would've been enough for 
a Kerth, at the very least.

Then Lois realized that Clark hadn't even done the 
interview himself. Why, she didn't know. If *she* was 
moonlighting in tights, she might not want to admit it to 
the world, but she would certainly exploit the scenario for 
a couple of front page bylines.

Probably Clark had some stinking ethic that kept him from 
using his alternate identity to further his career; he 
would, the goody two-shoes. But where was that ethic when 
it came time to coming clean to your partner? she wondered. 
Convenient moral system this guy has!

Fueled by adrenaline - and the double fudge crunch bar she 
had rooted out of Clark's junk food laden cupboards - Lois 
had paced the perimeter of the apartment after Clark left, 
half hoping he would return, half dreading it.

Oh, she knew what she would say to him. She had started 
working on it in the far recesses of her mind the moment 
she saw the familiar swish of his cape. But then she 
realized that maybe honesty wasn't the best policy in this 
case. After all, Clark had been dishonest with her; why 
should she come clean the minute she discovered his secret?

No, she decided; she needed some time to herself, time to 
think. So she did nothing, just feigned sleep on the couch, 
when Clark/Superman returned several hours later. The sun 
was coming up by then, and Lois didn't want to risk being 
seen waiting in the door jamb of Clark's bedroom.

She listened as he went into the bathroom and turned on the 
shower for what must have been half a second. At first Lois 
was puzzled, but then she realized that he had just 
showered. Pretty convenient, she mused, wishing she could 
squeeze her entire morning routine into the span of 60 
seconds.

Lois had waited another hour - sleeping maybe three-
quarters of it - before she got up and splashed her face 
with some cool water, which she took from the kitchen 
faucet, though she doubted her footsteps through his 
bedroom and into his bathroom would wake Clark.

Pulling her hair back, Lois had headed downstairs and 
outside, eager to walk off her worries.

					* * * * *

Clark didn't see his partner until almost lunchtime. Lois 
had taken her time on her walk, and was glad that Clark had 
taken her written advice and already left for the Planet 
when she returned. She took a long, hot shower and dressed 
slowly, meticulously, before leaving Clark's apartment.

Lois was in no rush to see her partner, since she hadn't 
yet decided what, if anything, she was going to say to him. 
It was when she was stopped at the third red light of her 
drive to work when Lois realized that she didn't want to 
say anything to Clark; she wanted to test him.

Though it would be considered an obvious credit to her 
investigative skills to reveal to Clark that she'd 
discovered his secret, Lois decided against it. Instead she 
would drop subtle hints to test her partner, to see how 
long it took him to realize she was onto him.

After all, Lois knew she was worth her weight in Kerth 
awards; it was her partner who was the rookie, who still 
had to prove himself in her eyes, especially since he had, 
for some unknown reason, decided not to exploit his alter 
ego for a front page exclusive.

The only things Lois figured she could test were Superman's 
invulnerability and super-hearing. For a split second, she 
considered checking his x-ray vision by wearing her 
Superman underwear and closely watching his reaction when 
he saw her.

But she quickly realized that this plan was just full of 
holes: what if Clark, who hadn't exploited his alter ego to 
get an interview, was also unwilling to do it for a cheap 
thrill? At first she'd thought she could count on it - he 
was a man, after all - but then she reminded herself that 
Clark was no ordinary man, and thought better of the whole 
ploy.

And it wasn't like she could test his flying ability or 
heat vision. What was she going to do: jump out the window? 
encase herself in ice? No, the only attributes Lois figured 
that Clark might not be able to "turn off" were his 
invulnerability and his super-hearing.

So, at the next red light, by which she was invariably 
stopped - it was just that kind of day - Lois hunted 
through the glove compartment of her jeep, looking for the 
sewing kit her mother had put there eons ago, "just in 
case."

Then she found it, tearing the plastic wrap off the unused 
kit and picking out the small fold of foil into which three 
pins were stuck. She smiled triumphantly, placed them in 
her purse, then gunned the engine in response to a chorus 
of honking horns from the line-up of cars behind her.

"Jeez, give a girl a break," Lois muttered as she sped 
through the next light, which was just turning yellow.

					* * * * *

Clark was in Perry's office when Lois arrived at the Planet 
that morning. Lois breathed a sigh of relief and headed 
over to her desk. She got the pins out of her purse and 
fastened one inside the pocket of her suit jacket, careful 
to keep the pointed end out.

Lois had just begun checking her email when Clark, fresh 
from his meeting with the Chief, strode over to her desk, 
just as Lois had anticipated. She suppressed a satisfied 
grin.

"Good morning, Clark," Lois said cheerfully.

"Where did you go this morning?" Clark asked her, and Lois 
thought she detected a note of hurt in his tone.

"Didn't you see my note?" she asked, careful to keep her 
voice down since Jack Burns, who had the desk opposite 
Lois's, had his neck craned un-subtly in their direction. 
Lois suspected Jack to be the genesis of the active 
interoffice rumor mill, and she didn't want him to get any 
mistaken ideas about the previous night.

"I got it," Clark said. "But I thought we were going to 
ride in together."

"Sorry," Lois said brusquely, wondering why Clark sounded 
so put-out. Sure, he'd had to find his own way to the 
Planet, but so what? He traveled alone to work most 
mornings. And it wasn't like it took him long; heck, he 
probably flew to work every morning, Superman Express.

"You're in late," Clark pointed out.

"Mm hmm," Lois said. "My jog took a little longer than 
usual."

"You didn't get lost..?"

"Of course not," Lois huffed, stopping short of reminding 
Clark that *he* was the one who was new to Metropolis, not 
her. But she didn't want to start a fight, not if she was 
going to have an opportunity to test out Clark's 
invulnerability.

"Look at this, Clark," Lois said, pointing to one of the 
news update emails she'd received. "Isn't that 
interesting?"

While Clark was bending over to examine her computer 
screen, Lois took the opportunity to remove a pin from her 
blazer pocket. Trying to be discreet, she jabbed it through 
Clark's jacket sleeve and into left forearm.

Nothing. No yelp of pain, not even a shrug. No indication 
that he'd felt the prick at all.

Lois pulled the pin back out and examined it. About halfway 
up its length, the pin was bent at a ninety degree angle. 
Lois frowned and studied Clark's arm. Had she really stuck 
him? Was this what hitting invulnerable skin did to a pin? 
Or had she missed, and instead hit the top button on his 
jacket?

"So First-Aid Pharmacy's expanding its chain to the west 
coast," Clark said in a bored tone, as he turned to face 
her. "So what?"

Lois stuck her pin back into her blazer pocket, 
accidentally jabbing herself with its bent tip. She 
grimaced, then tried to hide her reaction, not wanting 
Clark to get suspicious and x-ray her hand. Boy, you really 
had to be on the ball around Superman, didn't you? she 
thought.

"So what?" Lois repeated. "So *what?* So we're only 
investigating Matthew Roush, the founder and CEO of both 
Roush Pharmaceuticals and First-Aid Pharmacy, for fraud, 
that's all," she reminded him.

"Really, Clark, you'd better keep on top of things if 
you're gonna survive in this town," she advised him before 
filing the First-Aid e-mail and clicking on the next 
message.

					* * * * *

Lois spent the remainder of the morning lining Clark's desk 
chair with tiny gold tacks, waiting for a reaction. She had 
to quit, however, after Carl from Travel asked Clark 
whether he had discovered a new place to keep his desk 
supplies. Clark had looked convincingly surprised when Carl 
pointed out the tiny gold circles stuck into the former's 
backside. But it was Carl who got the majority of the 
ribbing for having "checked out" another man's derriere.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that Lois had occasion 
to implement her second plan of attack. When she saw Clark 
engrossed in a document on his computer screen, Lois snuck 
over to the wire room, a location she had chosen carefully 
for its usual emptiness at that time of day, its distance 
from the newsroom, and its perfect view of Clark's desk. 
After all, if Lois couldn't see Clark, she could scarcely 
tell whether what she was going to say would effect any 
reaction.

After closing the door of the wire room - she didn't want 
anyone to hear what she was about to say, after all - Lois 
huddled in a corner.

"Clark," she whispered tentatively, watching her partner at 
his desk.

No reaction.

But that didn't mean anything, Lois told herself. After 
all, Clark must be used to hearing people talk about him. 
Someone with super-hearing probably had to grow immune to 
hearing his name dropped in random conversations. Lois 
continued.

"Gosh, I just can't believe how attractive Clark looks 
today," she swooned, feeling increasingly stupid. But her 
eyes remained riveted on Clark, waiting for a reaction. 
"Working so closely with him, I don't know if I can control 
myself. I might have to drag him into the wire room and 
have my way with him."

Nothing. Lois was sure that would do it. Even if Clark 
didn't give a reaction that would be obvious to the 
newsroom, Lois at least expected him to turn casually and 
glance in the direction of the wire room, where she was 
hiding. But nothing. No visible tensing when she began 
whispering, no turning to look at the wire room; Clark 
wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Lois stomped her foot on the floor and took a few paces 
across the length of the tiny room. She recommenced her 
whispering as she strode, increasing its volume. But still, 
nothing.

Eventually Lois gave up and returned to her desk, passing 
Clark's on the way. He gave no indication of having heard 
her, and she flopped down onto her chair, exasperated.

Okay, Lois, she told herself, so maybe Clark has some way 
of turning off his super-hearing at the Planet. After all, 
Superman sightings only happened at night, long after Clark 
- and the rest of the Planet's daytime staff - had gone 
home. If he wasn't going to leave work to answer every cry 
for help, maybe he could block the cries out, so not to 
distract himself.

Lois was frustrated, but she was also disappointed. After 
all, the fact that Clark hadn't yet picked up on her tests 
of his super abilities only reflected poorly on him. Lois 
had figured out her partner's secret; it was Clark who had 
to do the figuring now.

					* * * * *

That afternoon Lois and Clark crowded into the conference 
room for a rare assignment update meeting. These meetings, 
which updated the entire reporting staff on all outstanding 
investigations, were Clark's favorites. Clark liked hearing 
what everyone else was doing, getting new ideas during the 
meetings' usual lengthy brainstorming sessions, and just 
luxuriating in the excitement of it all.

The room was packed with reporters - some of whom were 
freelancers and didn't attend regular staff meetings - and 
their stacks of notebooks, file folders, and cassette 
tapes. They arrived early, jockeying for position around 
the table, elbowing to get a seat, with some reporters even 
wheeling in extra chairs from their desks.

Perry only held these meetings once every few weeks, making 
them somewhat of a treat: a chance for each reporter to get 
an idea of what the others were working on, to pitch in to 
help their co-workers with information, suggestions, or 
simply ears to bend.

But today Clark was having a difficult time enjoying 
himself. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, accidentally 
bumping his knees against Lois's in the process. She turned 
to scowl at him and he shrugged apologetically. Clark snuck 
a peek at his partner after she turned away from him and 
back to Perry, who was explaining the paper's new 
guidelines for stakeouts, which Clark and Lois had heard 
the previous week.

Lois was the cause of a good percentage of his problems, 
Clark admitted as he watched her twirl her pen impatiently. 
She had been acting very strange lately, starting when she 
got all jumpy when he asked about her latest Superman 
stakeout. Maybe she'd uncovered something interesting that 
night and didn't want to share it.

Yeah, Clark thought, that was probably it. Sometimes Lois 
wasn't the most generous partner, especially when she - 
admittedly - had done most of the background work. And 
Clark didn't expect her to share a byline with him or 
anything. Like every other Metropolitan, though, he was 
curious about the city's nighttime guardian, the man who 
rescued stranded hikers and carjacked civilians by night, 
and disappeared into Metropolis's smoggy daytime skyline.

And then, that morning, Lois had disappeared from his 
apartment after telling him they would drive in to work 
together. He'd half-expected her to already be at the 
Planet when he arrived, but she wasn't; maybe her note 
about going for a walk had been true.

Either way, she'd acted awfully evasive when she did 
finally show up. To boot, she'd been skirting around him 
all day, disappearing into the archives or wire room or 
spying on him from behind the dead plant on her desk.

It was almost like Lois had multiple personalities, Clark 
thought; sometimes she acted suspicious, like when she went 
out for her walk that morning. Other times she went out of 
her way to be nice to him, like after he had sat on those 
stupid tacks this morning. Usually Lois would have laughed 
at him, come up with some clever joke to make him blush. 
But instead she'd just watched, wide-eyed, as Carl from 
Travel pointed out the shiny gold dots affixed to the 
backside of Clark's slacks.

Clark sighed loudly, prompting a stern look from the Chief, 
who had now passed the baton off to Jack Burns, who was 
investigating a string of bank robberies that everyone but 
Jack admitted probably weren't connected. But, being almost 
as tenacious and nosy as Mad Dog Lane, Jack refused to give 
up his bone.

Clark let his thoughts drift back a week, back to when Lois 
had first started acting so strangely. It was the same 
morning that he'd discovered the strange black dirt on 
himself in the shower. Since then Clark had thoroughly 
cleaned both his apartment - though that was partially in 
preparation for Lois's stay - and his desk at the Planet. 
But he'd found nothing with that same black dirt.

At times, usually in the mornings, he had smelled a twinge 
of the sulfur stench he first noticed in the shower that 
morning. That morning he had smelled it again as he'd 
picked out his tie - a school of tiny fish swimming away 
from the giant mouth of a shark - but, still, he couldn't 
find its source. He had even opened his window, thinking 
that perhaps a new factory had opened up nearby and taken 
to polluting his otherwise clean-smelling corner of 
Metropolis.

But no. There was no new factory, not that he could see, 
anyway. And that was why he had been looking forward to 
riding in with Lois that morning. Maybe being a passenger 
in her car would give him a different vantage point, a 
chance to catch a glimpse of anything new which could be 
emitting such a pungent odor.

Clark even wondered if maybe the dirt could have come from 
somewhere on Lois's car. He couldn't think of an obvious 
origin for the dirt - he hadn't helped Lois change a flat 
tire and she hadn't made him pump any gas for her in weeks 
- but maybe there was some grease in the hinge of her door 
or somewhere. Though Clark didn't know how it could've 
gotten from her car to his face.

He had even called to ask his parents about his sleep 
habits as a child. Any sleep-walking? While that might not 
explain where the dirt had come from, it might explain how 
he had unknowingly gotten it on himself.

But no. As far as they knew, he had always been a normal 
sleeper: no sleepwalking, no talking in his sleep, not even 
any snoring. Are you sure? he'd asked them again. No, 
they'd assured him; he'd had a perfectly normal childhood, 
but why did he ask? Was something wrong?

No, he'd told them. He was just wondering. His parents had 
enough to think about, what with the bad weather they'd 
been having at Smallville and the results of his father's 
cholesterol screening not being up to par. Clark didn't 
want to worry them with what was a pretty trivial problem, 
which for some reason he couldn't let go of.

					* * * * *

Lois was at a loss. Obviously Clark didn't know she was on 
to him, but she couldn't think of another way to make her 
knowledge known, short of straight out telling him.

Clearly he was still a rookie; Lois wondered if the man had 
any future in the field of journalism at all. It was all 
too bad, really, Lois mused. After all, she was just 
starting to get used to having the guy around, maybe even 
*enjoying* him. From time to time he did show initiative 
and dedication, and Lois knew he could write. Too bad he 
couldn't hack it as an investigator.

It took Lois a few days to concoct another scheme, one she 
decided would be her final test of Clark's investigative 
aptitude. Lois was so excited over her new experiment that 
she could barely sleep the night before.

Lois was back in her apartment that night. She couldn't 
find any further use in staying with Clark. So she told him 
that once they assessed the situation in her apartment, the 
exterminators had found that they needed a less toxic spray 
than they had anticipated. She only needed to stay away 
from her apartment for one day.

After a night of tossing and turning - a night during which 
Lois had inadvertently torn her sheets off her bed not once 
but twice - Lois arrived at the Planet earlier than usual, 
earlier than Clark.

By Planet standards, Clark was unusually punctual, so Lois 
knew that when the clock hit 7:43 it was her cue to head 
towards the coffee stand in the corner of the newsroom. 
Slowly she poured the steaming brew into her own cup, then 
into Clark's, a red mug branded with a gaudy "Smallville 
High School" logo. She took her time stirring his whole 
milk and four lumps of sugar into the mug, checking the 
wall clock after she ripped open each tiny packet.

Still no Clark. Lois began to get nervous when the clock 
hit 7:47 and Clark had still not appeared.

Lois surveyed the newsroom, her gaze settling on Paula 
Myerson, whose desk was near Clark's. A stack of legal pads 
and file folders nearly as tall as tiny Paula rose from her 
desk. Paula herself was buried beneath the papers, her 
glasses resting absently atop her head.

"'Morning, Paula," Lois called, an eye on the elevator 
doors as she headed over to the woman's desk, carrying both 
mugs of coffee.

"Hi, Lois," Paula called back. "Morning already?" she added 
with a check of her watch and a vacant gaze at the 
newsroom, which was steadily gaining in population. "Feels 
like I've been here forever!"

"You didn't go home last night?"

"Nah, I got a break on a story - you know, the corruption 
scandal at the twenty-third precinct - so I decided to 
finish it up last night. Anyway, my ex has the kids this 
week, so I figured I better take advantage of my time."

Lois nodded, took a quick sip from her mug, her mouth 
almost burning from the hot liquid.

"So, have you noticed if Clark's been in this morning?" 
Lois asked innocently as Paula fumbled around for her 
glasses. Lois pointed them out.

"Thanks," Paula said, then added, "Oh, uh, Clark. Yeah, I 
think I did see him today. Not sure where he is, though."

"Thanks, Paula," Lois said with a sigh as she regarded the 
SHS logo on Clark's mug. She again surveyed the newsroom, 
looking for some evidence of Clark. She was just starting 
to scout out another left-over, late-night worker to ask 
after Clark's whereabouts when she saw him coming down the 
steps into the pit of the newsroom, a coffee cup balanced 
precariously on a stack of books and folders.

Lois rushed over to her partner, nearly tripping over 
Paula's purse strap, which hung loosely from her bottom 
drawer. Once again, Lois checked the coffee in the mugs she 
carried, grateful she hadn't spilled any.

"Clark," she called out, attracting her partner's 
attention.

"Good morning, Lois," Clark said as they met at his desk 
and he set down his pile of research, his mug teetering 
precariously atop it.

"Coffee," Lois said, holding the mug out towards him.

"I've already got a cup," he told her, indicating the half-
filled Daily Planet mug which he had rescued from his pile 
of notes and set on the woven coaster on the corner of his 
desk. "Thanks, though."

Lois squelched the tide of panic that spilled over her. 
"Yeah, but this is fresh. Cream and sugar, just the way you 
like it," she said, offering the cup yet again.

"Well, thanks," Clark said, reaching out to accept the mug. 
But before he could, Lois extended her arm further, 
allowing the coffee mug to crash into Clark's hand, where 
it broke, sending a cascade of scalding coffee and shards 
of red ceramic onto Clark's right arm and down to his feet.

"Oh, Clark, I'm so sorry," Lois exclaimed, grabbing Clark's 
right wrist. "We'd better run your hand under some cool 
water. The coffee was hot, and you don't want to get 
burned."

Without protest or reluctance, Clark allowed Lois to usher 
him over to the coffee stand, where she held his hand under 
a tap of cold water. After several minutes she pulled his 
hand from the stream of water, examining it closely.

"Looks like it wasn't that hot after all," Clark mused when 
he and Lois realized that he had not been burnt.

"But it was!" Lois insisted. "I poured some for myself, 
too, and I nearly burnt my mouth on it!"

With a skeptical squint Lois regarded her partner, the 
sleeve of his right sleeve pushed up to his elbow. Lois put 
a hand on the wet fabric of his shirt, then quickly pulled 
it away. The fabric, not having been run under the tap, was 
still warm, even hot. Lois ran her hand over Clark's, 
feeling for the beginnings of a blister.

"It doesn't hurt?" she probed.

"Nope," Clark said with a shrug.

Lois stared into Clark's eyes, scrutinizing, looking for a 
hint of nervousness or dishonesty. Nothing.

His right hand still held by Lois's hands, Clark used his 
left hand pull several squares of paper towel from the 
dispenser on the wall above the sink. "Thanks anyway, 
Lois," he said, reclaiming his arm and returning to his 
desk to clean up their mess.

Lois just stood at the coffee stand, a mix of disbelief and 
revelation washing over her. Clark didn't know he was 
Superman, she finally realized. He didn't know!

					* * * * *

The newsroom of the Daily Planet was quiet and nearly 
deserted. Only a handful of night shift workers remained in 
the half-lit pit of the newsroom, which crouched in wait 
like a tiger, eyes and ears perked, ready to spring to 
action. Several computer screens glowed eerily in the 
shadows, their owners, wanting to squeeze out another hour 
of productivity, having left for a coffee break, or for the 
night.

Lois's desk was also quiet; her computer screen was dark 
and her desk lamp switched off. Likewise, Clark's desk was 
deserted, its owner having abandoned it several hours 
earlier, ostensibly for a long night at home, a night Clark 
was hoping to fill with extensive research, Indian take-
out, and Lois Lane.

Lois, however, was sitting in the conference room, a pile 
of notes spread around her on the long table, providing a 
fa�ade of work. Again she had told Clark to go on without 
her, promising she would head over to his apartment after 
stopping off at her own to pick up a stack of research 
files she'd left there. Lois didn't even need to change out 
of her work clothes, since her overnight bag was still at 
Clark's, left there from her stay the other night.

But Lois wasn't working. Rather, her head was laid gently 
on a large pile of papers that functioned surprisingly well 
as a pillow.

But Lois wasn't sleeping, either. Her eyes were open and 
alert, and her mind was spinning, as it had been doing ever 
since she had accidentally-on-purpose spilled coffee on 
Clark's hand that morning. Finally, she had realized the 
truth, not only that Clark was Superman, but that - 
shocking as it was for Lois to believe - Clark didn't know 
it.

It was the only thing that made sense, considering both the 
lack of effect the coffee had had on his skin and the 
strange ways he'd behaved in the past. Now Lois remembered 
how he hadn't seemed winded or tired when he had helped her 
move into her new apartment. How he hadn't noticed the 
tacks sticking into his backside. How he hadn't reacted 
when she had whispered endearments to him from the wire 
room.

Lois thought back further, remembering a handful of other 
times that should have aroused her suspicions. Clark had 
never seemed to get tired during the handful of stakeouts 
they'd been on together. Clark had not fallen ill when that 
flu bug had ravaged the newsroom several weeks before. And 
everyone had gotten sick, *everyone,* even Perry. Even Lois 
herself.

These last few days she had been trying to test Clark's 
investigative skills, scouting around to see how long it 
would take him to realize that she was on to him, when all 
along it had been her own skills that were being tested. 
How could she not realize that he didn't know? Clark didn't 
have that good a poker face. Even he couldn't play dumb 
that many times. How could I have been so *blind?* Lois 
berated herself.

She sat in self-pity for another few minutes, mourning the 
death of what, until that day, she had considered to be her 
unsurpassed journalistic abilities. But then Lois realized 
that, rightfully, she had little to be worried about. After 
all, Clark himself hadn't realized the truth!

With that realization, Lois fell into a well of confusion: 
what to do now? Should she let Clark in on her discovery? 
Sure, she would want to know, if it were her, but Clark was 
definitely not her; that fact, never really in dispute, had 
been proved once and for all earlier that day.

And what would Clark's reaction be when he found out? Was 
he in some kind of state of daytime amnesia? Surely he 
wasn't a science experiment, a Jekyll and Hyde in a cape 
and tights... or was he?

Then a thought came to Lois: maybe, once he knew the truth, 
Clark wouldn't want to continue being Superman. Maybe once 
he came to consciousness and began to remember his 
nighttime activities, he would decide that the burden of 
superpowers was just too much, and elect to hang up his 
cape once and for all. If Lois revealed Clark's nighttime 
identity to him, she would, in effect, rob Metropolis of 
its guardian angel.

Or, Lois thought with near-equivalent dread, maybe his 
Superman personality would take over, brushing Clark to the 
wayside. Maybe it would be Superman who would decide that 
Clark's identity was a waste of time. After all, Superman 
could certainly get more done in a day than could Clark, 
who would have to pretend to be a mere mortal, lest his 
identity be lost and his conflict resolved for him by a 
nosy government scientist or some unethical LNN reporter, 
Lois thought with scorn.

"Lois?" a voice interrupted Lois's thoughts. "What are you 
doin in there, darlin?"

Lois looked up to see Perry standing in the door of the 
conference room, his gray hair and slight paunch of a belly 
exaggerated by the halo of light coming from the lamps 
behind him.

"I'm fine, Perry," Lois said.

"What are you workin on? Somethin big?" he asked.

"No, not really. Just thinking," Lois replied with a shrug.

After an almost imperceptible glance at the watch on his 
right wrist, Perry dropped his briefcase in the doorway and 
entered the conference room, taking a seat across the table 
from Lois. He pushed aside a sheaf of paper and rested his 
hands on the table.

"Lo-iss," he said in a warning tone that reminded Lois of 
her childhood, when her father would fold his long limbs 
into one of her child-size chairs and interrogate her after 
she'd misbehaved. "What's really wrong?"

"Nothing, Chief, really."

But Perry didn't budge from the table. He sat there, 
waiting patiently for Lois to open up, no doubt running 
Elvis stories through his head, brushing up so he could 
find one to relate to Lois's situation.

"Perry, what do you do if you know something, something 
about someone? How do you know if you should tell them 
about it?"

"Are you talkin about a story here, Lois?"

"No, it's not a story. Let's say I knew something about 
someone... Say I found out something about Clark, for 
example. How do I know if I should tell him about it or 
not?"

"Is this somethin he knows but doesn't know you know, or 
somethin he doesn't even know himself?" Perry asked.

"Something he doesn't know," Lois said in a low voice.

"Well, Lois," Perry began, "Sounds to me like you've got 
the same dilemma the King had with Priscilla. This was back 
before they were married, see. Elvis found out that the man 
Priscilla loved wasn't bein faithful to her. And he asked 
Colonel Parker what he should do about it: should he tell 
Priscilla about the no-good beatnik she was with and risk 
hurtin her and makin her mad, or should he keep the guy's 
secret, and spare Priscilla's feelings for the time being?"

"So what did he do?"

"Well, the Colonel told Elvis that it'd hurt Priscilla more 
if she found out later that Elvis knew about the dirty old 
hound dog she was with, but never told her. So Elvis told 
Priscilla."

"Was she mad?" Lois asked.

Perry nodded. "Sure as Elvis was the King! But she got over 
it, and everything worked out for them."

"So you're saying I should tell about Clark this... this 
thing?" Lois clarified.

"Well, I'll tell ya, Lois, the reason why the truth was the 
right choice for Elvis was because his and Priscilla's 
friendship was strong enough to weather the storm. You get 
my drift?"

Lois nodded. "Thanks, Perry."

Perry rose from the table. "Now, are you gonna clear outta 
here and head home, or am I gonna have to haul you out?"

Lois smiled. "I guess it is getting kind of late," she 
admitted, straightening her notes into a single pile.

"Let me help you with those, Lois," Perry offered, taking 
half the pile and heading towards Lois's desk. Lois took 
the other half and followed him. After they had relocated 
her pile research onto her desk, Perry waited for Lois to 
grab her coat, satchel, and purse, and together they headed 
for the parking garage.

					* * * * * 

Lois dropped her purse, work satchel, and keys on the table 
beside her couch before carefully locking the half-dozen 
bolts and chains on her door. When the final lock had 
clicked into place, she wandered into her bedroom, 
shrugging out of her blazer as she went. She had just 
dropped her blazer on her bed when she became distracted by 
something out her window.

Lois wandered towards the window and saw that Clark's 
bedroom light was on. She grabbed her binoculars off the 
surveillance table she had set up in front of the window 
and scanned Clark's apartment. She couldn't see anything, 
but Lois thought it odd that he would leave the lights on 
at such a late hour. She was about to check the time when a 
sound - a voice - almost caused her to drop her binoculars.

"So this is how the illustrious reporter gets her scoops... 
spying on her neighbors," the voice pronounced carefully, 
threateningly.

Lois whipped around to face her intruder but never quite 
made it. Instead, she felt a barreling blow to her temple 
and fell to the floor. Lois struggled to remain conscious 
as her bedroom shimmied in front of her eyes. She blinked 
back against the darkness closing in, watching as feet clad 
in black cowboy boots stepped towards her. Lois waved her 
right hand, trying to find the floor so she could prop 
herself into a sitting position, but to no avail.

Instead, the blackness slid from her peripheral vision and 
almost closed in on her. She blinked again, trying to clear 
her head. But all she could see was the shiny metallic 
barrel of a gun as it swung to the side, then crashed this 
time into the back of her skull.

Lois stopped fighting and allowed the blackness to overcome 
her, sliding in from the sides to close her field of view 
like heavy velvet theater curtains. For a second she was 
engulfed in a warm, peaceful tidal wave as the darkness 
took her over.

"Feisty one," the voice chuckled as Lois slipped into 
unconsciousness.

					* * * * * 

Lois came to abruptly, her setting snapping back into place 
like a rubber band. The sound came first; she could hear 
the whizzing of a fan and the click of rain on the roof, 
like the sound of nails a keyboard. She heard no voices, 
just the fan and the rain, and the intermittent rumble of 
thunder in the distance.

Her eyes flew open and Lois discovered that she was sitting 
in the middle of a near-empty room. On the wall across from 
her was a window, but a dark, drawn shade prevented her 
from discerning her location. The walls of the room were 
clean but unadorned save several cracks running diagonal 
lines from ceiling to floor.

Lois fought off the intense pain searing through her skull 
and moved her head, trying to get a better glimpse of her 
surroundings. She could see the two side walls of the room, 
both of which were as bare as the first and eggshell white, 
same as the ceiling, which contained only a single light 
bulb and metal pull-chain.

It wasn't until Lois suppressed her mind fog enough and 
attempted to stand that she realized she was tied down. 
Carefully - preparing for the resultant dizziness - she 
tipped her head slightly downward, and could see that neat 
rows of rope bound her to a high-back wooden chair. The 
rope was coiled around her feet and legs, around her 
abdomen, all the way up to her shoulders.

Gently she tried to move the chair. If she could scoot it 
over to the window or door - she knew there had to be one 
somewhere, even if she couldn't see it - maybe she could 
escape. Lois pushed against the balls of her feet, trying 
to shift her weight and propel the chair forward. No luck; 
her ankles were tied so tightly to the chair that she 
couldn't move her feet.

So Lois tried to move the rest of her body, wriggling her 
thighs, her backside, her chest. Still nothing. She relaxed 
back against the chair, giving herself a minute to think.

Okay, Lois thought, I'm tied up, in a nondescript room, in 
some as-yet-undetermined location. No one knows I'm here 
and I'm not expected anywhere until tomorrow morning... 
assuming it's still night and hasn't already become 
tomorrow already.

Lois was about to sigh in exasperation - a primal scream 
was out, given the circumstances - when she heard what 
sounded like breathing. Someone else was in the room with 
her!

"Who's there?" she called sharply, not sure what kind of 
answer she would receive or, indeed, what kind she wanted.

"Lois?" called a very close voice. Lois strained against 
the ropes, twisting and turning, but she got nowhere.

"Lois?"

"Clark? Clark, is that you?" Lois called, hope beginning to 
well up inside.

"Yeah, Lois, it's Clark. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Are *you* okay?" she asked, then thought 
better of the question. Of course Clark was okay! Clark was 
Superman; nothing could hurt Superman, Lois thought with a 
grin. They were as good as out of there!

"Yeah, I'm fine; they didn't hurt me. I was worried about 
you, though. When they brought you in, it looked... well, 
it looked like you were dead."

"They wish," Lois said, thinking that their captors - 
whoever they were - probably would be wishing she were dead 
pretty soon, after she and Clark disappeared into the dark 
night... though not, she thought, before they figured out 
who had kidnapped them. And why.

And how, Lois thought, wondering how one went about 
kidnapping Superman. After all, you couldn't just whap him 
over the head with a gun like they had Lois.

"Do you know where we are?" Lois asked. She was still 
working through how she was going to break the news to 
Clark; since they couldn't have hurt him, maybe he had seen 
something on the way here, something to give them a clue as 
to who had taken them.

"Somewhere in Hobbs Bay is all I can figure," Clark said. 
"When I got home there was a guy with a gun waiting in my 
bedroom. He said he wouldn't shoot if I was quiet and came 
with him without making a fuss, so I did."

You must've gotten the nice one, Lois thought, but said 
nothing. She didn't want Clark getting all over-protective 
of her just now; it was one of his less endearing 
personality traits, and it certainly wouldn't help them to 
get out of the jam they were in.

"He put me in the back of a van," Clark continued, "and 
handcuffed my hands and feet and bound my mouth. I waited 
in the van for a while, and then you were tossed in next to 
me. When I first saw you I thought..."

"Yeah, yeah," Lois said, impatient. "You thought I was 
dead. What happened next?"

"We drove for a while. I think we stayed in the city, 
though. I couldn't see anything - the back windows of the 
van were covered over - but we never went fast enough to be 
driving on a highway."

"Unless they drove down side streets and back roads," Lois 
put in.

"No," Clark said, "there were lots of stoplights. I'm sure 
we didn't leave Metropolis. Anyway, they stopped the van 
after we'd been driving for maybe half an hour. Then one of 
the guys put a blindfold on me and led me out of the van 
and into a building. We went up some steps and then took my 
blindfold off and here I was. The other guy carried you in 
and they sat us on these chairs and tied us up."

"So we're tied together?" Lois asked.

"Yeah," Clark said, "back to back. See," Clark told her, 
then Lois felt a burning sensation across her chest and 
legs as the ropes strained against her body.

"Aah," she gasped. "Okay, I get it... back to back so we 
can't lean forward and try to break the ropes. What else? 
How'd you get the gag off your mouth."

"They took it off," Clark said. "One of the guys - the one 
who grabbed you - said it wouldn't do any good to yell 
anyway, since no one would pay any attention to me around 
here."

Lois nodded. "Okay, so maybe it is Hobbs Bay. At least we 
know that we're probably in a bad part of town, or a 
deserted one. And we know that they're probably going to 
interrogate us," Lois added.

"We do? How do we know that?"

"Why else would they take the gag out of your mouth?" Lois 
reasoned. "I doubt they're trying for the 'Kidnapper of the 
Year' award," she quipped.

"That makes sense," Clark said.

"Sure does, rookie," Lois told him. "Wherever would you be 
if I weren't here to decipher all the clues?"

"What clues?" Clark asked.

"Well," Lois said slowly, "what does the room look like 
from where you're sitting? There's not much to it from my 
view. Some white-washed walls, a window covered with a 
black shade. That's about it."

"Well, there's a door on my side," Clark said. "Pretty 
normal-looking. I think it's old and wooden but it's 
painted white. I think there's a bunch of locks on the 
outside, too. When they shut us in I could hear them 
turning the locks. I definitely heard a few deadbolts and a 
chain lock, but I think there's more."

"Hey!" Lois said, a thought springing to mind. "Did you get 
a good look at either of the guys? The one who grabbed me 
knocked me out before I could see anything, except that he 
was wearing black cowboy boots."

"Not really," Clark said. "He was wearing one of those knit 
face masks with holes for the eyes and mouth. So was the 
one who got you; I saw him when he dumped you in the van."

Lois sighed. It was time to tell him. Lois had wanted to 
get a grasp of their situation - and give her head some 
time to stop throbbing - before she told Clark he was 
Superman and they could make their escape.

They didn't know much about their abductors, but, then 
again, with Clark's handy dual identity, they wouldn't need 
to know much to escape. Especially once he put his x-ray 
vision to good use.

"Okay, Clark, I know you're not going to believe me when I 
tell you this, but just please keep an open mind," she 
began.

"An open mind? We've just been kidnapped, Lois! I think I 
would believe pretty much anything right now!"

"Okay," Lois said, "Clark, you were adopted, right?"

"Lois, I fail to see what this has to do-"

"Just trust me, Clark," Lois insisted. "You *were* 
adopted..."

"Yes, Lois, you know I was," Clark said, an impatient edge 
to his voice.

"Okay, so that means your parents aren't really your 
parents, right?"

Lois could feel a tug on the ropes around her chest and 
abdomen as - she assumed - Clark sat up with indignation. 
"Of *course* they're my parents, Lois. They raised me; they 
were the ones-"

"Cut the touchy-feely stuff, Clark. What I'm trying to say 
is that you don't know who gave birth to you. I mean, it 
could've been anyone. Maybe they're not even from this 
country. Maybe not even from this *planet,*" she said 
carefully.

"Lois! What *are* you talking about?"

Okay, Lane, enough with the indirect approach. You're tied 
together in a room somewhere (probably) in Hobbs Bay; you 
don't have time to break the news slow and spare Clark's 
feelings.

"Clark, you're Superman."

The room was suddenly quiet. Lois could hear her own 
breath, the shallow in-out allowed by the constricting 
ropes. But she heard nothing from behind her. Clark was 
silent.

"Clark, did you hear me? I said you're Superman."

Clark's response was slow in coming, and his tone dripped 
with exaggerated patience once he did begin to speak. 
"Lois, now I know we've been abducted and tied up, and I 
know you're possibly the biggest Superman fan in 
Metropolis, and I know we both wish Superman would come by 
and rescue us, but-"

"Clark, don't patronize me! I know what I'm talking about. 
We don't need to wait for Superman to swoop by and save us; 
*you're* Superman!"

"I didn't mean to patronize you-"

"Yes, you did," Lois insisted.

"Fine, I did, and I'm sorry. But I am *not* Superman."

"You are," Lois stated.

"Lo-iss, don't you think I would know if I were Superman? 
That's the kind of thing a man would know about himself. 
How could I not know such a thing? Answer me that!" Clark 
demanded.

"I don't know, but, Clark, you are! You said you'd keep an 
open mind. Why won't you trust me?"

"'Cause I know you wanna get out of here. Maybe you're 
thinking... No, I don't know what you're thinking. Your 
mind is a mystery to me, Lois."

"Cute, Clark. Now listen to me. I saw you with my own two 
eyes. Last night I saw you change into Superman. I saw it! 
I wasn't really sleepy - I was pretending so you'd go to 
bed yourself - and I stayed up and watched from the door to 
your bedroom. After a while you woke up, changed into some 
clothes from the back of your closet, and flew out the 
window. I saw you!"

"Lois, I don't know what you're playing at here, but-"

"Clark," Lois huffed. "Just trust me. Okay, why don't you 
try using your heat vision to burn a hole in the door 
there. Just try it," Lois said before Clark had a chance to 
object.

"Fine," Clark said curtly.

They sat for several moments in silence, Lois waiting for 
the sweet smell of freedom, disguised as burning wood, to 
fill the air.

"Well?" she asked after several minutes.

"Nothing," Clark said. "I don't know what you were 
expecting, Lois. I'm not Superman!"

"Yes, you are," Lois insisted with equal force. "Okay, I 
don't know why it didn't work. I mean, I've seen it; I've 
seen you fly. Maybe it has something to do with your 
glasses. I mean, you don't wear them when you're out as 
Superman, so maybe the glass has some kind of inhibitory 
power or something... Okay, try this: try looking above 
your glasses. See if you can do it then."

"Nope," Clark said after another minute.

"Humph," Lois sighed. "Well, it's probably just because you 
don't *believe* you can do it. The mind is very powerful, 
you know. You're probably stopping yourself from fulfilling 
your full potential."

"Sure, Lois," Clark scoffed. "Whatever you say."

Lois ignored Clark's paternalistic tone. "Clark, listen to 
me. Remember the other day when you sat on those 
thumbtacks. Well, I put them on your chair. I wanted you to 
sit on them, so I could see if they hurt you, to see if 
you're Superman," she confessed none-too-guiltily.

"*You* did that?! Lois, you made me look like a fool in 
front of the entire newsroom. You-"

"Yeah, sorry," Lois said in a rush. "But I needed to test 
my theory. The point is, they didn't hurt. You didn't even 
know they were there, did you, until Carl pointed them 
out?"

Clark paused for a minute and a smile crept over Lois's 
face. "That doesn't mean anything," Clark finally said. "So 
I didn't feel the tacks, so what? Maybe they had blunt 
tips; maybe I was wearing thick pants that day; maybe-"

"Maybe you're Superman?" Lois supplied. "And remember when 
we moved into my apartment? You didn't get winded carrying 
the heaviest boxes. And you didn't break a sweat, either!"

"And just how do you know that Superman doesn't sweat, 
Lois?" Clark asked. "It just wasn't all that hot. Maybe-"

"Maybe you're Superman," Lois repeated. "And- oh! Yes! I 
spilled coffee on your hand today and you didn't even get 
burned. Clark, that coffee was scalding hot, but your arm 
didn't even turn red! And even your sleeve was still hot; 
remember, I helped you wash it off."

"So the heat was absorbed by my sleeve," Clark said in a 
small voice.

"Clark, when you leaned forward against the ropes, I could 
feel them pulling against my body, pushing me into the 
chair. It was like someone was smashing my ribcage in a 
vice. What does it feel like to you?" Lois said before 
leaning forward against the ropes, straining as hard as she 
could, ignoring the swimming dizziness in her head.

"Clark, please believe me," Lois pleaded, "you are 
Superman."

Lois waited and several minutes passed without a response 
from Clark. Did he finally believe her? Was he remembering 
some strange phenomena, some curious occurrences that, at 
the time, had no explanation, but were now made clear?

"Clark?" Lois asked finally, gently.

"How long have known?" Clark asked quietly.

"Well, not for sure until today, with the coffee. I've 
suspected it for a while, ever since I moved into my new 
apartment."

"That long?" Clark barked back. "You've known that long and 
you didn't tell me! How could you, Lois? I thought you were 
my friend!"

"Clark, I wanted to be sure. I wanted-"

"You *wanted* to have a big laugh on my expense, I'm sure!" 
Clark fumed. "'Ha, ha, dumb old Clark. He's Superman and he 
doesn't even know it! What a good investigative reporter he 
is. Maybe I can somehow manipulate Perry into giving me a 
new partner, one who at least knows where he spends his 
nights.'"

"Clark, no! I like having you as a partner-"

"Do you? Really? Because I seem to remember you complaining 
to Perry about the newbie hack, how he wouldn't know a 
story if it upped and bit him in the backside. Well, I 
guess you're right, Lois: I didn't know the story, and it 
*did* bite me in the backside!"

"Come on, Clark. You know I'm just teasing. Okay," Lois 
admitted, "in the beginning I wasn't too thrilled about 
working with a partner, but it was never you; I just wanted 
to work alone. Period."

"Yeah, and what changed all that?" Clark asked. "Oh, wait, 
I know! Superman's number one fan discovers that the hero 
is none other than her very own partner! I can picture it 
now: your eyes glaze over, you start to drool, and the 
expos� is so good that, in your mind, the lede almost 
writes itself-"

"Clark, no!" Lois said, pained that Clark would think her 
so low, so conniving... It had taken her until the previous 
night to know the real Clark, but apparently Clark still 
didn't know the real Lois Lane.

"I wanted to tell you," Lois insisted. "I did. I've thought 
of nothing else all day. I even asked Perry-"

"You told Perry?"

"No! Yes... I mean, I asked him this hypothetical question 
about how you know when to tell your friend the truth. And 
I was going to tell you, Clark! I swear to God," Lois 
insisted.

"Sure. And I should believe you? How am I ever going to 
trust you again? Just tell me that. If you kept this from 
me, you could be keeping anything from me! Maybe you even 
know who's kidnapped us and you've just decided not to 
share it with me just yet."

"No, Clark, it was just today that I knew for sure. I 
promise."

"And you couldn't've told me when it was just a suspicion. 
You needed actual proof? If I found out something like that 
about you-"