 
IF TOMORROW COMES 
By Doc. Klein's LabRat <labrat@blueyonder.co.uk> 
Rated: PG13 
Submitted: December 2001



Notes: The fact that this particular story is being posted 
at all is really down to just one FoLC - Kaethel. I actually 
wrote the bulk of this one some four or five years ago. 
What made me start it? Well, I'd just watched TOGOM for the 
very first time and I a) felt cheated that I never saw 
Clark's reaction to Lois changing out of her cement-
encrusted sweater and into his jacket ;) and b) thought 
since no one had really tackled the episode before it might 
be fun to explore it a little. <g> How times change, huh?

Anyway, it got lost among the melee that is my hd as other 
stories muscled their way to the front of the queue and by 
the time I rediscovered it I figured that the episode had 
been covered so many times there wasn't much point in 
finishing it. I resolved to let it rest in peace among the 
never-to-be-completed files. And then Helene came along and 
did that weird telepathy thing she does and made me send 
her the file.

Life lesson no. 8,054: Never - ever - send an unfinished 
story file to Helene that you are adamant is not going to 
be finished because no one will want to read it, just to 
prove the point - and expect to get away with it. She 
nagged. She got Wendy to nag. Then the entire #lanekent 
channel nagged. :D And...well, as you can see it worked.

So, now you know who to blame for the fact that you have to 
suffer yet another TOGOM rewrite. ;)

So, this one is dedicated to nagging cheerleader, 
brainstormer and beta- reader extraordinaire - Helene. 
Grateful thanks also go to Jo, whose comments and 
encouragement infused a flagging Muse with renewed 
enthusiasm and to Wendy and Ann who beta-read segments here 
and there and giggled and sighed and fixed typos in all the 
right places. Thank you all!



~~ If Tomorrow Comes ~~


As he sped towards the Planet, Clark kept his hands firmly 
on the wheel of the Jeep, his mind fixed rigidly on the 
road ahead, and his eyes determinedly *off* the rear view 
mirror.

Though relying on side mirrors alone made night driving 
hazardous at best, it was safer than what was likely to 
meet him if he succumbed to the temptation to glance into 
the back seat...

...where his leggy, curvaceous partner was engaged in 
undressing.

He negotiated a tight bend at what for anyone without the 
benefit of super reflexes would have been reckless speed, 
ignored the outraged honk from a passing cabbie, and swung 
a hard left as he wove through the downtown traffic.

There was a squawk from behind him and a soft, but 
definite, thump as Lois was propelled from the rear seat 
and hit the back of his. He glanced back automatically. 
"Sorry! You okay?"

A low, indeterminate grumble answered him as Lois hauled 
herself back into her seat. "Give a girl some warning next 
time, Kent, will ya?!"

"Sorry," he said again, turning hastily back, eyes front 
and center, as he found himself fixed on the fact that she 
was wearing his jacket unbuttoned over nothing more than a 
flimsy bra and panties combination in a delicate rose blush 
pink. Or, what would have been pink, if they hadn't 
recently been immersed in several tons of wet cement. There 
had still been the odd traces of their original color in 
among the gray. Otherwise it would have been hard to tell. 
A flush rose in his cheeks and he found his gaze settled, 
unblinking, on the dashboard clock. He frowned.

"What time did you say Perry's party was due to start?" He 
flicked a glance upward into the mirror and was relieved to 
discover that she'd used his belt to tighten the jacket 
around her waist, cutting off any startling views. In among 
the relief, a sharp disappointment glimmered. He quashed it 
with an admonishing grimace.

"Eight. What time you got there?" She brought her wrist up 
to one ear and shook it gently, then grimaced. "My watch is 
on the fritz."

"Seven forty nine. We'll be cutting it close."

"I knew I should have driven - " Lois complained sourly.

Her voice came close up against his ear and he turned his 
head, startled. His eyes widened as he found his partner 
gamely attempting to clamber into the front passenger seat 
as she spoke and seemingly oblivious to the amount of bare, 
gray-dappled thigh she was displaying as a result. She 
straddled the back of the seat for an instant and then 
paused to fix him with a gimlet eye.

"You wanna keep your eyes on the road?"

"Oh, yeah, right."

With an effort, Clark tore his gaze reluctantly from the 
long expanse of smooth and silky leg that was draped across 
the front of the seat, toes delicately poised on its edge.

/Wow.../ he thought irreverently, followed a bare instant 
later by a blurted aloud, "Whoa!" as he found himself 
staring into the red and baleful twin eyes of the tail 
lights on the Chevy ahead.

He stomped on the brake. For a moment he was surprised that 
his foot didn't go all the way through the floor. He heard 
Lois squeak somewhere to his right and then curse as the 
Jeep slewed to a sharp, bouncing halt, coming to rest mere 
millimeters shy of the Chevy's fender. Clark screwed shut 
his eyes, hunching his shoulders against the inevitable 
thud as they were rear-ended by the car following.

It didn't come. But the driver of the car in question - who 
must have had super-reflexes to rival his own he thought 
sourly and with no small sense of relief - registered his 
disapproval of the maneuver with the incensed curse of an 
air horn.

In the cold moment of clarity that descends in the 
aftermath of disaster averted, Clark was sharply aware of 
the ticking of a stalled, cooling engine and the iced film 
of sweat that had sprung out on his skin. His mind's eye 
looped a fragment of movie film over and over: Lois thrown 
forward and through the front windshield. How easily that 
could have been the result of his momentary distraction 
froze his blood in his veins.

His moment of self-torture was interrupted by more soft 
cursing from the lady in question as she compared his 
driving skills with that of a baboon high on crack cocaine. 
Clark sighed gratefully. Disaster averted. Lois safe.

Okay...

"Clark...ow...you're hurting my...arm!"

He opened his eyes with a start, surprised to find that his 
right hand was clamped around Lois' left arm just as she 
said. Hard enough that she might very well be sporting 
bruises later. Shaken, he let go in the same moment that 
she succeeded in wrenching herself free. She glared at him 
and rubbed at the offending patch on her arm.

"Sorry," he said helplessly. "For a moment there I thought 
- "

The honk of a horn came again from behind him.

He turned in his seat, shrugging an apology through the 
vista of the rear windshield at the irate driver behind 
him. The man flipped him the bird and mouthed a few casual 
obscenities back at him. Clark winced and, just for a 
moment, wished the other driver could spend some time with 
Mad Dog in *his* passenger seat. See how well *he* drove.

Lois had recovered her balance and had gone back to trying 
to swing her other leg into position so that she could drop 
into the seat. Her precarious state of undress was 
hampering her though. Clark sighed, knowing he'd never 
persuade her to stay in the rear. With a wary glance at the 
traffic ahead, he cupped a hand under his partner's elbow 
and helped her achieve her goal.

Lois glared at him, wriggled more firmly into position, and 
then pointedly snapped her seatbelt into place.

He reflected wryly on the twitch of interest below his belt 
that viewing that shapely, delicately formed limb had 
produced. He grimaced.

/Well, almost thirty years of celibacy will do that to you, 
Kent/ he told himself.

But he knew that wasn't strictly true. The truth was he 
wouldn't have got the same electric jolt of desire surging 
through him if he'd watched any other woman clamber over 
the passenger seat of the car he was driving. Nope, he had 
to admit that it seemed to be only Lois Lane who could 
affect him that strongly and in just that way. He shifted 
uncomfortably in his seat. He dragged his gaze - which had 
been lingering along the length of those gray-streaked, 
long and beautifully formed lures to destruction - back to 
the road, where he figured it was safer.

Ahead, the stoplight had turned green. As another flurry of 
honks from behind pointed out. Clark pulled in a small 
breath and set the Jeep moving again.

"You just don't understand city driving, Clark," Lois 
mumbled grumpily beside him. "I told you that when - hey!" 
Clark jumped as his partner leaned sharply across him and 
hit the center of the steering wheel hard, producing an 
angry admonishment. "Hey! Don't you cut in on us, you 
creep! Yeah? Well, *your* mother was a - "

"Lois!"

Clark reached over her hastily and hit the button for the 
passenger window, closing it and cutting off his partner's 
insult in mid breath.

"Clark!" She gestured impatiently at him with a waved hand. 
"I was talking!"

"You were yelling. So was the ape in the truck."

"And your point would be - ?" Her expression added that 
talking and yelling were the same thing in the big city - 
as anyone with any sense at all knew.

"My point would be...right now, Lois, I'd rather not get 
into a fight with our fellow road-users. We don't have the 
time. How's that jacket holding up?" he added to distract 
her, as she harrumphed back in her seat and folded her 
arms, glowering at the windshield.

She straightened, perhaps aware that her position had 
inched up said jacket around her thighs with her motion. 
She tugged at its edge, and ducked her head slightly. 
"Fine," she muttered. "How much longer?"

"I don't - "

"No! Don't stop for that - Clark!"

"Lois, it's a stop light. It means stop."

"It means stop unless you have an emergency. You think a 
crowd of gangsters gunning down our friends isn't an 
emergency?"

"No, but I don't think the cops would agree that gives us 
the right to risk traffic chaos, death and mutilation by 
running a stop - "

"You could squeeze on to the sidewalk if you inched over 
just a little, get around that truck, and - "

Clark sighed and stomped on the gas as the lights changed. 
Didn't take long to get back down to business, did it, he 
thought dryly. Only a few moments before his partner had 
been all over him, her warm, supple body pressed tight to 
his and her eyes sparkling up at him, tearful and tremulous 
as she threw her arms around his neck and poured out her 
joy at seeing him alive again. Sure had lasted. One little 
mistake behind the wheel of her precious Jeep and suddenly 
he might never have been away, never have been dead, never 
have been missed at all and the soft and welcoming woman 
who had been in his arms had been a temporary glitch. Mad 
Dog was back on line and expecting results.

Business as usual...

A sloppy smile spread itself over his lips before he could 
prevent it. There had been a moment there when he'd thought 
he'd never get her back, never get back to her.

He sighed...and it wasn't entirely unhappy.

"Knew I should have driven," Lois affirmed. Clark rolled 
his eyes at the familiar litany. Lois, momentarily stymied 
in her objections, gave her wrist a baleful look, 
remembering a handy source of earlier irritation to vent 
on.

"You know I really ought to sue." She shook the wrist and 
glared at the offending timepiece it sported. "They swore 
this one would survive fifty fathoms down in all the ads 
and it can't even survive for a week. Do you know how much 
it costs me per year in watches? And this one cost at least 
three months' salary."

"Three months what? For a watch, Lois?"

"Well...maybe a little less. It was more expensive than a 
Timex, that's for sure!"

"You'd have been better *buying* the Timex," Clark 
commented.

"They told me this one would 'survive the rigors of a 
professional life'," Lois quoted the ad with a snarl in her 
voice that attested to what she currently thought of the 
suit who had coined the no doubt knowingly actionable 
prose.

Clark's lips twitched. He shook his head. "I don't think 
they imagined it would have to cope with having a few tons 
of wet cement poured over it, Lois," he admonished.

"Well, why the hell not?" Lois transferred the glare to his 
profile. "It was listed in the trade journal as a 
reporters' special. They ought to have known better."

Clark barked out a laugh.

"What?"

He shook his head. "Lois, only you could think getting 
buried in cement is part of the daily routine of a 
reporter!"

"What does that mean? Are you saying I'm reckless? Because 
I am *not* reckless! Listen, buster, you want to talk about 
reckless, let's get back to stepping in front of a loaded 
gun and getting yourself killed all over the place! Let's 
just talk about tha - "

"It means," Clark said grimly, bouncing the Jeep to another 
bone- pulverizing halt and slamming on the handbrake, 
"we're here, get out, that party starts in under thirty 
seconds."

Lois didn't need a second telling. He found himself 
directing the last of his words at her retreating back as 
she scrambled from the vehicle and headed for the Planet's 
glass doors at a run, ignoring several interested glances 
from male passers-by at her unconventional attire and at 
least one wolf whistle as she did. He barely caught up to 
her before she pushed through and into the lobby.

~@*****@~

Superman maintained his pose, arms folded across his chest, 
shoulders back, steely-eyed, as he watched Capone being 
escorted from the premises by a couple of Metropolis' 
Finest. They didn't seem to be much impressed by the 
blustering threats of the handcuffed mobster. The last 
thing Superman heard as the gangster was pushed firmly 
through the door was the sound of his voice becoming more 
wheedling than outraged:

"Okay, look, so how about we cut ourselves a deal here, 
fellas, huh? Flat tire on the way to the precinct...keys to 
the cuffs just happened to be left on the back seat...aw, 
come on, you ain't tellin' me you guys couldn't use a 
vacation to sunnier climes than this place? Maybe your wife 
could use that fur coat when Christmas...hey! Hey, are you 
guys listening? What happened to standards around here?"

The cops didn't seem any the more impressed by that either, 
Superman thought smugly. Capone was about to learn a harsh 
lesson. Things had changed since the twenties. The 
superhero doubted the gangster would find much sympathy 
among the officers of the MPD. Or in the judiciary. Or 
anyone willing to hold out their palm to be greased. They 
were good people. And they weren't afraid. And, besides, 
Superman had long since made it clear he didn't hold with 
bribery and corruption and that message had resonated 
deeply in the hearts of the few possible bad apples there 
might have been in law enforcement long since. No, 
Metropolis was a clean city and Capone was going to find 
that out the hard way.

Alone, he sighed wearily and let his superhero posture 
slump a little now that it was no longer required. He 
cocked his head, listening intently for a moment. Up above, 
on the Planet's upper levels, it appeared that the 
remainder of Capone's little gang were being rather 
efficiently mopped up by his colleagues. It was all over 
bar the shouting. Lois was doing most of that. He could 
hear her berating someone, but she sounded triumphantly 
angry rather than in trouble. Clark felt the tips of his 
ears turn a hot, deep red and he winced as he tried not to 
listen to some of the more colorful insults she was tossing 
around.

He tipped back his head and swept the ceiling with a brief 
burst of x-ray just to be sure she was okay. She was. He 
found himself grinning as he scanned the room above him and 
then, satisfied that no one needed his help - well, 
Capone's gangsters and Bonnie Parker aside and he wasn't 
that inclined to rush to the rescue there - spun out of the 
Suit gratefully.

He had never been so happy to shed his alter ego, to leave 
the superhero behind and settle back into himself. He 
smiled faintly as he pressed the elevator button, content 
to meander his way upstairs and in no hurry now to join the 
crowd. He leaned up against the wall as he waited for the 
elevator to answer his summons. He needed a moment, just 
one, to take stock. To breathe deep and square his 
shoulders, and let himself feel the familiar relief, tinged 
a little with a touch of fading fear, that once again it 
had turned out right. Lois was safe. Perry and Jimmy were 
safe. Everything was just fine. The bad guys had been 
defeated and a confident, uplifting score was building 
towards an ebullient 'The End'.

He sighed, a little amused at this fanciful analogy. 
/You're losing it, big guy,/ he told himself ruefully, 
straightening up with a shake of his head as the lights of 
the elevator glowed, signaling its arrival.

Losing it maybe, he considered more soberly, his amusement 
dying. But he hadn't lost what mattered: his life. Or what 
was important: Lois. And, in the grand scheme of things, he 
guessed that was enough for one night.

Stepping into the elevator he rode the few floors to the 
newsroom in thoughtful silence. One night...

So much had happened to him - to all of them - in just 
those twenty four hours that it seemed almost impossible to 
imagine it had only been yesterday when he'd believed that 
his world had been shattered and lost for good. That Lois 
had been taken from him so cruelly, becoming a stranger, 
someone who barely knew him instead of his best friend and 
partner. Someone he could only interact with on the most 
stiffly formal of levels. Who he would never share pizza 
with. Or snuggle on the sofa with watching the latest 
action flick - or chick flick if it was her night to choose 
and she was in the mood for sloppy. He would protest, as he 
was supposed to, about being forced to watch all that mushy 
stuff and her eyes would twinkle up into his because she 
knew he wasn't really serious and would enjoy the movie 
just as much as she would, even though he would tease her 
about her softer side showing and she would pretend to be 
offended...

He sighed. When he had thought that everything he cared 
about had almost ended with the sound of Barrow's pistol 
and a blast of light and heat...

A tremor ran through him as that fateful moment replayed 
itself in his head. He had thought that luck hadn't been 
with him last night when that bullet had struck him. He had 
thought that he had been the unluckiest of all. But a 
belated truth had come to him slowly and surely during the 
horror of the last few hours, a truth that made him aware 
of just how lucky he had been in the end:

Lois had been standing right beside him when Barrow had 
fired. If she had been hit instead of him.... He squeezed 
his eyes tightly shut in denial of the flood of bloody 
images that burst into his skull in response to the 
thought. God, Lois... If she had been hurt, if she had...

He shook his head, hauling in a shuddering breath like a 
drowning man and opened his eyes to stare blankly at the 
metal door in front of him. He couldn't think about it any 
more. About how close he might have come to losing 
everything. What-ifs and buts, maybes and might-have- 
beens...they crowded into his head and became a confusing 
babble of memories and troubled speculation.

Enough. What was done was past and he would deal with the 
fallout later. For now, it was time to simply savor the 
victories - small though they might be - and he was 
becoming aware, all at once, now that the adrenaline rush 
that had kept him going through the night was dissolving, 
of just how weary he was besides.

Strange, he thought. No matter that he was invulnerable, no 
matter how strong he was, he still managed to feel assorted 
aches and muscle tension whenever he became exhausted. The 
human mind was a stubborn entity all of its own and it held 
no truck with theories that said he should feel nothing at 
all. He was so used to thinking of himself as human, he 
guessed. Trying to be human. Some of it was bound to...he 
became aware that he had a hand pressed to the back of his 
neck, massaging muscles which didn't hurt but which were 
nevertheless eased by the reflexive action he'd seen the 
people around him use so often when tired, after a long day 
of work, and had long since begun to copy in an attempt to 
fit in and seem like one of the crowd. His lips twisted 
wryly...rub off.

Whatever. All that he knew was that he was tired enough to 
sleep through the winter like a hibernating hare. He shook 
his head as the old saying of his father's popped into his 
head, followed by the echoes of his childhood self 
questioning the veracity of that one.

/Hares don't hibernate!/

/How do you know? You don't see them around in winter, do 
you?/

/Yes, I do. I seen white hares in winter./

/White hares are different hares./

/Really?/

/Yup. We're talking brown hares here. You seen any brown 
hares in winter?/

/Well...no. I guess not./

/Stands to reason then. Brown hares hibernate./

The elevator doors slid open abruptly, dissolving the warm 
memory and jerking him out of his amusement. His face broke 
into a wide grin as he saw the small crowd standing before 
him.

"If you'll just stay back, out of the way, sir. Thank you."

He stepped out nimbly and stood with his hands in his 
pockets to watch with a great deal of satisfaction as 
Capone's boys were manhandled into the elevator. As he 
squeezed out of the way of the crush, he brushed past John 
Dillinger. Their eyes met. The gangster's narrowed in 
puzzlement and then snapped wide.

Clark thought that it was almost worth the trauma and 
heartache of the last couple of days to watch the man's jaw 
follow suit. Dillinger's head swiveled to keep him in view 
as he was dragged into the elevator cabin.

"Hey. Hey! Isn't that the dumb palooka Clyde shot?"

The doors cut off Dillinger's astonished voice and Clark's 
grin spread like cream. Whistling softly he turned smoothly 
on his heel and wandered over to the railing to overlook 
the Bullpen. He stopped at the top of the stairs, content 
to let the moment wash over him and take a second or two to 
appreciate it.

Home.

He was home. Clark Kent was back.

His gaze tracked through the people milling around the 
Bullpen as they listlessly cleared up some of the mess with 
the desultory attention of those who didn't really care. 
Others were dabbing at their bumps and scratches - the war 
wounds of the vindicated.

Over in the far corner, Perry was gruffly consoling a 
distraught caterer, who was slumped in a chair, puffy-eyed, 
as he stared at the ruins of his creation with the shocked 
expression of the bereaved.

On the other side of the room, Jimmy was gleefully relating 
how he'd beat up Clyde Barrow. It seemed to involve a lot 
of jabbing and dancing around on the balls of his feet as 
his audience listened with suitable expressions of awe.

He was glad they were okay.

But they weren't whom he needed to see.

His searching eyes found her - right where he should have 
known she would be - and a smile twitched at the corner of 
his lips. She was sitting at her desk, tapping furiously at 
her keyboard with a scowl of fierce concentration furrowing 
her forehead, oblivious to all that was going on around 
her. As he watched, she growled beneath her breath and 
stabbed at a few keys, backing up, blanking out text, and 
then rushing onwards with her story. The action was over 
and she was in reporter mode. The events of the evening, 
and the heartache of the previous days, might never have 
happened to view her, sitting there cool and intense and 
focused solely on her scoop.

He blinked, aware that this impression of her was more 
familiar memory than actual reality. There was the fact 
that she was wearing nothing but his jacket for one 
thing...he felt himself grow a little hotter as his eyes 
rested on the way it molded itself to her curves. The fact 
that she'd used his belt to cinch in the waist and keep it 
decently tight around her body, accentuating the swell of 
her breasts above. A flash of desire sparked through him as 
his considering eyes brought up an instant snapshot in his 
head, the memory of a brief glimpse of half-naked skin as 
she'd pulled on the garment in the back of the Jeep.... He 
groaned and then glanced around the room guiltily, sure 
that someone must have heard.

Fortunately, they seemed to be intent on their own little 
dramas. His gaze was drawn back to his partner...like 
someone had physically directed it there. The jacket had 
been tugged up higher on her thighs as she sat at her desk. 
Her ankles were crossed decorously beneath her chair, a 
position that tightened up the long muscles in those bare 
thighs and made them seem even more curvaceous than he 
remembered them being. And he remembered them being pretty 
curvaceous to start with. His hand moved absently to tug a 
little at the collar of his shirt, where it suddenly seemed 
to be constricting. His throat was too dry all at once.

And then there was the fact that she appeared to be covered 
in some kind of...his eyebrows rose as he caught the tang 
of sugared confectionery. He remembered the view he'd 
gotten when he'd checked on her from downstairs earlier and 
a grin tugged at his mouth. He'd heard of women leaping 
*out* of cakes at parties of a certain, dubious nature, but 
women being ground into them was something else again. He 
chuckled. Looked like his partner hadn't entirely come off 
unscathed. But then...the grin broadened...you should see 
the other guy.

His eyes traveled to Lois face again and everything - the 
lust in him and the amusement - dissolved and faded into a 
soft warmth that spread through his heart. She was entirely 
oblivious to all of it. To her appearance, to the frosting 
tangled in her hair like a bad application of mousse gone 
wrong --talk about your bad hair days - to the aftermath of 
chaos around her. For her none of it existed. There was 
only the reporter and the story - and right then they 
filled the entirety of her world. And until she hit send, 
he knew from experience, the rest of the universe would not 
exist for her at all.

Her ability to bounce back, to recover from the horrors 
she'd faced, amazed him. And he was glad to see it. Back on 
the evening when Barrow had...shot...him...what had been on her 
face then had been something he couldn't bear to look at. 
He had wanted so much to wipe it away, ease the pain.

His smile faded. Guilt still slithered like a thread of 
acid in his gut. Was his secret so important, protecting 
himself - his doppelganger persona - so necessary, that he 
had let his friend, the woman he loved, go through that 
heartache and said nothing?

Perhaps it was, he thought tiredly. Perhaps Superman - what 
he stood for, what he could do - was more important than 
any of them and protecting that, ensuring it continued, was 
worth any gamble, any loss...any grief or pain. He didn't 
know. He only knew that he never wanted to let her go 
through something like that again.

His face grew somber as he remembered how she'd been, last 
night, when Barrow had shot him....

~@*****@~

He had been afraid for her. Playing the role of corpse, 
from his position slumped between Dillinger and Barrow in 
the back seat of Barrow's vintage Coupe, he had listened 
with growing unease and anger as Dillinger had bemoaned the 
loss of opportunity to bag himself a squeeze for the night, 
his attempts to persuade the others that they should go 
back.

Back for Lois.

It had taken all of Clark's willpower to lie still, to stop 
his body trembling with the strength of the fury raging 
within him at the thought of Dillinger.

With Lois.

To his relief, however, Capone had cut Dillinger's whining 
short, apparently in no mood to listen to him. Later, he'd 
said. Later we can get all the dames you like. For now, 
they put distance between themselves and the mess Barrow 
had left back in that club. Capone had not been a happy man 
and even Dillinger had finally recognized that and settled 
into sullen silence.

It had been a lucky break when they had pushed him from the 
back of the car to land in the alley. He had been afraid 
they would take more trouble with ridding themselves of the 
`body' and although he had no qualms about being able to 
extract himself from whatever shallow grave they might 
choose to bury the evidence in, so to speak, he was 
concerned it might lead them to a closer examination of him 
than they had previously.

He had no idea what he would have done had they realized he 
was still alive. Improvise, he guessed. Wasn't that what he 
always did, wasn't that the recurring refrain of his entire life? Always 
having to think one step ahead, guard against the 
incautious slip of the tongue or the moment when he'd let 
down his guard and relax just a fraction too much. Say too 
much. Let his powers inadvertently show. He was tired of 
it. Yet the need to hide, to conceal himself, had been so 
deeply ingrained in him from childhood, had become so much 
a part of his makeup, that he couldn't think of any other 
way to live.

Then, he'd simply been glad it hadn't come to that.

Rolling to a heap in the alley's darkness, he had waited a 
moment, until he heard the car scream away. He had got to 
his feet and dusted himself down, hands trembling with 
rage. For a moment he had been torn - it would take no more 
than a moment to change into the Suit, fly after the car as 
it disappeared into the gloom, and put an end to Capone and 
his crime spree once and for all.

But Lois...Lois was still at that gambling club. And who 
knew what was happening to her there. The mobsters had left 
with Capone, but it was a rough place and an even rougher 
neighborhood, and there were other predators out there 
besides those resurrected by the insanity of Hamilton.

It had been no contest. He had spun into the Suit - and 
headed rapidly in the opposite direction Capone's car had 
taken.

Reaching the club, he'd been relieved to find the area 
outside it already swarming with blue uniforms. He'd landed 
softly beside the yellow perimeter tape and had nodded 
grimly to the young cop who'd looked up at him, startled. 
"Superman! Uh." The cop glanced nervously over his shoulder 
at the club entrance and was saved from expiring from 
terminal embarrassment at meeting his hero and actually 
having to converse with him in words of more than one 
syllable by a laconic voice from behind them.

"Not much you can do here, Superman. It went down about 
twenty minutes back."

He turned to face the grim figure as it approached them. 
"Manning," he greeted the homicide cop, whose patch this 
was. He took a quick glance at the direction of the club 
doors himself, then swallowing hard, almost afraid to ask 
said, "What happened here?"

Manning raised a brow. "Nothing out of the ordinary for 
this neighborhood. Surprised it caught your attention."

"I was..." He shook his head. "I heard the commotion."

Manning looked at him in silence for a long moment. 
Superman tried not to squirm and look guilty. He knew 
Manning wasn't really suspicious of him - it was just that 
when you'd pounded the beat the cop had for as many years 
as he had you pretty much got suspicious when you were told 
it had turned out nice again. Manning's face had settled 
habitually into that considering 'I know you're hiding 
something and I can wait for as long as it takes till you 
fess up to it' stare long since. He probably looked at his 
wife and kids that way when he got home in the evening. 
Superman strongly suspected the Manning household was 
probably one of the few in the state who had no problem 
with the culprit fessing up to having been at the cookie 
jar.

Manning gave up the interrogatory stare and shrugged. 
"Well, anyway, we've got things pretty much in hand. We got 
one man missing - probably dead - although the picture's a 
little confused in there. There's no blood around that they 
can find, but the witnesses insist the man was dead when he 
was dragged out of there. It looks like another incident 
connected to those phony gangsters who've been running 
around town lately. You know how reliable witnesses are 
though," he said darkly. "Especially the hysterical kind.

"Hysterical?" Clark darted another glance at the doors.

"Well, you know. Thing like this is tough on civilians. 
Wolffe's tidying up the loose ends and we're taking some of 
the witnesses down to the precinct to bag their 
statements," he added, referring to his partner. "But, 
truthfully, there isn't much we can do from this point. 
Now, we just wait for the body to turn up. If it ever 
does," he added with the cynicism of the long term cop. 
"Anyway, missing or dead, I guess you were too late this 
time. Not much you can do to save the poor sap now."

Too late? Not much he could do? Clark blinked, a little 
startled as he swung his head back to view the homicide cop 
from where he'd been trying to separate out Lois from the 
rest of the crowd in the club. There had been no censure in 
the policeman's tone, and yet...he couldn't help but feel the 
comment had carried something of disappointment in it.

He lifted his head, drawn to a commotion over by the door. 
A flash of red. Dark hair. Lois.

She was being gently led over to a police cruiser by 
Wolffe, its blue lights spinning soundless agitation into 
the darkness. The stark, unforgiving light washed over her 
face, accentuating the bone-white fragility and the dark 
dreaming in her too-wide eyes.

"Excuse me, Detective...do you mind if I...?"

Manning followed his glance and his gesture towards the 
car. "No, you go ahead. She can't tell you nothing she 
ain't already told us a dozen times over already. Hey," he 
added as Superman turned away and when the superhero turned 
back questioningly, "go easy with her though, huh? Doc says 
she's in shock, she's not been making too much sense back 
there. Lost her partner tonight. They were reporters, you 
know?"

Manning's voice had lost the hard edge his work had 
ingrained in him over the years and grown respectful. 
Superman guessed that a cop could understand that kind of 
loss all too well and know how it felt. Losing your partner 
was an occupational hazard.

He had never thought it would be for them. Not for him and 
Lois. At least...he had never thought he would be the 
partner being mourned and she the one left behind to 
grieve.

"Yeah, I know," he said softly before he nodded at the 
detective in farewell and then strode quickly for the car.

"Lois?"

He reached out a tentative hand to her shoulder when she 
ignored him and then dropped it as she turned to face him. 
Her eyes fixed on his face, but he saw no real sign of 
recognition in them. Her gaze was dark and withdrawn, 
seeing something within herself that had marked her 
expression with horror and which was too bleak and too 
overwhelming to let in anything else beyond it.

Looking into the grief and shock etched on her face, he 
didn't know what to say. The words that formed themselves 
died unuttered; they seemed crass and cruel and useless. 
Useless. He couldn't ask her how she was doing, if she was 
okay - he could see those answers clearly in the pain 
harbored in her eyes. He couldn't ask what happened - she 
would tell him. And he couldn't listen to her bear witness 
to the horror of what had happened in the club, couldn't 
bear to hear it spill from her lips, lent a macabre 
vitality seen through her eyes.

His death through her eyes.

He couldn't.

"Lois.." was all he managed: a soft apology.

Her gaze on him shifted imperceptibly and he saw 
recognition flicker in them, dull and leeched of emotion, 
but she knew who he was. She didn't care, but she knew. It 
was a small victory. Seeing that distance in her, the 
absence of that spark that usually marked her, made his 
heart split in two.

He wanted to reach out and draw her close. To put his arms 
around her and let her cry in his embrace. He wanted to 
comfort her, as Clark would have comforted her. To be with 
her at the station when she made her statement. To take her 
home afterwards. To be there for her, to help her, to ease 
her pain no matter how little. To take care of her. Like a 
partner and best friend was supposed to.

Clark could have done those things. All of those things. 
Clark could have been there.

*He* couldn't.

He couldn't be there for her. In all the time he'd known 
her, one way or another, as superhero or best friend, he'd 
never not been there for her.

Yet he could only stand there, like some stiffly formal 
stranger, and watch the pain spill across her cheeks 
unchecked and the grief twist like a wound in her eyes. A 
wound that resonated a sharp, tearing echo in his own 
chest.

"Why don't I come with you to the station while you give 
them your statement?" he said lamely, not knowing what else 
to offer her. "I can take you home after and - "

He stopped as she shook her head slowly. "No. No, you can't 
help. Not now. You couldn't help - " She looked up at him 
then and he saw it. The anger...the confusion...the...he had 
never thought to see that accusation reflected in that dark 
gaze.

Not that. Never that. It caught in his chest.

/- you couldn't help *him*. Why would you think you can 
help *me* now?/

And then she blinked and it was gone, if it had ever truly 
been there at all, and she was turning away, letting the 
grim-looking policeman escorting her hand her into the back 
seat of the cruiser without protest. She looked up at him 
in the instant before the door was closed, sealing her 
apart from him, and then away.

He stood, frozen, watching the car nose its way out through 
the onlookers and disappear into the night, taking her away 
from him.

She blamed him. He knew she hadn't meant to. But she did. 
And, seen from her perspective, could he really blame her 
for it? Superman had always been there - rushing to the 
rescue at the last moment, getting there in the nick of 
time...saving the day.

Saving her. Saving - so far as she knew - his friends too. 
Clark was supposed to be his friend, one of his closest 
friends, and yet he hadn't been there when he needed him. 
He hadn't been there to stop the bullet. He hadn't been 
there to stop him...'dying'.

He had betrayed her. And the pain of that was too much for 
him to bear. Demoralized, heartsick, not knowing where to 
turn or what to do to put things right, he had headed for 
Smallville and the only people he could pour out his own 
grief and despair to...

A gruffly familiar voice broke into his thoughts, bringing 
him back to the present as it spoke his name.

" - but Clark is gone, honey."

Lois had finished up with her story it seemed and joined 
Perry and Jimmy. Clark's eyes softened as he saw them 
there, together. The people he loved. The people he'd 
missed so much and never thought he would get back.

But he had. He had got them back. And he could figure out 
the rest of it, deal with it, later.

He was alive! They were all alive. And that made the world 
good. For now.

He thought the grin that took over his face might split it 
in two as he jogged down the stairs to join them.

"I don't know about that, Chief..."

~@*****@~

The silence that filled the Jeep was warm and comfortable - 
and so familiar, so welcome, and so much what she had 
longed to experience again and thought was lost to her for 
good that it almost resonated like a deep hurt in Lois' 
chest.

She risked a quick glance towards the man sitting at her 
side and then looked away again, fixing her attention 
firmly on the road. He seemed...different somehow. In 
small, indefinable ways that she couldn't put her finger on 
he had changed. Or maybe it was she that had changed. Maybe 
it was simply that she was aware now of what she'd been in 
danger of losing, of what she'd been taking for granted all 
this time. Maybe she simply realized just what it was she 
had.

Or could have...

What she'd been fortunate enough to be given a second 
chance at discovering.

She frowned, her fingers tightening on the wheel a little 
as she shunted that thought aside. A small, tentative voice 
within her told her that it needed examining, thoughtful 
consideration, but she ignored it gamely. She wasn't about 
to go down that path. It was overgrown and dark and there 
were things lurking in its depths ready to leap out on her 
if she traveled too far along it. No thanks. She'd been 
there before and had no desire to revisit.

It had been a long day and an even longer night...most of 
it she'd wandered through in a daze, a fog of grief and 
wounded hurt, and there had to be time for her to get used 
to Clark's return. To become used to the world coming apart 
on her and then miraculously, unbelievably, snapping back 
into focus and turning right again. These things needed 
time to think on. It wasn't like you could just say, 'Oh, 
hey, Clark, where you been all this time?' like he'd been 
on vacation or something. "Hey, Clark, nice tan! It goes 
well with that scar on your chest where the bullet went - "

She cut that thought off abruptly too: Another that was too 
dangerous to let herself dwell on. That might just bring 
back the memory of...of things she didn't want to think 
about now. Wasn't going to think about now. Wasn't going to 
think about ever again if she could manage it.

Clark lying there...face wax pale and still...

"Lois...?"

She jerked and the Jeep responded with a slight shimmy 
before correcting its line. "Yes?" she said breathlessly, 
looking at her partner wide eyed.

"I thought...you said something." Clark flushed a little, 
looking as though he was regretting mentioning it and she 
realized that he'd obviously become aware of what she was 
just figuring out. That what he'd heard had been the sob 
she hadn't been able to hold back, as the image of him 
lying there dead on the ground at her feet had flashed into 
her mind. He looked embarrassed now.

Like she'd caught him prying on her. Invading her privacy.

"I'm sorry, I just thought I heard - "

"No, I was just...thinking, that's all."

"Ah." He nodded. "Right. We have..." he hesitated. "A lot 
to think about."

"Yes."

The silence that settled on them this time had lost the 
cozy warmth of previously. It was an awkward thing now, a 
wall of thorns risen between them. Lois looked away, 
staring through the windshield into the night. It had been 
raining when they'd emerged into the cool night from the 
Planet, but she was surprised to note that somewhere along 
the way it had stopped. When had that happened? She reached 
out with an irritated frown and snapped off the soft swish 
of the wipers as they cleared away non-existent water in 
their monotonous, futile rotations. Like her 
thoughts...endlessly revolving and mindlessly producing no 
results.

"Did you see Superman at the Planet? Did you speak to him? 
" she asked finally and immediately regretted it. Superman 
was a sore subject and one she didn't really want to 
discuss. Her feelings for the superhero were still in flux, 
still a confused melee of hurt, and...guilt. She was aware 
that she had treated him badly and without cause when he'd 
approached her outside Georgie Hairdo's club. She could 
barely remember what they had said to each other, but she 
remembered the expression on his face, the hurt beneath the 
bland mask of the superhero and she knew she had been the 
cause. And, although she was smart enough to also 
understand that it had been the shock and the grief 
talking, it had still been unfair.

He had been grieving too. In his own way. Clark had been 
/was, *was* dammit, stop talking about him as though he 
were gone/ she reminded herself viciously, tired of 
slipping into the habit of past tense which had been 
dogging her all evening. Clark was Superman's friend. And 
she hadn't even tried to offer him sympathy or 
understanding for that. When she thought of how much extra 
pain she had heaped on him....

He had saved all of them. At the last. He had even flown 
the Jeep to the building site along with Clark, just so she 
could get home after her ordeal in the cement trap. Another 
fortuitous rescue, since without it she and Clark would 
never have made the Planet in time to save Perry and the 
others. And, in fact, even then they would have failed if 
it hadn't been for the Man of Steel arriving in the nick of 
time to stand in the way of the bullets aimed at her 
friends. In the nick of time. Just like he always did.

Except...for that one time. That time when it had been most 
important of all.

Her lips tightened, as she censured herself for the errant 
thought.

He had given her back Clark. She would forgive the Man of 
Steel anything right then for that.

/And if he hadn't?/ a small, troubling voice spoke up in 
her head.

If Clark had stayed dead...if Superman hadn't brought him 
back to her...would she have forgiven him then?

Lois frowned. That didn't matter. What mattered was that he 
had. Clark was safe and alive and that was all that 
counted.

Would she though? Would she have forgiven him?

"Lois? You okay?"

She looked around and offered her partner a smile that 
wasn't exactly the most dazzling she'd ever produced. She 
could feel how wan and pale it was herself. But it seemed 
to suffice. He smiled gently back at her. One of those 
smiles of his that kindled itself in the dark warmth of his 
eyes and made her think that maybe the world was doing okay 
after all. That it might just be all right.

"Sure. Sure, I'm fine." Everything was fine. Would be fine. 
Now it would be. "I'm glad you're back, Clark," she said 
softly. She felt the hot prickle of tears begin and blinked 
them back furiously. She wasn't going to crumble now.

He reached out a hand to rest it briefly against her 
shoulder, squeezing gently. "I am too."

She put up a hand to cover his briefly and then returned it 
to the wheel. Clark settled back in his seat and she 
glanced at him, a little concerned as she noted belatedly 
how drawn he looked, the skin around his eyes and at the 
corners of his mouth tight and strained.

"You look like you could sleep for a month."

He made a moue of wry agreement, leaning his head back 
against the rest of his seat. "Make that two months and you 
got a deal."

"Well, Perry won't be expecting you in tomorrow. You should 
take some time to..." Recover? Was that what she'd been 
about to say? For god's sake, the man hadn't just gone down 
with flu. She flushed at the caustic admonishment and then 
scowled. Well, what *was* the proper etiquette for dealing 
with someone who'd just gone and died on you and then been 
resurrected in direct defiance of all the laws of nature? 
How was she supposed to know the right thing to say?

"...rest," she concluded lamely. "Take it easy."

"I will. Believe me, Lois, I don't want to do anything else 
but sleep," Clark agreed, sounding heartfelt.

"You know..." she hesitated. "Maybe I could come over 
later...tomorrow I mean...come over and we could...hang 
out...if...you know, if you want..."

"Sure." He smiled at her and she felt the awkwardness that 
had made her trail off the offer loosen in her chest. That 
smile made everything all right between them somehow. She 
found herself smiling back. "I'd like that," he said. "I 
could make us dinner."

"Oh no!" She shook her head sharply. "You're not going to 
lift a finger for the next couple of days, partner. Let me 
deal with dinner."

"Uh..."

"I'll bring takeout," she said, forestalling the doubt she 
watched creep up on his face at the thought that she might 
be intending to cook something.

"Oh. Great! Takeout. Good. I mean, takeout is good."

The relief that took over his expression could have been 
insulting - if she'd let it be. But she wasn't in the mood. 
She didn't think she'd ever be in the mood to be angry at 
him again.

Well...maybe not for a while at least, she amended 
thoughtfully. Depending on how annoying he got.

He could get very annoying. When he put his mind to it. 
Course he could be sweet too. Loyal. One of the few people 
she could bear to spend any time at all with outside of the 
office. One of fewer still she had let into her life, that 
she trusted beyond question, felt comfortable with and 
enjoyed being with. The only one who, when she felt 
troubled or lonely or in need of comfort and company seemed 
the natural choice to call...the best darned friend a girl 
could have....

She choked back another sob as the run of her thoughts 
brought more tears to her eyes and then cursed herself for 
a sentimental fool.

/Much more than that, Lois. More than a friend./

/Well, no.../

/Yes. And you know it. You've always known it. Stop lying 
to yourself./

/Okay...maybe more than a friend.../ she conceded 
reluctantly and, as her inner self quirked a knowing brow 
at her, /Okay, okay - so he's more than a friend. What do 
you want me to do about it?/

/Tell him./

/Tell - ? Oh no, I couldn't - /

/*Tell* him./

What was it she had said to Perry earlier that day? So long 
ago now it seemed - like another eternity. A time when 
there had been no Clark in her life to make it good, when 
she had been so alone she had wanted to die from the empty 
longing for him that bound up her heart. She had barely 
been aware of what she was saying - or doing - at all, 
grief a shroud that turned the world faint and dark.

/He died without ever knowing. I never told him./

But she had meant as a friend. Hadn't she? She had meant 
she'd never told him how much she valued him as...

Her inner self wasn't buying it. And neither was she, she 
realized, defeated. No, that hadn't been what she'd meant 
at all. She guessed she'd always known that. She'd always 
known what Clark was to her and how far from friendship 
things had gone between them.

It had just been that there had always been time. Time not 
to acknowledge that aspect of their relationship. Time to 
let herself get used to the ideas that formed in her head 
when she found herself idly watching her partner as he 
worked or spent time with him away from the Planet. Time 
before she would be forced to confront her feelings for 
him. Plenty of time. Always another day. Another tomorrow. 
There had been no need to push things. No need to hurry 
things along. Never any thought in her that perhaps time 
was something precious, something fragile. Something that 
could vanish on you in an instant, leaving you bereft and 
your days full of regrets for having wasted it.

And hadn't she sworn then that if by some miracle he found 
his way back to her, if the impossible could happen and she 
could be granted the chances she'd missed to tell him 
exactly what he meant to her, how she felt about him...that 
she would tell him? That she would let him know? And never 
again risk the misery of knowing she had lost a chance she 
could have taken? Never again waste the time that was 
gifted to them?

/Yes, but - /

But what? She hadn't really meant it? It had just been one 
of those promises you cried out in the dark, knowing it had 
no hope of being called on, that there was no hope you 
would ever have to follow it through? No chance of the wish 
ever being granted?

/No, but...well...yes, actually./ She guessed.

/But she had promised though. Hadn't she? She had *said* 
she would. If Clark came back.../

Lois sighed.

And didn't Lois Lane pride herself on never making the same 
mistake twice?

She flicked a nervous glance sideways. Then she drew in a 
small breath.

"Clark, when I thought you were gone...I did some thinking 
about my life. You know...what it would be like without you 
in it." /Great start, Lois,/ she thought irritably. A 
small, self-conscious laugh forced itself out of her. "I 
know what you're thinking, 'Gee, Lois, how self-centered 
can you be' but..." She sobered, flicking an uneasy look at 
him and then quickly away. "Just...hear me out. I know our 
relationship has always been...difficult...but when I thought 
about how much I missed you, how much I was going to miss 
you for the rest of my life...well I started to 
think...maybe...there's more to our relationship than just 
friendship..."

Saying it all out loud simply crystallized what she'd 
already come to understand. She felt awe stirring in her 
and wonder...wonder that she could in fact find love, could 
love someone, when she had almost given up hope. Wasn't 
that the most amazing thing? Wasn't that just -- ?

"Clark?"

~@*****@~

Clark opened his eyes, drowsy and thickheaded, and looked 
around himself muzzily. Had he actually dozed off for a 
moment there? They were parked in front of Lois' apartment. 
He looked across at his partner as she turned off the 
ignition and put the Jeep firmly into park. "I'm sorry. Did 
you say something?" He seemed to hear the echo of her voice 
in his head.

She stared at him. And in her eyes he saw the glimmer of 
something elusive, yet so powerful he blinked as though 
he'd been struck in the chest by a bolt of lightning. Was 
she mad? He frowned. Why would she be mad? More 
importantly, why would she be mad at *him*?

That question was abruptly answered as Lois leaned forward 
in one sharp, angry motion and grabbed hold of his shirt in 
tight fists. Clark was so startled that he allowed her to 
yank him up close by that grip until their faces were 
almost nose to nose.

"Yes, I said *something*!" she growled. "I said a whole lot 
of things! And you...you...You. Fell. Asleep. On. Me." Her 
fists pushed hard against his chest before she abruptly 
loosed her hold on him and slumped back into her seat. "I 
was talking," she said in a voice that was steadier, but 
only because it was dulled and leeched of all emotion. "You 
fell asleep and I was talking."

"Oh." Clark ran a sheepish hand through his hair. "Sorry, " 
he offered, still a little bemused by the strength of her 
reaction. Jerked fully awake now, he looked across at her, 
concerned. In the dim light of the street lamps that 
illuminated the Jeep's cabin her face was pale and 
drawn...and glistening? Had she been crying? Suddenly he 
realized that what had seemed like anger had been more than 
that. Frustration, despair and...desperation?

"Lois, what's wrong?" He put out an impulsive hand, cupping 
her cheek, and was surprised when she jerked her head to 
one side, avoiding the touch.

"No!" she snapped.

"No?" he said, confused.

"You're not going to do that to me, Clark Kent."

"Do what?" He sat up straighter, feeling a small spark of 
annoyance now. He had no idea what it was she was accusing 
him of, but there definitely had *been* an accusation 
somewhere in there.

"Distracting me out of being annoyed with you. Not this 
time. Uh-uh," she flounced back in her seat, glaring at him 
as though he'd tried to...to...hog-tie and gag her, Clark 
thought, exasperated.

"Lois, I'm not trying to..." He sighed inwardly. "I'm just 
trying to understand why you're upset."

Lois gave him the look. Clark knew that look. What male 
didn't? It was the one that said he ought to *know* why she 
was upset and if he didn't he was a complete idiot and 
there was little point in *her* trying to explain it any. 
Clark's lips tightened. Okay, if that was how she wanted to 
play it...

He was aware that he was being just as pig-headed-stubborn 
and childish as she was, but he was tired - exhausted - 
both emotionally and physically, by the events of the past 
hours and he just couldn't work up the energy to be 
accommodating. He didn't understand what this was all about 
and he was simply too weary to track it down out of the 
minefield of illogic and inconsistency that was Lois in a 
snit. Not this time.

He looked away from her, refusing to give her the 
satisfaction of pleading for an explanation, and stared out 
of the window. "Why are we at your place?" he asked after a 
moment, as this fact belatedly registered. He turned his 
head to view her again. "Thought you were taking me home 
first?"

Lois' lips pursed, as though she was debating whether to 
enlighten him to the blatantly obvious or just let him 
stew. Finally she said through clenched teeth, "You'd like 
that, wouldn't you? Just fall asleep on me, ignore 
everything I just said, every single *thing* I just said, 
just get out of my car and go on home and....forget about 
every last bit of it! Well, tough, buster," she snapped, 
forestalling his bewildered denial as he opened his mouth 
to deliver it. "We're going to *talk*. Whether you like it 
or not. We're going to talk here and we're going to talk 
now."

"Okay..." Clark said slowly, watching her warily. "Does 
talk mean you yell, I listen? Or does it mean we engage in 
a sensible, civilized discussion? Hey, just trying to work 
out the ground rules in advance," he told her innocently as 
her eyes narrowed on him. "All right..." he invited as she 
refused to answer what had, after all, been a rhetorical 
question. "So go ahead. Talk."

His sudden capitulation and willingness to oblige seemed to 
stymie her. Suddenly, unheard of, she seemed lost for a way 
to begin. Clark didn't help her out any. He sat back in his 
seat and folded his arms, fixing her with a coolly 
inquiring stare and a half-lifted eyebrow that invited her 
to set the ball rolling.

Lois looked away. She seemed nervous all at once, fidgeting 
restlessly as she stared at the dashboard before her. She 
put out a hand and ran it down the side of the steering 
wheel, fiddled with the indicator lever, and sighed.

Clark frowned. He tilted his head, trying to better judge 
her expression, his earlier anger dissipating. Whatever was 
on her mind, it was hurting. That much was obvious. He 
dropped his arms, relaxing from his stiffly held, 
entrenched position of a moment earlier and hesitatingly 
reached out to lay a hand against her shoulder. "Lois?" he 
asked softly. "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong?"

He ignored the way she tensed up beneath his touch. She 
shook her head, not looking at him and then a soft, hitched 
breath escaped from her - something that could almost have 
been a disbelieving snort of laughter or a smothered sob. 
Or neither. She lifted her head to look at him and he 
almost flinched at what he saw in her eyes. Something 
difficult to put a name to. Shame? Guilt?

"I thought I wanted you to know, I really did," she 
whispered and there was no doubt now that she was crying. 
Tears made silver tracks across her cheeks in the dim light 
from outside. "I was so mad, but now...all of a sudden I'm 
beginning to wonder if I wasn't relieved you fell asleep on 
me and never heard." A harsh sound caught in her throat and 
she shrugged clear of his soft touch on her shoulder, 
huddling up against the door of the Jeep, pulling her gaze 
away from his again.

"How's that for the ultimate irony? If I'd just kept on 
driving, took you home, never said anything, watched you 
walk away..." She closed her eyes, breathing ragged.

"Know what?" She didn't answer, her only response a motion 
of her head that was so slight as to be almost easily 
missed. Clark's expression softened. "Lois, you can tell me 
anything. Anything at all. You ought to know that by now."

"Not this."

"This too."

She shook her head again, the motion more violent this 
time. "No...you don't understand..."

He couldn't argue with that. He didn't understand any of 
it. "Then why?" He tried another angle. "Why can't you?"

"Because..." He saw her swallow hard. "Because...I'm 
afraid..."

That had been so low he'd had to strain to catch it. 
Surprise snagged in his chest. Afraid? Lois? His partner? 
Mad Dog?

"Afraid? Of what? Of...who? Lois, you can't be afraid of 
*me*..." That emerged on a hint of laughter; the notion was 
ridiculous to him, so ridiculous he was almost sure she'd 
laugh at him for voicing the thought, but it faded as she 
didn't respond. "Lois? You aren't - "

"No..." She turned to face him, perhaps hearing something 
fearful in his voice that stung her into reassurance. "No, 
not of you, Clark." Her hands caught at his, her fingers 
wrapping around his own and squeezing tight.

Clark held on to that grip cautiously. He wasn't even 
certain that she was fully aware she'd made the move and he 
didn't want to spook her into letting go. Her fingers were 
warm and soft in his, and they quivered within the 
enclosure of his hands, like terrified birds poised for 
flight.

"Then what?"

"I...don't know. Of me, perhaps. Of...what I 
feel...of...dammit, I don't want to feel this way!" she 
blurted out suddenly, taking him by surprise with the storm 
of emotion beneath the words. "I don't!" She yanked her 
fingers clear and struck her fist against the steering 
wheel. "I don't want to feel like there's something more in 
you than I ever thought there was! Something beyond 
partners! Or friends!" She was sobbing wildly now and Clark 
reached for her, but she squirmed out of his tentative 
hands. "I don't want to feel like I could...like you...more 
than that...I don't! It's not fair! Why did this have to 
happen? Why now? I don't want to...f-feel...I don't want 
to...oh, god, I don't want to lose you, Clark! I don't want 
to lose you ever again!"

And then, in complete reversal of her earlier rejection of 
his attempt to comfort her, she threw herself against his 
chest. His arms went around her, instinct guiding him, as 
she huddled close, blindly seeking solace in his embrace, 
her sobs overwhelming her.

"I thought you were dead..." she whispered brokenly against 
the softness of his shirt. "I thought you were dead..."

And for that he had nothing to offer at all. His embrace 
tightened fractionally, his head lowering until his cheek 
rested against her hair.

"It's okay, Lois. Everything's going to be okay. I'm 
here...I'm not leaving you...I won't leave you ever again," 
he whispered, and he understood that it was a reassurance 
and a vow as much for himself as for her. How could he have 
done this to her? Reduced her to this? Guilt heated his 
heart as he soothed the weeping woman in his arms. There 
were many things he'd done in his life that were the cause 
of remorse and regret...too many...but for the rest of his 
life he would never forgive himself for this. He would 
never forgive himself for what he'd done to her. No matter 
how unwitting. For the pain he'd put her through, the hurt 
and anguish he'd seen buried deep among the tears in her 
eyes.

He shook his head and pulled her tighter into his arms, 
soothing her with a meaningless croon against her ear.

He hadn't expected it. Oh, he'd known she would be 
grieving, in pain, at the loss of a partner and friend, but 
he had never expected the wild storm of grief that he found 
in her now. The pain of a woman who'd lost half her soul, 
everything that mattered in the world to her.

Reflexively, he gathered her closer still, closing his eyes 
as he felt the warm softness of her body relax into his 
embrace. He sighed out a small breath, a susurration of 
regret and for a time there was nothing but the sound of 
her weeping against his shoulder as he offered what succor 
he could.

The change happened so suddenly it took him by complete 
surprise. He was unguarded against its unexpected 
intrusion. His intentions had been pure, his desire only to 
comfort when he'd taken her into his arms. But he was 
suddenly aware, with a flash of shock, that beneath the 
remorse, his guilt, he was also, almost painfully, aroused. 
She felt so good. Like this, in his arms. Where he'd so 
often imagined her in restless nights and passion-soaked 
dreams. Where he'd longed for her to be. The softness of 
her body burrowed tight against him as she clung to the 
solace he provided, the heat of her breath against his 
neck...beat in his blood and in his heart like a call to 
battle. And he was suddenly aware too that she was almost 
naked beneath that jacket she was wearing. The fact that it 
was several sizes larger than she needed it to be seemed 
simply to make her body seem more fragile than usual, more 
of a mystery he had become desperate to explore.

Lois appeared to have become aware of the changes in him 
too. Her tears had worn their course in her, the storm of 
weeping dying, and now she lifted her head, her eyes dark 
and wide and glowing like gems as she stared into his. 
Clark felt mortification tint his cheeks in rose and then 
Lois sighed out his name and her lips melded with his.

Time was lost, the world ended in a rush of fire and heat 
and there was nothing but her. Only her. Her body clasped 
tight to his as his hold on her tightened, the rough sound 
of her heart as it leapt to meet the charge of his, and the 
moist sweetness of wine that was her lips on his own....

"Yes..." he heard her breathe against his cheek. "...it's 
you. I'm afraid of you, Clark...of you...of what you do to 
me...how you make me feel...I'm so afraid...of this..." She 
kissed him again, deeply, more with anguish than desire, 
like a woman clinging to hope when hope is gone, and there 
was the taste of salt in among the sweet now. He pulled 
away, feeling feverish and dizzied, and took gentle hold of 
her throat in both hands, thumbs caressing the lines of her 
jaw as he set his eyes on hers. Her lips, swollen by 
passion, trembled. "I'm afraid of losing this...of losing 
you...I couldn't bear it...not again..."

She shifted, settling herself against him, her intent clear 
and holding nothing of the previous need to find solace 
that had prompted her to seek his embrace before. There was 
fire in her eyes, not tears. Her body trembled against his 
own as she kissed him fiercely, with heated abandon.

Clark surrendered to the desire that swept over him like a 
furious tide. But...it wasn't real. This wasn't real. 
Neither of them was being driven by true passion...or 
love...this was animal and primitive...the need to reach 
out and make contact with something that had been thought 
lost and gone for good...for someone who had...

He jerked back abruptly, tearing his lips from hers and 
refusing to yield to the temptation of the soft confusion 
and lingering heat he found in her eyes as they stuttered 
open to fix dazedly on his own.

"Clark...?" she whispered, tremulous, and he closed his 
eyes against the hurt he heard in her voice, the knowledge 
of his rejection....

He shook his head and opened them again as he pushed a 
trembling hand through the thick, soft mass of her hair and 
laid his palm against her cheek. His thumb caressed a 
gentle path across the line of one sharply defined 
cheekbone.

"Lois, you don't want this." He sighed heavily. His gaze 
dropped for a fraction of an instant to the full, inviting 
pout of her lips, reddened and moist from the passion of a 
moment before, then stuttered back to her bewildered 
eyes...safer ground. *I* don't want this."

"You don't?"

Clark paused. "Okay, I lied. I do want this. But *you* 
don't, Lois. We both know you don't. You don't feel this 
way about me. You're just...vulnerable, confused. Upset. I 
can't take advantage of that, Lois. Not when I know that 
tomorrow...maybe sooner...you'll regret this."

"Yesterday...maybe later...I'd have regretted this. But not 
now. Not now, Clark. Seeing you..." Fresh tears clogged in 
her throat before she struggled on, "...seeing you 
die...right there in front of me..."

Clark made a small, inarticulate sound and tugged her back 
into the protective circle of his arms, shutting off the 
words. "Ssshhhh. It's okay now. I'm here. I'm here, 
Lois..."

They rocked together for a time as her weeping died to a 
few, faintly embarrassed snuffles. He eased up on his 
embrace, sensing her withdrawal from the comfort he 
offered, her need to reassert control.

"Lois," he said gently. "I'd rather we didn't do anything 
until we're both a little more clear-headed. It's been a 
rough couple of days. For both of us. We need time to think 
about - "

Lois sniffed and pulled herself straight, drawing the back 
of her fingers across her cheek as she smiled at him, a 
little tremulously. "Oh, phooey, Clark," she choked out. 
"Who in their right mind is clear-headed when they make 
love?" Her eyes darkened, her face growing solemn as that 
moment of false bravado was lost. "Making love isn't about 
being clear- headed," she added softly. "It's about 
sensation. Emotion. Feelings. It's not about thinking."

Clark stared at her helplessly. Now that the words were 
out, he couldn't pretend any more that they had simply been 
offering each other the comfort of friends, clinging 
together in the shared need of the aftermath of grief and 
attempting to express the relief of death thwarted in their 
embrace. It had always been more than that with them. It 
always would be. But hearing her say it aloud...hearing her 
whisper what he'd dreamt of so many times, so many nights, 
the fantasies of his daydreams and the silken promises of 
twilight sleep...overwhelmed him.

Had she meant it...had she meant more than this, more than 
just the physical release of solace, he could have believed 
it was right. But she didn't...she couldn't...perhaps she 
never would. She had made her feelings about him clear. 
They were friends. And never would be more than that for 
her.

He had said he'd lied. That he did want this. But that 
hadn't been the lie at all, he realized. The lie had been 
in pretending he did. He *didn't* want this. Not like this. 
Not this way. When she came to him, he wanted all of her. 
Heart and soul. The body, the physical coupling wasn't 
enough. It would never be enough. Not for him.

Not for her either. Despite her protestations, she would 
regret this. Sooner than she imagined.

No...he couldn't do this to her. He had to protect her from 
this. From herself. This wasn't real. What she was feeling 
wasn't real. It was just like...like that perfume that had 
infected the Planet. That had turned them all into 
lovesick, slack-jawed idiots. Except for him, of course. 
For a moment he felt a familiar pang of regret that had 
often afflicted him since that day. It might have been nice 
- just once - he thought, half-wistfully, to be as 
vulnerable to his emotions as anyone else was. To be drunk 
with it, surrender to it, to have it beat in his blood and 
claw at his heart and be unable to think for the red mist 
of it shrouding his mind. Temptation without consequences. 
At least to a guilty heart.

He hadn't given into temptation before, not even when Lois 
had thrown everything she had - and she'd had a lot - at 
him. A clear picture of her dancing wickedly in his living 
room snuck into his head. The way that soft, translucent 
chiffon had molded itself to a voluptuous, curvaceous body. 
The way the sway of her hips made those gold medallions 
shimmer and chime, drawing the eyes to the full, enticing 
breasts, sheathed in a neckline that plunged low enough to 
leave little to the imagination.

Clark frowned. This wasn't getting him anywhere. Or, at 
least, it wasn't getting him where he should be heading. He 
shook his head, dismissing the following wistful thought 
which commented that where he had been right then, with 
shimmering gold and blue whirling around pale-hued, silken 
limbs, was much better than anywhere else he intended to 
go.

"Lois, don't do this to yourself. You thought I was dead. 
You thought you'd lost me. Now, you just want to prove that 
I'm real. Here..." He reached out and took hold of her hand 
pulling it up to lay against his cheek, covering the 
chilled fingers with his own and letting the heat from his 
skin register through her touch. "I'm real, Lois. You don't 
have to prove it beyond this."

/She said she loved you.../

Clark winced at the small, tentative voice that spoke up in 
his head. Hadn't she almost said she did? Back there? 
Wasn't that what she'd been saying? If she loved him...?

He cut off the blossoming hope, crushing it viciously. No. 
If she had, if that had been what she meant, it was only 
another manifestation of her recent grief, of her need to 
show him she cared, to make him understand how much his 
'death' had devastated her. Something more to prove. There 
hadn't been love in the fierce press of her lips against 
his, or in the way she'd clung to him, the way she'd 
pressed her body tight and provocative against his own. 
There had been anguish...desperation...nothing more. He 
hardened himself against believing otherwise. He knew it 
could destroy them utterly if he gave in to even the 
slightest hope that it might have been more. If he let his 
fantasies and his wishes convince him to ignore the truth.

Lois regarded him steadily in the faint illumination within 
the Jeep. Then she took back her hand and settled back on 
her heels on the seat beneath her.

Relieved that she'd listened, seen sense, Clark turned to 
open the door.

~@*****@~

Lois swallowed over the rough pounding of her heart in her 
ears as she watched him turn away. "Clark..." she 
whispered.

He turned back.

"I think I should give you your jacket back."

Clark's mouth dropped open as he watched her pull at the 
belt wrapping the jacket tight around her. His hand darted 
out, settling on hers and forcing her fingers to a halt.

"Lois, no..." he said softly. "Please...don't. Don't do 
this." The words sounded as though they'd been dragged up 
out of him, cracking in his throat. He sounded like a man 
torn in two, the dark, husky timbre in his tone reflecting 
the conflict in him. She suspected that he was a man 
currently cursing the speed of his reflexes. A man inches 
away from succumbing to the desire racing within him like a 
heated primordial tide. The thought, which normally might 
have given her a spark of satisfaction, of primal triumph 
in her power over him, produced only a faint guilt and 
sadness.

His eyes were tormented, drowning pools in which that 
desire was reflected strongly enough to send an answering 
shiver of anticipation skittering down her spine like the 
touch of warm, questing fingers.

She looked up at him, feeling the touch of his heart upon 
hers, and that touch drove back the numb fear that had been 
running in her like a dismal storm for so long. Anything 
was better than that. Even the humiliation of knowing he 
was right, even knowing how wrong this was. She couldn't 
help but take it. "If you don't want me to take this off 
here, Clark, then maybe we need to go somewhere a little 
more...private."

His eyes reproached her for the blatant manipulation and 
she wavered, dissolved, hating the desperation that broke 
in her voice as her painful bravado crumbled and, stripped 
bare before him, she whispered, "Please...Please, Clark...I 
need you...I *need* this..."

His gaze shifted, dropping momentarily to where the jacket 
had begun to come apart and reveal her to him. Lois held 
her breath. He moved his hands from her fingers, saying 
nothing. They brushed against the edges of the jacket, 
taking hold of the lapels. Lois closed her eyes, trying to 
quell the sharp disappointment welling up in her. The 
perverse sense of disillusionment that he had given in so 
easily, that he was just like all the rest, content to 
slake his own needs over hers, willing to let his base 
desires override his doubts. Just like any other man.

She had expected more from him, she realized in that last 
second, when it was too late. Even if she had been the 
instigator here, even if she couldn't expect him to 
understand the conflicts of grief and pain and the need to 
form a connection with something she had feared lost, that 
had seemed gone forever, that were festering black and 
hurting in her soul...

And then she frowned as she felt him tug the jacket firmly 
to a close and drop his hands to pull the belt around her 
waist tight again, withdrawing abruptly when she was decent 
again. Her eyes stuttered open as she heard a distinctive 
click. Cool air caressed her neck and face. Clark was gone. 
He'd left the car, left her there - and he was...gone.

Tears welled up in her. Tinged immediately with shame. What 
had she been thinking? She lowered her head, putting a 
trembling hand over her face. She wouldn't have...she'd 
just intended to...show him what he was turning down, try 
to persuade him, of course she never would have taken the 
jacket off, but...even so...no wonder he'd left her there.

Lois ducked her head, feeling the hot tears overflow and 
scald her cheeks as humiliation burned her at his 
rejection. How could she have so misjudged the situation? 
She wasn't given to throwing herself so blatantly at men, 
but Clark...he had wanted her, she thought, forgetting her 
disappointment of a moment earlier as wounded pride fired 
in her. She knew he had! It had been in those eyes that had 
caressed her body, hot and dark as they'd roamed her. And 
in the heat of his lips on hers...

Well, of course he wanted her! What man wouldn't want 
something offered so shamelessly? That didn't mean that he 
cared about her, it was just plain, unadulterated...

She started as a frigid blast of air suddenly grazed her 
bare skin where the door beside her had been wrenched 
violently open. Rough hands grabbed at her arms, yanking 
her out to stand on the pavement and then she was being 
pushed up against the side of the Jeep and quite thoroughly 
kissed by her partner.

His lips forced hers apart, his tongue entering into the 
slick, hot cavern of her mouth and exploring there in a 
frenzy. His hands loosened their grip, slid up along her 
shoulders and up to frame her face in large, protective 
palms as he deepened the caress.

"Clark...." she blurted dizzily and he frowned, placing his 
fingers against her lips.

"I don't want to talk," he growled an admonishment and then 
he replaced his fingers with his mouth and swept away her 
voice, her thoughts, all self will she possessed. She 
molded her body pliantly against his strong, masculine 
curves as she moaned softly, the sound drawn up deeply from 
the back of her throat. She heard an answering groan from 
him.

"I think," he breathed against her cheek, his eyes holding 
hers intently, "we need to continue this...conversation..." 
His lips briefly took and plundered hers, making it 
abundantly clear just what kind of conversation was on his 
mind and she was giddy when he pulled clear again to 
finish, "...upstairs."

"Up...upstairs?

"Now," Clark said hoarsely.

Lois nodded mutely, eyes lost and wide.

~@*****@~

Clark never did figure out how they made it to her 
apartment. The short journey was a blur of breathy sighs 
and frantic kisses.... He had a vague memory of them 
stumbling, entwined, into the elevator, almost falling, of 
Lois frantically trying to reach the panel over his 
shoulder as he lost himself in exploring the length of her 
throat, soft and inviting, with hotly feverish lips. He 
guessed she must have hit the right button eventually, but 
he had the distant idea that it had taken her a lot of 
flailing around and three or four botched attempts before 
she'd got there.

Fever.

Heat.

Desire.

Somehow, they had made it. He had heard the slam of the 
door faintly through the blood roaring in his ears, feeling 
bereft at her brief loss from his arms. It was only the 
familiar collection of scents that identified his location 
as her apartment, dimly in his head. Then she was pulling 
him back against her and her body was soft...so blissfully, 
wonderfully soft...against his own as he renewed his 
caresses of her ear and neck. Her skin was smooth 
and...unusually sweet. A distinct and strangely over- sweet 
taste but not entirely unpleasant...and it reminded him of 
something...of...? Frosting. Ah, yes...he remembered. 
Mentally he shrugged and intensified his attentions as she 
sighed against his ear in appreciation of his touch.

He pressed her up tight against the closed door. She 
giggled...a sound that send a thrill skittering down his 
spine...and then wrapped herself more tightly around him, 
her left thigh hitching up to cradle his hip as her foot 
glided in a sensuous, tantalizing, path, back and forth, 
across his shin. The motion brought their bodies together 
in ways that tantalized his senses and he groaned into the 
soft hollow of her throat, feeling that touch shiver 
through him. She felt it too, he could tell. She was 
trembling in his arms, her sighs of pleasure sharp and 
urgent in his ear as she twisted her fingers into his hair 
and forced his head from her shoulder and up to where she 
could savage his lips with her own....

Rational thought was gone. There was only sensation. And 
need. The need, burning hot as a roaring flame within him, 
to block out the pain of the last few hours, to lose 
everything in her. The simple need to touch...to feel...to 
connect...to reassure himself that nothing he cared about 
had been lost with his 'death'.

He only realized they had moved from the door and further 
into the apartment - on a route to who knew where - when 
the backs of his knees collided sharply and unexpectedly 
with something. The coffee table, his mind identified 
distantly, as he overbalanced, dragging his oblivious 
partner with him. He landed on his back, sprawled on the 
sofa an instant later, Lois' soft and supple and enticing 
weight atop him. She didn't even break her frantic 
explorations of his face and throat, apparently barely 
registering the change in venue, and the moment of clarity 
dissolved in him immediately in response, losing him in the 
moist heat of her breath against his skin and the 
intoxicating sensations she was building within him.

His hands found their way to resting on her waist and 
tightened their grip to tug her forward and up to where he 
could claim her mouth and she could straddle him more 
comfortably. Her hands cupped at the sides of his throat, 
thumbs playing restlessly and provocatively with the lobes 
of his ears, before she slid them further into his hair. 
There, they tightened into fists and her sharp, excited 
whimpers as she bit gently into his lower lip and tugged at 
it seductively thrilled him.

The flesh beneath his hands was warm. He moved them higher, 
exploring the taut muscles of her back and running soft, 
circular patterns against the length of her spine, beneath 
the jacket...and for a time the world was lost in the heat 
and the web of desire spun around them....

The shrill, intrusive shriek of the telephone broke into 
the heated murmurs and silken whispers of their bodies 
moving frantically.

"Lois..." he murmured a question as she didn't falter in 
her single-minded exploration of his body. Her fingers were 
sending white hot flashes through him as they stroked 
teasing, featherlight touches across his thigh. He heard 
himself moan and then he raised himself to where he could 
press his lips to the soft patch of skin in the hollow of 
her throat, his hand tightening on her, pulling her closer 
against his chest.

"Leave it...just...oh, Clark...Clark...leave it. They'll 
go...away..."

He didn't need encouragement to obey, her whimpers of 
pleasure stirring him to greater effort. He tried to ignore 
the insistent burring close by, dimly aware that his hands 
were tugging awkwardly at the belt around her waist, trying 
to free more of her to his touch. He sighed out in relief 
as the faint click of the answering machine cut in, 
abruptly stilling the irritating, distracting buzz in his 
ears.

"Lois? Lois, I know you're there! I called that nice Mr. 
White, he told me you'd left half an hour ago. Pick up! Oh, 
my baby! My poor baby! I only just heard - why didn't you 
*call* me? I'm your mother! I have to read this in the 
newspaper?"

Lois froze as that shrill voice knifed into the air of the 
room like an alarm bell. Clark felt her go still against 
him, dimly, as he took a moment to catch up, pulling 
himself back from the brink, free of the enchantment she'd 
woven around him, where he'd been lost in the heat of her 
scent and the warm comfort of her body. He lifted his head 
from where it was buried against her skin and found her 
face. It was pale and tight and still as a waxen mask.

" - and I know it's not right to speak ill of the dead, 
but, honestly, Lois, the man sounds like a walking menace! 
Ever since he started at that newspaper of yours it's been 
nothing but near death and disaster on a daily basis! You 
never used to get into trouble so easily. He was a bad 
influence. Now, I know you won't agree with me right now, 
but you mark my words, you'll be so much better off without 
him dragging you into danger all over the place - "

Lois twisted so abruptly out of his hands that Clark 
thought the anger blazing suddenly in her eyes was partly 
directed at him. Instinctively, he raised a hand in a 
warding gesture and then with a lithe movement that 
reminded him sharply and disappointingly of what they'd 
been doing a moment before and he could wish they were 
still engaged in, she squirmed off him and scrambled to her 
feet.

" - know why you ever gave him the time of day - "

Clark sighed and then pulled himself up to sit. He watched 
her charge over to the phone, cheeks showing red stripes of 
heat as she jerked it from its cradle.

"Mother, that's enough!"

Clark winced at the sharp, brittle tone in her voice. 
Embarrassed, he pushed a hand through his hair and then 
began to busy himself awkwardly with carefully tidying up 
the aftermath of their shared passion as he tried not to 
listen to Lois berate her mother in that frigid tone that 
he could never imagine using with his own Mom. He tucked 
his shirt back into his pants where it had come loose at 
the back and straightened his tie before running a 
smoothing hand through his disordered hair.

It was strange how much Ellen Lane had invaded the room. 
She was a tangible presence, disapproving and stifling, and 
he knew that inevitably the mood had been lost in the 
instant her voice had interrupted them...when they 
were...when Lois had been....

He sighed, disappointment twisting itself sharply into his 
belly. For a brief moment, he felt as much irritation for a 
woman he barely knew as Lois obviously did.

Lois was watching him as she dropped into a style of 
communication he'd heard more than once back at the Planet. 
It consisted of one-syllable words that barely indicated 
she was staying in touch with the conversation. 
Conversation? Try one-sided diatribe. He tried not to 
eavesdrop on the other end of the line but Ellen Lane's 
voice could etch metal at times, especially when she was 
riled, and boy was she riled now. He could almost catch one 
word out of three from the other side of the room without 
benefit of his enhanced hearing at all. Lois didn't seem to 
be listening, having switched onto automatic pilot long 
since.

He caught Lois' eyes and got to his feet with a vague, 
'I'll let myself out' gesture towards the door. It was best 
he leave now. Before things took an even more embarrassing 
turn. Frustrated lust still roiled deep within his belly. 
He had no desire to indulge in a miserable 'what went 
wrong?' point by point analysis of how they had ended up 
here, on his partner's sofa, making out like two horny 
teens at the Prom.

He winced, knowing the analogy was unfair, aware he was 
being deliberately harsh on himself - on them both - in an 
attempt to make himself angry. Self-castigation had always 
been an effective method of dousing the sputtering flame of 
unwise desire. While he was hardly going to go home and 
flay himself raw with hawthorn branches like the monks of 
old for those impure thoughts - and more impure actions - a 
few hard words wouldn't go amiss in reminding himself how 
close he'd come to taking advantage of his partner in the 
basest of ways. When she was at her most vulnerable. When 
she had needed him to be stronger than this, strong for 
her, when she couldn't be. When she'd needed him most.

He had almost made the door when he heard Lois hastily 
bring the conversation to a close with a hurried, "I'll 
talk to you later, Mother - I have to go. Yes, now! 'bye! 
You're leaving?" she added breathlessly as she slammed the 
phone back into its cradle, her tone switching abruptly 
with the motion from impatient belligerence to an almost 
desperate plea.

Clark turned around, realizing that last had been directed 
at him. He shrugged. "I guess, maybe it's for the best, 
Lois, I mean - "

"No, you can't! I..." She shook her head and he could see 
it in her eyes - a stark mirror he was sure of his own 
thoughts. That shocked, disorientated 'My god, what was I 
thinking? Did I really...? How could I have...?' expression 
that would soon tip over into shame and guilt. He didn't 
want to be there to see it. To know that she regretted 
losing herself in an awkward moment with him was enough 
punishment. He didn't want to see that look in her eyes. 
Not when she was looking at him.

"Lois, I really think..."

"Clark, please." She flushed, perhaps hearing the echo of 
earlier pleas made in the heat of passion, as he did, and 
then stumbled onwards, "Please stay. Just a little longer? 
I don't mean...I mean just stay. Not...we won't 
do...anything...that is..." She gave up, at a loss, cheeks 
heated by twin spots of pink.

He hesitated, torn against commonsense by what was in her 
eyes. He never could resist her when she looked at him that 
way, never could deny her...despite the roaring in his ears 
that told him leaving now was the only option, that to stay 
would be to risk compounding their indiscretion, risk even 
more awkwardness between them. He sighed and ran a 
distracted hand through his hair. He began to shake his 
head. Staying was a very bad idea.

"Clark..."

He met her eyes again and they both knew what his answer 
was going to be. Lois visibly relaxed and only then did 
Clark realize just how tensely she'd been holding herself, 
waiting for his decision. It meant that much to her? He saw 
that it did. She was still recovering from the shocks of 
the last twenty-four hours, her emotions fragile. His 
death, his return to life...almost dying herself in that 
cement trap...all of it had taken its toll on emotions that 
had been left raw and flayed open by her ordeal. She needed 
careful...well, no, not handling, handling wasn't the word 
he was looking for or one that felt safe to use right then. 
She needed a friend. Yes, that was it. A friend. Not a 
lover. Not some one night stand to temporarily take away 
the hurt and the lingering pain of what he'd put her 
through. Guilt speared through him again and he swallowed 
against the sudden tightness in his throat.

/Just be her friend./

He could do that. He could always do that.

He dredged up a smile for her. She didn't respond. He 
didn't blame her. He could feel for himself how false it 
was, how it stretched at the taut skin of his face like a 
wound. He cleared his throat. His gaze skittered briefly 
towards the sofa, taking hers with it, and then darted 
away.

"Talking of dangerous situations..." he said lamely. An 
attempt to lighten the tension in the air between them that 
failed miserably.

Guilt touched her eyes and he cursed himself mentally. 
Dumb. Really dumb. What did you say that for? Idiot!

"Clark, I'm sorry, I thought it was what I...I should never 
have - "

"Lois, it's okay." He gave her another small smile as 
additional reassurance that he meant it. It didn't emerge 
any more sincere than its predecessor. "We're both...a 
little strung out. It's natural. Look." He glanced over his 
shoulder. When in doubt - coddle. "Why don't you just sit 
down, relax, and I'll go make us some coffee. We 
can...talk. That...that would be okay, wouldn't it?"

Lois nodded. "Well, the coffee part at least. I can handle 
that," she said, but she grimaced as she moved to comply. 
"Actually, I think I need a shower," she said. There were 
bits of her sticking together which shouldn't and crumbs of 
cake frosting in places she didn't want to think about. 
Among other things, which didn't bear mentioning.

She saw his face tighten, hurt flaring in his eyes and 
dismay, and made a small sound of denial. "No! No, not 
because of what we...you...it's not that, Clark!" She shook 
her head hurriedly and rushed to explain, "I'm covered 
in..." she hesitated at a loss as she waved a hand 
aimlessly to indicate herself. "Gook," she concluded with a 
sigh. "Pink gook no less. With blue bits in it. And," she 
added darkly, squirming just a little now, "I'm pretty sure 
there's one of those little tiny candles digging into 
my...uh, well...I'm a mess."

"Oh," he said, abashed. She watched him blush and then 
glanced down. The sight that greeted her filled her with 
such distress that she forgot about the momentary 
interlude. "And...oh, Clark...your jacket," she said 
miserably.

His gaze dropped with hers to study the jacket, which was 
pretty much beyond repair, with frosting smeared across the 
front and sleeves. "Don't worry about it," he said 
dismissively.

"But...I will get it cleaned...try to get it cleaned...or 
you can get it cleaned and send me the bill...and, 
oh...your sweater too! That'll be ruined!" she blurted out, 
despairing as she remembered the sodden, cement- encrusted 
bundle she'd abandoned in a heap in the Jeep earlier.

"Sweater?" he said, looking confused as he looked her over; 
obviously wondering where she was hiding it.

Lois flushed. "I...took it out of your closet," she 
confessed and, as he looked surprised, "I mean I didn't 
steal it or anything. You can't steal from a dea..." Her 
eyes widened a touch and she changed track hastily, "Well, 
anyway, I needed to...find some connection, you know? I 
needed to be close to you when you were...gone. So, when I 
was finished at the precinct, after I've given the police 
my statement, I...went to your apartment. I couldn't bear 
to come back here...be alone..."

She halted, obviously embarrassed at her weakness in 
needing that comfort. And something more. A dark pain that 
spread itself across her eyes as memories too sharp and 
painful to bear, even now, were resurrected by her words.

"Lois..." Clark put a hand to her arm, seeing how difficult 
this was for her to relate. She started, emerging from 
where she'd been lost for a moment within that darkness, 
then shook her head.

"No...really...it's okay." She pulled in a small breath. 
"Anyway, I found the sweater in your closet and I needed 
to...I don't know why I put it on. I just did." That last 
came out sounding a little defiant. Clark smiled faintly.

"If it helped you, I don't mind," he said, feeling his 
throat close up around the tenderness that what she'd told 
him had produced within him. And then, tone changing to 
something a little less gentle and slightly more...worried, 
"My closet? You were in my closet? Uh...Lois? You 
didn't...find anything else in my apartment while you were 
- "

"Snooping around?" She smiled as he began to protest that 
automatically. "No. Just the sweater. I didn't stay there 
long. It got...way too intense after that. Why?" Her 
expression suddenly turned intent and professionally 
curious, losing its diffidence. "What have you got that you 
don't want me to find?"

"Nothing! Nothing," he reiterated in a slightly less 
strangled tone as she raised a brow at him. "Just...you 
know...things. Private things. Everyone has something they 
want kept from the world, Lois," he added the admonishment.

She grunted. Then, grudgingly, conceded, "Hmmmmm. I guess." 
She didn't look entirely convinced though and he almost 
smiled at her obvious disbelief and disapproval that he 
might be keeping secrets from her. This from one of the 
most secretive people he knew, who guarded their privacy 
with barbed wire fencing, steady and constant guard 
patrols, a roving spotlight, and a pack of rabid Dobermans. 
She was something else.

Of course, she was right though, he thought, the momentary 
amusement dying abruptly to be replaced with the familiar 
guilt that such talk usually provoked within him. Most 
especially when it was Lois who was blundering blindly into 
such talk, with no idea of how close to the mark she truly 
was. Blind because he kept her blind. And every time that 
he did a small piece of his soul shriveled. At first it had 
been a necessity. Later it had still seemed necessary - 
more, he told himself to avoid hurting her than to protect 
his secret. To avoid losing her, the more honest part of 
himself corrected, and he accepted the admonition with an 
inner sigh. He couldn't deny it. None of his motivations 
were pure when it came to Lois. All of it was selfish. He 
was afraid of losing her if he told her the truth. Afraid 
when she found out she would never forgive him.

His eyes rested on her, some of that fear, that had lived 
in him like a growling beast, imprisoned but ready to get 
loose at any moment, rattling its chains in the darkness of 
his heart, pounding like a drumbeat of terror in his heart. 
And living, he was sure, in his eyes, naked to be found 
there if she only looked.

She *wasn't* looking at him, he discovered with a confused 
mixture of disappointment and relief. She was intent for a 
moment on vainly trying to brush some of the worst of the 
frosting from the sleeve of his jacket. He wanted to reach 
out and put his hand over hers, to stop her in her tracks. 
He wanted to open his mouth and tell her what she needed to 
know. Tell her everything. Tell her...

He sighed softly.

Lois lifted her head, looking chagrined. "Sorry," she said, 
obviously misinterpreting the sigh for impatience. She left 
off her futile ministrations and shrugged. "Anyway, I...I 
left. But I was still wearing the sweater when Capone 
shoved me in that cement pit and, oh, Clark, I'm 
sorry...I...I ruined it. I ruined everything!" she wailed 
abruptly and he knew that suddenly the sweater wasn't what 
was on her mind.

"No, you didn't. Honestly, you didn't," he insisted as she 
looked up at him, dumb with misery. Their eyes locked and 
the moment stretched, hung between them for an instant - 
seeming to last much longer - full of traps and snares for 
the unwary and he knew that he couldn't handle discussing 
what had happened earlier with her. Not now. Later. Yes, 
later. Perhaps when they were in their eighties and this 
entire day was a very dim and very distant memory. Maybe - 
just maybe - then. But...not right now.

"Come on..." He took charge, realizing that she could 
quickly let herself dissolve into maudlin self-pity if she 
was allowed to. He turned her around with a hand on her 
shoulder and in the second before he did he saw relief in 
her eyes. He guessed he wasn't the only one who was keen to 
put off that particular little heart to heart. "Forget it. 
It doesn't matter," he said, aware as he spoke of the 
duality of meaning in the words and hoping she heard that 
message too.

In truth he blamed himself, not her. She had hardly been 
aware of what she was doing and he'd taken advantage of 
that vulnerability. He owed a debt of gratitude to Ellen 
Lane. If she hadn't interrupted them...what ruins might his 
friendship with Lois be in right now?

He shuddered with the thought. She would have hated him. 
Blamed him. And she would have been right. He would have 
deserved her scorn. What kind of man was it - what kind of 
a friend - who took a longing for comfort and let his own 
lust take control, twisting that simple, human need into 
something base and abhorrent?

Lois was watching him anxiously. He worked up a faint smile 
for her. "Go on...scoot."

He pushed her gently in the direction she was aiming for 
with a hand laid flat against the small of her back and she 
went without protest. She glanced over her shoulder at him 
as she paused by the door to the bathroom and then she 
slipped through and was gone, the door easing its way to a 
close with a soft snick behind her.

~@*****@~

Lois let the steaming heat of the water pour over her as 
she laid her head against the coolness of the tiles and 
closed her eyes. She wanted to cry. She wanted to weep 
until there was nothing left in her, until all of it was 
used up and leeched away. Poured down the drain and washed 
clean of her, like the gunk from her body and the frosting 
from her hair. Where she could forget it as though it had 
never existed.

She sighed bitterly.

It was all too much to deal with. Clark's dying on her like 
that. Abandoning her. Being dumb enough to get in the way 
of that bullet...and the dream-like resurrection that had 
returned him to her.

Dream-like...

She straightened up abruptly, fear beating a sudden rough 
tattoo in her breast. She put out a quick, trembling hand, 
covering the showerhead to quell the water. She strained to 
listen, her body tight as a violin as the fear shook within 
her, desperate to know...

She heard the sound of Clark whistling to himself as he 
pottered around her kitchen and she closed her eyes, 
sagging back against the tiles. Tears leaked weakly from 
the corners of her eyes. Not a dream. He was there. He was 
real. She hadn't imagined it.

Relief sagged at her knees. She sank to the floor, hugging 
herself tight and giving in for a time to the rough sobs 
that tore through her as the water drummed against her 
back. Finally, weakened by the storm of misplaced grief, 
overwhelmed, drained, she simply laid her forehead to the 
bridge of her knees and rocked slowly, trying to gain 
control of her chaotic thoughts.

She didn't understand. It was all too confusing. How were 
you expected to cope with losing your best friend...the man 
you loved...one moment and being told it had never happened 
at all the next? It had happened to *her*. It had been 
*real* to her. She felt as though her life had suddenly 
been torn into two diverging tracks. The world in which 
Clark Kent no longer existed, where she went on without 
him, grieving and alone. And the world in which he was 
still there, in which she'd never lost him at all, in which 
she'd finally admitted to herself that he was everything in 
the world she needed or wanted.

The two didn't gell. She was dimly aware that she was still 
feeling the emotions associated with loss and bereavement. 
And the fact that they were apparently no longer required 
didn't seem to have fazed them any or made them any the 
less strong and hurtful. She had wept for Clark, she had 
hated him for leaving her, she had been enraged at those 
who had taken him from her...

...she had been set on the path to experiencing all of the 
clinically recognizable stages of bereavement. Fear, anger, 
abandonment, guilt...

...and then that healing process had been roughly snapped 
off prematurely, ripped apart, cut off short and...

...and now...now all she felt was weary and bewildered 
and...

She wanted so much to just give up. To let it all go. To 
let herself be accepted into his arms and have him hold 
her. Just that and nothing more. She felt herself grow hot 
as she remembered the lustful fumbling she had 
initiated...how could she have...? What must he think of 
her?

She climbed wearily to her feet, a small, wavering spark of 
anger driving her suddenly with the thought.

Well, he hadn't exactly been Mr. Circumspect himself, she 
reminded herself defiantly. It took two to tango and Clark 
seemed to know all the dance moves, just as well as she 
did. He hadn't exactly objected, had he? Well...not by 
much, anyway. Not...entirely. And you could stick that 
nonsense about men being slaves to their hormones and 
unable to rein themselves in when they were tempted by 
some...floozy who threw themselves at them. How it wasn't 
their fault and they couldn't be blamed for giving in to it 
and they couldn't resist just like any normal, sensible --

Floozy? She shook her head irritably, that wasn't what she 
meant at all, and then pushed it under the water and tilted 
it back, letting the soft heat stream over her face. Hot as 
the water was it cooled the heat of her skin, soothing the 
fierce blush that had blossomed there. She smoothed her 
hands through her hair and reached for the shampoo. 
Lathering fiercely, almost as though she was punishing 
herself with her harsh treatment, she frowned as she 
returned to her broken train of thought.

She didn't think Clark thought she was a...one of those. 
Did he? She was sure he didn't. And anyway...if she 
was...one of those...then so was he! A small giggle escaped 
her at the unlikely image that mutinous thought conjured in 
her head and then she schooled herself to grimly rinsing 
her hair and lathering it a second time, not prepared to be 
that easy on herself. Boy, that gunk really ground itself 
in. She might never get rid of it all. She made a bleah 
face and scrubbed harder.

Clark had been easy on her. Much easier than she deserved, 
she thought bleakly. Leading him on that way, encouraging 
him, pleading with him...then dropping him cold in the next 
moment. Most men would have...well, most men would have 
been less than pleased. And, sure, she knew that every 
woman had the right to change her mind - no matter how late 
in the day - but that didn't stop her behavior being 
deplorable...or unfair on him. She had known men who would 
have pouted and left in a rage of thwarted lust if she had 
pulled that trick on them.

But Clark... With Clark there had been no tantrums, no 
accusations that she was being a tease, playing games...no 
wheedling blandishments that if she really loved him like 
she said she did, she'd go all the way. There had only been 
concern. Tender concern for her. For what *she* wanted, 
what she needed...

How could she have almost let this man slip through her 
fingers without ever telling him how much she appreciated 
his kindness, his comfort, his support and his...

Love?

Lois grew still, hands frozen among the suds of lather in 
her hair. She lowered them slowly, her eyes fixed 
sightlessly on the shower curtain. Did Clark love her? Of 
course he *did* love her - she knew that - but did he love 
her as more than a friend? More than his partner? He had 
told her once that he did...but that had been nothing more 
than a ruse...hadn't it? Wasn't that what he'd told her? 
He'd taken it back. He'd said it had all been nothing more 
than a trick to stop her marrying...

Lois' eyes widened a touch.

Had be been...lying?

Because if he had, if he had meant it, if he truly did love 
her as much as she loved him...then what she'd just done to 
him out there was even more unforgivable. If offering 
herself to him had meant more to him than a night of simple 
passion, an act of affirmation, a celebration of life and 
the need to prove beyond doubt that he was real and 
alive...if it had meant much more than that, then she had 
treated him abominably.

His actions hadn't been those of a man seeking oblivion 
with a warm body, just for a few hours. A man trying to 
lose himself and find solace in a primal coupling with 
someone whom he didn't love. She had told herself that 
those were *her* motivations, her reasons for offering 
herself to him so shamelessly. The need to connect with him 
again, to put the chill of the grave that still lay between 
them to rest once and for all, to bury it amid the warmth 
of their bodies pressed together and the entwined beating 
of two hearts that raced with life and couldn't be stilled. 
Hadn't been stilled. Proof. She had needed proof. And what 
greater proof of life could there have been in the act of 
making love?

But it hadn't been that - or not solely that anyway. She 
had lied to herself and she had lied to him. She had been 
making love with the man she loved. The man she wanted to 
be with. The man she wanted to spend the rest of her life 
with. If only he'd let her.

Had Clark felt that too? Had he been lying too?

The water splattered onto the tiles at her feet unheeded as 
she lost herself in the dismal knowledge that she had 
perhaps hurt Clark more than he deserved. More then she had 
ever intended. More than she had a right to.

And how was she going to make amends for that?

~@*****@~

Clark was still in the kitchen when she approached him, 
somewhat diffidently. Rich smells hung heavily in the air, 
like a balm to the soul, she thought. They set her stomach 
to a low growling.

He paused in what he was doing - was he actually chopping 
up bacon? And was that hissing from the pan on the stove 
beside him...mushrooms? Amazing, the things you could find 
in the depths of her refrigerator if you looked, it seemed. 
She herself hadn't been in there in weeks. Who knew what 
lurked in there? - and looked around at her. She saw him 
take in her attire and shifted uneasily on the balls of her 
feet as she caught a flicker of 
something...strained...catch in his eyes momentarily before 
he smiled a greeting at her.

It had seemed a good idea at the time. She had very 
carefully chosen the cream cotton, loose-fitting pjs she 
was wearing, with a toweling robe thrown unbelted over 
them. She had tossed aside a dozen other combinations 
before deciding that the cute little cartoon kitten yawning 
mightily as it snuggled up to an overlarge pillow that the 
pyjama top sported was about as far removed from anything 
that could possibly in any way, shape or form be considered 
seductive as she could get.

She avoided Clark's gaze, turning her attention to rubbing 
studiously at her hair with the towel in her hands. It was 
a task that suddenly seemed worthy of an awful lot of 
attention. All of her attention in fact. It was important, 
making sure you got the ends of your hair dry when you came 
out of the shower. Very important.

Maybe the pjs *had* been a little touch of overkill, she 
thought miserably. They fairly screamed 'hands off'. The 
message was hardly subtle.

Well, she didn't *feel* subtle, she thought irritably. She 
felt miserable and awkward and...

"Feeling better?"

She straightened, dropping the soggy towel onto the 
counter. "Well...cleaner." She caught the disappointment in 
his face at her refusal to give him a dishonest but more 
comforting, 'Just fine, thanks' and hastily craned her neck 
to see over his shoulder. "What you doing? Thought you were 
making coffee?"

"Yeah, well, I thought you might be hungry too, so..."

Lois was suddenly reminded that she hadn't eaten 
since...she frowned. Well, actually she couldn't remember 
the last time she'd eaten. "Leftovers?"

"Omelet," he corrected blandly. "This was all I could 
find," he added, with a touch of censure in his voice as he 
added a pinch of pepper to the pan.

"I didn't even know I had *that*, " Lois told him, 
unabashed by his disapproval of her nutritional habits. "I 
don't even remember *buying* that."

"You didn't. It was left over from that casserole I made us 
last Thursday. You remember? When we were working on the 
Kelman notes? I left them in there for you to use." He 
glanced at her with a 'didn't expect them still to be 
there' hint in his eyes.

Lois shrugged. "Who can find time to cook these days?" she 
said and then, "Other than boy scout partners. Anyway," she 
scowled at him before he could defend himself on that, "I 
can dial takeout just as easily from here as from your 
apartment. I thought *you* were going to take it easy?"

He shrugged. "I kind of like cooking. It is taking it easy. 
It's...comforting. Somehow."

"I'll take your word for it," Lois said. Cooking, and 
particularly cooking for others, had never given *her* 
anything but stress and stomach acid. Then, realizing how 
ungrateful she was sounding, she added somewhat more 
tentatively, "Thanks. It...looks delicious."

He looked pleased at the approval. "Go sit down. It'll take 
another few minutes. Make yourself comfortable; I'll be 
right there."

Make yourself comfortable. Yeah, right, she thought, 
bitterly. Maybe they were never going to be comfortable 
together again. Despite the easiness of his manner with 
her, she could see how tense the line of his shoulders was, 
how tight and strained the flesh was around his eyes. 
Sprinkling bacon into the sizzling pan beside him seemed to 
be occupying an awful amount of his attention.

Her own stomach was fluttering, jittery, and not with 
hunger. The air between them was charged with something 
more than tension, something strange and unpalatable.

Silence. The kind of awkward, brooding silence that plays 
on the nerves.

Lois opened her mouth, not at all sure what she was about 
to say, but needing to say something. Anything to break 
what cast its pall, like a ghost, on the air. Clark turned 
quickly towards the utensils drawer, tugging it sharply 
open and rooting within it.

It wasn't like he'd deliberately ignored her. Like he'd 
turned his back on her rather than face what she might say. 
It was just that he hadn't noticed she'd been about to 
speak. Right?

Right. His hands had stilled momentarily on the edges of 
the drawer. As she watched they clenched into fists and 
then they loosened again and he was pulling free a fork. 
She felt her throat tighten. Hating the dull unease that 
was settling in her belly like poison, she sighed, forbore 
to point out the perfectly good fork already lying on the 
counter, and took his advice, heading for the living room.

She grimaced as she settled herself into the sofa, several 
bruises from her earlier ordeal and the events of the 
evening making themselves known. But still, it wasn't all 
that was causing her discomfort. She glanced into the 
kitchen.

They had shared moments like this before. Often. Late 
nights, a mug of something soothing and warm after an 
intense session of story research or planning or simply one 
of their hanging out nights at her apartment or his. Talk 
having wound down into a companionable silence. No 
pressure, no awkward pauses: Just the warmth of good 
friends, sharing some downtime. Savoring the silence for 
what it was. The comfort of knowing they had no need to 
fill every gap in conversation with trivialities.

That wasn't what was happening now and she knew she was to 
blame for it. What should have been the same old, habitual 
silence between them as Clark pottered around her kitchen 
as though it was his own and she waited for whatever 
culinary treat he served up left her feeling...disturbed. 
Unsettled. Their relationship had been turned back more 
than a little by the events of the day. By what had 
happened between them only a short time before. She hadn't 
felt this uncomfortable around him for longer than she 
could remember. It hurt. It hurt deep and black inside her.

Maybe it would have been better if he had left like he'd 
wanted.

No. No, she didn't want him to leave. She knew it was needy 
and she hated herself for it. But she needed him with her. 
She needed to know that he was real and safe and alive and 
that he'd never abandon her that way again. Just for a few 
hours. Tomorrow...tomorrow she could go back to being Mz. 
Undefeatable. Mz. Totally In Control. Tomorrow would do for 
that. For now...she just wanted to be with Clark. She just 
wanted to be comforted.

She flushed. She guessed she had made that abundantly 
clear, she flayed herself, her memory providing some all 
too vividly mortifying images of all that writhing around 
on the sofa before her mother had mercifully interrupted 
them.

"Comfortable doesn't seem to apply to these sofas," she 
blurted out, desperate for something - anything - to break 
that stifling silence, knowing she couldn't bear to be 
alone with those thoughts any longer. She wriggled a little 
and frowned as she considered the offending item more 
closely. "They're very small..."

"So why'd you buy them?" Clark's voice came from the depths 
of a cupboard.

"Honestly?" Lois paused. "Because I was hardly ever home. 
They looked good. I just didn't expect to use them much. 
Pretty dumb reason when you think about it. But, you know, 
Clark, before you joined the Planet I wasn't much of a 
stay-at-home-milk-and-cookies-snuggle-and-a-movie kind of 
gal. I - " She paused as she realized how literally true 
that was. Before he joined the Planet. She had meant it as 
a pure reference of time - then and now, before and after - 
but it was a truism she'd never considered until that 
moment. Before he came. To the Planet. Into her life. He 
had changed her. He had changed her in ways so small and 
infinitesimal that she'd barely noticed he was doing it.

"You, what?"

"Huh?" Startled out of her musing, she twisted around to 
find him watching her quizzically from the kitchen doorway. 
"Oh. Oh," she shrugged, "things have changed. *I've* 
changed."

"Ah. Well, you know, maybe you should go buy something new. 
Celebrate the transformation." He grinned at her and ducked 
back to his task.

Lois stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. "Since 
you're newly returned from the dead I'll let that one 
slide, Kent. Try repeating it tomorrow and I'll rip out 
your lungs with a dessert spoon."

"Sounds like a fair deal," Clark commented sardonically. 
"How long is this 'get out of jail with your lungs intact' 
card good for?"

"Don't push it."

She heard him snort derisively and somehow, despite 
everything, couldn't help but smile. It faded in another 
moment though. To an observer their banter might have 
sounded familiar and companionable, but she knew it was 
nothing but a thin veneer, a defensive mechanism, holding 
an underlying edge to it of something dark and desperate. 
Desperate to avoid what they really needed to say.

And, despite knowing it, she knew that she wasn't going to 
be the one to call their bluff, to expose the fakery. She 
wasn't going to be the one to step up to the plate and prod 
them into laying bare their flayed nerves and shattered 
hearts.

It was all too painful. And call herself a coward as she 
might, she couldn't face it. Not right now. She could fake 
it with the best of them. She could keep up the pretence of 
normality just as well as he. She looked up as Clark came 
through from the kitchen, two steaming mugs in his hands. 
She reached to take the one he held out to her.

"Careful, it's hot."

She felt a small spark of warmth fill her at that 
admonition, so familiar to her, so intent on her wellbeing, 
and blew on the contents before taking an exploratory sip. 
Surprised, she looked up at him over the rim. "Chocolate?"

He shrugged as he settled on the sofa opposite her. "I 
thought you needed it."

That small sign of how well he understood her was almost 
her undoing. She felt her throat click dry over the flood 
of tears that lodged there, their suddenness almost taking 
her by surprise, and hastily took another incautious sip of 
the smooth, dark chocolate, fighting for control. She made 
it and sighed quietly in appreciation as she felt the 
soothing heat flow into her like molten lava. She lost 
herself in its comfort for a moment, closing her eyes and 
sinking back into the embrace of the sofa behind her as she 
took another warming taste.

And the silence spread its dark wings over them.

It stretched. That silence. Broken briefly by her partner 
clearing his throat faintly from where he sat opposite her, 
before it settled back again, like a heavy, smothering 
blanket. Lois shifted uneasily and opened her eyes.

"I filed the story on - "

"Did you hear Jimmy - "

They faltered.

"You first," Clark invited.

She shook her head. "No, go ahead. I wasn't going to say 
anything important."

"Well, me neither really. Jimmy beat up Clyde Barrow," he 
continued as she refused to pick up the slack.

"Oh. Really?" Inwardly, she winced at the desperately 
polite tone that emerged cloaked in. "Well. Good for him," 
she said brightly and buried her nose in her mug again as 
she struggled to find something else to use as comment.

Apparently, Clark was finding inspiration just as 
difficult. He was staring moodily into the depths of his 
cup as though it held all the secrets of the world and he 
might find it in there.

And, all at once, she could see the night spinning out 
ahead of her, awkward and cold. Clark would leave as soon 
as he possibly could, with nothing settled to bring down 
what lay bricked up between them, and then... Those 
unresolved silences spreading out in days and weeks and 
months before them, festering, turning higher and thicker 
with every hour that passed. She had lost him, she 
realized. She had only just got him back and now - thanks 
to her blundering stupidity...she had lost him for good.

/Didn't you say we should talk?/ she wanted to say, 
desperately. They needed to talk. /Please, Clark, let's 
talk.../

But, somehow, she couldn't seem to force the words out past 
what was blocking her throat, squeezing it tight around the 
pain.

It was all too much. More than she could bear. She couldn't 
just sit here and witness everything crumble around her.

The first of the sobs escaped her before she could swallow 
them back, almost unheard as she sank deep into despair. As 
though that first gave permission, others followed. She 
couldn't hold them back. She wanted to, she desperately 
wanted to, but she just couldn't...

She heard Clark make a soft, inarticulate sound and then 
the mug in her hands, which had begun a dangerous wobble, 
was plucked from her grip. Strong arms were wrapping her 
close and a warm heart was beating its soothing mantra 
against her ear as she burrowed tight into the broad chest 
that felt so solid...so...so...real....

Lois surrendered herself to it. To the tears and the hurt 
and the black, welling pain that poured out of her. All the 
pain of twenty-four hours. All the hurt of loss and grief. 
She thought she had cried it all out, that she had no tears 
left, and yet.... It irritated her. She seemed to have done 
more crying in the past few hours than anyone could 
reasonably expect to have to cope with in a lifetime. And 
most of it on the shoulder of this man.

Yet, she couldn't fight it. Much as she wanted to, much as 
she hated herself for succumbing to it, she couldn't.

Limp and exhausted, beaten down by her tumbling emotions, 
she sank into the arms of her partner...her love...and 
wept.

~@*****@~

Clark held her. That and nothing more. He said nothing, 
understanding her need to let all of the misery and grief 
out now. All she needed from him right then was to be held 
within the circle of a protective and secure embrace. He 
tightened his hold on her, putting a gentle hand against 
her hair and stroking it softly as her wild grief became 
the only sound in the room.

Guilt spread within him like a dark, cancerous growth. This 
was all his fault. All of it. He wrapped her closer, 
offering what small and belated comfort he could, giving 
her all of himself, everything he had denied her in those 
first, bleak hours of his 'death'. When he had been too 
selfish, too obsessed with protecting himself, too 
concerned that unbending from the superhero persona to 
offer that comfort might give her a chink of understanding 
as to who he really was.

As though any of that had mattered more than what she was 
going through. How could he have left her like that? Run 
back home to his parents? He closed his eyes as his mind 
supplied him with an all too vivid representation of just 
what exactly Lois had been dealing with as he had paced the 
floor of his parent's root cellar and concerned himself 
with how *his* life had been shattered, how what *he* 
wanted and needed was gone.

A soft flush heated his cheeks as he let himself consider 
just how selfish he'd been. Concerned with his own needs, 
his own loss...baseball games and a career. Important, yes, 
of course they were. To him. A normal life. Friends. 
Working at something he had a talent for and believed 
passionately in and knew could make a real difference in 
the world. As much of a difference as any super feat.

And yet...how important compared to the grief of 
losing...someone you cared for. Your best friend and 
partner. He closed his eyes as his hands stilled in the 
small, comforting circles they were stroking against her 
back, as he was overcome with the memory of a few hours 
earlier. How could he have stood there, feeling 
satisfaction in that grief? How could he have been so self-
centered as to have found pleasure in the knowledge that 
Lois was hurting over his death? Even if it had only been 
for a moment.

The great Superhero.

If only people knew just how selfish and venal and weak 
their superhero was. What would they think of him then?

Lois dragged herself out of his arms abruptly, jerking him 
out of his dismayed, guilt-ridden thoughts and for one 
surreal moment he thought that she'd picked up some of what 
he'd been thinking, was responding to his censure of 
himself and agreeing with his assessment of just how cruel 
and thoughtless he'd been. Then he realized how ridiculous 
that was and reality reasserted itself.

Lois swiped a hand across her cheek, not looking at him. 
"I'm sorry...that was stupid..." she mumbled and started as 
he reached out to take firm hold of the hands twisting 
anxiously in her lap as though they had minds of their own.

"Not stupid, Lois. I'm sorry you had to go through all 
that. You don't know how sorry I am."

"You should be," she agreed. Her tone was belligerent, but 
it sounded more like an attempt at it rather than the 
genuine article. She looked up at him and he saw a very 
genuine and real spark of anger deep in her eyes that told 
him he was wrong. She meant it all right. "What the hell 
possessed you, Clark, getting in the way like that?"

"What?" He straightened. "You mean at the club?"

"Of course I mean at the club! Where else? What were you 
thinking?"

"Thinking..." Irritation snapped into place in his head. "I 
was *thinking*, 'Lois is going to get hurt, if I - '"

"If you didn't lose all commonsense sense in the middle of 
sheer macho stupidity and get in the way? Where you insane? 
Where did your brains go? Into your biceps?"

Clark blinked. Lois began to wave her hands around in 
counterpoint to her words; a bad sign.

"I mean, where do you guys get this garbage from? This 
'let's protect the helpless little woman' stuff? Do they 
teach it to you in school while we girls are getting the 
hygiene lesson? I'm betting ten to a dollar you didn't get 
it from Martha! Do the words Tai Kwon Do mean anything to 
you, Clark? Has the fact that I leave the Planet each 
Wednesday evening and head directly to the gym *ever* sunk 
in with you? I can take care of myself!"

Clark sighed. "Lois, they had guns - "

"Exactly! They had guns. Big guns. And *you* stepped right 
up in front of one of them! You...." her voice wavered and 
then she went on gamely, "I could have *dealt* with 
Dillinger, Clark."

"But - "

"I could have dealt with him more than I could deal with 
losing you," she whispered, losing the angry edge to her 
tone. Her eyes were suddenly very bright. "I could deal 
with anything but that."

She moved suddenly and Clark instinctively shrank back 
before relaxing as she wrapped her arms around his throat 
and pressed her cheek to his. "Don't you ever do that to me 
again, you big dumb idiot. Do you hear me?" she said 
fiercely against his ear. Her embrace had tightened to the 
point of choking him, but Clark was in no mood to complain. 
He slipped his arms around he