Lifeflight - An Elseworld Story  - Part I
By Raconteur <raconteur27@yahoo.com>
Rated PG-13
Uploaded January 2001

________________


This is an Elseworld Story and can be seen as a sacrilegious attack 
on the Canon of Superman.  Since 1938, pretty much only four things 
about Superman have
been constant:

1. One of his identities was Superman - superhuman being from Krypton
2. His other identity was Clark Kent - mild mannered son of Kansas farmers
3. Clark Kent gets himself in a complicated love triangle with Lois 
Lane and his alter ego
4. They both worked as reporters for the Daily Planet, the Greatest 
Newspaper in the World

Well, I threw number four out the window.  This story is an 
examination of what would happen in an alternate universe if 
circumstances had led both Clark Kent and Lois Lane to choose a 
profession other than investigative journalism.

This story has been helped along by many people including all the 
readers on Zoom's message board, so my thanks go to them.  Also, 
thanks to Erin, who
tirelessly edited this for the archive.  The usual disclaimers apply. 
I only own the characters I made up.  Any and all comments welcome to 
raconteur27@yahoo.com.  That said, I hope you enjoy the story.

The elevator chimed and the pair dressed in identical white lab coats
stepped out. The gentleman was an older fellow, tall and slender,
balding, but still an attractive man. The young brunette that walked
briskly beside him, taking quick steps to keep up with his long
stride was petite but somehow had a take charge kind of air about
her. Even to the most casual of observers it was clear that she was a
force to be reckoned with. Orderlies and interns quickly stepped
aside to allow the pair to pass. The gentleman politely nodded his
'hellos' but his young companion was too involved in the conversation
to even notice what was going on around her. She gesticulated grandly
to punctuate her phrases as she explained with eloquence befitting a
master at the art of word craft, her latest cases to the older man who
frowned and grunted his responses at the appropriate times. She
sighed as she caught her breath at the end of her oration and waited
for his opinion. He paused for a moment, formulating his response, a
thoughtful expression upon his face. He cleared his throat and began
to speak, "Well, I'm not certain, but it seems to--"

His response was interrupted by an announcement over the hospital's
PA system, "Paging Dr. Lane, Dr. Lane report to ED admittance."

As though their movements had been synchronized, the pair turned and
ran toward the West Wing and the Emergency Department's admittance
desk. Breathlessly, they spoke at once to the startled orderly behind
the admittance desk.

"Dr. Lane, here."

Slightly bemused at the sight before him, Chris Lin, the admittance
orderly, looked at the pair in front of him. "Sorry for the
confusion, sir."  Chris looked at the young woman standing beside the
older gentleman.  "The page was for you, Dr. Lane.  They've got
incoming in seven."

"I'm not going to be able to get prepped fast enough. Where's Myers?
He's the cardiothoracic surgeon on call in the ER today."

"Emergency triple bypass in OR 3, both cardiology teams are on it."

"What about the third?"

"Scrapped, not enough docs to cover it."

"Who else did you page?"

"Sanders. He's prepped and waiting, and two of the new residents are with him."

"Sanders is a Gastroenterologist, for Christ's sake! Well then, what
are we wasting time here for?" she asked to no one in particular as
she took off toward the prep room.

"Right, well, good luck, Princess. We still on for lunch?"

"Of course," she shouted over her shoulder. "Thanks, Daddy."

********

"Well, Doctor, this is the Emergency Department."  A middle aged
woman in a standard issue lab coat explained to the young gentleman
who was walking half a pace behind her as they walked through the
chaotic lobby, with doctors, nurses, interns and paramedics running in all
different directions. "I know it's not the Amazon River basin, but at
times you wouldn't be able to tell the difference."

His lips parted in a wide grin, flashing his perfect white teeth; he
was a gorgeous young doctor with a beautiful smile. Too bad she was
married.

"Dr. Davis to the nurse's station. Paging Dr. Davis."

Dr. Davis sighed. It had been a long day already and it was only ten
in the morning. She excused herself and promised the handsome young
man that she would return shortly.

Mere moments after Dr. Davis's departure, he heard the sounds of an
approaching ambulance. Over the din and hum of the Emergency
Department, he heard the voices of the paramedics. His face fell
instantly as he heard what they were saying. Incoming code blue and
both cardiology teams were on a triple bypass elsewhere. He rushed
into prep and changed out of his labcoat, slacks, and dress shirt
ensemble for the more appropriate set of scrubs. He washed his hands
and headed into the room where the orderlies and paramedics had taken
the patient.

"On three. Ready, one...two...three." Five pairs of hands gently
moved the patient from the gurney onto the exam table. He assessed
the situation quickly, and stated in a calm voice that carried over
the clatter and noise that pervaded the room, "Keep him on the O2,
let's get an ECG in here and hook up the leads, and get him
intubated." Several faces turned toward the source of the unknown
voice, the puzzled looks on their faces caused him to add "stat!" to
his command. He worked his way toward the patient as the young
residents and nurses quickly assembled the necessary equipment and
began hooking up tubes and wires to the patient. "All right, what
have we got?" he asked the paramedic who was silently moving aside,
allowing the doctors to do their job.

"Uh, thirty-five year old Caucasian male, no prior known medical
conditions, no allergies, collapsed at work," the young paramedic
responded.

"Uh, doctor?" he heard a female voice call.

"What? What have you got?" he asked.

"BP is 72 over 50 and falling, pulse is faint and irregular, 40 maybe 42."

"We're losing him!"

A loud, long beep was emitted from the ECG monitor.

"He's flatlined!"

"Get the crash cart!" he heard a young man yell.

"No!" he cried out. "We can't defibrillate! Look at the ECG readings.
Failure's due to asystole, not V-fib. Get me thirty milligrams of epi
stat!" A large syringe was placed in his outstretched hand. He tapped
the syringe, sending the tiny bubbles to the top and pressed in the
plunger, squirting a bit of the clear liquid into the air. He took a
deep breath and stuck the needle into the man's bare chest. He pushed
the plunger in all the way and removed the needle. The man's muscles
contracted violently as his whole body was gripped in spasms. A long
moment later, the long loud beep of the ECG was replaced by a steady
beeping.

"We got a pulse!"

"We have normal sinus rhythm!" someone exclaimed.

Just then the door swung open and he saw a petite young woman wearing
a lab coat over her matching green MetroGen scrubs enter the room.
She quickly snapped on a pair of gloves as her eyes swept across the
exam room in a quick survey. She moved toward the patient, the nurses
and interns stepping aside to give her space. She stood right next to
him, barely acknowledging his presence. "Sanders," she said, looking
toward one of the men, who nodded in response, but said nothing.
"Okay what have we got?" she asked.

"Asystolic 35 year old Caucasian male, no known allergies, no
previous medical problems, no history of high blood pressure. He went
flatline at 1007, revived with thirty milligrams of epinephrine at
1008," he explained quickly.

"What are his allergies?"

"Like I said, none"

"Can't be, unless he OD'd, and I doubt that."  She nodded toward the
thin patient on the exam table whose wire rim glasses, oxford shirt
and dark tie screamed 'yuppie.'  "This guy went into anaphylactic
shock. Where was he when he collapsed?"

"At work," someone offered.

"Well, where does he work?"

Someone grabbed the admittance info that the medics had left behind.
"Says here he works at Genzyme."

"Genzyme! Get his blood tested, send the samples and results to my
lab. If he was working with something dangerous, we need to know.
We're not out of the woods with him yet; his blood chemistry will be
way off. Let's get a sodium bicarbonate drip with 6 ccs of Lidocaine.
Move him to the ICU and let me know immediately when the lab results
return. Keep me informed of any changes in his condition," she
commanded to the staff in the room who quickly went about following
her instructions.

She removed the green surgical cap from her head and shook out her
chestnut brown hair. He felt his own heart stop and wondered idly
where the epinephrine was when he needed it. He couldn't remember
ever seeing anyone as beautiful as her. He mentally shook himself but
couldn't take his eyes off her. Dr. Lane, however, must have had much
stronger self-control. She brushed past him without giving any
evidence that she realized that he was there. She made her way to the
door when it swung open yet again.

Dr. Davis walked in and let out a sigh of relief when she saw him.
"There you are. Admitting told me I could find out in here. I'm sorry
about this, though Dr. Sanders told me you handled it like a pro."

"Well..." he began, not sure what to say.

"Dr. Lane!" Dr. Davis exclaimed upon noticing the young doctor.

"Dr. Davis," she replied distantly.

"I didn't know you were scheduled in the ED today," the older woman
responded pleasantly.

"I wasn't," Dr. Lane said in a clipped tone.  "When your third
cardiology team was scrapped because the ED was short staffed, the
efficiency and more importantly, the safety, of this hospital were
severely compromised!"

Ignoring Dr. Lane's enraged diatribe, Dr. Davis continued. "Dr. Lane,
I'd like you to meet the new Immunologist on staff at MetroGen."

"Nice to meet you," she said, looking past him and not even directly at him.

He removed the surgical cap from his head and pulled off the gloves.
He tried to formulate a witty, yet warm and polite response but
didn't have the opportunity. He opened his mouth to speak and she had
already turned back toward Dr. Davis and began talking as if he
weren't even there.

"How is it that in the biggest hospital in the biggest city in the
United States we are so short staffed in the Emergency Department
that the new Immunologist ends up leading an emergency team trying to
resuscitate a patient who's gone into asystolic cardiac arrest?
Aren't there standards on these things? You're just lucky that he
didn't kill the guy!"

He tried to defend himself, to state that he actually was an
emergency doctor and that he knew how to read an ECG--heck, even an
intern could do that--and that he had dealt with patients in cardiac arrest
before, but he had been effectively shut out of the conversation.

"As I was saying," Dr. Davis continued, apparently having failed to
hear any of the myriad of things Dr. Lane had said. "Dr. Lane, this is
Dr. Kent."

He smiled nervously. She responded with a nod and a curt smile.
"Excuse me," she said, feigning politeness before turning on her heel
and walking out of the room.

********

"I get the feeling she doesn't like me very much," Dr. Kent said with
a smile that belied his true feelings.

"Don't pay any attention to Dr. Lane.  Lord knows I wouldn't put up
with her if she wasn't one of the best damn cardiothoracic surgeons
I've ever seen."

"Wait, are you telling me that that's Dr. Lane, the cardiothoracic surgeon?"

"Mm-hmm," Dr. Davis replied with a nod.  "Do you know Dr. Lane?"

"Well, I know of her.  I read about a Dr. Lane in the Daily Planet
and how she and a Dr. Sam Lane, I figured that was her husband, were
working on the technology for a new, more effective replacement for
the pacemaker, some sort of 'smart sinoatrial node' chip, but I guess
I figured she'd be older."

"Well, you've got all of that right except the 'older' part, of
course, and the part about a husband.  Sam Lane is her father."

Clark Kent was secretly pleased to hear that, but attempted to keep
his expression neutral.  "So does she always storm into the Emergency
Department and decry the incompetence of the entire staff?"

"It's become something of a regular occurrence, I'm afraid.  But I
can understand where Dr. Lane is coming from. Well, some of the time,
anyway.  Dr. Lane is an incredible surgeon and is completely
dedicated to her work and her patients, but she has little patience
for anyone who is going to make her life more difficult, including
the hospital's administration.  The ED is short staffed, and the
hospital's board of directors is bemoaning the losses that MetroGen's
Emergency Department suffered last year."

"But that's not uncommon.  I thought Emergency Departments generally
lost money."

"That's true, they do.  But because of cutbacks at Our Lady of Mercy,
Beth Israel and Metro U., we've been picking up the slack in recent
years.  That's been hurting the bottom line and the board isn't happy
about it.  When the board isn't happy, I can't do my job right.  The
ED situation was one of the main reasons we hired you, Dr. Kent.  It's
not everyday that you can pick up an Immunologist who's also an
emergency doctor and who's worked in worse conditions than those
found in your typical Emergency Department."

"Guess not," he replied noncommittally.

"And don't worry about Dr. Lane.  There is hardly a person who's
started working here since Dr. Lane's residency that hasn't annoyed,
angered, or offended the woman their first day on the job.  She'll
get over it.  Come on, I'll show you to the immunology labs."

Clark left the ED with Dr. Davis and headed toward the East Wing.  He
didn't know why, but for some reason he knew that he was going to
like Metropolis.

********

Clark Kent walked the short distance to his new apartment on
Metropolis's Upper East Side.  He took the stairs to his fifth floor,
one bedroom apartment and unlocked the door.  He entered his as yet
undecorated flat and side stepped around neatly labeled cardboard
boxes that littered the hardwood floor.  He kicked off his shoes and
quickly discarded the tie.  He flipped through the mail, amazed at
how quickly the junk mail had accrued despite the fact that he had
been in Metropolis for only a week.  He made his way to where the
phone sat upon the floor for lack of anything else to put it on, and
picked up the handset.  He dialed a familiar number, thankful that
Metropolis was an hour ahead of Kansas, time zone wise, which meant
that his parents would still be up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mom," he replied.

"Clark!" she exclaimed.  "Jonathan! It's Clark!"

"Hello, son."  He heard his father's deep voice.

"Hi, Dad."

"How's Metropolis?"

"It's fine, Dad.  I saw my new lab down at MetroGen today. It's much
bigger than the facilities in Manaus."

"That's wonderful! But how's the city, Clark?  How do you like it?
Have you met any interesting people?" His mother's questions came at
him a mile a minute.  He smiled as he thought about how excited
she sounded.

"The city is, well...it's big, and it's loud and exciting.  It's
different, I can tell you that much."

"I don't know how you can tolerate it, Clark."  His father sounded
somewhat less pleased than his mother.

"Come now, Jonathan!"

"I'm just worried, Martha, that's all. City folks are different.
Fast-talking, always out to make a quick buck.  Clark you take care
of yourself, son."

"Don't worry, Dad.  I'm fine."

"I know you've always been able to take care of yourself, but you've
never been able to help yourself when others are in trouble."

"Dad, I'm a doctor, it kinda goes with the territory."

"I know, son, and I'm proud of you for always doing everything you can to
help others.  And I know that your heart is always in the right
place, but I can't say the same is true for everyone else.  What if
someone finds out about you?  What if you're discovered?  Clark you
know what's going to happen.  They're going to lock you up--"

"--and dissect me like a frog.  I know, Dad, I know."

"Jonathan, my goodness, what has gotten into you?  I'm sure Clark is
being extremely careful.  Clark, don't pay any attention to your
father. Now tell me, what are the people like?"

"Well, there's Dr. Davis. She's the hospital's chief of staff."

"Really, she?"

"Yeah, you'd like her Mom. Really nice, but definitely a no-nonsense
kind of lady."

"That's wonderful, Sweetie. What about the lab?"

"Oh, the rest of the Immunologists are nice enough.  Weird guys,
though.  I guess they don't get out much."

"Well, they've probably been stuck in the lab since college, son."

"I know, Dad, and that's why I'm glad I took some time off before
coming back to the states to work."

"I don't think you can consider three tours of duty with the 'Doctors
Without Borders' time off, Clark."

"Yeah, but that's different, Mom.  Anyway, as much as I loved it, I
think it's time for me to settle down.  There's only so long a guy
can live out of a backpack.  I guess that's kind of selfish of me."

"Of course not, Clark.  You're entitled to a life!"

"Yeah, but so were the people I was helping.  They didn't deserve to
be in the situations that they were in.  The difference is that I was
able to walk away."

"Clark, son, you can't beat yourself up about that.  Besides, your
work is important.  You are still helping people."

"I know, Dad, but thanks. I guess I need to hear that from time to time."

"So what about the rest of your day? Did anything exciting happen?"
Martha asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Actually, yeah.  There was a cardiac in the ED when Dr. Davis was
giving me a tour.  They were short staffed, so I helped out, it was
great to be able to help someone again.  I think the guy's going to
be okay, but the weird thing is that they couldn't figure out what
caused the cardiac arrest.  It looked like anaphylactic shock to me,
and the cardiothoracic surgeon agreed, but the guy wasn't allergic to
anything.  Anyway, the surgeon seemed to be convinced that the guy
was exposed to something at the biomedical company he works for.  I
don't know. It's possible. I wasn't really thinking about it at the
time.  I guess I was too busy being insulted to notice."

"He insulted you?" Jonathan asked, aghast.

"Not he, Dad, she.  And sort of, I guess.  It's kind of complicated.
Apparently, she was really mad about the ED being short staffed.  She
yelled at the chief of staff and I guess I caught some of the
deflected shrapnel right in the keister.  She wasn't impressed by the
Immunologist who apparently thought he was a heart surgeon."

"Did you tell her that you work in the Emergency Department?"

"I didn't get a chance, Dad.  You wouldn't believe this woman.  She's
arrogant and bossy and controlling, and from the way she chewed out
the chief of staff, fearless...and brilliant, and absolutely
beautiful."  He heard his father chuckle on the other end.  "Anyway,
it looks like whether she likes it or not, we'll be working together.
She does rounds in the ED a few days a week and since I'll be a back-up
doctor on call, thanks to the lack of personnel, we're bound to
run into one another."

"Well, I'm sure she'll come around when she realizes what a charmer my boy is."

"Mom," Clark whined.  He was certain that he could hear his mother
smiling on the other end.  "I can't wait to see you again."

"Are you coming home Thursday for dinner?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, Dad."

"Six o'clock, don't be late!"

"I won't, Mom.  I won't keep you any longer.  Goodnight, Mom, goodnight
Dad. I love you guys."

"Goodnight, Sweetie, I love you."

"Love you, too, son.  Goodnight."

Clark replaced the handset on the cradle and sighed.  It had
certainly been an interesting day.  He rummaged through his
belongings for a short while, thinking of good places for his
keepsakes and knickknacks in his new apartment.  He found a book he
had been meaning to read and spent a few hours thumbing through it.
Eventually, he decided it was time to retire for the evening.  He
changed, set the alarm and brushed his teeth.  He found a blanket
among the 'bedroom things' in his boxes and, for lack of a better
mattress, floated himself on a cushion of air.  Hovering a
comfortable three feet above the ground, he fell asleep.

He didn't stay asleep for long. Every so often he was woken by the
sounds of sirens. Having lived in the country for most of his life,
he wasn't used to the sounds of the city. The wailing sirens and
roaring traffic at all hours of the night were nothing like the
sounds of crickets and grasshoppers at night. The time he had spent
on tour in regions of the world decimated by war were a different
experience entirely. He almost never slept at night then, always
volunteering to lead the graveyard shift because the sounds were too
much to bear. The only way he got through those nights was by keeping
his mind occupied on other things. He would take his sleeping shift
in the mornings, the bustle of refugee camps coming to life paled in
comparison to the sounds of mortar shells. His day would begin in the
afternoon, when he made his first rounds at the makeshift hospital
and would continue until the predawn hours, when the sky was just
starting to grow lighter and the shellings stopped. There were
so many mornings when he would lie awake, cursing the fighting,
agonizing over the fact that in an instant, he could destroy all the
weapons, capture all of the belligerents, tie them to chairs and
force them to sit and *talk* out there problems instead of injuring
and killing innocent people in their fights to prove who was better
than whom and who should rule over whom.

Frustrated and not even tired any more, he changed into dark clothing
and opened his fifth-story window. He flew out, thinking a few laps
around the Earth would calm him down and help take his mind off the
sounds of the city.

********

Not far away, Dr. Lois Lane sat in front of her computer screen in
the study of her townhouse on Metropolis's exclusive Elmwood Drive.
The room was dark except for the light from her monitor and that
provided by a dim desk lamp. She pored over the figures from the
latest series of tests.  She removed her reading glasses as she
rubbed the bridge of her nose.  Her proposal for the Board of
Directors at Metropolis Medical Center, the consortium of labs,
hospitals, med. schools, and research institutes that was funding the
project, would be due in another week, but she was unconcerned. There
was no doubt in her mind that she would receive the needed funding
for the project to continue. Experimentation had proven that the
device was highly successful and within a few short years, the device
would be ready for FDA consideration and later, the human trial
period. The project would potentially bring Dr. Lane and her father
wealth and prestige beyond even the most egocentric surgeon's wildest
dreams, but more importantly, it would provide a safer, more natural
and permanent solution to many different heart conditions. The device
would not only run permanently, fed by the same electrical impulses
that the sinoatrial node received by surrounding nerves, but would
also vary heart rate more effectively than the old pacemakers,
allowing the heart to speed up or slow down as needed in accordance
with level of activity. The sinoatrial regulatory processor would
catapult Dr. Lane to the forefront of her profession, but mostly, it
would make the lives of so many easier.

The data analysis was not what was concerning her this evening. What
was on Dr. Lane's mind were the events of that afternoon. The Chief
of Staff deserved to be on the receiving end of her wrath, she
decided. Not directly, of course, but as a representative of the
administration of the hospital, she needed to hear about the awful
truth, that the incompetence of the administration was causing major
problems in the functioning of the hospital's most vital divisions.
She had a tremendous amount of respect for Dr. Davis, but if she just
simply went about her work as though nothing was wrong despite all
the unbelievable decisions of the administration, nothing would ever
be done to fix the problems.  She had to admit that her comments
toward the new Immunologist--what was his name again? Oh yes, Kent--
were a bit excessive; the poor guy was just trying to help, but what
would some bespectacled lab geek know about the ins and outs of the
Emergency Department? They were all just lucky that nothing
catastrophic had resulted from his involvement.  MetroGen was the
finest hospital in all of Metropolis, all of New Troy, for that
matter. The fact that the ED in such a hospital would be so short
staffed as to have a Gastroenterologist and an Immunologist leading a
team of interns, first year residents and nurses in treating a
cardiac arrest patient, would have been laughable had it not been so
damn irresponsible of hospital.

Ignoring the nagging thought in the back of her mind that the
hospital was going to hell in a handbasket and would no doubt take
out many innocent victims along the way, she ran the regression lines
on the data, ran the data against the control group, and determined a
much better than adequate value of statistical difference. Satisfied,
she documented and saved her results as further evidence of the
viability of the project and the expected benefits of the
experiments. Quite pleased, she leaned back in her chair and
stretched lazily, Daddy would be so happy to hear about the latest
results. Perhaps the additional funds that would come from the
hospital's oh so generous benefactors after the introduction of the
new sinoatrial regulatory processor that would make all of them
filthy rich, could be used to hire actual doctors to staff the ED.
Then again, probably not.

She stared at the monitor for a long minute. She wasn't tired, but
any more of this data analysis and she might have bored herself to
death. She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee from the
pot she'd brewed forty-five minutes earlier. If she realized how
bitter, cold and thick it was, she didn't let on. Needing some sort
of a diversion, she reached for her car keys. The roads would be quiet,
and a few hours with just the Jeep and miles of empty asphalt would
be wonderfully relaxing.

It had begun to rain sometime that evening. The roads glistened under
the glow of the street lamps. It wasn't raining hard enough to
obstruct her vision, and the falling of the raindrops and the steady
rhythm of the windshield wipers were relaxing.  She set out onto
Elmwood and hooked a left onto Quincy Street.  She merged onto Troy
Ave., usually the busiest street in the downtown area, but tonight
only a few random cars dotted the street. She found herself humming
along to the Duke Ellington's "Sophisticated Lady" on the jazz station
to which the radio dial was set. She drove aimlessly along the
familiar streets, toward the waterfront and a stretch of coastal
highway on which she loved to drive. She decided somewhere along the
way to drive up toward Mt. Truman, to the bluff high above Metropolis
where you could see the entire city, which at night, looked like a
sea of lights. She expertly navigated the windy roads up the steep
hills in her Jeep.

Rounding a curve, she heard the unmistakable sound of a truck's horn,
the squeal of tires, and a loud collision followed by the shattering
of glass.  She slowed down as she approached the scene.  Fifty yards from
the accident site, she pulled the Jeep over onto the shoulder,
grabbed her cell phone and the heavily augmented first aid kit out of
the back and set out at a full sprint toward the scene of twisted
metal and broken glass.

********

Clark flew high over the eastern seaboard, heading back toward
Metropolis after flying around the globe.  It had been a relaxing
flight over all of his favorite places, and oddly enough, even the
storm that had settled in over the east coast which was now getting
him all wet, wasn't enough to bother him.  He cleared the mountain
ranges just south of Metropolis and gazed out toward the sea of
lights before him.  He expertly navigated his way through the cloud
layer, remaining hidden from sight and in areas too rough to allow
him to be picked up by radar.

Flying over a popular nightlife area, he heard the unmistakable sound
of a woman in danger, screaming, as well as the curses of an enraged
man, followed by the sounds of a physical confrontation.  He slowed as
he approached the scene.  A hundred yards away from the source of the
sound, he touched down in an empty alleyway, unseen.  He ran toward
the spot where the man now held the woman at knifepoint, hoping that
if he made his presence known, the attacker would run away.  Men who
preyed upon women were notorious cowards, so perhaps the thought of
having to deal with someone his own size would send the creep running.

********

"Somebody help me!" a male voice cried out.  She pushed herself to
run faster, her heart was thundering in her ears.  "It's all right,
I'm a doctor!" she yelled.  It was only a few more yards to the
overturned car that sat on the shoulder of the road.

"Thank God," came the reply.  She kneeled beside the overturned car,
that's driver was trapped against the steering column and the collapsed
roof of the car.  She pulled out her cell phone, intending to call
for help and wait on moving the victims to prevent further
aggravation of their injuries.  Instead, her cell phone display
pronounced that she had 'no service' in the area.  Frustrated, she
turned back to the driver of the car.  She asked him if he could feel
his arms and legs and checked for any visible injury to his neck
before deciding to proceed.  Lois took off her sweatshirt and wrapped
it around her hand as she knocked away the remnants of the broken
glass of the driver window and unlocked and opened the door from
the inside.  She removed a suitable C collar from the duffel bag she
was carrying.  She got the collar onto the man without too much
difficulty and without moving him any more than necessary.  She
started working her way around to the passenger side when a tall,
slender man in a baseball cap, tee shirt and jeans emerged from the
jackknifed truck that was blocking the entire road.

"Jesus, lady, I don't know what happened.  I tried to slow down on
that curve and when I downshifted, the gears just locked up, I
couldn't stop the truck...."

"Don't worry about that now," she said calmly.  "I'm a doctor, and I
need to get these people to a hospital," she said, looking back toward
the unconscious woman in the passenger seat, "but I'm going to need
your help."

"Right, Doc, whatever you say."

"Get on your radio, call for help, let them know where we are and
that we need an a couple of ambulances, got it?"

"Right," he said as he ran back to his truck.

She went back to the task of tending to the woman in the car. She'd
managed to get the door open, when she noticed that the woman was
bleeding heavily. Placing life before limb, she proceeded to cut away
at the seat belt. "Hey, Mack!" she yelled out to the truck driver.

"Name's Greg," he replied.

"Well, get over here, Greg, and give me a hand!" she yelled back.

He ran over to the passenger side, where Lois directed him to remove
the woman from the car.

"Christ, she's bleeding like crazy!"

"I know. Lay her on the ground. Be very careful."  Her directions
were calm and clear.

He nodded slowly and did as he was told.  She brought out the duffel
bag, put on a pair of plastic gloves and removed a pair of scissors.
She cut away at the woman's bloody blouse, and proceeded to wipe the
dirt out of the wound with a sterile pad.  Her ribs were badly
injured, most likely broken, she mused.  Lois placed sterile adhesive
strips across the wound, helping to bring the broken skin together to
control the bleeding. She then covered the wound with a large, sterile
dressing.  She wrapped medical tape around the dressing and turned to
Greg. "Put your hand right here on the bandage," she instructed him.
"Place firm but gentle pressure, all right?  We need to control the
bleeding."

He nodded vigorously and did exactly what she said.  She placed
another C collar around the woman's neck and covered her up as best
as possible, fearing the possible onset of shock and hypothermia.
She checked over the victim once more to assure herself that there
was nothing else she could do at the moment before returning to the
drive who was still strapped in the car.  "Just relax sir," she said
as he tried to lift his head.  "We're going to get you and your wife
out of here, but you're going to have to be patient.  EMS is on its
way.  We have to wait until they arrive in order to move you safely.
Just sit tight, okay?"

"Is she all right? Is my wife all right?"

"She'll be fine, but you need to relax. Don't try to move."  Her tone
was firm, yet reassuring.

A few long minutes later, the sounds of sirens could be heard coming
from the base of the hill.  The ambulances arrived shortly and Lois
identified herself to the paramedics and quickly coordinated their
actions.  Both patients were placed upon backboards and onto gurneys
and given saline drips.  She warned them that the driver most likely
suffered a concussion and that there was a good chance both would
exhibit symptoms of shock.

The paramedics loaded up the patients and informed Dr. Lane that they
would be headed for Our Lady of Mercy's Emergency Department.  Lois
told Greg to get in the Jeep and they took off right behind the
ambulances.  As soon as they were back in service range, Lois hit the
speed dial button for MetroGen's ED admittance desk and told the
orderly to give a heads up to Our Lady of Mercy's ED to let them know
she was following the ambulances in.

********

Clark heard a muffled scream come from the woman.  She was on the
ground now, her attacker straddling her, his hand over her mouth, the
other holding a knife against her throat. He turned sharply when he
saw Clark approach.

"Get the hell outta here!" the attacker yelled at the darkly clad man
running toward him. Clark ran as quickly as he dared.  The attacker
shoved the woman roughly aside, and stood to face Clark.  He drew his
knife and swung wildly at Clark.  Clark could smell the alcohol on
the attacker's breath.  The drunken, would-be rapist lost his balance
as his blade connected with nothing except the air.  Overcompensating
badly for his lunge, he teetered perilously, allowing Clark to grab
his arm and twist it behind his back.  The attacker yelped as Clark
forced him to the ground, using his belt to tie the thug's hands
behind his back.

He held his captive roughly by the collar as he dug his cell phone
out.  He dialed 911 and gave his location to the police. He then
removed the belt from around the waist of the now cursing attacker
and used it to bind his feet, as well. Convinced that he was
sufficiently incapacitated, Clark turned his attention to the young
woman who had stumbled to her knees.  She cowered as he approached.

"No, it's all right," he said, holding his hands where she could see
them.  "I'm not going to hurt you."  He stretched out one hand toward
her and she merely stared at it. She scowled at him, trying to prove
that she wasn't afraid, but her heart was racing and her breaths were
quick and shallow.  "I'm a doctor," he said.  "It's all right, no
one's going to hurt you."  He dropped down to his knees beside her.
He unzipped the fleece jacket he'd been wearing and offered it to
her.  She wrapped it tightly around her shoulders. The rain was
coming down harder now and she was shivering.  Suddenly, she
shuddered as she burst into tears.  Her breaths came in ragged sobs.
He placed a hesitant hand upon her shoulder and when she didn't
flinch away from him, he gathered her in a protective embrace and
waited for the police to arrive.

A few long minutes passed before the emergency services arrived.  Two
cops gathered the bound suspect from where he lay upon the asphalt
and a female officer approached Clark and the young girl.  Clark
looked up at the officer, his movements causing the girl to bury her
head in his shoulder.  He picked her up and carried her to the
waiting squad car that would take her to Metro U County Hospital.
When he tried to place her in the back of the car, she refused to let
go of him.  "Do you want me to go with you?" he asked softly.  She
nodded but said nothing.  He looked up at the female officer and
explained to her quietly, "My name is Clark Kent, I'm a doctor at
MetroGen, and I caught that scumbag trying to rape her." His voice
became even softer at those last few words, keeping the conversation
too soft for the girl to hear any of it.  "Is it all right if I ride
along with her to Metro U?"

The police officer nodded and told Clark that he'd have to give a
statement at the police precinct. He quickly agreed and got in the
police car next to the young girl who immediately buried her head
against his shoulder and began weeping softly.

A very tired Clark Kent returned home from the police precinct around
five that morning. He shut off the alarm clock and fell asleep
floating above the floor in his bedroom after one of the longest
nights he could remember.

********

Lois carefully navigated the streets of Metropolis, tailing the
ambulances from a safe distance. She paced the medics into the ED and
quickly chased off an orderly who didn't recognize her by showing
him her credentials. She assisted Mercy's beleaguered ED staff before
collapsing in the waiting room. It was then that she remembered Greg,
the truck driver.  He was sitting, with an uneasy look on his face,
in the waiting area.

"They'll be fine," she reassured him.  "But we're going to have to go
into police headquarters to give our statements, its just standard
procedure, nothing to worry about, and then the cops'll drop you off
wherever you need to go."

He nodded silently, absorbing the information.  They were met a few
minutes later by an officer who asked Lois and
Greg to follow him to the Police precinct.  After answering seemingly
endless questions at the police headquarters, an irritable and
exhausted Lois Lane drove home around five that morning. Her Jeep was
in serious need of a detailing, but was none the worse for wear. She
dropped her keys on the counter, shut off her alarm clock and crawled
into bed after one of the longest nights she could remember.

********

Clark woke around eleven that morning.  He drifted back down toward
the floor and stretched as he shook the cobwebs out of his mind.  He
showered, shaved, and dressed at a leisurely pace and sat down to a
breakfast, er, brunch, of French Toast and a fresh pot of coffee.  He
wasn't on call in the ED until tonight and he figured that he could
head over to the lab later in the evening.  He set out for the corner
convenience store to pick up a copy of the Daily Planet afternoon
edition and to help familiarize himself with his new neighborhood.
His apartment had become available for move in only the day before
yesterday and he hadn't had the opportunity to explore his new
environment except for the most cursory of examinations.  He returned
home and spread the entire paper out in front of him, a simple task
considering the fact that his apartment was empty sans the cardboard
boxes, which gave him plenty of room.  He read each and every section
of the paper cover to cover at something close to a normal human's
speed.  He could have finished the paper in mere seconds, but where
would be the fun in that?

He read an article on how the weather had wreaked havoc on traffic,
causing multiple injury accidents including one up near Mt. Truman
that could potentially have turned tragic had it not been for a
passing ED doctor from Metropolis who was luckily there to save the
day.  He smiled and wondered which of his colleagues had spent his or
her evening out saving the day.  His amusement was, however,
short-lived.  A headline on the third page of the City Section
immediately caught his eye.  He could no longer focus his attention
on the preceding article and skipped ahead to the unexpected headline:

Good Samaritan Captures Serial Rapist
Hero Comes to A Young Woman's Aid and Nabs Escaped Sex Offender

	By Tom Mitchell

He blanched at the headline and quickly read the story to see if the
facts matched up to the event of the previous evening.  While the
police reports were vague, only the bad guy's name was included, and
Clark himself was only referred to as a 'heroic doctor.' There was no
doubt in Clark's mind that the article was about what had happened
when he was out flying last night.  His first reaction was to blush
at the unwanted attention.  That embarrassment was quickly replaced
by another emotion; not only did he not want the attention, it could
potentially be dangerous.  His name may have been omitted in this
story, but the police knew who he was, and the next time, he could
very well end up in the paper.  The last thing he wanted was an
excessive amount of undue attention.  He would never be able to
maintain his secret if every little thing he did ended up in the
paper.  And he certainly couldn't stop helping.  If he were in a
situation where he could help someone he would just do it; it was
instinctive.  In a city the size of Metropolis there would be no
shortage of people in need of help, either.

He sighed as he contemplated this particularly vexing dilemma.
Several minutes of ruminating over the issue caused only further
frustration, so he decided to find something else to occupy his mind.
Furniture shopping.  That was it.  It was nice, safe, boring, and
would keep him occupied for at least several hours with completely
mundane tasks such as choosing a mattress.  He grabbed his coat. The
late fall air was getting quite cold and it wouldn't do for him to be
walking about in just his current khakis and polo shirt ensemble. Then
he locked up and headed out for a completely non-threatening, non-hostile,
non-life-and-death afternoon of comparing fabric swatches and
choosing patterns. Maybe he should swing by the farm and pick up his
mom....

********

Lois awoke around noon that day.  She rolled over and fumbled with
the clock on the nightstand, squinting at it as her eyes slowly came
into focus.  Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  She
stumbled out of bed and into a nice, hot shower.  Under the steady
stream of hot water, she worked all of the knots out of her muscles,
her body losing some of the soreness that had developed over the last
twenty-four hours.  She shut off the water and slipped into a heavy
terrycloth bathrobe.  She towel dried her hair and dressed in casual
clothing.  She wasn't scheduled to do rounds in the ED until the
night shift and she had the rest of the day blocked off anyway.  She
had cut back her patient load over the last few months as laboratory
tests took up more and more of her time.  She went downstairs and
prepared a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola for herself.  She
grabbed both the morning and afternoon editions of the Daily Planet;
she had both delivered as a rule, and thumbed through them over
breakfast.  'War, famine, disease, violence, pollution, politics,
crime, didn't the world get tired of trying to destroy itself?' she
wondered idly.  Of course not, because if it did, the newspaper
would be a flyer and there would be nothing for the reporters to
write about.  With no exciting news, people would get bored, and start
more trouble. It was a negative feedback loop.  She skimmed over the
City Section, noticing the article on the weather-related accidents:

Rain Causes Major Traffic Backups, Multiple Injury Accidents
Weather Proves to Be More than Just an Annoyance

By Trisha McCarthy

The article elicited a half smile from her.  She noticed the line
about "the Metropolitan doctor whose emergency situation heroics
prevented near tragedy on Mt. Truman."  'Come on, Perry, is there
really nothing else to write about?' she wondered.  She paid little
attention to the exaggerated explanation of her midnight antics and
continued munching silently on her granola.  That...that was kid
stuff. If that was all it took to get into the Daily Planet, she
wondered what would happen when her processor became the new standard
in cardiology.  No, she took that back, she didn't wonder, she knew.
She'd be skyrocketed to the top of her field and would become
renowned as a great mind in her area of expertise.  The fame and
prestige were nice things to think about, but she would trade any
and all of it for more funding to continue her research.

But fame, prestige and the respect of her colleagues that she'd been
fighting so hard for could all wait.  Today, Lois was going to clean
out the office.  A few hours of brainless, stress free organizing
and filing, as well as doing a little rough editing on the
presentation, would be a welcomed change of pace, almost like a day
off really, not that she ever took any of those.

She finished reading the paper.  The only article to draw a real
reaction from her was one about a local doctor turned crime fighter
who caught a serial rapist and rescued some poor girl.  She laughed
as she thought about any of her colleagues out playing hero in the
middle of the night.  She couldn't picture any of the ED guys doing
that, and the lab boys...not even close.  Which reminded her that she
hadn't been to her own lab in several days.  Perhaps she'd call her
father and see if he was up for a visit....

********

Clark Kent arrived at MetroGen around six that evening after a
relaxing, if somewhat boring, afternoon shopping for furniture.  His
mother was fantastic company and a wonderful help, and the two had
accomplished a surprising amount.  He whistled tunelessly as he made
his way to the immunology labs.  He heard a familiar voice coming
from one of the offices, and he paused for a moment.  It couldn't be.
It was.  Some twist of fate--he hadn't determined if it was good or bad
yet, but most likely both--had led to the placement of her office a
mere thirty feet from his laboratory.  He suddenly felt nervous and
ill at ease.  He mentally chided himself.  If he were going to work
in such close proximity to Dr. Lane, he would have to learn to hold
his own in her presence.  It wouldn't do to suddenly turn into a
simpering puddle of goo in her presence, not that she thought much of
him as it was.  Ignoring Dr. Lane's voice (she was apparently talking
to a man whose voice was wholly unfamiliar to Clark), he continued the
short walk to his own lab.

Inside the immunology labs, Dr. Geoff Adams, a fellow Immunologist
was hunched over a computer, pouring over data on a spreadsheet.
"How's it going, Kent?" he called without looking up from the monitor
as Clark entered the room.

"Fine, Geoff, how are you?"

"Not bad. The preliminaries are in on the latest round of testing and
outlook looks promising."

"That's fantastic," Clark replied.

"Yeah, this should be enough to convince the suits upstairs to
continue funding."

"Well, good luck with it."

"Thanks, man."

Clark turned to his own research. His main duty as an Immunologist at
MetroGen was to help lead testing on a new, aggressive therapy for
immune system disorders responsible for Diabetes mellitus type 1.
MetroGen was leading the way with testing the new therapy and
clinical trials were set to begin within a month. There was still
a great deal of data to be gathered and analyzed on the participants
in the trials. He organized the data analysis for the lab techs and
sent out the paper work.  He checked his watch; he'd be on in the ED
in thirty minutes.

"Hey Kent!"

"Yeah?" Clark replied.

"How long before you have to go down to the Emergency Department?"

"Half an hour."

"Come on, let's get a cup of coffee.  Have you been to the cafeteria yet?"

"Haven't had a chance."

"Yeah, figures they'd leave that out on the tour.  Well, you aren't
missing much, but the stale coffee in there is at least hot and it
beats the sludge they've got in this place, any day."

The cafeteria was much the same as the one in the hospital in Kansas
where Clark had completed his residency; same lousy food, same old
coffee, probably the exact same old coffee.  He nursed a cup while
Geoff explained to him the finer points of MetroGen that the
administration had conveniently forgotten to tell Clark about.

"This can't be right!  Tell them to run it again!"

His head snapped up as he heard her voice echoing loudly through the
cafeteria.  Her outburst had drawn not only his attention but also
that of half the doctors in the large room.  She tossed a stack of
papers at a hapless young lab tech who was running to keep up with
her.

The papers hit him squarely in the chest and the entire stack
fluttered to the ground.  He scrambled to pick them up as she walked
away.  "Right away, Dr. Lane!" he called out, but she continued
walking.

"And there goes the greatest hazard of them all," Geoff proclaimed.

"Huh?" Clark replied.

"Lane, of course."  Geoff noticed the puzzled expression on Clark's
face.  "Don't tell me you got a thing for her, man.  Sure, who
wouldn't fantasize about a beautiful, dominating woman like that, but
believe me, Kent, stay away from her, she is nothing but trouble."

"Shot you down, huh?"

"Repeatedly, my friend," Geoff stated with a grin.  "She is one
arrogant, bossy, self-righteous...well, you know.  She doesn't have
the time of day for lab geeks like us.  Too busy off saving the world
while single-handedly pissing off everyone in the hospital at the
same time."

********

Lois Lane stormed through the West Wing of MetroGen, another stack of
papers in hand.  The results didn't make any sense.  This was the
lab's fault.  It had to be.  The data was completely ridiculous! A
rhinovirus, of all things!  She couldn't believe it.  She flung the
door to the ED locker room wide open, preparing to slam the door behind
her. Instead, she ran right into what felt like a brick wall clad in
green scrubs.

"Dammit!" she yelled as she dropped the papers she was carrying.

"I'm so sorry!" the brick wall responded.  He kneeled down to pick up
the papers for her.   She didn't even notice who he was until he
looked up at her to hand her the papers.

"Kent!" she cried out as if he were her long lost best friend.

"Dr. Lane?" he replied, perplexed, unsure what brought on this
sudden happiness to see him.

She placed a hand on his arm, and he felt his temperature rise.  "Dr.
Kent, just the person I've been looking for!" she declared.

"You've been looking for me, Dr. Lane?" he asked, incredulous.  He
managed to sound convincingly cool and collected.

"Of course!  You're an Immunologist, you figure this out!" she said
as she placed the stack of papers in his hands.  "Thanks," she said
in his general direction before turning on her heel and exiting the
room.

"You're welcome," he said to the empty locker room.  He looked down
at the test results in his hands, thoroughly confused.

He ran out of the locker room.  "I don't understand," he shouted to
her retreating figure.

She paused for a moment and looked at him, making it perfectly clear
that he was expected to drop everything and catch up with her if he
wanted any answers.

"This is just a result from a blood test.  What am I supposed to figure out?"

"Does the name of the patient mean anything to you?"

He looked at the name, Blake, Michael R. "Should it?"

She turned and continued walking down the hall. "He's your cardiac
arrest from yesterday."

He jogged a few paces to catch up with her. "And?"

"And, what do you notice about the results?"

"Nothing."

"Precisely!"

"What?"

She continued walking. "The lab tests are clean.  No known allergens,
no drugs, nothing.  We ran a series of skin tests on him this morning
and nothing.  Couldn't find a damn thing this guy's allergic to and
yet somehow he ended up in the Emergency Department yesterday
morning, flatlining with asystolic cardiac arrest after going into
anaphylactic shock, while according to the lab results, this guy has
nothing but a common cold. Can you explain that one, Doctor?"

He kept pace with her as he looked over the hematological,
microbiological and biochemical test results.  The guy definitely
showed symptoms of a hypersensitive allergic reaction, but there were
no allergens in his bloodstream and the skin tests showed no known
allergies.  "No, frankly I can't, but I can order a more thorough
screening be done on the blood sample if you just send it to the
Immunology lab."

She stopped suddenly. "Fine, I'll send it up there now."

"Don't bother, it'll keep 'til morning."  He continued walking.

"What?"

"There's no one in the lab right now and you and I are both due in
the ED in about two minutes.  The blood test can wait 'til morning. I
promise it'll be the first thing I do when I get in."

She let out an exasperated sigh and ran to catch up to Clark who
simply continued walking toward the Emergency Department, paying his
companion and her frenetic outbursts little mind.  "This man may have
been exposed to dangerous substances down at that germ factory. Do
you know what kind of defense department contracts those guys have?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll explain it to me."

"Listen, Kent, this may be some colossal joke to you--I don't know,
cutting edge Immunologist humor or something--but Genzyme has been in
the business of manufacturing more and more efficient lethal viruses
for decades.  They are in the business of finding the most nasty,
painful and effective ways of killing as many people as possible
while doing minimal collateral damage to surrounding buildings."

"Dr. Lane, the government sort of gave up on the idea of chlorine and
anthrax as offensive weapons a few decades ago.  I'm sure Genzyme
isn't full of crackpot little scientists developing the most exciting
ways to kill all six billion people on the planet and I'm not quite
ready to rule out other possibilities, such as the slight chance that
someone in the lab screwed up the tests and the results failed to
show the fact that the guy has a hypersensitive allergy to peanuts."

"You would believe that sort of thing."

He stopped walking abruptly. "I beg your pardon?  You don't know me,
Dr. Lane. How would you know what I would and would not believe?"

"Well, you're the trusting type," she said with a shrug.  "If the
government tells you no more biochem weapons, you'd believe them.
You would ignore the evidence that shows that while we aren't lobbing
mustard gas over the trenches at the German forces on the Western
Front anymore, we still develop dangerous biochem agents for
'research purposes,' and that under the Biological Weapons Convention,
Genzyme is a legally contracted firm able to conduct biochem research
for the United States Military.  If that man in the ICU was exposed
to something at Genzyme that caused him to almost be killed, I'm
going to find out, and I will do it with our without your help,
Doctor."  She continued walking down the hallway, leaving him behind.

He simply stood there for a moment and watched her retreating form.
He shook his head, not sure what to make of the conversation she had
just dragged him through.  He didn't have time for this.  Making sure
no one was watching, he zipped back to the locker room and left the
test results there, then ran back to the ED just in time to hear the
sirens of an incoming ambulance.

His head tilted to the side as he picked up the voices of the
Paramedics above the din and hum of the bustling Emergency
Department.  Gunshot wound to the abdomen.  No matter how many of
these he saw, they never became less frightening.  He was never able
to develop that jaded exterior that ED doctors so often get to
protect themselves from the horrors that they dealt with.  Perhaps
that was why it surprised everyone so much when he made it as long as
he had working in emergency medicine.

He ran to meet the medics and helped deliver the patient to OR 5.  He
started shouting orders for two units of O negative as the nurses and
residents worked feverishly around him.  More doctors and other
personnel burst through the OR doors as he set to work on the
patient.  He had no trouble finding the bullet, but their primary
concern was to stop the bleeding first.

********

After a long night in the ED, Clark just wanted to go home and go to
bed.  He decided not to risk being seen and walked home instead of
flying.  Once inside his apartment, he changed out of his clothes and
into a pair of shorts and settled upon his 'air mattress' for a few
hours of sleep.  His eyelids were heavy and he fell into a deep sleep
almost immediately.

The sound of thunder woke him suddenly.  He caught himself six inches
above the ground, and floated back upward.  Funny, it wasn't raining
outside.  He shook his head and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.  The
sky was pitch black and cloudless. The sound couldn't possibly have
been thunder.  He got up and looked out his window; he saw smoke
rising from a subway entrance not far from his apartment.  He
listened but could hear no sirens yet. If anyone was down there,
there was no way emergency services would get there in time to help.
He threw on a black sweater and dark jeans, took off his glasses and
launched himself out of his window, flying straight toward the subway
tunnel.  People were going to see him, no doubt; he just hoped no one
would recognize him.

He flew into the smoke filled subway, the thick dark plumes forcing
him to use his X-ray vision to navigate.  He visually swept the
tunnel and initially, saw no one.  But his uneasiness did not abate
and was suddenly reinforced by the sounds of people's voices: cries
for help.  He X-rayed the tunnel again and found three men trapped in
a maintenance shaft in the tunnel.  The door seemed to have been
blasted shut.  He saw the cause of the explosion; the electrical
transformer must have overloaded and started a fire in the shaft.  He
didn't have much time.

He flew into the tunnel and ripped the door from its hinges.  While
the flames didn't bother him, he knew the heat in the maintenance
tunnel was intense.  He would have to get the men out of there now.
He found them easily, and quickly picked up the most seriously injured
man.  He flew him out of the tunnel as quickly as he could without
causing further damage and then returned for the other two men.  One
was unconscious but didn't appear to be too seriously injured, just
suffering from slight burns and moderate smoke inhalation, the other
man was still conscious.  He grabbed both of them and flew them out
of the tunnel.  Outside the subway entrance, he heard the sounds of
ambulances approaching.

He panicked for an instant. 'Calm down, Kent,' he thought to himself.
He took a deep breath and assessed the situation.  He didn't want to
leave the men here, but he couldn't risk being found at the second
emergency in as many evenings.  He waited with them for as long as he
could.  None of the men had injuries that emergency services would be
unable to handle. They would be fine, he told himself.  He waited
until the ambulances were only a block away before darting off into
the shadows.  He watched from a distance as fire fighters and
paramedics took control of the situation.  He overheard that the men
would be taken to MetroGen.  Relieved, he told himself that he would
be able to make sure that they were okay when he went in to work.  On
second thought, he decided that he better keep his distance from the
burn unit.  It was unlikely that any of them would be able to
identify him, but he didn't want to take the chance if he could avoid
it.

He walked home. It was starting to get light out and his dark
clothing would no longer provide the necessary camouflage to make
flying a possibility.  Deciding it would be pointless to go back to
sleep, he showered, got dressed, ate breakfast and headed into the
lab a few hours early.

A few eager, young grad students were already busy at work when he got
in.  He was amazed by their dedication despite the mundane nature of
the work.  Within half an hour of his arrival at the lab, a blood
sample along with a note arrived at his desk.  'Doesn't that woman
ever sleep?' he wondered.  He read the note:

Dr. Kent,

Here is the Blake blood sample.  Let me know what you find out ASAP.

Dr. Lane

He ran a thorough battery of tests on the blood sample; he checked
everything he could think of.  The results were returned within a few
hours.  He read the analysis and was puzzled by the results.  He
wasn't sure if he had found something the initial tests had missed,
but he did notice something that troubled him.  He picked up the
phone on his desk and called Dr. Irving, a geneticist in the hospital.

********

Lois spent a less than comfortable evening on a cot in the ED locker
room.  A cardiac came in at the end of her shift and kept her in the
ED longer than expected after the patient was stabilized.  Feeling
herself to be in no condition to drive, she opted instead to crash in
the locker room.  She woke up a few hours later, still tired and
sore, but at least in a conscious enough state to drive herself home.
She went to her office and had the blood work sent to Dr. Kent.  She
had a consultation that evening with a patient who was scheduled for
a balloon angioplasty the following week, but she needed to get a few
more hours of sleep before coming back to the hospital.  She drove
home and went to bed after the second consecutive sleepless night.

She returned to her office that afternoon and immediately poured
herself a cup of coffee.  She checked her voice mail and discovered a
message from a very anxious sounding Dr. Kent.  She bolted from her
chair, planting the coffee cup on her desk.  The sudden movement
caused some of the cup's contents to slosh out onto her hand and onto
scattered papers on her desk.

"Dammit!" she hissed.  She wiped dry the now brown pieces of paper
and tried to wipe the hot, offending liquid off her hand.  She
abandoned the java-stained mess after a few moments and ran the short
distance to the immunology labs.  In typical Dr. Lane fashion, she
burst through the laboratory doors, causing everyone in the lab to
look up toward the disturbance.  She covered the distance to Dr.
Kent's desk, where he and an older man, whom she recognized as Dr.
Irving, were situated, in quick strides.  "What have you got?" she
asked.

"For one thing, Blake didn't have a cold," Dr. Kent said.  He handed
her a copy of the test results.

"Pardon?"

"The rhinovirus in his bloodstream was dead," Dr. Irving chimed in.

"Which means?"

"Well, any number of things really, but Dr. Kent and I both believe
that the rhinovirus in Mr. Blake's bloodstream was there as a result
of a gene therapy experiment.  The rhinovirus is one of several types
used for gene therapy and it's possible that Mr. Blake was
accidentally exposed to it at work.  Genzyme is on the cutting edge
of genetic science and research and they do extensive testing with
gene therapy at their Metropolis lab."

"So his blood was clean except for exceptionally high levels of
histamines and Immunoglobin E, indicative of a severe allergic
reaction, and a dead cold virus.  Where does this leave us?"

"We haven't ruled the rhinovirus out as a cause for the allergic
reaction.  The virus's DNA and surface proteins had been seriously
altered. We have to test it further, but it is possible that there is
something about the virus that triggered the reaction," Dr. Kent
replied.  "Has Blake mentioned anything about what he was doing at
work that day?"

"No, the guy apparently doesn't remember a thing.  He woke up in the
ICU and had no recollection of anything that happened that day."  She
started flipping through the pages when she felt his hand upon her
wrist.

"What is it?"

He turned her wrist and looked at the large red splotch on the back
of her hand.  "You burned your hand," he said, getting out of his
chair.

"It's nothing," she said as she pulled her arm away.

Ignoring her comment, Clark walked to the sink and wet a clean cloth.
He rung the excess cold water out of it and moved to place it against
her hand.

"I said it's nothing," she said irritably.

He took her hand in his and with the other, gently placed the cloth
against the burn.  She flinched slightly and he pretended not to
notice.  "Just hold it there for a few minutes."  He smiled warmly.
He realized that he was still holding her hand with both of his and
reluctantly let go.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"We can get the test results back tomorrow evening," Clark said,
changing the subject.  "Then we'll know how to proceed."

"Good," she replied.  "Thank you, Dr. Kent, Dr. Irving," she said graciously.

"Of course, Dr. Lane," Dr. Irving replied with a warm yet somehow
detached manner so common among doctors.  Clark only smiled in
response.  She turned and walked out of the lab, not creating the
same disturbance that she had upon entering the room; nevertheless,
her exit caused a certain change in the room, as if the energy level
had suddenly dropped.  Something almost tangible disappeared in her
absence.  Clark wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that he missed
it.  He realized that the look upon his face probably mirrored that
of a lovesick teenager, and he did his best to replace his expression
with a more serious one.  Dr. Irving excused himself, a tiny smile
playing upon the corners of his mouth, and promised to have the test
results back the following evening.

He settled in to do some of his own research when a loud crashing
sound pierced the air.  He clapped his hands over his sensitive ears
and realized that no one else seemed to hear whatever it was that was
making that sound.  He exited the lab, and ran out of the hospital
trying to locate the source of the sound.  It was coming from the
financial district.  It was the middle of rush hour and it would take
fire crews an eternity to get there.

He sighed and wondered what was going on in this crazy city as he
took off, risking a mid day flight as he headed toward downtown.  He
identified the cause of the sound as having been an accident on a
construction site on a new skyscraper.  He touched down in a dark
alley that's only occupants were thankfully too drunk to notice him.
He had had no time to change clothes but he took off his glasses and
stuck them in his pocket, anyway; they got in the way whenever he
tried to use his heat or X-ray vision and he didn't want to have to
deal with them. He took off running toward the site.

The scaffolding at the site had collapsed and construction workers
were rushing away from the unstable structure.  He ran past dozens of
men toward the center of the site.  Under the collapsed scaffolding,
trapped under a pile of steel pipes were two men.  Their pitiful
cries were a testament to the fact that they were still conscious and
undoubtedly in a great deal of pain.  He moved cautiously to remove
the heavy pipes that were crushing the two victims, aware of the fact
that removing a heavy object that had pinned a person to the ground
too quickly or incorrectly could cause even further damage.

He carried away the last of the pipes and bent down to X-ray the two
men's injuries.  A hand reached up to him and Clark took it.  He
looked at the man's face and said, "It'll be all right," with a
confidence he wished he actually felt.  They had both suffered broken
ribs as well as some internal bleeding.  One of the men had a large
gash across his torso, which Clark cauterized with his heat vision to
slow the bleeding.  Having nothing else to cover the wound with, he
removed his shirt and placed it over the wound. He then placed the
man's hand over the shirt and instructed him to hold it there.

He glanced from side to side; emergency services would be unable to
get in here. It was too dangerous.  He had not choice but to move the
men.  Gently, he removed them one at a time from underneath the
collapsed structure and moved them to a clearing on the edge of the
site.  Two of the uninjured construction workers came running toward
him.  He instructed one of the men to help hold the shirt against the
injured man's wounds and told the other to flag down the paramedics.
He gave the instructions quickly and the men followed without
hesitation.  At the sound of the approaching ambulances and fire
trucks, he made a hasty exit.

He ran toward another alley to make another impromptu take off.  He
looked down at his current state of undress and decided that a trip
home was in order.  He didn't feel like trying to explain to his
colleagues why he was wearing only his slacks and an undershirt.

After a few hours at the lab, he decided to call it a night.  He
walked home again; he'd flown too much in the last twenty-four hours
and was incredibly lucky that he hadn't been seen yet.  By the grace
of God, nothing else happened that evening that required his
attention.  He managed a quiet evening alone with his research after
setting up his new mattress, which had finally arrived.  Yep, that
was him, Clark Kent, mild-mannered, ordinary guy spending an average
night at home.  He finished his latest data analysis and got ready
for bed. He wasn't scheduled to make rounds in the ED the next morning
but he promised to remain on call in case things became overwhelming
in the Emergency Department, a not too rare occurrence these days at
MetroGen.  He hadn't figured out what he was going to do about all of
these emergencies and how he could best go about helping but he had
the feeling that everything was going to be all right.  He went to
bed content and sure of the fact that everything was right with the
world.

Eight hours after deciding that his world was finally coming
together, it fell apart.

He stepped outside to pick up the first copy of The Daily Planet to
be delivered to his new home and nearly fainted when he read the
headline:

Mystery Savior Comes to the Rescue
Unknown Hero Described as 'An Angel' by Those He Saved

By Allison Hastings

He read the article in utter disbelief.  This was it.  He'd have to
pack up and leave Metropolis.  Just when things were starting to go
right.  Just when he'd found someplace where he thought he could
belong.  Just when he'd found what he'd been looking for.  Just when he'd
found her.  Her.  He felt like he'd been hit in between the eyes with
a two by four for the second time this morning as he realized why he
wanted to stay here.  He wanted to be in Metropolis to be near her.
The moment he realized that was also the moment when he realized that
he would have to leave.

Depressed, he slowly got ready for work.  Skipping breakfast and
coffee, he walked to work with his head down, a giant chip on his
shoulder and a forlorn expression on his face.  Not one minute after
arriving in the lab, he heard her voice.

"Kent!" she yelled from the doorway.

"Yeah?" he replied unenthusiastically, still sifting through papers
on his desk.

"Brett Hoffman and Walcowitz both called in sick.  You're on in the
ED in thirty minutes."

"Thanks," he mumbled, not bothering to look up.

"You okay, Kent?  You're not going to die on me, are you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied unconvincingly, but she didn't press the
issue.  She entered the lab and walked to his desk when it became
apparent that he wasn't going to acknowledge her presence unless he
was forced to.  He feigned utter fascination with his mail to avoid
eye contact.

"Did you see the Daily Planet this morning?"

'Oh God, no, please anything but this!' he thought.  "Huh?" he
replied as if he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Oh, well, you wouldn't believe the headline, some nonsense about an
angel flying around rescuing people.  Yeah, take a look for yourself,"
she said as she leaned over to drop a copy of the paper on his desk.
Her arm brushed his shoulder in the process.  He felt a surge of
electricity across his skin where she had come in contact with him.

"I mean, since when were the near death experiences of half-conscious
people front page material?  Ugh, you'd think this was the Metropolis
Star or something.  Honestly, a flying man who goes about rescuing
people and then disappearing before they could even thank him...who
comes up with this stuff?  Anyway, I guess I'll see you down in the
ED." She patted his shoulder and he felt ever muscle in his body
tense.

He sighed heavily after she left the room.  What on Earth was
he going to do?

She left his lab and headed toward the Emergency Department.  Kent
was acting oddly this morning.  He had been extremely quiet,
practically rude, in fact, and the way he tensed up when she touched
him...he'd been like a piece of steel.  Kent looked like a pretty
solid guy, even with the glasses and lab coat, and yesterday when she'd
run into him, she could tell that he had a better build than the
average lab geek, but he was positively on edge this morning. He was
certainly worked up about something.

She made her rounds in the ED that morning but somehow missed him
entirely.  She was in surgery that afternoon, so she didn't see him
for the rest of the day and he wasn't in his office when the lab
results returned that evening.  She told herself that her desire to
see Dr. Kent was due entirely to her need to discuss the test
results, but when her father asked her what was wrong at dinner that
evening and she snapped at him, she couldn't deny that Dr. Kent's
sudden nervousness and his apparent need to avoid her had put her in
a foul mood.  She took the lab results home with her along with the
proposal, which was now due in five days.

Clark escaped the day unscathed and retreated back home after his tour
in the ED was done.  He had just arrived at his apartment when he
heard the sounds of a car accident.  At first, he tried to ignore it.
He couldn't keep taking these risks. But a split second later, he
changed into the dark clothing again, ditched the glasses and flew out
the window.  As much as he feared exposure, he couldn't sit by and do
nothing while people were hurting.  He flew toward the source of the
sound, a darkened intersection not far from MetroGen.

He landed unnoticed under the cover of darkness and ran toward the
tangled heaps of metal and glass.  Two cars had been involved in a
head-on collision.  He could smell the gasoline even before he
landed.  He applied a judicious amount of super cooled breath to the
spilled fuel.  The drivers of both cars were severely injured.  He
would not have risked moving either of them had the threat of a fire
from the spilled fuel not been paramount in his mind.  He was forced
to rip one of the doors off the frame in order to remove one of the
victims.  The driver moaned as Clark lifted her out of the car.  He
set her down on the sidewalk, and returned for the other driver.  He
had an easier time removing the man from his car and placed him
alongside the woman.  He surveyed their injuries and determined it
would not be wise to move them any more than necessary.  He heard
sirens in the distance and ducked into the shadows to wait for the
paramedics to arrive.  He couldn't help but get the feeling of déjà
vu as he watched emergency crews arrive on the scene to take care of
the situation.  Once satisfied that everything that could have been
done was done, he returned home.  Feeling like his life was spinning
out of control, he went to bed.  He was going to visit his parents
the next evening.  They would know what to do.  He just had to make
it 'til then.

And then the phone rang.

He didn't want to answer it.  He let it ring until the machine picked it up.

'Hi, you've reached Clark Kent, I'm not able to take your call right
now, so please leave me a message.  If it's urgent, please page me at
555-0617. Thanks and have a great day...beep'

"Kent."  It was her.  "Cute message. Anyway, the lab analysis came
back this afternoon. By the way, where were you today?  In any event,
you should see this. Give me a call whenever you get in. And don't
wait 'til tomorrow, call whenever--"

He tried to ignore it, but couldn't. "Dr. Lane?"

"Oh, Dr. Kent, you're home, great!  I mean, the lab results came back...."

"I heard."

"Oh, right. Well, it turns out you and Dr. Irving were right.  The
rhinovirus...it caused the allergic reaction.  Some of its surface
proteins were altered and apparently they triggered the immune
response."

"So how are we going to proceed from here?"

"Well, we'll have to call the police. Work related injuries and
illnesses have to be documented and filed, blah, blah, blah, and
they'll proceed with an investigation.  But...."

"But?"

"But, chances are the police will discover nothing, call it a simple
accident, declare the case closed and we'll never know what really
happened."

"Why do I not like where this conversation is going?"

"However," she said, pretending not to have heard him.  "I have an in
at the Daily Planet.  I'll tell him what's going and we'll see if we
can't blow the lid off this operation."

Clark groaned. "Can we discuss this in the morning, at work?" he pleaded.

"Certainly, of course.  Are you all right, Dr. Kent?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you don't sound well. I mean, you sound a 
little ill...."

"I'm fine, really, but thanks for asking."  The corners of his mouth
twitched upward in a tiny smile.  He was pleasantly surprised by her
sudden concern.

"Goodnight, Dr. Kent."

"Goodnight, Dr. Lane."

********

The next morning found Clark Kent staring at yet another Daily Planet headline.

Metropolis's Angel Saves the Day Once Again
Unknown Hero Pulls Victims From Car Accident, Prevents Potentially
Fatal Explosion

By Mark Atwater


Clark shook his head and wondered what on Earth he was going to do.
Thankful that he was free from the ED today and could hole himself up
in the lab, he showered, dressed, shaved and left for work.  He
entered the lab and let out a sigh of relief when he noticed that
Geoff was the only other person there.  Perhaps he would make it
through the next couple of hours all right, then he could fly home
and he and his folks could straighten the whole terrible mess out.

"How's it going, Kent?" Geoff called out, still glued to his
computer. He picked up the donut on his desk and took another bite.

"Fine, Geoff, and you?" Clark responded politely.

"Awright," Geoff mumbled as he swallowed the last bite.  "There're
donuts on the counter if you want any."  He nodded in the general
direction of a pink box filled with the high fat, low nutrition
breakfast of champions.

"Thanks," Clark replied as he selected one of the cake ones with
frosting and sprinkles.  He proceeded to pour himself a cup of the
lab's own bitter brew and sat down at his desk.

"Hey, did you see the paper this morning?" Geoff said without
bothering to look away from the monitor.

Clark nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee at the unexpected remark.
He managed to swallow and cleared his throat.

"Be careful, that stuff'll make you choke.  Anyhow, that headline was
an absolute trip.  Guardian angels flying around rescuing people...what
a riot.  And the best part is, it's got all these religious
leaders out claiming that the end is near or that the prophesies are
all coming true or some stuff like that. You should check it out. 
It'll give you  a good laugh."

"Right, thanks," he managed to choke out.  He took a deep breath and
tried to focus on his work.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw that
Geoff had given up on the Planet's headline and was once again
entering data into a program on his computer.  Looking around, Clark
confirmed his suspicion that Geoff was in his own little world, going
over his work with such focus that Clark wondered if the man would have
noticed had the lab blown up.  Clark entered the data from the last
round of experiments into the spreadsheet, typing as quickly as the
keyboard and processor would allow. He sped through the reports,
checked on his samples, and finally sat back down to go over the lab
results that Dr. Lane would no doubt interrogate him about later
that day.

********

Dr. Lane arrived at her office early that morning.  She and Dr.
Richardson had a consultation with a young couple at nine.  The
couple's young son suffered from a severe congenital ventricular
septal defect, and while she wasn't working in pediatric cardiology,
she had been honored when Dr. Richardson, a highly respected
pediatric cardiologist, asked her to work with him.  While surgery to
correct the condition had become safer and more commonplace, she knew
that the parents were going to be frightened and nervous and that she
was going to have to explain what was going on as best as she could
to a scared little boy.  Consultations with adults were one thing;
trying to explain something like this to a child was something else
entirely.

Dr. Richardson did most of the talking in the consultation.  The
parents asked questions and he answered them, providing them with
reassurances and explaining to them what to tell their son about what
was going on.  The surgery was scheduled for next Thursday, and
little Ryan would be admitted the day before.  Two hours later, Dr.
Lane left the meeting, glad that she would be able to help these
people, but wishing that she could do something to lessen their
fears.  She didn't know what it was like to have a child that was so
ill, but she could imagine.  She mentally shook herself and turned
her thoughts to figuring out what exactly had happened to Mr. Blake
down at Genzyme.

She called the police officer she was to contact and told them that
she was faxing in the results of the lab test for their records.  An
investigator was assigned to the case.  She then faxed the
information on to Genzyme and informed them of the cause of Mr.
Blake's sudden condition.  The executive she talked to seemed eager
to cooperate and expressed concern about Mr. Blake's condition.  She
assured him that he would be fine and informed him that the police
would begin investigating the matter.  She had heard that Danny
Carter was working at Genzyme and contemplated the idea of calling
him, but then decided against it.  It had been so long. Would he even
be willing to talk to her?

She sat down at her desk to figure out what she should do next when
she noticed the copy of the day's paper on her desk.  She looked at
the headline and rolled her eyes.  What was going on?  Had the city
suddenly lost its collective brains?  Were people actually buying
this nonsense about angels and mysterious strangers in the night who
rescue people?  This wasn't Gotham City, for crying out loud; no
crazed men dressed as bats running through the night fighting evil
here.  Until now anyway.  And whoever was behind this was being
deified by the public and the press. It was absolutely ridiculous.

A faint rumbling sound reminded her that it was well past lunchtime
by now and she had had nothing to eat all day.  The thought of
cafeteria food caused her stomach to perform another somersault, so
she called her father to see if he was free for lunch.
Unfortunately, he wasn't.  She drummed her knuckles on the wooden
surface of the desk, wondering who else she could call.  A half smile
crept upon her lips.  She rose from her desk and left her office.

"Kent," she called from his doorway.

"Huh?" He looked up from the papers at the sound of his name being called.

"Come on, let's get something to eat," she replied nonchalantly as if
they had been eating lunch together every day for years.

He tried to form a coherent response but the shock of her asking to
join him for something other than work was too great. His second
response mirrored his first. "Huh?"

"It's after one, and you haven't had lunch yet, have you?"

"Well, no I guess not...."

"Then let's go," she replied impatiently.  "You do eat, right?"

"What?"  He was startled by her question, but regained his composure.
"Oh, yeah, of course, sure.  Uh, where are we going?" he asked as he
stood and grabbed his jacket.

"Out."

********

They visited a small café not too far from MetroGen that was
frequented by many of the hospital's doctors and staff members.  Lois
noticed immediately that, while Dr. Kent wasn't jumping up and down
with exuberance today, he seemed at least a bit more upbeat than he
did yesterday.  When small talk about their research projects waned,
Lois chanced to bring up the subject of Mr. Blake.

"I called the police department and Genzyme this morning," she said casually.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, an investigation into the lab is being started. Genzyme is
apparently going to cooperate fully."

"That's good."

"I'm not so sure."

"How did I know you were going to say that?" he asked rhetorically.

"Anyway."  She glared at him, but only briefly.  "I want to call my
Uncle Perry down at the Daily Planet, let him know what's going on."

"Perry? Is that your 'contact' at the Daily Planet?"

"Yeah, he's the editor down there. He was always trying to get me to
become a journalist. I don't know, I guess I was just drawn to med.
school more than to journalism school."

"Wait, are you telling me that Perry White, Editor in Chief of the
world famous Daily Planet, is your uncle?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, sort of. He's my godfather, actually.  Anyway, I thought I'd
let him know what was going on. If the government really is trying to
find new ways to kill people with the common cold, we have to stop
them, and Uncle Perry is the best person I know to help us do that."

"Wait just a second.  We don't know this for sure. For all we know,
what happened to Blake could really have been an accident."

"Yeah, sure. Tell it to the Tuskegee experiment victims, Kent."

He made no attempted at a response and instead concentrated on his sandwich.

"So it's settled. I'm calling Perry, and don't worry, he's not going
to run this without proof.  Uncle Perry has better sense than that.
Well, most of the time anyway. I don't know what he's thinking with
this whole 'Angel of Metropolis' nonsense, but that's beside the
point."  She was so wrapped up with what she was saying that she
didn't notice how Dr. Kent's face fell in the middle of her babbling,
or the pallor of his expression.

She had obviously noticed the headline in the paper.  'Well, duh,
Kent!' he thought to himself.  How could anyone not notice?  At least
she didn't believe it. Perhaps other people were just as skeptical as
she was, he hoped.  He acquiesced to her plans and they finished
lunch in peace.

He responded to a voicemail from Dr. Irving when he returned to the
lab.  They had taken another blood sample from Blake; this one turned
up completely clean, thankfully.  The entire remaining sample from
the initial blood test had been transferred to a more secure
biohazard lab where extensive testing could be performed on the virus
particles.  He passed the information off to Dr. Lane's voicemail
service and tried to focus on his own work outside of the Blake
business.  The rest of the day dragged by slowly.  He couldn't help
but look at his watch every so often, waiting for the time to pass.
Fed up with his own inability to get anything done, he left work
early and took off for Kansas.

********

"Oh, Clark!" Martha exclaimed as her son walked into the farmhouse,
two solid hours early.  His arrival that afternoon was not unexpected,
however.  She was surprised he hadn't called or dropped by earlier.
Jonathan walked into the entryway after hearing his wife call out
their son's name from the kitchen.  After Martha released Clark from
a comforting hug, Jonathan placed a hand on his son's shoulder
reassuringly.  "Good to see you, son," he said, hiding the fact that
his heart ached for his boy.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat," Martha said, ushering him
toward the kitchen table.

"I'm not really hungry, Mom," he replied.

"Nonsense," she said as she placed a slice of apple pie and a glass
of buttermilk in front of her son.  They sat in silence as Clark
picked at his food.  After several long minutes, Jonathan spoke. "We
saw the paper, son.  What can we do to help?"

"I don't know, Dad," Clark replied, frustrated.  "Things have just
gotten way too complicated.  I want to help people, but I certainly
don't want all of this attention.  It's all over the news, and everyone
keeps talking about it like it's the Second Coming or something."  He
got out of his chair and began pacing.  "I don't know what to do."

"Well, at least people are appreciating your help, Clark."  His
mother tried to find some good in the situation and encouraged her
son.  "All of the press coverage has been positive."

"Yeah, I know. I was so afraid of being shunned if people knew what I
could do, and I'm glad that it isn't the case, but I don't want to be
deified either."

"But at least they don't know it's you," his father chimed in.  "No
one's been able to identify you."

"Thankfully, no.  I've tried to disguise myself. I've been wearing
dark clothing and I leave the glasses at home, and for the most part,
not too many people have seen me except those who are so injured that
they wouldn't be able to identify me."

"Maybe you need a mask, son."

"I don't know, Dad. All black and a mask?  I don't want to scare
people. I'm not Batman.  I just want to help."

"You're probably right. If you don't wear a mask, no one will think
you're hiding anything.  If you keep your face covered, you'll look
like your trying to keep people from knowing who you are."

"But isn't that the point?"

"Yes and no, Clark," his father continued.  "You don't want people to
know who you are, but you don't want them to know you're hiding
anything, either.  That way, they won't get suspicious, well, anymore
suspicious, of the guy who flies around rescuing people."

"I guess you're right," he said, sitting back down.  The no glasses
and dark clothing are going to have to do for now, at least until we
come up with a better disguise.  I'll just have to try to avoid
situations where a lot of people are going to see me doing something
unusual, but knowing my luck, we all know how that will work out."

"Clark."  His mother placed her hand on top of his.  "You're father
and I want you to know that we'll be here for you, no matter what,
and we'll do anything we can to help."

"I know, Mom," he said.  "Thanks."

"Now, you just relax while your father and I start dinner. Come on, Jonathan."

"Oh, right, coming Martha," he called to his wife, who was already
making her way to the kitchen.  He rose from the table and followed
Martha to the kitchen.  There would be no use trying to talk about
what had just transpired with Clark in the house, or even in the
state for that matter, but it might do some good to give the boy some
time to think by himself.

After dinner, Clark flew back to Metropolis.  He felt better; mostly
he felt like he actually had a shot at pulling this off.  The plan
was simple: keep doing exactly what he was doing, avoid large crowds,
don't stick around longer than necessary, and wait until a better
idea smacked him upside the head.  He didn't think about the
possibilities of being exposed before said idea was kind enough to
make itself known. He, in fact, tried to avoid thinking about such
things.

The next few days passed uneventfully. His research was coming along
nicely, he was getting to know his coworkers better and had started
to develop fast friendships with his colleagues.  He was quickly
learning how to avoid detection when he was out helping, and his
ability to discern true emergencies from those problems that the
city's emergency services could deal with was improving.  He even
felt the first stirrings of a friendship developing with Dr. Lane.
Sure, they were still on rather formal terms, but he had managed an
entire week without really upsetting the good doctor, more than most
at MetroGen could boast.

He spent Sunday, his day off, working around his new apartment as
well as picking up things for his place.  It was funny; he was thirty
years old and had never really lived alone before.  He moved out when
he went to college and after six years of living with roommates
through his undergrad and med. school days, he rented a small
apartment with two friends while he completed his residency at
Wichita County General. He then spent nearly two years travelling the
planet working in refugee camps, rural villages, and war zones.  For
the first time in his life, Clark Kent had an apartment of his own,
and was in desperate need of things to make it a home.  A man could
only use paper cups and plates sitting on the floor in his living
room for so long.  His furniture wasn't going to be delivered for
another few weeks, but the rest of the household things he took care of
that day.

Monday morning he picked up the paper, relieved to find that his
exploits of the previous evening had not made the front page and were,
in fact, buried deep inside the City section.  Apparently, the 'Angel
of Metropolis' was no longer big news, or perhaps the Daily Planet
simply tired of running stories each day that read exactly like the
previous day's headlines: mystery hero saves people; runs away before
anyone can identify him or thank him.

He went to work extremely happy that day.  His happiness even
cancelled out his nervousness about the meeting with admin. scheduled
for that afternoon.  Dr. Lane had actually wished him luck before the
meeting!  He wasn't positive, but he felt like it had gone fairly well.
He spoke to an Inspector Henderson from Metro PD that afternoon.  The
detective was working on the Blake case and stopped by the hospital
to ask Clark a few questions.  Henderson struck Clark as an honest
and trustworthy person.  He informed Clark of the progress he'd made
on the case and promised to keep Dr. Kent informed of the goings on
of the investigation.  He thanked Clark for his help before excusing
himself to return to the investigation.  Things had turned themselves
around for Clark Kent over the course of those few days.  He managed
to get his problems under control and was incredibly happy with the
life he was building there in Metropolis.

********

Lois Lane woke up bursting with enthusiasm Monday morning.  She read
the Daily Planet over coffee and couldn't help but notice the lack of
a headline about the so-called 'Angel of Metropolis.' Perhaps the city
had begun to re-grow a collective brain.  She reviewed her notes
briefly, but she knew exactly what she was going to say today.  It
was with an air of confidence about her that she entered her meeting
with the administration that morning.  She convincingly described the
nature of her work and the incredible progress that had been made in
the last quarter.  No one could have predicted results as good as the
ones she had provided.  Renewed funding at the requested amounts was
most certainly a guarantee.  Upon running into Dr. Kent, she told him
that she hoped his meeting would go over as well as hers had.  He
congratulated her and she graciously accepted his kind words.  Her
plans to celebrate her success were temporarily postponed by the
arrival of the investigator on the Blake case.  Henderson was a
mildly irritating fellow but he was sharper than most cops and seemed
like a straight up guy, so Lois tolerated his questions with an
exceptional amount of patience, for her, anyway.  After what seemed
like an endless question and answer session, Henderson left and Lois
called her father to invite him out to dinner.  It had been a big day
for their little project and she was buying.

Tuesday passed in an utter blur.  She had that balloon angioplasty in
the morning, followed by a meeting with her father to discuss the
next round of testing before darting off to spend an afternoon on
call in the ED; she ended up pulling an extra shift thanks to the
chronic shortage of doctors, and returned home weary and exhausted.
She didn't see Dr. Kent that day and didn't have a chance to ask him
how his meeting had gone.  'Oh well,' she thought as she stifled a
yawn.  She would most certainly see him tomorrow and could ask him
then.  Sleepily, she prepared for bed and fell into a deep sleep as
soon as her head hit the pillow.

She arrived at work Wednesday in a decidedly good mood.  She took the
liberty of getting into the office a tad late that morning, after
pulling double duty in the ED the night before; she'd indulged herself
with an extra hour of sleep before coming into work.

"There's an Inspector Henderson here to see you, Doctor," Anna, the
receptionist, informed her as soon as she entered her office.

"Thank you, Anna," Dr. Lane replied.  She wondered what news the
detective could have so soon.  She entered her private office where
Inspector Henderson was waiting for her.  He rose from his seat as
she entered the room.

"Good morning, Inspector," she greeted him politely.

"Dr. Lane," he replied.

"I hope you haven't been waiting too long," she said as she dropped
her things on her desk and moved aside the new mail.

"No, it's quite all right. Your receptionist told me you were in the
Emergency Room all night."

She nodded. "Now tell me, Inspector, what brings you back here so soon?"

"Well, I'm here to let you know that we've declared the Blake case closed."

"I beg your pardon?"

"We talked to Blake and he told us that he was in fact working with
genetically engineered viruses in a level two biohazard lab.  He said
that it was his own incautious behavior that resulted in his exposure
to the virus."

"That's impossible.  I talked to Blake on Wednesday, and he had
absolutely no recollection whatsoever of the events that transpired
that morning.  He couldn't have told you what happened to him before
he collapsed because he had no memory of it!"

"Genzyme has decided to pay for all of Mr. Blake's medical bills," he
continued.  "They've cooperated fully with our investigation and with
OSHA inspectors.  All of Genzyme's labs are up to code and they
exceed most safety standards. Even still, they plan to review their
precautions in light of the Blake case.  Blake himself is not
pressing charges against his employers."

"This is ridiculous!" she shouted.  "Forgive me for saying so, but
can't you see that they're pulling the proverbial wool over your
eyes, Inspector?"

"Dr. Lane, believe me, I appreciate your concern about this case."

"I don't think you do, Inspector, a man nearly died because of what
he was exposed to at his place of work.  What he was exposed to is a
highly dangerous virus that, if introduced into the atmosphere, could
kill half the population of this city so fast that no one would know
what hit them."

"What he was exposed to, Dr. Lane, was a mistake.  Genzyme was not
trying to create a biological weapon to attack Metropolis or any
other city in the world.  The experiment that Mr. Blake was working
on involved gene therapy for Cystic Fibrosis, not an attempt to bring
about Armageddon.  It happens that the virus he was working with was
significantly altered by mistake, and that is why it caused Mr.
Blake to go into anaphylactic shock when exposed to it.  Since
then...."

"You can't possibly believe that!" she cried. "That virus was
designed to do nothing but kill! It did not have the proper genes to
correct CF, and you know it! No trained scientist would be able to
mistake that virus for a legitimate attempt at a gene therapy
experiment!"

"Since then," the Inspector continued his voice significantly louder
as he spoke above Dr. Lane. "Genzyme has destroyed the entire batch
of the virus they were working on, setting their research back months
at a cost of hundreds of thousands of dollars to them, to prevent
such an accident from occurring again. This company has done
everything we've asked of them and more."

"Fine, Inspector.  I understand. You're just doing your job."  She
practically dismissed the inspector.

"Why, thank you, Dr. Lane," he replied.  The hint of sarcasm in his
voice was easily detected.  He stood up and left her office.  'Man,
that woman can be a royal pain,' he thought.  At least, in her own
warped way, she only wanted to make sure that justice was done.  He
cringed at the thought of working against Dr. Lane, instead of
supposedly working with her.

She let out an exasperated sigh as soon as he left her office.  'That
man could be such a nuisance,' she thought.  How could he fall for such
a lame explanation?  She was most certainly not convinced by
Genzyme's new nice guy attitude.  She picked up the phone and
viciously jabbed a familiar sequence of buttons.

"Perry White here," a gruff voice responded after the second ring.

"Uncle Perry."

"Lois, how are you?  I haven't seen you in ages, Darlin'."

"I know, Uncle Perry. We'll have lunch together sometime, but that's
not what I'm calling about."

"I figured as much," he said with a laugh.

"Inspector Henderson came by here today. They closed the Blake case."

"I know.  My contact at Metro PD told me the same thing."

"So what are we going to do?"

"I'm afraid there isn't anything we can do, Honey," he replied.
Perry White was the only man on the planet who could get away with
using such terms of endearment with Dr. Lane.

"But Perry, there's more to this case than what the cops know.
There's something here, and I'm sure you'll find a story in it.  Come
on, you've got to help me out. You help me prove that Genzyme
knowingly endangered lives in order to create these horrid weapons,
I'll help you get the story. It's a win-win situation."

"Lois, there is nothing I would like more than to help you out. I
swear on the King's grave, but I just can't do that.  I cannot afford
to place my investigative journalists on a case where we've got
nothing but a little bit of circumstantial evidence and our only
chances of proving our case are slim to none.  I can't publish
without hard facts and we don't have any.  I believe you, Lois,
really I do, and I trust your instincts, but you are going up against
a powerful adversary.  If you're wrong, it'll ruin you, and you'll be
taking this paper down with you.  And even if you're right, you've
got to be able to prove it.  Their word is as good as yours, and
without proof you've got nothing except a good excuse for Genzyme's
legal sharks to take a bite out of you and the Daily Planet."

"Perry, if we don't do anything, Genzyme's going to get away with
this and they'll keep doing it until they do kill someone, and then I
can't even guarantee it'll just be one scientist in a lab.  What if
this had gotten out into the air?  Then what?"

"Lois, Darlin', I'd like to tell you that as a reporter I fight the
good fight, that I use my position to right wrongs and battle
injustice, but sometimes you have to know when to back down.  You
can't always pick on the bully if you want to live to fight the
fights you can honestly win."

"If that's what you believe, Perry, then you're not the man I thought 
you were."

"Now hold on a minute, Lois.... Lois?"  The line went dead.

She slammed the phone down.  She wanted to scream out loud.  She
settled instead for pounding her fist on her desk and immediately
regretted it.  There was a soft knocking at her door.

"What is it?" she barked.

"Dr. Lane?" a young lab tech asked timidly.

"Yeah?" she replied with no attempt to hide her disdain.

"Doctor, this came for you, it's from Admin," he said warily as he
crossed the office to hand her the envelope.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she took the envelope.  The lab tech nodded
and made a hasty retreat.  She examined the substantial parcel.  It
was the administration's decision on the research budget for the
upcoming quarter.  She tore into it quickly and tossed aside the
information on last quarters profits and results and other such
issues with which she wasn't overly concerned.  She finally found the
Metropolis Medical Center board's decision regarding the project.

'Well, at least something good will come of today,' she thought to
herself as she began to peruse the document.  Wait, this couldn't be
right.  The numbers didn't add up correctly.  She checked again and
pulled out a calculator from her desk drawer to recheck her math; her
math was fine, it was the numbers that were wrong.  This couldn't be.
The budget apportioned to the project was fully twenty percent less
than the budget she had outlined in her proposal.  She had calculated
that budget perfectly; there was no way that she could deal with a
twenty percent reduction.  There had to be some kind of mistake.
She picked up her phone and punched the button for Dr. Davis's office.

"Dr. Davis's office," the pleasant voice of a receptionist responded
after the third ring.

"Yes, this is Dr. Lane, I need to speak with Dr. Davis."

"I'm sorry. Dr. Davis is busy at the moment, Dr. Lane. May I take a message?"

"No.  This is urgent.  Please put me through to Dr. Davis."  Lois's
words were terse and almost threatening.

"Right away, Dr. Lane"

"Dr. Davis."

"Dr. Davis, it's Dr. Lane."

"Dr. Lane, I'm a tad bit busy right now. If I could just call--"

"I'm sorry, Doctor, this can't wait," Lois interrupted.  "There seems
to have been some sort of error in the budget allocation for the
research project.

"There's no mistake, Dr. Lane.  The medical center was forced to make
cuts. I'm afraid that that's the best we can do."

"But it's a full seventeen and a half percent reduction from last
quarter. I cannot run my lab on anything less than what I had last
quarter."

"Well, you're going to have to find a way, Dr. Lane, because the
medical center cannot afford it.  If it were up to me, I wouldn't
have cut your funding. But you know who runs the medical center and
this hospital, and I'm afraid that it is neither you nor I, Dr. Lane,
and we're both going to have to get used to that.  Now I'm sorry, but
I really must be getting back to that meeting.  Goodbye, Dr. Lane."

Lois slammed the phone down as hard as she could.  She raised her
hand up but lowered it just as quickly, her fist could not tolerate
another encounter with the hard surface of her desk.  She grabbed her
purse and stormed out of the office.  Much later, she found herself
in the cafeteria, nursing a cup of what passed for coffee.  She saw
Dr. Kent enter the cafeteria and immediately put her head down; maybe
he wouldn't notice her.  Of course, he did.  'Great,' she thought.
'He'll probably want to talk.'  He walked over to her table with a
similar cup of coffee in hand.

"I saw the budget for the quarter," he said softly.  "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, well it happens," she said.

"Listen, if there's any way I can help...you know, if you need lab
space or anything like that, please, let me know."

"Oh sure, Kent.  Get all magnanimous on me."  She regretted the words
as soon as they left her mouth, but having no intention of
apologizing, she had no choice but to continue.  "I mean, it is the
honorable thing to do.  When the pie gets divided between more people
its typical for the big winner to offer a little to whoever got
gypped."

"Dr. Lane, I'm sorry if your project suffered because of the new
budget but I'm not going to apologize about being hired or my own
research.  It is not my fault that your funding was reduced.  Now if
you'll excuse me."  He stood up, a mirthless expression upon his
face, and walked away from the table.

She placed her head in her hands and let out a long, labored sigh.
When had things started to go so impossibly wrong?  Why was it that
when everything was just starting to go so right, something would
happen to foul it all up?  True, that incident with Kent right there
was her own fault, but considering how the world seemed like it had a
personal vendetta against her and how she'd spent all morning just
trying to survive, she wasn't about to apologize for her behavior.
She got up from the table and tossed out her cup of now cold coffee.
She left the cafeteria and stalked out into the hallway.

Intending to return to the lab, she instead found herself near the
children's ward of the ICU.  She heard the voices of Ryan's
parents and Dr. Richardson as she was walking by.  She paused without
really knowing why and listened as they completed the admittance
procedures.  He started going over with them the last minute
explanations of what would happen the following day.  She stayed out
of sight and looked around the different rooms in the ward, finally
finding Ryan in one of the playrooms.  He was a dark haired little
boy with big brown eyes dressed in yellow Pokemon pajamas.  He was
sitting at a child's table, coloring with a worn out red crayon.  She
sat down in a chair beside him.  It was small and uncomfortable but
unfortunately it was the only thing available.

"Hi, Ryan," she said softly.

He continued to color, and asked without looking up, "Why am I sick?"

Somehow children always knew the questions that had no easy answers
and managed to ask them. She never was very good at this.  She looked
around the room as if the appropriate response would somehow
materialize and finally settled on the truth. "I don't know, Sweetie,
I don't know," she replied.

He continued coloring but asked, "Am I going to get better?"

"Oh yes, you're going to be fine," she said with a smile, thankful for
a question she could answer. "We may not know why you're sick, Ryan,
but we do know how to make you better."

"Is it going to hurt?" he asked, his tiny voice wavering. He was now
scribbling on the paper, pressing down hard on the hapless crayon.

She sighed as she fumbled again for the right thing to say. Being in
a hospital was scary enough, especially when you were too little to
really understand what was going on. She didn't want to frighten him
anymore, but she wasn't going to lie to him. She strung her response
together carefully. "No, it won't hurt. Dr. Richardson and I are
going to give you some medicine tomorrow morning. It'll make you
sleepy and when you wake up, it'll all be over. It's going to feel
funny for a little while. You're going to have to stay in bed and you
won't be able to do much for a few weeks, but after that, you'll get
to run around and play."

"Just like the other kids?"

"Just like the other kids."

He turned the paper ninety degrees and continued coloring. "I'm
scared," he said.

"That's okay. It's okay to be scared. Everybody gets scared sometimes."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

"But you're a grownup. Grownups aren't 'sposed to get scared."

"Sure they are," she said with a slight smile. "Even us grownups get
scared sometimes."

"So what do you do when you get scared?"

'Well, usually I handle it all wrong, get angry, hurt other people.'
She couldn't say that, so she thought about what she *should* have
done when she was scared, but did she even know what that was?
"Well," she started.  "Sometimes...sometimes it's easier to be brave
when you have someone to be brave with you."

"Like a friend?"

"Mm-hmm."  She nodded slowly.

"Will you be brave with me tomorrow, Dr. Lane?" he looked up at her
for the first time since she entered the room. His eyes were wide
with hope.

"Of course, Ryan. Tomorrow we'll be brave together."

She stayed with Ryan just a little while longer.  Dr. Lane left the
hospital that afternoon in a considerably better mood.  The solemn
little boy who was trying so hard to be brave had truly lifted her
spirits and forced her to reexamine her own problems.

She arrived at the hospital an hour earlier than necessary the next
morning so that she could stop by and see Ryan and his parents before
the operation.  She entered his room and saw the tiny boy lying on
the large hospital bed, an IV needle in his left hand.  His parents
were standing beside his bed, his mother holding his free hand in
both of hers.  He had a serious expression on his face, but smiled
slightly when he saw her.

"How are you feeling, Ryan?" she asked.

"I'm okay, Dr. Lane," he said slowly.

"The nurse is going to come give you the medicine soon.  It'll help
you go to sleep and when you wake up, you'll be back in this room and
your mommy and daddy will be here.  You'll feel dizzy when you wake
up and it'll be hard to talk, but you're going to get better, Ryan."

"Are you going to be here, too?"

"I'll be with you the whole time, Ryan."

"Thank you, Dr. Lane."

She smiled warmly at him. "You're welcome, Ryan."

She left quietly to change and scrub for the operation.  The
operation went even better than expected.  The surgical team led by
Dr. Richardson and Dr. Lane did a superb job of repairing Ryan's
septum.  Dr. Lane was there with Ryan's parents when he woke up that
evening.  She and Dr. Richardson had informed the young couple of the
success of the operation and, relieved, the four of them waited
together for the anesthesia to wear off.  The little boy fell back
to sleep shortly after waking and slept through the night.  His parents
weren't allowed to spend the evening in the ICU, but stayed in the
hospital waiting area overnight.

********

Clark didn't see Dr. Lane at all that Thursday, or the next morning
for that matter.  He found out around noon on Friday that she'd been
in surgery most of the previous day.  He looked for her Friday
afternoon but she wasn't in her office.  He left a message on her
voicemail.  He couldn't deny that he was angry, but he was more
concerned about Dr. Lane.  He didn't want to leave things the way
they were after their argument Wednesday afternoon, and as much as he
disliked her insinuations that the reductions in her budget were his
fault, he was worried about her.  He got Inspector Henderson's
message the previous evening and was sure that the outcome of the
Blake case wasn't helping matters at all.

Frustrated, he sat in the lab that evening, getting very little
accomplished.  He got up and left, heading toward the cafeteria.  The
so-called coffee in the lab was becoming too much even for his iron
stomach.  He was walking past the children's wing of the ICU when he
heard a familiar voice.  He couldn't help but tune into what she was
saying.

"You did very well yesterday, Ryan."

He found himself following the sound of her voice, stopping outside
one of the private rooms.  The door was left slightly ajar and
through it he could see Dr. Lane sitting beside a small boy who was
dwarfed by the large hospital bed upon which he was lying, hooked up
to the ECG and a saline drip.  She gently stroked the boy's dark
hair.  "You were very brave," she said, her voice barely above a
whisper.

"Thank you for being brave with me, Dr. Lane," the boy whispered
quietly. Even with his superhearing, Clark had to strain to hear him.

"Shhh," Dr. Lane whispered.  "Get some sleep, Ryan.  I'll see you in
the morning.

Clark mentally shook himself and realized that he had been
eavesdropping.  He practically had to pick his jaw up off the
floor.  Was this the same Dr. Lane who had exploded at him and half
of the staff on a near hourly basis?

Was this the same beautiful and stubborn crusading woman who would
take out anyone in her path in order to right the wrongs, fight evil,
and be the best damn surgeon at MetroGen?  Yes, it was the same
woman, same passion, same indomitable spirit...he'd just never seen
this side of her before.  He wondered if many ever had.  He quietly
retreated from the ICU.  They could talk later.

********

He somehow ended up with double duty in the ED on Sunday, working the
morning and evening shifts.  He had dashed out a few times for
emergencies, staying only as long as absolutely necessary for fear
that he would be needed again in the Emergency Department.  He had
made the front page again on Friday, but not because of a particular
rescue. Instead, two Planet writers had called him to step forward so
that the city could thank him properly.  He simply shook his head at
the article. 'Not likely, guys,' he thought to himself.  After his
evening shift, he crashed in the small lounge adjacent to the locker
room on one of the cots.  Not the most comfortable place to sleep,
but it would do for a while.  He didn't feel like walking home yet
and so decided he could take a little nap.  He had just begun to
drift off into the land of Nod when he heard the door open.  Someone
entered the room and he immediately heard the soft sounds of weeping.
He opened one eye slightly and what he saw broke his heart.

He sat up swiftly.  She started at the sound of him rising.  "I'm
sorry, I didn't realize anyone was in here."  She wiped at her eyes
and reached for the doorknob.

"No," he called out.  She froze upon hearing his words.  "It's all
right."  He stood up and walked over to her.  "It's all right," he
repeated.

"Dr. Kent?" she whispered.

"Yes, it's me," he replied quietly.

In the darkened room he could see her posture stiffen.  She reached
again for the door, her hand trembling as she grasped the cold metal
knob.

"Dr. Lane?  What's wrong?  Please, tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head. "I can't," she whispered.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.  He felt her flinch beneath his
gentle touch.  She shuddered as a ragged sob escaped her trembling
lips.  His arms were instantly around her, holding her close.  The
sounds of her crying subsided as she buried her face against his
shoulder.  She nearly collapsed to the ground, but he slid his arms
around her waist, supporting her weight.  With one arm around her
waist, he coaxed her into walking with him to the cot where he helped
her to sit down.  As soon as she did, she buried her face in his
shoulder again and he encircled her again in a protective embrace.
After a few minutes, the sobs abated.  Her breathing was slower and
more relaxed.  She lifted her head to look up at him.  The expression
on her face tugged at his heart.

Her big brown eyes were red from crying.  They shone with a layer of 
unshed tears.  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be," he replied softly.  She bit her lip and placed her head
on his shoulder.  He could feel how tense her body was.  Uncertain
whether his gesture of caring would be welcome, he rubbed his hand up
and down her back, hoping that a gentle touch would help her relax.
He felt her body stiffen at first, but her rigid posture soon gave
way to his soothing ministrations.  "Do you want to talk about it?"
he asked softly.

"No, I can't. I...I can't do this," she replied, her voice breaking.

"It's all right," he whispered softly.  Silence reigned between them
for several long minutes.

"I couldn't...I couldn't save him..." she gasped.  "They brought a
boy into the ED. He'd been playing basketball and his heart just
stopped.  I couldn't save him."  He hugged her tighter against his
body.

"It never gets any easier, does it?" she whispered.  "Losing a
patient, a child.  Having to look his parents in the eyes and tell
them he's gone.  I don't know why, but it never gets any easier."
The last sentence came out in a rushed sob as her body shuddered
again.

"Because it shouldn't," he said softly.  "Because you care.  And no,
it doesn't.  Because once it stops hurting, once you no longer feel
anything for these people, then you have no business being a doctor.
I watched innocent people die everyday, in senseless wars, children,
and it never got any easier."  He felt his voice waver and took a
moment to steady himself.  "No matter how many times I saw it, it
never got any easier to tell parents that their children were gone.
It never got any easier to look into a mother's eyes and see what
real loss was, or to see a father break down and weep when you told
him there was nothing you could do to save his child."  He allowed
her to tuck her head under his chin and held her close to his chest,
his hand cradling the back of her head.  His eyes shone with unshed
tears.

She spoke softly. "When I was a third year med. Student, we started
making rounds at Metro U. County Hospital with a brilliant
cardiologist named Dr. Mansfield. He was the toughest professor at
Metro U. and I worked so hard all term to have the highest grades in
his class.  One day when we were making rounds with Dr. Mansfield,
they brought a little girl into the ED.  She'd been in a car
accident, and they did everything they could for her, but she died
that day in the Emergency Department."  Her voice was low and thick
with emotion.  "I still remember seeing them wheel her in, and then
hearing the ECG flatline from the hallway.  I remember when the
doctor went out to tell her parents; I can still hear her mother
crying.  The next thing I knew, I was sitting there in the hallway,
crying.  Dr. Mansfield came up to me and told me this was exactly why
the female psyche was all wrong for medicine.  He said that if a
doctor couldn't distance himself from the pain, then he would become
a victim of his emotions and innocent people would suffer because of
his own stupidity.  He said that empathy in medicine was a poison.
He told me I'd never amount to anything as a doctor and said that if
I didn't want to get others hurt in the process, I'd find another
profession."

Clark stifled a gasp. "That's horrible," he whispered, shocked at the
unimaginable words of a cold and arrogant man that had obviously
affected Dr. Lane terribly.  "But you have to know that it's not
true.  You are an incredible doctor."

"Am I really, though?"  She looked at him like a person who no longer
even knew who she was any more.

"How can you ask that?  Of course you are.  You approach your work
with such passion, and you're fearless.  You are a wonderful doctor
because you care."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Don't be, please," he replied softly.

"No, I've been so cruel to you ever since you started here.  What
kind of person am I?  No, don't answer that.  I'm a terrible person,
and you've been so kind to me, I don't even know why.  I don't
deserve your sympathy."

"Shhh," he whispered.  "You are not a terrible person.  You've had a
bad couple of days, that's all.  You are a brilliant and dedicated
doctor and in the time that I've known you, you've set out to right
just about every wrong known to man or God, and I admire you for
that."

She stared up at him with those big brown eyes that made his heart do
a somersault.  "Clark, thank you," she whispered.

His eyes grew wide.  She'd called him Clark, not Dr. Kent or just 
plain 'Kent,' but Clark.  She'd never done that before and the moment 
was not lost on
him.  He looked down at her face, the exhaustion clear in her
expression.  Her eyelids were heavy and began to droop.  Her eyelids
finally lost the battle with gravity and she was soon asleep.  He
tried to get up so that she could lie down on the cot, but she
wouldn't release her grip on him.  She wouldn't be able to sleep
comfortably sitting up like this.  Sighing heavily, he managed to
reposition himself so that both of them were lying on the cot.  She
cuddled up to him with her head upon his chest.  He wrapped his arm
around her in a protective embrace and held her while she slept.

He watched her sleep for hours.  He had heard sirens twice during the
night, but couldn't bear to leave her like that.  Thankfully, both had
been situations that emergency services were capable of handling.

"Clark?" she inquired softly.

"Hmm?" he replied, surprised that she was awake. It was almost morning.

"Thank you for everything.  I know that I've given you the
impression that I believed the opposite, but you really are a
wonderful doctor, and the hospital is lucky to have you."  She didn't
say what she really meant, that she was lucky to have him as a friend.

"Coming from you, that means a lot, Dr. Lane."

"Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Lois, I think we're on a first name basis by now."

He smiled in the darkness, unable to remember a time when he felt
better than he did at that moment.  He wanted to stay there with her
forever, but he knew that it was not possible.  The overnight shift
would be ending soon and the morning doctors and interns would be in
to take their place.  Many other members of the staff would be there
shortly as well, if they weren't in their labs and offices already.
As comfortable as he was, and as happy as he was with his newfound
closeness with Lois, he'd rather not entertain the thought of any of
their colleagues entering the lounge and finding the two of them
together on the cot.

"Lois?"

"Mmm?" She looked up at him sleepily. Suddenly, he had trouble
remembering all of the good reasons why they shouldn't just stay
there forever.

"It's getting late, or early, anyway. We'd better get going."

"You're right," she replied.  He hoped that she would have argued
with him, even just a little, because then he would have been able to
give in.  Instead, she got up and slowly stretched.  He stood up as
well and gathered up his labcoat.  He held the door open for her and
she realized for the first time that he'd been doing that since she
met him.  They exited the lounge and walked into the hallway where
Geoff and two of the young grad students, Andy Phillips and Steve
Rosen, were passing by.  The three stopped dead in their tracks when
they saw the two leave the lounge.

"Let me give you a ride home, Clark. After what you did for me, it's
the least I can do."  She had a look of sincere appreciation on her
face.

"Thanks, Lois," Clark replied with a sleepy grin.

The two continued on their way down the hall, oblivious to the three doctors.

"Clark?" Steve asked with arched eyebrows.

"Lois?" Andy inquired with a smirk.

"I didn't know she even knew his first name," Geoff remarked.

"I didn't know she even had a first name," Andy replied.

"I wonder what he did for her?" Steve asked idly.

"Don't you wish you knew?" Geoff laughed as he clapped his friend on
the back.  The three collectively shook their heads and continued
walking down the hall.

********

The ride to his apartment was far too short.  She pulled the Jeep up
right in front of his building and put it in park.

"Well," she said.

"Well," he replied.

"I want to thank you, Clark.  For everything.  I've never told anyone
the things I told you last night.  I'm sorry, I guess I dumped my
problems onto you."

"No, you didn't."  He smiled reassuringly.  "I promise, I won't tell
anyone anything you told me."

"I know, Clark.  I know you wouldn't."  They settled into a moment of
awkward silence.  "I'll be heading back in around nine thirty. Would
you like me to pick you up on the way?" she asked.

"No, it's all right, but thanks," he replied.  He saw the
disappointment flash across her face. "I have a few things I need to
do around the apartment. I wasn't planning on going in until a bit
later, but how about I meet you for lunch?"

She didn't try to hide the smile that his comment elicited. "I'd like
that," she replied.

********

Clark went into the lab around ten-thirty that morning.  He planned
on prepping the very last samples for the preliminary round of
testing for the diabetes research project.  A few lab techs would be
in that afternoon to run the tests.

Geoff leapt down from his seat atop the counter as Clark entered the
Lab. "Kent!"

Clark stepped back abruptly, not used to the forceful welcome.  Andy 
shot Geoff a vicious glare and Geoff backed off immediately.

"Hi, guys," Clark replied warily, unsure what exactly was going on.

"Rough night?" Steve inquired as he tried to suppress a smile.

"It was a little rough in the ED, I guess," Clark replied as he
poured himself a cup of "coffee."  He was uncomfortably aware of how
his colleagues seemed to be hovering around him this morning.
"Nothing unusual, I suppose."

"Right," Geoff replied, a little too loud.  "Of course. Nothing unusual."

"Right," Clark replied slowly.  He set his coffee down at his desk
after taking one swig of the less than appealing brew.  He worked his
way across the lab, prepping the samples.  "Don't you guys have work
to do?" he asked of the trio, all of whom had continued to watch him.

"Oh, yeah, work. Right,"  Steve replied, surprised by the question.
"Yeah, we've uh, got...stuff, to do.  So, come on, let's go
do...stuff."  The three shuffled away and made themselves look
occupied.  Clark simply shook his head.  'They really must get out
even less than I thought,' he mused to himself.  He went about his
work without any interruptions, finally finishing about two hours
later.  He looked up at the clock and sighed nervously.  After
hesitating for a moment, he grabbed up his jacket and headed out of
the lab.  He walked the short distance to her office. 'Here goes
nothing,' he thought.  'I've got no reason to be nervous.  We're just
two friends, going out for lunch together.  I've gone out to lunch
with friends before. No big deal, right?  Yeah right.'  He opened the
door and walked into the reception area.

"Hello, Anna," he greeted the receptionist warmly with a smile.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Kent," she replied, burning with envy.  She
wasn't sure why Dr. Kent was here to visit Dr. Lane, but that didn't
matter. She still wanted desperately to trade places with her.  It
didn't take an extremely perceptive eye to notice the way Dr. Kent
would steal glances at Dr. Lane.  She wondered idly if her boss even
noticed the way the gorgeous doctor looked at her, or how much all
the other women in the hospital wished Dr. Kent would look at them
like that.  She picked up the phone and punched the button for Dr.
Lane's desk phone.

"Dr. Lane, Dr. Kent is here to see you."

"Thank you, Anna, I'll be right out."  Dr. Lane soon emerged from her office.

"Hello, Lois."  He smiled and she found herself blushing inexplicably.

"Hi, Clark," she replied with a nervous smile. "Anna, I'll be back
around two. If Dr. Hoffman calls, please tell him to leave a message
on my voicemail."

"Of course, Doctor."

"Thank you, Anna," she called as she exited through the door Clark
was holding open for her.  Lois suggested an Italian restaurant
downtown and he readily agreed.  They made the ten minute trip in her
Jeep and despite the lunchtime crowd, a table was soon made available
for Dr. Lane and her colleague.

"I'm impressed," he said after they were shown to the best table in
the restaurant.

"Don't be," she replied with a grin.  "It's my father who has the
real reputation here. I just get the best table because it's
considered a personal favor to Dr. Sam Lane."

"I guess you get along really well with your father," he said.

The waiter came by to take their orders before she could respond.  As
soon as he left she replied, "Yeah, my dad's great.  He made a big
impact on my life and my decision to go into medicine, I guess.  What
about you? What made you want to become a doctor?"

"When I was ten,