NEAR WILD HEAVEN - HALF A WORLD AWAY
By Kaethel <Kaethel@wanadoo.fr>
Rated PG-13
Submitted December 2000

______________________

Author's note:

The premise for this story has been on my mind for over two years, 
and I'd never been sure I could find a way to write it, until a 
little over a year ago: while discovering an area of Paris I hadn't 
ever visited before, an entire scene popped into my head, demanding 
to be written. Shortly after, the two ideas merged into one, the 
scene in question giving me the element I was missing to write up my 
plot, and the plot giving me an occasion to include the scene <g>. 
The story starts about six months after the end of 'Barbarians at the 
Planet' episode after which my own continuity differs from the one in 
the show.

One small vocabulary clarification is required: the word 
'arrondissement' that I've been using throughout the story could be 
roughly translated as 'district' - Paris is divided into 20 
administrative areas like these.

I'd like to thank all the people who helped me through various stages 
of this story: to Elena, Sarah and Chiara, who insisted I write this 
fic when I started to talk about it, and regularly gave me their 
encouragement and input. To Wendy, Yvonne, Chris, and Jenni, for the 
very productive brainstorming session that got me started again when 
I was completely stalled a few weeks ago. To Chiara and Shayne, who 
helped me out of a couple of sticky situations in the plot, thanks to 
their helpful suggestions. And to the MBs' readers for their support 
and encouragement when I posted the story.

Also, a big thank you to all the people who participated in the 
beta-reading of this story: Elena, Yvonne, Chris, Wendy and LabRat. 
Special thanks should go to Wendy and LabRat not only for their 
nagging talents, but also - and especially - for completely editing 
this story, for staying on irc very late at night (or was that early? 
;P~~~) to brainstorm for hours on plot elements when the Muse was on 
strike <g>, and giving me excellent ideas and suggestions. You guys 
are gems. :) And last but certainly not least, a very big thank you 
to LabRat for GEing the entire story.

'Near Wild Heaven' and 'Half a World Away ' are two R.E.M. songs, the 
titles of which I borrowed for the purpose of this story. No 
copyright infringement intended. The main characters aren't mine, but 
the situations and dialogues are copyrighted with the author.

Feedback is very welcome at Kaethel@wanadoo.fr

________________________


- Near Wild Heaven - Half a World Away -



-*- Paris, France, Friday -*-


A tall man in a dark overcoat stepped out of the darkness and 
produced a lead-lined box from his pocket, from which he retrieved a 
syringe full of a gleaming green liquid. The shadow of a sly grin 
passed across his face. The Boss would be happy, *very* happy. He'd 
heard the worry hidden behind his threats over the phone, but making 
sure that this young homeless man couldn't talk about what he now 
knew would ensure them some tranquillity. Of course the incriminating 
computer disk that the company's vice-president had created was still 
out God knew where, but tracing it back shouldn't be too much of a 
problem. But that would come later. For now, what was important was 
to make sure that none of the information contained in it was spread, 
and the best way to do that was to get rid of any witness who could 
become a real nuisance.

And as he'd pointed out to the Boss, it was the perfect opportunity 
to carry out the first human test of the K Project. The results would 
probably be... interesting, to say the least, and he was looking 
forward to reporting them to the Boss.

He was starting to understand the real interest of the project, and 
why the Boss had seemed so insistent that the hybrid chemical they'd 
created in this Parisian laboratory could come to be a very reliable 
resource. One they could use to protect themselves from any leak 
amongst the henchmen they occasionally recruited on the street. Who 
would think twice about the accidental death of such scum? Most of 
them were already addicted to some drug, after all.

The man's grin widened as he looked almost lovingly at the product in 
his hand. Oh yes, it would be good to see the effect of this 
miraculous liquid on a human body. The tests on the lab rats had 
proved it to be a very effective poison, but there was still the 
problem of the dosage needed in the case of an adult man. This would 
come with new experiments, though, and he just couldn't wait to put 
his theory into practice. And considering he still had to get his 
hands on the evidence that could make the whole project sink, he was 
pretty sure he'd be asked again to use his creation to make anyone 
who knew too much unable to breathe a word of it.

Taking a couple of steps towards the homeless man who was still 
bending over his bag to retrieve some object, the mysterious man's 
hand made a quick move to stab the needle into the junction of his 
victim's bare forearm. He slowly pressed the piston of the syringe 
and watched in fascination as the dizzyingly green liquid disappeared 
under the man's skin, leaving only a grey blur at the surface of his 
arm. The homeless man, who'd remained paralysed with the pain 
inflicted on him by the lethal poison, finally stumbled, clutching at 
his chest in agony, and a satisfied smile appeared on the killer's 
face upon hearing the ragged and desperate gasps.

Interesting, how death seemed to be even more violent and rapid with 
humans than with rats, he thought as he put the now empty syringe 
back into its lead-lined box. Within a few minutes it was over, and 
he carefully placed another hypodermic on the floor, next to the 
lifeless body, before retreating back into the shadows.

Oh yes, the Boss would be very satisfied, this time.


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

-*- Paris, France, three weeks later, Tuesday -*-


"Kane!" The editor in chief of the Paris International barked and 
pointed his thumb in the direction of his office door.

Clark looked up from the report he'd been studying on his computer 
and complied, knowing better than to resist his boss, even if he knew 
that hearing Bernard Guerand using that kind of tone with a reporter 
was no good sign. He'd been working here for four months, but even 
though he wasn't treated as a newbie anymore, he still considered 
himself a junior reporter. Coming from one of the most famous 
newspapers in the world didn't give him any superiority over anyone. 
No, he hadn't worked there, he mentally corrected. Clark Kent had. 
Jerome Kane, on the other hand, was a brand new journalist and didn't 
have any past at the Daily Planet or in Metropolis.

"What's the matter, Chief?" Clark asked upon entering his boss' 
office and closing the door behind him.

He didn't need to ask what was wrong; a brief look at Guerand's stern 
yet concerned face was enough to give him an answer to his question. 
Clark was well aware that his attitude recently hadn't been one of an 
exemplary reporter and that his employer certainly expected more from 
him than a couple of human-interest stories every two weeks, 
especially after his more productive first weeks in the Paris 
International's newsroom.

A lot of things had changed over the months, though. Perfecting what 
was a foreign language to him and learning all the weird aspects of 
another culture had kept his mind occupied for some time. Now that he 
was settling himself into a daily routine, having to walk to the 
office every morning, go home every night, patrol around the capitals 
of Europe for a couple of hours then force himself to get some sleep 
in his apartment, where no-one and nothing was waiting for him, Clark 
was beginning to be homesick...

Or was it something else? Some*one* else? He quickly dismissed the 
thought, refusing to go down that path again. It'd been difficult 
enough for him to move out of Metropolis- and out of his home country 
- so as to simply forget everything about his former life and start 
another one here. The only link he still had with that time of his 
life was his parents, whom he regularly visited in Smallville.

They'd been very supportive during this entire ordeal. They'd helped 
him face the truth that she wasn't going to change her mind and come 
back to him, and they'd done everything they could to help him accept 
that fact. He never had. He never would. But he'd still felt better, 
knowing that they cared and that they were here beside him, even when 
he was in such a state of despair that he locked himself in his room 
to try and bottle up his grief over her, even when he was turning 
down each and every one of their attempts at making him confide in 
them. He knew it hadn't been easy for them when he'd told them he was 
leaving. It certainly still wasn't easy. He'd patiently listened to 
them when they'd tried to convince him he was doing it out of 
cowardice, knowing they were right even if he'd never admitted it to 
them.

But he just couldn't bear to see her from time to time, face to face, 
on TV or even in the tabloids, knowing that at night she was sleeping 
in another man's arms. The thought was unbearable enough. Closing his 
eyes to block this mental image was worse: she was constantly 
haunting him. He'd tried everything to keep his mind off her. He'd 
even met - he barely dared to think about it - another woman, here, 
in Paris. But it hadn't reached beyond the first date. Not even a 
goodnight peck; at least, not really. His date had tried to kiss him 
and even managed to do it at first, but when she'd tried pressing him 
further, Clark had broken it off, murmured an apology and walked 
away. She'd never called him afterwards. Not that he was surprised, 
and anyway, he hadn't minded.

After some time, he'd come to the conclusion it was not worth dating 
anyone else. Not to mention that the dinner he'd shared with this 
woman had been followed by a night of remorse and guilt, as if it had 
been a betrayal of *her*. Oh, of course she didn't own his body, she 
never had, but she held his heart and the mere knowledge that other 
women could find him attractive didn't help any in making him feel 
better, when all he could think about was that the right one wasn't 
interested, had *never* been interested. No, he'd never let anyone 
into his heart again; he didn't own it anymore, having lost it a year 
and a half ago, when Lois had walked into Perry's office.

Clark could still feel the power of that moment. Never had he thought 
that he could feel something like that, never had he imagined such a 
floating sensation was possible; but when he'd seen her, he'd 
forgotten everything about who he was and why he was there. The only 
thing he'd been aware of was Lois, and the fact that he could die 
happy if he could just hold her in his arms.

Bernard Guerand cleared his throat, tearing Clark out of his sad 
musings and reminding him of his surroundings. "Kane," he began, 
"I've noticed you've been... distant, lately. I don't know if you're 
aware of that, but you often seem lost in your thoughts when you're 
supposed to be working, and the quality and quantity of your stories 
that I've been able to publish have suffered dramatically. Having 
said that, I wouldn't want to get in your way. But you have to 
understand that I'm running a newspaper, here. You seemed to be 
pretty good at what you did when I hired you, and it would really 
upset me to have to separate myself from one of my most promising 
reporters," he finished suggestively, eyeing the young man from 
beneath his glasses, "but I don't have to remind you how the 
newspaper business works, I suppose."

"I'm... sorry, Chief. I know I've been acting strangely lately, and I 
promise you that I won't let it happen again."

Guerand's voice softened a bit at Clark's helpless apology. "Now, 
Kane, don't make promises you won't be able to keep. You think I 
don't know what I'm talking about, but you're wrong, I'm beginning to 
know you pretty well. Believe me," he added when Clark raised a 
doubtful eyebrow. "And I think you're hiding something from me. I 
won't pry, Jerome. But remember that if you need a sympathetic ear, 
I'm right here."

"Thanks," Clark answered softly. But he wasn't ready to talk. Heck, 
he didn't even want to talk about it with his parents. He avoided 
pronouncing her name, anyway, still nurturing the hope that even if 
he couldn't forget her face and voice, maybe he'd be able to forget 
her name; but there were still nights when he woke up screaming it, 
crying and sweating, hoping she was there. Those nightmares were more 
and more painful as time passed, although he'd always thought he'd 
feel better after a few months without seeing her.

What's more, she clearly didn't care at all; the numerous letters 
he'd sent her in the first weeks after the wedding hadn't elicited 
any reply. It had comforted him in his decision to disappear without 
letting anyone know where he was going. At least now he knew why he 
was doing it; he knew he hadn't anything to lose anymore. His parents 
had told him that Perry and Jimmy called from time to time, just to 
hear how he was doing. They didn't know where he was, they knew he 
didn't want them to know, but they still cared enough to call and ask 
*how* he was. And each time, when he came home, he was hopeful that 
his folks would tell him she had called. But she hadn't. And his hope 
diminished.

"Kane?" Bernard enquired warily.

"Hmm? Oh, um... sorry." Clark lowered his eyes when he realised he'd 
been lost in his thoughts again. "I'm okay, Chief. I just... I can't 
talk about it. It's too..." <painful> "soon. But thanks anyway."

"Okay, just don't make an habit of daydreaming, this isn't a place to 
do that," his editor warned, letting his habitual compassionless mask 
fall back into place.

"Yes, sir, I know. I apologise, really."

But the Editor-in-Chief dismissed whatever apology his employee was 
about to give with a wave of his hand. "Now get back to work, I want 
that piece about the death of this other homeless guy before we go 
into print. Got it?"

"Right on it, Chief."

Guerand raised a hand. "Oh, and one last thing, Kane."

"Yes, Chief?"

"Stop calling me Chief. It scares the heck outta me. Makes me feel 
old and responsible."

Clark let out a sad chuckle, remembering how, not so long ago, in 
another city, in another country, another gruff-looking man had been 
obsessing over the same details. He could almost hear Perry's 
southern drawl in his editor's growl, and the nostalgia was back with 
a vengeance. Sighing, he nodded to Guerand and left the room without 
a word.


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

That night, Clark went home feeling even more depressed. Oh, it was 
no new experience for him and he was progressively getting used to 
it. But now it seemed that people around him were beginning to 
notice, and it wouldn't do any good if he lost his job, the last 
thing that helped him maintain some semblance of a social life and 
gave him a reason to get up in the morning and go home at night.

He locked the door behind him and didn't even bother to switch on the 
light. He just tumbled onto his couch and buried his head into a 
cushion, trying to block the thoughts that had haunted him every 
night ever since he'd left Metropolis.

He woke up a few hours later and got up, avoiding mirrors that, he 
knew, would reflect the image of fresh tears on his face. He'd been 
crying a lot lately, even more than at the time he'd been staying in 
Smallville before deciding to put it all behind him. His parents 
didn't know anything about his state of mind; he'd tried to spare 
them any pointless worry, although he knew they weren't fooled. Clark 
had never wept a lot as a child; neither as an adult. But since he'd 
been here, rare had been the days when he hadn't cried and felt his 
heart break under the pressure of not seeing her, or hearing her 
voice... or simply the urge to hold her. His body and soul longed for 
her, and the thought that he'd never see her again was more and more 
unbearable. How many times had people caught him watching in the 
distance, towards west, towards Metropolis... towards Lois?

He padded to his kitchenette and poured himself a glass of milk. He 
switched on his TV and resettled onto the couch, grabbing a cover and 
enveloping himself in it. Flipping through all the TV channels didn't 
help to ease his mind. He really had to get cable... No, maybe it 
wasn't such a good idea. If he could receive foreign channels and ran 
into a report that showed her in her new sophisticated life, or if he 
caught her reports on LNN, he wouldn't be able to bear it.

It had already happened. Marc, one of the rare friends he'd made here 
in Paris, had invited him to dinner with him and his wife and kids, a 
few weeks ago. While Lise had been putting their youngest to bed, 
Marc had switched on the TV, explaining he had American channels, 
thinking that Clark would be glad to see a little piece of home. 
Clark had appreciated the offer, but before he knew what was 
happening, they'd run into an LNN report, and he'd been mesmerized to 
see *her* presenting a news report about an earthquake that had taken 
place in California.

He'd been there, as Superman, helping the EMTs to save the people 
trapped in discarded buildings, but he hadn't spotted her. He'd 
avoided the crowd of reporters, anyway, even if he had no idea she'd 
be among them; but she'd been only a few feet away from him. He'd 
watched the report, fascinated, completely oblivious to his 
surroundings, aware only of Lois. She'd been looking tired, but all 
he'd been able to think about at that time was that she was as 
beautiful as when he'd last seen her and that he'd do anything to be 
near her again. Then when the report had switched to something else, 
Marc had put his hand on his shoulder, shaking him back to reality, 
and asked him what was wrong. It was only then that Clark had become 
aware of the moisture on his cheeks. He'd protested a bit too quickly 
that it was just allergies, and he'd had to put up with his doubtful 
friend's worried looks ever since.

He'd never admitted to anyone what was wrong when something remotely 
like that happened; at least, no-one among his acquaintances here. 
Perry and Jimmy knew; he hadn't needed to tell them. They'd been 
aware of his pain ever since she'd accepted that... that monster's 
proposal. They'd tried to talk to him, but he'd bottled up his 
feelings and kept everyone out of it, with no exception to the rule.

He remembered the last time he'd seen her in Metropolis. She'd been 
covering Superman's press conference when he'd announced he was 
leaving the city. He'd said it was time for him to move and help 
other people in other countries, but that he would always keep an eye 
on Metropolis. That had been a lie. He hadn't come back to Metropolis 
since then; he hadn't had the strength to. Lois had been in the 
crowd, as shocked as everyone else to hear Superman's words, but 
Clark had tried not to look at her when announcing his departure; 
otherwise he knew he wouldn't have been able to maintain his 
superhero unemotional stance. Reporters that had seen tears 
glistening in the Man of Steel's eyes had taken this unexpected 
display of emotions as a sign of a profound attachment to the city of 
Metropolis after the year he'd spent there, but the only person in 
the audience who could have understood his distress had been Lois. 
He'd seen the stupor in her eyes as he had flown out of City Hall, 
and he hadn't looked back, not wanting to see her again.


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

-*- Metropolis, USA, Tuesday - *-


"Andrew, I need that report on my desk in an hour! Karen, where's my 
coffee? Lois, assignment time, see you in my office in a minute."

Lois looked up from her desk towards the entrance of her office where 
her editor David Dooley was standing. "Be right there, Dave!" She 
closed the folder she'd been studying and got up, following the 
editor of the LNN news team into his office, and shut the door behind 
her.

David didn't even wait for her to sit down before launching himself 
into an explanation of what he would request from her. "Lois, 
remember that news report that came in yesterday about the strange 
death of this homeless man in a subway station in Paris, the one that 
seemingly was found dead after what looked like an overdose? You know 
it's the second one in less than three weeks, and in both cases, the 
circumstances were more than a little strange."

"Yes, the Parisian offices dealt with the first case, I can't 
remember the name of that first guy... Anyway, they covered it, and 
said the police had concluded it was a heroin overdose."

David nodded. "Well, it *was* their conclusion, yes."

"Was?"

"I've been contacted by one of my sources there and after what he 
revealed to me, my journalism instincts tell me there's more to this 
story than what was told to the press. For both those cases, the 
statements made to the press *claim* it's an overdose that killed 
those men, and I admit I could have believed that, if it wasn't for 
the phone call I got this morning. The local police say they've got 
nothing that could lead to further investigation, but according to my 
source, it's no ordinary accident, and word got out that both bodies 
have been secretly kept in a police lab. Actually, my contact seems 
very certain that none of those incidents are accidents at all. He's 
convinced that those two homeless men were killed in a pretty 
cold-bloodied way. Probably *two* murders and only *one* murderer, 
from what I managed to gather, since the way they died is pretty 
similar. So I'd like you to go there and try to find out what's 
exactly going on, because it seems clear as mud to me. Here's your 
flight ticket: your plane takes off tonight, so don't dawdle with 
your packing; I took care of everything: you'll be staying at the 
Hotel de Crillon - it's one of the biggest and most luxurious there, 
on the Place de la Concorde. Oh, and here's the name and address of 
my source."

"Do I take Matt and Darren with me?"

"No. You'll go there alone."

Lois raised a surprised eyebrow; it wasn't the network's habits to 
send a reporter on their own for an investigation involving a murder 
case. "No reporting team? No cameraman?"

"My contact there gave his conditions," David answered with an 
apologetic grimace, "and as much as I don't like taking the risk of 
sending someone alone on a dangerous mission, we can't take the 
chance of scaring him off. He wants only one reporter there, and a 
trustworthy one. I chose you because of your background, Lois: this 
kind of investigation is what you were used to back when you worked 
for White. Keep me informed of what you find, and when you sense that 
the story is about to break, if story there is, we'll contact the 
French offices of LNN and get you a team there. And most of all, 
please be careful."

Lois gathered the documents that her boss was handing to her and 
grinned broadly at him, something David hadn't seen in a long time. 
He even wondered if he'd ever seen her smiling before. "You seem 
happy about the prospect," he commented lightly.

"Well, I've always dreamt of going back to Europe. Last time I was 
there was when I was studying. I was living in Dublin and I 
absolutely loved it. I have fond memories of that time. I'm pretty 
sure that Paris is really different, but I can tell you it sounds 
appealing." She winked at him, perfectly aware that he wasn't fooled 
and that the place where he was sending her had little to do with the 
reason for her joyful mood.

David smiled knowingly. Lois was a brilliant reporter, and the job 
she now had at LNN wasn't satisfying her as much as her former 
activities at the Planet. At least this assignment would give her the 
spark she missed in her too steady career, not to mention it would 
help her in relieving the constant pressure on her shoulders and give 
her the occasion to get some rest from the tabloid reporters who were 
constantly stalking her because she was the boss's wife.


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

Lois went home almost immediately and started to pack 
enthusiastically, realising that she was feeling a lot better than 
she had in a long time. Of course, there would be the problem of 
announcing to Lex that she'd be gone for a few days, but he was 
rarely home anyway so that wouldn't change anything for him. On the 
other hand, maybe *she* would feel less alone than she felt now. She 
had to admit she'd never felt more lonely than since she'd been 
married. It was a paradox she didn't quite understand: when she'd 
accepted Lex's proposal she'd thought that marriage would bring her 
the happiness she missed. Not that she was unhappy before; after all, 
she had Perry and Jimmy and Cat...

... and Clark.

But it wasn't like having a man waiting for her at home every night, 
ready to hear her tell him about her joys and frustrations, helping 
her relax, simply being there for her like she'd be there for him.

Had she thought that Lex would be that kind of man? No, she couldn't 
say that. Lex had a charm she didn't really understand, some 
mysterious light in his eyes that attracted her to him because it 
spoke of adventure. At that time, she hadn't believed that a regular 
guy could bring anything to her. Lois Lane had needed a fantasy man, 
a man that could make her dream, a *super* man. Not to mention that 
her mother had argued Lex Luthor was one of the most eligible 
bachelors in Metropolis...

Who was she trying to fool, here? Was she so shallow that the reason 
why she had married him was because he was successful with women? 
Lois's mind rebelled against that idea. This was only what her mother 
had said over and over to convince her she'd made the right choice.

Lex had been the only constant in her life after the destruction of 
the Planet. Her friends had drifted apart: Perry had decided to 
retire and leave Metropolis in favour of a small town on the East 
Coast, and Jimmy had vanished into thin air, reappearing only after 
Lois's wedding to announce to her that he'd found a job as assistant 
researcher in the Boston Post. As for Clark, he'd held a grudge 
against her ever since she'd turned him down that day in Centennial 
Park, and his attitude at Perry's retirement party had made it clear 
that he didn't consider her a friend anymore. He'd had no right to 
tell her the Planet didn't mean anything to her, when the newsroom 
had been her whole life for so long. He had no right to be judgmental 
about her decision to accept Lex's proposal just because the man 
hadn't always behaved like an angel to get where he now stood in the 
business world...

*Just* because? Was she really sure that was what he'd been trying to 
do? Of course he'd been deeply hurt by her rejection and he couldn't 
easily have accepted seeing her marry another man after he'd poured 
his heart out to her, but could that motivate a continual running 
down of her fiance? Would Clark have done that? The Clark she knew 
wouldn't have tried to take advantage of the situation. If he held 
any jealousy against Lex Luthor, he wouldn't have let her see it. 
That said, Lois didn't know what to expect from a man who'd been 
turned down by the woman he claimed to be in love with, even if that 
man was Clark Kent and she was supposed to know him better than 
anyone else. But from the moment Clark had expressed his deep 
feelings for her, she'd felt as if she didn't know him at all. She'd 
felt trapped, unable to return his feelings and unable to look him in 
the eye and say the truth. From that moment on, she'd avoided any 
close contact with him, afraid to see that same look in his eyes as 
the one he'd worn after her rejection, afraid to hurt him even more, 
afraid to see a man instead of a best friend.

Lex, on the other hand, had defined the nature of their relationship 
from the first moment their gazes had met. She'd had time to get used 
to the idea of him as a romantic partner and not some kind of brother 
like Clark. His proposal had been unexpected, too, but at least he 
hadn't taken her aback when he'd told her he loved her. She'd known 
where she stood from the beginning.

Now, six months after her wedding, she was seeing those events in a 
very different light. The choices she'd made at this important 
juncture in her life might not have been the best, she now realised, 
and she knew that it was her fear of loneliness that had thrust her 
into Lex's arms. In the middle of the ruins of her former life, the 
only remaining fortress had been Lex Luthor. Who'd offered her a job 
when the Planet had closed down, who'd offered her his company when 
she'd felt abandoned by her friends, who'd offered her his love when 
Superman had turned her down, and who'd given her the security of an 
easy relationship when her best friend wanted a passion she didn't 
think herself capable of sustaining. Except maybe to the only being 
that had ever been able to sweep her off her feet and made her want 
to live a passionate relationship with him.

She sighed. It had been a long time since she'd last seen 
Metropolis's ex-resident superhero. It seemed he'd moved out to 
Europe, and lately, he'd been doing a number of rescues in Paris.

Maybe he'd settled there.

Maybe she'd see him.

She didn't know whether to smile or cry at the thought. She wanted to 
prove to him that she was still his friend, but on the other hand, 
she didn't really want to talk to him. First of all, she was feeling 
self-conscious about the last conversation they'd had. Humiliated, 
even. And she was mad at him for the way he'd behaved when she was 
here in front of him, vulnerable and ready to give him her heart and 
soul. But that didn't prevent her from regretting the way they'd left 
things off.

Strangely enough, even if she'd been really upset when he'd left 
without even coming to see her for a proper goodbye - although she 
suspected he'd never really approved of her marriage with Lex... 
probably because he was trying to defend Clark - it wasn't him she 
was missing the most. Neither Perry nor Jimmy; after all, she was 
still getting news from them from time to time. They regularly 
called, although a lot more rarely than in the first weeks of her 
marriage. But her Clark remained silent. He hadn't come to her 
wedding, he hadn't written to her, he hadn't called... nothing. She 
hadn't talked to him since he'd refused her demand that he came to 
her wedding.

And their last conversation had been a fight.

Lois felt a lump rise in her throat as she thought of him. It was 
crazy how much she missed him now, and she simply couldn't bring 
herself to forget him and go on with her life.

She hadn't talked to Lex about that, of course. She knew he couldn't 
understand and would get jealous. Besides, she didn't trust him on 
such matters. She didn't trust him, period. But had she ever trusted 
anyone?

Yes, she had. She'd trusted Clark, and she still did, even if this 
trust hadn't been returned.

The final straw that had drawn an end to their friendship had been 
her discovery of Clark's flight. A few days before the wedding, she'd 
started to harbour some doubts about her choice and after a sleepless 
night of tossing and turning and counting every fissure on the 
ceiling of her bedroom, she'd decided to take the first step and make 
up with Clark. Lois had felt bad knowing that he was upset because of 
her and she'd wanted to make things easier for him, by offering an 
apology, first. It hadn't been easy for her to come to this decision. 
Apologising to someone wasn't something she particularly enjoyed, but 
she'd resigned herself to it in hope of saving their friendship... 
and also because she'd been feeling guilty about how she'd handled 
things between them.

The next morning, Lois had taken her courage in both hands and walked 
to Clark's apartment, only to find an empty place and a placard on 
the door advertising it for rental. She'd returned to her own flat, 
hot tears blurring her vision as she'd come to awareness of her 
partner's blatant betrayal. Betrayal because he'd given up so easily 
on them, because he'd run out on her without any regret, because a 
man she thought she knew by heart had pulled this unexpected act of 
cowardice on her. He hadn't even had the courage to say goodbye.

Unable to find a balance between hurt and despair, she'd called Perry 
and asked him if he knew anything about Clark's disappearance, but 
her former editor hadn't been able to give her the answers she was 
seeking. He'd already called Clark's parents and had been told by the 
very worried older Kents that their son refused to talk to anyone 
about his decision to leave Metropolis.

When she'd ended the conversation with Perry, Lois had been even 
angrier than she already was, and her tears of frustration had been 
replaced by a cold rage that wouldn't leave her. Was her partner 
*that* mad at her? Had she been so wrong to believe that he'd care 
enough for her to accept her decision? But however infuriated she'd 
been, it hadn't suppressed the scary feeling of forlornness that was 
eating at her as the last person who'd have been able to made her 
change her decision to wed Lex Luthor had showed how little concern 
he had for her. Superman had left, and now Clark. So she'd thrown 
herself into the belief that Lex truly loved her and was ready to 
accept her as a permanent part of his life, ready to develop a real 
*life-long* relationship with her. She'd thought she'd be happier 
with him than alone on her own. Who would have thought that Lois Lane 
feared to be alone? Yet she did, and she had only realised that the 
void in her life hadn't been filled by her fiance when it was already 
too late.

As she'd walked down the aisle to get married to Lex, it was Clark 
who had been on her mind. Mostly good memories of them together: his 
arrival at the Planet, his annoying habit of editing her copy, his 
polite manners, and their invulnerable - at least, that was what 
she'd thought at that time - friendship. But Clark was gone, now, and 
this time she knew he wouldn't come back. So better move on and try 
to forget him. Why think about him when she'd been walking towards 
another man, a man who was willing to love and marry her? A man who 
was willing to offer her what he had. How naive she had been to think 
that Lex would be someone she'd grow to love! But desperate as she'd 
been back in that church, she'd thrown herself into what she thought 
was her future and said 'I do' without really realising what it 
implied. It was way easier to stick to the decision she'd made when 
she'd accepted his proposal, and not think about the consequences.

She'd thought she'd be happy with Lex, even if she'd never been able 
to tell him she loved him; when she'd accepted his proposal, she'd 
believed that her feelings for him would grow later. She was 
attracted to him, which was enough. But love had never come; not 
during the honeymoon, nor after. Oh, he'd been affectionate with her, 
satisfying what he thought was her every wish, showering her with 
expensive gifts and all she could ever have dreamt of, but he wasn't 
giving her what she really wanted.

Understanding.

Freedom.

Real love.

Besides, he hadn't seemed to be annoyed by her lack of passion 
towards him. Knowledge alone should have warned her of Lex's real 
motives for marrying her. *His* choice prevailed over everything; 
he'd settled on her for matrimony, and having her accept his proposal 
was all that mattered to him. Soon enough, she'd had to realise that 
her marriage to Lex was everything but love; on the contrary, it was 
based upon control, and she wasn't the one holding the reins. 
Equality between the two partners in a relationship wasn't something 
that Lex Luthor could conceive of, and Lois had discovered those 
darker sides of his personality when it was already too late and she 
was too involved to retreat. Left on her own, with no friends or 
close family to support her, she'd tried to shut down her past and 
think about her future, only to yield to the fact that whatever 
future Lex had prepared for her, it wasn't one the independent 
reporter she used to be would have wished for.

It was only after a few weeks of marriage that Lex's attentions had 
started to wear off, when he'd become aware that his dream doll 
wasn't the tempestuous woman he'd always pictured and fantasized 
about. Now he rarely came home before she was asleep and he generally 
left before she woke up, so she practically never saw him, except 
when there was some mundane dinner that he wanted her to attend. 
There, she just hung decoratively on his arm and pasted a polite 
smile on her face, bitterly thinking how wrong she'd been and how 
much she hated her new life.

Talking about her fears and disillusionment with someone had become 
impossible. Her father was more absent than ever, her sister had 
eloped to California with her new boyfriend, and her mother had 
looked appalled when Lois had admitted the doubts she was 
experiencing. Ellen Lane had told her there was no way she could ever 
regret marrying such a handsome, rich and powerful man as Lex Luthor. 
Having a constructive conversation with her mother had become 
impossible under those circumstances. As for her former friends, they 
were just that: *former* friends.

But to be honest, the only person with whom she needed to talk about 
this was so mad at her that he didn't want to look her in the face 
any more, and she didn't know where he lived or if he was still 
alive. After some time, she'd admitted to herself there was no way 
out and maybe that was what marriage was all about. After all, hadn't 
her parents' marriage been like that? Dad was never home, Mom was 
alone... she didn't see much difference with her own life, now.

Seeking refuge in her work wasn't an option any more either. In the 
Planet days, Lois would have buried herself in her investigations, 
putting all her energies into breaking stories that could get her a 
Pulitzer, but now... now she was part of a television team where she 
wasn't the one making the decisions, where she could seldom leave her 
office without having a cameraman and an assistant traipsing at her 
heels. She was getting resigned to it, but that didn't mean she had 
to appreciate it.

She was well aware that David had done her a huge favour by sending 
her on this case. Not only was it rather close to what she'd been 
used to back at the Planet, but it was also allowing her to get away 
from Lex's luxurious penthouse and the hordes of tabloid reporters 
that were constantly stalking her for a scoop about her husband's 
business or trying to find a flaw in her supposedly stainless life as 
Mr Luthor's wife. A shadow, that was what they wanted her to be. Lois 
Luthor was becoming the shadow of her rich and famous husband, she 
wasn't the one in charge, she wasn't the one people wanted to meet. 
No, Lois *Lane* was getting lost in the middle of her husband's 
sumptuous possessions. She was glad to leave the country for a week. 
That would give her some time to think, away from the avalanche of 
wealth and luxury that made her feel so cheap. She was disappointed 
that David had booked a room in a four star hotel and wished she 
could have taken care of the accommodation by herself, but she 
couldn't blame him; after all, how would he guess that Lex Luthor's 
wife didn't feel at ease in such rooms?

Lois quickly finished packing her clothes and toiletries and reached 
for her cell phone. Phone seemed to be the best way to contact Lex 
lately; he was never there, and she'd quickly given up on any hope of 
finding him in the succession of floors, corridors and rooms of the 
Lexcorp building, if he wasn't in his office. Of course, his cell 
phone was disconnected, so she left a message, telling him she was 
going to Europe for an assignment and that she'd try to call him from 
there. She left the details out of her news, knowing he'd be upset 
that she'd made this arrangement without letting him talk her out of 
it.

He considered she had no right to leave Metropolis, whereas *he* was 
never there; but she'd always managed to preserve at least some 
independence in her life, and he wouldn't prevent her from going on 
this trip. It had seemed he wasn't particularly keeping an eye on her 
since Superman had left Metropolis. Of course, had she mentioned she 
was going to Paris, where the Man of Steel had been seen several 
times these past few months, Lex would have gone off on one of his 
jealous tangents. But she'd left that part out. Europe was precise 
enough, she thought, smiling self-satisfyingly as she grabbed her 
luggage and left the penthouse.


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

-*- Paris, France, Wednesday -*-


It was almost noon when Lois's plane landed in Roissy. She rushed out 
the gates, grabbed her suitcase, got her ID checked and retrieved the 
piece of paper where David had written, or rather *scribbled* the 
address of his source. She could barely read it, but after several 
tries and mutters of choice words, she finally managed to understand 
that the guy's name was Maxime Bonneau and that he was living on the 
Place d'Italie. After a quick but violent exchange of words with 
another traveller to get a cab, Lois was discovering with mild 
interest the busy streets of Paris, not so different from her native 
Metropolis.

The Place d'Italie was a major crossroad with dozens of cars honking 
and trying to force their way to the thoroughfares leading to other 
districts of the city, a gigantic glass-covered cinema taking the 
space of a whole block, and old buildings bathed by the sun. Lois had 
a hard time orienting herself to find the right address, and she was 
running out of breath when she knocked on the door of Max Bonneau's 
apartment.

A well-built man in his mid thirties opened the door. "Hi!" he said 
with an open smile. "Come on in."

If Lois was surprised at this friendly welcome, considering the man's 
insistence that she come alone, she was even more taken aback when 
she entered the apartment and looked around. This place didn't look 
anything like she'd imagined when she'd seen the Place d'Italie. The 
neighbourhood seemed cosy and comfortable, but Maxime Bonneau was 
living in a dark single-room apartment, just under the rooftop of an 
old building, and even if the place was neat you could still see 
stains of humidity on the walls. She figured it must be very cold up 
here in winter, even with the heater in the back of the room.

"Coffee?"

"Huh?"

"I just asked if you wanted some coffee. You must be really tired, 
coming all the way from Metropolis to Paris. Besides, I've heard 
airline food doesn't provide very generous portions."

"You'd think on business class they would," Lois said darkly. "Yeah, 
I guess I could do with a decent meal."

"Oh, I can get you some food if you're hungry. There's a little deli 
down there and they make great sandw..."

"Don't even think about it!" she interrupted. "Most of my meals back 
where I live consist of either pastrami or very copious feasts when 
that husband of mine decides to throw a party for some major 
customers of his and - Look, let's just say I'm pooped and all I have 
the energy for is a tossed salad right now. Lightly tossed at that. 
Maybe you know a nice restaurant where we could sit and talk about 
those murders."

Maxime looked down with a defeated sigh.

"My treat," Lois added, seeing his expression.

"Okay," Maxime agreed after another moment of hesitation. "There's a 
place under the multiplex. It's discreet enough and they sell great 
pastries."

"Mr Bonneau - "

"Oh, please, call me Max," he said, an amused smile playing on his face.

"Max, whatever Mr Dooley has told you, pastries aren't my idea of 
healthy and light," Lois went on, not sure what to do with this 
friendly behaviour from her source. Sources weren't supposed to be 
friendly, and even if it was pleasant to see someone nice for once, 
she still didn't know what to expect or if she could trust him.

"Oh! Okay, sure, I'll just take you to a small 'brasserie' that I 
know. Their prices are okay, and the food is good."

"Thanks," she breathed in relief and followed him silently as he 
guided her into the crowded gallery of the huge City Mall called 
Italie 2. She wondered why it was called that, since she hadn't 
spotted an Italie 1 anywhere around, but she'd figured by now that 
logic wasn't something that prevailed in the architect's mind. They 
went past the tea room that Max had mentioned earlier and she sighed 
sadly. There had been a time when she wouldn't have missed an 
occasion to get French pastries, especially the ones that Cl - that 
her former partner brought to her from this little Metropolis bakery 
he always talked about without revealing where it was, despite all 
her attempts at finding out. If she'd been with him now, they'd 
probably have stopped at this pastry shop, but thinking about the old 
times was doing no goodat all. She tried to dismiss all thoughts of 
her previous life at the Planet as she joined Max where he was 
waiting for her in front of an inviting restaurant.


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

"Okay, now, tell me what's going on," Lois said once their food had arrived.

"Two bodies have been found in the subway over the past three weeks. 
In both cases, same circumstances; the bodies were found in dark 
corners of a station's corridor, and each time it's an overdose that 
seems to have provoked death."

"Were the bodies found in the same station?"

"No. But the context of their death seems close enough to me for both 
cases to be linked."

"That's what I'm here to figure out," Lois replied, putting a 
reassuring hand on his arm. "Do those guys have anything in common?"

"Both were homeless people. That's why the police don't really care 
about knowing if it's a murder or a suicide or just an accident. At 
least, it looks like an accident. Or rather, it looks like something 
that often happens to homeless people. You know, drugs and that kind 
of thing. But some people on the street say it's no accident, 
especially since neither Jeremy nor Laurent were heroin junkies, so 
it doesn't make any sense.... unless, of course, the overdose wasn't 
really an overdose."

Lois noted the information Max was giving her, trying to make some 
sense out of the case. "You say that both were *found* dead. No-one 
among the homeless population saw what happened?"

"No. Both deaths happened in the middle of the night, and Laurent and 
Jeremy were alone. At that time of the night, there are very few 
people in the subway stations, so it could go unnoticed. Not to 
mention most commuters don't pay much attention to the homeless, 
except to tell them to get out of their way, if you know what I mean. 
So no witnesses at all for either of them. Two lifeless bodies were 
discovered in a corridor, end of story. Or at least that's what the 
police and most reporters say."

"David told me they hadn't got rid of the bodies yet, though. Do you 
know why?"

"Yeah, the police are keeping them in a protected vault somewhere in 
the suburbs, but I'm not supposed to know that; they ran an autopsy 
but no newspaper was able to get the report; they were just given 
confirmation of what the cops had already told them. I think the 
criminal police will quickly close the file, because nobody really 
cares. Only a few reporters think that something's going on and they 
keep investigating, but they can't print anything without proof, not 
to mention that most editors have no idea this might be a big story, 
so they assigned junior reporters to it. Those journalists don't feel 
experienced or respected enough to tell their boss they need more 
time, and they probably want to make sure their assumption is right 
before they even start to make the most of this story, I guess." He 
sighed. "*If* they even suppose there's more to this case than they 
were told, which I highly doubt for most of them."

"But why didn't you give this information to a French reporter?"

"Well, to be honest, I thought people from here wouldn't want to get 
their nose into that because I have the feeling no-one thinks there's 
anything interesting to it. And if it happens to involve something 
big, I don't really trust them not to run off if they discover its 
more than they're ready to deal with. Something that would endanger 
their career or their life."

  Besides, I owe a debt to David, too. He helped me out of the street 
and managed to get me a job as a security guard so that I wouldn't 
fall again. He's a great guy, really, and I guess this is my way of 
thanking him for everything he's done for me. When he found me, he 
was looking for some information about another murder case. I told 
him what I knew, and when he realised I spoke English, he asked me 
what I was doing there, considering I had diplomas and stuff that 
were supposed to give me a chance others hadn't. We talked a lot and 
I finally agreed to try the job he'd got for me. Now I can live 
decently and have an apartment in this part of the city. I'll always 
be thankful to David for that."

Lois nodded absently, concentrating on the story instead. "You knew 
Laurent and Jeremy?"

Max seemed to hesitate for a few seconds before he finally admitted 
the truth. "Yeah. We were friends when I was on the street. I still 
don't know how I ended up there, but I guess I didn't want to work 
for someone, I preferred to give up on every aspect of an easy life 
and try to live my way. I didn't fall into drugs thanks to Jeremy. 
He'd known a guy who died of an overdose in front of him, and he'd 
assured me it wasn't a pretty sight."

"Did you see your friends again after you got your job and apartment?"

"I saw Jeremy once."

"When?"

"Over a week ago."

"Oh? Was that in any way related to the death of your common friend?"

Max squirmed, suddenly agitated. "Well, we did talk about it a 
little, and he was the one who first told me the police didn't know 
half of the story."

"And did *he* know something worth of interest?"

"Nothing besides what I've just told you. I tried to convince him to 
get out of this trap. The street is a trap, you know, once you're in 
it, you can't go out by yourself, you need help. But he wouldn't 
listen. He said he didn't want to live like the government told him 
to, he wanted to be free, and that even penniless, he was *feeling* 
free," Max said sadly. "Nobody could annoy him, that way. At least, 
nobody police-related."

"Was he afraid of what the police might do to him?"

"When you live away from... civilization," he grimaced at the word, 
"you do things that the police don't really appreciate. You need to 
earn a living. Some people prostitute, others... take things from 
other people without their complete agreement."

"You mean he stole."

"Yeah," he admitted. "It comes with being on the street. You end up 
doing it because you have no choice, even if you're a honest, decent 
guy. And some guys blackmail you so that you'll do it, when you owe 
them something. You ask someone for a cigarette, and before you know 
what's happening, they say you owe them a debt and you have to do 
something for them, whatever it is. It's even worse when it involves 
drugs."

"But you said neither Jeremy nor Laurent were into drugs."

"I said they weren't on heroin. Jeremy wasn't a drug addict at all, 
true. But Laurent... he sniffed coke. And this stuff from hell is 
expensive. The people who sold it to him didn't always ask for money, 
but sometimes it was worse. As for Jeremy, he was becoming an 
alcoholic. That's what I feared, anyway. When I realised what was 
happening, I tried even harder to get them out of that life, but they 
wouldn't listen. They even considered I'd betrayed them. That's why I 
didn't see them for a few months before Jeremy contacted me again 
last week."

"What kind of thing were they asked to do to get their fix?"

"If there's a word they don't know, it's 'give'. Nobody ever gives 
anything on the street. You always have to pay back what you got. 
Laurent didn't have any money, but he was trapped into this coke 
thing. Couldn't get out of it. So he stole money to get his daily 
fix, and when he couldn't pay, the people who sold the damned stuff 
to him were asked him to do some dirty work for them... Laurent never 
told me what they really asked. As I told you, they considered I'd 
betrayed them because I'd got a good job and was working honestly. I 
don't blame them for that, though. When you live there, you can't 
understand why other people accept society as it is."

Lois left the restaurant a few minutes later, a perplexed frown on 
her face. Here was a story that didn't seem to make a lot of sense at 
first, but she had the feeling Max was right, and that there was more 
to that than the police would say. Those two men hadn't had 
accidents, they'd been murdered. The question was why, and by whom.

She hailed a cab to her hotel and discovered with dawning horror that 
it was even worse than she'd imagined. This place was absolutely 
soulless, and after having talked to Max, she was even more ashamed 
to be sleeping in such a room. It was four times bigger than his 
place, it sparkled everywhere, and the bed had silk sheets. Exactly 
like in her... no, Lex's penthouse.

She missed her small apartment in Carter Avenue. At least, she'd been 
able to be herself, there, the furniture mirroring her taste and 
personality. In Lex's apartment she hadn't chosen anything. All the 
furniture had already been there, and those antiques were not making 
her feel at home.

She took a disgusted look around and decided she'd spend as much time 
as she could outside this building... after she'd taken a much-needed 
hot bath. The trip to France had been exhausting and she needed water 
and soap to refresh her body and spirits.


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

Superman flew high above the streets of Paris, surveying the northern 
suburbs where a surge of crime had been noticed recently. After the 
French government had realised that the superhero's activities had 
narrowed from extending over Europe to a progressive settling in 
Paris, the Man of Steel had been requested to help the police on 
various occasions, mostly as a social arbitrator. It had taken some 
getting used to, but he now deeply enjoyed this responsibility, 
preferring this use of his celebrity for a prevention campaign to the 
use of his physical strength to arrest people who'd already 
transgressed into crime. So after the Home Secretary had asked for 
his help, he'd made a habit of checking on this neighbourhood every 
day, and he'd even managed to reduce the crime rate there, at the 
same time attracting the attention of the whole government to this 
under-privileged district. Maybe someday they'd give a part of their 
budget to improve the way of life of the inhabitants of these areas, 
instead of letting the police deal with the consequences of poverty 
and social injustice.

This daily patrol was a way for Clark to force himself to endure his 
life day after day and help him focus on something other than the 
depression eating him up. Being Superman wasn't as difficult as being 
Jerome Kane, and he felt more at ease in the Suit than in his casual 
clothes now. As Clark, he'd always considered that Superman was an 
unreal character. But Clark Kent didn't even exist any more, now that 
he'd left Metropolis. Taking on a new identity had seemed a good idea 
at first, a way for him to start afresh somewhere else, and most of 
all, a way to continue his good deeds as a superhero without 
attracting too much attention to him. If Clark Kent *and* Superman 
had left Metropolis for Paris, it would have been way too easy to 
link them together. However, Jerome Kane came from Kansas, not 
Metropolis; he'd never worked for the Daily Planet, and had only a 
couple of Superman interviews on his resume. He was Clark's chance to 
lead a normal life without giving up on his secret identity. But if 
Superman was a cut-out cartoon character, Jerome Kane was even worse; 
he had no past, no memories... and he didn't seem to have a future.

His only future now was Superman. When he helped other people it kept 
his mind off the wreck of his life and he felt less devastated. He 
focused on the task and saved as many lives as he could. Superman 
wasn't exactly the same any more, though. He was more distant, rarely 
stayed to talk to the victims, the emergency teams or the crowd of 
reporters after a rescue, preferring to fly away and spend more time 
using his enhanced abilities to help.

He couldn't prevent the occasional twinge of sorrow when he found 
himself in front of a small brunette who reminded him of Lois. When 
that happened, he generally lay awake in his bed for a good part of 
the night, staring at the ceiling and avoiding closing his eyes; he 
knew which image would fill his mind if he did. So after a while of 
tossing and turning and keeping his eyes open, he'd throw the quilt 
to one side, put on the Suit and fly off to the Antarctic, to that 
same place where he'd found a refuge after having witnessed Lois's 
acceptance of Luthor's proposal.

At first, he'd tried to hate her. He'd thought that maybe it would be 
easier to forget someone you hate than someone you love. But that 
hadn't been the case. On the contrary, it had been even worse. His 
shame over those thoughts overpowered his attempt to reject 
responsibility for the failure of their friendship and lay the blame 
on her. When he'd realised how unfair he was being to her, he'd been 
more in love than ever and this feeling kept deepening as the days 
passed. There was no way he could forget her, no way he couldn't be 
desperately in love with her. She was a part of him that he couldn't 
get rid of.

He'd also considered getting rid of his human identity altogether, 
believing that it might free him from her invisible grasp. But when 
the idea had occurred to him, he'd been reporting the increase in 
suicides among teenagers and young adults. Seeing the devastation in 
the eyes of their loved ones had made him aware that faking Jerome's 
disappearance would only serve to cause more pain to the people he'd 
met here in Paris, without helping him to forget his grief over what 
he'd lost. It would have been an illusion: his grief was all the same 
as Clark, Jerome, or Superman. So he'd given up on the idea, deciding 
he'd have to live with it and help as many people as he could, since 
it seemed to be the only reason why he'd been sent to Earth.

Looking down at the city below, Clark realised his course had drifted 
back to the east and he changed the direction of his flight, heading 
towards the Paris International building. The imposing construction 
was situated on a pleasant avenue, planted with trees, and close to 
the Place de la Bastille. A discreet alleyway allowed him to land 
nearby and to spin into his street clothes without being seen.

The clerk in the lobby greeted him but Clark answered with only a 
quick nod of acknowledgment. Back in the Planet days, he would have 
smiled and stopped at least to shake the man's hand and chat, but he 
didn't do that any more. He was doing his job and that was as much as 
people could get from him.

Most reporters were already working at their desks when he entered 
the newsroom. He was late, as usual. Bernard Guerand took a look at 
his watch and threw him a disapproving look, but Clark just shrugged, 
murmuring a half-hearted apology. He sat down at his desk and fired 
up his computer, retrieving his notes about the on-going story he was 
working on.

This was a strange case he'd been assigned to: the recent death of 
two homeless people, apparently from an overdose, if he went by what 
the police kept saying. But Clark already recognized the faint tingle 
of a big story under this mystery - Lois had taught him those signs. 
He put his notes in order and re-read the story he'd submitted to his 
editor yesterday. Bernard had put it on page three, the change of 
government and political issues having taken most of the first few 
pages of the newspaper, today.

Clark was getting used to rarely having front page stories. His 
editor thought he'd just started in the journalism business, and his 
performance in the newsroom hadn't helped in changing his boss's 
opinion. It was as if he'd left his skills behind him, back there, in 
the Planet's ruins. Had Perry White been aware of what kind of 
stories he was writing now, he'd have tried to knock some sense into 
him and forced him to find again the style that had made him a great 
reporter in the Planet days. But Perry had retired and wasn't even 
aware that he'd left the US, let alone was on the verge of being made 
redundant because his job mattered so little to him now that he'd 
become less and less good at what he was doing.

Clark had the feeling this story was different, though; maybe it 
would even be a chance for him to become the great reporter he used 
to be when he was Lois's partner. Bernard had assigned him to it 
because nobody thought there was something bigger than just another 
dramatic death among the underground's people, a tragic incident 
caused by the use of heroin, but it was the second similar case in 
three weeks, and his source had assured him he'd heard of a man who 
knew the victims and had linked both cases together. Clark's 
informant had promised to contact him as soon as he got more 
information on the subject matter, and he'd been positive that he 
would get some by the end of the day.

For now, Clark had to do some digging on his own. First things first, 
he needed to get to the police department and check if Inspector 
Lucas would agree to trade some information with him. He still had to 
be very careful; not reveal too much, or he'd have the police force 
on his heels and wouldn't be able to investigate without them knowing 
what he'd found and asking him not to print anything. He knew when he 
could or couldn't print information; it was part of his job as a 
reporter. Sometimes going into print could get in the way of the 
police's job. But here, he was pretty sure this wouldn't be the 
reason why the police didn't want to say anything: this case involved 
homeless people, and the population wasn't crazy about those. Most 
people feared them, believing they were alcohol-crazed men who would 
rob them at the first occasion. Nobody really cared about what had 
happened to those two men. They had no family, friends were very few 
on the street, and those who knew something didn't want to talk 
because of their fear of getting involved with the police and being 
accused of betrayal afterwards. Street law was hard. When you knew 
something, you kept it quiet if you wanted to avoid trouble.


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

Clark entered the police headquarters and was introduced into the 
inspector's office after only a few minutes' wait. He had his 
contacts at the precinct, so he hadn't been worried about being 
denied this interview. He had already worked with Lucas on several 
occasions and the inspector had proved himself a reliable source for 
his investigations.

The man rarely smiled and never laughed. The police force was his 
life, and he was aware of his responsibilities and completely devoted 
to his job. If Clark had found him strange at first, he'd learned to 
know him and had managed to get past that cold exterior. He had 
discovered that this man had been seeking refuge in his job after a 
failed marriage, and that his career was all he had to keep him on 
track. This knowledge had made him all the more likeable to Clark, 
and somehow a silent mutual respect had started to build between the 
two men.

"So, Kane, what brings you here?" Lucas began morosely once Clark had 
taken his place on an uncomfortable chair in front of the desk.

"I'd like to get some information about the man who was found dead 
yesterday, after an overdose. Jeremy Mellion."

"I already told the press what I know, I don't have anything to add," 
Lucas answered and briskly got up, opening the door and clearly 
showing Clark that the conversation was over.

"That's not what I meant," Clark replied calmly without moving from 
his chair. "I'd like to know what you didn't tell the other 
reporters. I'd like to know what the coroner said."

Lucas fixed him with a stern glare. "Listen, Kane, the forensic 
officer told me what I thought he'd tell me. There's nothing out of 
the ordinary about the guy's body, except the usual marks you can see 
on the body of a heroin-addicted man. The stomach contents didn't 
reveal any trace of heroin, which means the drug was injected. This 
was confirmed by the presence of a hypo near the body. Every analysis 
points to an overdose, and I have no idea what you're talking 
about... or trying to insinuate."

"I'm not insinuating anything. I'm just doing my job."

"So am I," the inspector replied coldly, motioning for Clark to leave.

"Could I see the forensic report, then?" Clark insisted, still not 
getting up. He'd known it would be difficult to make the police talk, 
but he certainly hadn't imagined he would have to struggle so much. 
One thing was for sure, it confirmed his suspicion that the press 
hadn't been told everything and he wouldn't give up now that he was 
getting close.

"No, it's in the police files and reporters don't have access to it."

"Another question. If there's nothing out of the ordinary with the 
body, then why are you keeping it in one of the police labs, exactly 
like you've kept the body of this other homeless man who died three 
weeks ago?" Clark played his last card, staring unblinkingly at the 
inspector.

It seemed to have the desired effect since Lucas closed the door and 
came back around his desk to sit in front of Clark. "How do you know 
that?" he asked him, taken aback that this young *junior* reporter 
would know things that should have remained under complete secrecy.

"I have sources. I know you've kept *both* Morteau's and Mellion's 
bodies," Clark simply replied, feeling more confident as he sensed he 
might learn something from the inspector, after all. "And I know the 
police wouldn't do such a thing unless there was something unclear."

"Okay, Kane, here's the deal. You tell me what you know, and I give 
you a quote for your story."

"I don't need a quote, Lucas, I may not be a senior journalist, but 
I'm still a good reporter, and I might know something you're 
missing," Clark sniped back, trying to remember everything Lois had 
taught him. She'd always been better than him in such situations, 
knowing what to say and how to say it to obtain information from 
uncooperative police officers. Exchanging information with them 
wasn't unusual to her, and he'd taken some lessons from working with 
her for a year. Right now he could see the wheels turn in Lucas's 
brain and he knew that he would soon concede something to him. The 
police seemed as clueless about all this as he was, and sharing what 
they knew might be the only way to solve the case.

"Okay," Lucas finally conceded through gritted teeth. "I admit you 
have a point. You tell me what your sources told you, and I'll get 
you a copy of the forensic report."

"That would mean this report has something interesting in it?" Clark 
enquired.

"We've been keeping the bodies in a police lab because another 
forensic scientist is examining them. We want a second opinion."

Clark raised an interested eyebrow at that. If the police needed a 
second opinion, it certainly meant something unexpected had been 
found on the bodies. "What was so strange about the results of the 
first autopsy?"

"No, Kane. We made a deal, I kept my side of the bargain, now it's your 
turn."

Clark knew when continuing to fight was hopeless; and this time, he 
knew that Lucas wouldn't say anything else before he'd told him 
exactly what he knew. "Okay. My source overheard a guy talking who 
was a friend of the two victims. It seems he doesn't believe for one 
second that Laurent Morteau and Jeremy Mellion would have OD'd; and 
he implied both incidents were linked."

"Have you talked to this friend of theirs?"

"Not yet. I'm tracking him down. My source said he just knew the 
guy's name was Max."

"Max? That's all you have? Not even a last name or an address or anything?"

"If I had such information I wouldn't be here," Clark replied. 
"Besides, I'm not sure the guy would talk. My source just happened to 
hear a conversation he shouldn't have. The man was talking on a pay 
phone and he was very nervous so my contact listened to what he was 
saying. When he realised that the guy was talking about a murder, he 
paid a girl to go and ask him his name. He just said 'Max' and was 
gone before she could ask him anything else."

"Okay, I could run a search on this Max person. You say that he was a 
friend of Mellion and Morteau, it's a good bet he lived on the street 
with them."

"I already thought about that; Max lived on the street for two years, 
but a couple of months ago, he suddenly disappeared. Seems he got a 
job and earns a living by himself, now. That's all I could get from 
the street people. They said they hadn't seen him in a while, except 
last week, when he had lunch with Mellion."

Lucas's head snapped up. "Then this guy is a potential suspect. I 
need to find him and interrogate him. Maybe he knows something we 
don't. Maybe he's the one who murdered Mellion and Morteau," he mused 
aloud. "Okay, Kane. You've played fair. I'll get you that report and 
you'll tell me what you think. If you get any other information, of 
course, you - "

"I'll call you, yes." Clark got up and shook the man's hand. He 
hadn't planned on giving Lucas so many leads but it had been his only 
hope of getting information that he wasn't normally allowed to 
access, and if it could help him get any further with the 
investigation and bring down the culprit, then it wasn't too bad.


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

Lois went down to the lobby of the Hotel de Crillon and bought a few 
newspapers; she wanted to check what the local reporters had deduced 
from the discovery of Jeremy Mellion's body. After rummaging through 
pages and pages of political issues, she finally found what she was 
looking for, lost between the obituaries and the human-interest 
stories. If it had ever been front-page news in any of those 
newspapers the previous day, there was no sign of it now, and most of 
the stories she managed to translate thanks to her dictionary brought 
the investigation to an end, concluding an overdose without even 
mentioning the possible link with Laurent Morteau's death three weeks 
before. She knew she was probably missing a lot of significant words 
even if she understood the general content, but two articles caught 
her attention. Both Brigitte Marchand from France News and Jerome 
Kane from the Paris International raised the question of the truth 
behind those tragic 'incidents' and didn't take the police's version 
entirely seriously, hinting that there was more than an average 
human-interest story behind the tragic death of the two homeless men.

Lois remembered Clark's taste for such stories. He'd always claimed 
you could find amazing things if you just took a look around you, at 
what people were doing, or how they were behaving. She'd laughed it 
off, of course, but she knew he was right. This was something she'd 
learned from working with him: what you saw wasn't always what you 
got.

Look at him: at first, she'd considered him a simple, nice, country 
guy, one who would be easy to handle, too much of a pushover to be a 
good journalist, not experienced enough to be worth working with; but 
she'd quickly realised she'd been wrong: Clark was strong, and not 
only physically; she'd found herself relying on him on several tough 
occasions, and he'd quickly become more than a colleague to her. How 
grateful she'd been to him when he'd opened his arms and house to her 
while Barbara Trevino had been trying to kill her, how trustworthy 
he'd proved himself when she'd been throwing herself at him after 
having been sprayed by the pheromone compound, how courageous he'd 
been during the hostage situation at the Planet...

... only a few weeks before he'd run out on her so cowardly.

But this last glimpse of him wasn't the Clark she'd known during the 
year he'd been her partner. Her Clark had always the other's best 
interests at heart, he preferred to give rather than take, and he'd 
taught her to find happiness in other people's eyes. He would have 
loved to write this story because of its human-interest, and he was 
the kind of person who'd have gone down in the subway to talk to 
those homeless people, offer them some coffee and an attentive ear, 
and got them to talk about Laurent and Jeremy.

She missed her partner.

She missed her best friend.

She didn't even know where he was; probably somewhere around 
Smallville; he'd always been very attached to his native Kansas. Lois 
had never taken the chance to go there and see if she could find him; 
she was too scared that he wouldn't want to talk to her and that she 
would have to tell him he'd been right when he'd warned her about 
Lex. He'd told her that she wouldn't be happy with him, that she 
would be just a part of the furniture, something nice to hang onto 
her husband's arm at boring parties.

And wasn't that what she'd become? She had to be honest: she hated 
her life with Lex. If she could go back and change the way her life 
had turned out, she'd never accept his proposal. But what was done 
was done, and Lois had lost all her friends. After all, she deserved 
what she was living now: she had rejected her best friend and married 
a man she didn't love, and it had been entirely *her* decision; 
taking the responsibility and facing the consequences without letting 
anyone else taking the blame was the least she could do. She had no 
right to complain, not when she'd had the choice.

Shaking her head and forcing herself out of this train of thought, 
she re-read the only two stories that actually revealed something 
about those homeless guys. Brigitte Marchand had written it was the 
second of such 'accidents' in three weeks, clearly suggesting there 
was a link between the two events. As for Jerome Kane, he explained 
that the police refused to let the press in on anything about the 
autopsies performed on the two bodies, and complained that no-one 
cared enough about such people to find out what had really happened 
to them. People who were easy targets for criminals who used them 
without any scruples before getting rid of them, one way or another. 
It was obvious he wanted to dig deeper and find what had really 
happened to those two men.

So she wasn't the only one onto this investigation, and those two 
reporters had probably a major advantage on her considering they had 
sources and contacts here in Paris. Lois only had Max. Oh, he was 
certainly a major ally and knew some things no one else did, but he 
couldn't introduce her to the street circle, where he had very few 
acquaintances, let alone the underworld, which he'd avoided all 
along. Or at least, he hadn't mentioned any contact there, Lois 
reflected; that didn't mean he couldn't help her. She'd call him, try 
to pry some more information from him, or at least get a lead.

But first, she had to do something she'd dreaded ever since she'd set 
foot on the Parisian ground. She reached for her cell phone and hit a 
pre-dialled number, barely able to contain the shiver that coursed 
through her spine as she waited for someone to pick up the receiver.

"Lex Luthor's office," a female voice chimed in cheerfully.

"Hi," Lois said nervously, "this is Ms Luthor, I'd like to speak to 
my husband, please." Lois inwardly rolled her eyes; she couldn't 
believe that this young woman had probably more occasions to speak to 
Lex than herself and that she had to get past her to actually reach 
someone who was supposed to live with her.

"Wait a minute, Mrs Luthor, I'll see if Mr Luthor is available."

Available?!

Lois shook her head as she was put on hold and heard the first notes 
of Vivaldi's Four Seasons through the phone line. She wondered why 
she didn't simply hang up and let her *unavailable* husband think 
what he wanted. She knew he'd be furious to know she'd gone to Europe 
without warning him, not to mention it would probably cost David his 
job; which was why she had to wait and talk to him: she'd try to 
convince Lex that she was the one who'd asked for this investigation. 
She could at least save Dave's job, even if she was well aware the 
young editor would never get higher in the LNN hierarchy since he 
would be in the boss's bad books from now on; but keeping Lex in the 
dark for too long as to where she was might not be a good way to calm 
his anger against David... or even herself. She wasn't afraid of Lex, 
she knew he wouldn't do anything to her. But he hated being left out 
of anything regarding her job, and letting him keep tabs on her 
seemed to be the best way to calm him down.

"Mrs Luthor?" The female voice got Lois out of her musings. "Mr 
Luthor is in the middle of a meeting right now, shall I take a 
message?"

"No, that won't be necessary, thank you." Lois slammed her cell phone 
shut, sighing deeply to retain her anger.

Anger? Or sadness? She couldn't tell. After all those months, she 
didn't know what to think any more, or whether to cry or laugh.

'The only thing you have to know about me is that I love you,' he'd 
told her when he'd first proposed to her.

Ha! What a joke! How could she ever have fallen for his sweet talk 
and promises? How could she ever have believed for one second that 
he'd respect their wedding vows and be there for her? No, Lex Luthor 
didn't have time for her, he was *far* too busy to stoop to the 
terrestrial delights offered by marital life.

That was a relief, in a way: she never felt like talking to him; it 
wasn't as if they had anything in common andcould find a conversation 
that would carry them to the wee hours of the morning, like it always 
had been the case with... Clark. Why was it that she kept thinking 
about her former partner like that? She'd never quite managed to put 
him behind her, to tell herself he wasn't worth thinking about and 
that she had another life now. Another life, that was way behind the 
truth. A life where Lois Lane didn't have the right to be herself, a 
place where Lois Lane simply didn't exist. No, she was Ms Luthor, 
now, or *Lois* Luthor if she was lucky. She missed Lois Lane. She'd 
told her colleagues at work many times that she wanted to be called 
by the name that had made her who she was, only to spot the byline 
with her husband's name each time she made a report on LNN. They'd 
never understood that it wasn't the name of her husband she was 
talking about, but the name that was on her byline back at the Daily 
Planet. No, they believed she was referring to her job at LNN. She 
felt close to sick inside when she realised that they weren't 
completely wrong: if she hadn't married Lex, she wouldn't work for 
his TV network, but she would be with her friends: Perry, Jimmy... 
and Clark.

It was Lois *Lane* who was thinking about her partner, the Lois Lane 
who was here in Paris, the woman who had been emotionally gagged for 
the past six months and who was finally resurfacing thanks to this 
investigation where she was being herself, away from her luxurious 
office at LNN and the constant security guards who accompanied her 
almost everywhere and prevented her from working the way she'd always 
loved. An investigative reporter, that's what she used to be, and 
that's what she wanted to be right now.

She would solve this murder case, prove that Lois Lane was still the 
best, even without Perry White's support, she thought while dialling 
Max's number. She'd make a difference, exactly like she used to do 
less than a year ago.

The phone call to Maxime Bonneau left her with a surprised frown on 
her face. He'd been breathless when he'd picked up and he'd sounded 
very nervous. She'd tried to figure out what was wrong but he hadn't 
wanted to reveal anything, asking her to come to his place instead. 
 From his voice and insistence, she could tell he was completely 
panicked. Throwing a couple of coins on the counter, she exited the 
Crillon's lobby and headed out towards the nearest subway station.


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

"Mr Bonneau? Um... Max? It's me, Lois." Lois knocked on the door of 
her contact's apartment, still trying to make sense of his earlier 
reaction on the phone. When she'd talked to him that morning, he'd 
been open, friendly, and everything but panicked. But here, it was as 
if he was scared of something.

She knocked again. "Max?" she repeated, a little louder.

He was home, that was for sure; he'd asked her to come, after all. 
Lois heard weird noises of commotion inside before the door opened 
slightly, a dishevelled face appearing in its edge. The hunted look 
on his face quickly got replaced by an expression of recognition, and 
he swiftly ushered her inside, looking around the corridor to make 
sure nobody had seen her enter.

Lois was taken aback by her source's behaviour and sat on the couch, 
staring questioningly at him and waiting for him to give her an 
explanation.

"I got threatened," Max finally whispered. "Someone slid a note under 
my door a couple of hours ago, but by the time I saw it, the person 
who did it had long gone. The message said there was some stuff about 
me that 'displeased' some people, and that it was known that I had 
contacts with people I shouldn't. Anyway, it seemed to imply that I 
knew a lot of things about Laurent and Jeremy, and that I was 
beginning to be annoying. You know what that means?"

"Max, you should go to the police."

"I can't!" he said frantically.

"But they'd protect you. In the US we have this program, the witness 
protection program, and I suppose something similar exists here..."

"I'm not a witness. I didn't see what happened to them. I just 
happened to know them."

"But you know the accidents were no accidents," Lois pointed out. 
"Why don't you want to share your information with the police?"

"I don't trust those guys. They don't care about homeless people."

"That's not true, most policemen I know are doing a great job."

"Lois, there's something you should know about me. I've been part of 
the street people, and even if I never really got involved with the 
underworld, I wasn't always right with the law, and they would 
probably lock me away if they found out. Not to mention a couple of 
friends of mine back there."

"Max, you didn't kill anybody?" Lois enquired worriedly.

"No! Never. But... I did some things I'm not very proud of, and I 
don't want the police to find out. I have a good job, now, and I'd 
lose it if it were known that I'd been on the street before."

"Okay, I understand, believe me, I do, but it won't be any better if 
you get yourself killed. At least I can help you, but don't you know 
other people you trust over here? People who could protect you as 
well?"

"I don't trust anyone. The only people I trusted were Laurent and 
Jeremy, and now they're dead. I don't even know why they got killed, 
although I'm pretty sure it's no ordinary murder. It *has* to have 
something to do with a huge conspiracy. They knew something they 
weren't allowed to know."

"Do you think it's possible that someone asked them to do a dirty job 
and killed them afterwards so that they wouldn't talk?"

Max pondered her question for a few seconds before he nodded slowly.

"Okay, I'm going to check if there were murders or robberies or even 
muggings in Paris for, say, the last two months. Meanwhile, you stay 
here and be careful, okay? I'll call you as soon as I find something, 
and then we'll try to figure out if Laurent and Jeremy have an alibi 
for each of those crimes or if they might be involved in something 
murky."


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

Clark took a look at the files the messenger had just brought him. 
The first part of the reports was anything but strange. Both Laurent 
Morteau and Jeremy Mellion presented all the characteristics of adult 
males who'd succumbed to a lethal amount of morphine or heroin in 
their blood. But what attracted Clark's attention was that the 
analysis of the tissues surrounding the injection mark hadn't 
revealed the presence of any of those substances, as if those men 
hadn't ever consumed any of those drugs. Whatever had killed Morteau 
and Mellion wasn't the heroin contained in the syringe that had been 
found near each of their body. In both cases, the report concluded to 
a pulmonary oedema characterised by the flooding of the lungs with 
fluid. Traces of partly dried oedema fluid had been oozing from their 
nostrils and mouths, and the diagnosis had only been confirmed by the 
opening of the upper chest. The absence of heroin wasn't entirely 
surprising in this case. Many medical reports had falsely labelled 
those kinds of death 'overdose' when the cause was entirely 
different, as years of research had proved. In such cases, the death 
was caused by other substances, or a mixture in which heroin was the 
smallest component.

The second part of the autopsy had consisted of a search for the 
mysterious component that had caused the death of those young men. 
Then had come the problem. Even with the important amount of alcohol 
found in Mellion's blood, the possibility was out since there was no 
heroin mixed with it, which could have caused the oedema in that 
case. Not to mention that Morteau's blood hadn't contained any 
alcohol. As for the other usual tests, none of them had engendered 
the discovery of any of the usual substances that could possibly 
cause such a problem.

On the other hand, the reports explained that the forensic officer 
who'd performed both autopsies had found an abnormal amount of an 
unknown substance in both men's blood. This substance, christened 
U209 by the medical examiner's office, seemed to have provoked 
clinical death, causing first a heart attack that seemed to be the 
primal cause of the oedema.

So it looked like what had been set to look like an overdose was in 
fact a murder, and apparently with a rather unusual technique. What 
puzzled Clark the most was the presence of this unknown substance in 
both Morteau and Mellion's blood. The analysis of the hypodermic 
which had been found beside their bodies, on the other hand, showed 
definite traces of heroin, which all pointed to a set up.

His instinct had been right, there was something bigger than everyone 
thought about this case. But why would someone go through all this 
trouble to disguise a murder? Of course, the first autopsy hadn't 
detected it, but a further check had revealed the presence of this 
unknown substance. Had the murderer thought that no real examination 
would be performed? Or had he been unaware that U209 would be 
detectable? Or was it some kind of signature of the murders, in which 
case, was this person a maniac, or a serial killer? And moreover, 
what was this substance and what was its exact use?

A quick call to the medical centre that had performed those analysis 
revealed itself fruitless, as Clark was told that the information he 
was asking for was classified as confidential, not to mention they - 
of course - claimed they didn't have anyone with those names in their 
cold chambers.

But even if he hadn't been able to get further information about 
U209, as a whole the document he'd just read was confirming each and 
every one of this suspicions. Particularly the fact that both 
homeless men had been killed in the exact same way, and not by heroin.

The ringing of his phone distracted him out of his musings and he 
answered it absently.

"Kane? It's Nermont. I've found what you asked for."

That got Clark's attention. His source was certainly referring to the 
man who knew the victims. "So? Did you find out who Max is?"

"Yeah, kinda. I mean, I got you his complete name. Maxime Bonneau. No 
address, though."

"Okay, just call me if you get your hands on something else." Clark 
scribbled the name on his notepad, hung up the phone and jumped to 
his feet. Now he had a starting point to search for the man. 
"Michael?" he called out to one of the assistant researchers. 
"Michael, can you access the city's employment data base?" At the nod 
of the young man he went on, "Okay, try all the matches you can find 
for Maxime Bonneau in the last two years. I want to know where he 
works and if you can find it, a personal address would be helpful. 
Put this on top of your priority list, please."

"Okay, Jerome, right on it." Michael grabbed the note from Clark's 
hand and trotted away to his desk.

Clark was about to sit back in his chair when his superhearing picked 
up the sound of a police radio requiring the presence of a team at 
one of the towers of La Defense: a man had jumped out of a window. 
Looking carefully around him to make sure no-one was observing him 
too closely, he made a dash for the storage room at the back of the 
newsroom, opened the window, and launched himself into the air, 
changing into the Suit when airborne.


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

Lois got out of the precinct with a pack of police reports in her 
bag. It hadn't been too difficult to obtain some of the information 
she needed: the police officer had been co-operative enough to give 
her the copies of all the mugging and robberies reports. But he'd 
stubbornly refused to give her anything that pertained to the 
murders, referring to procedure and confidentiality, which were just 
silly details as far as Lois was concerned.

She sighed inwardly as she recalled the officer's stubbornness; 
sometimes she wondered what mattered most to these people - the admin 
details or the resolution of the case. Of course, since they seemed 
to imply Morteau and Mellion hadn't been murdered, they probably 
found it stupid, if not annoying, that an American TV network sent 
one of its reporters to the scene. Lois, however, wasn't one to 
easily give up. If the police didn't want to co-operate, she'd find 
another way to be informed of any unresolved murder committed in the 
last few months; and what better information source than the local 
newspapers? Back at the Planet, she'd found herself looking through 
the old editions of the newspaper in the Morgue many times, and she 
supposed that the Parisian newspapers had some similar archives. 
Retrieving the two articles that had attracted her attention this 
morning, she noted that the Paris International's offices were only a 
couple of blocks away from here. Hopefully she'd be granted access to 
the documentation centre.

She reached the building within a few minutes and showed her press 
pass to the clerk in the lobby. After gathering the small amount of 
French she knew to explain her request, she was directed to the 
documentation room, where her ID was checked again before a 
friendly-looking man extended a hand towards her and told her he'd 
help her in her research. She briefly considered refusing his help, 
her old reflexes to avoid being scooped by a rival taking the better 
of her for a short moment, but she finally reasoned that the 
newspaper was already doing her a big favour by allowing her to 
consult its old editions, and she'd better not push it too much. 
Besides, what was there to fear for an international TV network when 
compared to a Parisian paper?

So she smiled politely at the man and shook the hand he was offering 
and presented her press pass again.

"Lois Luthor, Luthor News Network," the man read aloud with a 
surprised note creeping into his voice.

Lois chose not to comment; she generally blanked out her feelings 
when confronted with a raised eyebrow or anything of the sort upon 
introducing herself. The press pass furnished by LNN gave her marital 
name and there was nothing she'd been able to do about it. She'd 
finally given up on even trying to fight against the reaction people 
had when they learned who she was.

"Nice to meet you, Ms Luthor," the older man said with an open smile. 
"I'm Marc Falineau. I'm responsible for the Paris International's 
archives. Excuse my curiosity, but what brings an American reporter 
here to Paris?" he enquired. "Hot investigation?"

"Maybe," Lois answered evasively. "Mr Falineau, I'd like to take a 
look at the newspapers published in the last three months, please."

"Last three months, okay, just sit here and I'll get them for you in a minute."

Lois watched him disappear behind one of the shelves supporting years 
of archives and various publications and sat at one of the large 
tables nearby. This place didn't look anything like the Planet's 
Morgue, which she recalled to be much darker and less organised. Back 
there, no researcher was there to help the reporters in their search, 
anyway. Or to get in their way, she thought wryly. Shame that this Mr 
Falineau wouldn't let her snoop around by herself, but on the other 
hand, he might be useful and spare her some boring time trying to 
work out the archive's classification.

"Do you want to see something specifically?" a voice called from 
behind a pile of old magazines.

"Uh... no, just... just the editions of the last three months."

"Ms Luthor, it would really help if you told me what you're looking 
for. International news? Local events? Cultural meetings?" Falineau 
finally reappeared and deposited a large box on the table in front of 
Lois. "It will take you an awfully long time to go through all those 
newspapers. My job is to help the reporters find their way through 
all this mess, you know."

Lois hesitated. She wasn't used to working like this, but maybe this 
man could save her a lot of time and effort; she wasn't particularly 
keen on deciphering the headlines with the constant help of her 
dictionary, and even with it she might miss something important, she 
mused as the man took a place beside her and emptied the box in front 
of them.

"So, what are we looking for?"

"I'd like to know about all the murders that recently happened here 
in Paris or in the suburbs, possibly unresolved or unusual cases," 
Lois explained.

Falineau lightly touched her arm. "Hey, don't be so nervous, I'm not 
trying to steal a scoop or anything, here."

"I didn't know it was that obvious." Lois smiled shyly at his amused 
expression.

"As a matter of fact, I don't belong to the newsroom upstairs, so I 
couldn't write the storyeven if I wanted to," he went on. "I'm just 
surprised because it's not very often that we have foreign reporters 
asking for information here, except when there's a bombing or an 
hostage situation, of course. But nothing like that happened lately, 
and I can't think about anything that would require your presence 
here. Not that I'm complaining," he hastily added, "but I'm just 
wondering."

Lois took pity of the man's blatant curiosity. "Murder case," she 
whispered with a wink before taking hold of the first pile of 
newspapers.


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

"Michel Deslauriers, 56 years old, he is - or was - the 
vice-president of Timon Industries," Lucas explained to Superman 
while the coroner took care of the man's body. "Seems like he thought 
he could fly and wanted to practice his theory from his office. 18 
storeys didn't give him much chance to survive."

"Any witnesses?" Superman enquired, ignoring the inspector's bleak 
attempt at humour.

"Just a couple of tourists; they're being questioned by one of my men 
right now. Afraid they don't know much, though. They're more shocked 
than anything, and I guess they'd rather see a shrink right now than 
have someone from the police force asking all sorts of questions 
about what happened and how it happened."

"And were you able to determine a reason for his suicide?"

"No, and that's what doesn't make sense in this incident. Timon 
Industries specialise in the import-export of chemicals, and they're 
one of the wealthiest firms here in Paris. They have big laboratories 
in the suburbs, and have recently developed their research 
department. The fact they have their administrative offices here in 
La Defense is proof, if needed, of their economic success. They made 
some of the best profits of any French firm last year, and the price 
of their shares keep increasing at the stock exchange, from what one 
of the employees told me. No financial difficulties, no tax 
appraisal, no lay-offs... really nothing that could have pushed 
Deslauriers over the edge. I'll check everything with Derval, the 
head of Timon Industries, but he's in the Netherlands right now and 
he won't be back before Monday. In any case, doesn't seem like there 
was any kind of professional pressure on Deslauriers."

"And on a personal level?"

"Not sure about that yet, but the employees we questioned were 
sceptical about any personal problem. He got along with his wife, his 
children are succeeding in their studies, no recent deaths around 
him... we're reaching a dead end, here."

"Do you want me to take a look at his office, Lucas?"

"Yeah, that'd be helpful, Superman. I was hoping you'd come, 
actually, because this suicide sounds too much like a perfect murder 
for my taste. So if you could try to spot fingerprints or any unusual 
thing in his office with that vision gizmo of yours, that could help 
us find who pushed him. Figuratively speaking, of course."


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

Clark LAN-ed his story about Michel Deslauriers to Bernard Guerand 
and relaxed a bit in his chair. He'd searched through the man's 
office at superspeed without being able to find anything that could 
remotely help Lucas in his investigation. Yet he was convinced this 
wasn't an ordinary suicide either. A man didn't jump out a window 
without any reason, especially when the firm he was responsible for 
made such high profits. No, there was something else behind this, he 
agreed with Lucas. The inspector had set up an inquiry and didn't 
seem ready to close the case and give up on the murder theory, at 
least until the reason for Deslauriers's desperate action was known; 
Superman had informed him that he'd help as much as he could to find 
out the truth, but so far he didn't see what could possibly give a 
serious lead to the police. The questioning of Pierre Derval would 
hopefully shed some light on this suicide, but they had to wait till 
the man was back from his business trip to interrogate him.

Clark had already heard of the man as one of the business sharks here 
in France; he was ready to step on anyone's toes to get what he 
wanted, and he didn't mind trespassing the boundaries of legality to 
make more money. Nothing could stop him from making more profits and 
having the shares of his firm increase. If necessary, he wouldn't 
mind cutting the jobs of half his employees without decent financial 
compensation. One of Clark's first stories for the Paris 
International had dealt with the threat of the employees to go on 
strike when their boss had started to talk about paying them partly 
with shares instead of their usual wage. The trade unions had finally 
won their claim and Derval had been forced to refute any rumour that 
he wanted to carry on with his intention regardless of the employees' 
rights.

The tension between the employer and the trade unions had eventually 
died down and the firm's high profits had reassured everyone that no 
redundancies were planned in the near future. The arrival of Michel 
Deslauriers as a vice-president of the company had confirmed Derval's 
efforts to be trusted by his working staff, since the man had an 
opposite reputation to the president's and was famous for his 
diplomatic agreements with the unions.

Someone cleared their throat beside him and Clark looked up at 
Michael, whose help he'd asked for his current investigation about 
the homeless people's murders. The young assistant researcher 
explained he'd managed to get hold of the name of the private 
nightclub where Maxime Bonneau worked as a security guard. A few 
minutes and phone calls later, Clark had a personal address for the 
man and was flying towards the Place d'Italie.

He easily found Bonneau's apartment and firmly knocked on the door. A 
distraught-looking man warily opened, brandishing a knife towards the 
intruder. Clark held up his hands in surrender, seeing in the man's 
eyes that he was probably more scared than anything else.

"I'm not here to hurt you, Mr Bonneau. My name is Jerome Kane and I'm 
a reporter for..."

"For the Paris International, yeah, I've seen your name in this paper 
a couple of times, I think." That seemed to calm him down for a few 
seconds, but all of a sudden he was threatening Clark with his weapon 
again. "How did you find me? Who sent you? What do you want from me?"

Clark retrieved his press pass, careful not to frighten the man with 
sudden moves, and handed it to him. "I'm just here to ask you a 
couple of questions about the murder of two people you probably knew 
from your years in the street. Laurent Morteau and Jeremy Mellion," 
he explained while Bonneau warily studied his ID.

Max suddenly became very pale and dropped his knife. He opened the 
door and motioned for Clark to get inside. "I knew I shouldn't have 
talked to that reporter, she's just too nosy and she talked to you."

"I didn't get this information from another reporter, Mr Bonneau. I 
found it by myself. But the police will soon find you and they'll 
have a few questions for you, too."

At the mention of the police, Max made a run for the door, but Clark 
was quicker and grabbed his collar. "Oh, no, you don't. From the way 
you greeted me, it seems you're afraid of something. Do the murderers 
want to kill you?"

"You're working for them, is that right?" Max asked, taking a step backwards.

"No, I just want to help you," Clark said in the most reassuring tone 
he could muster.

"Why would you want to help? Why do you care?"

"Because I believe that the truth has to be told, and I'm positive 
Morteau and Mellion didn't die from an ordinary overdose."

Max sighed, slightly reassured. "Okay... I don't trust a lot of 
reporters, but my best friend is one, so I guess you're not always 
stupid. I know the newspaper you work for, and it's a serious one. 
You wouldn't publish things that would put me in danger, would you?" 
he asked, eyeing Clark suspiciously.

"Of course not. Our conversation will stay off the record if you prefer."

"Okay. Then let me tell you the whole story."


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

It was already dark outside when Lois exited the Paris 
International's offices, another pile of photocopies in her bag; Marc 
Falineau had been kind enough to help her throughout the whole 
research process and miraculously he hadn't asked too many questions. 
He was probably used to working with reporters who jealously 
preserved their leads and sources, she supposed. In any case, he'd 
been very helpful, retrieving every story that dealt with a murder 
for the past three months and handing them to her so that she could 
see for herself if it corresponded to what she was looking for. 
Within two hours, they'd gone over all the editions of the newspaper 
and Lois had perused all the unresolved murders that had taken place 
in Paris or the neighbourhood.

However, she couldn't say she was aware of the details of each case, 
she reasoned, considering she hadn't been able to translate most of 
those stories; she'd have to trust Max to understand if they were 
referring to something in which Laurent Morteau or Jeremy Mellion had 
taken part. She wished she'd paid better attention to her high school 
classes. That would come in handy right now, and she wouldn't have to 
rely on her source to speed up her investigation.

Clark knew some French: she'd already heard him speak it on the 
phone, back at the time when she was observing him very closely. 
She'd almost spied on him, actually, but it had given her a glimpse 
into the exotic side of her partner's personality, such as his 
fluency in several foreign languages. She'd asked him about it and 
he'd explained he'd travelled around the world before coming to 
Metropolis. She'd been fascinated to hear about her partner's trips 
and her opinion of him had grown to learn about his range of 
experience with other cultures. She shook her head as she recalled 
her amazed reaction at the discovery. Why was it so surprising that 
her partner didn't match the stereotypes she'd labelled him with when 
she'd first met him? Why had she wondered what he was doing in one of 
the greatest newsrooms in the world? Why hadn't she realised sooner 
that he meant much more to her than a simple work colleague? Why had 
she been so blind to believe he considered her his best friend?

Pushing away the sudden rush of anger that threatened to take hold of 
her, she dialled Max's number on her cell phone. Now wasn't the time 
to dwell on her past; it was much more productive to work on her 
investigation, and right now she needed to see her source so that he 
could confirm if Morteau or Mellion had had a hand in one of those 
murders.


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

Max was reaching the end of his story about his homeless friends when 
his phone rang. Clark was surprised to hear him speak English with 
the person on the other end of the line, and even more surprised when 
he told this person to meet him at a café in the Nineteenth 
Arrondissement.

"Come on, I want you to meet someone," Max said when he hung up.

"Who was that?"

"The person I want you to meet: another reporter who is working on 
the case, and the only person I gave information to. I think you 
could use each other's skills to work on this."

"I don't think it's such a good idea."

"Why's that, Kane? Can't bear to have a partner?"

Clark got a sad and distant look on his face. The only partner he 
would ever want to work with was on the other side of the Atlantic, 
working for a TV network. He should have known she wasn't meant to be 
with him when he'd seen her disgusted reaction at Perry teaming them 
up. Even if she'd seemed to get used to it and even appreciated it 
afterwards, that hadn't prevented her from going down her path 
*without* him.

"Hey... Kane, did I say something wrong?"

"No..." Clark said reluctantly, realising he had been silent for the 
last couple of minutes. "I was just... thinking. Let's go, then."


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

Lois found a secluded booth at the back of the cafe that her source 
had suggested would be rather quiet at this late hour. At least 
they'd be able to talk without worrying about prying ears, she 
thought, as she took a sip of her coffee. Max had insisted on seeing 
her as soon as possible because he wanted her to meet someone that he 
thought might help her in her investigation; probably one of his 
former street pals, she supposed. Hopefully, it was someone who'd 
have known Morteau and Mellion and would give her a serious lead to 
follow. She only hoped he wouldn't bring the murderer himself, but 
she trusted Max and her instinct told her he was motivated to find 
the truth and bring down the person who'd killed his friends. 
Whatever he had done in the past to survive against all odds, Lois 
had quickly understood that he was now seeking redemption. Not to 
mention that the fear she'd seen in his eyes earlier in the day was 
anything but feigned; whether he was in real danger or not, she 
couldn't tell, but she didn't want to take the risk, and therefore 
she had told him to keep a low profile for a time. At least if he was 
bringing someone here to the cafe it meant he wasn't alone, but that 
reassured her only slightly.

She didn't like knowing that she was putting a source at risk for the 
sake of an investigation, no matter how important it was. Everything 
she'd encountered about this case lead to one conclusion: the person 
who'd killed those men - since she was now convinced the two murders 
were linked - had definitely dispensed a lot of energy into hiding 
the real circumstances of their death, it seemed. But that motivated 
her even more to dig into the depths of this mystery.

She finally allowed herself to relax in her seat and retrieved the 
latest edition of the Paris International that she'd bought on her 
way to the cafe. A quick scan of the first pages didn't grab her 
attention, the editor still affording major interest to the recent 
change of government, a subject that didn't hold much interest for 
Lois. The whole page devoted to the latest rates in the stock 
exchange was even worse. She smiled inwardly as she remembered the 
shocked glance that Roy, the Planet's economy editorialist, had 
thrown at her when the very young and inexperienced reporter she was 
five years ago had told him she didn't give a damn about shares and 
holdings. Never mind those unexciting pages in a paper, they didn't 
make a difference to anyone. The *real* reporting job was to go hit 
the streets and bring down criminals and murderers. *That* was 
useful. She shook her head as she recalled how Roy had always avoided 
any confrontation with her after she'd embarked upon an explanation 
why she was right and he was wrong. It was around that time that her 
colleagues had invented that 'Mad Dog Lane' nickname she'd had to 
bear throughout her years of working at the Planet. She smiled sadly 
as she realised that she missed that name, even if she'd always 
denied liking it when it was mentioned. But at least it had meant she 
was respected for what she did and who she was.

Her eyes suddenly fell on a sidebar that made her sit straighter. It 
was entitled 'Another Superman Appearance' and was accompanied by a 
picture of the superhero talking with a policeman. From the little 
she understood, the reporter was explaining that Superman seemed to 
have settled in Paris after a few months of wandering around Europe 
and accomplishing an impressive number of rescues.

Lois's mind wandered back to the last night that she'd talked to 
Superman, when she'd felt so humiliated and rejected. Even now, after 
months of reflecting on his behaviour that night in her apartment, 
she couldn't come up with a plausible reason for such coldness from 
him. He'd been harsh with her, and what hurt so much was to realise 
that she'd almost implied the major changes in her life would be the 
result of his response.

'I've a lot of changes going on in my life... and I just want to make 
the right decisions... and I can't do that until I know... how you 
feel,' she'd told him.

Forcing her way with him, almost blackmailing him with his feelings, 
that's what she'd been trying to do. And that was what made her feel 
so ashamed and humiliated. Oh, Superman's lead-lined robe comment had 
hurt all right, but it was nothing compared to the guilt she'd felt 
when she'd recognised how stupidly she'd behaved in front of a man 
she pretended to love.

But she hadn't been pretending; she'd been in love with him. Whatever 
he'd said about her not knowing everything about him, her feelings 
for him had been real. But he was right, she knew very little about 
him, and his rejection had at least helped her to understand his 
point. She didn't know who he was, nor if he had a name other than 
the one she'd given him, nor why his Suit had a S embroidered on it. 
She didn't even know if it was a S, actually. Maybe it was a weird 
symbol they had on Krypton for men who flew and wore tights. She 
grinned. Those tights of his had made quite an impression on her when 
she'd first met them... um... *him*.

But she wasn't in love with the tights; she was in love with the man 
beneath. Or had been. She didn't know any more what she felt for a 
man she hadn't seen in months. For a man who'd hurt her in a way she 
never thought he would. But she was sure she hadn't ever been 
attracted to Superman's good looks only; no, there was more than that 
to her feelings. She loved his innate goodness, his gentle manners, 
his tenderness. He was the strongest man on Earth; able to bend steel 
with his bare hands and lift space stations, yet his gestures with 
her had always been the sweetest of touches and caresses.

And he'd told her he loved her. Once. Oh, of course, he was under the 
spell of a pheromone compound, but that wasn't an excuse. She'd known 
he harboured strong feelings for her from the moment she'd talked to 
him in Clark's apartment, shortly after their first meeting, and he'd 
assured her she'd always be special to him.

'You're the only woman who ever... interviewed me,' he'd said.

His hesitation hadn't been lost on her, and she'd understood what lay behind.

Then, when she'd been trapped in a vault that same day, her breathing 
already laboured from the lack of air, and he'd burst through the 
wall to save her, his attitude had been enough for her to know that 
he felt more than a simple physical attraction to her. He'd hugged 
her tightly, and as she'd gone limp in his arms, she'd noticed 
something in his gaze that she hadn't thought he was capable of: deep 
emotion. A blend of passion, love and fear.

He'd been afraid, she realised. From the beginning, he'd been afraid 
of their relationship, and prying a decision out of him had been the 
worst thing to do.

But why was he afraid? Was a relationship with Lois Lane such a scary 
prospect for the strongest man on Earth to consider? What was wrong 
with her? What was he afraid of? Did he think she could hurt him? How 
could she hurt Superman?

<Ha! As if you didn't know that physical strength has nothing to do 
with emotions,> a sarcastic inner voice chimed in.

And the voice had a point: her previous experiences had taught her 
that much: when feelings were involved, then the hurt was always 
lurking in the background, waiting to launch itself at you, waiting 
for you to let down your guard, so that it could attack you even more 
viciously. It didn't matter how strong you were, you were always more 
vulnerable when you were in love.

That was what Clark had told her on their first assignment together, 
as an attempt at comforting her when she'd been pouring out her heart 
to him.

'We're only human,' she'd answered at that time, but she now realised 
that human or not, love and vulnerability always worked together. 
Understanding the other's needs, sharing everything with them, 
compromising to try and reach an uncertain happiness, a thin balance 
that could be the strongest or the most fragile link.

And Superman seemed to have been aware of this. Had he had to suffer 
through this in the past? Somehow, she doubted he'd been very 
experienced with women. She didn't exactly know why, considering how 
good looking and kind he was, but she just got the impression that 
he'd always avoided too close relationships with anyone.

Did he have friends when he was in Metropolis? Well he'd had her... 
and Clark. He'd never mentioned anyone else, though. And if he'd felt 
close enough to Clark and her, he wouldn't have left.

Unless...

Unless nothing kept him in Metropolis any more. Clark had left 
without letting anyone in on where he was going, and probably even 
Superman didn't know where he was now. And she'd married another man 
and got on with her life. If he'd had feelings for her, he certainly 
would have been hurt that she hadn't waited for him.

<But he didn't ask me to wait!> she wanted to scream.

<Oh sure he did,> the inner voice replied almost immediately. He'd 
said there were things about him she may never know. His statement 
certainly hadn't been definitive, and it had seemed to imply that he 
still harboured the hope that she'd know those 'things' someday. But, 
being Lois Lane, she'd been eager and unthinking, and she hadn't been 
patient.

Assuming there had been something to be patient for, that is. What 
was she supposed to wait for? Wait for him to be more confident with 
her? Wait for him to be sure he was in love? Wait for him to know 
what their relationship would bring him?

<Get back to Earth, Lois, what could you have given him that he 
didn't already have?>

She couldn't give an answer to that one. Talk about out of her 
league, she chuckled humourlessly. Superman. She'd wanted *Superman* 
to love her. And instead of getting out of her girlish fantasies, 
she'd found herself believing that there was a chance for them.

On the other hand, he hadn't ever tried to keep his distance from 
her, on the contrary taking advantage of her always-open window to 
fly by from time to time. He never stayed long, though, and they 
didn't talk much on those occasions... actually, most of his visits 
were related to an imminent danger for her. She'd always found this 
protective behaviour very irritating from other men, but with him, it 
was different. It meant he cared, and it made her feel special, 
particularly when his reassuring words couldn't hide the huskiness in 
his voice and the warmth of his gaze.

Sometimes, she'd felt confident enough to reach out and touch his 
arm, or even give him a peck on the cheek before he flew off, a 
couple of times a more significant embrace, but they'd never gone 
beyond this stage, and he'd never been the one to take the 
initiative. Even when sprayed with pheromones, he hadn't been the one 
to make the first move and kiss her. Which meant... which meant she'd 
been taking advantage of his feelings, stepping over the barriers 
he'd carefully set between them to protect himself, throwing herself 
at a vulnerable man - okay, a *super* man, but vulnerable nonetheless 
- and that without an ounce of a thought for the way it would affect 
him.

But now she realised something that Superman himself had probably 
started to become aware of when she'd confessed her feelings for him: 
he hadn't ever belonged to her, and he would never have. How could he 
answer her pleas for him to love her, then? How could she have been 
so selfish to think he could ever give his love and care to one 
person when he belonged to the entire world?

Her eyes automatically fell back to the picture in the newspaper. He 
looked a bit weary... tense, even. Another story was associated with 
the photograph and reported the reason for Superman's latest 
appearance, but she was unable to understand anything more than the 
word 'suicide'... probably someone he'd been too late to prevent from 
ending their life, she guessed.

She noticed that the byline of this second article read Jerome Kane, 
that same reporter whose article about Mellion's death she'd found 
instructive. The story here presented itself in the form of an 
interview, so this lucky reporter had probably been on the scene and 
met the superhero. She found herself wondering if Superman still 
accorded exclusives like he used to do for the Planet when he hung 
out in Metropolis.

Maybe Max knew about that...

Maybe she'd ask him...

... just out of curiosity.

A faint rush of air made her look up towards the entrance of the cafe 
and she got up to wave at Max and his companion to join her at the 
back of the coffee house. But nothing could have prepared her for the 
person she saw behind him. That help Max was bringing her, that man 
he'd said could help her in her quest, that man he insisted she meet, 
that man was her former partner, that man was...

"Clark..." The word escaped her lips in a whisper as she watched them 
make their way towards her.

He hadn't seen her. Not yet. Maybe she still had time to escape 
through the back door, or hide somewhere, or maybe if she made 
herself tiny he wouldn't see her. *They* wouldn't see her. Yes, she 
needed to sneak out discreetly. With a bit of luck she wouldn't be 
seen.

But when she tried to move and get out of the booth, none of her 
muscles responded. She stayed rooted into place, knowing her time was 
running out and she'd have to face them. She took a deep breath and 
prepared herself for the inevitable before looking up at...

... at this man who stood completely still as her eyes met his.


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

Clark had followed Maxime Bonneau to this cafe in the Nineteenth 
Arrondissement, still confused by his new source's enthusiasm 
concerning this exchange of information. The man was strange in a way 
he couldn't quite define, and what confused him even more was that he 
felt like he could trust him, despite his weird behaviour during 
their meeting. He couldn't bring himself to believe that Max was 
involved in these murders; his sincerity when he'd told him about his 
friends had made it almost impossible to suspect him. But what was 
certain was that Max knew things that put him in danger, and his 
scared reaction when Clark had appeared at his door, as well as the 
frantic questions as he'd tried to find out if Clark was someone he 
could confide in, had only confirmed this first impression. Clark's 
trust in the man had slightly altered when he'd witnessed his 
reaction at the mention of the police, but he now suspected that the 
young man was more of a tracked animal than a criminal.

And right now, the 'animal' in question was sweeping the large room 
in hope of finding a person that Clark wasn't keen on meeting; he 
wasn't ready to share information with a competitor newspaper. He 
felt like he was being forced into something he didn't want, since it 
was clear from his contact's point of view that this other reporter 
and he would work together on the case. Clark wasn't an individualist 
- he'd never been - but his experience had taught him that such 
associations didn't always work. And last time the consequences had 
been too hurtful for him to reconsider the possibility now.

How could it have gone so wrong, he asked himself for the hundredth 
time? Of course, it hadn't been easy in the beginning; Lois had been 
too used to working alone to accept him without fighting against 
Perry and his decision to partner them. But, ever so slowly, she'd 
got used to having him around; she'd almost admitted it when he'd 
been about to leave the Planet not so long after his arrival in 
Metropolis. And they'd made a great team, he couldn't deny that. He'd 
enjoyed so much working with her, seeing her every day...

No, don't go there again, he told himself. It was not worth brooding 
over; what was done was done and he couldn't go back. And even if he 
could, how could he make it work considering how badly their 
partnership had turned out? What he was sure of was that she'd 
trusted him, at least for a time. She'd proved it on several 
occasions, turning to him when she was scared and vulnerable, showing 
him a side of her she rarely let others see.

Lois had never been one to look easily scared by threats from the 
people she investigated, but Clark knew that she was being brave most 
of those times, not allowing her fear to show. She bottled it up and 
threw herself even more into her work, putting her own life on the 
line without a second thought about it. Or that's what she let people 
see. But with him, she'd come to a point, in the last months of their 
partnership, where she didn't fake it any more.

He remembered that night when she'd come to his apartment, shivering 
and barely blinking back tears, throwing her arms around him to seek 
comfort in his embrace when he'd told her she could crash at his 
place. It had been the first time she'd opened up to him, letting him 
in on a side of the brilliant Lois Lane that people weren't aware of. 
Vulnerable, like a little girl lost in a hostile world. That night, 
as she'd clung to him as if she'd never let go, and he'd tried to 
convey all of his strength through their embrace, their relationship 
had reached a new closeness. When she'd slowly pulled away, her hands 
still entangled in his hair, her eyes locked with his, something had 
happened. A sudden rush of electricity, a new tension that was out of 
place in the safe haven of their friendship, and Clark had had to use 
all of his willpower not to close the distance between their lips and 
kiss her.

That would have been a dumb thing to do, he reasoned now, almost a 
year after that night. In one second, he could have destroyed 
everything... and he'd almost done. Lois had sensed the change of 
mood between them, he was sure of that. She'd turned away a bit too 
quickly, and started babbling about strawberries you couldn't easily 
find in December and how the heck he could have found some to make 
that milkshake. He smiled a little, remembering her frantic attempt 
at regaining some control; but he'd almost blown it, that night, and 
if it hadn't been for Lois's trust in him, they would have separated 
paths a long time before...

Before...

Before that other dreadful night.

He could still see the scene so clearly, as if it had happened 
yesterday, although it had been six months already. But witnessing 
Lois's acceptance of Luthor's proposal had been too much for him, and 
when he'd seen that monster reach into his pocket for an awfully big 
engagement ring and slip it on her finger, it had been too much for 
him to bear. He'd shaken his head, refusing to accept the obvious, 
refusing to admit they'd come to this point and that this time it was 
really over without having even begun.

That night, when he'd had no tears left to cry, he'd sat alone in the 
silent Antarctic night, his face expressionless and his mind blank.

He couldn't remember much of what had happened in the next few days. 
It had been like the journey of a drunk man who woke up from an 
alcohol-induced stupor after a few days of not knowing what he'd done 
or where he'd gone, except bits and pieces, although he couldn't 
recall if he'd dreamt or lived them for real. Those few days that had 
preceded his departure from Metropolis had been spent in a daze, 
packing his stuff, thinking of Lois, checking out his apartment, 
thinking of Lois, dealing with all the taxes and papers, thinking of 
Lois, reliving that night over and over, thinking of Lois, thinking 
of Lois, thinking of Lois...

His awareness of the events that had happened around that time 
started only after his parents had taken him back to Smallville with 
them, whereas the rare memories that came back to him from those last 
few days in Metropolis had manifested themselves to him in frequent 
nightmares. Until he'd seen the despair he felt mirroring itself in 
his mother's eyes, and he'd decided he couldn't let his grief have 
such an impact on his parents; he'd decided to leave.

So no, he didn't want to start again on the whole partnership idea; 
last time had been too painful. *Was* still too painful. Working 
alone was safer; at least he could preserve his loneliness and avoid 
the risk of falling in love again.

*Again*? As if that was possible, when he'd been thinking about Lois 
every day for six months, when he could remember every expression of 
her face as if they were still seeing each other every day, as if she 
was there, in front of him, at the back of this almost empty coffee 
house...

As if?!

He closed his eyes, briefly, praying for her image to leave him and 
stop playing tricks on him; but when he opened them again, the mirage 
was still there, dark pools in its eyes, colour-drained cheeks, and 
Clark's super senses picked up the sound of a racing heartbeat.

But...

Mirages weren't supposed to have a heartbeat!

A sudden shiver ran through him as he stood still, unable to move, 
frozen into place, and watched the origin of his sudden unease look 
frantically for an escape. But it couldn't be... *she* couldn't be...

He was experiencing a weird feeling, something new... no, not new, he corrected. 
Something experienced long ago and now buried deep inside him, 
something that had waited until this moment to bubble up back to the 
surface of his subconscious and grasp at his senses, something he 
hadn't been able to feel for months. A rush of adrenaline coursed 
through his whole body, making his head spin and leaving him slightly 
dizzy; an abrupt acceleration of his heartbeat, knots tying 
themselves in the centre of his chest.

No mirage.

She was here, in the flesh, in front of him, barely twenty feet away 
from where he was standing at the entrance of the cafe.

His first thought was to rush towards her and envelop her in a hug, 
eager to feel this physical contact with her that he'd missed so 
much, eager to feel this undecipherable connection between them, but 
some intuitive survival instinct prevented him, allowing him only to 
stare; every second, with each blink of his eyes, he expected her 
image to disappear, but each time she was still there.

Her darting eyes finally met his and he felt like he'd been struck by 
a thunderbolt when they locked, aware of the danger she represented 
yet unable to tear his gaze away from her. The outside world was so 
far away now, the noise of Max's voice had long ago faded in the 
background, lost somewhere in that distant concept of the atmosphere 
surrounding them.

Time stood completely still for both of them as Max advanced on Lois 
and started to make the introductions. The young man had no idea of 
the scene that was playing in front of his eyes and had he been aware 
of what was happening in those two people's minds, where a cascade of 
emotions and never forgotten memories were freely resurfacing, anger 
succeeding sadness succeeding surprise, he would have thought twice 
before pronouncing the words that brought them both back to Earth.

"Lois, let me introduce you to Jerome Kane, he works for a local 
newspaper and has been assigned to investigate Jeremy's murder; Kane, 
I won't even ask if you've heard of the famous Ms Luthor."

This time Lois didn't even try to hide a sharp intake of breath.

Jerome Kane?

She briefly wondered if this could be a look-alike, but the idea was 
dismissed as soon as it had formed in her mind. She'd seen the barely 
pent-up emotions in his eyes when he'd spotted her and their gazes 
had locked, the same emotions that were nakedly plastered on her face 
and were progressively replaced with apprehension. His look on her 
spoke clearly of recognition, she couldn't doubt it.

Jerome Kane!

To think she'd rea