Purity By Yvonne Connell Rated PG-13 Submitted May 2001 Warning: There are themes discussed in this story which some readers may find disturbing. There is also a certain degree of implied violence, both physical and psychological. ___________ From the outside, the large, detached house appeared no different to any of the others in the neighbourhood. Situated in an affluent part of Metropolis, where discretion and studied disinterest in the affairs of one's fellow citizens was expected and mutually respected, it was only barely visible from the street. A passer-by, if they were so inclined, could peer through intricate wrought-iron gates, follow a curving driveway cut through manicured lawns, to glimpse part of the house itself; a white-washed two-story building with simple, classic lines. A visitor to the house, and indeed there were visitors on this bright, sunny afternoon, would discover an elegant interior which spoke of understated wealth. The owner obviously had traditional tastes, tending towards large, heavy pieces of furniture, dark velvet curtains and thick Oriental rugs, but the overall effect was tasteful and easy on the eye. Naturally, visitors to this house were carefully controlled and monitored, but the devices were invisible to the casual glance; the owner was insistent that the trappings of modern surveillance techniques should not disrupt the ambience of the house. ******** On the other side of town, in a Metropolis town house, crisp white sheets rustled and undulated as the two lovers beneath moved in gentle exploration of one another. A glimpse of shoulder here, the curve of hip or breast there, light glancing off a head of dark hair; each cameo added to the peaceful picture of simple, unhurried love. The busy sounds of the city were banished from this oasis, and into the still air came only the quiet sound of soft kisses and contented murmurs. ********* In a basement room of the affluent, yet secretive house, ten visitors sat expectantly around a large, sweeping boardroom table, sipping coffee from gold- rimmed white china cups and murmuring quiet, polite conversation to one another. Each had a black folder in front of them; all were closed, and would remain so until permission was granted. The double doors swung open, and their leader walked purposefully to the head of the table. She glanced over the ten faces turned towards her as she settled in her chair, noting with satisfaction the respect and admiration which shone clearly from each pair of eyes. Dedication and respect were excellent qualities to engender in one's subordinates; fear was useful, but could cloud judgement when used to excess. Blind devotion was so much more efficient. A fresh, steaming cup of coffee had been placed to one side of her own black folder. Good; someone had reacted very quickly in order to have poured the coffee, added milk, and arranged it so neatly before she walked in. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," she began, in measured, deep tones. "Thank you for attending at short notice, particularly on such a gloriously sunny afternoon when you should be spending time with your families. However, I'm sure that when I explain the nature of our business here this afternoon, you will be as anxious as I was to take immediate and effective action." She paused, and took a controlled sip from her cup of coffee. Laying the cup back down on the saucer, she looked up sharply. "Our subject today is extremely dangerous. He represents a threat more damaging to the fabric of mankind than any other we have had to face in our work together. Furthermore, his unique qualities make him a highly unpredictable and difficult target to gain access to and neutralise. Ladies and gentlemen, our subject is none other than the alien, Superman." ********** The lovers had melded into one, and the eternal, ancient rite begun. Their movements were languid, each savouring every precious moment of their joining on this lazy Sunday afternoon. They had set aside these few hours to spend in close harmony with each other, leaving behind their busy schedules to enjoy the simple pleasure of their own company. Time stood still as they pulsed slowly together. ********* She watched closely as ten pairs of eyes widened in surprise, observing carefully which of those recovered most quickly, and which acquired blank expressions of ineffectualness. Picking up a remote control and pointing it at a screen at the opposite end of the room to her own, she continued. "This footage has just come into our possession from an anonymous source." The screen sprang into full technicolour life, depicting a scene outside Metropolis City Hall. Two figures were talking to each other under a tree. "The woman with Superman is Lois Lane, a reporter with the Daily Planet. Notice how both parties are glancing around, evidently checking the immediate vicinity for onlookers. Notice also the familiar manner in which they address each other. It is clear that an interview is not being conducted here." She froze the image for a moment. "You will be aware, of course, of the scandal which broke a year ago regarding Lois Lane's relationship with Superman. That scandal, based on a falsified picture of the two in a clinch, was squashed. However..." She let the image continue again. The couple conversed happily for a few seconds more, and then Lois Lane placed her hand on Superman's arm with a warm smile. The contact lasted a few moments, and then was broken when they appeared to finish their conversation and Superman took off out of shot. She stopped the image and ran it back to the beginning to replay it without interruption while she spoke. "The footage has been analysed by a behavioural expert, and the conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, is inevitable. Lois Lane and Superman are engaged in an intimate relationship." Murmurs broke out around the table. She allowed them to talk while the image finished running, and then used the remote to switch it off. Sitting silently, she waited as the murmurs quickly subsided and all ten faces were turned towards her again. "You now understand the gravity of our situation. In blatant disregard for the continued purity of our species, it appears that the alien may be attempting to reproduce." ********* "Lois!" The soft gasp punctured the still air of the townhouse bedroom. Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet and full-time superhero, poured his intense love into his wife, Lois Lane, and shuddered with deep, exquisite release. Love in the afternoon. A much neglected indulgence, he concluded, as he dipped down to kiss his lover once more. They should do this more often. "You know, we should do this more often," commented his wife. "My thoughts exactly," he answered, reflecting not for the first time that words were often superfluous; the real communication between himself and Lois happened at a completely different level. "You're looking thoughtful," said Lois. "What are you thinking?" He chuckled. "I was just thinking about how easily we seem to read each other's thoughts." She smiled. "Well, if we could do it all the time, that wouldn't leave any room for enchanting mystery, now would it?" "Hmmm...enchanting mystery. I like it." "So how about wending your mysterious way down to the kitchen to fetch me an enchanting snack?" "You want food?" "What can I say?" She grinned. "Making love all afternoon with Superman takes it out of a girl. You want round four; you have to feed me first." ********* The leader read the appalled disgust writ large on the faces of her team. They had faced threats to the purity and integrity of the species before this - indeed, removing those threats was their primary function as a group - but none had been as perverted and degrading as this. Previous campaigns, such as their recent one to prevent humans of low intelligence from reproducing, faded into insignificance against the possibility of a mongrel race of krypto/humanoid conception. Once the alien began breeding, that would signal the beginning of the end for homo sapiens. "Questions?" She glanced around and found a tall, balding man in his sixties raising a finger. "Judge Peters?" "Do we know when the footage was taken?" "A year ago, just after Superman received the Nobel Peace Prize. We believe it may have been the original seed for the Lois Lane scandal." "So we have no evidence more recent? Do we know if they are still intimate?" "No, but that matter will shortly be resolved. You, Mr Sayer," she looked across at a small, muscular man with circular wire-framed spectacles and a goatee moustache, "will be organising the usual full-time surveillance of both parties." Mr Sayer nodded confidently. "Do we know where the alien lives?" he drawled laconically. "No, but I'm sure it won't take you long to discover that, will it, Mr Sayer?" She smiled graciously at her chief surveillance officer. Tracking the alien would be a tough job, given his speed and strength, but if anyone could accomplish the task, it was most certainly Nigel Sayer, an ex-NIA operative. A woman to her left spoke up. "Has the woman given birth since the footage was taken? Or before?" "As far as we know, there have thankfully been no pregnancies. However, I expect you to verify that, Dr Scott." "Directly or indirectly?" "Direct medical examination would be preferable." ********* Clark's delving fingers explored and probed her, warm and soothing against her skin. He was lying beside her on his side, one arm supporting him as he stroked her languidly with his free hand. She sighed in deep satisfaction, reflecting that he was very talented these days at making the wonderful moments following their love-making seem to last for ever and ever. Actually, she decided happily, it felt as if he was still making love with her. He dipped down and brushed his lips against her skin, sending a shiver of delight through her. "Mmmm...that's nice," she murmured. "But what happened to my snack?" He laughed. "I just gave you one." "But I'm still hungry." He looked up at her with a grin. "You're serious, aren't you? You want food." "Certainly do." He shook his head slowly. "You're incorrigible." "And still hungry." "OK, OK." ********* "Why don't we just interrogate her?" demanded a red-faced rotund man. Of all the team, here was the one she least liked. He was hot-headed, arrogant, and therefore dangerous. "Colonel Robertson, much as I admire and appreciate your interrogation techniques, a more subtle approach is required here. Capturing her for interrogation will merely cause us to play our hand before we are ready. And don't forget that the real target is Superman, not Lois Lane." "I vote we castrate him," interjected a thin, reedy man with a sunken face. "How, exactly?" questioned Dr Scott dryly, the woman tasked with checking Lois Lane's reproductive history. "He's invulnerable." "Yes, Professor Davies, how?" their leader repeated. Prof Davies shrugged. "You find a way of making him vulnerable, I'll castrate him. Whether he's copulating with the Lane woman or not would be irrelevant if his ability to reproduce were neutralised, and anyway, who knows what other women he may have, or may be, inseminating." "You have a point, Professor Davis. Expressed, as usual, in your own inimitable fashion. However, putting aside the question of his invulnerability, let us not jump too hastily to conclusions. We know nothing of his anatomy as yet - that will be your task, incidentally. There is little to be gained by discussing castration when we don't even know if there is anything to castrate." "He fills those red briefs with something," muttered a woman near the end of the table. The sly smile which crept over a few faces wasn't missed by their leader. "Ms Jones, in your capacity as a psychologist, do you have anything useful to contribute?" Ms Jones smirked. "If we find out how to make him vulnerable, why don't we just kill him?" The leader allowed her severe expression to crack into something approaching a smile. "An interesting professional viewpoint. But no. The alien is useful; he saves many valuable, quality lives. He is somewhat indiscriminate, of course, and an effective means of controlling him would be a bonus. Incidentally, it could also serve as an effective means of preventing his reproductive urges." "I'll start some research." ********* "Tea and scones!" Lois laughed as Clark approached the bed carrying a tray. "That's not very sexy." "Maybe I should have dressed up. Would you have preferred me in a parlour maid's outfit?" he enquired with a raised eyebrow, climbing back into bed with her. "Nah. I prefer you as you are - au naturelle. Besides, I think we can make this more interesting." "Are you saying my scones aren't interesting?" "They're divine, Clark, if properly served." She made sure the tray was within easy reach and then climbed over him, straddling his torso and pushing his shoulders down into the bed. "This looks promising," he commented happily. "You wait 'til you find out what I've got planned for dessert," she answered with a wink. *********** "So, to summarise. Continuous surveillance will commence immediately, with a view to discovering whether the Lane woman is still in a relationship with the alien. We will establish whether she could have borne any of his offspring already, and if so, trace their whereabouts. Research will establish whether the alien can be made vulnerable, and in fact, whether he even has the necessary anatomy to reproduce with humans. Finally, we will find out if he can be controlled psychologically." "We will meet in no more than two days time to discuss findings and formulate our plan going forward." She scanned each face in turn, making brief eye contact with all the members of her team. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is a threat we cannot afford to ignore. We have been remiss in failing to recognise it thus far; let us not waste any more time in neutralising it." ********** Lois stomped down the ramp into the newsroom vowing never to follow her husband's well-meaning advice ever again. Well-woman clinic indeed! After all those questions and poking and prodding, she felt ten times less healthy than when she had woken up this morning. All those nasty ailments which she didn't usually give a second thought to were now fresh and clear in her mind, and already, travelling back from the clinic, she could detect the early symptoms of at least three of them. It was only a matter of time before she died a horrible, painful death. She would never have taken up the invitation which arrived completely unsolicited from her GP, and had been ready to discard it in the trash with a disparaging remark, when Clark had stopped her and given her a boring yet convincing lecture about prevention being better than cure. She still would have resisted, except for the mild curiosity she experienced every time she watched commercials on TV for these clinics - she wanted to discover for herself what went on at them. Well, now she knew, and she wished she didn't. She arrived at her desk, ready to give Clark an earful, to discover his chair empty. Superman rescue or Planet business? She spotted Jimmy crossing the newsroom on the way to the darkroom. "Jimmy!" He changed tack and came towards her. "CK's over at Star Labs. Someone broke in last night - no, I don't know what they took, he left..." he glanced at his watch, "about five minutes ago, and Perry wants to know where the story on that kid who torched himself is. Oh, and your pictures are nearly ready." He grinned. "How'd I do?" "You missed out the part where you say, 'and here's a cup of fresh coffee I just prepared for you'," she replied sardonically. "Sorry, Lois, but you got the wrong guy. I do information, not food," he answered with a self-confident smile. "Jimmy! Where's my low-fat yoghurt and freshly-squeezed orange juice?" Perry White's bark cut straight through the newsroom hubbub. "Uh, coming right up, Chief!" Jimmy hurried away towards their editor's office. Lois rolled her eyes. Low-fat yoghurt? Perry? Was everyone on a health-kick this week? She quickly hammered out an email to him about the spontaneous combustion story and then made her way up to the elevators again. If Star Labs had been broken into, she wanted to check it out for herself; there was too much personal information about Clark held in their files for her to leave it to him to assess the risk on his own. ******** "OK, she's leaving the Planet building now," remarked a motorcycle messenger into thin air. He was standing in the foyer of the Daily Planet, fiddling with his crash helmet. "Got her," came the reply into his earpiece. "Head Office report that the tracer was successfully inserted this morning." "I won't lose her." "Well, if you do, we can still track her." "I won't lose her." ********** Clark pushed open the doors to Star Labs and walked out into the cold, sunny November morning with a very unsunny Lois in tow. He wasn't sure what had put her into such a murky mood, but it was clear from the moment she had arrived in the midst of his interview with one of the Labs' scientists that she was displeased with him. Clark had just confessed to the Lab doctor that he hadn't understood a single word of the man's lengthy lecture on the finer points of super-cooled...thingy- something processor design. "Perhaps if you imagine you're talking to a six year-old, Dr Carter, then Clark might understand," she had suggested with a clear undertone of sarcasm. Resisting the urge to pull a very unprofessional face in front of Dr Carter, Clark had introduced Lois, and then listened politely while the doctor had repeated his explanation in much simpler terms, albeit with an irritatingly condescending air. Thus, Clark had learnt that what had actually been stolen were the specifications for a revolutionary new computer chip. Furnished with information he could actually relate to, he was able to steer the doctor through the rest of the interview, although the resulting facts he gleaned didn't look very promising in terms of a meaty news story. The specifications were apparently only at a very rough draft stage, rendering them largely useless to their new owner, unless that owner had access to similar resources to Star Labs, including someone who could interpret the allegedly obscure note style Dr Carter used. Could Dr Carter recreate the draft? Probably, given a few hours peace and quiet. It looked, Dr Carter thought, as if the thief had been the victim of some mis- information; he or she had obviously thought the designs were further advanced than was actually the case. How would the thief have come by this mis- information? Dr Carter had shrugged carelessly - canteen gossip, cleaning staff, lab technicians, anywhere, really. So the designs weren't even particularly confidential? Yes, but not ultra top-secret. Lois had remained silent throughout most of the interview, a brooding, dark presence on the periphery of Clark's vision. She had had just one question for the scientist. "Have you ever done any work with Dr Klein?" Clark had known why she was asking. Like himself, she was anxious to ensure the break-in had nothing to do with Superman's personal data, which Dr Klein kept stored at the Labs. Dr Klein always assured Superman on a regular basis that the data was well-protected, and that only he could gain access to it, but nevertheless they both knew that no security system was completely impervious to attack. However, Dr Carter had merely looked puzzled: why should he ever collaborate with someone in a completely different field to his own? Still, just to be completely sure, they had paid a visit to Dr Klein, outlined their concerns on behalf of their friend, Superman, and been assured that the data was intact and that no-one unauthorised had accessed it. He had even checked the access records on the kryptonite vault locks and confirmed that all was secure there too. Which left Clark feeling very reassured, but with a fairly dull story to report on and a very prickly wife to deal with. Playing a hunch, he asked, "So, how was the clinic, honey?" Bulls-eye. She shot him a venomous look. "Oh, I can think of marginally better ways to while away a morning - like being slowly crushed to death by a boa constrictor!" He winced. "Not a pleasant experience, huh?" "Not a pleasant experience?!" She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and whirled on him. "Clark, the next time you want to do your 'prevention is better than cure' lecture, remind me to be somewhere else, would you?" She jabbed her index finger into his chest. "Or better still, you can be the one who gets prodded, poked and interrogated by sadistic women with cold - extremely cold - instruments. Okay?" He winced again. "I'm sorry, Lois. I didn't realise it would be like that. Did they hurt you?" A pang of guilt hit him. He knew she wouldn't have gone if he hadn't suggested it, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. She didn't exactly take care of herself health-wise, except for her exercise sessions, and she was in a high-risk occupation - at least, the way Lois operated, it was high-risk - and so a free check-up to make sure everything was as it should be had seemed like good sense. Also, although he hadn't mentioned it to her yet, just lately he had been mulling over their chances of having kids together. There had been a lot of advances recently in reproductive techniques; the Planet's 'Life' section had run an article a few days ago about some of them, and it had started him wondering whether any of them could be applied to his and Lois's situation. Of course, Dr Klein and her father had already pronounced negative results from their extensive tests and research, and he and Lois had accepted the fact some time ago that humans and Kryptonians just couldn't have children together, but still, Clark wondered... So, when the well-woman offer had dropped into their laps, he supposed that subconsciously he had thought that it would do no harm to make sure there were no other barriers standing in their way. He was regretting that thought now; apart from putting Lois through a nasty morning's worth of medical tests, it wasn't a very honest way of returning to the sensitive issue of children. Apparently his well-intentioned question was also misplaced. Lois's frown darkened. "No, of course they didn't actually hurt me," she answered angrily. "It was just really uncomfortable, okay? And actually, it was the questions they asked which really got to me - did I have kids, had I ever been pregnant, had I ever had any miscarriages, was I planning on having kids, was I having sex on a regular basis-" "They didn't?!" "No, but they might as well have. They asked just about every other intimate question imaginable. I nearly decked the one who asked why I wasn't planning on having kids." "Oh, Lois, I'm sorry!" He reached out a hand to touch her arm; the gesture quickly melted into a protective hug as he realised how upset she was. "You should have called me - I would have decked her for you. They had no right to ask questions like that." "Thank you, but I can do my own decking," she said in a muffled voice into his chest. "I know you can, honey." "I mean, it just brought it all back, you know?" "I know, and I'm sorry I got you into it." "So you should be. It's not like I even miss having kids usually, but being given the third degree on pregnancy and then sitting around that waiting room with all those women talking babies and swapping kid-stories made me feel like a freak: Lois Lane, apparently the only woman on the planet who is married but doesn't want kids." Doesn't want or can't have? "Lois...*do* you want kids?" he asked tentatively. She pulled away and tipped her head back to look up at him. "What sort of question is that? You know we can't." "I know. It's just..." "Just what?" "Just..." But his answer was interrupted by a distant cry for help. He sighed inwardly - sometimes being Superman really interfered with his marriage. "I'm sorry, Lois, but someone's calling for help." His hand was already fiddling with the knot of his tie. "Go," she said flatly. "We'll talk about this later?" "Sure." "Tonight?" "Yes! Go! Vamoose! Get outta here!" He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and rushed around the corner into an alley, scanned quickly for onlookers and spun into the suit. ********* Clark set the little boy down in front of his anxious mother and crouched down so that he could address his small charge face to face. "You gave your Mom quite a fright, Barney. Are you going to stay away from the ice like she tells you from now on?" "Yes, Superman," replied the boy earnestly. "But she's not my Mom." He cupped his hands over Clark's ear and whispered, "She's my Daddy's girlfriend." Several scenarios flashed through Clark's mind, but he plumped for the middle ground. "I'm sure he'd want you to stay away from the ice too," he replied seriously. Barney nodded vigorously. "Daddy doesn't like the ice." Not sure what to make of that remark either, Clark straightened with a pat to the boy's shoulder. "He doesn't appear to have come to any harm, Miss," he told the woman. She smiled gratefully. "Thank you for rescuing him, Superman. I don't know what I'd have told his father if anything had happened to him." "Well, he's fine. I'll be g-" "Barney, aren't you going to thank Superman?" interrupted the woman. Barney stared up with a small, serious face. "Thank you, Superman." When Clark nodded and smiled, seriousness quickly turned into bubbling enthusiasm as Barney pulled a cylindrical object from his pocket. "You want to see my new kaleidoscope, Superman?" he asked, thrusting it upwards at Clark. "That's all right, Barney, I'm sure-" began Clark. "It's quite an unusual one, actually," butted in the woman. "You should take a look." Clark shrugged with a smile. "Okay." He took the proffered instrument from Barney and held it up to one eye, screwing shut the other. She was right. The patterns were very unusual for a kaleidoscope; quite fascinating, in fact. He twisted the barrel around to make some different shapes and patterns, and found himself being drawn into the whirl of shifting colours as they seemed to take on a life of their own. "Keep turning the barrel," instructed a voice from far away, and so he did. More shifting, hypnotic patterns evolved in front of him...all around him... ......................... Clark blinked, disorientated for a second. The woman was walking away from him, hand in hand with the little boy beside her. The boy twisted around and gave him a foul look which took him by surprise. He stared in puzzlement, but then the boy's hand was jerked as he was pulled forward again and the moment was over. Maybe the boy had just been told off for straying onto the thin ice. Clark shrugged mentally; it wasn't worth obsessing about. He took off and headed back to the Planet. ********** A few hours later, a loud shout broke the silence in a cramped, windowless office. "Bingo!" Nigel Sayer slammed his hand down onto the metal desk in triumph. He checked the recorders to make sure they had noted the momentous event. Yup, there it was, in digital perfection: Superman had just entered Clark Kent and Lois Lane's house. And Lois Lane was already home. Time to listen in... ********* It was always difficult to remain angry with Clark for very long, Lois reflected after a delicious lasagne, crisp green salad and bottle of extremely fruity Zinfandel. He redeemed himself so well, and anyway, she decided in mellow mood, he was completely guileless in his actions. He had only had her best interests in mind when he had made her attend the clinic, no more. But she still wanted to know why he had asked about kids this morning. "All done," Clark announced, strolling back from the kitchen into the lounge. "Who needs a dishwasher?" Lois smiled. "Honey, you *are* the dishwasher." "Ha!" He joined her on the sofa and she snared him with an arm around his shoulders. "So is that why you married me? For my super-fast dishwashing abilities?" "'Fraid so. As soon as I found out you were Superman, I realised my dishwashing days were gone for ever. Marriage was inevitable." "Hmmm. I seem to remember there were a few other details you missed out there." "Well, we won't go into those now. Want some more wine?" He winked. "We dishwashers run on wine - didn't you know?" She poured some more wine into his glass and handed it to him. "Talking of not dredging up the past..." "Mmmm...red wine *and* pasta. You do realise I may have to ravish you later?" He leant into her and kissed her lips. "Help - you even taste of pasta," he added in a low voice. "Clark. Concentrate." "Oh, I am..." He kissed her again. And it was very nice - very, very nice, but she wanted to have a conversation and she wasn't going to let him deflect her. "Clark, we need to talk." She used her newsroom voice; the one she usually reserved for Jimmy. It worked. Clark sat up straighter and cradled his wine glass between his hands. "Sorry. You were talking about the past?" "Yes. I just wondered why you asked me whether I wanted to have kids this morning, when you know we can't." "Oh, that." "Yes, that." He studied his wine for a moment, while she wondered what was going through his mind. She had thought that the issue of kids was closed; after all, it had been Clark who had consoled her when they had first discovered they weren't compatible. He had been the one who had told her that their love for each other was more than enough to fill their lives; that they could happily live a lifetime as a contented family of two. So while she knew that he had wanted children, she didn't think he had been obsessing about it ever since. He looked up from his wine and faced her. "Did you see that piece in the Planet a few days ago? About recent advances in reproductive techniques?" She frowned. "No. Where was that?" "In the 'Life' section." "Ah. The touchy-feely page." "Yes. I guess you don't often make it onto that page." "You're right. So what did it say?" Although, she could already see where his mind was going. He had read about some new techniques, and he had got it into his head that they could be used to solve their conception problem. It was possible, she supposed, but she wasn't sure if she was ready to step into that particular arena; the couples taking part in these tests always seemed to go through hell and back before - and if - they conceived. "Apparently they've achieved pretty good success rates in cases where they'd previously thought it was impossible to conceive. There was one technique I thought...well, maybe..." "Yes?" "Maybe it might work for us, Lois." He was staring at her with that direct, honest, open expression of his which made it impossible for her to get mad at him. She was, though. She'd got over this; moved on past it, and she didn't like it being dredged up again. Why was he dragging it all out again? "Clark, why? Why are you doing this?" "Doing what?" "Dragging us back into it. I thought we'd agreed on this." "We have, Lois. Of course we have. I just saw the article and it got me thinking, that's all." "So you haven't been obsessing about this all year? Because I would have hoped you would share that with me, honey." She reached up and cupped his face in her palm. "If you still wanted kids that badly, then we needed to talk about it." "No, honestly - I haven't given it much thought at all. It was just that article." "But you must have been thinking about it first for the article to have snagged your interest." He sighed. "Well, I guess there was all that stuff a while back about that councillor - you know, the one who wanted to ban people of low intelligence from having kids?" Lois sneered. "Oh, yes, him! If you ask me, he was the one with the low intelligence. And wasn't he having an affair with that police chief?" "Ex-police chief," Clark corrected. "Remember, she resigned after all those rumours of racial harassment." "What a pair." "Yeah. Wonder what happened to them?" "I think he went back to his wife and got rehabilitated by his party," Lois answered dryly. "It's amazing what you can achieve with a good image consultant these days." "Sadly, yes. So she's stuck on her own someplace - probably the bastion of the local community." Lois cocked her head on one side and regarded her husband. "Clark, since when did you get cynical?" "It's your corrupting influence, sweetest. You robbed me of my innocence," he said with a smile. "Ha. You mean I taught you how to survive in this dog-eat-dog world. Without me, you'd still be leaving your front door key under the mat." "At least I always knew where it was that way." "And so did every criminal in the neighbourhood. But you're side-tracking me again. What about this kids thing? - sounds to me as though you've been thinking about it for some time." His smile faded as he took one of her hands in his. "Lois. I told you a long time ago that my life is complete with you in it; you, and you alone." "But kids would be even better." He sighed heavily. "Sure. I can't deny it - how can I? We both tried pretty hard to make it work, so I'd be lying if I said I don't want kids. But that doesn't spoil what we have together, Lois. We love each other, and that's more than enough for me." "Okay." She looked into his eyes. "So what do you want to do? Do you want to take this to Dr Klein?" "Not if you don't want it." "Clark, I don't know. I thought I'd got over all this, and now you're asking me to open it all up again. It was bad enough the first time, finding out we couldn't have kids and then dealing with that awful woman from the adoption agency. I'm not sure I could stand it a second time around." Besides, she would probably be the one who would have to submit to various nasty or humiliating medical procedures. He would donate a few samples - okay, she knew how much he hated doing that - but it wasn't invasive, unlike the things she had had to put up with only earlier today. "Then we won't do it," answered Clark decisively. "The last thing I'd want would be for you to get hurt by all this, and if we can't make another little person with our love for each other, then that's fine. We just carry on with each other." "You're sure?" "Positive." He reached across and pulled her into his lap. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he asked with a smile. "Yes. But maybe you could show instead of tell." "You sound like my old English teacher." "Bet she never did this." "Mmmm..." ************** "Holy shit!" Sayer turned down the noise of murmurs and gasps coming from his headphones and quickly re-ran the conversation until he found the right part. He had to double-check this! Lois's voice rang out in the small office. "'Fraid so. As soon as I found out you were Superman, I realised my dishwashing days were gone for ever. Marriage was inevitable." Clark Kent was Superman? Superman was Clark Kent? At least that explained why Superman had spent so long at the Daily Planet today. Just to check, he reran a previous segment; the part where Kent announced he was going to do the dishes. Barely a second later, he was saying that the job was done. Sayer could check the tape from the kitchen later and analyse the sounds Kent made, but on the face of it, they appeared to have solid evidence that the guy really was Superman. And right now, Superman was making love with Lois Lane... ********** The man's voice was deep and breathy. "OK?" "Don't...stop," rasped a woman's voice. Gasps and heaving panting echoed around the room. "Oh, God, Lois, I don't think I can hold..." "Yes you can. Just...oh, yes, Clark, yes...yes...right...there!" The room erupted into male and female cries of ecstasy. "Thank you, Mr Sayer," interrupted a loud, dry, female voice. "I think we've heard enough." There was an abrupt click, and the ecstasy was silenced. She glanced around the table, noting with distaste that a couple of the men were shifting uncomfortably in their seats and that Ms Jones was fanning herself with a sheaf of papers. Apparently they didn't share her disgust at the heinous act of human debasement they had just witnessed. She'd listened and watched some pretty disgusting evidence tapes during her career, but this was the first time she'd felt sick...no, not sick: dirty. Even her old precinct's investigation into a child pornography ring hadn't left her feeling like this. It was an abomination: a woman who had sex - enjoyed having sex - with a non- human; an alien entity. "So, thanks to Mr Sayer, we now know that Clark Kent is Superman. This explains the footage from the park, of course - clearly they have difficulty concealing their attraction to each other in public. It changes nothing, however, other than making our job easier. Their apparent inability to conceive is encouraging; it tells us that he is thankfully unlikely to have fathered any young so far, but - " she leant over the table towards her audience, " - and let me stress this most strongly to you all - the danger is still there." She stopped and panned around the table with her gaze, seeing several nods of agreement. "Professor Davis, I believe you have further information for us on this." The thin, sunken-faced man stood up. "Yes. If you open your folders, you'll find my detailed report on page three. The Star Labs data was the prime source, although Ms Jones provided us with some direct, if largely unscientific, evidence," he added with scathing distaste. Ms Jones smiled secretly. He continued. "In summary, and as is now clear from Mr Sayer's tapes, the alien has the necessary anatomy to copulate with humans. In fact, on the outside at least, his anatomy is exactly the same as ours. A series of test results recorded by Klein indicated that Kryptonians are incompatible with humans for reproduction; however, these tests were somewhat unsophisticated, and unfortunately, as the alien speculated on Mr Sayer's tapes, it is entirely possible that a krypto/human embryo could be cultured and carried to full term." "Who would be able to perform such a procedure?" asked their leader. "There are a handful of specialist clinics dotted around the country; I believe one of them is based here in Metropolis." "Mr Sayer, if you would be so kind as to begin monitoring this clinic?" "Certainly, Madame Chairman." "Dr Scott, tell us about the Lane woman." "Pelvic examination, tests and direct questioning have established that she is fertile, sexually active-" "I think we figured that," muttered Ms Jones, exchanging a smirk across the table with Nigel Sayer. "-and in reasonable health," finished Dr Scott with a glare at Ms Jones. "There have been no pregnancies, although she would have little difficulty in carrying a child and giving birth to it. Of course, we don't know what complications a mixed species pregnancy might introduce." "All of which is completely beside the point," drawled Professor Davis. "When will you people wake up and face facts? The only solution guaranteed to stop the alien reproducing with humans is castration." "I suspect you'll find," answered Judge Peters, "that castration has a detrimental effect on his ability to do his job. Loss of virility can do that to a man." "He's not a man," spat their leader with venomous intensity. All eyes turned to the top of the table. She took a deep breath and recovered her composure; showing emotion in front of one's subordinates was a serious lapse in discipline. "Ms Jones," she began with self-imposed calm. "Enlighten us with your research." Ms Jones used a remote control to lower the lights and start up a video recording on the screen at the far end of the room. "The instrument Superman is looking into is a specially adapted kaleidoscope. I've used it successfully with humans to induce a hypnotic state, and as you can see, it is equally effective with Kryptonians." As they watched, Superman began to carry himself differently, as if he weren't completely in control of his own limbs. After a few minutes, he stood passively in front of Ms Jones while she talked to him. "I told him to give the instrument back to the boy - as you see, he obeyed easily. I then gave him an instruction unusual enough that it wouldn't be mistaken for normal behaviour." Superman abruptly kissed Ms Jones fully and passionately on the lips while a hand strayed over to her breast. At the same time, Ms Jones's hand went downwards in a clearly exploratory movement. Ms Jones cleared her throat. "I took the opportunity to confirm that he has the requisite reproductive anatomy." She paused. "The examination also proved that his hypnotic state was not being faked; as you can see, he didn't even flinch." The kiss ended, Ms Jones said a couple of sentences to her subject, then turned to walk away with the boy. Superman stood, apparently staring blindly straight ahead, until Ms Jones lifted a hand and clicked her fingers. At that point, he became more animated, gazing at the receding pair for a few seconds before launching upwards into the sky. Ms Jones stopped the video and brought the lights back up again. "Further tests would be required, but all indications are that Superman could be controlled via a combination of brainwashing and auto-suggestion. I'd also concur with Judge Peters; castration is not a viable solution if we require the alien to continue to perform rescues and so on." Dr Scott remarked, "If it can be done, vasectomy would be my recommendation." "My dear Dr Scott," began Professor Davis with heavy sarcasm, "vasectomy can be reversed these days. Not in one hundred per cent of cases, I grant you, but the risk would still be too great." Dr Scott smiled coldly at the professor. "I'm sure a skilled surgeon could ensure that the vasectomy was permanent." "Very true, Dr Scott," agreed their leader. "An excellent suggestion, if it were not for the minor fact of the alien's invulnerability." "That isn't necessarily an issue," announced Professor Davis smugly. "I'm sorry?" asked their leader. "Klein may be good scientist, but he's a lousy computer user. Like any good scientist, he keeps copious notes on everything he learns, and like any good scientist, he types them all into his trusty computer. Except he's naïve. He thinks a couple of levels of encryption and a pathetically simple coding system are all it takes to protect his data." "Professor Davis, do you actually have any useful information for us?" asked their leader impatiently. "Or is this simply professional point-scoring?" The professor shrugged. "I don't know. Would you consider the existence of a substance which can kill Superman to be useful information?" "Possibly, if it's obtainable." "Oh, it's obtainable. Star Labs have very thoughtfully placed a supply of it in their vaults for us. Would you like me to obtain some for you?" "Does it simply kill him, or are there options?" "Oh, I understand it's quite flexible. Anything from mild discomfort to death is feasible." "Then I believe you have your next assignment." As the meeting wrapped up, Nigel Sayer sidled up to Ms Jones. "You want a copy of that tape?" "What tape?" He leered at her. "You know - the one of them doing it." Ms Jones reddened. "Why would I want that?" "Oh, I just thought you might want it for your research." He winked. "It's kinda long, though." "Long?" squeaked Ms Jones. "Let's just say if I didn't know he was Superman, I'd have to believe he was wired up to a constant supply of Viagra." Sayer grinned as Ms Jones's eyes grew as round as saucers. "Careful, Ms Jones. You're drooling." She threw him a furious look and stormed out of the room. "I'll put it in the post for you," he called after her, laughing. ********** Lois was deep in thought in front of her computer at the Planet when the noise first impinged on her concentration. Baby noises? She frowned and looked up to find the source. "Hi, Lois!" A smiling, blond-haired young woman wheeling a push chair full of gurgling baby bore down on her from the ramp leading down into the newsroom. Ann. Of course - the ex-staff reporter was working freelance for the Planet nowadays, having left a few months ago when she was expecting...whatever the baby's name was. Lois stood up and came around the front of her desk. "How are you, Ann? And how's..." She looked down at the admittedly cute bundle in the push chair, waiting for inspiration to strike. "Oh, he's fine," answered Ann breezily. "About to demand his lunch any second now, but I had to drop in to see Perry quickly. Is he around?" "He's in his office," said Clark, who had joined them in the aisle between desks. "Alexander's looking well. Is he over that cold?" Trust Clark to remember the baby's name, thought Lois. And his medical history - no doubt he could remember the exact day the kid was born, and probably his weight, too. Ann exchanged a friendly smile with Clark. "Yes, thanks. Look, would you mind keeping an eye on him while I go see Perry? I'll only be a couple of minutes," Ann added, looking at Clark hopefully. "Sure!" Clark hunkered down in front of the pushchair. "Hi, big fella. You going to come and help me write my story while your Mom speaks to Uncle Perry?" he asked with a beaming smile. Lois laughed as Ann disappeared in search of Perry. "Careful, Clark. He might want to edit your copy." She went back to her chair and watched Clark pull the pushchair up beside his own chair. Clark waggled his eyebrows at her. "He probably spells better than some people I know." "Ha! Very funny." However, the increasingly hungry Alexander wasn't interested in writing stories, and was soon wailing angrily in his chair. Lois glanced around the newsroom but couldn't see Ann; meanwhile Clark picked Alexander up and started bouncing him up and down on his knee. After watching her husband try various distractions and games to quieten Alexander down, Lois decided Clark was handling the situation all wrong: obviously the child was miserable and needed comfort, not toys and silly games to play. "I don't think he likes your keys," she commented loudly over the wailing. "Oh, really?" Clark asked. "You think you could do better?" She stood up and crossed over to Clark. People were starting to glance over at their noisy corner of the newsroom, and it was time for direct action. "Come on, Alexander," she said, lifting the noisy, warm, wriggly bundle away from Clark. "Let's show Uncle Clark how we handle hungry babies." Not, of course, that she had a clue what to do, she thought as she carried Alexander over to her desk and set his dangling feet on her lap and smiled into his tear-streaked face. Babies were not her strong point, even if she had a soft spot for them; they were cute at a distance, but scary and unpredictable in close proximity. "Has Mommy gone and left you all alone?" she asked him gently, ignoring the wails. "Don't worry, she'll be back soon, but in the meantime, you and I have to make a deal. OK?" To her amazement, the wailing abated a little. Was it her voice? "OK, that's good, Alexander. Now, here's the deal: I won't cry if you don't. How's that? Sound fair?" She smiled encouragingly into the woeful eyes. Alexander looked at her uncertainly, but obviously wasn't convinced; the tears renewed full volume again. "No good? OK, how about this: I promise I won't let Uncle Clark sing to you if you stop crying. That's a good deal, isn't it?" she asked him with cheerful gusto. "That's a very good deal!" She shook him playfully. "I heard that," came a dry voice from across the aisle. "Ooh, I don't think Uncle Clark likes us criticising his singing!" she said conspiratorially to Alexander. "Shall we see if we can wind him up even more by being really, really quiet?" she asked with a grin. "Lois, you can't negotiate with a baby," commented Clark. "Oh, yes I can, can't I, Alexander?" she said happily to her charge, who had in fact quietened down a lot and was looking at her - no, staring at her as if she was crazy. Well, she would buy that; she'd buy anything if he was going to be quiet. A pudgy hand reached up clumsily and grabbed her hair. "Ow!" She caught his hand gently and prised it away...so small and warm... "I'm sorry, Lois!" exclaimed Ann, appearing from around the corner. "Has he been a pain?" "No, we're getting on just fine, aren't we, Alexander?" she said with a grin at the baby. "We didn't like Uncle Clark's keys, but we loved Auntie Lois's little chat." "Here," Ann said, reaching over to reclaim her baby. "Thanks for looking after him, and I'm sorry I took so long. Perry wants me to do a follow-up piece on that story I did a while back on that councillor and his girlfriend. You know - the guy who said that people with learning difficulties made unfit parents?" "I forgot you wrote that story!" Lois exclaimed. "Clark and I were just talking about it the other day. Do you know what happened to the woman?" "Meg Patterson? The police chief from hell?" Lois nodded. "That's who Perry wants me to do the follow-up on. I was convinced at the time that she was the real brains behind that campaign, you know." "Really?" said Clark, joining them at Lois's desk. "What do you know about her?" "Ex-police chief, in her mid-fifties. Resigned to pursue other interests - ie, she left before she was chucked out. Lots of rumours and allegations of racial harassment, dodgy practices when dealing with suspects from racial minorities - that kind of thing. So she already has a rap sheet, so to speak, whereas that councillor didn't really, and there were times when he really just seemed to act like a puppet dancing to someone else's tune. She has money, too - her husband died and left her a fortune." "So why the follow-up now?" asked Clark. "I've heard a couple of rumours about a very right-wing, extremist group - very low key, very discreet, very effective, and I have a hunch." "You think she might be something to do with it?" asked Lois. "Yup," answered Ann, just as Alexander let out a wail. "Oops - someone needs his lunch. Do you know if the conference room is free?" "I think so." "OK. Come on, baby, let's find ourselves a nice comfy chair in Uncle Perry's conference room." Lois watched Ann's retreating back, slowly becoming aware of Clark's eyes on her. She looked up into his happy, smiling face. "Cute, isn't he?" he said. "If you can call a screaming, wriggling, messy thing like that cute, then yes, he was cute." "Oh, come on, Lois," chided Clark playfully. "You loved him. And I've got to hand it to you - you were really good with him." She shrugged coolly. "That was simple expediency, no more." "Yeah, and I'm Father Christmas." She noticed Ann had left the push chair with all Alexander's baby things on it behind, and wondered whether Ann might need any of them in the conference room. Making a decision, she stood up and wheeled everything over to the door. "It's only me," she announced after knocking and opening the door to walk in. Ann was sitting on one of the conference chairs, Alexander suckling noisily at her breast. Lois was caught off-guard. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realise...I'll leave you in peace. I just brought these in - in case you needed them." Not that she was embarrassed, exactly. It just felt as though she was intruding on a private moment between Ann and her baby. Ann looked up calmly. "It's okay, Lois," she replied quietly. "And thanks." Lois gazed at mother and baby for a moment, absorbing the serene picture - well, serene except for the incredibly noisy Alexander, who seemed to be enjoying his lunch very enthusiastically. "He must have been hungry," she commented wryly. "Oh, he's always like this. He likes his food." Lois smiled. "Yeah, I can see." She turned to leave. "Sorry for barging in." "Don't worry about it." Ann replied, smiling up at Lois contentedly. ********** A misshapen lump of rock, lying in the middle of the table. The team sitting around the table gazed at it in fascination, their faces tinged with a hint of the greenish glow which reflected off it. "Star Labs are unaware of their loss?" asked their leader, Mrs Patterson. "Absolutely," answered Professor Davis. "And a facsimile of the piece has been placed in the vault, should they have occasion to perform any visual security checks. So now can we please get on with the business of neutralising the alien? We have the means to make him vulnerable." "Or kill him," interjected Colonel Robertson. Mrs Patterson sighed. "Colonel Robertson. I have already ruled out killing him; he's too useful." The red-faced man leaned forward in his chair towards her. "It's the only sure- fire method of stopping him from messing with our women. You see a threat, you eliminate the threat. Simple." "Vasectomy would be just as effective," pointed out Professor Davis dryly. "And what if you open him up and find you can't do the op? What are you going to do then?" exploded Colonel Robertson. "Close him back up and ask him politely if he wouldn't mind refraining from sexual relations for the rest of his life?" "That will do, Colonel Robertson," said Mrs Patterson coldly. "When I need your opinion, I'll ask for it." She turned deliberately away from him: he was stupid, volatile, crude and she often wondered why she even tolerated him in the team. Other than his talent for interrogation, and his admittedly useful links with the Pentagon, he was a liability. She scanned the other faces around the table. Nigel Sayer: loyal, efficient, and trustworthy - she wished all her team were like him. Professor Davis: a maverick, but a highly skilled surgeon and medical researcher, and utterly committed to their cause. Ms Jones: young and a little too flippant, but near- genius level in her field. Her commitment was undoubtedly sound...and she apparently had something to say. "Ms Jones?" "My recommendation still stands. Modern programming techniques are extremely effective, and I believe the subject could be easily trained out of the procreation urge. The procedure would be non-invasive, and has been suggested previously, the training could be extended to include useful control triggers. Superman could effectively become an extension of this team's activities." "And just how do you expect to get him to sit still long enough for you to do all this brainwashing?" drawled Professor Davis. "She's going to seduce him, aren't you, Ms Jones?" cajoled Nigel Sayer. "You enjoying that tape I sent you, by the way? I've got another one now, if you're interested." Ms Jones glared at him but didn't answer. Instead, she looked at Professor Davis. "A small quantity of the kryptonite should keep him sufficiently submissive for long enough." "In my professional opinion, I believe he'd be dead before you'd finished programming him," scoffed Davis. "And in my professional opinion, Professor Davis, I believe he wouldn't." "Enough!" barked Mrs Patterson. "I've made my decision. But before I give you my final instructions, does anyone have any further information which they consider useful to the rest of the team? And I mean facts, not petty point- scoring." "That journalist has been poking around again," offered Sayer. "You know - the one who blew the previous campaign out of the water?" "Is she a threat?" asked Mrs Patterson. He shrugged. "Not yet." "Deal with her if she becomes one - and don't forget she works for the same paper as Lane and Kent. I don't want this campaign failing just because some part-time hack gave the target even the merest whiff of a hint of our plans. In fact, I don't want this campaign failing, period. The future of the human race depends on us, ladies and gentlemen." It did them good to be reminded of their noble purpose from time to time, she believed. Not that the human race would even know of their achievements if they did their job properly, but she wasn't doing this for the fame: she was doing it because it was right. Unassailably, incontrovertibly right. She gave them a short pep talk, and then finished with the instructions which would put their final plans into action. ******** Lois had just looked so *right* with Alexander in her lap, Clark mused as he flew over night-time Metropolis. She pretended she didn't understand babies, but really, on the rare occasions when he saw her with kids, it seemed to him that she had a natural talent for dealing with them. Her no-nonsense, yet warm and unselfconscious manner always seemed to work just the right kind of magic to quieten them down or keep them amused. It was so easy to imagine her with her own baby; their baby, cradled in her arms... But he had made an agreement with her, and he shouldn't let himself think like this. Keys always worked with babies. At least, that had been his theory up until today. Give a baby a bunch of keys to play with, and they were usually so fascinated by the jangly, odd-shaped pieces of metal that they soon forgot their tears. Usually the main problem was stopping them from trying to stuff the whole lot into their gummy mouths. Not Alexander, though. Maybe he was wise to the key trick. Still, it had been a nice interruption to their day, Clark remembered fondly. And warm, fuzzy feelings about other people's babies were to be guarded against, he reminded himself. He should never have let himself start thinking about kids again when he knew the odds were so slim, and when they had already settled down to married life with just each other. It wasn't as if Lois didn't fill his life completely; every day he loved her more and more. ********* Every night, she found a new way of tamping down that tiny spark of worry which accompanied the knowledge that Clark was out on a rescue. Tonight, it was her continuing battle against culinary ineptitude; eggs a la Katie Banks was all very well, but a woman of thirty-something ought to be able to provide at least one edible evening meal for her husband. So Lois chopped bacon and onions, grated cheese and measured out spaghetti in preparation for a hopefully triumphal spaghetti carbonara - though, of course, if Clark was home early, he could do the cooking. Her zest for conquering kitchen skills only extended as far as the lack of a viable alternative. All of which was another reason why she wasn't anxious to start a family. Mothers cooked: she did not. Mothers also knew what to do with babies: she did not. Just remembering how Ann had been with Alexander at the Planet proved that - there was an effortless ease which accompanied the way she handled and talked to her baby, as if she had been born to it. Lois, on the other hand, was awkward and clumsy around babies. Then there was the breast-feeding. Watching Ann feed Alexander had been quite beautiful - she had looked so content and calm, even though she had been in the middle of a hectic, chaotic newsroom. She had smiled serenely up at Lois while Alexander suckled at her breast, and Lois had felt... No, not that. Babies were messy, smelly things. They demanded attention all day long, they didn't let you have a life of your own, and if anyone was destined not to be a mother, it was her. She was no good around babies. Okay, so Alexander had quietened down pretty well today, but that was just because he had decided she was crazy: he already knew that the best way to deal with an unbalanced mind was to act calmly. It had been fun playing with him, though, especially when they'd been kidding Clark together. Before he had yanked her hair, there had been a few moments when he had seemed like the most adorable little package of life, dangling his soft feet restlessly on her lap and gazing at her with those big, round eyes. Babies had this wonderfully innocent, slight stupid expression which they fixed you with and made you want to say and do the silliest things with them. But then Ann had taken him away, and she had felt... Relieved. Yes, definitely. Relieved. Then noticing the push-chair beside Clark's desk and thinking that surely Ann must need all those mysterious baby things draped around it. Bursting in on her while she was feeding Alexander had been a surprise; Lois had expected to find a baby with a messy face and mucky bib, with one of those small bottles of brown goo on the table, and instead had found mother and baby enjoying some simple, peaceful moments together. Insidious suckling noises apart, Lois had felt... But no. Not that. It was crazy, because she had met plenty of Moms and babies before today and never felt like this, felt so... But for some reason, for the first time in her life, she had felt different at the Planet this morning. She had looked at Ann, and felt... Envy. Ann had something Lois could never have: a life she had created and nurtured; a child who was part of her; a bond which Lois could never experience. Lois sighed heavily and chopped some more onions. *********** Clark arrived home, smelt the tell-tale signs of cooking, and wandered into the kitchen in search of Lois. All the ingredients for spaghetti carbonara were assembled beside the cooker, but the cook was missing. "Lois?!" he called. "I'm home, honey!" A quick scan of the downstairs rooms came up blank, so he jogged upstairs, faintly puzzled by her absence. He called to her again as he reached the door of their bedroom, and was just in time to catch a glimpse of her studying herself in front of their full-length mirror before she whirled around. She was just slow enough for him to see her whip the bundled-up pillow out from underneath her sweater. "Hi, honey," he said, walking in to greet her, his mind busily processing the information his eyes had just given him. "I'm home." "I was just changing the bedclothes," explained his wife, hastily tossing the pillow onto the bed before kissing him lightly on the lips. He raised an eyebrow. "Personally, I thought you looked great." "Come on, let's go downstairs. You have spaghetti to cook." "Although probably two pillows would have been more realistic than one." She tugged his hand. "I've done all the hard stuff for you - you just have to be like one of those TV chefs and throw it all together. Couldn't be easier." "Of course, pillows are much softer than the real thing - or so I've heard." "I haven't done the eggs yet, though. Or the milk." Clark chuckled. "Lois, are we having the same conversation? Or is it just that one of us is lagged behind the other?" "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied haughtily. "I'm talking about the fact that you seem to be telling me what's for dinner, and I'm trying to ask you why you were standing in front of the mirror with a pillow stuffed up your sweater when I came in." "You saw that?" "Because it looked to me as if you were trying something out." He couldn't contain himself any longer; he was bursting to find out if he was right. "It seemed like you were wondering what you'd look like if you were pregnant." Which had immediately set him hoping that she had reconsidered her decision. It was a forbidden thought, and one that he had actively avoided over the past couple of days. He knew that he had no right to want her to change her mind, especially after they'd agreed not to take things any further - but he just couldn't help it: he wanted kids. "Clark, you couldn't be more wrong." Lois disappeared out the door, and he had to follow her downstairs to continue the conversation. "Oh? So what were you doing?" He knew he shouldn't press, either, but he couldn't help it: he had to know. "I was...trying to understand how overweight people felt. I thought I might write an article." "Ah." He recognised the signs; Lois was in denial. He steered the conversation onto other topics while preparing their dinner, telling her all about the thwarted break-in at Magazines United, followed by the two muggings he'd dealt with. "So," he said, carrying their plates into the dining room, "I told him I wasn't a taxi service and left him at the precinct. Is it me, or are criminals getting less respectful these days?" Lois sat down, stabbed a piece of bacon with her fork, and pointed it at him. "Okay, I give in, Mr Wise-guy. You think you can bully me into telling you what's on my mind with that mild-mannered act of yours-" "Bully you?" asked Clark in amusement. "Yes, bully me. You know I can't stand it when you're kind and understanding with me." "Would you prefer the strong-arm approach?" He put on a stern look. "Woman, tell me the truth before I strike you down with my ire." He bent across and ate the bacon off her fork. "And bring me a flagon of ale to wash this down while you're at it, wench." "Clark, did anyone ever tell you your foreign accents are as bad as your singing?" She was grinning at him, though. "No, I can't say anyone's mentioned it," he answered innocently. "But we digress. You were going to tell me something." "Yeah." She began fiddling with her spaghetti. "I've been...reassessing." "Reassessing?" "You know - the kids thing." "Ah, the kids thing." He nodded. "I thought maybe we might..." "Might...?" "Reassess. It. The situation." "The situation." "Clark, are you going to repeat everything I say?" she asked testily, twirling a strand of spaghetti expertly around her fork. "Sorry. I'll shut up. You were saying?" "I think maybe..." She took a deep breath. "What would you prefer - a boy or a girl? Personally, I don't think it matters as long as they're healthy, although of course if it was a boy you could take him fishing and all those other male- bonding type things that men like to do with their kids. Not that you can't take girls fishing either - just don't expect me to come with you. I'll stick to shopping skills, and...well, you'll have to teach her how to cook - and him as well. I don't want my kids growing up with the same ridiculous stereotypes my Mom and Dad fell into." She paused for breath. "What do you think?" "I think I need to make sure I understand what you're saying, honey," he replied, treading carefully lest he got overexcited. He wanted this badly, he realised with mixed feelings, but he owed it to Lois not to let it show too obviously. "Are you saying you want to try again for children? That you're willing to go through weeks, maybe months of tests and trials, so that we can have a baby together?" She looked at him seriously, all trace of banter and joking removed from her expression. "Yes, Clark. I want us to try again." He reached across the table for her hand, brimming over with joy, but exercising iron-clad control to avoid overwhelming her. "You're sure? You're not just doing this because of what I said the other day?" "No. *I* want us to have a baby. Of course, it's kind of convenient that you do too..." she added with a half-smile. He laughed softly. "It helps. But I want to be sure about this - you know what it could mean? We could go through the same thing we went through last time, and still not end up with a baby." "I know. But I also know how strong you are, and how strong our marriage is, and I think we'd survive. I'm not saying it would be easy a second time around, but we'd get through it, just like we always do, Clark. I'm willing to take the risk if you are." "You're sure?" "Clark, stop back-pedalling. I know how much you want this." "But this has to be *our* decision - we're looking at the possibility of a lot of heartache-" "Or the possibility of a lot of joy. Let's not give up before we've even started." She paused and looked at him seriously. "So, Clark - are you willing to take the risk with me?" He abandoned his dinner and pulled her gently into his arms. "You know I am, Lois." ********** The house stood dark and silent within its secretive grounds, lifeless but for a single lit window on the ground floor. All the preparations had been made, and the two rooms where treatment and recovery would take place were eerily quiet now that the workers had departed. No expense had been spared to equip the rooms with the latest technology, and at the same time strip them of any distinguishing features and install soundproofing to shield them from the outside world. The future occupant was to have no clues, visual or auditory, as to his location. The room where there was light made a sharp contrast to the stark appearance of the prepared rooms. Here there was carpet; here there were soft furnishings and decoration; here there was comfort. Mrs Patterson sighed and pushed her half-eaten meal aside, her appetite destroyed. Listening to the tapes from the alien's house while eating a late dinner had been a mistake, she decided. To hear one of her own kind express such repulsive ideas was more than she could stomach; a woman who wanted to carry the offspring of another species within her body was utterly disgusting. She'd heard of men and women who practised bestiality, but this was a hundred times worse than that. She picked up her cell-phone and pressed the speed-dial button. "Tomorrow." "Yes, Ma'am." ********* "Lois, Clark - in my office, please." Just five minutes into their day at the Planet and already Perry was hot on their heels. Lois looked up from her screen to find a very sombre editor standing between their desks. She frowned; he looked very grim, and not at all like the animated boss in full command-mode that she had been expecting. "What is it, Perry?" He regarded her seriously. "Not here." Perry turned to go back to his office, and Lois stood up with Clark to follow him. Clark looked as pensive as she felt; their editor was rarely this lacking in spark and good nature unless he had very bad news to pass on. She began running through a catalogue of possible disasters in her head, trying to imagine the worst that could possibly happen so that when Perry told them whatever it was he had to say the blow was lessened. "Shut the door and take a seat." Perry waited until they were all seated before continuing. "I received some very bad news this morning." He dragged his hands over his face in a weary gesture. "There's no easy way to say this - Ann Campbell was found dead last night in her apartment." Lois went cold all over. She heard Clark mutter a shocked '"Oh, no!", but her own response was strangled in her throat. Ann. So cheerful and full of life, and only yesterday she had been right here in the newsroom with her baby. Lois hadn't known her very well, but those few minutes with Ann and Alexander yesterday had imprinted themselves very deeply on her mind. How could someone so vibrant suddenly be dead? "How...?" asked Clark. Perry shook his head sadly. "Apparently there was a note. I couldn't get much more out of Phil than that when he called." "Suicide? But that's crazy!" protested Clark. "Not Ann. Why would she want to kill herself?" "I agree, Clark. It just doesn't make any sense - she and Phil had a good, solid relationship, and she loved that baby of hers to pieces. God knows, I didn't know everything about her, but Ann was the last person on this Earth I would have expected to take her own life." Lois couldn't believe what she was hearing. Who would want to kill themselves when they had a baby as adorable as Alexander to look after? It simply couldn't be true. "She was murdered." Her words cut across the other two's conversation, and she felt Clark looking at her in consternation, but she ignored him, because she knew she was right. "Lois, you can't know-" "I know. And Perry agrees with me, don't you, Perry?" Her editor sighed deeply. "I don't know what I know, darlin'. I do know that something smells wrong here, and that's why I called you two in here. I want you to start digging." He held up his hands. "Now, I know it's gonna be hard - none of us like digging into the private affairs of one of our own at a time like this, but I don't know anyone who would do a better job than you two. Just go easy on Phil, won't you? He wasn't making much sense this morning, and he's got to be going through hell right now - not to mention coping with a young baby who's just lost his mother." "You know we will, Perry," answered Clark. Lois was still thinking about her murder theory. "Ann was working on that story about Meg Patterson, wasn't she? She told us she thought there might be a link between Patterson and an underground extremist right-wing group she'd heard of." She leaned forward. "Maybe she got too close." Perry looked at her with a stricken expression. "I hope I'm wrong on this one, but that's why I'm assigning you two to the story as well as digging into what happened to her." "Do you have any of her notes or leads we can use to get a head start?" asked Lois. "Not really. I do know that her contact was an ex-army friend of her Dad's, so you might want to start there," Perry replied. Lois didn't relish the prospect of asking a father for information when he was so recently bereaved, but she merely nodded. She still felt numbed by the terrible news, and the image of Ann feeding her baby in the conference room kept coming back to her again and again. It just wasn't right that a life so loving and caring should suddenly be stopped; cancelled out before it had a chance to flourish. And poor Alexander - motherless, and with a devastated father struggling to be two parents when he could hardly be one whole person. She wondered what support Phil had available to him. Were there female relatives or friends who would rally round and help him take care of Alexander? The thought of him having to cope alone, especially at night, tore at her heart. Perhaps she and the rest of the Planet staff could organise some help for him, or at least start a collection to help with the extra bills which would start piling up. "Lois?" She blinked and looked over at Clark. "Uh, right. We should get started." "I'll be telling the rest of the staff in a few minutes," said Perry. "Sorry you're gonna hear it all over again." "Perry, I just wish you didn't have to go through breaking the bad news twice," said Clark. "It can't be easy." Perry nodded sadly. "You're right there, son. But I wouldn't want them to hear it any other way." ******** Clark followed Lois to her desk and hunkered down beside her chair. Apart from her quiet outburst about Ann's possible murder, she'd been very quiet in Perry's office, and he sensed that she was taking the news very badly. He himself had been deeply shocked by the news; he believed that life was an extremely precious gift, and no matter how many times he saw it wasted through tragedy or design, he never got used to the loss. When it was a new mother, that was twice as terrible, and when that new mother was someone he had known - and only yesterday had held her baby in his own arms - then it bit very deep indeed. Lois, he thought, felt an affinity with Ann even though she hadn't really known her that well. Looking at her stricken look, it occurred to him that Ann had possibly been part of the reason why Lois had decided she wanted to try again for kids. Ann, after all, had been in a very similar position to Lois: married for a couple of years or so, and a reporter at the Daily Planet. He also hadn't missed the fond looks she had given Ann and especially baby Alexander; hadn't he been reflecting just yesterday on how right Lois had looked with Alexander? "I can't believe it," he said softly. She shook her head. "Me either. Clark, she didn't deserve to die." "No-one does, honey." "But she had Alexander - why would anyone want to kill the mother of a young baby?" "We don't know that they did, Lois." "You're not buying that suicide crap?!" she spat in a low voice. "No, but we have to consider all the possibilities." "Well, while you're considering possibilities, I'm going to do something worthwhile," she said flatly, picking up her phone and dialling a number with sharp jabs on the keypad. "Lois, honey..." He put his hand on her leg in a placatory gesture. He knew she was only lashing out because she was upset and angry, because he felt much the same way himself. He listened to her talk to Personnel and ask after Phil and Alexander's welfare: had anyone from the Planet contacted Phil to make sure he had enough support? She seemed satisfied with the answers she received, but before he could ask her what those were, Perry called everyone to attention and began to break the sad news to the staff. The newsroom was a much more subdued place after Perry's announcement. Jimmy appeared at their desk a few moments later. "CK, there's a package for you to sign for downstairs," he said quietly. Clark frowned. He wasn't expecting any deliveries, and he didn't really want to leave Lois right now. "Can't they bring it up here?" Jimmy shrugged faintly. "Front desk won't let couriers into the building any more." "You can sign for it, Jimmy. They won't know the difference." "Sorry, CK - Perry wants me to help him pull some stuff out of the archives." "It'll just take you a couple of minutes," suggested Clark, putting on his most persuasive tone of voice. "Look, you're not the only person with important work to do, okay?" retorted Jimmy belligerently. "Maybe writing Ann's obit is important too." He walked away without waiting for Clark's answer. Clark kicked himself for his insensitivity and quickly stood up and jogged the couple of paces necessary to catch Jimmy up. "Sorry, Jimmy. I guess Ann's death has hit us all hard." "Yeah," replied Jimmy dully. "Do you need any help?" "No, it's pretty easy to dig out. But thanks." "Okay." Clark went back to Lois's desk and explained his errand to her. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes," he finished, heading towards the elevators. ********* Downstairs, he crossed to the reception desk. "I was told there's a package for me to sign for? I'm Clark Kent." The security guard frowned at him. "No package here, Mr Kent. Who told you we had it?" "Jimmy Olsen - he said there was a courier waiting." "Well, I'm sorry, but we haven't got anything here for you. All deliveries go direct to the postroom; if we get any couriers we send them over there." Clark glanced over to the double doors the guard was indicating. "Maybe Jimmy got his wires crossed. Sorry to have bothered you." "No problem, Mr Kent." He turned away to walk over to the post-room doors. "Clark! Long time, no see, big guy!" A tall, broad man who had risen from one of the visitor's chairs intercepted him, clapping a large hand on his shoulder and smiling enthusiastically. Clark recoiled slightly and looked at the man, trying to dredge up any memories of past encounters with him. "I'm sorry - obviously you know me, but I'm afraid I don't know you." "Of course you do, Clark!" The man shook his shoulder vigorously. "Don't you remember your old college buddies?" Before Clark could respond, another large man had come up close on his other side and slung his arm around Clark's shoulders. "Hiya, Clark!" And suddenly there was pain. Sickening, excruciating pain coursing right through him. The shock made him falter for just long enough for the second man to begin frog- marching him away from the post-room. He lost his balance a little, but strong hands held him up and forced him forward. By the time he'd realised what they were intending, the pain was beginning to bite deep into his body and his legs were buckling. By the time they neared the door, the man on his left was virtually holding him up with a powerful grip around his shoulders, and the other guy was walking close beside and slightly behind him. "Hey, I knew you'd remember us, Clark!" exclaimed the man holding him up and propelling him towards the door. "A quick drink sounds like a great idea." "There's a bar just around the corner, isn't there?" added the other man. His vision was beginning to blur. He knew they were now outside on the pavement, and he was vaguely aware of the indistinct shapes of passers-by, but the pain and confusion was too much to handle. He knew it was kryptonite; the deep, cramping pain all over his body, stabbing headache and nauseating dizziness couldn't be anything else, and a distant part of him wondered where on earth they could have got it from. As far as he knew the only samples these days were at Star Labs...he suddenly remembered the break-in there. But they had checked the kryptonite vault, hadn't they? He wanted to shout out; draw attention to himself any way he could, but all that he could muster was what sounded to his ears like a very far away moan. The men's conversation was blurring too, waving sickening in and out of his hearing, while his head spun and his body seemed to be detached from his brain. His footsteps stumbled along between the two men, and then he was being roughly manhandled into the back of some sort of vehicle. He glimpsed a blurry figure with a medical mask covering most of his face, and he tried to resist the pain long enough to identify the face and demand to know what was happening, but the blur grew darker and darker until there was nothing. ******** Three hours later, Lois walked into the conference room and turned on the TV. At twenty minutes past the time she would have expected Clark back from his errand downstairs, she had concluded that he had heard a cry for help somewhere. At two hours, she had decided it must be something fairly major, but by that time she'd been deep into background research on Ann's Mrs Patterson, and hadn't give his absence any further thought. Five minutes ago, Perry had walked past and commented mildly on Clark's absence, and she had automatically given one of her vast array of excuses for him, but the exchange had made her realise just how long he'd been absent. For Clark to have been away this long, he must be involved in a very serious incident, unless it was several incidents running back to back, which in itself was unusual. So she began flicking through the TV channels, looking for news reports. Nothing. It was possible, of course, that he was in another country, and news hadn't filtered back to the US channels yet. If that was the case, however, then how would he have known there was anything which required his help? His hearing was good, but not that good. She ran through all the channels again, including a couple of international ones, but there were no incidents where Superman was helping out. She glanced at her watch. Twelve thirty. Roughly three and a half hours since he had gone down to the front desk to sign for that package: time to panic, or not? She gazed blankly at the screen, weighing up the situation. He was well overdue from his original errand, he hadn't contacted her since then, and there was no evidence to tell her where he might be. On the other hand, he was Superman, he was the strongest man in the world, he could very ably look after himself, and the nature of his job meant he was often called away unexpectedly and not able to contact her from wherever he was. Not time to panic, then. No. Definitely not. She made a decision: have lunch, and if he wasn't back after that, she would start investigating this package he was supposed to have been collecting. Maybe that would explain everything. ******** Clark awoke feeling wretched. Slowly he became aware of an ache digging deep into his bones and muscles, and a constant throbbing in his head. He was lying in a bed somewhere, but when he tried to move, he found his wrists and ankles tethered somehow, and cautious experimentation revealed a debilitating weakness which made it impossible to break free. Kryptonite. He remembered the two men, and the sudden onslaught of pain. There had been a nightmarish journey across the Planet foyer and along the street, and then a van of some kind. He turned his head to one side to identify his surroundings, and found a young woman in her mid-twenties standing watching him. She looked oddly familiar, but he couldn't remember where he'd seen her before. "Hello, Clark," she said. "How are you feeling?" She came nearer to him and put her cool hand on his forehead. "Your fever's down a little, I think. That's good - we reduced the exposure to get you stabilised." "Who are you?" he asked, horrified at the croaky sound of his own voice. "Don't you remember me, Clark? You were very polite to me and my friend Barney in the park the other day." The woman with the kid who'd nearly fallen through the ice! But...he'd been Superman then, hadn't he? "I don't know what you mean." "Oh, yes, you were Superman that day, weren't you? I'm sorry - I forgot." She moved her hand down from his forehead and stroked the side of his face gently and then trickled her hand down his neck to his chest, where she let it rest for a few moments. Something wasn't right here, he began to realise; this woman, with her blonde hair tied back into a tight ponytail and a myopic gaze as if she usually wore glasses, had an agenda which left him feeling very uneasy. Her touch, and her manner, was almost lascivious. Breathing was difficult enough while he was fighting against the effects of the invisible kryptonite, but the alarm he was beginning to experience made it even harder. She smiled suggestively down at him, and he reflected that at least he still had his shirt on - but then she undid a couple of his buttons with a sultry smirk and slipped her hand under his Superman suit and onto his bare skin. He hated it. "You're pretty handsome for an alien, you know," she remarked in a low voice. "Why are you doing this to me?" he ground out. Inside he was panicking: they knew he was Superman! And who were they - how many of them were there? "Because it's necessary, Clark. But don't you worry about that. I'm here to take your mind off things for a while - kind of help you relax." She winked. Before he could figure out what exactly she meant by that, she had pulled her sweater off in one fluid movement, to reveal a very tight-fitting top with a deep, plunging V-neck which left little to the imagination. She put a hand either side of his head and leant closely over him. "Do you like what you see, Clark?" "Get away from me!" he protested as loudly as he could. But instead, to his intense alarm, she was climbing onto the bed. He tried to sit up; to knock her away somehow, but the tethers made it impossible to get his elbows underneath himself in order to lever his body up, and anyway, he simply didn't have the strength. His head started swimming with the fruitless effort, and before he knew it, she was straddling his thighs, effectively pinning him down. Efforts to raise his knees and throw her off were useless; she was too heavy for him in his weakened state. He let his head flop impotently back onto the pillow in frustration, and the panic he had felt on learning that they knew his secret doubled: what was she planning on doing to him? She leant forward, put her hands either side of his head again and dipped down to kiss him. He twisted his face away quickly, making his head throb harder. He felt her lips on his cheek and he shifted his head quickly again, ignoring the sickening throbbing and dizziness. This was a nightmare - worse than anything he had ever imagined whenever he had feared capture and experimentation. He could feel her breath on his face. "Don't you like me, Clark?" "No, I don't." "Maybe you just need some encouragement," she said with a suggestive smile. To his relief, she withdrew and sat up again. He tried again to throw her off him, and she gripped the sides of the bed and forced him down with her weight. "Now, now, Clark. You'll just tire yourself out, and we can't have that, can we? Not yet, anyway." To his horror, he felt her hands at his crotch, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. He wriggled and fought under her until spots danced in front of his eyes and he could hardly catch his breath. "Stop it," he gasped. But a hand had insinuated itself inside and was touching him. Fondling him. "Stop it!" he gasped again angrily. She pouted. "But this is your treat, Clark. Kind of like the condemned man eating a hearty breakfast." She grinned. "I'm your breakfast." He screwed his eyes tight shut and struggled as hard as he dared in the circumstances - but it was useless. No matter what he did, she wouldn't let go, and wouldn't be thrown off. The hand moved over him, touching him where only Lois had permission to go; where the only woman he had ever wanted to touch him so intimately was Lois. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. The light was also dawning that perhaps this woman was actually enjoying his struggles... He felt sick. "Get off him!" It was a new voice, another woman's voice. The pressure on his legs lessened, and then she was off him. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" asked the new voice. "Oh, just running a small private experiment." That was the first woman. "You're not even wearing your mask. Get out of here!" There was silence, and then there were hands at his crotch again, but after a moment of panic, he realised they were fastening him up again. He opened his eyes, and found another woman leaning over him, wearing a surgical mask and a lab coat. There was a stethoscope slung around her neck, but essentially, it was impossible to identify her from only the expressionless eyes gazing at him while she readjusted his clothes. "Who are you?" he tried again, not expecting an answer but desperate to register his protest any way he could. She didn't even speak. Instead, she began to examine him methodically, listening to his chest, taking his temperature, his blood pressure and his pulse. He struggled at first, but then two very strong hands grabbed his shoulders and slammed him down into the bed. Exhausted and feeling incredibly ill, he gave up the fight and submitted; it didn't seem worth wasting his precious resources any further. When she was finished, she disappeared from his line of vision, but he heard her say, "He's ready." Then there were men with surgical masks all around him, his legs and shoulders were pinned down, and suddenly his right arm was being grabbed tightly. "No!" he cried, knowing instinctively what was coming next. A pinprick in his arm. A horrible, confusing, swimming sensation crept over him. Dimly, he heard someone call his name, and he tried to answer. Another pinprick in his arm. The fuzziness got worse, then... ********** Lunchtime came and went, and still Clark's desk was empty. Time for decisive action: Lois took the elevators down to the foyer and crossed to the front desk. "My husband, Mr Kent, came here this morning to sign for a package. I wondered whether you still had it, since I haven't seen him since then and I thought maybe he might have left it here with you?" The security guard shook his head. "Sorry - we don't keep packages here. You could try the post-room." "Is that where you sent him?" He shrugged. "I wasn't on this morning." "Oh, I see." Frustrated, she crossed to the post-room and walked inside to stand in front of the long, high desk behind which all the paraphernalia of post-sorting was arranged. A long, lanky guy sauntered over to her. "Help you?" "Did my husband, Clark Kent, come in here this morning to collect a package he needed to sign for? He's been out since then and I wondered whether he might have left it with you." "Nope, nothing here." She scowled at him. "You didn't even look." "That's because I know there's nothing here." She looked pointedly around at the stacks of envelopes, parcels, and post office bags littering the area. "You know where everything is in here, do you?" "Yup," he answered with a stoic look. "What about behind this desk? I bet you've got all sorts of rubbish stacked up behind here." "Yup, but there aren't any packages for Clark Kent." "How do you know?" "Because it's my job to know." "Does your job also include being as unhelpful, obstructive and rude as you can to your customers?" Lois asked angrily. "Only on Tuesdays." Her patience at rock-bottom, Lois reached up, grabbed his tie and yanked him towards her. "Who's your manager?" she asked, glaring directly into his eyes. "Frank Baker. But he's having his lunch," replied the man, staring straight back at her. "I don't care. Get him." She yanked on his tie again, jerking it viciously. "Frank!" yelled the man from the corner of his mouth. "Lady wants to talk to you." Lois saw another man appear from behind a screen with half a bagel in his large, pudgy hand. She pushed her captive away again. "You assaulting my staff?" asked Frank casually. "Just taking a closer look to see if he was actually alive or not," retorted Lois. "He seemed to have difficulty in understanding my request." "Which was?" "I'm looking for a package which my husband, Clark Kent, may have signed for in here this morning. A courier delivered it." "Well, that's strange, because we haven't had any couriers in here today." Lois looked at him incredulously. "None at all? We *are* a newspaper, you know." "Oh, and there was I thinking we were a fishmongers. Damn, that explains a lot, that does. Thanks, lady." "Does anyone here actually take a professional attitude towards their work, or are they all like you?" He shrugged. "All like me. But hey, at least I'm here, lady. The couriers are all on strike - didn't you know? We *are* a newspaper, after all." Lois stared at him for a moment, then turned on her heel and stormed out, brimming with anger and frustration - why couldn't they have said that in the first place, instead of wasting her time? And where the hell was Clark? She crossed back to the front desk. "Who was on the desk this morning, around nine o'clock?" she demanded. The guard blinked and pulled back from her. "Ian Smith." "And where do I find him?" "At home in bed. With the 'flu. Satisfied?" "No." She walked away a couple of paces, trying to tamp down her frustration. All she wanted to know was who called Clark down to the front desk, and it seemed as if the whole world were conspiring against her. She turned back. "Can I borrow your phone?" "Sure." He lifted it up from behind the counter and she dialled a number. "Jimmy, who did you speak to this morning when you sent Clark down for that package?" "Uh, Lois, I don't know. The guy on the front desk, I guess." "What was his name?" "I don't know - he just said he was calling from downstairs. Why?" Lois sighed. "Never mind." She replaced the receiver and took a deep breath. "Look," she began, trying a new, calmer tack with the security guard. "My husband seems to have gone missing and the last time I saw him was when he left to pick up a package from here this morning. If your colleague saw him this morning, then I really need to speak to him to find out what he knows - do you have his home phone number? Please?" "Have you called the police?" "No, not yet." She wasn't sure if she would, either. Things could get very complicated if the police got involved, and anyway, calling the police would mean she was admitting he was missing. She wasn't ready for that, even if she had just told the security guard the same thing. "You want me to call them for you?" He was all concern now, but she didn't want him getting involved in this either. "No - but thanks. Please, all I need is to talk to your colleague - do you have his number?" He frowned. "Ordinarily, I wouldn't, but..." He pulled the phone around and dialled. After a brief explanatory conversation, he handed the receiver over to her. "I'm really sorry to drag you out of bed like this. Did you see my husband this morning?" "Yeah," said a bunged-up voice at the other end. "He wanted to know if I had a package for him to sign for. I told him all packages go to the post-room." Fighting frustration again, Lois continued. "Did he go to the post-room?" "Yeah, I sent him over." "Because they say they wouldn't have had anything for him either." "Oh. Well, I guess he didn't get his package, then." A scream was welling up inside Lois, but she kept her voice calm. "Did you see where he went next?" "'Fraid not. Sorry - I'm not being much help, am I?" "That's okay. Thanks, anyway - I hope you feel better soon." "Hope you find your husband - he seemed like a nice guy." "Thanks." She was putting the phone down with a heavy heart when she heard a squawk from the receiver. "Yes?" "I just remembered - he left with a couple of buddies. They had pretty loud voices, and I couldn't hear what this guy was saying to me, so I looked up, ready to shut them up, but they were just walking out the door." "What did they look like?" Lois demanded. "Big guys, both of them. Kinda busting out of their suits, you know?" "Tall, short, hair, no hair?" "About the same height as your husband, I think." He sneezed. "Sorry. Dark hair, both of them." "Did you see their faces?" "No. I only saw their backs as they were pushing through the doors. Kind of a tight fit, I thought - don't know why they didn't go through one at a time." "They went through together?" Lois didn't think that was possible, or likely, given Clark's bulk. "Your husband went through with one of them, then the other guy. They must have been real close buddies, because they all had their arms around each other. Hey, maybe that's where your husband is - maybe they got talking, maybe went to a bar, maybe drank a little too much, or just forgot the time? He'll probably come back with his head in his hands, all sorry for himself." "My husband doesn't drink," replied Lois coldly. And he didn't have friends who were bursting out of their suits and would walk arm and arm with him. Clark had been kidnapped. ********** The image on the monitor screen was static and monochrome: the only colour in the white room was the rumpled dark hair of the man lying helpless in the stark hospital-style bed. White sheets and blankets covered his body, and his face had drained to a greyish white. The man occupied a twilight world in this white room, neither unconscious nor conscious, and into the unnatural dead silence of the soundproofing came a quiet female voice, speaking calmly and persuasively. Now and then the man would murmur softly in protest, or his head would turn from one side to the other; whenever this happened the voice would soothe and comfort until he became quiescent once more. Mrs Patterson turned away from the monitor to face her colleague. Ms Jones's voice droned softly in the background from the monitor's speakers, delivering its destructive message to her subject with calm and soft authority. "So tell me, Professor," began Mrs Patterson. "How long will the procedure take? I was given to understand that this is a simple operation." Professor Davis shrugged carelessly. "As you reminded us all the other day, he is an alien. The physiology is different." She looked directly into his eyes; she didn't like the casual manner with which he was treating her questions, and experience had taught her that casualness often hid uncertainty. "Meaning?" "Meaning I can't give you a definitive time-frame, given the unknowns involved. "But you anticipate success?" He met her gaze. "Of course." "With no margin for error or uncertainty?" "Absolutely none." She studied his face and body language for a few moments. "I don't tolerate dishonesty in my team members," she remarked sharply. "Mrs Patterson, there comes a point in any team leadership when you simply have to trust your team to do the professional job you employed them for," pointed out Professor Davis dryly. "I'm aware of that, but the question is: have I reached that point with you, Professor Davis?" He shrugged again. "Only you can answer that, Mrs Patterson. I've given you my answer." "You certainly have, Professor." She turned back to the monitor to observe the alien again, leaving the Professor to let himself out. His answer was inadequate, but she recognised the folly of trying to extract more precise information from him. In any case, there were other ways to verify his claim. She heard the door open again behind her. "You wanted to see me?" asked a different male voice. She turned. "Ah, yes, Mr Sayer. Where is the Lane woman at this point in time?" He frowned. "I thought you understood that the tracer was only for short-term use?" "Yes, Mr Sayer, I did," she answered, letting her impatience show. "However, you didn't tell me exactly when that term of use would run out." "Well, it will have dissolved some time this morning." "I see. No matter - as long as the house is still monitored, we will have the information we need to ensure that treatment has been successful. It would have been useful to know the location of the Lane woman, since she will undoubtedly be searching for the alien soon, but it isn't essential." She paused. "You can assure me that the devices in the house are still functioning, I assume?" "Yeah, those babies will still be working when you and I are six feet under." "Good." She didn't need to interrogate Mr Sayer as to his honesty: she knew without a shadow of doubt that he spoke the truth. "Then, after the procedure is complete, we can release the alien and begin monitoring." And she would have her answer as to whether Professor Davis was telling the truth or not. ********** "Okay, Ms Lane. I'll get this description circulated to my men, and we'll start questioning people downstairs right away." It had been a surprisingly easy decision, Lois reflected once she was left alone in the conference room. Calling in the police had been a risk, given Clark's unique circumstances, but as soon as she had realised he had been abducted, there had been no question in her mind: she couldn't possibly search for him on her own. She needed manpower to trace exactly what had happened in the foyer this morning, chase down descriptions of his captors, and find out what had happened outside the building, and that meant bringing in the police. She had gone straight to the top: she had known Inspector Bill Henderson long enough to know that he wouldn't waste time pacifying her with meaningless platitudes. He also knew Clark, so that when she had described her reconstruction of Clark's abduction, he hadn't made stupid suggestions or asked stupid questions, but had immediately reeled off a series of rapid-fire queries, wanting to know what stories Clark was working on, who he might have made enemies of recently, and asking for any possible suspects Lois might already have in mind. Of course, she hadn't been able to tell him the one piece of information which was actually at the centre of his investigation: whoever had kidnapped Clark had to know that he was also Superman. If she wanted to, she could convince herself that Clark had actually allowed himself to be kidnapped. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he had done something like that, in order to discover who wanted to kidnap him and why. She could picture him feigning normal strength, putting up just enough resistance to fool his captors, and carefully taking in everything he saw and heard for further investigation. That was the comforting version of events, and one she would dearly like to believe, but for a piece of puzzle which had suddenly fallen into place: the break-in at Star Labs. At the time, she had thought it a nonsensical act; a break-in to steal schematics of a chip which was so preliminary as to be virtually useless. Incompetent, mis-informed thieves were not unknown, of course, but she had felt something was wrong about the break-in as soon as she had first arrived at Star Labs. If she hadn't been in such a foul mood following that well-woman clinic, she might have done something about that gut feeling. Now she regretted not checking more thoroughly: she was sure that if she asked Dr Klein to check the kryptonite vault right now, there would either be a piece missing, or whatever was in there would be a fake. So while Henderson and his staff investigated Clark's abduction, Lois was going to re-open that Star Labs investigation. The door opened to the conference room again, and she looked up from the cold cup of coffee she'd been staring into. "Lois, what the heck's going on? I come back from lunch to find the foyer swarming with police wanting to know where I was at 9am this morning, and when I come up here, all Jimmy can tell me is that I better come and talk to you. Please don't tell me this is more bad news." "Clark's been kidnapped." She didn't have the energy to dress it up nicely, and it didn't become any easier to announce each time she had to tell someone, so Perry received the raw, unedited version. "Kidnapped? Are you sure?" She closed her eyes briefly. If one more person asked her that, she'd do something violent. Or start crying. One of the two. "Hell, honey, that was a stupid question, wasn't it? Of course you're sure." She opened her eyes to find him sinking into a chair at the table beside her. "What happened? And is there anything I can do?" "All I know is that two men grabbed hold of him downstairs, pretending to be friends of his, and dragged him outside. I don't know why." But I do know that they must have hurt him... By the look of him, Perry was thinking the same thing. "Clark's a fighter, honey. And if they've kidnapped him for money, they won't hurt him." "Thanks, Perry, but I doubt they've taken him for money. We haven't got any - at least, not enough to interest kidnappers. And there hasn't been any kind of ransom demand." He rubbed his hand over his jaw thoughtfully. "I guess you've been through the usual list of suspects and checked who's been released from jail with the police?" She nodded. "Nothing, really." She stood up; she'd been sitting idle for too long. "I've got to go over to Star Labs. There's something I want to check out over there." "Star Labs? What in Elvis' name do you want to go there for?" "It's just an idea...I'll tell you later." When she'd figured out a cover story to tell him. Right now she just wanted to get on with finding Clark. He stopped her at the door. "You know that the Planet has pretty deep pockets, if it does turn out to be a ransom demand." "Thanks, Perry - and I'm sorry that I won't be working on Ann's story until this is over." "Of course, honey. Anything you need, you just let me know." She nodded jerkily and hurried out of the room. His sympathetic eyes were too much to bear: she was far better off concentrating on investigating rather than thinking too hard about what was happening to Clark right now. ********* The voice had stopped. At least, he thought there had been a voice talking which wasn't there any more. Everything was muddled. He thought he was lying in a bed, but even that wasn't a certainty. He was fairly sure he had his eyes closed, and that his name was Clark Kent and...and that he felt faintly nauseous. Why would that be? No idea, except...he remembered a woman. Blonde hair scraped back into a pony tail, big glasses, looming over him with a predatory smile on her face - pinning him down, taunting him and touching him... In a moment of searing clarity, his senses zeroed in on the place where she had been touching him. And he remembered the pin-prick in his arm. What had she done to him? Suddenly his heart was thumping. What had she done to him? Why was he lying in this bed - he was sure of that now - his body so heavy and lethargic that he couldn't move it? What had she done? What had- "Clark. Everything is all right." The calm, compelling voice was back again, but everything wasn't all right. He was scared. "Don't be scared. Everything is all right. Don't be scared. Everything is all right..." The voice was his lifeline. He'd been all right until it had stopped talking to him, but it was back again now. It was comforting, if only he could hold onto its calm security and forget this rising panic. He listened to it. "Don't be scared, Clark. Everything is all right. Don't be scared. Everything is all right. Don't be scared. Everything is all right. Don't be scared..." The slow, soothing murmur gradually helped him calm down, and soon everything was all right. He wasn't scared. ******** Her visit to Star Labs confirmed her hypothesis that the kryptonite vault had been broken into and a sample removed; Dr Klein tested the pieces remaining, and one of the larger fragments was a fake. He was mortified by his omission, and was immediately eager to contact Superman to warn him, until Lois deflected him by breaking the news that Clark, the person he had hoped would be able to make contact, was missing, presumed kidnapped. His resulting sympathy and concern was kind and well-meant, but of little use to her: she was making a determined effort to concentrate single-mindedly on the investigation. Sympathy was distracting and only made it harder to ignore her own frantic fears for her husband. The police officer in charge of the Star Labs investigation had little to offer her either - just a couple of descriptions and evidence which pointed to a very high-tech break-in. She would have expected no less, considering the Labs' advanced security systems. Nevertheless, every tiny piece of information had to help in some way, she reminded herself as she waited for the descriptions to arrive on Dr Klein's fax machine. "And you've no idea why Clark might have been kidnapped?" Dr Klein was asking. At least this was a question she could answer truthfully for both Clark and Superman. "Not really. I mean, we've both got enemies - you can't help collecting them in our business, but there's no one person or group that seems to have it in for him right now." As Superman, of course, there were always going to be people who wanted to stop him doing his job, but she needed specifics, not generalities. "Do you think they got the right person? Maybe they thought Clark was someone important - uh, not that Clark isn't important, of course! He's the most important person in the world to you, I know, but he's not-" "They got the right person," she interrupted heavily, cutting him off before he dug himself an even deeper hole. "They lured him downstairs, remember?" "Oh, yes. I forgot. So why are you over here, investigating our break-in?" "Because I think the two are linked in some way." "Because Clark knows how to contact Superman?" His face showed how far-fetched an idea he thought that was, although he didn't say anything. But she couldn't say that. "It's just a hunch," she said instead. The fax machine beeped and began rolling out the fax she'd been waiting for. "What now?" asked Dr Klein. "Back to the Planet. Let me know if the police come up with anything more here, will you, Dr Klein?" "Of course, Lois. And I hope you find Clark soon." "Thanks." ********* Back at the Planet, she made straight for Jimmy. "See what you can dig up on these two, Jimmy," she said, dumping the faxed descriptions on his desk in front of him. "I know it's not much to go on, but see if you can correlate them with the last few stories Clark worked on." "Sure, Lois. Although if you really think there's a link, why don't I see if they match the descriptions the police have of Clark's kidnappers?" "They have descriptions?" "I heard one of them say they had a partial description a while ago, but maybe they've got more by now." She nodded. "Do it." Slumping down behind her own desk, she noticed that the newsroom hubbub was thinning out, and realised that the working day was nearing an end. Which meant that Clark had been missing for almost nine hours. She gazed over at his empty chair. Nine hours was such a long time. Anything could have happened to him in that time - he might not even be in Metropolis any more. He could be hurt, sick, or even... No! She wasn't going to start thinking like that; she wasn't even going to let herself entertain that idea. There was no point. What she had to do was figure out why someone would want to kidnap Superman and hold him for nine hours. "Lois, honey? Why don't you go home and let the police take care of this?" She looked up at Perry. "I can't. I have to keep looking for him, Perry." "Mr White's right, Ms Lane." It was one of the police detectives. "The best place you can be right now is at home. If the kidnappers release your husband, that's where he'll go, and if they try to contact you, that's where they'll look for you first. I'll send one of my men home with you so that we can put a tap on your phone." "They won't be trying to contact me. I told you before - there isn't going to be a ransom demand for Clark." And she certainly didn't want the police tapping her phone! "How can you be so sure? Kidnappers will often wait a few hours to soften you up before they make first contact, Ms Lane." "I just know." Although, if they knew that Clark was Superman, then they probably knew that she was his wife...maybe it was possible they would try and contact her after all. She stood up abruptly. "I will go home though - on my own," she added pointedly. Because he had also been right about Clark; if he did escape or get released, he would probably head for home if he could. With her laptop, two phones, and access to the Planet's computers, she could carry on her investigation just as well there as here, and maybe even more effectively without people like this well-meaning police detective to distract her. "A phone tap is standard procedure in these cases, Ms Lane." "Not in this case," she retorted, putting on her coat. "It's for your husband's benefit." "Look, if they contact me, you'll be the first to know, I promise you." She shouldered her purse and made for the elevators. "Mr White has my phone numbers if you need to contact me." "Ms Lane!" protested the policeman from behind her, but she ignored him and kept going. At the elevators, she pulled her cell-phone out to check that it was still switched on. How many times was that now? Probably the third or fourth, but if Clark tried to contact her on it, she wanted to be damn sure he got through. ********* Mrs Patterson pushed open the door to the control room. "I gather you want to discuss something with me. Do we have a problem?" Dr Scott turned from the bank of monitors displaying the alien's vital signs. "Yes. I can't keep him stable for much longer." She indicated one of the monitors. "As you can see, we're already seeing spikes of increased brain activity, typically coinciding with an increase in heart rate." "And this can't be corrected?" asked Mrs Patterson. "Not without putting an undue strain on his body. From the start, we've been working within very narrow parameters, between the kryptonite and the drugs we're using. Throw in a totally alien physiology, and, frankly, I think we're lucky to have got away with it for so long." Mrs Patterson turned to Ms Jones. "How much longer do you need?" She shrugged. "He's been responding well to the programming so far. Ideally, I'd prefer longer, in order to reinforce it with some auto-suggestion techniques, but I believe the work I've accomplished so far will do the trick." Mrs Patterson gave her young colleague a cold look. "We are not performing a circus act here, Ms Jones. What you term a trick is, in fact, the neutralising of a dangerous threat to humanity." Ms Jones smirked. "A very *large* threat." Such a cheap, tawdry remark... "I'm sorry you don't take our work here as seriously as the rest of us," she snapped. "Dr Scott has already told me about your stupid prank earlier with the alien, which leaves me wondering whether you belong with our group or not, Ms Jones. Apparently you find the alien physically attractive." Ms Jones shrugged carelessly again. "Only in an academic sense. As a scientist, I'm fascinated by such an usual and unique specimen. And I still think it's unnecessary to tamper with his physiology - my programming is more than adequate to prevent reproduction, whereas you could end up doing more harm than good if Professor Davis's procedure goes wrong." "Well, thankfully the decision isn't yours to make, Ms Jones. Professor Davis has assured me that success in guaranteed, and I have the utmost faith in his abilities." She paused. "And, Ms Jones?" "What?" "Please confine your fascination to the cerebral rather than the physical in future. Is that understood?" "Sure." Mrs Patterson looked sharply at her young subordinate; she abhorred such casual, sloppy language, believing it to indicate a sloppy mind and a careless attitude. "Yes," amended Ms Jones after a pause. "Thank you. Dr Scott, perhaps you would be so good as to contact Professor Davis and ask him to prepare for surgery?" "Of course." ********* The phone was ringing. Lois burst out of the kitchen where she'd been making herself a cup of coffee and hurled herself at the receiver. "Yes?" "Lois, it's Bill Henderson. I won't stay on the line long - I just wanted to give you an update." She grabbed on to the coffee table with her free hand, momentarily dizzy from the sudden rush of adrenaline which had propelled her from the kitchen. This was the second time; the first phone call had been Jimmy, letting her know that he'd found a match between the two sets of descriptions. One of the men who had been seen carrying out some preparatory surveillance at Star Labs the day before the break-in was almost certainly the same man who had first approached Clark in the Planet's foyer this morning. Once she had recovered from her disappointment that the call hadn't been from Clark, she had been grateful for the news. It confirmed her very strong suspicions, and it gave her a clearer profile of the people who had kidnapped Clark: they obviously had access to high-end security technology, given Star Lab's advanced security measures. They were also organised, with money and/or considerable resources at their disposal. And, while she had no concrete basis for her hunch, she suspected that there was a group of people at work here, possibly with a strong individual leading them. Whether that group had ties with officialdom, or was working privately, was impossible to tell, but again, her hunch told her they were privately funded. "Lois, you there?" She dragged herself back to the phone call. "Yes. Sorry." "I thought you'd like to know that we've got a lead on the vehicle Clark was probably taken away in. A passer-by saw Clark being walked towards the back of a van parked just inside an alley beside Joey's Bar. She thought he was drunk, and that was why she noticed him - she has very strong feelings on the subject of liquor which she's only to willing to share with anyone who stands still long enough." Lois detected a dry note of suffering in Henderson's voice; no doubt he'd been on the receiving end of one of the lady's lectures. "Anyway, we have a partial licence plate." "Will you be able to trace the van from that?" she asked, sinking down onto the nearest sofa. "Well, we've got a colour. Our witness doesn't have much of an eye for cars, though, so no make and just a pretty generic description of the shape. I've got a guy showing her pictures of vans right now, so with a bit of luck, we might have the vehicle pinned down in an hour or so." "That's good news. Did Jimmy tell you about the descriptions?" "Yeah. You know, Lois, if you'd told us you thought there was a link, we could have done the matching ourselves." She sighed; did it really matter? The result was the same. "Sorry I trampled on your investigative pride. I'm just trying to find my husband here." "And so are we, Lois, so are we." He paused. "Look, are you sure you don't want one of my policewomen to come sit with you?" "Why, so you can make sure I don't do any more of your work for you?" she snapped. "No. To keep you company, that's all. I know how tough it can get, waiting on your own like you are." "Oh." "But I guess you'd rather be alone." She swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. "Yes. But thanks, Henderson." Her emotions were all over the place, it seemed; one minute she was fiercely determined and controlled, then the next she was on the verge of tears. "No problem," he replied gruffly. "OK, I'll get off this line now, but I'll phone you later if we get the car details." "OK." She replaced the receiver and sat staring blankly at it. Everyone was being so nice to her, but all she wanted was her husband back. It wasn't much to ask, to have the person you married by your side, was it? And he didn't deserve any of this - all he tried to do was to make the world a better place to live in; to help where he could. Why was there always someone around who wanted to stop him doing that? Abruptly, she thumped the sofa cushion beside her in angry frustration and stood up. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to do Clark any good; she needed to focus, to think clearly about this mysterious group she had formed a tentative theory about. ************* Ms Jones glanced furtively up at the closed-circuit TV camera mounted in one corner of the alien's room. She knew it was switched off; she had done it herself, but she still felt as if she were being watched. There wasn't much time: Dr Scott and Professor Davis were having a brief pre-operative discussion, and the rest had disappeared off for a meeting she hadn't been invited to, so for now she had the alien to herself. All to herself. Of course, any one of them could walk in at any moment; they were all prone to turning up when you least expected them, but this wouldn't take long. She walked across to the bed to gaze at the alien. Such beautiful, full lips, and gorgeous eyes - at least, when they were open they were gorgeous. Who would have thought an alien could be so attractive? She let her gaze sweep down his body, imagining the smooth expanse of chest beneath the white sheets and the strong shoulders; the powerful legs, and best of all, what lay nestled...just there. Smiling, she removed her lab coat. ************ There was pressure on his legs. He flexed a muscle experimentally, but he couldn't move from under the weight. It was heavy, warm pressure. His senses were gradually awakening; he could hear someone breathing, smell...an antiseptic, hospital kind of smell, taste... a sour, unpleasant taste as if he hadn't brushed his teeth for too long. His body felt heavy and aching; his head...fuzzy. The breathing was close by...he could feel a presence near him; very near him. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was blurry for a second. There was a shape looming over him - he blinked, and the image cleared. No! The woman from before, grinning down at him again. He jerked to try and escape, and felt nausea rise in his throat. "Get off-" Her hand clamped over his mouth. Wildly, he shook his head from side to side, ignoring the sickening swimming sensation as he did so, trying desperately to shake her off. He made noise, as much noise as he could, but she was too strong for him; her fingers dug into his cheek and wouldn't let go. She was smothering him. "Shhhh!" she commanded. "I'm here to help." He didn't believe her. She had molested him, put him in this bed, and made him sick. How could he believe her? "We've probably got about fifteen minutes before the others come back. Don't you want to escape?" Escape to where? It had to be a trick... "Look, if you keep struggling like this, you won't have enough strength to get out of here. Or maybe you'd prefer to stay here and let them operate on you?" Operate? He stared, horrified, up at her. What sort of operation? "Okay, I can see you don't. So will you trust me? If I let go will you stay quiet?" He nodded: it occurred to him that there was no-one here to rescue him from her anyway if he shouted out. He didn't trust her, but if she was telling the truth, then he would do anything in his power to get away from here. As soon as she took her hand away, he asked, "What sort of operation?" She shook her head. "Uh, uh. No questions." She grinned down at him. "But I have one for you, Clark. Just how much do you want to escape?" He stared up her, wondering what on earth she was getting at. "I'm not interested in playing twenty questions with you," he answered harshly. "That's a shame, Clark, because nothing in life is free - you should know that. You want to escape, you have to do something for me first." He felt her hand delve downwards. Seething anger boiled up inside him: how dare she?! "Get off me!" he spat. And just what did she mean - 'do something for her'? Surely she couldn't mean... "Oh, come now, Clark," she purred, moving sinuously over him. "I'm sure you've got it in you - wouldn't you like to play away from home just once? Lois will never know." This wasn't happening. He realised with horror that she must have stripped the bedclothes off him, so that all there was between himself and her groping hands was a thin hospital gown. "You've got the wrong man," he gritted, willing himself to stare directly up at her with a cold, hard expression. Maybe she wanted him to show emotion, but he was damned if he was going to give her that satisfaction. "Oh, I think I've got just the right...*man*. Come on, Clark, show me what you've got." She intensified her motions, looking down at him with predatory, hungry eyes, but her expression only made him more determined to give her nothing in return. Instead of a physical battle, the nightmare was turning into a battle of wills; he'd tried and failed once before to shake her off bodily, so this time he was staring emotionlessly up at her while she tried to make him respond to her touch. Never mind that seething anger was giving way to something he didn't understand; a crumbling of his emotional foundations, a quivering panic telling him that this was dangerous, that there was something he needed, something inextricably linked to this scenario. It was an equation, a balancing of one thing against another. Where there was sex, there was... "Is this what you need, Clark?" She was holding up a thin, brightly coloured packet. A condom. The equation was complete, and the panic abated. What?! Confusion overwhelmed him - he had absolutely no intention, no desire, no *anything*; only disgust for this woman and her lascivious hands. Why had he cared whether or not she had a condom? It didn't make any sense. Was he losing his mind? She was grinning down at him again. "Good, Clark." She dropped the packet onto his chest was a mocking smile. "I think you're going to do just fine." And, abruptly, she stopped touching him. "I admit I'm disappointed though. Perhaps you're not as virile as our tapes led me to believe, if that's the best you can do." Tapes? "What tapes?" he demanded. She shook her head. "I told you, Clark. No questions." She leant over him, and for a split second he thought she was going to try and kiss him. He whipped his head to one side, immediately inducing lurching nausea which brought him out in a cold sweat. While he was fighting to bring it under control, he dimly felt her fingers fiddling first at one wrist and then the other. His arms were free of their restraints. Immediately, he forced himself upwards and grabbed her upper arms tightly, pulling her to him. "Who are you?" he ground out fiercely. It suddenly mattered a lot to know who had assaulted and abused him so thoroughly; who hated him enough to want to do this to him. "I told you, Clark - no questions," she answered calmly. And already his arms were trembling as he held her, losing the tiny burst of strength which had propelled him into this position. He fought against the weakness, staring into her cold eyes, but it was useless - he dropped back onto the bed, breathing heavily and feeling sick again. What had they done to him? This was far more than the usual symptoms of kryptonite exposur