In Dreams By Kaylle Rated PG-13 Submitted November 2002 Author's Notes: I have so many people to thank, I don't know where to start! A huge thank you first and foremost to my beta-readers, Amac, Ray, Merry, and Irene, who were tremendously reassuring, supportive, and patient while I tried to piece this together... Thanks to the numerous naggers on IRC and Zoom's boards who commented and cheered me on and let me know someone was still reading this... Thanks to my parents, who spent several hours helping me brainstorm the a-plot ("If I wanted to smuggle guns into Africa, hypothetically speaking, how would I do it?" )... Thanks to RL friend Shada, for reminding me the lynching party was always just outside the window... And special thanks to Wendy Richards, for GE'ing on short notice and being the very best cheerleader I could ask for. I would never have finished this without your constant support . This story does start with a few WHAMs, although I don't think they're too bad. Rest assured that things are not what they seem. I wanted to tell a different kind of story, and to be honest, this was the first solution I came up with when I decided to find a way to make alt-Clark happy. The quotes at the beginning of each chapter are credited at the end of the story. * denotes emphasis, <> denotes thoughts. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER ONE "Love is the sweetest of dreams, and the worst of nightmares." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 16TH, 1976 SMALLVILLE, KANSAS [ALTWORLD 2] The roads were icier than he'd expected for this time of year, but the little car wasn't having too much trouble navigating the rain-slicked streets. He turned the wheel carefully, knowing that the ditches in this part of the countryside were deep and that in this weather it would be all too easy to lose control. Martha made a small sound as she shifted in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window as she slept. Jonathan smiled at her and peeked over his shoulder to check the backseat. Their ten-year-old son was also asleep, his little body stretched out full length. Jonathan chuckled a little at the sight, then turned his attention back to his driving. It was certainly no fault of Jonathan's that the driver of the van couldn't slow down fast enough. It wasn't his fault that the roads were wet and slick, that the other driver had indulged in one too many drinks before he left his party. But the slightly inebriated man in the other vehicle hadn't counted on the condition of the pavement beneath him, hadn't thought to allow for the spring rains and the unusual chill in the air that made them dangerous. He missed the stop sign entirely, tires skidding, and shot into the intersection just as the Kents entered it. The van caught the front end of the little car, spinning it sharply around. The passenger side crumpled inward, and then the entire vehicle was skidding off the road, landing hard in the ditch with a crash of shattering glass and screeching metal. The impact was jarring enough to turn the car over, its momentum carrying it forward, until it came to rest upside down in the grass. The driver of the van called the police, and was taken to the hospital. He was treated for a broken rib and received three stitches along one eyebrow. He was released into police custody that very night, his injuries far from life- threatening. If it had been a different car, one police officer at the scene commented. If the Kents had been driving something larger, more massive, perhaps things would have been different. He shook his head regretfully. There was little point to wondering what could have been different. He wiped the rain out of his eyes and turned away. There were arrangements to be made. But try as he might, he could not banish from his mind the sight of that mangled car, and the three innocent passengers that had died within it. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 16TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 2] She stretched out on the sofa, settling her nightgown carefully around her. This was her favorite one, a pale silk sheath that stretched nearly to her ankles. She always wore it on nights like this, because it made her feel beautiful. And on nights like this, she sorely needed to feel beautiful. She pushed her spoon deeper into the sludge of mostly melted chocolate ice cream, suddenly uninterested in it. That alone was enough to show her something was wrong, she reflected wryly. She knew, of course, what was wrong. It would be easy if she had had a bad day at work, if someone had said something to hurt her or humiliate her. If she had seen a romantic movie, or dug out one of her well-hidden romance novels, or otherwise been reminded of how utterly alone she was. If there had been some tangible reason for her misery tonight, she would almost have been grateful. But it was April 16th. She supposed that was reason enough. The dreams had started when she was fourteen. She'd started her period that year, too, and at the time she had just assumed it was her overactive hormones kicking in. But the dreams hadn't been overtly sexual, not at that age; so, looking back, she doubted that was the reason. She didn't know what had caused them, or what made them return year after year. But come they did, every night for nine days, and then once in a while throughout the year. Dreams of gentleness and intimacy and pure, untainted affection with a man she had never met. Dreams in which she could feel entirely safe and entirely loved, and dreams that left her with an incredible sense of loss when she awoke. Because always, always, she knew that this man did not exist. That first year, she had realized that. She was mourning his loss, the loss of a man she had never known. Even as she acknowledged it, she knew the thought was absurd. The man in her dreams was only that-- a dream. He had never existed, and therefore it was silly to imagine he had died before she could meet him. But her rational logic did not distract her from the feelings of loss and anger at a fate that would take from her the only chance she would ever have at happiness. Some years, she was able to look forward to this first night of dreams, eager to immerse herself in his fantasy world and the unconditional, unrestricted love she could find there. Eager to feel that fiery passion for a man, and the soul-deep tenderness, and to know he felt the same. If only in a dream, if only for a handful of nights every year, she wanted-- needed-- to feel cherished this way. But sometimes the joy of the dreams was bittersweet; their simple sweetness was tempered by reality when she cried out his name in the night and awoke alone in her bed. Once, when she was in college, she had tried to overpower the dreams, the loneliness. She had tried to banish them by surrendering to another man's arms on the 16th, hoping that reality, however inferior it might be to her fantasy world, might be enough to hold the dreams at bay. Her boyfriend at the time had been elated at her invitation, something she hadn't offered before. He hadn't been so happy with her when, before he'd had a chance even to unbutton her blouse, an immense wave of revulsion and guilt rose in her chest and she had to insist that he stop. The dreams were something sacred; she knew that now. Something she could never share, and something she would never forsake. Even if they made her miserable, she could not have given them up. She could not give up the once chance in her life, real or imagined, to be truly, wholly loved for who and what she was. So every year on this most sacred night she was alone, half-anticipating and half-dreading her next encounter with the man of her dreams. She would put on her favorite nightgown and go to bed early, hoping to catch a few extra hours before dawn cut away the shadows and fancies of the night. She had never seen his face. Or rather, she had never remembered it on waking the following morning. She could just see his eyes, if she concentrated very hard, warm brown eyes that made little secret of his feelings for her. She knew his name, had known since the beginning. It was always *his* name she cried out when she awoke, flushed and feverish, from tangled dreams of passion. She knew, instinctively, the sound of his voice, his laughter; the way his arms would feel around her; the warmth of his chest beneath her cheek; the touch of his lips on her own. But she did not know his face. The fact that she could not remember him had disturbed her at first-- what if she were to meet him someday, and not recognize him for who he was? What if she passed him in the street without a second glance, and never had the chance to really know him? But then she had remembered that he did not exist, or at the very least was dead. So she would never need to recognize him. She looked at her watch; it was barely ten o'clock. Sighing, she rearranged the folds of her gown around her legs, gathering her strength. It hurt, of course; it always did, knowing that she was going to dream of her one true love and awaken to find him still only a dream. It got harder every year. She drew another deep breath, closing her eyes, and then levered herself off the couch. Lying here, she was only preventing the inevitable, and, despite herself, she felt a warm tingle of anticipation thrill through her at the thought of one more precious night spent with a man who loved her. A man she had never met, nor even put a face to-- and a man more dear to her than anyone she had ever known. She padded softly to the bedroom and climbed into her bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and curling into them comfortably. She smiled a little, sadly, and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing and drift into sleep. "Oh, Clark," she whispered softly into the pillow, wishing he could somehow hear her. "I need you." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 16TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1] April 16th. He closed his eyes, uncharacteristically weary. Physical strain rarely affected him this much, unless he was at a full-blown emergency. Only the emotional pain could reach so deeply into his soul and leave him so profoundly drained. April 16th. That was reason enough for a much-needed night off, he decided, taking another tasteless sip of the lukewarm tea he'd hoped would soothe him. Tonight, the world could tend to its own problems. And he could tend to the great aching emptiness within him. Although he knew very well that nothing could ease it. The one person who could have never would. It had been hell to see Lois again. To watch her with her husband, happy and confident in his love, to see the emotion in her eyes for that man who so strongly resembled him, and to know that no one would ever look at him that way. It had nearly killed him. And yet, he thought that this perhaps was somehow worse. "I think that your feelings for me are really meant for her-- your Lois," she had said. "I just think that somehow you're meant to be together." And he had tried to believe her, or at least to pretend, for her sake, that he still held out some hope. He didn't, of course. He hadn't for a very long time. He was going to dream tonight, he knew that. It was, after all, the 16th. But he couldn't look forward to the dreams anymore, couldn't thrill in the knowledge that he was going to be with her again. Such occasions were rare, certainly; he got perhaps twenty dreams with her each year, and nine of those were concentrated into as many days. So he had always cherished them before, anticipated their coming eagerly. But he thought it might cut a little too deeply this time. It would certainly slice into the old wounds and scars on his soul, pain and pleasure mingled. But this time, he wasn't sure they would heal. He might simply bleed away through those old, bruised scars. This had never been a good day; it had held been painful memories for him even before the onset of his dreams. But this year would be worse than most. Lois had told him of her and Clark's adventures in time, the way their souls had clung throughout their lifetimes. It was painfully unfair, he reflected bitterly, that the mate to his own spirit had been taken from him. How could he go on, incomplete as he was? He gave a humorless laugh at that; even his thoughts were turning maudlin. But, on the other hand, he supposed that on nights like this he could allow himself the indulgence. He'd never understood the dreams, until a few years ago. They haunted him these nine days out of the year, and occasionally throughout the other months. If they hadn't been so regular, so predictably rhythmic, he would probably have passed them off as a fluke, a product of testosterone and loneliness. But as it was, he couldn't pretend them away so easily. His mysterious companion had never had name nor face. His hands knew the silk of her hair, and his mouth certainly knew the taste of her. He knew the way her body would fit against his own, the rhythm of her heartbeat mingled with his, the cool, clean scent of her. But his memories centered mostly on touch; his eyes could not conjure up her smile, and he could not recall her name. At least, he never had been able to before. With no real identifying characteristics for the ethereal woman who haunted him, it had been easy to project her on someone else. He'd tried to imagine Lana in those visions, tried to make her the person he'd dreamed of. His body, however, had rejected the assimilation. Simply put, Lana didn't feel the way the dream woman always had. Her hair was just a fraction too long when he ran his fingers through it, too wavy; she was taller than she should have been, and the heavy floral scents of perfume she wore were alien to him. He hadn't realized who this new stranger was immediately, of course. At first she had seemed unusual, to say the least-- she'd run up and kissed him out of the blue! So he had of course thought her very strange. But she was not familiar, really. Obviously she knew a good deal about him-- that had scared him at first. But gradually he had started inexplicably to trust her, without reason but without doubt. His subconscious had recognized her first; the scent of her perfume was just a little too familiar, the sound of her laughter echoing a moment too long in his ears. He had been immensely attracted to her, without quite knowing why. But she had her own life to live, her own love to go home to, and nothing he could say or do would change that. So he had let her go, aching inside to lose her. If he had known, then, just what it was he was losing, he wasn't at all sure he'd have let her go so easily. He dreamed that night, vividly. Of a raven-haired siren who called to his soul, a flickering flame of beauty that faded away when he tried to touch her, hold her, keep her for his own. He'd awakened the next morning with her name, her face, for the first time. And though the images and sensations of the dream faded with the dawning of the day, the ache of loss did not. Lois was right, of course. What he felt for her could not be real. She wasn't his, had never been intended for him. What had existed between them had been only an allusion to what would have been, between him and his own soulmate. Too bad she wasn't available to him. He had never been able to decide whether the dreams were a blessing or a curse. True, they gave him a few moments of joy with her, moments he'd never have the chance to know in life. But they also reminded him, in the most painful way possible, of the immeasurable loss he had suffered. He glanced at the mug in his hand, and with a grimace he put it aside. For a moment he was tempted to lash out, to smash the fragile ceramic into splinters and dust, to manifest his rage and sorrow in a tangible way. But there was a resigned sort of melancholy in him, too; the knowledge that such a display of anger would be pointless. It would not bring his Lois back to him. He fisted his fingers tightly, nails digging painlessly into his palm, and tried to let the rage drain out of him. When it was gone, only the resigned despair remained. Closing his eyes against the pain, he stood up, absently flipping out the lights, and made his way to the bedroom. He was too weary to change at superspeed; he shrugged out of his clothing and stepped into a pair of shorts. Climbing into bed, he lay on his side, trying not to imagine what it might have been like to feel her there beside him, to hold her in his arms all night long and to awaken still entwined with her. He turned onto his stomach and folded his arms beneath his head, daring his imagination to find something painful about that position. Mercifully, it didn't. He lay there for a long moment, his breathing slow, his eyes closed. "God, Lois," he said softly into the darkness, as if somehow beyond the grave she might hear him. "I need you." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ His hand was warm in hers, the touch of his fingers firm on her own. There was a tender reassurance in that miniature embrace, the knowledge that she was something fragile, something to be carefully guarded, something infinitely precious to him. It was the same reassurance she felt when he held her completely: that he cherished her, wanted her, cared for her. That her well-being came before his own. She squeezed back, her fingers tightening briefly, trying to return the simple message in his gesture. She wasn't sure how to tell him that he was everything to her, that she cherished him, too. But he looked over at her and smiled, raising their joined hands to his lips, and she knew he understood. The little club they'd chosen to come to tonight was nearly deserted at this hour, but she was not at all inclined to leave just yet. She didn't want their evening to end; she never wanted their time together to end. She scooted a bit closer to him in the circular booth, her body pressed warmly to his side. Closing her eyes, she lay her head absently on his shoulder and let the simple sensations of being together soothe her. He seemed content to sit this way with her, his arm draped around her and his lips buried in her hair, watching the few remaining couples swirling on the dance floor to the low sounds of a small jazz band. On another night, the two of them might have danced, too. He loved to hold her close to him and move gently to strains of music only they could hear. But tonight it was enough simply to feel her beside him, warm and solid. The club really was emptying out, though, and they would have to be on their way sooner or later. He pulled away a little, smiling gently at the look of regret that crossed her face. "We should get going," he said, smoothing her hair where his absent kiss had tangled it. "They'll be shooing us out any minute now anyway." Lois nodded, pulling back to get her purse, muttering something about inconsiderate wait-staff. Clark laughed softly at her show of indignation as he left the table to pay their bill. She met him at the doorway, and together they went out into the night. It was warm this time of year, warm enough that she wasn't cold in her sleeveless dress. Nevertheless, he settled his suit jacket around her shoulders, insisting that she would catch a chill if she wasn't careful. She laughed at his protective chivalry, but she accepted the jacket. Somehow, there was an intimacy in the gesture that appealed to her. They walked hand in hand for a while, traveling aimlessly through the waterfront. The bay was beautiful this time of night, but they were barely conscious of it. Lois noticed only the way the electric lights caught in Clark's hair, threw his face into planes of shadow and softness, trickled gently over his lips. At last he pulled his hand from hers and looped it around her shoulders instead, pulling her gently against him. "What do you want to do now, Lois?" She glanced around them, not really very surprised that she had lost track of their surroundings. They were only a few blocks away from her apartment. It was late, but they didn't have to part just yet. She looked up into his face hopefully. "Do you want to go back to my apartment? For coffee or something?" He hesitated, then smiled regretfully. "It's late, Lois... We both have work in the morning." She knew what he was saying, and could accept it for what it was. When she'd invited him for coffee or something, they'd both known what she meant. They were deeply in love, and they both knew it. His decision tonight was not a rejection, even though she would have taken it as such from any other man. No, she knew he was concerned that their passion might carry them through the night, and she'd be tired the next morning at work. He wanted to be with her-- she could see it in his eyes, his smile-- but he cared for her well-being above all. So it was relatively easy for her to nod her agreement. She was disappointed, but she knew there would be other nights for them. "You're right," she said. "It **is** late." Clark nodded back, frowning at the disappointment on her face and knowing the same regret was probably painted clearly on his. "Come on, I'll walk you home," he said, tightening his arm around her. Their walk was mostly silent, each concentrating on the scent and feel and beauty of the other. When they'd reached her apartment building, Clark insisted as usual on accompanying her all the way to her door. She paused there in the hallway, fumbling to find her keys, and turned to look up at him. "Are you sure you don't want to come in? Just for coffee?" He grinned. "I'd love to, Lois, but I don't think that's such a good idea." He raised a hand then to trace the line of her face with one finger, moving slowly from temple to cheekbone to lips. She was so beautiful, he marveled, for perhaps the thousandth time. The way her hair curved across her face and swayed gently at her collarbone, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled at him... She was the most exquisitely beautiful creature he had ever known, and it took everything in him not to accept her invitation. He curled his fingers under her chin and raised her face to his. "Goodnight, Lois," he whispered, drawing nearer to kiss her. There was a wealth of promise in his kiss, a gentle vow of things to come. His hand moved to cradle her face, his palm spread warmly across her cheek, his thumb stroking gently over her cheekbone. She raised herself up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his free arm come around her waist. He caught her against his chest and held her tightly, suddenly needing to feel her there, close in his arms, real and solid and beautiful and his. The flash of possessiveness was unexpected, but he couldn't deny that he saw her that way. Only his, just as he was only hers. But abruptly he could feel it all fading away around him, the dream world eroding rapidly away. Desperately, he clung to the last sensations of her in his arms, her silken hair tangling in his fingers, her lips warm and inviting under his as she faded away, reality soaking through the distant kiss.... ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Awakening alone in her bed, Lois Lane rolled onto her stomach. She balled her pillow under her head and wept bitterly into it. She would sleep no more this night. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER TWO "It's the heart afraid of breaking That never learns to dance; It's the dream afraid of waking That never takes a chance..." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 25TH, 1993 MWERANA, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO [ALTWORLD 1] Lois Lane was in no mood to be trifled with. She'd been traveling for thirteen hours straight now, and she was hot, sticky, and tired. Unfortunately, the sweating customs officer in Mwerana was not observant enough to notice her mood. "What do you mean my visas are invalid? I just got them!" The man shrugged indifferently. "No good. Can't let you into the country." "There must be some mistake," she insisted. "Maybe you're just out of touch; maybe they've changed something and you haven't gotten the news yet. What kind of customs office is this, anyway?" she continued, looking around the tiny ramshackle building with disdain. "I didn't have any problems in Mbandaka last year." "Should have flown to Mbandaka then, hmm?" the man replied with an impertinent grin. Lois rolled her eyes. "Look, you've got a phone somewhere, right? Go call someone, figure out what the problem is." The man held up his hands in an indulgent gesture. "All right, all right. I'll call the main office in Kinshasa. But I'm not making any promises." Lois nodded, pleased. "I'm sure they'll be able to clear up the problem." The man shrugged again and turned away to use the phone. Lois wandered back out onto the rickety porch, desperate for a breath of moving air. She got her wish as the tiny propeller plane that had brought her here from Brazzaville took off, but the backwash of wind that assailed her was gritty and hot. She'd been traveling for two days now; she didn't even want to think about what would happen if she didn't get this visa problem taken care of. Her clothes were dirty, her skin damp, her shoes ruined. She wanted nothing more than to get away from here and take a long shower. She wondered if that was wishful thinking. she vowed, But she knew that wasn't true. She always wanted the story; she always did whatever it took. And the attitude paid off: she always got the story. Inside, the man cupped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Yes, sir, just as you said." The man on the other end sighed. "I'd hoped she'd start in Kinshasa and we'd be able to fool her there. If she headed straight for Mwerana, she already knows too much. You'll have to take care of her." The burly man bit his lip. "But, sir--" "No buts," the other chided him firmly, an edge of steel behind the controlled calm. "You do not want to disobey me. You have a family to support, do you not?" The man gulped a yes. "I'd hate for something... untoward to happen to them." There was a pregnant pause, and then the voice continued, "Take care of her." With a click, he ended the conversation. The customs officer hung up the phone with shaky hands. It was one thing to look the other way for the gunrunners, but it was something else entirely to kill someone. An American reporter, no less! Her disappearance would surely attract a lot of attention. Still, he knew that what the boss had said was true; he had a family. If it were a choice between them and the American, it was really no choice at all. His hands still trembling, he reached for the gun under the counter. The woman was still turned away, and he aligned the crosshairs carefully with the back of her head. He fired a single shot, and she fell. This was a story Lois Lane would never get. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 17TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1] Clark Kent dropped breathlessly into his chair, exhausted. He hadn't started the day with much energy-- he'd been unable to sleep after waking from the dream, and had spent the remaining hours until dawn flying aimlessly over the city. Since then, he'd foiled a bank robbery, cleaned up an accident site on the East Side, and put out several fires in Honolulu. It wasn't even noon yet! By tonight, he suspected, he'd be too tired even to dream. He wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or not. He reached across his desk to turn on his computer, smiling and waving at Mr. Olsen as he passed with the newest editor-in-chief, Corrie Andrews. After Perry left his position to become mayor of Metropolis, the Planet had gone through a string of new editors. Many had refused to put in the long hours Perry had always worked, or simply couldn't handle the strain and responsibilities Perry had thrived under. Miss Andrews, however, seemed to be having no such difficulties, and Clark was relieved to see that it looked as if she might be a more permanent fixture than the others had been. The Planet had certainly suffered through the multiple changes, and since he'd become Superman, there had been plenty of complications with his job. He certainly couldn't work as an investigative reporter the way he used to. Each successive editor had given him different assignments and made different arrangements to allow for his Super abilities and limitations. It had been difficult keeping up with all the changes in the last year. For now, Clark was mostly writing accounts of his Super activities. Corrie allowed him to work whatever hours he could, provided that he kept writing his rescues for the paper. To supplement those articles, he had started a biweekly column to address some of the issues he faced around the world. His first piece had been about the decreasing need for civilians to carry weapons for defense; he'd noticed that far too many of his rescues were of children or even adults who were playing with or misusing them. Crime in Metropolis had certainly taken an amazing decline in the last year-- he attributed this partly to Perry's leadership and partly to Superman's influence-- and it just wasn't as important to carry a gun anymore. He was glad that his world was beginning to turn around, and he wanted to use his column to encourage that change. What he did now wasn't as interesting as investigative reporting had been, but he strongly felt that he was still making a difference this way, and that was far more important. He had another column in mind for this weekend, a discourse on the need for more powerful drug and alcohol resistance programs in the public schools. But for now, he had plenty of Superman incidents to write up, so he wanted to finish them first. He was still feeling rather exhausted and hungry after his busy morning; perhaps when he'd finished his stories, he would go out to lunch. Then he could patrol the city for a few hours in the afternoon, write up whatever he did, and head home early. Except... Lois was waiting for him at home. He sighed. He didn't think he was ready just yet to face that pain again. Maybe that patrol would take a bit longer than he'd planned. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 17TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 2] Lois Lane was early to work that morning, her hair neatly brushed into place and her clothing stylish and immaculate. If one didn't look too closely, it wasn't apparent that she'd been up for several hours. The makeup under her eyes, slightly heavier than usual, concealed the darker circles, and she walked with a deliberate strength in her step that wasn't too obviously forced. She was polite and almost cheerful to those she passed; most of her coworkers were unaware that anything was wrong. She settled herself at her desk and shuffled half-heartedly through the notes scattered there, trying to look busy but not feeling motivated enough to actually accomplish anything. "Morning, Lois," called a voice from across the newsroom, and Lois looked up to find Catherine Grant striding easily toward her. The outfit the other woman wore could almost be considered conservative, but Lois could remember a time when her colleague had been much more flamboyant and flashy. Life had mellowed her a little since then, and Lois wasn't sure that the change had been a good thing. It was true that she and Cat got along much better now, but there was a part of her that missed the spirit and fire that Cat had once possessed. "Good morning, Cat," she replied politely. "How are you this morning?" Cat shrugged nonchalantly, seating herself on the corner of the desk. "Not too bad. I'm not sleeping much lately, but I guess that's to be expected. Colic, you know." Lois didn't know, not really, but she nodded understandingly. "Anyway," Cat continued, and Lois could sense that she was eager to change the subject, "how are you? No offense, but you don't look so good today." Lois dropped her gaze, embarrassed. She should have known that Cat, of all people, would notice the imperfections in her appearance. She was a society columnist, after all, and the closest thing she had to a female friend. Cat misunderstood the gesture; by the sudden spark of playful interest in her eyes, Lois was pretty sure she had done it deliberately. "Actually, you look like *you* didn't sleep too much last night, either," she commented speculatively, a mischievous smile on her face. "Probably for a different reason than me... Something-- some*one*-- you want to talk about, Lois? Who is he?" Lois shook her head, smiling a little at Cat's insinuation in spite of herself. "Nothing so exciting as that, Cat. Just... bad dreams, I guess." Cat frowned. "Oh. Well, I hope you get some rest tonight. No reason for both of us to be overtired." Now it was Lois' turn to be grateful for the change in subject, and she nodded. "What are you working on today?" Cat smiled indifferently. "Luthor's ball is coming up on Tuesday, so I'll be able to report on that. Until then, it's just the usual gossip and scandals." Lois nodded again, inwardly noting the lack of enthusiasm in her friend's voice. As little as a year ago, Cat would have been thrilled about the newest rumors and indiscretions. She certainly had changed. "You're going to Lex's ball, aren't you, Lois?" Cat continued. Lois frowned; she didn't really want to go, especially this week, but Lex Luthor owned the Planet and she didn't think it would look good if one of the star reporters didn't show. "I don't know yet," she said. "I got an invitation, but I don't know if I'm going to go." "Well, I hope you do. It'll be fun. Maybe you can bring this mysterious guy that's keeping you up at night," she added with a smirk and a wink. Before Lois could correct her once more, she hopped down from the desk. "I should get going, though; Perry will have both our heads if he catches us at girl-talk in the office." Lois watched her go, marveling at the differences in her. A year ago, Cat had been the perfect society columnist, glamorous but flirtatious, thriving on a steady diet of infidelities, indiscretions, and intrigue. Then she'd done the one thing no one had ever expected of her. She'd fallen in love. Claude Rochert had been a star reporter in France; they'd all been excited-- if a bit competitive-- when he'd joined the Planet staff. He'd worked a good deal with Lois in the beginning, and it was Lois whom he'd attempted to ensnare with his Parisian charms. She was honest enough with herself to admit now that she'd been attracted to him; he'd been handsome, charming, and charismatic. But the memory of that April night in college had been enough to stifle any romance that might have developed between them. No matter how alluring he was, how romantic, he wasn't who she wanted. So instead he'd turned to Catherine Grant, who'd been more than willing to indulge him. No one had expected their affair to last long. Cat wasn't in the habit of staying in relationships for more than a few dates. She lived and loved casually, and commitment wasn't something she offered or requested. But somehow, something had been different this time. She and Lois hadn't gotten along very well at the time, but as her outlook changed, Cat began to speak more civilly to her, and they had painstakingly built up something approximating a friendship. In very vague terms, Cat confided to Lois a few times that she had begun to wonder if maybe it was time to settle down a little. Suddenly, commitment didn't seem such a bad thing. By the end, their nebulous friendship had changed into something far closer. Lois was the first to know when the pregnancy tests came back positive, and Lois was the one who comforted her when Claude walked out. Claude left the Planet shortly thereafter; there were rumors that Perry had fired him, but no one could confirm them. To everyone's surprise, Cat chose to keep her baby; her daughter, Anna, had been born two months ago. She had spoken very little of her child at work since her return from maternity leave, although her desk bore several pictures of the infant. It was clear that she wanted to continue working the way she always had, and she was still a good columnist. It was only her attitude that had changed. For the loss of that fire in her, Lois hated Claude Rochert. For a moment Lois allowed herself to wonder what might have happened to her if things had been different, if she hadn't been so resistant to Claude's advances. If not for her dreams, she supposed things might have turned out very differently. *She* would have been the one who got hurt. But Claude wasn't Clark, could never be Clark. She'd never wanted children, but for a moment she imagined holding a baby close, seeing it look back up at her with those familiar, enthralling eyes. She could always remember his eyes. She let her fingers drift absently over her belly, wondering what it might be like to feel it swell beneath her hand as a child grew within. She supposed she wouldn't ever know. If she were going to have a baby, she couldn't imagine doing it with anyone but Clark. And there was precious little chance of that happening. Unexpected tears stung at her eyes, and Lois shook her head abruptly, trying to clear it. Cat was right, Perry would have her head if she didn't get some work done. She had a small follow-up to work on, after last week's string of murders on the East Side. There were still no suspects, still no leads, but the Metropolis police were still investigating. For several hours she was somewhat successful in burying herself in her work. She finished the follow-up and then began the preliminary research for a few other small stories she was working on. However, her mind refused to remain on the tasks at hand, flashes of last night's dream flitting through her head. The way his arm had felt around her shoulders, his jacket warm and rough on her skin, the subtle scent of him enveloping her... She set the tangle of papers aside and simply stared at her desk for a long moment. She felt today as if she'd been buried in sand; she was disconsolate after another night with her dream-love, awaking with the knowledge that he could only ever be a dream. But the depression was a very familiar emotion, and she didn't have the strength to fight it any longer. It was easier simply to sink deeper into the sandy depths of despondency and let the sorrow take her. Part of her recognized the dark turn her thoughts were taking, and she rallied against the encroaching despair. she thought, though it offered only dubious comfort. she snapped back, a tiny spark of anger rising in her. Anger was a safe haven, she knew unconsciously; anger would give her the strength to fight back the dejection threatening to overcome her. With that conviction planted firmly in her mind, she turned back to her work. However, her change of heart didn't come quickly enough. Perry's voice cut across the city room. "Lois! In my office, now!" She looked up, trying not to appear guilty, and turned in the direction of the call. "Coming, Perry," she replied, standing. She met her editor in his office, standing almost nervously at attention as he moved around his desk to sit down. He leaned back in his chair and eyed her appraisingly. "Lois," he began, his voice tentatively gentle, "do you want to tell me what's bothering you?" Lois looked down, not really surprised that he knew she was upset. She'd tried very hard to hide her melancholy from the others in the newsroom, but Perry was far more observant than most. "I don't know what to say," she answered, stalling for time. That much was true; she had no way to explain her problem to him without sounding crazy. She hoped he would hazard a guess, and then she could confirm it. Perry raised an eyebrow. "Now, look, Lois, I know something's got you upset. I can tell you didn't sleep much last night. And I know that whatever it is that's come back to haunt you, it comes back every year about this time, and every year it kills you just a little bit more." Lois simply stared at him, appalled. He knew far more than she would have suspected. She'd figured he would know she was unhappy, but she never thought he'd make the connection year after year. She couldn't deny the truth of his statement, but she still didn't know what to say to him. "Listen, Perry..." He held up a hand. "No, Lois, I know you aren't gonna tell me the truth, and I'd just as soon you not make up some cock-and-bull story for me. So here's what I think. I want you to get out of here. You get some rest, take care of things, do whatever you have to do. Tomorrow, I want you back in here and I want you to try to get some work done. I have a new lead I want you to check out, and if you play your cards right you might even get a Kerth out of it. I need you at your best to follow it up. So go on, get out of here, and tomorrow you can get started." Lois hesitated. Even the lure of an award-winning story wasn't enough to cut through the haze of misery surrounding her. That alone told her enough. But she knew she would be just as miserable at home as she was at work. She also knew that she wouldn't be any less distracted by tomorrow, and she didn't want to mislead Perry on that account. "Perry, this... thing that's wrong with me... It won't be gone by tomorrow." Perry looked at her for a long moment. He, too, had noticed her lack of excitement about the promised lead. "I know, sweetheart," he said at last. "But I'm counting on you to pull yourself together. And you've never let me down before." Lois nodded. "Okay. I'll try." He nodded back. "Go on, then. See you tomorrow." Lois drifted out of the city room in a thoughtful daze. Perry had realized that her bouts of misery came at the same time each year. She supposed she shouldn't be too surprised; she'd realized after only a few years that April 16th seemed to be significant. She wasn't sure what it meant, exactly, but it didn't take too much analysis to realize that the dreams were cyclical. Still, what Perry had said worried her a little. "Every year it kills you just a little bit more." Was that what was happening to her? Was she dying, ever so slowly, of a broken heart? she scolded herself sharply. She tried to put the matter out of her mind as she walked to her car in the parking garage. It would be good to go home, if only to give up the charade she'd been carrying on all day. She could take a nice long shower, she thought, or try to watch some television. Anything to distance herself from the depression. She wondered where she'd last hidden her tapes of The Ivory Tower. And eventually, when she had the strength, she would have to go back to bed and face Clark again. She sighed, and bit her lip to hold back the tears. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ It was almost too warm tonight, the air heavy and humid around them. In the distance there was an ominous growl of thunder; Clark barely noticed it. His attention was focused entirely on the slim woman at his side as she smiled up at him. "...And when I was *very* little I wanted to be a nurse, like Mother," she admitted with a grin. "Until I found out that nurses had to give people shots, and then I knew that wasn't for me!" He laughed with her, one arm slung low about her waist as they walked. "When I was little I wanted to be an archaeologist," he admitted. "I wanted to travel the world and study the people. I guess I did a little of that anyway." She nodded thoughtfully. "And when did you decide you wanted to be a writer?" she asked. Clark shrugged. "I always knew I liked to write. I was pretty good at it, and it was something I enjoyed doing. When I was fourteen there was this program at school that matched students with professionals in the area. I got to shadow a reporter for the Eagle in Wichita. After that, I knew journalism was what I wanted to do." He smiled reminiscently. "And you?" "Well, I knew I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help. I realized medicine wasn't the best way for me to do that, no matter what Daddy said. So I looked for other ways. Being a reporter meant that I could bring the bad guys to justice and still solve all the puzzles my own way. Reporters don't have to follow the same rules that cops do, and we get more recognition, too. I have to admit, I've always wanted a Pulitzer," she said with a sheepish smile. "That was always a big motivation." He opened his mouth to reply, but his words were cut off by another sudden rumble of thunder above. Without a moment's pause, the skies opened and a heavy torrent of rain poured down on them. In seconds they were each soaked to the skin. Lois gave a squeal of astonished laughter at their misfortune and pulled away from him. Skipping ahead a few steps, she flung her arms out and spun around. Her head tossed back exultantly, her smile beaming up into the dripping dark, she laughed at the storm. He could only laugh with her. "Lois," he chided reluctantly, "Lois, we should head inside. You'll catch a cold for sure... Your apartment is just up the street... Lois!" Her name was the last thing he managed to say, for at that moment she flung herself into his arms with a last giggle and kissed him deeply. His mind clouded instantly, his arms coming up to enfold her. They were both drenched; every curve of her was outlined clearly for his gentle exploration. With both of them soaked, there seemed almost no barrier between them. She seemed to have noticed this, for she was already mapping out the planes and contours of his chest with impatient hands. He allowed one hand to drop to her waist and then lower, cradling her gently against him. His other hand slid smoothly up over the fragile bones of her shoulder to settle at the back of her head, his fingers threaded deeply into her hair as he met her kiss with increasing intensity. Clark broke the kiss at last, breathing hard. It was all he could do not to swoop down to her lips once more, and he could tell by the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat and her breathing that she was equally entranced. Her hair was beginning to curl in heavy, wet ringlets about her face, and he was taken aback by how stunningly beautiful she was to him in that moment. He wanted to tell her so, but it came out in tangled whispers against her skin as he surrendered once more and moved to string a line of kisses along her cheekbone. "Beautiful... Lois... so beautiful..." She closed her eyes, her breath rushing hot against his neck. "Clark," she whispered. Her arms had risen around his neck to pull him closer and tighter to her; now she let one of them fall slowly down his back, her fingers following the sharp arc of his spine, noting every tendon and sinew that trembled at her touch. He slanted his mouth against hers once more, wanting to hear her whisper again, wanting to hear his name in that breathy, mindless tone. The rain was still pounding down around them, and they were standing in plain sight on a deserted but public corner. He should have been embarrassed at their behavior, but embarrassment was an emotion that was foreign to a dream world such as this. At this moment he wanted nothing more than to scoop her up into his arms and fly away with her. He would find a quiet, private place, and then he would surrender himself entirely to her and the emotion between them. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong. It took him a moment to realize what it was that had bothered him, but at last it came to him and he had to pull away. He couldn't retreat very far. He was able only to break the kiss and rest his forehead against hers. Even then, he had to kiss her twice more, desperately, before he could find the strength simply to meet her gaze and hold it. He found, incredulously, that he needed that contact with her, physically needed it as he needed nothing else. It wasn't real. None of it was real. She looked up at him breathlessly, her smile coy. "What was that you were saying about my apartment being nearby?" she whispered, her voice low and alluring. It wasn't real. He closed his eyes, surprised at the sudden sting of tears in them. Sorrow had always been another emotion that was out of place in this dream world. It seemed the rules had changed. That was the problem, of course. Suddenly, he was achingly aware that he was dreaming. Always before, he had known intellectually that these were dreams. But always before, while in the dream itself he had been entirely immersed within it, at least until it began to fade. He had always been able to totally accept the dream realities, blissfully unaware that it was all artificial. The knowledge weighed heavily on him now, for reasons he couldn't fathom, and suddenly the dream had become an exercise in torture rather than seduction. Damn it, this wasn't supposed to hurt! He rebelled bitterly against this sudden change in protocol. The dreams were supposed to be a safe haven. He was supposed to ache in the morning, when he awoke still alone. His heart wasn't supposed to break yet. Lois had moved to cup one side of his face in her hand, and she tilted her head backward, trying to catch his lips once more. He jumped at the touch, and pulled away hastily. This wasn't supposed to hurt! But he knew without a doubt that to continue with her, to allow them to follow their embrace to its logical conclusion, would hurt more than anything he'd ever known. "We can't do this," he said, his voice harsh as he struggled to catch his breath. "I... *I* can't do this." She pulled away immediately, but she didn't back away from him. He had closed his eyes, and thus he missed the expression in hers. "Clark?" she asked at last, her tone uncertain and soft in the sudden silence. What had happened to the rain? It had ceased as quickly as it had started, the spell it had woven abruptly broken, and the sudden change only served to further devastate his grasp on reality, such as it was. Nevertheless, the confusion and sudden pain in her voice cut deeply, and he opened his eyes. There were tears in hers, soft and shadowed, as she stared imploringly up at him. The magnitude of what he'd just done struck him at once; he'd rejected her advances, rejected *her,* with barely a thought of how it would seem to her. He was utterly certain of that, but somehow it wasn't important. Dream or not, he loved her, and he couldn't hurt her this way. He struggled for an explanation. "Clark..." she said again, a little stronger now but with a definite quaver in her voice, "Is something wrong? Did I... did I do something wrong?" He shook his head fervently, allowing one of his hands to settle comfortingly on her shoulder. "No, Lois... It's nothing you've done. It's just that..." He trailed off in frustration; there was no way to explain this problem to her! But he ached to see the pain in her eyes, the self-doubt and inadequacy, and he knew he had to assuage her fears somehow. "I'm sorry," he said softly, "but I just couldn't let this go on any longer. It isn't real, Lois... and I don't think I can pretend any differently." If anything, the confusion in her eyes tripled. "Not real... It felt pretty real to me, Clark," she teased half-heartedly, trying to break the sudden tension between them, but there was a look of desperation in her eyes. He sighed and closed his eyes. This wasn't supposed to hurt! "You're a dream, Lois!" he blurted out at last. "You aren't real!" She stared at him in utter and total shock, and then, to his own surprise, she disappeared entirely. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER THREE "When I wake I see One more mystery While our lives run Is there someone Dreaming you and me?" ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 18TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 2] Lois sat up sharply, her breath rushing in time with the sudden pounding of her heart. If she'd moved any faster, she would probably have fallen out of the bed. What had just happened? "You're a dream, Lois!" he had said. "You aren't real!" She had no idea what to make of that. <*He's* a dream! Why on earth would a dream of yours say that?> Her first instinct was to dismiss the dream entirely, to pass it off as a fluke and ignore his strange proclamation. The entire thing had been unusual, in more ways than one. Toward the end, she'd been vaguely aware that she was dreaming, something she wasn't usually able to realize. To drown out the unpleasant knowledge, she'd pushed their embrace a little farther, trying to distract herself with the sensations he could arouse in her. It had almost worked, too, until he'd pulled away. Maybe it had just been a weird night, and tonight things would go back to the way they were. But she couldn't forget it so easily. It had just been too unsettling to ignore. She shook her head, wondering what other explanation there might be. A stray thought crossed her mind, and she frowned as she examined it. When she'd been very young, she'd taken a writing course at a local writers' club. The class had been called Dragons and Dreams, and she'd chosen it partly because of the description in the brochure. "Do dragons exist only in our dreams, or are we all just the dreams of a dragon?" At the time, she'd been intrigued by the fanciful suggestion that the reality she lived in might exist only in the imagination of someone else. Now, the idea seemed frighteningly real. Was that what Clark's accusation meant? Was it even possible? Could she exist only in his imagination? She laughed humorlessly; this was absurd. She knew she existed. Cogito ergo sum, right? It was ridiculous to try to envision herself as a figment of imagination. On the other hand, if she was real, did that make Clark the dream? Did he exist only in *her* imagination? Even though that seemed the most likely explanation, it didn't feel quite right either, when she thought about it that way. Rationally, she'd always believed it, but her heart had felt differently. She'd always felt he was dead, that he'd died before she could ever meet him. Her heart had never considered him imaginary. So if she wasn't imagining him, and he wasn't imagining her, where did that leave them? Two real people, meeting only in dreams? She dragged a hand across her face, reluctant to continue that train of thought any further. She wondered if she were losing her mind. Lois rolled over to look at the clock; it was almost time to get up anyway. Resolutely, she put thoughts of Clark and the dream out of her mind, and set about preparing for work. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Lois!" Perry shouted as she came into the city room. "I want to see you in my office!" "Coming, Chief," she called back, rounding the corner at the top of the ramp. She left her jacket at her desk, then headed toward the editor's office. There was another man there already, sitting quietly by the door. Perry eyed her critically as she entered. "How're you feeling today?" Lois considered for a moment. The numbing depression that had dogged her yesterday was nearly gone, replaced by the roiling confusion of last night's dream. She stubbornly steered her thoughts away from that maelstrom, and managed a smile for Perry. "Um, better, Chief. I think I'm feeling better." He looked her over carefully once more, then he nodded. "Well, good. You've got a lot of work to do today. I'd like you to meet someone." He gestured to the other man, who stood and offered his hand. "Lois, this is an old friend of mine, Gary Keane. Gary, my best reporter, Lois Lane." "Nice to meet you," she said, taking the offered hand. Gary Keane was a tall, older man with graying brown hair. She smiled politely at him, but his answering grin seemed a little forced. "Gary and I were in college together," Perry explained. "I'm retired now," Gary added. "But I work as a night security guard at the New Eden warehouse." "I see," Lois said, though she wasn't sure she did. This was Perry's big lead? "Last week, one of my friends was murdered," Gary continued. "Samuel Hathoway." Lois frowned. The name was familiar, but she couldn't place it.... "One of the East Side murder victims," she said at last, remembering. Gary nodded. "Sam was another guard at New Eden. He and I work the same shift, but he and I alternate nights in the control room. Anyway, the night he died was my night off, so Sam was walking the route. He called me at about ten o'clock; he was on his break and he wanted to know how the baseball game was going." The man smiled briefly, sadly. "Sam was a big Chicago fan, and we were playing the White Sox that night. He knows I'm a Metropolitan, born and bred, so we tease each other when our teams are playing." "I told him the Sox were leading four to three and filled him in on some of the details, and he ribbed me about it for a while. Then he said he'd better go, because he could see some lights on in one of the loading docks in the back of the warehouse. A lot of times there are workers there late at night, since some of our shipments have to go on red-eye flights. Most of the time we don't worry too much about them. But Sam said he'd taken a look at the schedule and he didn't think there was a shipment going out. So I let him go so he could check it out." The man looked down for a moment, then he raised his eyes again. "I should have checked up on him. Should've called back to make sure he was okay. The next morning, they found him in an alley, half a block down." Lois nodded. "I'm sorry," she said, not sure what else she could say. The man was obviously feeling responsible for his friend's death, but she doubted he would appreciate any reassurance from a stranger. He nodded back. "The police said it was possible that Sam sneaked outside to smoke a cigarette or something and came across a crime scene of some sort. There've been several murders on the East Side lately. I didn't mention that he'd seen lights *inside* the warehouse. I have a wife and a family, Miss Lane; my youngest isn't out of high school yet. I can't afford to end up the way Sam did. So I kept my mouth shut." Lois bit her lip, suddenly understanding where this was going. "You think Sam saw something he wasn't supposed to see, and that someone killed him and tried to make it look like part of that string of murders." Gary nodded. "We're allowed to smoke on our routes, Miss Lane, and Sam doesn't smoke anyway. I can't think of any reason for him to have left the warehouse. Since then I've been walking the route through the warehouse. I watched very carefully for the first few nights, wondering if I'd see any more suspicious activity, but everything was in order. I thought maybe whoever it was had gotten scared, and stopped working in the warehouse. But two nights ago, there were more lights in the loading docks." "What did you do?" Lois asked, intrigued now in spite of herself. "Nothing!" Gary replied emphatically. "I told you, Miss Lane, I have a family. I'm not going to get myself killed. So I ignored the lights and I stayed on my route. And then I came to see old Perry here." Perry smiled grimly. "I talked to Gary yesterday morning. I wanted to get you on this right away, but," he glanced at the other man and then at Lois, "you weren't feeling so well yesterday. So now that you're doing better, I want you to take a look at this. Why don't you take Gary to the conference room and let him finish his story." Lois flashed Perry a smile, grateful for his discretion. "Thanks, Chief, I'll do that. If you'll come with me, Mr. Keane?" He nodded, and allowed Lois to lead him out of the office and into the conference room. She pulled out a chair at the table, and he joined her. "So you think Samuel Hathoway saw something he shouldn't have in the loading docks, and someone killed him to silence him? And then disguised it as one of the string of murders on the East Side?" Gary nodded. "And if they knew he'd been on the phone, they'd probably come after me, too." Lois frowned. "There was someone working in the control room, watching the displays from the security cameras, right? Don't they have a security camera in the loading docks?" The other man shook his head. "We had one, but it malfunctioned about six months ago and they disconnected it. Someone was supposed to come to replace it, but it never happened." "So the management knows that it doesn't work, and it hasn't worked in months, but they still haven't had it fixed?" She smiled grimly; there was certainly a story here. "It sounds to me like they're in on it, whatever it is that's going on." Gary sighed. "That's what my wife said. So what do we do now?" Lois bit her lip. "Well, you need to go back to work tonight and pretend that nothing has happened. You can't let anyone know that you've spoken to me. You were right about not mentioning the lights Sam saw; you don't want anyone to suspect that you know anything about it." She thought for a moment, trying to plan her attack. "In the meantime, I'm going to get some information on New Eden and see what I can find out about its latest shipments." She reached in her bag for a pad and pen. "Why don't you give me your phone number, and I'll keep in touch with you over the next few days, okay?" The man complied, and she showed him the way back to the elevators. "Thanks for the information, Gary. I'm going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this." She called for Jimmy as she moved back to her desk, a new fortitude in her stride. There was a good deal of work to be done today, but she knew that Perry had been right to give her this assignment. This was just what she needed to get her mind off of her miserable-- and confusing-- dreams. Mentally, she began to compile a list of the information she wanted, and who she might contact. She *would* get to the bottom of this; she always did. Lois Lane always got the story. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 18TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1] Clark lay in bed for a long time after he awoke, his eyes closed tightly. He suspected that if he opened them, he'd cry. The dream had been beautiful, as always. Even now he could feel her in his arms, a shadow of her body cradled against him and her lips under his. He groaned at the sensation, raising his hands and covering his face. He wasn't sure he could keep doing this. This time had been worse than most, of course. He wondered if it had been a mistake, if tonight he would be able to go back to his blissful ignorance. He wanted to believe that, but part of him was doubtful. Things had changed, and they weren't going back to the way they were. Clark balled his hand into a fist and struck out at the mattress, trying to vent his anger without actually damaging his furniture. Sometimes, he wanted simply to destroy everything within reach. But it wouldn't help, he knew that, and he restrained himself. He rolled over and levered himself out of bed. Silently, he moved through his apartment; he showered, dressed, and ate within a few moments, and launched himself into the early morning sky. It was raining outside, a steady, chilling drizzle. Normally he wasn't affected by extremes of weather, but today he thought he could feel the icy touch of the water, letting it chill him through and through. Last night's rain had been warm, inviting. The dawn was cold and relentless, washing away the last traces of her touch as if punishing him for finding some measure of comfort in the dream world. He flew for nearly three hours, drifting aimlessly through the streaks of gray clouds over the city. Sometimes it felt good simply to float, numb and mindless. At other times the rage and sorrow would rise in him once more, that desire to lash out. Then he'd go shooting across the sky as fast as he dared, and then faster, the rain slicing at his face, the wind rushing cold and indifferent across his shoulders. The criminal population of Metropolis seemed to have sensed his mood, for he saw no assaults or robberies, heard no cries for help. He would almost have welcomed the distraction, but it looked as if the rain had kept many citizens inside. He was noticing, however, that many mornings were like this; crime was still dropping rapidly in Metropolis and even the surrounding cities. He hoped it meant that his world was on a better path, that things were going to keep getting better. He wished the thought could compensate for even a small amount of the chill within him. By the time he arrived at the Daily Planet, the rain had trickled off into a light mist. He changed clothes in the employee restrooms on the first floor, wringing his Suit out and scanning it with heat vision until it dried. Then he headed up to the city room. The newsroom was as alive and busy as ever, a stark contrast to the solitude of the sky. He stood transfixed in the doorway for a long moment, trying to adjust to the sudden storm of movement around him. He felt numb this morning, sluggish; he couldn't think as clearly as usual. Mr. Olsen passed him on the way to the elevator. "Kent, you okay?" Clark started, and turned to face the young owner. "Yeah, I think so. I just... had a rough night, I guess. Not sleeping well." James quirked an eyebrow at him; he obviously thought it odd that Clark would need to sleep at all. "Well, I hope things get better for you." Clark nodded absently. He knew James cared, but the two men weren't really friends. Since he'd become Superman, Clark had effectively isolated himself from the world. There were few people he would call friends, and he didn't think he could confide his real problem to any of them. For a moment he wished he and Lana were still on speaking terms, but he didn't think she'd have been much help anyway. She'd have told him he was obsessing, that he was reacting to the stress of being a superhero. She'd have patted him on the shoulder and told him to quit worrying about it. Sometimes he wondered how he could ever have considered marrying her. Or how he could ever have imagined that it was she he dreamed of. He walked down to his desk, trying to put his mind to his work. He didn't have any Superman stories to write up this morning, since the city had been so peaceful, so he figured he could devote the time to his drug education column. He had some statistics he wanted to cite, but his desk was in disarray, and he shuffled through the papers there. Corrie Andrews found him still sifting through the scraps of paper, his mind not really focused enough to find what he was looking for. "Good morning, Clark," she said as she passed. "Looking for something?" Clark flashed her as friendly a smile as he could manage. "Good morning, Miss Andrews. I'm looking for some statistics I wanted to quote in my next column, but I guess I'm disorganized." She nodded amiably, leaning back against his desk. "Well, I'll be looking for that column for tomorrow's edition, okay?" He nodded, and she fell silent for a moment. Just as the pause began to feel awkward, she spoke up again. "Um, Clark... are you free tonight? I have some tickets to the symphony, if you'd like to go." Clark looked up at her, a sinking feeling in his stomach. How was he to refuse her politely? She was his boss, after all, and he had no desire to alienate her. He couldn't even explain that he'd be 'seeing' someone else tonight. "Um, Miss Andrews," he began uncomfortably. "Corrie," she corrected him. "Corrie," he repeated. "I think you're a wonderful person, and under different circumstances I'd probably take you up on that. But, as it is, I don't think it would be a good idea to... extend our relationship beyond our professional one." She nodded, her short reddish hair swaying against her cheek, and her smile was reassuring. "It's okay, Clark," she said. "I didn't really think you'd say yes. It's just that you always look so lonely. Especially these last few days." She shrugged. "I thought maybe you needed a friend." He sighed. He'd told her the truth; Corrie was a very attractive and friendly woman, and in another lifetime he could have dated her, maybe even loved her. But he knew all too well that it wasn't what he needed now. "I appreciate that, Corrie, I really do. I *have* been kind of distracted lately. But I don't think you can help me. I don't think anyone can." "It's a woman, isn't it?" she asked, tilting her head to look at him. "I bet I can even guess who she is." At his wary nod, her smile widened. "Lois Lane." He dropped his gaze, unwilling to openly confirm her guess, but knowing that his silence would tell her all she needed to know. Corrie shook her head. "I saw the two of you on the news shows, back when you first started being Superman. I don't think everyone noticed it, but it was pretty obvious to me, and probably to a lot of other women out there, that the Man of Steel's heart was taken. Engaged or not." Clark shrugged. "That wasn't her, though. Lois Lane, I mean. Lois died four years ago in the Congo." Corrie raised an eyebrow. "Well, that's what they say. But they never found her body, and no one knows exactly what happened to her. Maybe you should look into it. Call up Perry White and see if he can give you access to her research. It wouldn't bring her back, but you might be able to bring justice to the people who killed her." Clark nodded. "I've been over there plenty of times, looking. But you're right about calling Perry; he might be able to tell me more about what she was working on." He hesitated, then smiled ruefully at her. "I should have thought of that myself. I appreciate the help, Corrie." The editor shrugged again. "No problem, Clark. I *do* want to be your friend. No strings attached, I promise." He laughed, beginning to relax once more. "I will give Perry a call," he assured her. "You do that," she said, stepping away from his desk. "But you get that column finished first!" "I will," he promised with a smile, and turned back to his work. Now that he had something constructive to work on, he felt a little better about his situation. As Corrie had said, if he couldn't have Lois, he could at least avenge her murder. He wished that weren't such a cold comfort. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She was dreaming, and she knew it. She was in her apartment, lying on the couch, watching some inane soap opera on the television. The dreams often started that way, and then Clark would come over and they'd spend the evening talking and cuddling in privacy. But after last night's painful separation, she wasn't sure what to expect. As if on cue, there was a knock at the door, and she got up to answer it. She wasn't surprised to see Clark there when she checked the peephole. What surprised her was the sudden anxiety that settled in her stomach at the sight. she chided herself as she unlocked the door and swung it open. Clark met her nervous smile with a tight one of his own. He looked vaguely apprehensive. "I-- I brought dinner," he said, holding up the cardboard cartons of food like a peace offering. "Come on in," she said as cheerfully as she could, closing the door behind him. He settled the food on the coffee table and sat down at one end of the couch. Lois hesitated, then joined him, leaving a careful space between them. She folded her hands in her lap and studied them, unwilling to meet his gaze. Clark looked over at her. She was obviously upset; her posture spoke of caution and insecurity. Vulnerability. He knew that his retreat the night before must be the cause of her unease, but that in itself was odd. Though they had both gotten older as the years passed, the dreams weren't really linear or connected in any other way. But apparently she remembered what had happened, and it hung heavily between them now. "Lois," he said, tentatively, and then stopped. He really had no idea what to say to her. "I want to know why you said that," she said evenly, still not looking up at him. "Why you said it... wasn't real." Clark dropped his gaze. Explaining last night, his thoughts clouded with heady emotion, had been impossible. Explaining now, in the calm of her apartment, was still hopeless. Well, he could tell her the truth; he supposed she deserved that much. But he wasn't sure how to go about that. "When I was sixteen," he began at last, "I had a dream. Well, a lot of dreams. About... the most wonderful girl I had ever met. I could never remember her face, but I knew *her.*" He paused for a moment, measuring his words. "I dream about her every year, and every year I learn to love her a little bit more. I got to watch her grow up into the most intelligent, honest, fiery woman I've ever known. But... she doesn't exist in my life-- in my world-- and sometimes it hurts too much to pretend that she does. That's why I couldn't... go on... last night." He raised his eyes to hers at last. "I do love her," he said, his voice low. "But she won't be there when I wake up." She showed no reaction to his pained confession. "I don't exist in your world," she repeated. Clark shook his head. "You did," he admitted after a moment. "But... she died, four years ago." "I died," she said, her voice still calm. He nodded. "She was a reporter... she died on a story. I never met her." Lois sat back, her eyes focused vaguely on the coffee table. For a long moment she said nothing, and Clark wondered nervously what she was thinking. Lois, for her part, wasn't sure what she was thinking. When she'd wondered idly earlier whether it could be possible that she was communicating with someone real through the dreams, she hadn't seriously considered it a viable explanation. But now... it somehow seemed plausible. She was at a loss to explain it any other way. His story sounded remarkably like hers. She dreamt of a man that did not exist, or at least was dead. She'd been mourning him, she thought. And he said she didn't exist for him, either. She was dead. What did that mean? She sighed, wondering if she'd have a terrible headache from all of this when she woke up. He'd been honest; she felt compelled to reward that honesty in kind. So at last she raised her eyes to his. "I have dreams, too," she said tentatively. "The first one came when I was fourteen. I dreamed about an amusement park or a carnival or something. I was there with... a boy. I'd never met him in life, but he and I were like old friends in the dream. Like we'd known each other our whole lives. And I can never remember his face, but I knew his name, and his eyes..." she confided softly. "Anyway, there was some game at the carnival, one of those poles to test your strength, and he won the prize for me." "A bear," he finished for her. "He-- I-- won you a little black bear." Lois stared at him. How did he know that? Part of her wondered if she was going crazy, slowly sinking into madness. After all, this was only a dream. It was perfectly logical for a creature of her imagination to know all the things she knew. He could never offer her proof of any kind. But even as she tried to make sense of it all, a small, detached part of her mind was noting the way his hair fell across his forehead, the smooth, handsome line of his jaw, the honest tenderness in his eyes. Reminding her just what it meant to be with him, if only twenty-odd nights a year, what it felt like to be held and kissed and wanted. If there were a chance that it might all be real, that he might be real somewhere out there, how could she dismiss it so easily? The madness beckoned.... "You're a dream," she said at last. "I've dreamed you up. And now, for some reason, I'm dreaming this too. Maybe-- maybe it's the loneliness. Maybe I just can't deal with it anymore, and I'm inventing a way to make you real. Maybe I'm going crazy." Clark slid closer to her on the couch, his expression earnest. "Lois, listen to me. I know all this sounds crazy. It sounds crazy to me, too. But... well, I've had some experience with crazy things in the past, and they've all been real. And Lois, if this... thing between us is real, I don't want to throw it away. Even if we only get twenty dreams a year, I don't want to lose you." Something inside him had the frightening suspicion that, if she denied this now, there would be no more dreams. No more second chances. She was watching him critically, tracing his face with her gaze. There were tears in her eyes, and behind them he saw once more the vulnerability, the deep, lonely despair. "Maybe I *am* going crazy," she said at last, her voice soft and unsteady. "But I want to believe it." Relief flooded through him, and he felt weak with the sudden force of it. "Oh, Lois," he said, moving still closer to pull her into his arms. She melted into his embrace, sobbing quietly into his chest, and he relished the feeling of her in his arms. Familiar, but somehow all the more precious now. But after a moment she stiffened, and though she did not pull away he could feel her retreating into herself. After an awkward pause, he released her. "Lois?" he repeated, a note of uncertainty in his voice now. She shook her head, raising a hand and, embarrassed, dashing the tears from her cheeks. "It's not you, Clark. It's just that... all these years I thought you were just a dream." She looked away, and for a moment he thought she might start crying again. At last she cleared her throat and continued. "When you were just a dream, I could count on your... feelings for me," she explained haltingly. "Now that you might be... real, I can't help but think that you don't know me, and I don't know you. Suddenly, I feel... self-conscious in front of you. I've never felt that way before." Clark pulled away, abruptly self-conscious himself. "Okay," he said after a moment. He hadn't anticipated this, and he knew instinctively that he would have to tread very carefully now. "Then... let me get to know you. And you can get to know me. I'm still the same man you've known, Lois. And you can *always* count on my feelings for you. They're unconditional. But we'll take things slowly, for both our sakes. Okay?" She looked up at him hesitantly, her eyes shadowed now, and smiled a little. She wanted to trust him, but she wasn't sure she remembered how. Perhaps she'd never known. "Okay," she said at last. "So... tell me about yourself," he said after a moment's pause. "You're right; I don't really know you. But I want to know everything." Lois smiled wryly, taking refuge in self-deprecation. "Where do I start?" she said. "My whole life story in fifty words or less?" Clark smiled back encouragingly, and reached out to take her hand. "I want to know it all," he said, his voice soft. "Use as many words as you want." She opened her mouth to reply, but something distracted her. A vague prickle at the edge of her awareness, soft now but slowly growing more insistent. By the stricken expression of regret on his face, she knew he had felt it, too. "I guess the life story will have to wait," she said. "We're fading." "Tomorrow, then," he insisted. "We have six more nights." She nodded. "It's a date." Lois glanced about her, noticing that the colors of the dream had begun to fade as well, looking gray and whitewashed. She hesitated, then opened her mouth to speak. "Um, Clark?" she said, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Do you think... maybe... Would you hold me? Until I-- we wake up?" She looked ashamed of the request, and his heart went out to her even as his arms did. "Oh, Lois," he whispered, pulling her close once more and settling her against his body. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he wasn't sure she was ready yet for that. Instead, he simply rocked her gently in his arms until their shared world melted away. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER FOUR "In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 19TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1] For the first time in fifteen years, there was no sorrow when he awoke. He lingered in bed for a few moments, savoring the newfound peace of it. He didn't think he'd ever felt so good. True, he still didn't have Lois in his life, not really. But he'd connected to her in a way he'd never expected, in a way that seemed extraordinary, unbelievable. Although it wasn't difficult for him to believe that she existed somehow, somewhere. As he'd told her, he'd seen plenty of crazy things in his lifetime; he supposed a lot of people thought a man that flew was unbelievable, too. His entire life he'd been looking for a person that could love him for all that he was. If Lois was that person, he was willing to believe anything. But she didn't exist in his world, he knew that. So that meant she existed in another one? Another Metropolis somewhere, just as the first Lois he'd met? For a fleeting instant, he wondered just where H.G. Wells was when he needed him. He would demand that the little man find Lois's universe, and take him there! He'd certainly done the time-traveler plenty of favors, and doing so had irrevocably disrupted his life. It seemed only fair to expect something in return. He dismissed the angry thought immediately. For one thing, he admitted to himself, he hadn't become Superman to help Wells. He'd done that for Lois, and to fulfill his own need to help. But for another thing, he didn't think he could up and leave his universe. As Superman, he was in a position to do a great deal of good for his world. He wasn't sure he could ever justify leaving it. How could he put his own needs ahead of those of an entire planet? For once in his life, he thought, he wanted to be selfish. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ When Clark arrived at the Planet that morning, he waved hello to the few others in the office, but he didn't stop to talk to anyone. He had plenty of things he wanted to get done today. He called Perry White at the office first, and was surprised to find that he wasn't there. While it wasn't required that the mayor be at work on a Saturday, Clark knew Perry very well. He knew that the older man was very accustomed to working seven days a week at a newspaper, and that he often put in extra days even now, working to improve his city. But the receptionist politely informed him that Mayor White wasn't coming in today, and that perhaps Clark would have better luck calling his home. So Clark dialed the Whites' residence instead. Alice answered, and after a few moments of small talk and catching up, she called for Perry. "Clark?" Perry answered. "It's good to hear from you." "It's good to hear from you, too," Clark replied sincerely. Perry had been one of the few people that hadn't regarded him differently after he became Superman. Clark sometimes wished he saw his former editor more often. But between Perry's mayoral duties and Clark's Superman activities, neither of them really had time to visit. After another few minutes of small talk, Clark finally cleared his throat. "Actually, I called to ask you about something." "I figured as much," Perry answered, and Clark could almost hear his smile. "You don't have the time to call just to chat. So what's going on?" "Well, I wanted to look into Lois Lane's death. I want to try to pick up that case where she left off, see if I can find out what happened to her. I don't think I'll find her," he admitted regretfully. "I think it's too late for that. But maybe I can bring some justice to the people that killed her." "You've been talking to Corrie Andrews, haven't you?" Perry asked suspiciously. "Yeah," Clark admitted, trying to stifle his surprise. After all, Perry had always known more than he had reason to. "She suggested it, and I think it's a good idea." "But you don't know where to start?" Perry asked. "Right." "Well," the older man said, "she was investigating some gun-running in the Congo. Something about civil war... I guess I'd suggest you talk to her family. Her sister was sharing her apartment at the time, so she may know something about what Lois was working on. She was pretty helpful at the time; she probably wouldn't mind talking to you now. "And you should call down to the archives and ask about Lois's computer files. When we lose a reporter in action, we back up their computer on CD. That way we can try to trace their logic backwards and find them. But there may not be any of the regular staff in archives over the weekend, so you may have to wait till Monday to get the CDs. Now, I had plenty of people looking at those files back in '93, but you're certainly welcome to look at them again. I hope you find something." "Thanks, Perry. I hope so, too." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ By that evening, however, Clark was no closer to finding anything useful than he had been that morning. Perry had been right, there was only a skeleton crew in the archives for the weekend, though they'd promised to leave a memo for the staff to find the backup discs first thing Monday morning. Lucy Lane no longer lived in Lois's former apartment, although she was still in Metropolis. He'd called her that afternoon and arranged to meet her for lunch the following day. So Clark had spent the day looking through older editions of the Planet, trying to figure out who else had been on staff at the time. He wondered if any of them would be able to tell him anything about what she'd been working on. Judging from what he knew of the Lois he'd met, however, he doubted anyone would know anything. The Lois of the other dimension had been relatively friendly with her coworkers, but she'd been rather tight-lipped about her stories. He suspected she'd been worse earlier in her career; he imagined that her Clark had mellowed her a little. So the Lois of his own dimension had probably been just as bad. Still, he wanted to pursue all his leads, so he began to compile a list of the reporters that might have known Lois. He was interrupted several times by minor Superman emergencies; while they were time-consuming, there was nothing serious. By that afternoon he had his list of reporters. Many of them still worked at the Planet, but very few of them were in the office on a Saturday. He called most of them at home and asked about her, but no one had anything particularly helpful to say. "She did keep pretty good notes on her computer," Eduardo commented. "So if you can get a copy of the backup files from her hard drive, you might get something from that. But she was really secretive, too, so she probably had passwords on everything." Clark wasn't too worried about that; he could go through a large number of possible passwords in seconds. But it looked as if there wasn't anything else he could do tonight. He hoped that after he'd spoken to Lucy tomorrow he'd have something more concrete to start with. Otherwise, he'd have to wait on the archive staff to find Lois's backup files. He frowned a little as he hung up the phone. He was used to being able to work at superspeed, and he didn't like having nothing to do. It wasn't that he minded having to wait, but there was a sense of urgency in him. Ever since he'd decided to examine this case, he'd felt a need to conclude it as quickly as possible. He chalked it up to the fact that he was investigating Lois's death. Even if, as he was beginning to suspect, the Lois of this universe hadn't been intended for him at all, he felt a strong tie with her. He hated to think that she had died violently, and he couldn't stand the idea that her killers had gotten away with murder. He shook his head. Well, they weren't going to get away with it, if he could help it. Tomorrow he'd talk to Lucy, and he'd have the computer files by Monday or Tuesday. Sooner or later, he *was* going to find out what had happened to Lois Lane. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 19TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 2] When she woke up, Lois was surprised to find she could almost still see him. She closed her eyes again quickly, anxiously, and was rewarded with the newfound image of his face, smiling gently as he encouraged her to confide in him. She gave a delighted laugh, half joy and half relief. For fifteen years that face had eluded her. Today, at long last, she could see him fully. She smiled as she rolled out of bed, but her mood was thoughtful. Why had things suddenly begun to change between them? Not that she wasn't grateful; this was without a doubt the best thing that had ever happened to her. But the reporter in her wanted to ask questions. For fifteen years, she repeated to herself. Fifteen years of not remembering, not understanding. Why were the rules suddenly changing now? she reminded herself. For a moment she bit her lip, a pang of sorrow cutting through the joy. The only thing that would be better would be to have him truly there with her. She was acting this morning as if everything was going to change. But it wasn't, not really. She was still only with him in dreams. She was still going to be alone. Resolutely, she turned her mind away from the thought. She was *not* going to spoil this. The dream last night had been beautiful. Clark was simply the most wonderful person she'd ever known. She'd almost been able to believe him when he said his feelings for her were unconditional. And she *did* believe that he wanted to get to know her. she told herself firmly. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Lois straightened her skirt and glanced both ways as she climbed out of the taxi. The New Eden building was in a quieter section of the East Side, so the traffic was relatively light. When Gary had called her yesterday with this suggestion, she had her doubts about it, but she figured it was worth a try. If nothing else, it would get her inside the building and give her some basic background information. She hadn't discovered much of anything useful in her preliminary research the day before. New Eden specialized in expensive furniture and interior decorations. It was a relatively young company, still trying to establish itself in the market, but they carried high-quality furnishings. She'd glanced at their online catalog and had been astonished at the prices of some of their wares. And it looked as if New Eden would become even more upscale in the future; it had been bought out by a larger company in February. Apparently there was still some confusion about the management of the smaller company; while it was going to continue operating much as it had before the buyout, there were several new openings for support staff. Which was why she was here. Gary had said there was a secretary's position open in the main office, and wondered if she thought it might be useful to apply. Lois wasn't sure she would find anything worthwhile by working in the office, but after considering his suggestion for a moment she'd thought of a way it could be very useful indeed. She had outlined her strategy carefully to Gary, and she'd promised to call him back as soon as she'd made an appointment. So she was to meet with a Mr. David Campbell at two o'clock this afternoon. This morning she'd been busy with an interview with the mayor; she'd barely had time to change her clothes and catch a cab from City Hall. As it was, she was cutting it pretty close. She made it to Mr. Campbell's second-floor office at three minutes to two, relieved. He greeted her at the door. "Miss Kelley? Please, come in." She smiled and nodded an affirmative, and let him usher her inside. "I'm sorry about the mess," he said as she took a seat, waving his hand at the scattered folders on the desk and stacks of paper on the floor. "We're updating our filing system, and everything's a little disorganized right now. That's something you'd be helping with in this position, actually." She nodded again, her manner assertive but polite. "I see. And I'd be acting as your secretary, Mr. Campbell?" He smiled warmly, though there was a sense of appraisal in his glance that made her uncomfortable. "David, you can call me David. And yes, you'd be working in the next office over, taking phone calls and helping me out. I'm the supervisor at this facility. New Eden has an office and call center on 23rd Street, but this is our main building. So it's important that we keep it going smoothly." Lois tried to match his smile. "I understand. So--" She was interrupted by the telephone. David gave her an apologetic grin. "Hold on just a moment," he said, turning to answer the phone. Lois strained her ears, but she could only just make out the voice on the other end, and couldn't decipher what was being said. The look of annoyance that crossed David's face was enough to confirm her suspicions, and she bit her lip to hide a smile. "The *power* went out?" he asked incredulously. "That's never happened before." There was a pause as the other person spoke. "Well, it must be a fuse. You'll have to go to the fuse box and check." There was another moment's pause, and his expression went from annoyance to outright anger. "You checked the fuse box? And you couldn't find the problem? Who is this? What kind of incompetent...." He trailed off, running a hand aggrievedly through his hair. "All right, I'll be down in a moment." He slammed the phone into its cradle and, composing himself, gave Lois another oily grin. "I'll be right back. There seems to be some sort of problem with the fuses in one of the loading docks." Lois gestured for him to go. "Not a problem. I can wait." She listened to his footsteps as they disappeared down the corridor. Gary had assured her she'd have five minutes, but he couldn't guarantee any longer. When she was sure he was out of earshot, she stood quickly and moved to the desk. David hadn't been exaggerating about the mess; the desk was in total disarray. She shuffled quickly through the files, looking for anything she might be able to use. Most of them were financial records of various sorts: receipts, accounting ledgers, old purchase orders. She sifted through them as quickly as she could, looking carefully at the dates written on each file, but they all looked more than a few months old. Watching the clock, she moved to sort through the folders and loose pages on the floor. At last, with barely a minute to spare, she found what she needed: a file of records for the last two weeks. Inside, she was delighted to find a shipping invoice from a local trucking company. The time listed was 1:04 a.m., April 12th, the night Samuel Hathoway had died. By the time David Campbell had returned, she had stowed the folder safely in her attach‚ case and tried to rearrange the others on the desk as they had been. He found her waiting patiently, apologized for the delay, and continued the interview. Lois left New Eden with a satisfied smile. The shipping invoice wasn't a very big lead, but it was something to start with. She raised her arm to hail another cab, but a shout from behind stopped her. "Miss Lane!" She turned to find Gary Keane waving at her. "Did it work?" the elderly man asked, his expression a mixture of excitement and anxiety. "Did you get anything?" "It worked wonderfully," she assured him. "You did a great job." He smiled and looked down, embarrassed. "I wasn't sure if the fuse thing would work, but I kept playing dumb until he came downstairs." Lois frowned. "Won't you get in trouble? I mean, you aren't even supposed to be here during the day!" Gary shrugged. "Campbell doesn't know that. I used the loading dock with the bad security camera, and we don't have any electronic security systems on during the day. So there's no way for them to see that I was here at all. It was easy to flip that fuse, and I just pretended I didn't know how to fix it." He gave her a sardonic grin. "Campbell likes to believe the people around him aren't as smart as he is, so it was easy to get him to believe it. Anyway, he doesn't know who I am, so he can't fire me. And by tomorrow he'll have forgotten all about it." "Well, it was great," she repeated with a grin. "I was able to get some paperwork from his office. Not a huge lead, but I think it might be really helpful." She was exaggerating a little, but she knew it had been difficult for the man to go along with her plan, and she wanted to reassure him. "I'll have to follow it up, see what other information I can get. I'll let you know as soon as I find anything." Gary smiled a little and nodded. "Thanks, Miss Lane. I just hope we find something soon. If there's anything else I can do, you let me know." Lois nodded back. "I will. In the meantime, if you see any more lights in the loading docks after hours, would you call me?" She fumbled in her case for a business card and handed it to him. "My home number is on there, so you can call me anytime, okay?" "Will do," he promised, tucking the card into a pocket. "I'll let you get back to your work now," he said, stepping back. "Thanks again." "Thank *you.*" She bid him a polite farewell and turned back to the street to hail a taxi back to the Planet. She wanted to try to follow up on this lead today if possible, but she wasn't staying at the office all night. She smiled wryly. Despite her apprehensions, she couldn't help but feel good about seeing Clark again. She wanted to believe he was real, crazy as it all seemed. And she wanted him to be the first person in the world to truly know her, everything about her. She closed her eyes and summoned up his smiling face once more, relishing the ability to truly remember him for the first time. She was going to bed early tonight. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Tonight the transition was almost seamless. He lay down in bed and closed his eyes, only to open them again almost immediately. It felt like blinking. Clark found himself in his apartment, half-reclining on the couch, his legs stretched out on the cushions. The television was on; some forgettable sitcom chattered at him. He flicked through the channels idly, waiting impatiently for Lois's arrival. He felt her presence a moment before she knocked, like a sudden sense of warmth or peace. A sense that all was right in their tiny world. Clark turned off the television and moved to answer the door. Lois stood in the doorway for a long moment, taking him in. He was dressed fairly casually, in jeans and a cotton button-down shirt. Her eyes were drawn to his, locking there as she tried to absorb his features. She had remembered him this morning, but she wondered if her memory had done him justice. He was the most attractive man she had ever known, body and soul, and the knowledge made her want to step forward into his arms. He would let her, she knew that; his arms would enfold her, and then she could reach up and play with the hair at the back of his head, thread her fingers through it and guide his mouth to hers... But she couldn't do that. Not yet. Despite their long- time acquaintance, she still felt she didn't know him, really know him. And therefore she couldn't really trust him, either, much as she wanted to. So she didn't step into his embrace, though she allowed her eyes to convey to his her wish to do so, and the reasons for her hesitancy. There was understanding in his gaze, tender reassurance, and she relaxed a little under the caress of it. He cleared his throat and stepped aside awkwardly, motioning toward the couch. "Hi, Lois," he said at last, unsure of how to greet her. "Come on in." She dropped her eyes and complied, descending into the living room. She waited as he locked the door and came down to join her, her manner strangely reserved. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, wondering why she hadn't sat down. He moved to the couch and sat, as if to give her an example to follow. That seemed to reassure her, and she moved to sit beside him, close but not quite touching. She smiled shyly at him, and he understood. He reached out tentatively and took her hand, and she shifted a little to face him. Her eyes were wide and bright, with a touch of apprehension behind them, but she didn't pull her hand away. Then her smile changed a little, became more wry, and she dropped her gaze. "I guess I owe you a life story," she said lightly, embarrassed. He smiled gently and squeezed her hand. "That's right." "Remind me why I'm telling you all of this?" she asked, stalling for time. He laughed a little. "Because I want to get to know you. I want to know everything about you." Lois nodded, laughing nervously. "Right. Everything. Okay..." She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Well, I'm twenty-nine years old; I'll be thirty in October. I live in Metropolis, and I'm an investigative reporter at the Daily Planet. I've worked there almost ten years now; I started as an intern in college and I hired on full time when I graduated." "You studied journalism? Where did you go?" "Metropolis University," she answered. "And yes, I studied journalism." She smiled fondly. "I was top of my class, you know." He smiled back, delighted to see her opening up a little. He had worried for a moment there that she was going to simply rattle off the basic, statistical details of her life, trying to distract him from the deeper, more personal information he wanted. He didn't want her 'name, rank and serial number.' He wanted to *know* her, and he suspected that deep down she wanted that as well. He just wasn't sure how willing she would be to open herself up to him. "Top of your class, hmm?" he asked, with a carefully measured amount of disbelief in his voice. "I *was!*" she insisted with a smile, swatting at him. "And I was editor of the university paper, too." "I wouldn't expect anything less," he replied honestly, glad that she'd taken his teasing in the spirit it had been meant. She wasn't so unsure of him as to mistake his tone for cruelty, and he decided that was a very good sign. "So after you got out of college, you went to work at the Planet?" Lois nodded. "Perry offered me a job right away. And I won my first Kerth that same year." "And you went into journalism so you could help people?" he asked, remembering what she'd said two nights ago. Lois blushed a little. "Well, I know it isn't as helpful as a doctor or a cop or something. But I just didn't want to do those things. Daddy wanted me to be a doctor, but he put so much emphasis on it that I was just as determined not to do it. I didn't get along so well with my father," she admitted. "So I think I decided against medicine just to spite him. At least, that was part of it. But... I always liked journalism. I wanted to *know* everything. I wanted to get to the bottom of everything, all by myself." Clark smiled, but he was distracted by something else she'd said. "You didn't get along with your father?" Lois drew a deep breath. "Daddy was... he was difficult to be close to. He'd never wanted a daughter, but he got two of them. Lucy and I-- my younger sister-- were never quite good enough for him. He wanted a son to carry on the family name and practice. I think it really hurt him when neither of us wanted that." She tilted her head and dropped her gaze, lost temporarily in her introspection. "Of course, he wasn't the best of role models, either. I mean, he and Mother never got along very well, either. I know he had at least a couple affairs, and I think that's what made Mother so depressed all the time. So he didn't exactly give us much of an example to aspire to. I mean, he's a fabulous doctor. But he wasn't a very good father, and he wasn't very happy. So why would I want to be that?" Clark bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said, knowing it couldn't help, but wanting to say it anyway. She looked back up at him, startled out of her memories, though her eyes were shadowed with some emotion he couldn't decipher. "It's not *your* fault, Clark," she said matter- of-factly. "It's no one's fault but his." Clark was surprised at the lack of anger or resentment in her voice, but he didn't push the matter any further. "So you grew up in Metropolis, too?" Lois nodded, smiling. "Big city girl, born and bred," she affirmed. "I've lived my whole life here." She looked carefully at him. "I guess you haven't, have you? I mean, I think you must live in Metropolis now, because almost all of the dreams have taken place here for a while now. But you didn't grow up here, did you?" Clark was mildly surprised by her insight. He hadn't expected to be on the receiving end of the questions tonight. But he wanted her to know him, to feel comfortable with him. So he supposed he should be doing as much sharing tonight as she was. "No," he admitted. "I mean, I live in Metropolis now, but I didn't always live here. I grew up in Kansas." "Kansas?" she repeated. "How did you go from Kansas to Metropolis?" "Well, I did it in small increments," he teased. "So I didn't go into shock or anything." He shrugged. "I did a lot of traveling before I settled down. I've told you that. So by the time I got to Metropolis, I was used to living in a lot of unusual places. But it is a big difference from Smallville," he conceded. She nodded. "With a name like that, I guess it'd have to be!" Now it was his turn to be good-naturedly indignant. "Hey, Smallville was a great place to live!" "I believe you," she said, raising a placating hand. "Do your parents still live there?" He dropped his gaze. "They died," he replied. "When I was ten. Actually, it's almost exactly twenty-one years now." Her eyes flew open wide. "Oh, Clark, I'm sorry!" "It's not your fault, Lois," he said, repeating her words. "It was a long time ago. It doesn't hurt so much anymore." "Well, still... I mean, my family wasn't so great, but it was better than nothing. What happened to you after that?" Clark shrugged. "I went to a lot of different foster homes... I stayed with my aunt and uncle for a while, but they couldn't really afford to support me. But I stayed in or near Smallville, and most of the people were nice enough to me. I just didn't quite fit in anywhere." "Oh, Clark," she repeated, reaching across to take his other hand. "I'm sorry." "Hey, it's okay," he said. "I'm okay." They lapsed into silence for a moment, unsure of how to continue the conversation. At last Clark changed the subject. "So you're twenty-nine years old," he commented. "And you've been dreaming about... me... since you were fourteen?" She nodded. "Yeah. And you said the dreams started when you were sixteen. That makes you..." She did the math in her head. "Thirty-one?" Clark nodded back. "So we've been... connected for fifteen years? Lois smiled fondly. "Fifteen years... And at least nine dreams a year. Usually more." He smiled, too, remembering some of those. "We had some beautiful times, didn't we?" She laughed. "And some strange ones... I used to keep a journal of them, you know. I have all of them written down, except this last week. After the first two or three, when I realized you might become a regular player in my dreams, I started to keep track of them. That's part of what helped me realize they were cyclical." "I didn't do anything like that. I wish I had," Clark answered wistfully. "I'd like to read it." "Someday," she said softly, "maybe you will." Clark dropped his gaze and didn't answer. There was no point in reminding her that the journal existed only in her world, and he had no way to get there. Besides, in a way she was right. Perhaps, in one of their dreams, he could read it someday. "I remember the first week of them," he said, steering the conversation away from the journal. "You were so young... We both were, I guess. But I thought you were the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen." "Since then, of course, you've realized the error of your ways," she commented cynically; her tone was teasing but Clark suspected there was a hidden question in her criticism. Was she testing him, testing his feelings for her? "Since then, Lois, I'm more convinced every night," he replied softly, letting the emotion bleed through into his voice. She blushed and looked down at their joined hands. "Oh, Clark..." Sensing he'd reassured her of his sincerity, and not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he backed off. "And you were smart, and feisty, and I was amazed that you wanted anything to do with me." "Well, I thought you were handsome," she countered, a little more relaxed now. "And you certainly were strong," she teased. "You won that bear for me pretty easily!" She was silent for a moment, her gaze turning inward once more. "You were such a gentleman," she mused. "And in your arms... I felt safe. Even at fourteen, I wanted that. More than anything." Clark squeezed her hands again. "You *are* safe with me," he whispered firmly. "I would never hurt you." Lois's eyes focused on his, and she smiled a little. "I guess I know that, Clark," she admitted. "I guess I'm just more skittish than most." "That's okay," he said. "We have all the time in the world." She nodded, almost absently, as her thoughts went back to those first few adolescent dreams. "We had such fun back then. Not that we don't have fun now," she hastened to add, "but it was different then. Innocent, I guess. At least, for a while." Clark understood. "We were young," he repeated. "I hadn't had any real romantic relationships by then. So everything you and I did was new. Just being out together, alone, was something new for me. And, in dreams, you don't have the same inhibitions you would have in life. You're less vulnerable, because dreams are safe. So you let yourself do... anything you want to do, innocent or not." Lois flushed again, remembering the first intimate dream they'd had. "A safe way to yield to the lure of the forbidden?" Clark shook his head with a laugh. "The lure of the most beautiful, the most desirable woman I'd ever met!" She laughed a little, embarrassed. "Well, you weren't so bad yourself... You were the only boy-- man-- I'd ever responded to that way. It was a little scary," she admitted, "the strength of what I felt for you. And sad, knowing I couldn't ever be with you the way I wanted." Clark opened his mouth, ready once more to lead them away from the pain and regret she was steering toward, but Lois changed the subject on her own. She gave a nervous laugh. "It's embarrassing now," she said, "knowing you saw all those dreams of mine. A real person, watching them all." "I wasn't just watching," he reminded her. "They were my dreams too. I wanted them-- enjoyed them-- as much as you did." He laughed wryly, shaking his head. "If you only knew how badly I wanted them." She looked up sharply, a flash of fear or uncertainty in her eyes, and he smiled. "I don't mean now," he assured her gently, a touch of mild humor in his tone. "I only meant that you shouldn't be embarrassed about them. They were something we both wanted." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "It's just that I'm still trying to absorb all of this. That you could be a real person, and that I've been dreaming of you, with you, for fifteen years. It's not that I don't care for you. I love you. You're so good at saying that to me, and I can't say it nearly so well." "It's okay," he assured her. "Listen, Lois, if I seem to have accepted all this easily, it's only because I've been waiting for you, searching for you, my whole life. I'll believe anything I have to. But I still have to get used to it all, too. From here on out, we're back in unexplored territory. Everything is new again. I want to take the time to move forward slowly, and I want to give you all the time you need to get comfortable again. "I still want to be close to you," he admitted, daring to raise a hand and cup her cheek gently in his palm. "To touch you, and to hold you, and to kiss you. But we have plenty of time for all of that." "I know," she said, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. "At least five more nights." "That's right," he affirmed, though he didn't like to think of it that way. Five nights didn't seem like much time at all. "So for now we should just get to know one another. For having been friends for fifteen years, we don't know much at all." Lois, reassured once more, frowned a moment. "Fifteen years," she repeated. "I wonder what made the dreams start then?" "Well," Clark answered thoughtfully, "Maybe that's when we needed them." He frowned, trying to explain. "I mean, we didn't really need that sort of relationship when we were kids. But at some point you start looking for a... a partner, I guess. A soulmate. And we couldn't find that in our own worlds. So maybe we dream to assuage that need." She nodded, considering. "I guess that makes sense," she conceded. "But... it sounded like you needed a companion when you were ten. Why couldn't I have been there for you then?" "You're here for me now," he answered. "That's more than enough." She smiled a little, and scooted a bit closer to him, pressing her body into his side. "I'll always be there for you, Clark," she whispered. Clark put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close against him. "And I'll be there for you," he promised, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. They sat thus for a long moment, growing reaccustomed to the feeling of being close. At long last Lois sighed sadly. "It's time to go, isn't it?" she asked, frustration clear in her voice. Clark nodded; he had felt it too. She closed her eyes tightly, burrowing into his shoulder, as if she could postpone the inevitable. "Lois," he chided softly. "Come here." She raised her face to his, her eyes hesitant but wistful. Clark reached out and gently lifted her to his lap, wrapping his arms around her. She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes once more, sinking into his warmth and trying to memorize the sensation. He buried his lips once more in her hair, his arms tightening as the apartment darkened. "Love you," he heard her say, and then she was gone. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER FIVE "Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds." ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 20TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 2] Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, as if to match her mood. As she drove to work, Lois allowed her mind to drift. It had been strange to be so open with someone, even if he wasn't really in her life. But it had felt good, too, in a way she hadn't expected. Clark had been so understanding, so accepting; she just wasn't used to being able to trust anyone so fully. But he made no secret of his feelings for her, his admiration, his attraction. Never had she heard scorn or derision in his voice, and never had his manner been anything but gentlemanly, if teasing. Never had his eyes slid over her the way David Campbell's would have, in appraisal or evaluation. And, as she'd confessed to him, in his arms she felt safe, safer than anywhere she'd ever found in her waking world. He hadn't said he lived in Metropolis, but he hadn't denied it when she asked. And she knew he was a reporter. She wondered if he worked for the Daily Planet of his world. Parking her jeep and making her way through the parking garage, she let herself fantasize about what it would be like to work with him everyday. She didn't usually work with a partner unless Perry insisted, but she thought she'd make an exception for Clark. She wondered what it might be like, tossing ideas back and forth, having him as her partner on a stakeout or in an interview, fighting good- naturedly over the wording of their latest story.... And stealing a kiss or two when no one was looking, she thought with a laugh. Yes, she mused, it would be very nice indeed. It would never happen, she knew, but it was a nice daydream. Anyway, at the very least they had five more nights together. All things considered, that was more than she'd ever expected to have. "Lois! In my office!" "Coming, Perry," she called to her editor, smiling to herself. Today felt like a good day. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Lois stared at the various records scattered across her desk. After briefing Perry about the status of her investigation, she'd gone through the folder and sorted the pages carefully by date. She'd found three invoices with times in the middle of the night. The first was from the night Samuel Hathoway had died; another was a week prior, and the third dated just a few nights ago, probably the night Gary had seen the lights in the loading dock. Further study revealed that each invoice was issued by the same trucking company, although none of the daytime shipments had gone through it. The drivers had been different each time, unless the signatures were false, but all three deliveries had gone to the same address. She turned to her computer and typed the address into an online street guide. As she'd suspected, it was in the Waterfront District. A search on another site revealed that it was a private dock owned by an overseas shipping company. The second signature on one of the invoices was another clue; while the other two were rather illegible, a Captain James Tyler had received and signed for the most recent shipment. Searching for Tyler had been less successful, so on her way to lunch she gave the name to Jimmy. If she was lucky, he'd have something useful by the time she got back. Because it was Sunday, Lois wasn't really required to come to work, and could thus take as long a lunch break as she wanted. She planned to use the time wisely, although she wasn't sure how much could be done today. She stopped for a sandwich at a nearby caf‚, and then set out for the Metropolis Public Library. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ She stared at the map in her hand, not sure what to make of it. She'd gone through three different atlases to find one detailed enough, but in the end she'd found what she was looking for: Smallville, Kansas. So it existed, even in her own world. She knew that didn't really prove anything, but it was as close to proof as she had. She hadn't dreamed it up, at least not that part of it. She wasn't sure how to react to that finding; while it was somewhat of a relief, it felt strangely... final. If she looked up Clark Kent, and discovered he really was dead, there was no going back. she reminded herself. But she'd found no listing for Clark Kent in any phone book, nor in the public records for the last few years, not even for a driver's license or voter registration. The librarian looked up the name of the Smallville newspaper for her, but the Post was too small a paper to be carried by the Metropolitan library. Instead, the librarian advised her to check the online archives for the information she wanted, and offered her use of one of the public computers. For such a small publication, the Post's website was remarkably well developed and organized, but when she searched the archives for his name, she came up empty. The online archives currently only went back to 1990, so Lois supposed there might be mention of him before then. Frustrated, Lois logged off the computer. She'd hit another dead end. Short of going to Kansas to check public records there, she wasn't sure what else to do. She didn't have any contacts in Kansas that might owe her favors, either. Frowning, Lois jotted down the phone number of the Smallville Post's office, and on a whim she looked up the number of the local library as well. Perhaps someone would be willing to check for her, she thought as she headed back to the Planet. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ That night, as she lay in bed, Lois pulled out her dream journal. It took her nearly two hours to record the last four nights' worth of dreams. Usually she wouldn't have waited so long to do it, but those last few dreams had been difficult to handle. After Thursday night, when Clark had pulled away from their kisses in the rain, she hadn't felt like recording that. It was too painful. And after the confusing revelations of the following night, she hadn't wanted to write anything down until things became clearer. But she couldn't put it off any longer, if she wanted to be able to remember things in detail. When she was finished, she flipped randomly through the pages. This was only the latest in her dream journals, covering the last few years. She rummaged through the small stack of them under her bed until she found the first. It was a red spiral-bound notebook with her name printed across the cover in black marker; she'd bought it after the third or fourth dream and started recording them. She hid it under her mattress at first, wary of Lucy's prying eyes, and then took to slipping it in among the textbooks and such on her shelves. On lonely nights, she'd take it out and read from it. Like tonight, although she wasn't feeling too lonely just now. She knew she had only to close her eyes and dream. But tonight she had a few questions on her mind. She allowed herself to read a few random passages before she actively began to search for what she wanted. In the entries for 1984, she found it. In April of that year, they'd dreamed of flying. That wasn't the only time, either; she thumbed through the pages, counting. Six times in this journal alone, and probably twice as many in the next. At the time it had been easy to dismiss them as fanciful. You could do whatever you wanted in dreams, right? Flying wasn't an uncommon theme, she knew, but in light of her most recent discoveries, it seemed a strange one for her dreams with Clark. Their dreams had always been fairly realistic. Although at times she had found herself in unusual or unfamiliar locations-- she supposed some of them had been Smallville, and others the places he'd traveled-- the settings had always seemed normal and earthly. But once in a while they'd flown through the night skies. Clark had gathered her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and held her close as he lifted gently into the air. She turned to another page and read of floating in the clouds and then higher, into the star-dazzled darkness. Of chasing the sun as it drowned in the ocean, and aerial kisses against the sky. The first time, she was pretty sure he'd been wearing a t- shirt and jeans, but she vaguely remembered something blue, skintight, more recently. She turned back to the most recent journal and checked. Yes, something soft and sleek and blue, and a red silken cape streaming off his shoulders. What had that been? She frowned a little, considering, then laid the journals aside and reached over to flip off the bedside lamp. It was time to sleep. Clark had a lot of questions to answer tonight! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ APRIL 20TH, 1997 METROPOLIS, NEW TROY [ALTWORLD 1] Clark arrived at the bistro ten minutes early, but Lucy Lane had beaten him anyway. He had no difficulty in recognizing her, though he hadn't seen her in a year; with her dark hair and pretty, expressive eyes it was very easy to see she was Lois's sister. He waved the hostess politely away, pointing at the young woman waiting for him, and made his way through the crowded restaurant. "Nice to see you