Shades of Gray 
By: C. Leuch <isuleuch@hotmail.com> 
Rated: PG-13 
Submitted: February 2002 
-------------------------------------------------

This is an elseworld tale that came about after I asked the 
question, "What if...?" The characters are not mine, but 
the story is. WARNING: this story also contains a WHAM and 
alludes to some violence.

Thanks to Missy, Adam, and Shayne for BR-ing and offering 
support at various points along the line. Feedback is 
always welcome. Hope you enjoy!

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

Sunlight filtered in through the heavily tinted windows of 
the office, rare streams of light that only appeared in 
late morning as the sun cleared the building across the 
street, before it continued overhead and masked the office 
in shadow once again. Even though those rays appeared for 
only a few hours a day, they were the one thing that had 
made this particular office, above all others that had been 
available in the vast concrete jungle that was Metropolis, 
attractive. The sunlight was a symbol, a sign from above 
that even the bleakest of lives could have some brightness 
in them, and that was comforting somehow.

The brunette woman who called that office her own leaned 
back in the large leather chair she sat in, letting the 
rays send light across her face. Her life was the kind that 
had seen far too little sunshine, mired more in shadows and 
darkness than anything else. A distant, bleak pain, a pain 
that had been present almost as long as she could remember, 
penetrated her whole being, and not even the invigorating 
rays of the sun could drive that away. That pain had 
consumed her, driven her, led her. In and of itself it was 
almost soothing, a reminder of what she had in her life at 
one point, a memory of the happy times. But those happy 
times had only made the aftermath that much more bleak.

The warmth of the sun allowed her to relax momentarily, and 
the memories, good and bad, before and after, began to 
course through her mind. A part of her wanted to cry, but 
the tears had dried up long before. The past was gone in 
any case, and there was no use dwelling on it. All she had 
now was the present, and the future that stretched out in 
front of her. The future held so many opportunities, so 
many chances to make things right with the world, to atone 
for the past....

The ringing of the phone on her desk drew her out of her 
trance. Her eyes popped open and darted across the 
cluttered surface of her desk before finally finding the 
phone. Her hand quickly reached out and picked up the 
receiver before the phone had a chance to ring again.

"Lane here," she said curtly. The number of the direct line 
to her office was known only to a few people, most of whom 
she had no wish to speak to at the moment.

"Lois," came her sister's wary voice over the line. Lois 
knew right away what a call from Lucy meant, and 
immediately she felt her brows knit together as a look of 
concern came over her face.

"Another one?" Lois asked, knowing the answer before it 
even came.

A sigh was audible from her sister. "She just got in here, 
and she's in pretty bad shape. You should probably come 
down," Lucy said, the long-suffering tone in her voice not 
lost on her sister.

Lois's eyes once again focused on the desk in front of her, 
this time landing on the large pile of notes that sat in a 
position of prominence at the center. "I have something to 
take care of first, but then I'll come down," she replied, 
hanging up the phone after hearing the grunt of approval 
from her sister. Wasting no time, she reached under the 
desk and pulled out a briefcase, unceremoniously shoving 
the papers into it. She stood up, her petite form projected 
onto the floor in shadow, the angle of the sun's rays 
distorting her outline. The symbolism was ironic, but it 
was not something to be dwelt upon at the moment. Without 
another thought, she strode quickly across and out of the 
office.

***

To the untrained eye, the newsroom of the Daily Planet was 
a chaotic place. From the time the sun went up until long 
after it went down again, people could be seen bustling 
about - reporters en route to the next big scoop, visitors 
with tales of woe that they hoped would make the pages of 
the next edition, janitors, copy boys, all moving in random 
paths throughout the newsroom. Those who weren't moving 
around sat at desks of their own, slumped over a keyboard, 
typing furiously. By and large the desks that dotted the 
floor of the room were left unoccupied, but large cluttered 
piles of paper that they all invariably contained spoke of 
stories in progress, projects to be returned to in due 
time. A certain energy fueled it all, a driving force that 
seemed to emanate from the corner office belonging to Perry 
White. From time to time the editor would stick his head 
out of the office door and bark orders, sending the 
newsroom into a renewed frenzy of activity.

Not everyone in the newsroom that morning was hard at work, 
however. One young man, his hair a little too long, his 
suit a size too large, leaned back in his chair, a distant 
smile on his face as he observed the morning activity. It 
was only his second full day of work at the Planet, and he 
still couldn't shake a sense of giddiness at the thought 
that he was really working at the newspaper that set the 
standard for every other one in the world. The vibrancy of 
the big city had brought him to Metropolis, and a 
reputation for fairness had brought him to the Planet. He 
didn't want to question his good fortune, but at the same 
time he couldn't help but feel that at any second he would 
wake up and find that it was all a dream. At least he could 
enjoy it while he still had the opportunity, he thought as 
he took a sip from his coffee mug, his eyes wandering 
around the office.

Observation had always been a keen talent of his. It wasn't 
that he was an introspective person, necessarily. It was 
just a habit he had picked up all those years ago, when he 
began to realize that he wasn't like everyone else. Afraid 
to expose himself to others, he had simply faded into the 
background, watching, observing. Eventually, his natural 
sociability would get the best of him, and he would let his 
guard down. Invariably he would do something that a normal 
person had no business doing, and he would have to move on 
before others linked the incredible feat to him. But now he 
was in Metropolis, in the job of his dreams, and he wasn't 
going to move on from here. There was just something about 
Metropolis that felt different from the other places he had 
been, something that compelled him to want to stay, no 
matter what may come.

A slap on his back brought him out of his stupor, and his 
head snapped around to get a look at who interrupted his 
thoughts.

"You aren't going to last very long here if you keep 
staring off into space, Kent."

"Hi, Ralph," Clark said, a twinge of annoyance in his 
voice. Of all the people he had met at the Planet the day 
before, Ralph had been the most obnoxious. He had 
immediately latched on to Clark, trying to buddy up to him 
while at the same time letting him know who was top banana 
in the newsroom. Clark had taken it all in stride, not 
questioning anything that was told to him, but his 
sensitive ears told him that Ralph, who Clark quickly 
figured out had only been employed at the Planet for a 
month, was full of hot air.

Ralph shoved a donut in Clark's face. "Here. I thought you 
might want this before you get started on your next 
assignment, because boy are you going to need it."

Caught off guard, Clark blinked a few times, trying to 
focus on the donut that was dangled a couple of inches in 
front of him. Hesitantly, he brought his hand up and took 
it, shooting a questioning glance at Ralph, who smiled and 
pointed toward the conference room.

"She's not my problem anymore. You can have her."

"Her? Who...?" Clark craned his neck to try and see into 
the room, but he couldn't. Ralph followed his gaze and 
chuckled.

"Your worst nightmare."

Clark allowed himself a wry smile. Unless she was some sort 
of government agent in a white lab coat, he seriously 
doubted that whoever this person was could come even close 
to being his worst nightmare. His curiosity had been 
piqued, though.

"But who is she?" he asked, fighting the sudden urge to 
pull down his glasses and x-ray into the room.

"Her nickname around here is 'Mad Dog Lane,' but don't let 
her hear you say that," Ralph started as he leaned against 
Clark's desk, his voice lower than it had been. "She's a 
private detective. Whenever one of her clients makes her 
mad, or even if they just want to air some dirty laundry, 
she comes over here and talks to us. It's usually good 
stuff, but she's the type that wants to look over your 
shoulder when you write something to make sure that it 
suits her. Can you image, a PI editing your copy?" Ralph 
snorted. "It's a Planet tradition to pass her on to the new 
guy, because none of the rest of us can stand her, so she's 
all yours, and she's waiting in the conference room. Have a 
blast."

Ralph gave Clark a quick pat on the shoulder before pushing 
himself away from the desk and making his way across the 
newsroom. Clark frowned. This woman - Mad Dog? - sounded 
eerily like someone he had known back in Smallville. She 
was not happy unless she had a hand in everything, and 
nobody told her what to do. It was her way or no way at 
all. Underneath the exterior, she had been a good person, 
though, and she had been one of the few close friends he 
had had through his adolescent years. For some reason that 
he couldn't comprehend, she saw something in him that 
nobody else had, something that compelled her to share her 
inner self with him in exchange. But he never told her his 
deepest thought and secrets, about the extraordinary things 
he could do. He had felt guilty at not being able to give 
her the same level of confidence that she had given him, 
and after a while they drifted apart.

Clark had to blink to bring himself back to reality. As 
brusque as Lana tended to be with people, nobody had ever 
referred to her as 'Mad Dog.' He had certainly met many 
people over the years that could qualify for that title, 
and by and large he had been able to handle them just fine, 
although it was never particularly pleasant.

He glanced at his editor's office, wondering what Perry's 
take on the woman was. Given the fact that half of what 
came out of Ralph's mouth so far had not been firmly 
grounded in truth, Clark wondered exactly what the 
situation was. He was hesitant to take an assignment based 
on nobody's word but Ralph's, but on the other hand, it 
wasn't as if he had anything better to do. A story was a 
story, even if it came with a potentially irritating 
source.

As he rose out of his chair, he remembered the doughnut 
that was still in his hand. He looked at it quizzically for 
a moment, turning it sideways before finally setting it 
beside his coffee cup on his desk. Maybe Ralph wasn't all 
bad, he thought as he made up his mind to indulge in the 
treat as soon as his interview was over. Grabbing a pen and 
legal pad, he made his way toward the conference room.

He took a deep breath, telling himself again that what 
Ralph had said about her was probably exaggerated, before 
pulling open the door to the conference room. A brunette 
woman stood on the other side of the room, staring intently 
out the window. She looked innocent enough, he thought as 
he cleared his throat, causing her flinch ever so slightly.

"Hi, my name is Clark Kent. I assume you're...Miss Lane?" 
He said, adding a note of confidence to his voice.

She stood up straighter and turned to face him. As soon as 
he caught sight of her, he felt the muscles in his jaw 
begin to go limp. Time seemed to slow down as he watched 
her shoulder-length hair swing and bob at the turn of her 
head. The woman that stood in front of him was the most 
striking person that he had ever seen, although if someone 
had asked him, he wouldn't have been able to tell them why. 
He had seen many people similar to her in his travels - 
similar build, similar hair, similar features. But there 
was something about her, maybe something in her eyes, that 
just made him feel like he had never felt before. Something 
about her made him want to drop everything and hold her 
tight, draw her close and never let her go....

"So you're the new guy around here, huh? I don't think I've 
seen you before. So what did you do to get stuck with me? I 
bet you stole some other reporter's story or something. Or 
maybe you're just too new to know what you got yourself 
into. How long have you been here, anyway?" She said 
rapidly as she made her way toward the conference table in 
the middle of the room.

Her words brought reality back to him quickly. He tried to 
respond to her, but no words came out of his mouth, and his 
mind drew a blank. He smiled at her for a moment while he 
let his thoughts gather, watching as she became suddenly 
flustered.

"This is my second day, you're right about that. And I'm 
sure I have no idea what I've gotten myself into," he said, 
the smile still firmly planted on his face. Something in 
the back of his mind tried to break through, a warning that 
perhaps the flirtatious tone that he had taken on was not 
exactly the best to be using with a source.

Her eyes grew wide and her cheeks flushed. She diverted her 
eyes away from him, bringing them to rest on the briefcase 
that was sitting in front of her on the table. Her hand 
came up to brush a strand of hair away from her face, and 
for a moment Clark felt like he was going to melt into a 
pile of mush on the floor right there.

She took a deep breath and looked at him again, her 
composure back. "I'm rarely wrong about things, Mr. Kent. 
My job is to look beyond the external, to find out the 
truth about people." She motioned to her briefcase. "And 
I'm going to hand you the biggest story of your fledgling 
career, that is if you would like to sit down and get some 
actual work done." With that, she sat down and opened the 
briefcase.

The engaging woman that he had seen just moments before had 
been replaced with the more serious one in front of him. 
The tone in her voice had been almost cold, and he could 
see why Ralph could think what he did about her. But those 
eyes, those deep, expressive, brown eyes still held the 
hint of something else. The conference room of the Daily 
Planet was no place to pursue any budding feelings, 
however, especially when they had met literally seconds 
earlier. Taking his cue from her, he dropped his teasing 
smile and approached the table, giving her his undivided 
attention.

***

As Lois exited the Daily Planet through its trademark 
revolving door, she welcomed the openness of the outside. 
Never had a room felt so close as that conference room had 
just moments before. It wasn't that it had been crowded, 
necessarily - it had just been her and that greenhorn 
reporter, alone in the fairly large space, the ceiling 
rising far above them. But even so, she had found it hard 
to catch her breath. Her heart still pounded hard in her 
chest, even as she tried to tell herself to calm down.

Before today, the Planet had always just been a place she 
went as part of her job, a job that she did better than 
probably anyone else in the city. She knew she was 
demanding, and she tended to be abrasive with the reporters 
that she gave stories to, usually through no fault of their 
own. There had been a time, before, that she had wanted 
nothing more than to be a reporter herself. The excitement 
of chasing down a lead, of peering into the dark shadows of 
men's souls and finding the truth that laid within, and 
then putting into print for the whole world to see held a 
great deal of excitement in her mind. But somewhere along 
the line, the idea of drawing any more attention to herself 
than was absolutely necessary became repellent. The plans 
she had laid, after, had demanded that she be 
inconspicuous, so she chose instead to be a private 
investigator. She still could find out those dark secrets, 
but her name would not be associated with them. A part of 
still had an affinity for the newspaper business, and 
that's what had compelled her to use the Daily Planet, the 
most respected of all newspapers, as the recipient of her 
exclusives. But she suspected that that same part of her 
held some resentment for reporters, and that was what 
caused her to treat them so badly. At least, up until now.

She was used to the revolving door of new reporters that 
the Planet threw at her, but today she had met someone new, 
and something happened. The earth could've shook, lightning 
could've come down from the sky and struck her, but she 
still wouldn't have been able to draw her eyes away from 
his. On the outside, he looked for all the world like a kid 
dressed up to play reporter. His entire demeanor oozed 
innocence, but when he spoke, his voice, with its teasing 
quality, was one of someone who was not an innocent at all. 
As she had given him her story, he had taken notes 
dutifully, and had asked just the right questions in just 
the right places, betraying a keen intelligence beneath his 
boyish good looks. She hadn't known what to make of her 
feelings toward him - she had never felt anything like it 
before - but she had her suspicions about what it might be, 
and it scared her. She had tried to hide her attraction 
toward him and retreat to the professional demeanor that 
she had always been able to fall behind in the past, no 
matter what her emotional state. But she knew it hadn't 
been entirely successful, and she could see the desire 
reflected in his expressive eyes.

The meeting had gone surprisingly smoothly, nonetheless. He 
had been as professional as she, and she just assumed that 
once they parted company, that would be the last time they 
saw each other. She would leave, he would write up the 
story, and the next time she arrived at the Planet, she 
would be passed along to the next new reporter. She tried 
to tell herself that that would be the best course, that 
her activities wouldn't allow her to get close to a man, 
but that didn't stop a part of her from being disappointed 
at the thought. But then, as she had her hand on the door 
of the conference room ready to leave, she heard him speak 
her name.

"Miss Lane," he had said, ever polite. She had closed her 
eyes, realizing that she had never actually told him her 
name. Somehow, having him call her 'Miss Lane' just didn't 
seem right.

"Lois. My name is Lois," she had said as she opened her 
eyes again and turned to face him.

"Lois," he had repeated softly, a stunning smile spreading 
across his face. She could feel his eyes boring into her, a 
thought that she knew should've made her uncomfortable, but 
which had instead made her feel...special somehow.

"I was wondering if you would like to go to lunch," he 
said, his face taking on a wistful quality. He seemed to 
become aware of himself after a moment, and his expression 
quickly flashed until he once again appeared to be the 
consummate professional. "To, ah, discuss the story," he 
finished.

"Yes," she heard herself say even before she had a chance 
to process his words. Would she like to go to lunch? Was he 
asking her on a date? Sure, he had amended his question to 
make it sound like a business proposition, but they both 
knew what it would be. She felt almost giddy at the 
thought, but then she remembered the phone call by her 
sister earlier that morning. "I mean, yes, I would," she 
started, pausing to catch her breath. Why did she feel so 
lightheaded when she looked at him? "But not today. I have 
some business to take care of."

His whole demeanor seemed to change with her words. His 
head dropped, and suddenly it was as if the linoleum on the 
floor was the most interesting thing in the world. His 
overly large sports coat slipped to the side, off his now 
slumped shoulders. Her eyes had grown large as she realized 
what her words must've sounded like to him.

"Tomorrow. Let's go tomorrow. Maybe by then you'll have an 
actual story written to discuss," she said, resorting to 
some mild teasing. That had restored his spirit. He nodded 
mutely in agreement, his smile once again present, as she 
told him the time and place before leaving. Even though she 
didn't look back at him once on her way out of the 
newsroom, she had known somehow that he was watching her, 
and it hadn't bothered her at all.

So, she thought as she looked up toward the open sky, it 
was a date. How long had it been since she had her last 
date, she wondered as she started walking toward her 
sister's office. It was probably college. She had turned 
away her fair share of men in the meantime, not interested 
in so much as the thought of dating. Her sister had teased 
her about it, but Lucy, more than anyone else, understood 
her reasoning for it. Lucy understood her motivations for 
almost everything in life; she had been her anchor.

Reluctantly, Lois's thoughts came back to the reasons why 
she was heading over to see her sister in the first place. 
As the smiling face of her friend at the Planet faded into 
the background, she felt her chest tighten up and a 
familiar heaviness return to her being. She stopped 
abruptly as the full force of her burden returned to her. 
The same feeling of pain that she had lived with for so 
long, the same pain that the rays of the sun or the melodic 
strains of even her favorite song hadn't been able to 
dispel for years had left, she realized. Dissolved in an 
instant by the devastating smile of Clark Kent, reporter.

She staggered toward the nearest building and leaned 
against the wall, contemplating what that revelation meant 
to her way of life, to her sister, to the plans they had 
made, after. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, 
clutching her hands to her chest, looking to her heart to 
guide her as it always had. The pain was what drove her 
every day. If that were to leave on a permanent basis, 
banished by her love for a man, what would be left for her? 
She had wanted to accomplish so much, but had barely even 
started along the path she had chosen. At the same time, 
however, the freedom that she had just felt during its 
absence had been incredible. She willed her mind to summon 
Clark's face, and as it did, the weight of the world begin 
to lift again. She felt several long abandoned facial 
muscles begin to pull her lips up into a smile as thought 
of their lunch date the next day surfaced. She didn't 
really know him at all, yet he had this effect on her for 
some reason that she couldn't comprehend.

His face rematerialized in her field of vision, but as she 
mentally reached out toward him, it was replaced with that 
of her father, and instantly the smile faded from her face. 
Her eyes popped open and she frowned as she saw that the 
sun had slid behind a dark cloud, casting the street into 
shadow. Irony reared its ugly head again, she thought as 
she stood up straight and started to walk toward the 
street. She raised her hand to hail a cab, no longer 
feeling energetic enough to walk toward her new 
destination.

The ride seemed interminably long, her mind thrown into a 
state of confusion. A million thoughts floated around in 
her head, warring with each other. Each was significant in 
some way, but none was able to fully capture her attention. 
On any other day, she would expertly turn her concentration 
on sorting out the thoughts, answering each in turn, and 
making sure that everything fit into her carefully plotted 
out future. Control, of her thoughts, of her actions, of 
everything, was her way of life, since, and it would have 
to remain so. But...what if she didn't want to control 
everything anymore? What if she just wanted to step aside 
and let her inhibitions go for once?

That thought got pushed to the back of her mind as the cab 
pulled up to an unassuming brownstone in the once 
fashionable Garden District. The townhouses that lined the 
street were all very similar in a way, but they had subtle 
differences, slight ornamentation and a stateliness to them 
that set them apart from those in other areas of the city. 
So many in the endless line of houses cried out for a 
little attention, just enough to wash away the grime 
accumulated in the century since their erection, and let 
some of the dignified beauty shine though. A few had 
received care, and they stood out like polished jewels 
among the rest.

Lois paid the cabbie and climbed out of the car, heading 
straight for the door of the nearest brownstone. It was a 
little shabbier than the rest, the paint peeling away from 
the window frames and the brick crumbling ever so slightly 
around the edges. The sign that hung over the door, though, 
was in pristine shape, its perfect blue lettering 
announcing to the world that the house belonged to the Lost 
and Found Agency.

Lois supposed that most who knew her would not consider her 
to be a compassionate person, and indeed, her actions 
tended to say just that. But the Lost and Found Agency had 
been her gift to the city. Financed largely with her own 
money, the agency helped those who had lost their families, 
giving them a place to stay if they needed it, a comforting 
ear to voice their problems to, and, most importantly, an 
ally in the search for truth. It was the type of place that 
she desperately wished had existed for her and her sister 
to go to, after. If she had had a place like this to come 
to, a shoulder to cry on and tell her that everything was 
going to be all right, maybe her life wouldn't have been 
consumed with the quest to bring down the man who had 
ruined the lives of her and her sister.

Of course, the agency also served as her primary source of 
information about the activities of that man. He had killed 
her parents, and she had known ever since the night they 
died that he would continue to kill those who got in his 
path. A part of her had hoped that wouldn't be true, but 
throughout the years she had found that it had been. She 
couldn't count anymore the number of families that had come 
through the door, families who no longer had a mother or 
father or child because of one man's quest for power. It 
broke her heart, but at the same time hardened her resolve, 
her desire to make sure that it didn't happen again.

Her sister Lucy manned the facility, even though there was 
no personal gain for her in doing so. Lois might have been 
the inwardly compassionate type, but Lucy had always been 
better with people. She also had a keen intellect, as well 
as the same well-developed sense of vengeance as her 
sister. For that she had put her education on hold, taken a 
variety of part time jobs that were well beneath her 
ability, and ran the agency. Lois didn't know what she 
could possibly do without her sister - she had been her 
rock, her confidant, her best friend and partner in all 
senses of the world. And now Lucy had found another kindred 
soul, their family wrenched away from them by the same man 
that had taken theirs, too.

Lois pulled open the door and entered the parlor of the 
mid-sized townhouse and stopped. A woman sat on the couch, 
her shoulder length blonde hair a tangled mess and her face 
red and tear-streaked, locked in the embrace of Lucy Lane. 
The familiar sound of long-practiced words of comfort 
reached Lois's ears, and she cleared her throat slightly to 
announce her presence. She had seen too many scenes like 
this, all eerily similar, but each equally powerful. It 
never failed to wrench her heart, seeing the tearful souls 
who came to her agency for refuge. A small part of her 
relived her own experience every time she saw someone new.

Swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, she 
slowly made her way toward her sister and the blonde 
stranger, who hadn't even seemed to register her presence 
yet.

"Hi, my name is Lois Lane," Lois said gently as she sat 
down on the edge of the couch. She tried to meet the 
woman's eyes, and after a moment was able to.

"Angel Harris," the blond replied with a sniff as she 
released Lucy.

"My sister is a detective, and would like very much to help 
you find the person that did this," Lucy said, her hand 
lingering on Angel's shoulder. The shadow of anxiety that 
had clouded over Angel's face seemed to lift at the 
lingering touch, and she nodded. Lois didn't know how her 
sister could have such a positive effect on others. They 
came from the same place, but somehow had managed to be 
complete opposites in their relations with others.

"Tell me everything," Lois said, her compassionate 
expression genuine.

"Well," Angel started, as she brought a hand across her 
eyes to wipe away the remaining tears. "My husband Ron was 
a top scientist at Lexlabs. In fact, he had recently gotten 
the attention of Mr. Luthor himself, who had asked him to 
work on some sort of special project for him. Then Ron just 
disappeared."

It was a tale that Lois had heard over and over again. 
Change the profession, change the name, but the story was 
the same. It was her story, too, she thought grimly. A new 
task began to present itself to her as she sat back and 
listened to the remainder of the tale.

***

The Lexlabs biomedical engineering division was housed in a 
quiet office building in the Metropolis Riverfront 
Commercial District. It was an area of town that bustled 
with life during the normal business day, but as the sun 
went down, the workers retreated to their suburban homes 
and the once busy neighborhood became a virtual ghost town. 
Transients came and went under the cover of darkness, often 
choosing to make their beds in the well-kept alleys, 
unnoticed by even the most sophisticated security systems, 
which were much more interested in keeping the interiors 
safe. The sparking whiteness of the buildings, their 
interiors safe and pristine, contrasted with the dark gloom 
that existed around them.

A figure in black made its way through the empty streets, 
ducking in and out of the long shadows, ignored by local 
vagrants who didn't pay much attention to anyone who wasn't 
wearing a badge. The dark coat the figure wore had been 
carefully chosen for its generic qualities, but the way the 
tightened belt made it cling to the figure's waist gave 
away a very feminine form. An oversized black hood covered 
the figure's head, drooping down and obscuring her features 
from even the closest observer.

The woman in black made her way to the Lexlabs building and 
slipped into the side alley, mentally reviewing the 
building's security schematics. Upon reaching an access 
door, her gloved hand drew an instrument out of her coat 
and waved it at the keypad immediately next to the door. 
After a few short moments, a small green light blinked on 
the keypad display, and the door popped open without 
ceremony. The mysterious women disappeared into the 
building for several minutes before exiting again out into 
the night. She closed the door firmly behind her before 
heading back down the street, hopping from shadow to 
shadow.

As her form drew further away, the Lexlabs building 
exploded in a large ball of fire. The blaze engulfed the 
structure, casting an orange light on the neighborhood, its 
flames licking the dark sky in hypnotic rhythm. Only a 
minute passed before another figure in black, this one 
unquestionably masculine, swooped down from the sky. A 
quick exhale of cooled air squelched the flames, and the 
man shot back up into the heavens, his figure masked 
against the dark sky. Those who had assembled around the 
burning building, the dregs of society who were all but 
invisible to the average citizen of Metropolis, mumbled in 
shock as they tried to comprehend what had just happened. 
Some spoke of an angel who came from the sky, others told 
of a miracle. Their mumbled words did not escape the ears 
of the woman in black, who drew back her hood in surprise 
as she directed her gaze toward the now charred remains of 
the once proud office. Angel or not, thought the woman, 
whose shoulder length brunette hair now poked out from 
around the edges of the hood, her job had been 
accomplished. Drawing her hood back up around her head, she 
let herself smile for the second time that day as she 
walked down the street, away from the former lab, toward 
home.

***

Clark closed his eyes and shot further and further up into 
the sky, feeling the air begin to become cooler and thinner 
around him as he climbed even higher. He made himself stop 
after a few moments, knowing that he was far enough above 
the earth to be safe from his demons. Taking a deep breath, 
he opened his eyes, and was surprised to see how small 
Metropolis looked beneath him. It wasn't the first time 
that he had viewed it from this particular vantage point, 
but having lived there for a few days, his view of it 
changed somehow. The lights stretched out along the 
numerous roads that crisscrossed the city looked like a 
great, shining spider web silhouetted against the dark 
surroundings. The beauty of the sight was almost 
overwhelming, just as much so now as it had been the first 
time that he had seen it. But he knew now that beneath it 
all were stories, faces, lives, all intertwined in a 
glorious soap opera. Floating in the air above it, 
observing the spectacle that was Metropolis, made him feel 
calm, almost at peace.

Clark held up his left hand and watched it tremble 
slightly. Well, maybe it hadn't calmed him as much as he 
had thought. He closed his eyes again and tried to gather 
his thoughts. He had been on his way to his parents' house 
for dinner when he heard the explosion. He wasn't very 
familiar with the city yet, but a quick scan of the area 
where the explosion had occurred told him that it was a 
significant commercial area. If the fire were to get out of 
hand, millions of dollars in equipment and goods could've 
gone up in smoke, leaving thousands of people without jobs. 
It wasn't exactly a life or death situation, at least not 
yet, but he couldn't just let the fire burn when he had the 
ability to stop it.

He hadn't bothered to think of the consequences of his 
actions before making his move, and hadn't even looked to 
see if there would be any possible onlookers around. He had 
just assumed the area was deserted, and had flown down to 
put out the fire. It was as the flames were finally being 
squelched that he had heard the excited murmurs. Dirty 
faces were illuminated by the dying embers, many more than 
he would've ever expected to be there, all looking at him 
with an unrestrained sense of curiosity. In his panic he 
had fled. The exhilaration of being able to use his 
abilities to help had quickly been replaced with the raw 
fear of discovery. What if those people told others about 
his existence? He had never actually used his powers in 
front of others before, but now....

The thought made Clark's eyes pop open, and he immediately 
saw that his hand was shaking even more violently that 
before. He sighed and lowered it to his side. The idea that 
one careless action on his part could end his private life 
as he knew it tended to have that effect. Maybe what he 
needed at that moment was to go home and have a good, home 
cooked supper, and enjoy his anonymity while he still 
could.

With that, he shot across the sky, heading westward toward 
the golden plains of Kansas. The miles passed by in the 
darkness below him, interrupted by the occasional glare 
from a town. As he continued over the Midwestern states, 
regular dots of lights from small farmsteads spread out in 
his vision, but he found that he wasn't really paying 
attention to the hypnotic pattern they created. 
Inexplicably, the face of Lois Lane, private detective, had 
worked its way into his field of vision. The brief time 
that he had spent with her had been a taste of heaven, and 
more than once during the course of the interview he had to 
tell himself not to get lost in her voice. Only time would 
tell whether their acquaintance would turn into a 
relationship, but unfortunately his time was now running 
short. Images of the Daily Planet, his place of employment 
for only two days, yet the one place that he had wanted to 
spend the remainder of his career at, also worked their way 
into his consciousness. He had told himself just that 
morning that he wouldn't run. Of course, that was before he 
had put out a fire in front of witnesses. But, he thought 
as he balled his hands into fists, he didn't want to run. 
He didn't want to leave the job he loved and the woman that 
he felt a strong kinship toward. There HAD to be a way to 
stay.

Maybe his parents would be able to help him think of a 
plan, he thought as he spotted their farm on the horizon. 
Applying a burst of speed, he quickly made his way there 
and landed in the yard beside the house.

The pleasant aromas of freshly cooked food were the first 
things to greet him as he opened the door. There was 
something about walking into the warmth of his mother's 
kitchen and the meal that invariably awaited him there that 
had always comforted him. Home was a place of safety for 
him, the place where he could find the only two people in 
the world with whom he could truly talk to about anything. 
No matter what events happened in his life, they always let 
him know that everything was going to be okay, and gave him 
that bit of support and confidence that allowed him to go 
back out and face the world again.

He would need that boost of confidence now more than ever, 
he though grimly. He let the screen door close behind him 
with a slight thud, and immediately he heard his mother's 
voice call out his name.

"Hey, Mom. I'll be right in," he said as he leaned down to 
take off his shoes. When he stood up again, she was 
standing in the kitchen doorway, looking anxiously at him. 
Despite his sour mood, he felt a smile creep across his 
face.

"Welcome home, honey," she said as she opened her arms 
slightly. He strode across the kitchen and embraced her, 
finally feeling his anxiety begin to ease.

"Supper smells great," he said as he pulled away from her.

"It's more than I get these days," Clark heard his father 
grumble from the living room. With one arm still around his 
mother, Clark craned his neck to get a better view into the 
room.

"Hi, Dad," Clark said, a small smile beginning to play 
across his face. The more things changed, he mused, the 
more they stayed the same. Many was an evening during his 
childhood that he would come home to a scene similar to 
this. The fact that he could step back into the same world 
and the same experiences, even after so many years of being 
out on his own, made it almost seem as if he never left.

Jonathan's gruff tone disappeared as a small grin appeared 
on his face. "Hi son," he replied. "Good to see you again."

"So how is Metropolis?" his mother asked as she ushered him 
toward the kitchen table. Clark felt his smile falter as 
the thoughts of his experience that night began to return. 
Was there an easy way to broach the subject, he wondered? 
He wanted so badly to tell them what had happened, but at 
the same time, he wanted to take sanctuary in the pure 
normalcy of being there, at home. And, he knew, a part of 
him hoped that if he ignored it long enough, it would just 
go away.

"What's bothering you, honey?" his mom asked as he sank 
into the chair. He saw his father shoot a questioning 
glance as he entered the kitchen and make his way over to 
the table. Clark looked up at her, momentarily surprised at 
the ease with which she seemed to read his thoughts. But 
the shock faded as he realized that he had never been able 
to hide anything from her. She could read him like a book, 
they both could. It was part of what made them such a 
close-knit family.

Clark sighed and looked back and forth between his parents. 
The smell of the meal lingered in the background, and his 
stomach longed to dig in. But he knew that nothing would 
happen until he let them know about the fire. "Something 
happened tonight," he started. Lowering his gaze to his 
empty plate, he continued. "On my way home I saw a fire in 
a commercial district in Metropolis. I couldn't just let it 
go, so I put it out. I wasn't thinking, I didn't look.... 
People saw me."

He could see his parents' mouths draw into straight lines. 
Every time it was something similar - a fire put out, a 
tourist saved, a natural disaster averted. He just couldn't 
help himself. He knew it was hard on them, his constant 
running, but he didn't know what else to do. No matter what 
the circumstances, though, they would always offer their 
unconditional support, even if they didn't necessarily 
agree with what he was doing. It used to be that his father 
would offer dire warnings of laboratories and military men 
coming for him after pulling one of his "stunts", but Clark 
hadn't heard those in several years. It was unnecessary; he 
knew the consequences. He sometimes wondered if his parents 
didn't partially blame themselves for the constant 
upheavals, for his apparent paranoia about being caught. He 
could see it in their taut expressions, even now, and he 
tried to offer a reassuring smile to them.

"I don't want to move this time," Clark said, eliciting 
somewhat startled expressions from each of them. "I don't 
know what it is about Metropolis, but..." he sighed and 
leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and fixing 
his parents with an intent gaze.

"I can't explain it, but somehow I feel like my destiny is 
there," he said quietly. He dropped his eyes again as he 
let all the emotions he had felt during the flight over 
course through him. "I just can't go. There has to be a way 
to stay, just this once."

After a moment, he felt his mother's hand touch his arm, 
and he looked at her. Her expression was soft, and she gave 
him a small grin as their eyes met. "We'll think of 
something," she said as she gave his arm a slight squeeze. 
Clark shifted his gaze to his father, and he could see him 
give a small nod.

Clark smiled and finally allowed himself to relax. His 
problem wasn't solved yet, but with the support of his 
parents, he was sure to find a way, somehow. With that, his 
mother set the food on the table, and they began to eat. 
The topic of conversation shifted to the more mundane, and 
all traces of their earlier conversation seemed to 
disappear.

As supper finished up, Clark helped his mother with the 
dishes before wandering outside. His dad was sitting in the 
large swing on the porch, staring upward. Clark sat down 
next to him and followed his gaze, drinking in the sight of 
the stars shining in the endless sky, a reminder of how 
insignificant they ultimately were compared to the 
immensity of the universe.

"I forget how beautiful the night sky is out here," Clark 
said, his voice somewhat wistful. Every corner of the earth 
offered a unique view of the heavens. Each was spectacular 
in its own right, but in the end, there was something about 
the sight of the stars from the farm where he grew up, 
where he had learned about the constellations, where he had 
learned about his heritage, that moved him. "In Metropolis, 
the only stars you can see are riding around in limos."

Jonathan let out a small grunt. "You're the one who wanted 
the rat race," he said.

Clark smiled at the comment. It was just the type of 
statement that he would expect from his father. Jonathan 
Kent was born and raised in the country, and only a true 
force of nature would ever cause him to leave the land that 
he loved so much. He just didn't belong in the city. The 
gentle pace at which life in the country moved suited him 
in every way. Clark could understand that, but had always 
felt that he himself was destined to move on to something 
bigger and better. He loved waking up to nothing but the 
sound of the wind blowing through the brush outside, and he 
loved going to sleep under the clear blanket of stars. 
There was nothing in the world like standing in the 
serenity of a field of sweet-smelling wheat, gazing up at 
the clouds as they floated in the sky, left alone to your 
thoughts. It was calming, comforting, but it just wasn't 
what Clark needed. He needed the vibrancy of city. An 
infinite number of lives experienced an infinite number of 
events, and each held a story to be told. They all moved 
him and inspired him in their own way, and he had never 
felt so alive as he had in his two short days in 
Metropolis.

"I did. I do." Clark paused for a moment and looked over at 
his father. "I want to finally settle there, but...." he 
sighed as his father sent a curious glance his way. Running 
his hand through his hair, Clark turned back toward the sky 
and continued. "Being able to put out that fire tonight was 
exhilarating. To think that I was able to save those 
businesses, possibly to save the lives of those 
people...it's the best feeling in the world, helping people 
like that."

Clark pushed with his feet and the swing began to rock back 
and forth ever so slightly. "I wonder sometimes why I was 
given the abilities that I have. I used to think that it 
was a curse, and lord knows that my life has been chaotic 
because of them. But there's so much beauty in the world, 
and I've seen a lot of things that nobody else on Earth has 
ever seen. There are so many things that I could never have 
done without my abilities, but even so, I doubted their 
purpose, until tonight. I can help out, Dad. I can use what 
I have to make the world a better place. I want to do that, 
but I don't want to lose myself and my privacy because of 
that."

Frustration welled up inside him as he began to 
subconsciously pick at the peeling paint on the swing. His 
father remained oddly silent for a few moments, and Clark 
finally turned toward him. Jonathan was looking into the 
sky, a curious expression on his face.

"Dad?" Clark asked. His father wasn't generally an 
introspective person, but when he did take the time to sit 
back and devise a plan, it was usually brilliant. Clark 
felt a glimmer of hope well up inside himself as he waited 
for his father to answer.

"Remember those stories I used to read to you when you were 
a boy? They were from old comic books that I had collected 
when I was a young man. Stories of men who would fight 
crime, superheroes, some of whom even had powers, much like 
yours. They put on fantastic disguises to hide their real 
identities from the world."

"I remember," Clark said slowly, old memories of brightly 
colored books seeping into his mind.

Jonathan continued, a corner of his mouth curving upward 
and his voice far off. "They would go on some of the best 
adventures, fighting criminals and saving lives. I used to 
wonder what it would be like to do what they did. But then 
I grew up, and saw the stories for the fiction that they 
were." Jonathan took a deep breath and sat up a little 
straighter, turning his focus to Clark.

"Even so, I wonder if something like that might just work 
for you."

Clark let himself consider the possibility for a moment. It 
would certainly allow him to do everything that he wanted 
to do, but his father was right. He would basing his 
existence on comic book stories, for goodness sakes. "I 
don't know, Dad. People aren't going to be gullible enough 
to not see past the costume."

Jonathan's eyes twinkled, and he gave Clark a smile before 
continuing. "I think you'd be surprised," he said. "All it 
would take would be a little acting. You did a few plays in 
high school, as I recall."

Clark nodded. He had indeed, although he was no actor. For 
one, he was a terrible liar, and he knew it. Putting on a 
disguise, pretending to be someone he truly wasn't...that 
was a lie if he ever heard one. He just didn't know if he 
could pull it off.

"Besides, who would believe that someone who can do what 
you can do would be walking among us, living a normal 
life?" Jonathan continued to smile at Clark, and as the 
possibilities began to become clearer, Clark began to smile 
himself. A secret identity...it was very tempting. It would 
allow him to do what he was capable of, so long as nobody 
found out.

Clark leaned back and silence descended upon them as they 
rocked back and forth for a few minutes. As a hundred 
thoughts shot though his head, a single shooting star 
streaked across the sky above them. The heavenly sign 
seemed to sweep all his fears away.

"I think you're right." Clark looked over his shoulder into 
the kitchen. As much as he wanted to do what his dad was 
suggesting, he needed his mother's help. "I don't want to 
rush into anything, though. Give me a day to think this 
over. I can come back tomorrow night, that is if Mom is 
willing to help make something up for me."

Jonathan patted Clark on the knee before bringing the swing 
to a stop. "That's something you can ask her yourself. But 
let me tell you, if it means two fresh cooked dinners in a 
row, then I'm all for it."

Clark chuckled and stood up alongside his father. "Thanks 
for helping me, Dad."

"It was my pleasure. Come on, let's go get some dessert."

The two entered the house, each eyeing the apple pie that 
sat on the stove. Clark didn't need a day to think, not 
really. He was very excited at the prospect of taking on 
another identity, especially if it meant that he could use 
his powers freely. The night that had started out so 
bleakly was coming together nicely. And tomorrow could only 
get better. After all, he did have a lunch date with Lois 
Lane.

***

Lois sat at the table of an outdoor caf‚, her hands 
subconsciously fiddling with the business card of Clark 
Kent. Around her, couples chatted together, oblivious to 
the rest of the world. She could see the adoration in their 
eyes when they looked at each other, and a part of her 
longed to see someone give her that look, if only once. 
But, she reminded herself, such desires were selfish at 
best, especially for someone in her position. There were 
greater things in the world than love, and the path that 
her life had taken destined her to be alone.

She wondered why she had even bothered to come. As she had 
a chance to fall back into her old routine the previous 
day, she had felt a renewed sense of purpose. The feelings 
that had been dredged up upon meeting with Clark Kent 
seemed so far away, that she wondered if she had even 
experienced them at all. She probably would've dismissed 
them outright if it were not for the flutter that her heart 
felt upon even thinking his name. Even so, she knew 
academically that they couldn't get involved. The missions 
she embarked on upon the darkness of night were known only 
by her sister, and in a deep recess of her mind, she feared 
what would happen if anyone else found out about them. They 
would be frowned upon by anyone with any sense of values, 
someone like Clark. He wouldn't want to be involved with 
anyone like her, not someone as innocent as he was. She 
couldn't stand the thought that if they somehow got 
together, she would end up corrupting him. Or even worse, 
they would form a commitment to each other, then he would 
find out about her activities and reject her. She had known 
loss in her life, but she didn't think that she could 
handle another one. When she gave her heart to someone, she 
wanted it to be a guaranteed relationship for life. So 
today's lunch would be business, purely platonic, and she 
would let him know not to expect anything more from her. 
Yes, she thought as she looked as his card again, if 
circumstances had been different, then maybe.... But she 
couldn't change what had happened to her all those years 
ago.

Her eyes were diverted to the day's edition of the Daily 
Planet, which lay on the red and white checkered tablecloth 
in front of her. "Messenger Disaster," the bold headline 
screamed. The horrific picture of the aftermath of the 
space shuttle fire accompanied the article, which covered 
the whole front page. On its own, what happened to the 
shuttle was a tragedy, but a small article buried in the 
society pages gave the story a deeper, more ominous 
dimension. While the shuttle sat burning at Cape Canaveral, 
Lex Luthor hosted a charity ball, attended by the crŠme of 
Metropolis society, and announced his plans for "Space 
Station Luthor." His vision was framed as a generous offer 
to help EPRAD in its time of need, but Lois knew what his 
true motivations were. The timing was just too 
coincidental.

The shuttle disaster also had ties to the death of Ron 
Harris, husband to that poor woman who had come to the Lost 
and Found Agency the day before. His occupation as a 
scientist at Lexlabs had immediately raised a red flag in 
her mind. Rummaging through his office the previous night, 
she had found research notes about different drugs, drugs 
that were nearly impossible to manufacture on Earth, but in 
the vacuum of space, without the presence of gravity, they 
could be made quite easily. Those research notes, along 
with correspondence between Mr. Harris and his superiors, 
had been carefully tucked inside her jacket, evidence that 
would be used in her crusade. Then she had blasted the lab 
to smithereens. She should feel guilty about arson, she 
knew - it was a crime, after all. When the dawn broke, 
there would be a hundred or so people without jobs, 
scientific knowledge gained through careful testing would 
be lost to the world, and possibly millions of dollars in 
specialized equipment would have been destroyed. But it was 
all worth it if it meant the possibility that even one life 
would be spared from the hand of Lex Luthor.

The motivation for the murder of Ron Harris had been 
immediately evident to Lois upon examination of the 
evidence. There would be large amounts of money to be made 
if the drugs they were testing were to go into production 
on the space station. Most of the memos seemed to indicate 
that the whole notion was meant to be theoretical, and that 
the testing was purely in the name of science. But Mr. 
Harris had openly questioned his superiors about what 
Luthor's motives were in continuing the testing. Challenges 
like that were likely what got him killed, especially 
judging from the dates on the memos that she had seen. One 
thing that Lois had found over and over again was that one 
didn't threaten Luthor and live. She couldn't prove that 
any threats were made, of course, but Mrs. Harris's 
description of her husband's personality had seemed very 
familiar to her. It was much like the personality of her 
father, a man who hadn't been smart enough to keep silent 
with questions of his own.

The information that had been taken away from Lexlabs had 
been filed with all the rest that she had gathered 
throughout the years. Like so many other cases she 
investigated, the evidence was circumstantial. She had so 
much circumstantial evidence against him, it was hard not 
to see him for the monster that he was, but circumstantial 
evidence wouldn't get him convicted of his crimes. His day 
would come soon, she knew. Some day he would slip up, 
forget to cover some of his tracks, and then he would 
finally be brought to justice. Until then, she would 
continue to follow his every step, continue to collect 
evidence, and continue to make it difficult for him to do 
business in Metropolis.

As her mind drifted back to her latest bit of handiwork, a 
frown began to appear on her face. An article in the metro 
section of the paper mentioned the fire, but it was 
overshadowed by the reports of a flying angel who had come 
to the rescue. If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, she 
wouldn't have believed such an outlandish tale. There were 
no photographs, no evidence that he had been there at all 
except for the sketchy eyewitness reports from the vagrants 
who had seen him, and a smoking pile of ashes that signaled 
where a fire had once raged. Those that doubted the story 
of the flying miracle man were hard pressed to find any 
other explanation for how the fire could've been stopped. 
The fire marshal was looking into the case, of course, but 
he was quoted as saying that he had never seen anything 
like it in all his days. It was like some sort of miracle.

As the thought faded from her mind, Lois looked up from the 
paper, and saw that Clark had finally arrived at the 
restaurant. He was talking with the hostess at the 
entrance, and obviously hadn't seen her yet. For a moment 
she forgot to breathe while she took in his form. The 
feelings that had been so easily forgotten the day before 
came back in full force, and she found that her focus of 
attention was narrowing, zeroing in on him and him alone. 
As she looked his way, the hostess pointed toward her 
table, and Clark's gaze found her. For a moment their eyes 
locked, and she felt a connection like nothing that she had 
ever felt in her life. They stared at each other, drowned 
in the sight of each other, the rest of the world far away. 
Then she blinked, and the connection was instantly broken. 
As he finally started walking toward her, the warning that 
had been so prominent earlier began to come back to her. 
Reasons why they couldn't be together, reasons why they had 
no future. But, as she looked upon him again, those reasons 
seemed very far away. The only thing that seemed close to 
her at that moment was her awareness of him, and the 
lightness of spirit that she was suddenly feeling. As he 
approached the table, a ray of sun broke though the clouds, 
illuminating him while at the same time leaving the other 
areas of the outdoor caf‚ in shadow. In a life so filled 
with symbolism, Lois couldn't help but recognize the sign 
that was given to her. Maybe this lunch wouldn't be purely 
platonic. Maybe their future wasn't completely doomed. And 
maybe, even if it was, she could let herself enjoy this 
day.

"Hi," he said with a smile as he sat down across from her. 
She favored him with a grin of her own, wondering how it 
was that he affected her the way that he did.

"Hi," she replied, feeling her cheeks redden under his 
stunning grin. A silence fell over them for a moment while 
they simply looked at each other. A million different 
topics of conversation whirled around in Lois's head, but 
she couldn't bring herself to start any of them. She 
wondered what his interests were, what his thoughts and 
feelings were about people, politics, the state of the 
world in general. What was his favorite song, his favorite 
color, his favorite book? There were so many things that 
neither of them knew about each other, things that shaped 
perceptions and conversations. But how did one go about 
finding those things out without being direct?

It suddenly occurred to her that her lack of social 
interaction had left her woefully inadequate in situations 
such as this. She had never felt the need to date, and, 
truth be told, she never thought that she ever would. What 
did people say in situations such as this? Lois felt 
herself beginning to panic as Clark's dark brown eyes 
remained glued on her, his expression becoming more 
concerned. Maybe her earlier resolutions about getting 
close to this man had been for nothing - how could they 
ever be in a relationship if they couldn't even talk to 
each other?

"Lois, are you all right?" Clark spoke suddenly, jarring 
her out of her thoughts. Feeling an ache in her hand, she 
looked down and saw that she was clutching the upper corner 
of her copy of the Daily Planet so hard that her knuckles 
had turned white. She quickly released her grip and tried 
to calm her racing heart.

"Umm, yeah I'm fine," she said, giving Clark a small smile. 
"I'm just...well, I, ah, don't go out to lunch with 
strangers very often."

Clark nodded slightly and gave her a reassuring look. 
"Yeah, I guess I don't, either." His lopsided, somewhat shy 
smile reassured Lois, and suddenly she didn't feel quite so 
nervous anymore. She recalled the first time she had seen 
him yesterday, and how boyish he had seemed to her. As she 
watched, he fidgeted slightly, and that boyishness seemed 
to reappear. It was a trait that she found very charming, 
although she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. 
In many ways he was her polar opposite. She had been 
hardened by life in many respects after the death her 
parents, having to work to support herself and her sister. 
They never had a permanent home, or anyone to love except 
for each other. Clark, on the other hand, looked almost as 
if he had come straight from a more innocent time, when men 
opened doors for women, pulled out their chairs in 
restaurants, and stood as they entered the room. She could 
practically see his mother doting on him, sewing his 
clothes, straightening his ties. But she thought she could 
sense that his life hadn't been without its trails, too. 
Maybe it was a look in his eyes, a gesture, the way he 
seemed to look at other people. It was another one of those 
things that she wanted to find out about him.

She suspected that there was still a part of herself, 
buried deep inside, that was a lot like him. If her past 
had been different, they might have been a lot more alike. 
That smile of his shed lights on parts of herself that she 
hadn't even known existed, and it felt good, she realized. 
In finding out about him, in just being with him, she was 
finding out more about herself.

"So, how did you like the article?" he asked as he sat up 
taller in his chair. His eyebrows were raised in 
expectation, and Lois found herself smiling. She had almost 
forgotten about the information she had given him the day 
before, and the story it had led to in the edition that was 
sitting in front of her. She had worked with literally 
dozens of reporters at the Planet throughout the years, and 
although she had given them all equally powerful 
information, the way that had translated to copy had varied 
greatly between them. Each had a different style, a 
different way of approaching the subject, all of which 
contributed to the impact of their writing. Most of the 
reporters that wrote up her work left her wondering how 
they had managed to make their living in their profession. 
Cases that Lois had found interesting and compelling, often 
left her with a bad taste in her mouth after the article 
was published. It was for that reason that she had begun 
looking over their shoulders, letting herself edit what 
they wrote. But for some reason she hadn't bothered with 
Clark.

As it came to be, she hadn't needed to. The story that he 
had written was wonderful. He had obviously done some 
research of his own to add to her information. He hadn't 
taken sides, even though her notes had been very one-sided, 
and the article that he had written turned out to be very 
balanced and informative, written so well that it almost 
seemed poetic. He had a definite way with words, and she 
was pleased to say the least.

"It was good," Lois said, and although her comment was less 
than gushing, it elicited a pleasant smile from Clark.

"Really? I guess I expected you to be a little harder on 
me," Clark said sheepishly. Either he was extremely modest, 
or he didn't know his own talent, Lois figured. She could 
see him as the modest type - it fit in with his boyish 
charms.

"Well, you have talent, I could tell just by the way you 
interviewed me," Lois said in her most supportive tone. "I 
can't say as much about some of the people I worked with 
there."

His grin was stunning. Lois wasn't the type to pay 
compliments normally, but seeing the effect that it had on 
him made her wonder if it wasn't something that she should 
do more regularly. "It's just a shame that my first story 
for the Daily Planet had to be on the same day as that 
space shuttle disaster. My article was shoved way in the 
back," he said, his smile falling away.

Lois nodded and opened her copy of the paper. "Yes, right 
below the story about the lab fire," she said, almost 
choking out the last words as she realized what she was 
saying. She hadn't meant to mention the fire, at least not 
now. The last thing she wanted was to get mired in some 
conversation about how awful arson was, or what a shame it 
was that the business had been burned. It would be hard for 
her to hide her feelings about the situation, to filer 
everything so as not to give away her involvement. He had a 
way of breaking down her barriers, of making her feel 
things that she had no business feeling.

As she kept her gaze on the paper, waiting for his 
response, an uncomfortable silence developed between them. 
She looked up and could see a wide-eyed, panicked 
expression had come over his face as he stared down at the 
article. He seemed to feel her eyes on him, and after a 
moment he shifted his gaze to her, an obviously forced 
smile forming on his lips.

"Uh, yeah, that lab fire. That was sure something, wasn't 
it?" he said, equally forced enthusiasm in his voice. His 
eyes implored her to change the subject, and Lois couldn't 
help but wonder what was wrong. Maybe he was scooped out of 
the story by another reporter. Maybe he had some sort of 
family member or close friend lose a job in that fire. 
Whatever the reason was, Lois felt more than happy to 
oblige his silent request.

"Yes, very unusual. But that fire article, well, it wasn't 
nearly as good as yours was. Of course, you got your 
information from the best source in town, so I guess that's 
no surprise," Lois said, surprised at the somewhat teasing 
air that she had taken on. Clark seemed to appreciate it, 
though. Again his manner changed at the drop of a hat.

He brought his elbows onto the table and rested his chin on 
his palms. A twinkle formed in his eyes as he regarded her 
for a second. "You know, I heard that you were tough to 
deal with. I didn't expect such high praise from someone 
Ralph referred to as 'Mad Dog'."

Lois felt a momentary flash of anger before she steadied 
her emotions. That he would even tell her such a thing was 
usual in and of itself, given what that twerp Ralph must 
have told him. "I can assure you that at least half of what 
comes out of his mouth is exaggerated," Lois said, trying 
her best to keep her annoyance from showing.

"Yeah, I know," Clark said, a reassuring smile on his lips. 
"It's really too bad that the only information that I have 
about you came from him. Tell me, who is Lois Lane, Private 
Investigator, really?"

She regarded him for a second. "I thought this lunch was 
going to be business," she said, trying to make her words 
as stern as she could. A part of her did want it to be just 
business, but she just couldn't ignore the strange 
attraction that she had to him.

Apparently something in her voice gave away that she was 
less than serious. A part of her was growing to really like 
that half smile he gave when he was teasing someone. "Well, 
it has been, hasn't it? If you want, you can tell me all 
about your investigative business. It doesn't matter to me, 
I just want to know more about you."

Behind his light manner, she could sense a certain 
seriousness to his words. He really was interested in her, 
who she was, what made her tick. Lois was caught off guard 
by that thought for a second, and she blinked a few times 
as the gravity of that set in. Nobody had ever cared enough 
to want to know about her. It was a frightening prospect, 
but as she looked at him, she decided that maybe she did 
want him to know about her life, or at least the part that 
she didn't mind making public.

"Only if you tell me about yourself, too. You might have 
half-baked information from Ralph, but that still gives you 
an advantage. All I know about you is that you're a good 
writer who likes to ask strange women to lunch."

Lois watched as his nose wrinkled slightly with amusement, 
and she found her smile again. "It's a deal," Clark said, 
as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were focused on 
nothing but her, the intenseness of his gaze boring into 
her as she began her story.

"It was late November, 1978, and the winter had already 
began to make its presence felt, when Sam and Ellen Lane 
made their way through the back alleys of Metropolis's 
Garden District...."

***

Clark wandered back toward the Daily Planet, his attention 
focused far away from the bustle of people on the sidewalk 
around him. Thoughts and emotions were warring within him, 
all focused on the beautiful creature that was Lois Lane. 
He had gone to lunch with her, hoping that he could somehow 
get to know her better, and ended up getting more than he 
had bargained for. The story of her childhood, of the 
events that had driven her to become a detective, was 
hauntingly chilling. She had felt such pain in her life, 
yet somehow, she hadn't let it make her cynical. She had 
even opened a shelter for those who had lost their 
families, like she had. The moniker of "Mad Dog" was the 
last thing that he would've ever thought of for her. There 
should be more people in the world like Lois Lane.

He had told her his life story, too, or at least the parts 
that he let the rest of the world know. He didn't tell her 
about his heritage, or about the special things he could 
do. Maybe he would in time, who knew. All he did know is 
that he had a good time, and it seemed to him that she had, 
too. Neither of them mentioned another lunch, but she had 
given him one of her business cards, one that had both her 
home and business numbers on it. That's not something that 
someone who had no interest in ever seeing him again would 
do.

His life, although it had been full, had something missing 
from it. He had seen exotic places that so many people only 
dreamed about, lived in cultures that few knew even 
existed, and done things that no human could do. He had 
learned enough to last him a lifetime, yet he didn't really 
have anyone to share it with, aside from his parents. When 
the time came and he found the person who was right for 
him, then he would let her know everything about himself, 
what he had done and seen and been. The only problem was 
that he hadn't even remotely found anyone who he felt that 
connection with, at least, not until Lois had come along. 
Up until a few hours earlier, he wasn't sure how he felt 
about her, either, except that she made something inside 
him take notice. But after lunch.... He was feeling things 
now that he had never felt before. He didn't know if it was 
love, per se, but something about her just felt right.

One of his talents was the ability to interpret emotions, 
to channel them through himself to tell a story. With every 
story, he felt what the victim was feeling, but he never 
let those emotions overrule his objectivity. He would draw 
on them as he told his tale, letting them fall away as he 
finished his story, letting them become distant shadows in 
his memory. As Lois spoke, he absorbed her emotions, too, 
but unlike all his previous experiences, her pain moved 
him, touched his heart, and made him want to pull her close 
to him and ease all her suffering. As far as Lois was 
concerned, he knew he had no objectivity, and he knew that 
the effect her story had on him wouldn't be leaving him. 
Maybe someday he would be lucky enough to be allowed to 
hold her in his arms, and to be the one that would make her 
pain go away once and for all. He vowed to call her that 
night to make an appointment to see her again.

He brought his attention back to the world around him as he 
entered the Daily Planet building. As he walked through the 
famous revolving door and into the lobby, a shabbily dress 
man ran toward him, his eyes frantic.

"You must help me," the man said as he reached up and 
grabbed the lapels on Clark's jacket. Clark looked around, 
seeing the usual bustle of people in the lobby, many of 
whom seemed to have taken an interest in the disturbance 
the man was causing. Of all the people at the Planet at the 
moment, he couldn't help but wonder why he had been singled 
out. Whatever the reason, the man seemed terrified of 
something.

Clark put his hands gently on the man's shoulders in a 
gesture of comfort. "Help you with what?" Clark asked, 
making eye contact with the man. This seemed to have a 
further calming effect on him. Clark felt his grip loosen 
on his jacket, and some of the wildness of the man's 
demeanor seemed to disappear, although Clark could still 
sense his urgency.

"The Messenger. If it's allowed to be re-launched, it WILL 
explode again, you must believe me," the man said.

The Messenger story, the big headline of the day, was in 
the laps of the best and brightest senior reporters at the 
Planet. Unfortunately, that didn't mean him, at least not 
yet. "Sir, if you want I can take you upstairs and talk to 
a few of the reporters who are handling this case," Clark 
started, but the violent head shaking of the man stopped 
him.

"No, they wouldn't listen. None of them would listen. But 
I'm telling you, for all those people who will be on board. 
Please," he said. The tone in his voice softened, and he 
took a shuddering breath. The concern on his face was 
evident. Whatever his story, he seemed to truly believe 
what he was saying, and he seemed truly concerned for the 
passengers. Clark liked to think that he was a good judge 
of character, and nothing about this man raised any alarm 
bells in his mind.

Clark looked around the lobby, and noticed the small coffee 
stand and the unoccupied tables that surrounded it. "Why 
don't you come over here and tell me about it," he said, 
gently leading the man toward a table. The man smiled, a 
look of relief coming across his face.

As they sat down, the man related his story to Clark. His 
name was Samuel Platt, and he had been an engineer for 
EPRAD until recently. He claimed to have been fired in a 
conspiracy, a cover-up that extended all the way to the 
upper levels of the organization. According to Platt, what 
had caused the explosion the previous night was a problem 
with engine coolants, a problem which he had outlined in a 
report to management, but which they had openly 
disregarded. That was right before his firing, right before 
the trip to the office of his supervisor, a Dr. Toni 
Baines, who had started interrogating him.

"The interrogation started out innocently enough, but as I 
sat there, answering her questions, I suddenly felt queasy 
and the room began to spin. They had drugged me, probably 
spiked my coffee. I don't remember a whole lot between then 
and the next morning, but I do seem to recall a dark room, 
and people asking me things, things about what I knew and 
who I told it to. When I did come to my senses, I found 
myself in an alley, and a cop was standing over me.

"I was arrested and charged with drug possession. They 
found a bag of heroin on me, although I had never so much 
as seen that vile substance before then. Baines and her 
people planted it on me when I was drugged, I'm sure. It 
ruined my career, and it ruined my family life. Nobody 
believes what I'm saying is the truth, but it IS Mr. Kent, 
I swear it."

Clark took a good look at the man, and then closed his 
eyes. The story was fantastic, and seemed too contrived to 
be true. Drugging employees and setting them up on 
narcotics charges to get them out of the way, those were 
things that only happened on bad TV shows, weren't they? 
But as he opened his eyes once more, he could see the 
intelligence in the man's eyes. He might be dressed like a 
bum, but during his tale, Clark could sense a keen 
intellect, a real knowledge of what went on at EPRAD. 
Although he knew it defied any and all logic, Clark found 
that he actually believed Platt's story.

Clark sighed. "Do you have any proof?" he asked. Although 
he thought that Platt was telling the truth, nobody else 
would believe the tale without proof of some sort. Even a 
copy of the report he sent to Baines would be helpful, 
especially if coupled with actual evidence from the 
destroyed ship.

Platt's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, I do. But I need to get it 
together. If you could come by tonight, I can give it to 
you," he said. They agreed on a time and location, and 
Platt left. Clark watched him as he walked out of the 
building, all traces of the frantic man he had seen earlier 
gone, replaced with someone who was calm, poised, even 
friendly. As Platt disappeared into the crowd, Clark 
finally made his way up to the newsroom.

After stepping off the elevator, he headed straight to the 
desk of Edwardo Friaz, the man in charge of the Planet 
investigation of the Messenger disaster. Friaz seemed to be 
lost in concentration, reading one of a number of reports 
that sat in manila folders on his desk. As Clark 
approached, he reluctantly tore is gaze away from the 
report, a somewhat annoyed expression on his face.

"What is it...Kent, right?" he asked.

"I just ran into a man in the lobby who claimed to know the 
reason that the shuttle blew up..." Clark started, only to 
be interrupted by Friaz.

"Crazy balding man, looks like he's been sleeping in a 
cardboard box for a while?" he asked. The description might 
be a tad overly dramatic, but it was Platt, all right. 
Clark only nodded, and Friaz drew is lips into a slight 
frown, finally setting the report he had been reading on 
his desk. "He tried to sell that story up here, but none of 
us were buying it."

"But maybe he knows something. He said he used to work for 
EPRAD," Clark said, before he noticed Friaz shaking his 
head, a long suffering look on his face.

"Listen kid," he said, his voice patronizing. Clark sensed 
the lecture that was to come, concerning the tidbit of 
newsroom canon that he had apparently broken. "Since coming 
into work today, I've gotten at least twenty calls or 
visits from kooks like him who claim to have insider 
information on some conspiracy involving the Messenger. 
After you're around here for a while, you'll see that we 
just don't have time to investigate all of their wild 
claims. Most of them are just whack jobs looking for 
attention, nothing more."

With that, Friaz gave a dismissive hand gesture and 
returned his attention to his file, ignoring Clark as if he 
had never been there at all. He probably had a point, Clark 
thought. There was no way that they would even want to 
devote the time and effort to investigating all of the wild 
stories that people off the street brought into the 
newsroom, but he just knew that this one was genuine. It 
was at least worth a cursory look, especially if it meant 
the lives of the future passengers.

His mind made up, Clark sat down in front of his computer, 
mentally outlining how he would investigate Platt's story. 
He would worry about what the Chief had to say about that 
later.

***

Lois had work to do, not the least of which was to continue 
her investigation into Lex Luthor, and how he tied into the 
Messenger disaster. But at the moment, her mind was on 
anything but her caseload. She had just finished her 
meeting with the man of her dreams.

As much as she had devoted her life to her work, a part 
deep inside her had dedicated itself to torturing her 
dreams with fantasies that would make Harlequin romance 
writers blush. In her dream world, her parents were still 
alive, Lex Luthor was securely locked away in some maximum-
security prison, his name reviled by the masses, and she 
was worshiped and adored by the quintessential perfect man. 
In her dreams she always felt normal, safe, and loved, 
feelings that had finally followed her into the waking 
world once she had seen the obvious desire for her that had 
burned in Clark Kent's eyes. He was an intelligent, 
compassionate man, who always regarded her with a smile and 
a friendly word and who, despite the dire warnings given to 
him by his coworkers, had seen fit to give her a chance. In 
many respects, he mirrored her fantasy men; in many more, 
he exceeded them. She could sense that beneath his ill-
filling suit was a marvelously sculpted body, his flowing 
muscles filling out his dress shirt in places, giving away 
strong arms that she longed to have wrapped around her....

Lois coughed and tried to banish that thought. Thinking 
about him was doing nothing to help her objectivity. Maybe 
it was time to tell Lucy about him, and to ask her advice 
about what should be done. She knew she could count on Lucy 
to be her rock, and to remind her of what was important in 
her life, in both their lives. She had a feeling of how the 
conversation would go, but she didn't necessarily 
disapprove of that anymore. Lucy had been trying to push 
her toward dating again, and Lois had to admit that in this 
case, it might not be such a bad idea. But she wouldn't 
make any decisions until after they talked.

She climbed the steps to the Lost and Found brownstone, her 
mind still pleasantly wrapped in thoughts of Clark. Walking 
in, she saw that the waiting area was empty. In a city as 
large as Metropolis, families lost loved ones every day, 
yet so few knew about her agency and her desire to help 
them in any way she could. In a good week, they would get a 
few stragglers in their door, but so many more slipped 
through the cracks, lost in an indifferent system. She had 
taken out small ads in weekly publications, and word of 
mouth had helped greatly, but that just wasn't enough. Her 
inheritance from her parents funded the whole operation, 
but sometimes, when coming home to an empty house, it just 
didn't feel like enough. In the past, that feeling of near 
failure had only added to her great emptiness, but today it 
only served as a reminder of work that needed to be done, 
of a word that needed to be spread throughout Metropolis. 
Today she couldn't feel that depression, because she had 
much more pleasant things on her mind.

"Lucy?" she called as walked through the foyer.

"I'm in here," came the muffled call from the kitchen. Lois 
made her way through the house, and as she reached the 
entryway, she caught sight of Lucy making a sandwich.

"Hey," Lois said, her voice chipper.

Lucy gave her a strange look that puzzled Lois for a 
moment, until she realized that she almost never sounded 
chipper. Brooding, yes. Serious, yes. But chipper? Lois 
tried to think of the last time that she had even felt joy, 
and she found that she couldn't remember. "I thought you 
had a big case to work on today, what with the Messenger 
explosion and Luthor's proposal," Lucy said after a moment, 
her expression now more amused than puzzled.

"I have all afternoon and evening to that," Lois replied, 
trying unsuccessfully to take the smile out of her voice.

"What is this? Are those your teeth? Do I see a smile? Who 
are you and what have you done with my sister?"

Lois giggled, drawing a pleased smile out of Lucy. "It's 
really me, and I need to talk to you about something," Lois 
said, her voice softening. She gestured to the table and 
they both sat down, Lucy popping a potato chip into her 
mouth as she did so.

"Well?" Lucy asked as she gave Lois her undivided 
attention.

All of a sudden Lois felt somewhat nervous. This was 
unexplored territory for her. "I, uh, well...." She gave a 
quick nervous smile and took a deep breath. "I need some 
advice...on a man. See, I met somebody...."

"Dear lord, someone get me to a bookie. I'm putting all my 
money on the Cubs and I'm buying a lotto ticket because I 
think Hell just froze over," Lucy said as she dropped her 
sandwich.

Lois snorted. "Thanks for your vote of confidence," she 
said, her cheeks beginning to burn.

"No, Lois this is WONDERFUL," Lucy positively beamed as she 
scooted forward in her chair and put her hand on Lois's 
arm. "All those years, you wouldn't so much as look at a 
man. He must be someone special. What's his name? What's he 
do? Does he have a brother?"

Lois let out a small laugh. She and her sister had always 
been business partners, and they treated each other with 
love and respect and understanding, as any family members 
would, but she had never really felt like she had connect 
with Lucy as a "girl friend." It probably had to do with 
the dating thing, and Lois's total disregard for many of 
the traditionally girlish things, such as fashion and 
gossip and anything pink. Maybe it was time to change that.

"His name is Clark, he writes for a newspaper, and no, he 
doesn't have a brother. But that's not what I wanted to ask 
you about."

Lucy looked puzzled. "What is it, then?"

"It's.... I don't know if I should. Go out with him, that 
is."

Lucy tilted her head and put on her most supportive 
expression. "Oh Lois, why not? It's been so long. If you've 
finally found someone that makes you, the impenetrable 
fortress of perpetual singleness, want to start dating, 
then I say you grab hold of him with both hands and don't 
let go."

Lois smiled at her sister's optimism. "Yeah, I know, I 
probably should. But you know the reason why I didn't want 
a man in my life in the first place."

Lucy sighed and looked down, shaking your head. Silence 
developed between the two of them for a minute, then Lucy 
finally brought her face up again, and Lois was shocked to 
see how serious she appeared. "I know that for years you've 
felt that it's your duty to make things right by Mom and 
Dad. You want the man who ordered their deaths brought 
down, and you'll go to any lengths necessary to do it. You 
want to make sure that nobody else had to suffer like we 
did. But don't you think that Mom and Dad would want you to 
be happy, too?

"You've devoted your whole life up to now to them. Isn't it 
about time to devote your life to yourself and your own 
happiness? If judgment day came today, I think you could 
honestly say that you did your best, maybe not by the most 
conventional or legal means, but you tried so hard. Live 
your life Lois. Go out on a date, if that's what you really 
want."

Lucy was so smart. Lois didn't need to voice the thoughts 
that had been running through her head, the doubts and 
reservations that she held. Lucy just knew. After so many 
years, it was probably inevitable, but it was comforting 
nonetheless. She didn't know what she'd do if she ever lost 
her sister, and she hoped she would never have to find out.

"Thank you," Lois said as she felt a tear run down her 
cheek. They sat and smiled at each other for a moment. "He 
doesn't know a lot about what I really do," Lois added as 
afterthought, subconsciously seeking her sister's approval 
on the subject.

She didn't need to ask, after all. "If he's the right one 
for you, then you'll find the right time to tell him, and 
hopefully he'll understand." Lucy smiles wickedly before 
continuing. "If he doesn't, you mind too much letting him 
know that I'm available? Anyone willing to give you a 
chance is all right in my book."

The serious mood between them had been broken. "Fat 
chance," Lois said as she stood up, laughter in her eyes. 
She felt so different than she ever had, almost light 
headed. For the first time that she could ever remember, 
she actually had something to smile about, a future that 
looked tangible and, yes, happy. Hopefully. But she would 
never know if she didn't take the steps, say the scary 
words. She wanted to go out with him, now she just had to 
tell him that.

Lois began to walk away from the table, gathering her 
briefcase as she did. "Hey, you want any lunch?" she heard 
Lucy ask. The smile on her face only grew.

"I already ate," she called over her shoulder. What a great 
lunch it had been, too. Now, if only she could set up 
another lunch date. With a spring suddenly appearing in her 
step, Lois left the brownstone and set off toward her 
office. It was time to get down to some actual work.

***

The EPRAD offices in Metropolis were not as impressive as 
Clark would've thought at first. For an agency that prided 
itself on thinking big, it was actually quite small. But he 
supposed that was to be expected, especially since the bulk 
of its operations were based in Florida. From the research 
that he had done that afternoon, Clark learned that this 
particular office had overseen the design and construction 
of only the rocket booster systems on the Messenger, 
leaving the other assorted parts - life support, computers, 
research-related systems - to other small offices in 
Washington, California, Texas, and Florida.

The head of the Metropolis office was Dr. Antoinette 
Baines, the same Dr. Baines that Platt had mentioned to him 
earlier in the day. According to employment records, Samuel 
Platt, DOCTOR Samuel Platt, had also worked at the office 
until a few months earlier, when he had been fired after 
being charged with felony drug possession. The information 
that Dr. Platt had given him was proving itself to be true 
so far, and Clark intended to find out if the technical 
details were true, as well. He had set up an interview with 
Dr. Baines, although he didn't honestly think that it would 
do any good. If she was indeed behind the explosion, she 
certainly wouldn't volunteer that information to some 
rookie reporter. But even though her information might be 
bogus, Clark could read her expressions, mannerisms, and 
heart rate, and hopefully find the truth that way.

Entering the building, he saw that it was as unassuming on 
the inside as it was on the outside. The furnishings were 
virtual clones of that in every other government office 
he'd ever been in. There were no large signs on the wall, 
no plaques or awards or anything else that even so much as 
told the function of the office aside from some small, 
white lettering on the door. Even the secretary was rather 
plain, although she was very friendly as she directed him 
to Dr. Baines's office.

Clark didn't know exactly what to expect of Dr. Baines. His 
imagination told him that a woman in her position, who had 
done the things that she had supposedly done, must surely 
be older, rather controlling, stiff and formal. As the 
doors to her office were opened and Clark got a look at 
her, he saw that she was anything but. In the sterile 
dullness of the office, she stood out like a jewel. Young, 
attractive, and quick with a smile, she was the complete 
opposite of every notion that he had held. But, he reminded 
himself, it was quite possible that she was behind the 
Messenger explosion. And besides, he thought as a smile 
spread across his face, she was nowhere near as attractive 
as a certain private investigator who he was enamored with. 
Lois was the kind of person who would no doubt sneer at 
this woman and her alleged deeds with contempt.

"Mr. Kent," she said, holding out her hand as he 
approached. Clark shook it and noticed that her heart rate 
increased markedly. He wondered if that was an indicator of 
anxiety, until he noticed her cheeks flush ever so 
slightly. She was attracted to him; maybe he could use that 
to his advantage.

"Dr. Baines. I'm pleased that you agreed to see me so 
quickly, especially considering how hectic it must be 
around here," Clark said, turning on all the charm that he 
possibly could.

Her smile broadened. "Yes, it's been very busy, but I also 
know that it's important to keep the public informed on 
what we're doing in the aftermath of this tragedy. I know a 
lot of people out there were very concerned about the 
future of the space program, and I hope that I can quell 
those fears."

Clark reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small 
notebook and pencil, writing down a few words as she spoke. 
"Well, what I want to do is start out with some background 
on you. What is it that you actually do here, Dr. Baines?"

She nodded and listed her duties, of which there were many. 
Most them he had discovered from his research earlier, but 
others he had never even guessed at. He dutifully took 
notes, although he knew full well that these queries were 
covers, set-ups for what he had come to discover. A few 
more standard questions were given, which received equally 
standard replies, before he finally dropped the hammer.

"Do you know a Dr. Samuel Platt?" he asked. For a moment, 
her smile faltered and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, 
but she quickly regained her composure. If he hadn't been 
paying attention, he might've missed her reaction 
altogether, but as it was, it had been all too clear.

"Dr. Platt worked here for many years. He was an excellent 
scientist, but he had a drug problem that affected his job 
performance, and we had to let him go." A smug smile played 
faintly across her lips as she talked.

"Do you recall receiving a report from him concerning 
coolant systems on the Messenger?" Clark asked, finally 
arriving at the question he had been waiting to ask.

Her reaction was more marked this time, the cracks in her 
self-control growing larger as her eyes burned into him 
momentarily. "Coolants? No, Dr. Platt wouldn't have been 
involved in any areas that would've involved coolants. His 
work concerned other matters entirely."

Standing up, she continued. "Now, as you can see," she said 
as she gestured to the papers on her desk, "I have work to 
attend to. I wish you luck in writing you article, and if 
there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to call me," 
she said, turning on her charm.

Clark nodded and rose from his chair, recognizing that he 
wouldn't get any further with her. He had been right to 
assume that she wouldn't be very forthright, but she had 
made it all too clear that he was on to something. Smiling, 
he left the office and immediately slipped into the air at 
a speed faster than the human eye would follow. It only 
took a few short seconds before he saw her reach for the 
phone.

"Lex, it's me. I think we have a problem," she said. Clark 
didn't need to hear any more. Streaking across the sky, he 
headed for Smallville and his dinner engagement with his 
parents.

***

"Mom, what would you think if I told you that there was 
more going on with the Messenger explosion than a simple 
accident?" Clark asked as he reached for a roll. The Kent 
family was gathered around the dinner table for the second 
night in a row, although unlike the previous night, the 
atmosphere was light and relaxed. Something about the 
welcoming bowls of food on the table made Clark feel at 
ease and think more clearly, and right now he had the 
Messenger on his mind.

Martha gave Clark a startled look as she passed her husband 
a bowl of mashed potatoes. "What makes you say that?"

Jonathan also regarded his son with a curious glance, 
silently prompting Clark to tell his tale. "Well," Clark 
began, leaning back in his chair. "A man came to me with 
information about the explosion today. At first I thought 
he was crazy, but out of curiosity, I had his story checked 
out. The deeper I dug, the more facts I found to support 
his claim. I have an appointment to meet him tonight so he 
can give me a report which will hopefully shed some more 
light on the subject."

His parents looked at each other, and then back at Clark. 
"What kind of claim did he have?" Jonathan asked.

"Deliberate sabotage," Clark answered grimly. On the flight 
over, he had run some scenarios through his mind, but as 
far as he could tell, all signs pointed to just that. Why 
someone would want to do such a thing, to endanger the 
lives of everyone on that vessel, he just couldn't fathom. 
What was even more unfathomable in his mind was how such a 
thing could happen without somebody else finding out. 
Obviously Platt had, and his career had been ruined because 
of it. But Platt was only one man in a great chain of 
people who had worked on the Messenger. An engineering firm 
had to design the system, EPRAD had to approve that design 
and collect bids from contractors interested in building 
it. Surely one of those contractors would've noticed the 
problem - the types of companies who would build those 
systems for EPRAD had top-notch scientists in their employ, 
people who would be more than capable of catching such a 
glitch. But none of them had. Whatever the reason, Clark 
was becoming more convinced that what little he did know 
was only the tip of the iceberg of a story so complex that 
it probably involved bribery, deceit, and manipulation on a 
grand scale.

The look on Martha's face was one of sheer horror. 
"Sabotage? Clark, are you sure? Who would want to do such a 
thing?"

Only one name ran though his mind, causing a small chill to 
pass through his body. The name "Lex" was not exactly 
common; in fact, a search of the Planet's databases for 
that name turned up only one man. Lex Luthor was the third 
richest person on the face of the planet, someone highly 
respected for his philanthropic work and his generosity. He 
was a man of power, a man who had the whole world in his 
hands, who could make or break lives with the stroke of a 
pen if he so desired. With great power came great 
temptation to abuse it, Clark of all people should know 
that. While Luthor's reputation would tend to make Clark 
skeptical of his involvement in the affair, there was no 
denying Dr. Baines' phone call, or the fact that Luthor had 
taken the opportunity to sell his own space program to 
EPRAD in the wake of the Messenger disaster. Mr. Luthor had 
a lot at stake in this deal, no doubt. It made Clark 
curious to find out what other skeletons were hiding in the 
closet of Metropolis's richest man.

Blinking, Clark realized that he had been absorbed in 
thought for a few moments. "I don't know who would want to 
blow up the Messenger, at least not yet, but I intend to 
find out." He gave them both his most reassuring smile, and 
he knew that they expected him to live up to that promise. 
He just hoped he wouldn't let them down.

"While we're talking about stopping crime...." Clark 
started, looking expectantly at him mother. He had 
discussed the idea of a secret identity with her the night 
before, and she had immediately been supportive of it. She 
volunteered to design and put together his costume even 
before he got a chance to ask her to. Before he left she 
even took his measurements, promising to have something 
waiting for him to try on after supper.

Martha's face lit up immediately, and Clark looked over to 
see his father smiling. "Your mother has not left her room 
all day. There's enough bright colored fabric up there to 
blind a person. Hope you're ready for it."

"Oh Jonathan," Martha said, giving him a quick pat and a 
teasing smile. "I think you'll be pleased," she said, 
turning to Clark. "Your father even leant me some of those 
old comic books of his to give me some more ideas."

The memory of the bright, gaudy costumes contained in some 
of those books surfaced in Clark's mind. Of all the things 
to remember from those stories read to him so many years 
ago, that he should remember the costumes said something. 
He didn't know whether to be horrified or gratified. If his 
mother made the uniforms, though, they must be special, and 
she knew him well enough to know what he would like.

"I can't wait to see them, Mom," Clark said, and it was 
true. The rest of dinner went by without much ceremony, 
although Clark's mind remained on the task to come. When 
the time came for them to clean up, Jonathan volunteered to 
do the work in the kitchen, shooing Martha and Clark away 
so that they could get on with the costume fitting. They 
both protested that they weren't in that much of a hurry, 
but Jonathan knew how anxious his son was to get into 
uniform, and Clark silently thanked him for his generosity.

Entering his parents' room, he immediately saw that his dad 
hadn't been lying. Bright colored spandex covered every 
surface of the room; brilliant reds, blues, greens, and 
oranges blended with each other, cut into various patterns 
and shapes, all waiting for him to try on. Like a kid 
dragged into a department store for new school clothes, 
Clark tried on each garment in turn, parading himself in 
front of his mother each time, seeking her approval. He 
didn't really know what he had been expecting, but most of 
the costumes just didn't seem right. So many of them were 
more colorful copies of outfits worn by comic heroes of 
old, heroes that he didn't necessarily want to imitate. He 
wanted to make his own statement, be his own kind of hero, 
and he didn't really want to do it in the flashiest way 
possible. It was beginning to look like it might take more 
work to find his ideal costume when he finally tried on a 
blue outfit with red briefs and a red cape.

Entering his mother's room after putting it on, he saw her 
turn her wary face toward him. It had probably been harder 
on her seeing him try on the finished products and reject 
them, but she knew as well as he did that none of them had 
been the right one. As she saw him in the newest outfit, 
though, a smile began to form on her face. Clark made his 
way toward the mirror and caught his reflection, and he was 
surprised at what he saw.

Something about this one spoke to him. It was simple, 
uncomplicated, and used primary colors. It was 
distinguished in it's own way, yet...

"One thing's for sure - nobody's going to be looking at 
your face," his mother said, voicing the very thought that 
had been at the front of his mind.

"Mom!" he said, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. It was 
downright embarrassing having your mother looking at you in 
that way. Of course, he reminded himself, it he wore this 
outfit in public, there would be a lot more people to 
scrutinize him in just the same way.

"Do you really think that criminals will take someone 
seriously who wears his underwear on the outside of his 
clothes?" Clark asked, turning around to get a more 
complete view of the outfit. He heard his mother give a 
chuckle.

"It adds a little modesty to it, I think. Might as well 
leave something to the imagination," she replied, and he 
nodded. He would feel much more awkward without that extra 
bit of protection there, he was sure.

On a whim, he strode to the bathroom and ran his fingers 
under the water, then brushed them though his hair, the 
water slicking it down and pasting it to his head. 
Returning to the mirror, he examined his reflection 
closely. Without his glasses, with his hair down on his 
head in a style that he had never worn before, and with the 
tight outfit on, he almost didn't recognize himself. His 
dad was right, he thought as he finally let himself smile.

In the mirror, he saw his mom come up behind him and wrap 
her arms around his waist. She knew that they had found 
their costume, yet she was still looking at his reflection 
with an odd look on her face. "One more thing and this will 
be perfect," she said after a moment, then stepped toward 
the large trunk that sat at the foot of the bed. After 
rooting around, she looked up at him, a wide smile on her 
face.

"The blanket we found you in," she said, holding up a 
folded up swatch of blue cloth that looked like it had seen 
better days. She loosened her grip on it and the blanket 
unfolded, revealing a red and yellow "S" inside a 
pentagonal shape. She walked over to him and held the 
blanket against his chest, the blue of the fabric almost 
exactly matching that of his outfit. As he looked down and 
saw it there, he knew that his uniform was finally 
complete. The figure was a link to his heritage, to the 
side of himself that was not of this earth, the side of 
himself that he had kept hidden for so long, but that would 
be allowed to grow and prosper and be free because of the 
identity that he had created. The symbol was from the same 
place as he, a place that created people who could do all 
the things that he could do, and he wanted to honor that 
place for giving him life, and for landing him in the back 
yard of the best set of parents in the entire universe.

Nodding, he embraced his mother, who now had a solitary 
tear making its way down her cheek. "It's perfect, Mom. 
Thank you," he said softly. A hero was born.

***

As the sun set on Metropolis and the city and its many 
corners and alleyways were enveloped in darkness, Lois Lane 
made her way along the streets. Even since her parents' 
death, she had felt at one with the shadows, comfortable in 
the very same darkness that had frightened her so much as a 
small child. All children knew that only monsters lurked in 
the dark, but the death of her parents had taught her that 
even a monster had a face, and it looked strikingly similar 
to that of everyone else around her. She supposed now that 
she should've found that thought disturbing, but instead it 
had been a comfort for her. Maybe it had been the growing 
coldness inside her that had found solace in the dark, 
maybe it was the planned vengeance and the knowledge that 
she would likely become one of those monsters she had so 
feared. In any case, she had embraced it with her entire 
being, using it to every advantage that she could.

She tightened the belt to her coat and shrunk further 
inside the hood, trying her best to blend into the night. 
Monster might be too strong of a word for her, she 
reflected. There was only one person toward whom she bore 
any ill will. The hatred she had for Lex Luthor transcended 
anything that she could've ever thought possible, having 
had many years to boil and fester within her. She had long 
ago stopped fantasizing about vacations and family 
gatherings that would never happen because of him. With 
every new foster home she had been shuffled to, she cursed 
his name. With every crack of a belt across her back, with 
every beating suffered because of a foster parent's 
addiction to alcohol, with every cruel, hurtful word thrown 
at her, she grew to hate Luthor more. After time the plans 
for revenge had started forming, and she had bottled up her 
hurt and kept it buried within her, drawing on it to fuel 
her vendetta against the man that had stolen her life away.

The thought caused an involuntary shudder, and Lois drew 
the coat even more closely around her, shoving her hands in 
the pockets, immediately feeling the small homemade 
explosive contained within. It was funny how much a 
person's perception of morality could change, she mused as 
she continued down the street. She had always been a 
straight arrow as a child, pure and virtuous, though maybe 
a little headstrong. Pain could make people do strange 
things, but even so, she wouldn't have followed through 
with her carefully laid plans if she hadn't been a student 
of the ways of society. She made it a point to study the 
behavior of people, try to figure out what motivated them 
to do what they did. She watched the news religiously, read 
the newspaper and magazines, all hoping to come to some 
sort of understanding, to try and decide how it was that 
she was supposed to feel. It hadn't taken long to see that 
the laws that the nation regarded so highly were not, in 
fact, universal, that if their position in society was high 
enough, one could quite literally get away with murder. 
What had once been black and white in her mind had turned 
into shades of gray. There were no absolutes, there were no 
heroes, and there was no reason to believe that Luthor 
would ever be caught by anyone. She was allowed to be mad 
at him, and even more than that, she felt she was duty 
bound to use that to be the one who finally brought him 
down. If the police were unwilling to pursue him, then she 
was unwilling to have any respect for them or the laws they 
supposedly upheld.

To bring him down meant a long, arduous investigation. She 
had known all along that it would not be easy, that the 
evidence wouldn't be immediately forthcoming, but that 
hadn't bothered her too much. To exact her revenge in the 
meantime, she was willing to pick away at his businesses, 
to fight fire with fire, literally. Flames had the power to 
destroy thoroughly, to live and breathe and consume, to 
wreak its havoc and slip quietly away. The countless labs 
and offices she had torched throughout the years had 
probably been a drop in the large ocean that was his 
business empire, but all had been important to him at the 
time that she had liberated them, and she knew it. She 
estimated that he had lost years of research and millions 
of dollars to her vandalism, but how many years of her life 
had she lost due to his? She knew that he was actively 
trying to hunt her down, using every means at his disposal 
to stop her, but he had been unsuccessful so far. Darkness 
was her ally, allowing her to come and go unseen, allowing 
her to continue her destruction upon Luthor.

Her target tonight was the Metropolis office of EPRAD. It 
was the last place that she had expected to find herself 
when she had started surveillance of Luthor that night. She 
had watched his private entrance for hours, seeing various 
servants and workers come and go, before she had finally 
witnessed Dr. Antoinette Baines entering his residence. It 
was hard not to notice the woman who had plastered her face 
all over the television in the wake of the Messenger 
disaster, assuring the city that everything was going to be 
fine. But it obviously wasn't. Baines had no reason 
whatsoever to be entering the private abode of Luthor after 
business hours, not unless they were somehow in league with 
each other. The Space Station Luthor proposal would be of 
no concern of her particular office, at least not until 
Washington decided whether or not it was interested in 
pursuing it. But considering Luthor's possible connection 
to the explosion of the Messenger, her visit was very 
suspicious. As soon as she had seen Baines enter the 
building, Lois had made her way to the EPRAD office, 
curious as to what she might find. A hard connection 
between Baines and Luthor might just be the piece of 
evidence she needed to bring Luthor to justice once and for 
all.

Picking the lock to the building was almost too easy. 
Entering, she made a cursory check for cameras or infrared 
sensors, but was not too surprised when she didn't find 
any. Security on non-military government offices on the 
whole was pitiful, a full decade behind current technology. 
She made her way through the office quietly, slipping on 
her night vision goggles, going to great pains that nobody, 
be it a passing pedestrian or curious neighbor, might know 
that there was anyone in the building.

Dr. Baines's office was clearly marked and easily 
distinguished from the rest of the rooms. It had all the 
signs of someone who held a distinctive position: leather 
and dark colored wood decorated the office in a manner 
quite contrary to standard government policy. It was enough 
to make the average American taxpayer instinctively cover 
their wallets, appalled at the tax money that had been 
applied to such lavishness. Wood filing cabinets stood 
against the wall, and Lois picked the simple locks and 
started looking through them immediately. She then made her 
way around to the large cherry desk, pocketing possible 
evidence as she went.

It took a couple hours to rifle through all the cabinets 
and drawers. While some indication of shady practices 
showed up, there was no mention of Luthor in anything she 
saw. Her searches often turned up dry, and while it left 
her disappointed, Lois always left feeling more determined 
to get to the bottom of what was truly going on. Tonight 
was no exception. Some records had to exist of the 
interaction between Luthor and Baines, it was just a matter 
of finding them. As frustrated as she was, there would be 
no firestorm tonight, either. Lois was willing to bend the 
law to bring Luthor down, she was never willing to destroy 
the property of others. The building would be spared, but 
she needed to go to pains to ensure that nobody ever knew 
she had been there. Before leaving, Lois did a thorough 
check of the building, making sure that everything was left 
exactly as it was found.

She finally slipped back out into the night. Her footsteps 
echoed off the nearby buildings, but there was nobody there 
to hear them. The moon overhead cast faint shadows on the 
street, creating more bright spots that usual. Lois 
expertly dodged them, seeing out the darkness that, until 
so recently, had been the essence of her being, a part of 
her soul. She might have superficially shaken the shadows 
away, but she would always be one with the night, so long 
as Luthor continued to work his evil on the people of 
Metropolis and the world.

***

Clark closed his eyes and did a barrel roll in the skies 
high above New Troy, his cape fluttering vigorously in the 
wind behind him. It would definitely take some time to get 
used to that cape, but the incredible feeling of freedom 
that came with being able to openly use his powers was 
exhilarating. Nobody had seen his new persona yet, but that 
would soon change, he was sure. One cry for help was all he 
needed, and he would make his presence known to the world.

In the distance, a bell tower struck the quarter hour, and 
something jogged in Clark's memory. He was supposed to meet 
Samuel Platt in a few minutes, he remembered, bringing the 
flood of thoughts relating to the messenger disaster back 
to him. As much as he would love for the new hero to make 
his debut that night, the Messenger story had the potential 
to affect many lives, as well as the future of the space 
program itself.

Clark shot through the air, making his way out of the 
country toward the city. The murky waters of Hobbs Bay 
loomed darkly amongst the twinkling lights of the rest of 
Metropolis, swallowing up the surrounding area into its 
gloom. The warehouse district around the bay, once a major 
hub of commerce, was now crumbling due to neglect. The 
elegant liners that had once graced the docks were long 
gone, and so was the prosperity that they had brought. 
Today it was a dreary, crime-ridden place, home to the type 
of crime that his new persona would be dedicated to 
fighting. A man like Dr. Platt should have no business 
being in such a place, but considering everything he had 
gone through, it was probably the best he could do. 
Fortunately, there didn't seem to be much activity in the 
area tonight.

He landed in a dark, deserted alley and quickly changed 
back into his normal clothes. For the time being, he put 
his clothes on over the spandex suit, the darkness of the 
night making it very difficult for the bright blue of his 
spandex suit to be seen through his business shirt. He was, 
in general, a modest person, and normally even the thought 
of changing clothes in public would make his cheeks burn, 
even if he could do so fast enough to not be seen. Still, 
if he wanted to make being a superhero work, he had to find 
some way to shed some of his modesty. It would definitely 
take some effort, he thought as he exited the alley and 
made his way toward the door of the warehouse where he had 
agreed to meet Dr. Platt.

"Dr. Platt?" he called out as he pushed the rotting door 
open, his voice echoing around in the massive warehouse 
interior. His eyes didn't need to adjust to the darkness, 
and he could easily see the state of disrepair that the 
building was in. Bricks and mortar dust littered the floor, 
having fallen from the walls. The roof in the far corner of 
the building had caved in slightly, letting in a few rays 
of brilliant, silvery moonlight. It was a wonder the 
building was still standing at all, Clark thought as his 
eyes came around to the back wall of the warehouse. A short 
wall fenced off a section of the interior, small trinkets 
and some discarded trash making it evident that someone had 
been there fairly recently. A flickering light was coming 
from the other side of the wall.

"Dr. Platt?" he asked again as he lowered his glasses to 
take a look into the small room beyond the wall. The 
flickering, he quickly saw, was from sparks of raw 
electricity jumping from live wires. A man sat slumped over 
in a chair, his bare feet resting in a puddle of 
electrified water. His face was turned away, but his 
clothes were the same as Clark had remembered from earlier 
in the day.

Clark ran toward the door leading into the room. It looked 
as if a tornado had hit the small space - papers were 
strewn about, books were pulled haphazardly from their 
bookcases, and small tables and chairs had been overturned. 
In the center of it all was Dr. Platt, his face oddly 
peaceful among the chaos. Clark reached down to feel his 
pulse, but the electric lines draped into the bucket at 
Platt's feet made it plain that there was no need. A 
feeling of sadness came over Clark as the realization that 
he had probably, at least in part, contributed to Platt's 
death. If someone had been following Platt and had seen him 
meeting with a reporter, he probably would've wanted to do 
whatever possible to make sure that no meaningful 
information was exchanged.

Platt had been murdered, Clark was sure. Whoever it was had 
most likely been looking for the same report that Platt had 
wanted to give Clark, given the destruction of the room, 
but it didn't look like they had succeeded. Activating his 
x-ray vision once again, Clark scanned the area. Whoever 
had ransacked the area had been a professional, he noted as 
he looked around. There were no fingerprints on anything, 
not on the overturned furniture, not on the wires, nowhere. 
To someone walking in on the scene without any frame of 
reference on the situation, it could appear that Platt's 
death had been a suicide. There were no visible signs of 
abuse on his body that Clark could see from his careful 
scan, and there was nothing holding him to the chair. He 
was a known recluse, a drug abuser in everybody's eyes, and 
had certainly been known to act crazy at times - even those 
that did at least know of him would find suicide to be 
plausible. But Clark, above all people, knew that it 
couldn't be, that Platt had enough genuine regard for the 
people who would be traveling on the Messenger to want to 
live long enough to make things right.

Moving his eyes carefully around the room, Clark eventually 
found a small, cylindrical void under the concrete slab 
that contained a folder. The void opened up in the side of 
the concrete at the back wall of the warehouse, and could 
only be accessed by removing a loose brick in the wall and 
reaching down and around. Clark dropped to a knee and 
reached down to pull out the folder, feeling the paper 
inside protest as he did. Bringing the folder out into the 
flickering light and blowing off the thin layer of dust 
that covered it, Clark made note of the fraying edges of 
paper sticking out - it looked as if the rats had had a few 
snacks at the papers' expense. He didn't need to disturb 
them any more than he absolutely had to, he decided as he 
quickly read the folder's contents using his special 
abilities. Transfixed, he read them a second time. The 
original memo that Platt had written, the response, the 
subsequent termination letters, all were contained within, 
and all had been just as Platt said. Here in his hand was 
partial proof of the story. All he would need to do now was 
get the physical proof, and to do that, he would need to 
read up on his rocket science and take a quick trip to 
Florida.

The excitement Clark felt at the prospect of his first big 
scoop faded as he looked up and saw Platt's face, his eyes 
open and looking directly at Clark, seeming to convey a 
quiet note of acceptance. He had died for his convictions, 
but that he should end up helping to save the lives of 
others was enough, he seemed to say. At that moment Clark 
vowed to do whatever he could for those who would soon be 
making the trip on the Messenger, in Platt's memory. It was 
he, after all, who had brought Clark the information in the 
first place, on nothing more than a blind, chance meeting.

The folder of papers still clutched in his hand, Clark 
stood up again and reached into his coat pocket, retrieving 
the cellular phone he had purchased that very day. Dialing 
911, he looked at Platt, giving him a small nod. He would 
not rest until the Messenger was safe again.

***

By 7 AM the Daily Planet newsroom was beginning to bustle 
with life. Clark looked up from his computer screen, making 
note of the increased activity for the first time. He 
looked at his watch and was surprised to see how much time 
had passed. It had seemed like mere minutes ago that he had 
finally left the police station after being questioned 
thoroughly about his involvement with Platt. He had 
immediately headed to the Planet to write up the story, a 
task which had taken him mere moments, especially since, 
with the sparseness of people in the newsroom in the very 
early morning hours, he had let himself write it at faster 
than human speed. That done, he had embarked on the 
researching cooling systems for rocket boosters. It was 
engrossing, even while being a very dry and technical 
subject, and he had soon found himself immersed in it. He 
was blessed with a photographic memory and just enough 
mechanical talent to make it all understandable, and images 
passed across his vision, clearly spelling out the words on 
the pages in front of him. One text followed another as the 
hours blurred together, until suddenly the night had been 
chased away completely, and the aromas of brewing coffee 
filled the newsroom.

As his mind separated itself from the books and adjusted to 
the world around him, he began to plan out his events of 
the day. It was a good thing that he didn't need much sleep 
- he didn't think that he could fit it into his schedule at 
the moment. He needed to fly down to Florida and examine 
the spacecraft, and try to prove to himself that the last 
piece of Platt's puzzle fit. That done, he would go to 
Perry with his story. That was somewhat of a risky 
prospect, considering how outlandish the tale sounded, but 
since the reporters actually assigned to the messenger 
story hadn't actually found anything better, Perry might be 
willing to let him give it a shot. At that point he would 
have to do some detective work, finding out what Lex was up 
to and what his connection was to Baines was. Maybe, just 
maybe, sometime while doing this, he would be able to enjoy 
the company of one Ms. Lois Lane for lunch.

The thought brought a smile to his face, and Clark absently 
put his hand to his chest. Immediately felt the tightness 
of the spandex under his shirt, and his smile quickly 
faded. He still had the costume on under his clothes. With 
all the people coming into the building, he thought as he 
pulled his jacket tighter around himself, and the bright 
sunlight beginning to pour into the large newsroom windows, 
it was only a matter of time before someone would notice 
the bright blue fabric under his white shirt. His heart 
began to race as he pondered the calamity that would bring. 
Ralph, especially, would be merciless, and soon the word 
would be all around the newsroom. His life as a crime 
fighter would be over before it even began. And, he 
realized, he was still wearing the same clothes as the day 
before. Clark had reputations for many things throughout 
the world, but slovenliness was not one of them. He needed 
to go back to his makeshift home and change, and with any 
luck, nobody would even notice he was gone.

His mind made up, Clark got up and quickly headed for the 
stairwell. As his hand reached out for the door, he heard a 
feminine voice call his name. Startled, he turned, and saw 
a woman standing in front of the elevator, pushing a 
wheelchair with a young girl in it. The woman seemed 
distressed, frantic even, and as he watched, she looked 
desperately around the newsroom, blindly calling his name 
again. His mission was momentarily forgotten as he went to 
comfort this woman who, for whatever reason, was looking 
for him.

"I'm Clark Kent," he said loud enough to catch her 
attention as he approached her. She turned to face him, and 
for the first time, he could see dried tears on her face.

"The article in the paper this morning says that you found 
my husband," she said as she reached out for his arm. He 
made no attempt to stop her, instead trying to be as 
comforting as he possibly could. He had a couple of smaller 
articles in the paper that morning, but only one had 
anything to do with finding anyone. The realization of who 
this was brought back the sadness that he had felt so 
acutely earlier.

"You're Mrs. Platt?" he asked, and she nodded.

"This is my daughter Amy," Mrs. Platt said, indicating the 
girl in the wheelchair. Clark knelt down so that he was at 
eye level with the girl, noting that she seemed amazingly 
calm. It could be that the reality of her father's death 
hadn't really sunk in, or it could be that she was holding 
her pain inside. In any case, Clark tried to smile as he 
regarded her.

"Hi Amy, my name is Clark. How are you?" he asked, his 
smile rewarded with a shy grin from her.

"Mom says that you're friend of my daddy. Is that true?" 
She was so innocent, he thought. The look in her eyes was 
so hopeful, almost as if she expected him to bring her 
father out for her now. He couldn't do that, but neither 
did he have the heart to tell her the awful truth.

"Yes, I was a friend of your father's. He's a good man," 
Clark answered, his voice soft yet strong for her. At her 
smile, he stood up and ushered Dr. Platt's wife to the 
small reception area near the elevators. She sat on the 
couch and Clark sat beside her, waiting for her to broach 
the subject that she had come to ask about.

After a few moments of staring at her lap, Mrs. Platt 
brought her eyes up and regarded Clark for a moment. "It 
had always been Samuel's dream to work for EPRAD. He 
confided in me once that his favorite childhood game had 
been playing the astronaut, I guess he never really let 
that go. He was very good at what he did, and he truly did 
enjoy his work. Then, suddenly, this Messenger project came 
along," Mrs. Platt said her voice soft. As she continued, a 
steeliness began to creep into her voice. "One day 
everything had been fine, and the next he's found in a dark 
alley and charged with drug possession. My husband never 
touched illegal drugs in his life, and the fact that anyone 
who knew would think that he had was absurd. But EPRAD used 
it as a reason to get rid of him. In the span of days, his 
career was gone, his reputation was gone, and strange 
things began to happen around our house - vandalism, phone 
calls in the middle of the night. Someone had managed to 
get into our finances, to charge things to our private 
account and drain us of all the money we had spent years 
saving. Samuel became paranoid and started looking over his 
shoulder all the time. Eventually he left, to spare us the 
suffering that we were being put through because of 
everything. That was a month ago."

She turned away, a ghost of a tear forming in he eye. "He 
told me what he suspected had happened. It broke my heart 
to hear his stories. We had held up such high expectations 
for the Messenger and its mission. The scientific 
achievements that the mission could bring would be 
beneficial to all mankind, to Amy." She tenderly looked at 
her daughter, bringing her voice to almost a whisper. "When 
I heard that you found him, I had to know. The police think 
it was suicide, but...." She stopped and found his eyes 
with her own.

Clark gave her a reassuring smile. "I don't think that it 
was. I think that he was murdered, because of what he knew 
and what he told me. He wanted nothing more than to save 
the Messenger, and I plan to use his information to do just 
that."

Mrs. Platt closed her eyes and sighed. "Thank you, Mr. 
Kent. I know it's what Samuel would've wanted." When she 
opened her eyes, she looked over at her daughter again. "I 
just hope that it's not too late."

Clark turned his gaze to Amy Platt and contemplated what 
this mission must've meant to their whole family. While he 
had always thought of the lives of the men and women 
actually flying on the ship, he had never even considered 
the scientific benefits that the mission would bring. 
Diseases that had been untreatable for the longest time 
could finally be cured, diseases like that which obviously 
afflicted this young girl. Suddenly, the urgency of his 
quest to save the Messenger grew, and he knew that the face 
of Amy Platt would continue to drive him to finish his 
investigation.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Kent," he heard Mrs. Platt 
say. She had stood up and had gone to Amy's wheelchair when 
a thought occurred to him.

"Do you have anyone to talk to about this?" he asked her as 
he stood.

She seemed surprised for a moment. "Samuel was the only 
family we had, but I'm sure we'll make due the way we 
always have," she said. She was a strong woman, that much 
was evident. Despite all that had been handed her, she had 
never lost faith in her husband and in the mission which 
had the potential to cure her daughter.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he fished out the business 
card that Lois had given him the day before. "I know 
someone who specializes in helping people in your 
situation. If you would like to talk to her, I would be 
happy to escort you there," he said, holding the card out 
to her.

Mrs. Platt took a long look at the card, seemingly in 
conflict over whether or not she should accept his offer. 
After a moment she looked up at him again and nodded. "Yes, 
I think I'd like that," she said, and the three of them 
headed toward the elevator.

***

The Lost and Found Agency was not quite as Clark had 
imagined it. He had envisioned an office in a commercial 
district somewhere, sterile, like most of the other places 
of that kind that he had been in or heard about. But what 
he had found was a very warm and welcoming brownstone in a 
well-established neighborhood, a place that had been well 
loved. Mrs. Platt and Amy had seemed comforted by the 
atmosphere, and by Lois's sister Lucy, who immediately 
ushered them into the parlor and treated them like family.

Lucy had seem