Kidnapped!
by Yvonne Connell (yvonne@yconnell.fsnet.co.uk or 
yvonne@lcfanfic.com)
Rated: PG-13
Submitted: November 2003

________________________


"Oh, no!" exclaimed Clark in mock dismay, as the tower of 
wooden blocks he'd carefully constructed tumbled yet again 
to the carpet.  Beside him on the floor, his baby son Jon 
laughed delightedly and clapped his chubby hands together, 
showing his pleasure at knocking down his Daddy's tower for 
the umpteenth time.

"You little monster," growled Clark, moving onto his hands 
and knees and crawling with panther-like stealth towards 
his son.  "I'm going to get you for that!"

Jon giggled, apparently unperturbed by his father's threat, 
and set off on all fours himself, crawling with the all 
skill and speed of a veteran.  Clark followed, letting 
himself slowly gain on his son, uttering dire threats all 
the way while Jon laughed and moved as fast as his little 
legs and arms would carry him.

At last, Clark seized Jon under the arms with a "Got you!" 
cry of triumph.  Jon squealed with delight and let himself 
be hoisted into the air, arms and legs flailing wildly.

Clark continued the game of rough and tumble, enjoying 
every moment of the pre-bedtime antics.  This was his 
favourite time with Jon, when the little boy was often at 
his most bubbly and adorable.  Lois often complained that 
Clark wound Jon up so far that the chances of getting him 
quickly settled for the night were close to nil, but Clark 
couldn't resist.  He loved his baby boy and the games they 
played together.

Above Jon's squeals and giggles, Clark heard the doorbell 
ring.  He stood up and settled Jon on his hip.  "Come on, 
monster, let's see who's at the door."

Jon grinned at his Daddy and reached up for the bright 
shiny glasses he adored so much.  Clark grabbed his hand 
quickly.  "Oh, no, you don't.  I need those."

How many times had that happened, Clark asked himself as he 
crossed to the door.  One of these days Jon was going to 
whip the glasses off his face in public.  Oh well, he 
thought, giving a mental shrug - who was going to associate 
Clark Kent the father with Superman the superhero anyway?  
He was convinced that most people thought of Superman as 
some kind of androgynous being without a private life.

In contrast, he, Clark Kent, had everything a man of his 
age could wish for.  He had Lois, his wonderful, vivacious, 
intelligent and downright sexy wife, he had a well-paid job 
which he actually enjoyed, and he had a son.

Jon was the miracle they'd never thought would happen.  
Having received the devastating news that he and Lois would 
never be able to conceive a child of their own, Jon had 
arrived one night, left in their living room by a 
mysterious stranger they'd never met then nor since.

For many long weeks, they'd tried to find his real parents, 
secretly hoping they never would but knowing they wouldn't 
be able to live with themselves if they ever found out that 
Jon had been snatched from loving parents or abandoned by a 
now-remorseful mother.  However, the search had been 
fruitless, and they'd then initiated the necessary steps to 
adopt him as their own.

Now, nine months later, Jon was a fully-fledged member of 
the Kent family, and Clark simply couldn't imagine life 
without him.

Clark planted a kiss on the baby hand he'd grabbed.  "Okay, 
monster, leave my glasses alone while I open the door, 
okay?"  He pretended to munch the fingers.  "Or I'll eat 
you for breakfast!"

Jon giggled, and laughing with him, Clark opened the door.

"Hi, what can I do for..."  His face froze, the remainder 
of his genial greeting dead on his lips.

The man staring back at him was his double.

For a moment, he thought this was the Clark Kent he'd met 
twice before; the Clark of an alternate dimension where 
there was no Lois and everyone knew that Clark was 
Superman.

But no, this man couldn't be that Clark, for this man was 
unkempt and dishevelled.  He wore baggy, ill-fitting 
clothes which clearly hadn't been washed for days, he was 
unshaven, and he smelt of stale sweat.  He also looked 
distinctly unsteady on his feet, although the finger he 
pointed at Jon was steady enough.

"Give him back!" he said forcefully.  "I want him back!"

Clark instinctively tightened his hold on Jon and stepped 
back a pace, drawing his son away from this wild stranger.  
"Who are you?" he asked carefully.

"His father!" answered his doppelganger, dropping the 
accusatory finger and grabbing hastily at the door frame.  
Clark sensed the man was near to collapse, but didn't dare 
help while he was holding Jon.  "He was stolen from me and 
now I want him back," said the stranger in defeated tones, 
his initial aggression already dissipated.  "I want him 
back," he repeated on a half-sob before crumpling slowly to 
the floor.

Clark stared in shock at the man at his feet.  All the old 
fears came racing back, and it took a couple of minutes 
before his numb brain came to its senses and prompted him 
to do something about the situation.

"Lois!" he yelled.

Sensing his father's anxiety, Jon began to fret and whimper 
in Clark's arms.

********

"She's dead."

There were probably other words, but those were the only 
two he heard.  The rest were a blur; words of sympathy and 
regret were spoken - a comforting hand grasped his shoulder 
- the room tipped crazily and a cold glass of water was 
pressed to his lips - Perry's gravely voice rumbled in the 
background.

She couldn't be dead.  He'd come back for her, just like 
he'd said he would, so she simply couldn't be dead.  She 
was clever; street-wise.  It was a mistake - she was lying 
low somewhere, letting everyone think she was dead.  Lois 
was too smart to get herself killed.  Wasn't she?

"How?"

He wasn't sure if he'd voiced the question aloud until 
Perry suddenly stopped talking and he realised he'd cut 
right across the editor's well-meaning efforts to lessen 
the shock.  Finesse and courtesy had deserted him a long 
time ago, though, and nowadays he just demanded answers; 
went straight for the cold facts.  Life was too short to 
bother with good manners.  Your enemy was probably 
preparing to stab you in the back while you were busy being 
polite.

"...hadn't been well for months, Clark...doctors tried 
everything...stubborn as a mule, you know Lois...insisted 
she carry the baby to term..."

"Baby?"  He pounced on the word.  "There was a baby?"

She'd been pregnant.  Oh, Lois...his poor, poor Lois.  What 
had happened to her while he'd been gone?  Had she really 
found love with another man?  His heart contracted at the 
thought of her abandoning the love they'd had for each 
other.   He'd thought theirs was a love which would last, 
which would prevail even after he'd gone.

On the other hand, if she'd been happy for a few months 
before her death, then he was glad.  She'd been so sad when 
he'd left - leaving her had been the toughest thing he'd 
ever had to do. 

"...can't tell you how sorry I am...wanted that baby so 
much...already decided to name it Clark..."

Name it after him?  Another man's baby?  He wondered what 
the father had thought of that.

Lois, what happened?  Didn't you know I'd come back for 
you?  Didn't we tell each other over and over that night - 
that terrible, agonising night?  We'd wait for each other, 
we'd said as we'd lain together - we'd wait for ever.

But then morning had come, and with the cold dawn had come 
practical common sense.  Of course Lois shouldn't wait.  
They'd spent one night together, and he hoped she'd never 
forget that - but she should move on after he was gone.  
She should remember their love and keep it close to her 
heart, but she should let herself love again.  He'd made 
her promise that - not to wait forever.

He just hadn't expected forever to be so short.

"Do...do I know him?"

The father.  The man Lois had turned to when he had left.  
He should probably pay his respects; offer his sympathy.

Or perhaps not.  Could he bear to meet the man who'd taken 
his place while he'd been exiled billions of miles away?  
Probably not.

"Who, Clark?"

"Her partner...the baby's father."

Silence.

Perhaps he'd made a faux pas somehow.  Was it bad manners 
to ask who her lover had been?  He'd been away so long from 
civilised society, perhaps he'd forgotten what was 
acceptable.

"I guess I haven't explained this too well, son.  She 
wouldn't tell me at first, but I figured it out 
anyway...you were the baby's father, Clark."

His world, already so broken and bleak, now shattered into 
a thousand tiny pieces.

***********

"So if he's not the other Clark, who is he?"

Lois bounced Jon gently up and down on her hip while gazing 
down at their unconscious visitor.  The baby was still a 
little fractious, and she was reluctant to put him down 
until he was settled.  Meanwhile, Clark had carried the 
stranger from the front door into the sitting room and had 
placed him on one of their sofas.

"I have no idea," replied Clark.  "All I know is that he 
thinks Jon is his."

Lois bit her bottom lip anxiously.  This was the scenario 
they'd hoped would never happen - they'd made a huge effort 
to avoid it by researching for months all the possibilities 
for Jon's origins.  Now it looked like all that research 
might have been in vain.

She lifted Jon up.  "Here," she said, handing the baby to 
Clark.  "Take him."

As she'd expected, Jon went willingly into Clark's arms, 
and she turned to perch on the side of the sofa beside the 
unconscious man.  "He looks ill," she murmured.  She 
searched for his hand and clasped it lightly, then reached 
out for Clark's hand in order to compare the two.  "His is 
warmer.  Do you think it's kryptonite?"

"Well, there's none around right now.  I'd have felt it," 
Clark pointed out from behind her.

"Maybe he was exposed earlier," she conjectured quietly.  
As she watched, his eyelids began to flutter.  "He's waking 
up," she said.  Automatically, she started to rise, but 
then some instinct made her stay - something which told her 
he needed reassurance and comfort when he awoke.  
Hesitantly at first, but then with more assurance, she 
reached for his hand again and grasped it firmly.  "It's 
all right," she murmured.  "You're safe with us."

His eyes opened and she saw them slowly gain focus and turn 
towards her.  The moment of recognition was crystal clear 
and completely devastating.  "Lois," he whispered, and 
tears began to form in his eyes.  He reached up trembling 
fingers to her face.  "You're alive."

Her heart leapt.  He was so similar to Clark, it was as if 
she was seeing and hearing her own husband weep for her.  
She took the trembling fingers and eased them gently from 
her face.  "I'm not your Lois," she said as kindly as she 
could.

She watched the dawning understanding cross his face.  He 
screwed his eyes shut again and tears spilled from under 
his eyelids.  "I know," he whispered.

Lois glanced backwards at Clark, who shrugged his shoulders 
in a helpless gesture.

Jon, on the other hand, was obviously happier, for he 
reached up a chubby hand and cheerfully pulled the shiny 
glasses off his Daddy's face.  A super-grab from Clark 
caught them before they descended to the carpet.  "I'd 
better put him to bed," Clark said.  "You'll be okay?"

She nodded.  "Bring down some blankets."

Clark nodded, and she turned back to the stranger.

"I hadn't expected...you look so like her," he said, 
struggling to sit up.  She stood up to give him some more 
room and eyed him as he swung his legs around and sat back 
against the cushions.  He was filthy.  Just as well they'd 
put sturdy covers over their off-white sofas to protect 
them from Jon's sticky fingers, she thought uncharitably.  
And not only was he dirty, he had about three days worth of 
stubbly beard, and his hair was lanky and in need of a good 
cut.  Worst of all, he smelt of stale sweat.

She wasn't accustomed to seeing Clark - or his double - 
take so little care over his appearance and personal 
grooming, and she found it more than a little distasteful.  
However, he was obviously a man in need of help...

"Can I get you anything?  A drink, maybe?" she suggested.

He looked up at her. He seemed to hesitate for a second, 
but then he answered, "Can I have some water?"

"Just water?" she asked.  "Are you sure?  I could make some 
tea if you'd prefer."

Clark liked tea when he wasn't feeling well.  But it was 
probably stupid of her to assume this guy liked the same 
things - she'd made that mistake once before.

His face took on a distant look.  "Tea...I missed tea..."

She raised her eyebrows.  If he missed drinking tea, where 
did that mean he'd been, and for how long?  Obviously not 
his own apartment, anyway.  "I could do you some Oolong, if 
you'd like.  Clark...my husband...that's his favourite."

His eyes had dropped when she mentioned Clark.  "Yes, that 
would be nice," he muttered.  "Thank you."

"I'll just be a few minutes," she said.  He was closing his 
eyes and resting his head back against the sofa as she left 
him to make the tea.

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

The battles had raged for months.  His marriage to Zara, on 
which so many hopes had been pinned, had failed to bring 
peace to New Krypton.  Lord Nor had branded him a fake; an 
impostor who new nothing of Kryptonian laws and customs.  
War had been declared when the ruling nobles had refused to 
acknowledge Nor's claim to the throne, and despite Kal-El's 
many attempts to negotiate a peace, the first shots had 
been fired and New Krypton had descended into one of the 
blackest eras of its short history.

At first, he had followed the advice of his military chiefs 
and remained out of harm's way, safely cosseted in the 
royal suite of a heavily guarded citadel.  But as the 
reports had come back, and the numbers of lives lost and 
the scale of devastation became clear, he'd found that he 
couldn't remain at arms' length from the suffering of the 
soldiers and their families.

And so he'd gone to the battlefields and seen the blood, 
seen the hideous injuries and the devastating loss of life.  
He'd secretly joined the fight himself at times, dressing 
as a common soldier and fighting alongside his 
subordinates.  He'd held the dying in his arms, and spoken 
to the wives and children left behind; listened to them 
grieve for their loved ones.

The crushing weight of responsibility had almost broken 
him, and nightly he'd raged impotently to Zara in their 
bedchamber.  This wasn't the life he'd wanted, ordering 
death and destruction on a grand scale.  He'd been born to 
bring peace and stability into people's lives; that was his 
destiny, and his adult life had been dedicated to the task.  
He was made to save lives, not take them.

He'd hated himself, and he'd hated everything he knew about 
New Krypton.

Zara had told him again and again to harden his heart; that 
his soft Earth ways had no place amongst Kryptonians.  He'd 
rejected her words at first, but as the weeks and months 
had progressed, and the war had continued to rage 
unrelentingly, he'd begun to realise that his only chance 
for survival was to follow her advice.  Almost overnight, 
he'd turned himself into a cold, ruthless commander, driven 
only by the desire to end the war and find a way to escape 
from these people and return to his loved ones back on 
Earth.

He'd kept that ambition strictly to himself, of course.  
Not just for the sake of the people he was responsible for, 
but because Nor had spies everywhere.  If Nor had gleaned 
even the tiniest hint that the new ruler - the so-called 
half-breed impostor - was planning to desert his people, 
the war would have been lost.

So it was ironic that, in the end, Nor was proved right - 
Kal-El, it became clear, definitely did not belong on New 
Krypton.

It had started with a cold.  Nothing too remarkable; 
everyone on New Krypton caught colds now and then and Kal-
El wasn't exempt, being a full Kryptonian and thus 
susceptible to the same illnesses as anyone else.  But then 
there was the cough which wouldn't go away for weeks.  Then 
it was another cold, and then a bout of a flu-like virus 
which kept him in bed for a couple of days.  Soon he was a 
magnet for just about any bug making the rounds of the 
community.

His natural strength and resilience helped, of course, but 
the constant illnesses inevitably took their toll on his 
health.  He became more easily battle-weary, and prone to 
error during combat.  Minor injuries became commonplace, 
and Zara was constantly patching him up at night and 
feeding him painkillers.

Through it all, his cold determination kept him going, and 
he refused to reduce his work load or let anyone, save his 
closest advisors, know how much of a struggle his life had 
become.

But one day he collapsed in the middle of a major war 
council, and the truth was out at last.  New Krypton had a 
weak, ailing leader who stood little chance of surviving 
the hostile and alien environment he'd been summoned to 
defend.  His body simply hadn't had an opportunity to 
develop the antibodies it needed to ward off the illnesses 
which circulated New Krypton.  The doctors and scientists 
did their best, but Kal-El's unique situation was far 
beyond their knowledge and abilities.

Hasty decisions had been made.  Power was transferred to 
Zara, who immediately issued orders to return Kal-El to his 
beloved Earth.  He'd protested at first, knowing that she 
would be vulnerable without a husband, but then she'd 
announced that she was annulling their marriage and taking 
Ching as her husband instead.  He'd been happy for her 
then, knowing that she'd loved Ching from the start.

And so a poorly, battle-scarred Kal-El had been dumped back 
on Earth, rejected by his own kind and branded a failure by 
all except the very few who had known him best.

**********

Clark jogged softly downstairs, cautiously optimistic that 
Jon was at last settled for the night.  As he neared the 
bottom of the stairs, he heard their visitor coughing, a 
croaking, chesty cough which didn't sound at all healthy.  
Entering the living room, he found Lois sitting opposite 
his double wearing a worried frown.

She looked up as Clark approached.  "Did he settle okay?" 
she asked.

He shrugged.  "He's fine."  Clark caught their visitor's 
eye.  "Are you okay?"

The man nodded.  "Yes," he answered croakily.  He coughed 
once more and then rested silently back on the sofa 
cushions.

Clark sat down next to Lois, dumping the blankets he'd 
brought down beside him.  "That's a nasty cough you've got 
there," he remarked.

"It'll clear up in a few days," the stranger answered.  
"They usually do."

'They usually do?'  So this particular Kryptonian was 
accustomed to suffering colds and coughs.  Clark reflected 
that this was not an answer he would ever have expected 
from one of his own kind.  Illness was virtually unknown to 
him; the only time he'd been sick himself was on the few 
occasions when imaginative criminals had tried to kill 
Superman.

It also occurred to him that Jon could be at risk if this 
man's illness was contagious.  He and Lois had no way of 
knowing for certain, but they both suspected that their son 
was at least part-Kryptonian, and that made him susceptible 
to Kryptonian illnesses.  In that case, the sooner they got 
rid of this guy, the better.

Except he was obviously in a pretty desperate state, and 
Clark didn't have the heart to turn him out on the street.

And there was a mystery to be solved - where had the man 
come from, and why was he claiming that Jon was his son?

"Look," he began, "You're obviously tired and feeling 
pretty rough right now, but that was a serious accusation 
you threw at me earlier.  I think I - we," he added, 
glancing at Lois, who nodded, "- deserve an explanation."

The stranger shook his head slowly and gave a mirthless 
laugh.  "You want an explanation?" he said harshly.  "It's 
quite simple - you're holding my son and I want him back.  
Now."

Clark's hackles rose automatically.  "First off, we are not 
'holding' your son.  Second, unless you've got any proof to 
support what you're saying, I suggest you stop making 
aggressive demands and leave right now."

"Where I come from, aggression is the only way to get 
things done," replied the stranger bitterly.  "Anything 
else is just a waste of time."  He closed his eyes and 
leant his head back on the sofa.  "Why do you keep your 
house so warm?"  He coughed again, not even bothering to 
cover his mouth with his hand.

Clark glanced at Lois, who seemed perfectly comfortable in 
pants and a light cotton sweater.  Then he used his powers 
to look at the man's forehead and palms more closely.  
"It's not the house that's warm, it's you," he concluded.  
"You look like you're running a temperature."

The stranger's mouth twisted.  "Wouldn't surprise me."  He 
coughed briefly, then continued, "I don't suppose you've 
got any panadine, either."

Clark frowned.  "No, we haven't.  What is it?  Some kind of 
medication?"

"Kryptonian aspirin.  Zara always kept a supply handy."

Clark stared at Lois in shock.  Why would this man know 
Zara?  And was it the same Zara as the woman Clark had been 
forced to marry on New Krypton?  "Zara?" exclaimed Clark to 
the stranger.  "Did you say Zara?"

"Yes.  She was..."  He shook his head.  "Never mind.  She's 
not important."  He fell silent, seemingly too tired and 
poorly to say any more.

Lois put her hand on Clark's shoulder.  "Can I talk to you 
for a minute?" she murmured.  Clark nodded and followed her 
into the kitchen.

***********

Lois waited until Clark had shut the door behind him and 
joined her at the table.  "Clark, he can't stay here.  If 
he's sick, he could infect Jon."

"I know, but what can we do?" replied Clark, throwing his 
hands up in the air.  "We can't turn him out onto the 
streets."

"Why not?" she answered crisply.  "That's where he was up 
until a couple of hours ago."

"Lo-is..."

"I mean it, Clark," she said firmly.  "If Jon gets sick, we 
haven't got any way of treating him - especially if it's a 
Kryptonian virus.  He's only a baby, Clark!  Our baby," she 
added, mindful of this stranger's earlier claim on their 
son.

"We don't actually know that Jon is Kryptonian," said 
Clark.

"No, but are you willing to take that risk?" she replied.  
"I'm not.  Besides, Jon's not the only one at risk here; 
you're in danger too."

Clark shrugged.  "It's probably only the Kryptonian 
equivalent of a bad cold.  And we don't know that it's 
infectious, anyway."

"You keep coming up with ifs and buts, as if this is some 
kind of game!" she exclaimed.  "We're talking about our 
son's life here."

"I know!  I care about him just as much as you do, honey."  
Clark sat back in his chair.  "Okay, say we send him away - 
what then?  Discretion doesn't exactly seem to be part of 
his vocabulary, and he looks exactly like me.  Assuming he 
doesn't collapse right here on our front door step, he'll 
probably wander around Metropolis, babbling about 
Kryptonians and New Krypton to anyone who'll listen.  How 
long do you think it will be before someone asks him who he 
is?"

"So what if they do?" she said.

He gave her look as if to say she was missing the obvious.  
"What if he says he's Superman?"

"And who says he knows anything about Superman?  I doubt 
very much he's Superman in his own world, with an attitude 
like his," Lois pointed out acerbically.

"But we don't know that for certain, do we?"

Lois shrugged.  "Ask him, then."

She endured her husband's tetchy stare for a couple of 
seconds, then he shoved back his chair and stood up.  
"Okay, I will."

She waited a few minutes while Clark interrogated their 
visitor.  When he came back, his face looked grim.  "He 
knows," he said, sitting down heavily.

She sighed.  "Okay, I admit that complicates things.  But 
if he knows about Superman, he must know how important the 
secret is."

"Maybe, but I wouldn't want to test that theory."  He 
paused.  "Okay, let's say he doesn't mention Superman.  
That still leaves the fact that people would think he's me, 
Clark Kent.  What if he does something illegal?"

"You just say you're not him - believe me, honey, with that 
stubble and horrible hair, he doesn't look much like you 
right now."

Clark screwed up his face in a grimace.  "Okay, but I still 
don't like the idea of letting him go - it's too risky.  
And he's sick, Lois - since when did we throw sick people 
out onto the street?"

Well, of course, he was right.  Lois put their child's 
health before anyone else's, but even she didn't have the 
heart to abandon a sick man on the street.  If only there 
was somewhere else he could go.

"Not only that," Clark continued, "but he's made it clear 
that he wants to take Jon.  If we let him go, there's no 
telling what he might do.  At least if he stays here, we 
can keep an eye on him."

Lois frowned.  "All right, I'll admit you have a point 
there.  But we can't risk Jon's health over this."

"I know."  He paused again.  "How about I take Jon to stay 
with Mom and Dad for a few days?  Just until we've sorted 
this mess out."

Lois didn't like the idea of being parted from Jon, even if 
it was only for a couple of days.  She loved her baby boy 
more than she'd thought was possible.  Not only that, but 
Jon would miss his parents, she was sure - and the thought 
that he might suffer because of this stranger's 
interference filled her with more than a little resentment.

Clark was right, though.  Jon would be safer in Smallville, 
and Martha and Jonathan would take good care of their 
grandchild.

"Do you think they'll have him?  It's been a long time 
since they've looked after a little baby," she said.

"They'll love it, I'm sure," replied Clark with a smile.  
"I'll fly Jon over first thing tomorrow morning.  And 
tonight we'll take him into our bedroom, just to be sure.  
Okay?"

She nodded reluctantly.  "Okay."

They stood up to rejoin their guest.  Just before they 
opened the door, Lois turned to Clark and put her hand on 
his chest.  "What if he's telling the truth, Clark?" she 
murmured fearfully.  "What if Jon really is his son?"

Clark looked as stricken as she felt herself.  "I don't 
know, honey.  I honestly don't know."  He drew in a shaky 
breath.  "I do know I couldn't bear to lose Jon.  Not now - 
not ever."

"Me either."  She wrapped her arms around his broad chest 
and hugged him tightly.  "We'll figure this out somehow, 
though."

"Yeah," he agreed softly.  "Just like we always do."

***********

He'd refused Perry's offer of a bed for the night.  He'd 
claimed that he was staying with an old friend for a few 
days until he found a place of his own.  The truth was he 
didn't have anywhere to go.  He couldn't face people in his 
current state of mind.  He needed solitude, and so he 
drifted, napping on park benches during the day and walking 
the streets by night.  It didn't matter where he walked, as 
long as he kept moving and didn't draw the attention of the 
police.

He'd lost everything.

Lois was dead, and the child they'd made together was gone.

He'd learned from Perry that Lois had died shortly after 
their son had been born, the tragic end of a long and 
extremely difficult pregnancy.  Apparently the baby's blood 
type had disagreed with Lois's, in addition to a whole host 
of other similar problems.  The doctors had tried 
everything, but in the end, the mother's body had simply 
been too worn out to fight yet another battle of life and 
death.  No doubt his alien genes had been responsible, he'd 
concluded silently - another reason to hate himself.

Worse still, without either parents or other living 
relatives, the hospital authorities had made arrangements 
to place the child with foster parents.  A few nights 
before the baby had been due to leave the hospital, he'd 
been snatched from his cot.  The police had investigated, 
but the culprit had never been found.

He was devastated.  It seemed that fate had decided to 
throw everything it possibly could at him, and he began to 
wonder what use his life was any more.

It was countless days after his talk with Perry, when he'd 
been queuing for coffee at one of the homeless shelters 
down by the docks, that he'd been approached by a strange 
little man in a pin-stripe suit and a bowler hat.

The man had drawn him to one side and told him that his 
baby son was alive and well, and living with excellent 
parents who would take good care of him.  He had nothing to 
worry about, the man had said.

Nothing to worry about!  Furiously, he'd grabbed the man's 
lapels and shaken him, demanding to know where these people 
were who'd stolen his son so ruthlessly.  The man had been 
taken aback by his hostility, but had explained fearfully 
that his son's new parents weren't child snatchers, but 
merely a childless couple the man had wanted to help.

"By stealing my son?!"  He'd nearly flung the man to the 
ground, he was so angry.

He'd resolved right then that he was going to get his son 
back, no matter what it took.

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

Clark strode purposefully back into the living room.  
"Okay, whoever you are, it's time you gave us some straight 
answers.  First off, what's your name and how did you get 
here?"

He'd had enough of this stranger's aggressive demands and 
shuttered attitude.  If Clark was going to give the man a 
bed for the night, he wanted to know exactly who he was 
dealing with.

There was no reply from the sofa.  Clark would have 
repeated his question more loudly and insistently, except 
that when he came around to confront the guy, there was 
obviously no point.  Their visitor was fast asleep.

"Great!" Clark muttered under his breath.

Lois stepped past him and draped the blankets he'd brought 
downstairs earlier around the man's shoulders.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Clark, exasperated that she 
was actually helping their intruder.

"He's sick," she replied.  "You don't want him to get 
worse, do you?"

"No, of course not!"  He eyed the man balefully.  His head 
was lolling at an awkward angle and his breathing sounded 
very chesty and terribly hard work.  Clark sighed and began 
rearranging limbs.

"Okay, so what are you doing?" whispered Lois ironically.

"Like you said, we don't want him to get worse," replied 
Clark defensively.  "Hold his shoulders while I lift his 
legs up," he instructed.

So together, they made sure the man was lying comfortably 
on their sofa with plenty of blankets to keep him warm.  
Then, satisfied that they'd done as much as was reasonable 
for him, they retired to bed.

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

He'd forced the truth out of the bowler-hatted man.  It 
hadn't been so very difficult; the man was clearly 
intimidated and perhaps even fearful for his own safety.  
That wasn't good - he didn't want people on the planet he 
still considered his home to be afraid of him - but his 
need for knowledge was far greater than his need to be 
temperate and polite.

A crazy tale of parallel universes and time-travelling had 
unfolded.  Apparently, there was another man who looked and 
sounded exactly like himself, living in a world which was 
almost the same as his own.  This man had a wife and 
parents, but no children.  Medical science had concluded 
that this man and his wife would never be able to conceive 
a child together, due to their differing physiologies.  
They'd been devastated.  So Bowler-hat man, upon learning 
of an apparently orphaned baby in another universe, had 
decided to make a childless couple happy and at the same 
time give a parentless child a good home.  The perfect 
solution, he'd thought.

It was a crazy tale, and he didn't believe a word of it at 
first.  Even if he could have believed in the parallel 
universe theory, how was it that he and Lois had managed to 
make a baby together if this identical couple could not?  
Bowler-hat had no answer to that.

So he'd dismissed the man's tale, and simply demanded to be 
taken to his son.  He didn't care about the rest, he'd just 
wanted to see the child that his beloved Lois had carried 
for nine months.

His only surviving flesh and blood.  Someone he could love 
- who might even love him.

He'd been desperate, and desperation had made him angry.  
He'd seen the dawning realisation in the man's eyes; the 
understanding that a huge error of judgement had been made, 
but that had merely fuelled his anger.  He'd spoken 
harshly, had shaken the man and bullied him until 
eventually the man had fumbled hastily in a coat pocket and 
produced a strange device, which he'd handed over with 
abject panic in his eyes.

A few button presses later, and he'd been catapulted into a 
new world.
 
***********

Lois stood at the top of the stairs in her work clothes, 
mentally preparing herself to confront their unwelcome 
visitor.  Clark had flown off to Smallville with Jon a few 
minutes ago, so it was left to her to discover how their 
visitor had fared overnight.

She closed her eyes briefly.  Already, she was missing her 
baby, and the man downstairs threatened to take him from 
her permanently.  How cruel was that?  She took a deep 
breath, resolving not to let the man see how upset she was: 
this would be easier if she kept her emotions strictly 
under control.

At the bottom of the stairs, her eyes darted immediately 
over to the sofa they'd left him lying on the previous 
night.  She saw a tousled heap of blankets and bare skin; 
clearly, sometime during the night, he'd shed those filthy 
clothes of his.  She crossed the carpet slowly, a little 
nervous of what she'd find as she drew closer.  Her nose 
wrinkled as she went; the room smelt musty and carried more 
than a whiff of stale sweat.  They'd probably have to 
fumigate the sofa after he left, she thought dryly.

To her relief, she discovered that he was still asleep.

Letting out a breath she hadn't realised she was holding, 
she studied him more closely.  He didn't look as if he'd 
had a restful night, judging by the way his arms and legs 
were all jumbled up with the blanket.  His hair was a mess 
and his shoulders and chest were mostly uncovered.  She 
noticed to her surprise that his skin was puckered in a 
couple of places by scars.  Apparently he'd been in a 
fight; perhaps more than one.  Right now he was breathing 
noisily through his open mouth and an unhealthy flush 
coloured his cheeks.

He ought to be in bed, she thought.  Or at the very least, 
he should be under the blanket instead of lying tangled up 
in it.  She leant forward to see if she could rearrange it 
without disturbing him.

Her foot kicked something soft, and looking down, she found 
his pants and shirt in a messy heap on the floor.  Deciding 
the blanket could stay where it was, she picked up his 
clothes distastefully between finger and thumb, crossed 
into the kitchen and dumped them unceremoniously in the 
trash.  He could wear something of Clark's when he woke up.

She washed her hands, then set about preparing the minimal 
breakfast she and Clark usually ate before dashing off to 
work.  They'd decided that she would go to the Daily 
Planet, leaving Clark at home to deal with the stranger.  
Since they had a permanent arrangement with Perry to work 
from home at least once a week, Clark's absence from the 
newsroom wouldn't be an issue.  No-one need know he was 
baby-sitting their child's possible father instead of Jon 
himself.

The toast was just popping up out of the toaster when Clark 
strode through the kitchen door, dressed in jeans and his 
favourite white t-shirt.  "I see he's still asleep," he 
commented.

"Yes, thank heavens," she replied, collecting the toast and 
spreading syrup onto it.  "I don't think I could have dealt 
with him this morning.  It was bad enough saying goodbye to 
Jon."

Clark came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders 
briefly.  "I know, honey," he said softly.  "Mom and Dad 
send their love, by the way."

She smiled a quick acknowledgment of their message.  "Did 
you take enough diapers?  And his night things - you 
remembered they're due to be changed tonight, didn't you?  
And Elephant - you didn't forget Elephant?"

He nodded.  "Honey, I remembered everything."  He grinned.  
"Superman was so laden down with baby things, he could have 
opened his own store."

"And your parents are okay with him?" she added.  "It's not 
too much trouble for them?"

"They're fine.  I told you - they're thrilled to have him 
to themselves for a day or two."

"I just hope they don't spoil him rotten," she said, 
gulping down the last of her coffee.

Clark shrugged.  "I'm sure it won't matter if they do - 
it's only for a couple of days."

She dumped her empty mug on the draining board and turned 
back to face him.  "I can't understand why you're so calm 
about this."

He shook his head.  "Honey, I'm as upset as you.  I'm just 
trying to stop it from getting to me - we need to be 
focused to figure this mess out."  He came to her and 
wrapped his arms around her.  "This is really tough, I 
know, but don't forget we don't actually know very much 
about this guy yet.  Let me find out who he is and what his 
story is before we jump to any conclusions, okay?"

She nodded.  "You'll let me know the moment you find out 
anything important, won't you?"

"Yes, honey."

She kissed him briefly, then gathered up her purse and 
crossed to the door.  "And don't get too close to him - I 
don't want you catching his flu, or whatever it is he's 
got."

**********

Clark's laptop clock was well past ten o'clock by the time 
he heard sounds of movement from the sofa.  He glanced over 
the screen to see their guest sitting up slowly, the 
blanket falling into his lap to reveal his naked torso.  As 
Lois had done earlier, Clark noticed the scars and wondered 
when and where they'd happened.  The man had mentioned Zara 
- had he fought with Lord Nor and sustained his injuries 
then?  He was also very thin - a result of his illness, or 
because of poor nutrition?  Lack of sunlight?

Then man coughed briefly, then gazed slowly around the 
lounge, taking in his surroundings.  Clark watched him, 
waiting for him to notice that he wasn't alone.  Otherwise, 
Clark wasn't in any hurry to initiate a conversation.

His eyes found Clark and immediately his body tensed.

"Morning," said Clark evenly.

"Good morn-"  He broke off into a violent coughing fit.

When it showed little sign of abating, Clark stood up and 
fetched a glass of water and a box of paper hankies from 
the kitchen.  He placed the hankies on the coffee table in 
front of the man, and held out the glass of water.  "Here," 
he said.

The man accepted the water with a rough "Thanks."  Clark 
stood over him, watching him struggle to take a few sips 
between coughs.  After a couple of minutes, the fit 
subsided and the man placed the glass on the table, 
swapping it for a paper hankie with which he wiped his nose 
and then leant back wearily against the sofa cushions.

"Okay?" asked Clark.

The man nodded, and Clark took a seat opposite him.  Again, 
he waited for the man to speak first.

"Thanks for letting me stay the night," said the man 
eventually.

Clark shrugged.  "We didn't have much choice after you fell 
asleep on the sofa." 

"Oh."  He looked around himself vaguely.  "Where are my 
clothes?"

"Lois put them in the trash.  You can wear something of 
mine today."

A brief look of annoyance crossed his face, but he merely 
answered with a sullen, "Okay."

"Do you want to get washed?" suggested Clark, hoping 
fervently that the answer would be affirmative; the smell 
was becoming pretty obnoxious.  "The bathroom's upstairs; 
second on the right."

He nodded, then passed a hand over his face, as if noticing 
the stubble for the first time.  "I don't suppose you've 
got a spare razor?"

Clark shook his head.  "'Fraid not."  He refrained from 
admitting he didn't possess even one razor.  This didn't 
feel like a good time to get into discussions about super 
powers.  "You can use our bedroom to get changed; I'll lay 
out some clothes while you're getting washed."

The man stood up slowly, letting the blanket fall to the 
floor.  Clark noticed more scars on his body, including one 
which disfigured the man's right knee quite badly.  The man 
bent stiffly to retrieve the blanket, but Clark stepped 
quickly forward and scooped it up for him.  "Here," he 
said, handing it to him.

The man took the blanket gratefully and draped it around 
his shoulders

"What's your name, by the way?" asked Clark.  "I need to 
call you something."

The man stared at him.  "Clark Kent, of course.  What did 
you think it was?"

Clark shrugged.  "Just didn't want to make any 
assumptions."

The man's mouth twisted cynically.  "You mean I don't 
behave like Clark Kent.  I'm afraid the naive farmer's son 
and I parted company a long time ago."  He coughed harshly 
and made for the stairs.

Clark let him go without further comment.  This taciturn, 
moody individual was as unlike the previous Clark Kent he'd 
met as it was possible to get.  That man had been pretty 
much the same as himself, other than his obvious 
loneliness, but this person didn't even seem to share the 
same values as Clark did.  His gratitude was perfunctory; 
mostly he seemed to take Clark's hospitality for granted, 
and he was aggressive and rude - he certainly didn't appear 
to believe in the common courtesies.  Yet he'd just called 
himself a farmer's son, so he'd presumably had the same 
upbringing as Clark.  Clark sighed; obviously those scars 
on his body were far more than skin deep.

*********

He'd wanted to live in a house like this.  Nothing grand, 
just a comfortable house with good-sized rooms and enough 
space for his family to grow up in.  It hadn't been an 
impossible dream - quite a modest one, in fact.  He'd marry 
Lois and they'd have a couple of kids, make a home together 
and grow old in peace.    He'd already made a start on his 
dream by proposing to Lois.  He smiled fondly; the day Lois 
had agreed to marry him had been one of the happiest in his 
life.

Then it had all fallen apart.  The New Kryptonians had 
arrived and ripped him away from his dream.  He'd been 
plunged into an alien society, governed by outlandishly 
feudal laws and near-barbaric rites and customs.  It had 
been like living in the Middle Ages, but with the 
technology of the future.

Every day he'd grown more disillusioned and bitter.  Before 
he'd arrived on New Krypton, and before he'd met Zara and 
Ching, he'd imagined that Kryptonians were an advanced race 
- an enlightened society of people such as his biological 
mother and father.  Who but an enlightened, higher society 
could produce two such noble, caring people as Jor-El and 
Lara?

Yet everywhere he'd turned, he'd met bigotry, corruption 
and greed.  The New Kryptonians had less respect for 
equality than the most backward societies on Earth.

Meanwhile, he'd been coupled with a wife he didn't love, 
and who didn't love him.  It had been clear from the moment 
he first met them that Zara's true love was her lieutenant, 
Ching, and he didn't much care in any case.  Kryptonian 
culture and law, however, had demanded that they produce an 
heir.  Nothing could had been less likely - for the first 
six months they had barely touched each other, let alone 
shared the same bed.

It had been a far cry from his dream; fighting a war he 
didn't believe in by day, then coming home at night to a 
cold, empty relationship and the hard floor he habitually 
slept on.

Then one day he'd been too sick to sleep on the floor or on 
one of the many loungers in their bedchamber.  Zara had 
insisted he take the bed, and then had shocked him by 
joining him under the bedcovers.  He'd shunned her 
immediately, turning away from her - he'd wanted to keep 
the memory of his one night with Lois pure and unsullied by 
any contact with another woman.

But she'd murmured soft, soothing words to him; kind, 
gentle words he'd so desperately needed to hear.  He'd been 
vulnerable, and she'd recognised his despair and responded 
to it.  He'd ended up falling asleep in her arms.

Thereafter, he'd found himself abandoning the hard floor 
and opting for the soft bed more and more often.

But no more than that.  They might have slept in the same 
bed, but he never let things go any further.  Zara had 
tried, and there had been times, when he was at his lowest 
ebb, when he'd found her hard to resist.  But he'd known in 
his heart that she was merely doing her duty; anxious to 
produce the heir that society demanded.  And there was no 
way he would ever share his body with any other woman but 
Lois.

Lois.  She had given him a child, and he hadn't even known 
it.  And now he was standing in that child's bedroom.

He'd noticed the empty crib in the Kents' bedroom while 
he'd been dressing, and had wondered where the baby was.  
He hadn't really intended to snoop, but as he'd emerged 
from their bedroom, he couldn't help noticing the adjacent 
room, decorated in bright colours and containing a dresser 
with a baby's changing mat set on top of it.  Curious, he'd 
stepped cautiously across the threshold, not wishing to 
confront Kent's wife.

Thankfully, the room had been empty, and with more 
confidence, he'd wandered in, taking in every detail of his 
son's life with these clones of himself and Lois.

"Just what do you think you're doing in here?!"

He whirled around to find a white-faced Clark Kent staring 
angrily at him from the door.  His hackles rose immediately 
- what did the man think he'd been doing, for heaven's 
sake?  He shrugged.  "I was just looking," he said.

"Well, go look someplace else," replied Kent through 
gritted teeth.  "There's nothing for you here."

**********

Clark stared stonily at the other man as he passed by in 
the doorway.  Once the man was out, he glanced quickly 
around Jon's room to make sure everything was in place, 
then shut the door firmly.

To think he'd come up here because he'd thought the guy 
might need his help!  Downstairs, he'd followed the man's 
progress vaguely, aware of him exiting the bathroom and 
padding into their bedroom to dress.  Then things had gone 
quiet, and after a while he'd started to worry that the guy 
had fainted or something.  He'd jogged upstairs, only to 
find him standing in the middle of their son's bedroom.

Obviously he'd been intending to steal Jon from behind 
their backs. 

Clark followed the intruder downstairs, shepherding him 
closely every step of the way.  At the bottom of the 
stairs, the man turned.  "Where is he, anyway?"

The brazen cheek of the man!  Clark gritted his teeth, and 
replied, "Somewhere safe."

"You don't have to hide him from me, you know," the other 
Clark said.  "I'm not a baby snatcher - I wouldn't do that 
to my own son."

"Well, you'll forgive me if I don't give you the benefit of 
the doubt," replied Clark coldly.  "I'll give you my trust 
when I see some evidence that you deserve it."

The other Clark shook his head incredulously.  "Just what 
kind of monster do you think I am?"

"The kind that turns up unannounced on someone's doorsteps 
and demands they hand over their child to a complete 
stranger," retorted Clark angrily.  "A stranger who doesn't 
even identify himself, let alone offer any explanation as 
to why he claims to be their child's father."  It was 
Clark's turn to shake his head slowly.  "How do you think 
you'd feel if you were in my shoes?"

The other Clark strode past him into the lounge.  "Upset," 
he said, with his back to Clark.  "Angry.  Scared."

Well, he'd got that right!  But he'd omitted one pretty 
obvious emotion.  "What about suspicious?"

He nodded.  "That too."  He whirled around, his face 
creased with anguish.  "But how do you think I feel?  I 
just found out my fiancee's dead and a son I didn't even 
know I had has been snatched away and given to another 
couple!"  He sank down onto a sofa and hung his head 
dejectedly.  "You have no idea how I feel," he said 
chokingly.  "No idea."

Clark watched as his visitor broke into a rough coughing 
fit.  There was no denying the honesty of the man's 
emotions, he thought.  He clearly believed implicitly that 
Jon was his son, and Clark could only imagine how 
devastated he must feel if he'd recently lost Lois as well.

His anger dissipating, he decided it was time to find out 
the whole story about this man.  First, though, it looked 
like another glass of water was needed, and perhaps Clark 
should also provide some breakfast.  The guy obviously 
needed food.

***********

Two hours later, Clark had acquired the information he 
needed, but at the same time, he had acquired a huge and 
daunting problem.

It hadn't been easy to coax the other Clark into telling 
his story.  Clark had needed to use all his skills as an 
interviewer to persuade the man to talk freely, and even 
now, Clark was pretty sure there was a lot he hadn't been 
told.  Here and there he'd gained little glimpses into an 
even bleaker version of events, when the narrative would 
falter or a look of pain would cross the man's face, but 
these were never explained.  Some things were obviously 
just too raw and painful to describe freely to an almost 
total stranger.  However, Clark now had the bare facts of 
the situation, and he had nothing but sympathy for the guy.

This man could so easily have been himself, if things had 
gone differently with the New Kryptonians.  If Nor hadn't 
decided to come to Earth, but instead staged his battle 
elsewhere, then Clark might never have returned to Earth.  
He would have remained with Zara, ruled New Krypton, and 
been forced to abandon his old life entirely.  Gradually, 
he would have been assimilated into a wholly new and 
strange culture.

This other Clark had travelled part of the way down the 
path of assimilation, Clark concluded.  Based on Clark's 
own experience with the New Kryptonians, he thought grimly 
that much of the other Clark's abrupt and rude manner was 
probably due to Kryptonian influences.  That had been 
further exacerbated by his terrible experiences during the 
war.  Clark hadn't been told much at all about those; they 
were clearly the rawest memories of all, and would probably 
remain private for ever.  All he could tell was that this 
was a damaged, confused person - neither Kryptonian nor 
human; a misfit in both cultures.

Then to be dumped by his own people and left to discover 
that the one person who was capable of rescuing him from 
the brink of despair was dead - Clark was forced to agree 
with his visitor: it was impossible to fully understand how 
that might feel.

And then there was the issue of Jon.  Clark was furious 
with the man he was convinced was responsible for this 
mess: Herbert G Wells.  Once again, Wells had poked his 
nose into someone else's life, thought he could make 
improvements, and ruined not just one person's happiness, 
but three - four if you counted Jon himself.  Clark would 
happily wring Wells' neck for creating such heartache and 
sorrow.

There was no question that the other Clark was telling the 
truth.  No-one could invent a story which involved parallel 
universes and a dead author who travelled through time.  As 
soon as he'd mentioned an odd-looking man in a bowler hat, 
all the pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place.

But what was Clark to do?  Lois and he loved Jon; they'd 
brought him up as their own and he was an essential part of 
their lives.  Clark couldn't imagine life without Jon.

He also couldn't imagine this stranger becoming Jon's 
father.  He wasn't stable; he was rough and aggressive, and 
in need of loving care and attention himself.  He wasn't 
ready to devote the physical and spiritual energy a parent 
needed to care for a little baby.

What should they do?

Clark was standing in the kitchen making coffee, wrestling 
with these issues, when a voice yelled "Help, Superman!" 
and he was forced to set his own problems aside.  Someone 
needed his help, and he had to respond.  He gave his 
visitor a hurried explanation and then sped quickly into 
the skies.

***********

"Lois, you got that lead for me yet?"

Perry's strident voice jolted her out of her reverie.  
Realising she'd frozen in place, she sat up straight, 
hastily clicked a few random buttons on the screen and 
promptly lost the meagre five lines of story she'd written 
about fifteen minutes earlier.

Cursing inwardly, she looked up as her boss approached.  
"Uh, just give me another couple of minutes, Perry," she 
said.  "I'm nearly done."

He raised his eyebrows.  "Oh, really?  Then I may as well 
read what you've got right here," he said, swivelling her 
monitor around.

She grabbed the monitor quickly to stop him shifting it.  
"No!"  When he gave her an enquiring look, she continued 
hurriedly, "You know what a perfectionist I am."

His expression turned to undisguised scepticism, but 
thankfully he didn't force the monitor any further around.  
"I'll give you ten minutes, seeing as it's Alice's birthday 
today.  Ten minutes and no more - you got that?"

She nodded.  "Got it."

He strode away, yelling "Jimmy!  Where's that picture you 
promised me half an hour ago?"

Lois sighed and pulled the monitor back to her side of the 
desk again.  She knew Perry wasn't fooled by her act; he 
was fully aware that she'd hardly written a word all 
morning.  The only reason he was leaving her alone was her 
track record of pulling stories out of nowhere faster than 
anyone else on the staff.  

Meanwhile, her thoughts kept turning back to their 
unexpected visitor and his claim on their son.  What if he 
really was Jon's father?  Should they hand him back?  She 
couldn't bear the thought.

Yet she felt very sorry for the man, despite all that.  His 
distress had been clear - those tears which had escaped 
from beneath his tightly shut eyelids were genuine tears of 
anguish and pain.  Clark almost never cried, so it was 
pretty upsetting to see his double so openly emotional.  
And when he'd thought she was his Lois, she'd hardly had 
the heart to correct him.  Perhaps it would have been 
kinder to pretend that she was, at least for a few minutes.  
Of course, she'd have only made things worse for him when 
she'd dropped the pretence, and that was why she'd had to 
be honest with him.

He was sick, too.  His cheeks had been flushed with fever 
and that cough had sounded really painful.  She wished they 
could give him something for it, but Clark always said 
normal medicine wouldn't work on him.

"Lois?"

She jumped.  Guiltily, she realised she'd wandered off 
again.  But hang on, that wasn't Perry's voice.  She looked 
up.

"Oh, hi, honey," she said, surprised to find her husband 
standing in front of her.  "What are you doing here?"

"I've just been - " Clark waggled his hand in their private 
'flying' gesture, "- so I thought I'd drop by and give you 
the news so far before going back home."

"Great, but I have a lead story to finish and Perry's on 
the warpath," she replied.  "I've got five minutes or 
else..."

Clark came around her side of the desk.  "Want some help?"

At her nod, he leant over her keyboard, muttering, "Let's 
see what you've got so far," and then "Ouch!" when he 
discovered how little she'd written.  His hands hovered 
over the keys.  "Do you mind?"

"Go right ahead," she said, understanding that he was about 
to complete the story at superspeed.  He glanced around 
quickly for unwanted onlookers, and then his fingers turned 
into a flesh-coloured blur as they flew over the keyboard.  
A few seconds later, he was waving away a wisp of smoke 
which had risen up from the overheated keys and leaning 
back so that she could review his work.

She read it quickly, reflecting ruefully that she really 
had been struggling over nothing.  Normally, she could have 
written this story in her sleep.

"Well?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "It'll do."

"Oh, come on, Lois - you know it's as good as anything you 
would have written," he said.

"Well, I'd already done the hard part," she pointed out.

He shook his head, smiling indulgently.  "Why is everything 
a contest with you?"

She grinned.  "Keeps life interesting."

He grimaced.  "Well, our lives are interesting enough 
already.  Want me to update you on our visitor?"

"Okay, but not here."

She sent the completed story to Perry, then stood up and 
led the way into the conference room.

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

So they'd hidden the child away someplace else while he was 
asleep.  Well, he supposed he'd have done the same in their 
shoes, but he wished they hadn't.  He'd only managed a 
glimpse of his son last night, and that tantalising image, 
already burned into his memory, made him long for more.  He 
wanted to hold his baby, feel the living warmth of his own 
flesh and blood.

Instead, he had to make do with the things in his son's 
bedroom.  His host had made it clear that he wasn't welcome 
there, but he hadn't been able to resist the room's pull as 
soon as he'd been left alone in the house.

He went around the room slowly, picking up items at random 
and turning them thoughtfully round in his hands.  
Everything was a precious link to his son.  Even the 
bedclothes - he picked up a soft blanket and held it to his 
cheek for a moment, breathing in the sweet clean smell of 
soap and baby powder.  It was such a sharp contrast to the 
stench of battle that he'd lived with for the last year and 
a half.

He replaced the blanket on his son's crib, and glanced 
around the room for photos - surely there must be one or 
two somewhere.  Finding none, he wandered next door into 
the master bedroom.  Sure enough, there was a silver-framed 
photo on the dressing table.  He picked it up and sank down 
onto the bed, gazing at the picture.

It showed Lois cradling his son in her arms, when he was 
probably only a couple of months old.  He was wrapped in a 
soft pale blue blanket and was gazing up at her with big 
round eyes.  A shock of dark brown hair peeked out from 
under the blanket, and one of his chubby little baby hands 
was clutching at her dressing gown.  She in turn was 
looking down at him with a fond smile on her lips.

It was the perfect picture of a mother and her baby in 
complete harmony with each other.

Tears blurred his eyes as he gazed down at his adorable, 
beautiful son in the arms of a woman who looked exactly 
like his dead fianc‚e.  This was how it should have been; 
this was the future he'd dreamt of all those months ago.  
He traced the images in the photo with his finger, feeling 
as miserable and desolate as the day he'd learned of the 
double tragedy which had befallen his future wife and their 
baby.

<Oh, Lois!  I want you back!>

A sob caught in his throat and made him cough painfully.  
Soon, what little control he had left fled from him, and he 
was crying freely, the sobs mixing painfully with his 
coughs.  He could never have let go like this back on New 
Krypton, and he'd been too numb while he'd been aimlessly 
wandering the streets of his own Metropolis, but now he 
didn't care.  His chest hurt and his throat was raw, but 
all he wanted was Lois to be alive and for them both to be 
reunited with their baby.

Clutching the photo to his chest, he curled up on the bed 
and begged silently for the nightmare to stop and for 
sanity and peace to return into his life.

*********

Clark eyed his wife anxiously as he finished updating her 
on everything he'd learned from their visitor.  He'd come 
here to fulfil his promise of keeping her informed of new 
developments, but he was also hoping that she might have 
some idea of what to do next.  He had his own ideas, but 
none of them held much promise.

She was tapping the end of a pen against the conference 
table in a nervous staccato beat while she processed his 
news.  This was not a good sign, he reflected.  Her best 
ideas usually came out in rapid fire, often before he'd 
even finished talking.  This time, she was having to think, 
and that meant she was probably as stumped as he was.

"So we believe him?" she asked eventually.

Clark sighed.  "I don't see how he could be lying.  How 
many people do you know who could make up a story as far-
fetched as that?"

Her mouth twisted.  "I could think of a few dozen on The 
National Enquirer."

"Okay, other than tabloid journalists, how many?" he said.

"Ralph on a slow news day," she suggested.

"Lo-is," he admonished.

She pulled a face.  "Okay, so he's telling the truth.  That 
doesn't mean we automatically have to hand Jon back to 
him."

"I never said it did," he protested.

"No, but I could see it written all over your face."  She 
held up a hand to shut him up when he started to object.  
"I know you love Jon as much as I do, and I know you can't 
bear the thought of losing him - all that goes without 
saying.  But I also know you, Clark.  You always want to do 
the right thing, and to you, the right thing in this case 
means reuniting a father with his son."

He couldn't deny that - he felt pretty strongly about it, 
despite the fact that he was adopted himself.  But that was 
a general rule, not a hard and fast dictum he was bound to 
follow at all costs.  Sure, the man deserved to raise his 
own son, but in this case, there were other considerations.  
What was best for Jon?  That had to be the most important 
question they should be trying to answer.

So he shook his head.  "No, the right thing in this case is 
whatever is best for Jon."

She nodded.  "You're absolutely right.  So, given that 
Jon's spent almost all of his life with us so far, and 
we'll continue to give him a loving, supportive  
environment in which to grow and prosper, why should we 
even consider changing that?"

"Because...well, because he'll always be adopted," said 
Clark, finally managing to put his finger on what was 
bothering him.  "And I should know better than most how 
that feels, honey."

"It hasn't exactly scarred you for life," she said.  "In 
fact, I'd say you're one of the most stable people I know."

Clark shook his head again.  "You know how much I've 
thought about Jor-El and Lara; how often I've pulled out 
the globe to see and hear them talk to me.  I may be 
stable, but you can't deny that being adopted has made a 
difference to me."

"So what are you suggesting - that we uproot Jon from his 
home and send him away with a complete stranger, just so he 
doesn't have to be adopted?" exclaimed Lois.  "If so, 
you're wrong, you're very, very wrong."

She was upset; understandably so.  He stood up and gathered 
her into his arms.  "Hey," he said softly.  "You know I 
wouldn't want that."

He held her quietly for a few moments, leaving aside the 
talk for a while.  Sometimes it was easier just to comfort 
each other silently, rather than thrash out a problem until 
it hurt.  They often avoided rows this way, and this 
particular problem had all the makings of a huge argument 
if they allowed it to get the better of them.

Lois pulled away from him after a few minutes.  "I have a 
suggestion."

He smiled gently.  This was how it usually worked; if they 
let themselves calm down a little, one or other would often 
find a solution they could agree on.  "Shoot," he said.

"Okay, here it is: even if we agreed that Jon should be 
with his Dad, I don't think either of us believe his Dad is 
actually capable of looking after him right now.  You 
agree?" she said.

"One hundred percent," he replied.  "He needs to pull 
himself together and start thinking about the 
practicalities, like where they'd live and how he'd support 
Jon.  He also needs to get fit - I don't think it's even 
occurred to him that he could infect Jon with that cough of 
his."

"Exactly."  She placed her hand on his chest.  "So how 
about we suggest he goes back to his own universe for a 
while, then returns when he's sorted himself out?" she 
said.  "Then we all sit down together and discuss what's 
best for Jon."

Clark wasn't convinced.  "Isn't that just postponing a 
decision we'll have to make anyway, whether or not he goes 
away for a time?"

"Yes, but at least it gives him space to really think about 
what he's taking on," she replied, "and then we can have a 
calm, rational discussion instead of an emotional mud-
slinging match."

"And we get time to think about it properly," he added, 
nodding.  "But put yourself in his place - would you be 
willing to leave without your son?"
 
"If we can persuade him it's in Jon's best interests, he 
might," she replied.  "I'll leave that to you; you're 
better at the touchy-feely stuff than I am."

Clark smiled.  "Why thank you, oh hard-bitten and hard-as-
nails partner."

"My pleasure," she replied.  She reached up to kiss him.  
"Now, isn't it time you flew back home to check our guest 
hasn't absconded with the silver?"

"Lois, he wouldn't do that!" he protested.  "He's basically 
a good guy - he's just had a raw deal."

She raised her eyebrows.  "This from the man who was giving 
me a hard time for being nice to him last night?"

"Well, you were just as bad, tucking him up in that 
blanket," he retorted.  He gave her a quick kiss.  "See you 
later."

She returned the kiss.  "Bye."

***********

Later that day, Lois trod wearily up the stairs to their 
house.  It had been a long day at work, what with the 
distraction of her worries about their visitor and the 
upset of knowing Jon was miles away in Smallville.

She walked into the living room to find Clark still sitting 
at the dining room table working on his laptop.  She 
crossed the room to him and bent over to give him a kiss.

"So how was the rest of your day?" he asked.

She flopped down on the dining chair beside his.  "Average, 
I guess.  Spent most of the afternoon on the phone trying 
to get an interview with the new fire chief.  Seems he's 
too busy meeting politicians to speak to the media.  How 
was yours?"

"Okay - I rescued yet another construction worker on that 
new shopping mall site.  We really should take a look into 
that, you know.  I also started work on the Schreiber 
research."  He pressed a couple of keys on the laptop and 
shut the lid.  "But I haven't spoken to our guest yet."

She realised she hadn't seen him.  "Where is he?"

"Sleeping in our bedroom.  I found him up there when I got 
home, and he hasn't been down since."

"Well, maybe the rest will do him some good.  He looked 
like he hadn't slept for days."  She paused.  "Please tell 
me he cleaned himself up before lying on our bed," she 
said, her skin crawling at the idea of that filthy body 
from last night rolling all over their bedclothes.

Clark smiled.  "Don't worry, he took a shower this morning.  
All he needs is a shave and he'll be as good as new."

Remembering the scars she'd witnessed, both physical and 
mental, Lois shook her head.  "I doubt he'll ever be that.  
He's been through too much."  She glanced at the stairs.  
"Have you checked on him since you got back?"

"No, I figured he could do with some peace and quiet," 
replied Clark.

"Okay, why don't you start dinner while I make sure he's 
okay?" she suggested.

Clark stood up.  "Good idea.  Tell him dinner will be ready 
in half an hour."

***********

He crouched behind the door, flinching at each scream, each 
gun-shot which rang out from within.  His men huddled with 
him, waiting for his signal.  Any moment now they would 
storm the house, engage the enemy and evict them from the 
building.  Meanwhile, mayhem raged within as Nor's men took 
their cruel pleasure with the occupants.  A baby cried out 
and was abruptly silenced...he didn't dare imagine how.  A 
man yelled his outraged protest but was flung bodily 
against the wall and pummelled with a rain of fists and 
kicks.  A woman sobbed and screamed hoarsely for 
mercy...rough male voices laughed and more shots rang out.

He couldn't bear it any longer.  He prepared for battle, 
winding himself up like a tight spring, tightening his grip 
on his weapon and blanking out the emotions.  He barked a 
one-word order to his men-

A hand touched his shoulder and he whirled around to grab 
the hand of his enemy and fling them to the ground.

But there was no enemy there.  Instead, he found himself 
staring into the frightened eyes of his fianc‚e.

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

Lois froze, caught in the wild, fierce stare of their 
visitor as he held her wrist in a vice-like grip.  She'd 
never been terrified of Clark, but momentarily, this man 
was managing to scare the living daylights out of her.

She'd come into their bedroom to find him still asleep.  
He'd been lying on his back, one hand fisting the 
bedclothes tightly while his head twitched restlessly on 
the pillows and he mumbled incoherently to himself.  It was 
clearly an uneasy sleep; possibly even a nightmare.

She'd watched him for a while, unsure whether to wake him 
or let him rest a little longer.  After all, he surely 
needed as much sleep as he could get, given his poor state 
of health.  At least, she'd noted with some relief, he 
didn't smell any more - that would help his health as well 
as her ability to remain in the same room as him for more 
than five minutes.

She'd frowned as he became even more agitated - this wasn't 
rest at all.  If he kept this up much longer, he'd be more 
tired than when he went to sleep.  Making her decision, 
she'd leant over the bed and shaken his shoulder firmly, 
saying his name and ordering him to wake up.

She hadn't been prepared for the hand which suddenly 
grabbed her wrist and the intense, steely gaze full of 
aggression and hate.

His grip was very painful; he was crushing her wrist.  
"You're hurting me," she said quietly, not daring to move 
another muscle until he let her go.

His gaze moved slowly over her face and, to her relief, she 
saw recognition soften his eyes.  He released her wrist 
with a mumbled, "Sorry."

She rotated her hand wincingly to make sure it still 
worked, noting the red weals on her skin which would 
undoubtedly turn into colourful bruises in time.  Her own 
Clark would no doubt have words to say about that.

"Is it okay?"

She met this Clark's guilty gaze and nodded.  "I'll 
survive.  I'm sorry I startled you."

He shook his head on the pillow.  "No, I'm the one who 
should be sorry."  He closed his eyes.  "I never used to 
hurt people, but that's all I seem to do these days," he 
murmured bitterly.

Once more, pain and sadness had clouded his face and she 
wondered if there was any hope left in the world for this 
man.  He seemed so terribly desolate and broken.  Would he 
even be happy if they let him take Jon back with him?  
Looking at him now, it seemed impossible to imagine him 
playing joyously with his son, as Clark did every night 
with Jon.  At best, she could picture him clutching his 
baby protectively to his chest, while Jon whimpered 
uncertainly.  He, the father, might gain something from the 
reunion, but she couldn't see Jon getting much out of it.

She cleared her throat.  "Um, if you're feeling up to it, 
Clark's making dinner downstairs.  He said it'll be ready 
in around 30 minutes."

He opened his eyes to look at her.  "Thanks.  That's kind 
of you, considering how badly I've behaved."

She shrugged.  "Don't thank me, thank Clark."
 
He pushed himself up on the bed and she drew back to give 
him some room.  That was when she noticed her picture lying 
on the covers next to his hand.  He saw her looking at it 
and picked it up.  "It's a lovely picture," he said, gazing 
down at it.

She eyed the photo of herself with Jon.  "Yes, Jon was only 
a couple of months old when that was taken.  He was already 
a real cutie, even at that age."

He nodded.  "Do you have any more photos of him?" he asked, 
looking up again.

She hesitated.  Of course they did - they had stacks of 
photos and videos of Jon at every stage of development, 
from his first smile to the first time he started to crawl.  
Whether it was a good idea to let this Clark see them was 
debatable, however.  Surely it would just strengthen his 
resolve to reclaim Jon as his own.

"I'd love to see them," he prompted.

"I...I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?" she 
replied.  "Not until we've cleared a few things up."

His mouth set in a hard line.  "They're only photos," he 
said.

"I know, but I still think it would be better if we kept 
things neutral for now."  She held up a placatory hand when 
his face blackened even further.  "Look, this is hard for 
all of us.  There's no manual for a situation like this and 
we're all just doing the best we can.  Please don't push 
too hard."

He still looked grim, but he merely sighed and stood up.  
"I'd better get freshened up for dinner."

She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave.  "I'll 
see you downstairs."

**********

Clark stretched over with the wine bottle to their guest's 
glass.  "Wine?" he offered.

"Yes.  Thanks," replied the other Clark.

Clark poured the wine, then filled his own glass.  "Look, 
what shall we call you?  We can't both be Clark."

Their guest shrugged.  "Call me anything you like."

"How about Kal-El?" suggested Lois.

"No," snapped their guest immediately.  "Anything but 
that."

Clark exchanged an uneasy glance with his wife.  "Well, how 
about CK?  Some of my friends call me that."

The suggestion appeared to meet with his approval.  "All 
right," he said.

Clark relaxed.  "Okay, CK, how are you?  You don't seem to 
be coughing so much as you were earlier."

CK shrugged.  "I'm okay, I guess."

"You look better, too," added Lois.  "You don't have that 
unhealthy flush any more.  Your temperature's probably back 
to normal."

"I guess all that sleep must have done me some good," said 
CK.  "I...well, I haven't been sleeping all that well these 
past few days," he added, dropping his eyes down to his 
plate.

Clark nodded.  "I can imagine.  Well, tuck in," he 
encouraged heartily.  "I'm sure you'll feel even better 
once you've got some food inside you."

CK picked up his fork and began to eat slowly, his head 
still bowed over his plate.  Clark glanced at Lois again - 
this was going to be a l-o-n-g dinner - sighed and began to 
eat.  At least the food was good even if the company was 
not.

Conversation during dinner was slow and stilted, and Clark 
was relieved when he and Lois were finally able to make an 
escape together into the kitchen on the pretext of clearing 
dishes and making coffee.

"Jon's going to pick up some great social skills from this 
guy," muttered Lois under her breath while they were both 
at the sink.

"Give him a chance, honey," replied Clark.  "Meals are very 
formal affairs on New Krypton, especially within the noble 
classes.  People don't speak much."

"Yes, but he's on Earth now, and here we talk to each 
other.  I don't want Jon growing up into a social misfit," 
she said pointedly.

"He won't," insisted Clark.  "Besides, aren't you jumping 
the gun a little?  We haven't even decided where Jon's 
going."

"I'm just weighing up pros and cons," she answered darkly.  
"And right now all I see are cons."

Clark had to agree.  As much as he tried to keep an open 
mind, CK didn't seem to have very much at all going for him 
as prospective father material.  Clark was sure he'd fail 
any adoption board's tests, whether on grounds of financial 
stability or on his ability to provide the appropriate 
nurturing environment for a young child.

"Can I help?"

Clark looked up from scraping the substantial remains of 
CK's dinner into the trash; his appetite had been 
surprisingly small for a man of his bulk.  He'd claimed he 
wasn't used to eating large meals any more, but Clark 
thought his illness probably had something to do with it 
too.  "Thanks, CK, but all of this will go in the 
dishwasher," he said.  "And the coffee's nearly ready."

"Oh, okay."  Nevertheless, CK came further into the room.  
"I...I wanted to apologise to you both," he said.  "I've 
been pretty rude and ungrateful since I arrived, and yet 
you've been nothing but kind and generous towards me.  
I...I'm sorry about that - for not thanking you, I mean.  
And for being so rude."

Clark blinked in surprise; he'd given up waiting for any 
thanks from CK, so this was a pleasant shock.  He 
straightened up from the trashcan and held out his hand.  
"Apology accepted," he said evenly.

CK took his hand and gripped it briefly.  "Thank you.  And 
Lois?" he said, turning around to Lois, who was still at 
the sink.

Lois dried her hands quickly and offered her hand to CK.  
"No hard feelings," she said.

"Thank you," said CK.  "So maybe we can talk about the 
subject we've all been avoiding?"

Clark nodded.  "Sure.  Help yourself to a coffee and we'll 
go next door."

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

Lois settled down next to Clark on the sofa and was 
grateful when he rested an arm loosely around her waist.  
She'd told CK 'no hard feelings' in the kitchen, but the 
truth was, her feelings were completely divided.  On the 
one hand, she felt very sorry for him, but on the other, 
she still resented his intrusion into their lives.  Clark 
and she had settled down nicely as a comfortable and 
closely-knit family of three, but now less than a year 
after Jon had arrived, here was his natural father come to 
break everything up.

And this conversation they were about to have was one she'd 
been dreading all day.  It just wasn't fair that they 
should have to discuss whether or not they were going to 
keep Jon.  He was their baby - their only baby!  There was 
no second chance here; if they lost Jon, then they would be 
childless for the rest of their lives.

CK sat opposite, nursing his mug of coffee thoughtfully.  
He looked very different to the bedraggled man who'd fallen 
across their front door the previous night.  He was clean, 
his hair was neat, his clothes were fresh, and he looked 
much healthier.  His stubbly beard prevented him from 
looking like a carbon copy of Clark, but the differences 
were far fewer than they had been.

There was still an air of deep melancholy about him, 
though.  He didn't smile, and he was quiet and withdrawn.  
Clark's clothes hung loosely on him, partly because he was 
thinner than Clark, but also because his posture was poor - 
he didn't hold himself well.  Clark walked tall and carried 
himself with ease, whereas CK stooped and seemed tense and 
uncomfortable.

She wondered if he had any powers, or if he didn't, whether 
they would return eventually.  That grip he'd had on her 
wrist earlier had certainly felt powerful enough to be at 
least partly super-powered, so maybe he was recovering.  
And perhaps, she thought, if he recovered his powers, he'd 
start to feel better about himself - at any rate, he'd feel 
fitter and stronger, and good health usually encouraged a 
positive attitude.

"Did Clark tell you what I told him this morning?" CK 
asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She nodded.  "Yes.  I'm sorry about your fianc‚e," she 
said, unhappy with the emptiness of the words.  But what 
could you say? - nothing would bring his fianc‚e back, and 
whatever she said wouldn't ease his pain.

"Yes, so am I," he replied with a bitter laugh.  He paused, 
then looked up quickly with regret in his eyes.  "Sorry, I 
didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," she said.  "I understand."  He'd automatically 
responded to her trite words with something equally 
inappropriate, using the banal words to mask his real 
feelings.  She recognised the ploy; she did it a lot 
herself.

He relaxed a little and took a slow sip of coffee.  Then 
another.  Lois noticed that the hand which was holding his 
mug had started to shake, and as he took another drink, the 
lip of the mug rattled against his teeth.  He lowered the 
mug to his knees, his hand still shaking, and stared 
stonily at the floor.  His face was strained; he was 
clearly trying very hard to hold his emotions in check.

"Are you okay?" asked Clark gently.

He nodded jerkily.  "Yeah."

"Don't worry," said Lois.  "Take your time."

She glanced at Clark.  They'd been prepared for acrimony 
and a heated argument, but not this.  She'd even have 
preferred the former, because at least that way, she could 
have had her say and told him exactly how she felt.  
Dealing with CK in this state was going to be a lot harder.  
This way, she'd have to soft pedal, and that meant they 
might not actually achieve very much.

"I just need a minute," CK said in a choked voice.

"Sure," said Lois.  They waited while he struggled to 
compose himself.  Clark fetched a box of tissues after a 
couple of minutes and placed it on the table in front of 
CK.

He looked up with eyes full of unshed tears, ignoring the 
tissues.  "It's just that you look so much like her...sound 
like her, too.  I'm not usually so...so pathetic!" he said, 
clearly disgusted with his show of weakness.  He took a 
drink of his coffee and settled back in his chair, nursing 
the coffee between his hands.  "So where is he?  My son, I 
mean."

"CK, you know we won't tell you that," said Clark steadily.  
"You and I already discussed that this morning."

"No, actually, I think we discussed the fact that you think 
I'm a child-snatcher," replied CK harshly.  "Why won't you 
let me see him?  Your wife won't even let me see any photos 
of him!"

"Well, I imagine she doesn't want to make things even more 
emotional than they already are," replied Clark.  "That 
about right, honey?"

Lois nodded.  "Exactly.  As for why we won't let you see 
him - I would have thought that was obvious to any 
responsible parent."  She hadn't intended to phrase it 
quite like that, but his manner was raising her hackles 
again - even when he was upset, he didn't seem able to 
avoid challenging everything they said.
 
A look of annoyance crossed his face.  "Oh, really?" he 
said, clearly not believing her.  "It's not because you're 
scared I'll steal him from you, then?"

"No, actually, it's not," she retorted.  "We must be crazy, 
but for some reason we actually trust you."  She shook her 
head.  "Frankly, I think we both need our heads examined.  
But anyway, the real reason Jon's not here is because 
you're sick - we don't want Jon catching your illness.  I 
take it you wouldn't want that either?" she added.

CK looked suitably surprised.  "No."  He shook his head.  
"No, I wouldn't want that at all."

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

He hadn't thought of that.  Yes, since Jon was half-
Kryptonian, there was a possibility that he could contract 
a Kryptonian virus.  And with no appropriate medicines 
available to treat him, that could be dangerous.  The bug 
wasn't much more than a bad cough and a heavy cold to CK, 
but to a little baby, it could be much worse.

Suddenly, he felt stupid and selfish for not thinking of 
Jon's welfare.  His own experiences on New Krypton should 
have made him realise the dangers of exposing someone 
without any natural resistance to infection and illness.  
And Lois was probably right - a good parent should think of 
these things.

But he'd learn, wouldn't he?  As long as he loved Jon, 
everything else would be all right.

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

Lois saw that her words had hit home, and decided to pursue 
her advantage.  "Tell me, have you really thought what it 
would be like if you took Jon home with you?" she asked.  
"How are you going to live, for example?  Do you even have 
a job?  Looking after a baby isn't exactly cheap, in case 
you didn't know."

"I know," he said.  "But I also know that I'd love him, and 
that's the most important thing.  The rest will take care 
of itself."

Lois laughed sardonically.  "Get real, CK!  Love won't buy 
you diapers or formula, or child-care while you're at work 
- assuming you get a job, of course.  And what are you 
going to do if he gets sick?  You won't be able to take him 
to a doctor," she said.

"I'll manage," he said doggedly.  "I don't suppose you two 
did everything right, either."

"No, but at least there were two of us to share the 
burden," chipped in Clark.  "And we have an understanding 
boss who lets us work from home.  You may not be so lucky."

"Other single parents manage," he replied.  "Look, I know 
what you're trying to do, and it won't work.  I want my son 
back, and that's that."  He coughed briefly; evidence that 
his health wasn't fully back to normal.

Lois's patience snapped.  "He is not some sort of commodity 
that you can just pass around from place to place!  He's a 
living, breathing human being with feelings just like you 
and me.  You can't demand him back just to fill the empty 
space left by your dead fianc‚e!"

She regretted the words as soon as they were out - he 
looked as shocked and hurt as if she'd slapped him hard 
across the face.  But she'd only said what she'd been 
thinking, and what she was sure was true.

"That is not what I'm doing," he said coldly.

"Well, it sure looks like it from where I'm sitting," she 
said.

She was sure she was right - he hadn't given Jon's welfare 
a single thought, that much was clear.  He'd just barged 
over here as soon as he'd found out he had a son and 
demanded him back as if he was dealing with a stray cat.  
At best, Jon's purpose was simply to remind CK of Lois.

She felt Clark give her a warning squeeze.  "Let's all cool 
it a little, shall we?" he suggested.  "We won't get this 
settled by yelling at each other.  CK, I've been wondering 
- do you actually have any way of getting back to your own 
universe?  Did that guy give you anything; a device of some 
sort?"

CK nodded.  "Yes, it's in my pants pocket..."  His eyes 
widened.  "Which is in the trash!  Do you still have it?  
Have they collected the trash yet?"

Clark leapt up.  "No.  Hold on, I'll check."

Lois felt the draft as he sped away into the kitchen at 
superspeed.  She looked at CK.  "Sorry."

His mouth twisted.  "Didn't you notice my pants were too 
heavy?"

She shrugged.  "The smell distracted me."

The kitchen doors flew open and Clark came to a standstill 
between them.  "Found it," he said, holding up a small 
calculator-sized object.  "Here," he said, handing it to CK 
and sitting down again.

CK checked it briefly.  "Thanks.  At least I'm not stranded 
here."  He glared silently at Lois.

"Like I said, I'm sorry," she said, biting back any further 
retort for Clark's benefit.

"So, now that we've found that, I have a suggestion," said 
Clark.  "I assume we all agree that whatever's best for Jon 
is what's most important."

CK nodded.  "Of course."

"And would you accept that you've got a few things to work 
out before you and Jon can settle down together?" he added.

"Maybe, but that won't be a problem," said CK.

"Maybe not," said Clark.  "But here's the suggestion: you 
go home for a few days and sort out a place to stay and a 
job.  You find out about child care, get a few baby 
supplies together - Lois can give you a list - get yourself 
sorted out, get your strength back, and then you come back 
here and we discuss Jon's future together."

CK laughed bitterly and shook his head.  "And in the 
meantime, you go into hiding with Jon and I never find you 
again.  No, I'm not buying that at all."

Lois snorted.  "Told you," she said to Clark.  "We're 
supposed to trust him, but he won't trust us as far as he 
could throw us."

"Lo-is," said Clark.  "You're not helping, honey."

She looked at him incredulously.  "I'm not helping?  He's 
the one being unreasonable."  She held out her wrist for 
him to see the bruises beginning to form in a circle.  "And 
look what happens if you catch him unawares," she 
continued, suppressing any guilt she might feel at 
exploiting one of CK's most vulnerable moments to make her 
own point.  This was too important to gloss over.  "Imagine 
if my wrist had been Jon's arm or his leg."

Clark sucked in a shocked breath and took hold of her arm 
gently.  "Is it okay - it's not broken, is it?"  He flicked 
his glasses down his nose and stared at her wrist intently 
for a couple of seconds.  "No, you're fine.  Can you move 
it around all right?"

She rotated her wrist a couple of times to demonstrate.  
"It's fine - just a little stiff."

Clark looked across at CK.  "What happened?" he asked 
sternly.

"It...it was an accident," replied CK.  "I was 
sleeping...I-I didn't know it was her.  I thought she 
was..."  He dropped his eyes to the carpet.  "It wouldn't 
happen with Jon," he muttered fiercely.

"How do you know that?" asked Lois.  "All I did was shake 
your shoulder and call your name.  What happens if Jon 
comes near you when you're asleep? - babies don't 
understand personal space, you know.  Will you attack him 
like you attacked me?"

"No!  I wouldn't do that," he protested.

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

But what if she was right?  He had nightmares like the one 
she'd interrupted every time he feel asleep.  In fact, he 
couldn't remember when he'd last slept peacefully.

What if he fell asleep while holding Jon?  Could he 
actually crush his own child, thinking instead that he was 
destroying the demons which came to him every time he 
closed his eyes?

Surely not.

And he could take precautions to avoid it happening, like 
putting Jon down whenever he felt sleepy, or making sure he 
never took Jon into bed with him.  That would be okay, 
wouldn't it?

Except that babies weren't always conveniently quiet and 
content when you were sleepy.  Sometimes you had to put 
their needs before yours; sometimes you had to hold them 
and comfort them even when you were half-asleep with 
exhaustion.  How would he cope with that?

It would work, he thought fiercely.  Somehow, he'd make it 
work.

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

Clark watched CK issue denial after denial, and reflected 
that the more he protested, the clearer it became that he 
knew that Lois was making important and telling points.  
Clark himself thought that she'd been a little cruel with 
him, but there was no denying the truth: CK was still in a 
very fragile emotional state and, coupled with his natural 
strength, that made him a dangerous person to tangle with.

"Do you have any of your powers back yet?" he asked CK.

CK frowned.  "I don't know - who cares, anyway?  I won't be 
using them any more."

"Superman won't be returning when you go home?" exclaimed 
Clark in surprise.  Being Superman was as natural as 
breathing to him - he couldn't imagine life without the 
opportunity to use his powers to do some good around the 
world.

"How can I be Superman after the things I've seen and 
done?" said CK bitterly.  "I've killed - sent men to their 
death."

Clark hadn't thought of that, but on reflection, he 
couldn't disagree with CK.  He knew that if he ever killed 
someone, he'd very likely give up being Superman as well.  
Killing would mean he'd lost control, and Superman couldn't 
afford to lose control - not when he dealt with serious 
challenges to his personal code of ethics on a daily basis.  
If he were to give in to the strong emotions he 
occasionally experienced he'd definitely have to walk away 
from the superhero job.

But CK's case was a little different.  War was the 
exception; killing was a cold fact of war and CK would have 
been a very fortunate leader indeed if he'd managed to 
avoid it.  Not that war made it right to kill, but it did 
make it virtually inevitable.

"During a war," Clark pointed out.

"That doesn't make it right," replied CK bluntly.  "And 
don't give me a lecture on the ethics of war; I don't want 
to hear it.  Anyway, I thought we were talking about my 
son, not about Superman."

"Okay, let's talk about your son," said Lois.  "How's Jon 
going to feel when he finds out you have these amazing 
powers, but chose not to do anything remotely useful with 
them?  What sort of role model is that?"

"Look, what I choose to do with my powers is none of your 
damned business, okay?" retorted CK hotly.  "I've had 
enough of your judgemental questions and criticisms - what 
gave you two the right to claim the moral high ground, 
anyway?"  He folded his arms across his chest emphatically 
and thrust out his chin.  "The bottom line is I'm Jon's 
father and that means he should be with me.  I'm not 
leaving here without him."

Clark sighed heavily and looked to his wife for 
inspiration.  What were they going to do now?

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

He'd really had enough of these two.  They'd seemed okay at 
first, and he'd felt bad that he was doing this to them - 
they obviously loved Jon dearly and would be heartbroken 
when they lost him.  They were good people, and probably 
good parents, and that was why he'd apologised for his 
ungrateful and rude behaviour earlier.  War had changed 
him; he knew that, but he remembered enough of his old self 
to know what decent behaviour was.  He'd just forgotten how 
to practice it.

But then they'd started interrogating him as if he was some 
kind of criminal.  All he'd been trying to do was claim 
what was rightfully his in the first place.

And they had no right to question him.  Jon had been stolen 
from his crib and delivered straight into the hands of 
these two, so their moral position was shaky, to say the 
least.  Moreover, they weren't exactly perfect parents 
themselves - they both had risky jobs, and worse still, 
Clark had two jobs, one of which could take him away from 
Jon at any time, day or night.

At least his real father would be there for Jon in the 
evenings and throughout the night.

Sure, there'd be problems, and he'd struggle a little for 
the first month or two, but he'd manage somehow.  Jon 
needed his father; he needed to understand where he came 
from, who his mother was, and why he was such a miracle of 
life.  He wouldn't get that from these two - oh, they'd 
tell him about his mother and father, no doubt, and how 
he'd come to be born, but it wouldn't be the same.

No, Jon needed him as much as he needed Jon.

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

Lois had had enough of CK's stubborn denials and his 
petulant demands.  He was kidding himself if he thought he 
was capable of looking after Jon in his present state, and, 
moreover, he knew it.  He was enough like Clark for her to 
see that just as clearly as if he was wearing a neon sign 
with 'I AM DELUDING MYSELF' written in large capital 
letters across it. 

Well, perhaps it was time to call his bluff.

She turned away from Clark, who was looking at her as 
though he expected her to pull some amazing stunt to fix 
this mess - which she was, in fact, about to do - and 
addressed CK.  "Will you excuse us, CK?  I need to talk to 
Clark in private."

He shrugged.  "Fine," he replied tersely.

She stood up and made her way to the kitchen with Clark.  
"Okay," she said as soon as he'd closed the door, "I have a 
suggestion."

Clark looked relieved.  "Fire away, honey.  I'm fresh out 
of ideas."

"Well, he says he won't leave without Jon, so we should let 
him stay here for a few days instead," she said briskly.  
"I know," she said when Clark pulled a face.  "He's not 
exactly an ideal house guest, but you know as well as I do 
that he needs help, and we're probably better placed than 
anyone else to give him that help."

Clark sighed.  "You're right, of course.  I could so easily 
have been him, if things had turned out differently here.  
I can't claim to understand exactly how he feels, but I 
probably understand better than anyone else.  And I do want 
to help him."

"So you agree this is a good idea?" she asked.

He nodded.  "I'm not sure he'll think it's a good idea, 
though."

Lois was aware of that.  "Once he's calmed down," she said, 
"he'll realise that we could never just hand Jon over 
without allowing us some time to get used to the idea, so 
from that point of view, it's a reasonable suggestion.  
Also, he can use the time to get better and pull himself 
together a bit."

Clark nodded.  "And then we discuss Jon's future when we've 
all had longer to think about it, just like we planned 
originally," he said.  "Sounds okay, but what about Jon?  
We can't leave him with my parents for much longer."

"Well, CK is already much better than he was yesterday," 
she replied.  "When we think he's not contagious any more, 
we bring Jon back.  He's Jon's father, after all - he 
deserves some time with his son, whatever we decide."
 
"I guess you're right."  Clark sighed.  "Maybe I'm being 
over-protective.  CK means well, and I'm sure he wouldn't 
intentionally hurt Jon."

"No."  She hesitated.  "In fact, I was going to suggest we 
even let CK help with Jon - feed him, bathe him, change his 
diaper, and so on.  That way he gets to find out what it's 
really like to care for a baby."

And hopefully he'll discover it's not as easy as he thinks 
it is and decide to leave Jon with us, she thought.  Jon 
could be quite a handful when he was in the middle of a 
temper tantrum.

She'd keep that idea to herself, though.  Clark was far too 
fair-minded to support it, and would only try to even the 
odds out by helping CK if he knew that was the way she was 
thinking.

"Well, as long as you or I supervise him to start with, I 
guess it's a good idea," said Clark.  "CK would appreciate 
it, I'm sure."

She shrugged.  "Don't be too optimistic.  He'll probably 
think we're putting him on trial," she pointed out.

"Well, leave it to me to sell him the whole plan," 
suggested Clark.  "I think he'll be sympathetic to the idea 
that we need time to adjust, if nothing else.

She patted him on the back.  "Go for it, partner.  I'll be 
right behind you."

He rolled his eyes.  "Why do I always worry when you say 
that?"

She smiled and pushed him through the door.

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

Much later that day, Clark lay back against their pillows 
watching the forever-pleasant sight of his wife slipping 
out of her dressing gown to join him in bed.  It was just a 
routine thing, but he never tired of seeing her nightgown 
skim the curves of her body, hinting at the beautiful shape 
beneath.  Even when they were old and grey, he thought, 
he'd still enjoy the view, because like all the best things 
in life, her beauty came from within.

She slid under the bedclothes and cuddled up beside him, 
resting her head on his chest.  She seemed a little 
melancholy, so he stroked her hair and held her quietly for 
a few moments.

"I miss him, honey," she said at last in a small voice.

Jon.

"Me too," he murmured.  "The house seems too quiet without 
him."

"Do you think he's okay?  I mean, your parents are great 
with him, I know that, but do you think he misses us?"

This, despite the fact that they'd spoken with his parents 
barely half an hour ago.  "Lois, you know Mom said he's 
fine," he said gently.

"Yes, but she doesn't know him like I do," she replied.  
"Sometimes he doesn't make a fuss when he's upset - he 
doesn't even cry."

"I know," he whispered, kissing her hair.  "But Mom's good 
with babies.  I'm sure she's keeping a close eye on him."

"I guess so," she said.  "I just hope he doesn't hate us 
for abandoning him."

He smiled softly; the idea of Jon hating such a loving Mom 
as Lois was pretty ridiculous.  "I don't think he'll throw 
a right hook at you, if that's what you're worried about," 
he replied, trying to cheer her up a bit.

She gave a token laugh.  "He'll just throw up on me," she 
replied.

He laughed.  "He does that anyway."

She nodded against his chest.  "And I'll never complain 
about that ever again.  I'd give anything to have him throw 
up on me right now," she said wistfully.

"Oh, honey," he murmured, giving her a comforting squeeze.  
"It won't be for much longer.  CK's almost better."

"Yes," she said.  "I'm just glad he agreed to my plan."

He nodded in agreement.  "I'm not sure what else we could 
have tried if he hadn't.  Not that he's exactly pleased 
with the arrangement."

"I told you he'd think we were setting him some kind of 
test," she replied.  "At least your stuff about us needing 
time to adjust went down okay."

"I think that's what finally persuaded him to accept.  He's 
an okay guy, deep down where it counts," Clark replied, 
realising he really meant that.  He could see the good in 
CK, despite his hostility.

"Well, let's just hope he starts being okay on the surface, 
too," said Lois.  "I'm not trusting him with Jon unless he 
curbs that temper of his."

"I think he'll be fine once he remembers how to be a human 
being again."

She nodded and fell quiet for a few minutes.  He could tell 
she was still sad, despite his attempt to cheer her up.  He 
wasn't much happier himself.  The evening just hadn't been 
the same without his usual rough-and-tumble games with Jon.  
He missed bath-time, as well - splashing in the tub with 
his son, laughing at his chortling giggles of delight, 
towelling the wriggly baby dry then bearing him playfully 
back to his Mom for a last cuddle before bed.

"How about we pay him a visit?" he suggested suddenly.  "I 
could fly us there right now."

She looked up at him, obviously excited by the idea.  "It's 
pretty late," she said.  "He'll be asleep - so will your 
parents."

"We don't have to wake them, or him," he replied.  "We can 
just creep in and take a peek."

"Oh, Clark..." she said, her eyes shining.  "I'd love 
that."

Half an hour later, he wasn't so sure the trip had been 
such a good idea.  He stood in Jon's darkened bedroom in 
Kansas, holding Lois close to his body as she wept softly 
into his shoulder.  Tears pricked his own eyes as he looked 
over her head to his son's small form lying in the crib.  
Jon made quiet snuffling sounds as he slept, reminding 
Clark of so many nights when he'd rocked his baby to sleep.

"I can't do this," whimpered Lois.  "I can't let him go."

Clark soothed her quietly.  He was pretty sure he couldn't 
let Jon go either.

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

So his powers were returning, it seemed.  He hadn't meant 
to eavesdrop on their bedroom conversation, but his ears 
had pricked up at the mention of his son's name, and before 
he'd known it, he'd been listening in.

He hadn't listened for very long, of course - he really 
didn't want to intrude and he completely respected their 
privacy.  Lord knew, the last thing he wanted was to hear 
them making love!

But he'd heard enough to realise just how much pain he was 
causing them, especially Lois.  She'd sounded pretty close 
to tears when she'd told Clark she was missing Jon.  Even 
if she wasn't his Lois, it upset him to hear her sound so 
distressed.  Clark's voice had been strained, too, when 
he'd comforted his wife.

He hadn't really thought about how tough this was for them 
- he'd been so caught up in his own needs that he'd 
completely overlooked their point of view.  Oh, he'd 
understood that they were angry - they'd made that much 
clear - but he hadn't noticed that they were suffering 
their own kind of grief while he was making his demands.

Damn H G Wells and his meddling!  None of them would have 
been in this mess if it hadn't been for him.  If only he 
could be made to understand how thoughtless and cruel he'd 
been.

So this wasn't their fault.  They were only reacting like 
any parents would if a stranger came to their door 
demanding they hand over their baby.

And he was only acting like any father would - trying to 
get his son back.

All three of them were caught up in a nightmare created by 
someone else.  Perhaps it was time to stop fighting each 
other and start working together to fix this mess.

And his conscience kept turning over the things Lois had 
said.  He'd told himself earlier that everything would work 
out just fine, as long as he loved Jon.  Well, his 
conscience wasn't having any of that.

His illness - he should have realised that he was a danger, 
without having to be told by Lois and Clark.  What sort of 
a father was he, if he didn't instinctively think of such 
things; if he didn't put Jon's safety before anything else?

A place to stay and a job - well, that was easily solved.  
He'd do any sort of work, as long as it earned him enough 
money to rent a place and feed and clothe Jon.  Okay, so 
when he first returned with Jon, he'd have nowhere, but he 
felt sure Perry would help him out if necessary.

His nightmares...lashing out at Lois...

He couldn't answer that one.  He didn't know himself any 
longer.  He was neither Clark Kent, a mild-mannered 
farmer's son from Kansas, nor Kal-El, a ruthless military 
commander from New Krypton.  He was a shell.  Oh, he 
breathed, he walked and talked like any normal man, but 
inside he was nobody, or at least, nobody he recognised.

He turned over in bed and curled up on his side, clutching 
the bedclothes tightly to his body.

<Lois...>

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

"No!  No!  Hold your fire!"

Clark lay on his back in bed, listening to CK relive the 
horrors of war in his sleep.  He'd been jolted out of his 
own sleep by someone muttering, and as he'd come fully 
awake, had recognised CK's voice.  At first he'd wondered 
what CK was up to; why he was talking to himself, but then 
he'd realised that CK was actually caught up in the throes 
of a disturbing nightmare.

Now he lay in the darkness of their bedroom, staring up at 
the ceiling and listening to CK's strained voice filter up 
from the living room.

"Take cover!"

Clark had read a little about the psychology of returning 
war veterans, but now he wished he'd read some more.  Was 
it better to let CK dream, or should Clark go downstairs 
and wake him up?  The latter seemed the kinder option, but 
what good would it do in the longer term?  No doubt this 
was just one of many such nightmares.  Waking CK this time 
wouldn't stop him dreaming like this again.

"No!  The children...  No!"

Clark glanced at Lois, but as he'd suspected, CK's voice 
was too faint to disturb her.  She was sleeping soundly, 
her breathing deep and regular.  Probably just as well.

He sighed softly and returned his gaze to the ceiling.  
He'd have liked to sleep, but instead, he lay awake and 
listened; mentally staying by CK's side while he fought the 
emotional torment of war.  It wasn't much, but it was the 
least Clark could do for a soul in so much pain.

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

The following day, Lois and Clark reluctantly left CK alone 
in the house while they went to work.  He'd seemed subdued 
and down, and Lois had wondered whether she'd been too 
harsh with him the previous night.  Okay, so he'd hardly 
cracked a smile since he'd arrived, but at least he'd shown 
some spirit now and then - even if was when he was being 
obnoxious by demanding custody of Jon.  Now he just seemed 
to be depressed and withdrawn.

Well, perhaps he needed to face the facts, even if it was 
painful.  A quiet day at home by himself might be just what 
he needed to work things out.  Maybe even grieve for his 
girlfriend in private; it seemed to Lois that he hadn't had 
enough time to work through his feelings about her death 
yet - he'd been too busy chasing after Jon.

And tonight, they'd promised him that if he seemed fit 
enough, they'd bring Jon home.

Meanwhile, Lois, feeling sorry for CK, had decided to 
unbend a little and had given him some photos of Jon to 
look through.  Of course, she wouldn't have been completely 
surprised if he'd tried to find them anyway while they were 
out, so at least this way she was preventing him from 
digging around in their personal belongings.  Perhaps that 
was a little uncharitable of her, but although he looked a 
lot like Clark, he clearly didn't possess the same manners.  
Fighting a bitter, bloody war was certain to make a man 
lose at least some of his polished edges.

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

He'd woken feeling as low and depressed as when he'd fallen 
asleep.  In fact, he probably wouldn't have bothered 
getting up at all if he'd had his own bedroom, instead of 
being stuck downstairs on the sofa.  As it was, he'd heard 
them getting ready for work upstairs and had felt obliged 
to rouse himself before they came down into the lounge.

Conversation had been minimal; thankfully they'd realised 
pretty quickly that he wasn't in the mood for cheerful 
morning banter.

His heart had lifted a little, however, when Lois had 
handed him Jon's photo album.  It had been a kind, 
thoughtful gesture - a sign that they'd decided to trust 
him a little further.  Still, he'd struggled to respond 
with much more than a brief thank you.

Now as he leafed slowly through the pages, a lump formed in 
his throat as he acquainted himself with his son's image 
for the first time.  Jon was adorable - the pictures 
portrayed him as a very happy, contented baby with a sturdy 
little frame, big brown eyes and soft dark hair.  His 
parents appeared in some of the photos, and they always 
looked as pleased and proud of their baby boy as any 
parents he'd ever met.

He had to keep reminding himself that he was looking at his 
son - *his* son!  The child that he and Lois had made 
together that night.  On New Krypton, there had been times 
when he'd regretted their night of passion, because the 
memory of it had just made him miss her even more.  But 
now, looking at Jon, he was glad they'd made love.

He just wished she was here to raise Jon with him.

Reaching the final page in the album, he gazed fondly down 
at the last picture for a few moments.  Jon was sitting on 
the floor in this one, wearing blue dungarees and a pale 
blue knitted top.  He was pointing at the camera and 
laughing.  There was a lot of Lois in that happy face.

He set the album aside and wandered over to the window.  
Absently, he noticed that it was a beautiful sunny day 
outside, and that the leafy, open street before him looked 
very attractive in the bright sunshine.  This Metropolis 
seemed a much gentler, inviting place than the bleak city 
he'd left a couple of days ago.  Of course, he'd been in 
shock - feeling even worse than he felt now.  Maybe that 
had coloured his impressions.

Staring out at the street, he realised that he'd been 
cooped up in this house for over a day.  Perhaps a walk 
would help clear his head.

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

Annie Preston struggled down the front steps of her house 
with her shopping cart.  Every day it seemed to get harder, 
but she was a firm believer in keeping active for as long 
as her old bones would permit.  Her daily visit to the 
local shops wasn't strictly necessary, but it got her out 
of the house and she liked chatting to the shopkeepers, who 
knew her as well as one of their own family.

Hearing her neighbour's door open and close, she paused in 
her struggle to catch her breath and to find out who was 
leaving their house.  She thought she'd heard three voices 
next door the last couple of evenings, and wondered if they 
had a visitor staying with them.  Oh, but the person on the 
stairs was Mr Kent.  That was a stroke of luck - he always 
helped her with her cart.

"Morning!" she called brightly.  "It's a beautiful day, 
isn't it?"

Oddly, he looked surprised that she'd addressed him.  "Y-
yes," he replied briefly, and made his way down the stairs 
to the street.

Surprised and disappointed that he hadn't offered to help 
her, she tried to catch his attention again.  "How's the 
baby?  I haven't seen him around for a couple of days - 
he's not sick, I hope?"

Mr Kent turned on the stairs, again looking strangely ill 
at ease.  "No, he's fine.  He's with their...his 
grandparents."

What had he been about to say?  Their...?  Oh, well, she 
supposed it was none of her business.  She bent to her 
cart, exaggerating her efforts to heft it just a little.  
"Giving yourselves a break, eh?  That's nice," she said, 
puffing a bit more than she strictly needed to.

"Yes.  Can...can I help you with that?"

At last!  She straightened up immediately.  "Oh, would you, 
dear?  I'm afraid these steps just seem to get steeper 
every day."

He came around and lifted the cart easily and placed it on 
the sidewalk.  "There you go."

She made her way slowly down to him.  "Thank you, dear.  
And how's Mrs Kent?"

"She's fine, too," he replied.  "Will you manage on your 
own now?"

"Oh, yes!  I'm only going to Beale's," she said, peering at 
his face.  Was that a beard?  Goodness me, she didn't think 
he needed a stubbly beard to cover up that handsome young 
face of his!  "I hope this doesn't mean we'll be seeing you 
in back-to-front baseball caps and baggy combat pants, Mr 
Kent!" she remarked with a conspiratorial smile.  Mr Kent 
had a good sense of humour and she was sure he'd take her 
little joke about his new look in the right way.

But dear me, the poor lad did seem to be out of sorts this 
morning - he didn't laugh heartily, as she'd expected him 
to, but instead looked confused.  "I'm sorry?" he said 
worriedly.

"Your beard," she explained.  "It certainly gives you a 
rugged look, Mr Kent."

"Oh!" he said, fingering his chin.  "I...I'm trying it out 
for a few days.  Do you think it suits me?"

"It makes you look thinner," she replied - because he 
certainly did!  And not just his face, either, she 
reflected.  Even his clothes seemed to fit him less snugly 
than usual.  She hoped he wasn't following one of those 
faddy diets which seemed to be popular these days.

"Oh," he replied.  "Well, I'd better be on my way, Mrs..."  
He faltered, clearly struggling to remember her name.

She was a little surprised, since they'd been neighbours 
for over six months.  Still, he looked terribly anxious, 
and he was obviously not feeling quite himself, so she took 
pity on him.  She touched his arm briefly.  "Don't worry, 
dear - sometimes I forget my own name!  It's Preston - 
Annie Preston.  Miss."

"Of course," he said, his face breaking into a relieved 
smile.  "Well, goodbye, Miss Preston.  Take care with that 
shopping cart."

"I will, dear.  And you look after yourself, young man.  If 
you don't mind me saying so, you look a little peaky."

"Oh, I'll be fine, Miss Preston."

With a final smile and a nod, she pushed off with the 
trolley.  That poor Mr Kent - she hoped she wasn't 
witnessing the start of another marital break-up.  Sending 
the baby away surely wasn't a good sign!  Yet they seemed 
to be such a happy little family.

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

What a pleasant old lady.  He'd forgotten how friendly and 
good-natured people could be.  He'd forgotten about 
neighbours; people who knew you and, if they were good 
neighbours like that lady obvious was, were interested in 
you and cared about you.

And although he'd been on edge the whole time they'd been 
talking, he'd enjoyed the conversation.  He'd enjoyed 
helping her, too - liked the fact she called him 'dear' and 
was clearly grateful when he'd offered to lift her trolley 
down for her.

Mind you, his nerves wouldn't stand another meeting like 
that too soon!  He hoped he wouldn't encounter any more 
friends or acquaintances of his hosts' on his walk.

As he strolled along the street, he was struck by how weird 
it felt to be walking free in Metropolis, without any sense 
of purpose or responsibility.  This would have been 
impossible on New Krypton.  Every minute of his day had 
been filled with duty - duty to the council, duty to his 
army, duty to his wife.  He would never been left alone to 
do as he pleased, for as long as he pleased.

And if he had been able to walk along a street such as 
this, he would have been watching for snipers, alert to 
suspect behaviour from the people around him, acutely aware 
of his weapon nestling in its holster.  Even now he felt 
it; knew that there was someone walking a few paces behind 
him and slightly to the left, was wary of a man emerging 
from the shadows of a side street on his right, noted the 
person sitting in a parked car across the street.

Logically, he knew there was no danger here, but it was 
impossible to switch off the habits of war.  For example, 
someone was coming up fast behind him now, running at him.  
His body tensed as he walked, readying himself for swift 
action, looking for safe places to dive to should he detect 
a weapon being powered up.

"Taxi!" yelled a man's voice, and then a solid body was 
delivering a glancing blow to his arm.

He whirled and grabbed the man's shoulders forcefully in a 
reflex move, ready to engage in combat if he detected the 
slightest hint of opposition.  Instead, a shocked young 
face stared up at him.  "Sorry, buddy!"

Realising he'd over-reacted and was probably scaring the 
living daylights out of the lad, he released him quickly 
with a mumbled apology.  Moving away swiftly, he heard a 
lewd expletive shouted at his retreating back.  Unbidden, 
an equally lewd Kryptonian word sprung to mind, but he 
refrained from using it.  The guy was right - he was a 
complete idiot.

Spotting a park bench in front of a small memorial, he sat 
down and put his head in his hands.  This would never do - 
he couldn't carry on like this, assuming every person who 
came into contact with him was trying to kill him.  First 
Lois, and now that guy.  He had to find a way of 
controlling himself, before he did someone real damage.  To 
make matters worse, his powers were starting to come back - 
he could feel the extra strength in his muscles.  It 
wouldn't be long before he broke someone's arm by grabbing 
them like he'd grabbed that guy.

He shook his head.  When had Clark Kent, a good-natured 
farmer's son, turned into this efficient killing machine?  
When had he become violent by reflex, instead of under 
protest?  He used to like himself, but these days, he often 
despised himself.  Where was his identity?  And where did 
he belong?

Not here.  Here, he was definitely unwelcome.  Who wanted a 
powerful being who could maim with a careless swipe of his 
arm, and who wanted to tear a baby away from its parents?  
He was dangerous; a loose cannon waiting to explode.  
Besides, he didn't belong here - this wasn't his universe, 
and right now, he felt that very keenly.  He felt 
disjointed from this world; a piece which didn't quite fit.  
The fact that the streets were familiar to him just 
exaggerated that feeling, because they weren't an exact 
replica of his home city.  They were close, but not close 
enough.

But he didn't belong back home, either.  There, he was a 
man who'd returned when everybody had already written him 
off.  He wasn't needed; the world had moved on without him.  
And the one person who might have welcomed him back was 
gone.  Was dead.

Dead.

Lois was dead.

So if he couldn't take Jon back home with him, what was the 
point?  What was he, Clark Kent, for?  Did he have a 
purpose - was his life worth anything?

"You okay, mister?" piped a child-like voice.

He looked up to find a small girl gazing at him with 
disarmingly wide-eyed curiosity.  She was wearing a bright 
red raincoat and had a cute pixie face.  "Not really," he 
found himself admitting.

"Come along, Susie!"  A woman hurried up and grabbed the 
child's arm.  "I told you not to talk to strangers!"

"But he's sick," protested Susie as she was dragged away by 
her mother.

"Drunk, more like," retorted the mother.

He put his face in his hands again.  No, not drunk.  Susie 
was right - he was sick.  Sick in his spirit.  So sick, he 
was contemplating...

Well, was he?

No, not while there was a chance he could have Jon.  Jon 
was his lifeline; his reason for living.

He stood up and began walking again.  

**********

Clark pulled up the handbrake on the jeep, switched the 
engine off and smiled across at Lois.  "Home at last," he 
said.

"Yeah, it's been a l-o-n-g day," she agreed wearily.

He leant over and gave her a quick kiss.  "You look tired."

She shrugged.  "Just not looking forward to another session 
with Mr Grumpy in there," she said, indicating their house.

He laughed.  "At least he's not Mr Sneezy any more.  And 
that," he said, kissing her again, "means we get Jon back.  
Come on, let's see what Mr Grumpy's been up to while we've 
been gone."

He exited the jeep and joined Lois on the sidewalk.

"Yoo-Hoo!  Mr Kent!"

He turned towards the voice and saw their neighbour, Miss 
Preston, making her way down her front stairs.  "Hi, Miss 
Preston!" he called.  "How are you?"

Clark usually preferred to address his friends and 
neighbours by their first names, but Miss Preston was a 
former schoolteacher, and expected a certain formality from 
those young enough to have been her pupils.  Clark was sure 
he'd receive a severe reprimand and a rap over the knuckles 
with a ruler if Miss Preston ever thought he'd stepped out 
of line.

"I hope you don't mind," she began, then finished picking 
her way down the stairs before continuing.  "I made you 
some of my Minestrone soup.  It's very nourishing," she 
added, thrusting a large plastic container into his hands.

A little bemused, he accepted the gift.  "Why, thank you!  
That's very thoughtful of you," he said.

"Well, we don't want you wasting away, now do we!" she 
said.  "And I'm sure you don't always have the time to cook 
him a hot dinner, do you, Mrs Kent, what with you being so 
busy with your work."

Clark glanced at Lois to see how she was taking this.  He 
knew Miss Preston meant well, but he also knew that Lois 
had already informed their neighbour at least twice that 
she preferred to be addressed as 'Ms Lane'.  As for Lois 
cooking him hot dinners - well, that was unlikely on 
several levels!

Lois smiled a somewhat brittle smile and shook her head.  
"No, you're right - Clark usually cooks dinner in our 
household.  He doesn't often do soup, though.  Do you, 
honey?" she said through gritted teeth.

Clark slung an arm around her shoulders.  "Not as often as 
I'd like."

"Well, you just eat up and forget that silly diet, dear," 
said Miss Preston, patting his arm in a motherly fashion.  
"You look fine just the way you are - especially now you've 
got rid of the beard.  I do hope I didn't offend you with 
my little joke this morning?"

Diet?  Beard?  What was the woman talking about?  What 
little joke?

"No, not at all!" he replied heartily, without a clue of 
what he was referring to.  He looked at Lois, hoping she 
had figured out things out.

"I told him to shave it off," said Lois.  "It tickled when 
he kissed me," she added in a confidential whisper.

"Oh!" replied Miss Preston.  "Good!  I mean, I'm so glad 
you two aren't falling out or anything.  I must say, Mr 
Kent, I was a little worried this morning when you told me 
about the baby."

The baby?  He hadn't told her anything about Jon.

Then, finally, the penny dropped.  CK had been talking to 
her!  Why, and just what he'd told her, Clark hadn't a 
clue, but he was darned well going to find out.  "No, we're 
fine, aren't we, Lois?" he replied.

"Oh, just fine," she said with a hint of steel in her 
otherwise cordial voice.  She, too, had obviously figured 
out what had happened.  "So if you'll excuse us, Miss 
Preston, I'd better take this delicious soup inside and 
heat it up for my starving husband."

Miss Preston smiled.  "That's the ticket, dear.  As they 
say, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"I always thought it was via another part of your anatomy," 
muttered Lois darkly as they turned and made their way up 
their own stairs.

Clark stifled a guffaw.  "Lois!" he hissed.

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

Lois sat opposite CK, waiting with mixed feelings for Clark 
to return with Jon.  They'd had dinner before making the 
final decision to bring him back, but now the time had come 
and here she was, happy to be getting her baby back but 
nervous about handing him over to CK for a cuddle.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him with Jon - well, not 
really, anyway.  It was just that this was a big step; a 
watershed.  Perhaps even the beginning of the end.

And things hadn't exactly gone smoothly so far this 
evening.  When they'd entered the house, they'd found CK 
sprawled on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, 
listening to loud rock music with his eyes closed.  A half-
eaten sandwich and a bottle of beer had been dumped 
precariously close to his feet, just waiting to be knocked 
over with a careless swipe.  The picture he'd presented had 
reminded Lois of an obnoxious child arrogantly making the 
place his own even though he was merely a visitor in their 
house.  Clark had immediately strode across and silenced 
the hi-fi, clearly of the same opinion as Lois.  Then the 
two of them had laid into CK with questions.

"What did you tell Miss Preston about Jon?"

"Why didn't you let us know you were thinking of going 
out?"

"What if she'd already seen me leaving the house this 
morning?  How would you have explained that?"

He'd opened his eyes and given them both a cold stare.  
Instead of responding to their questions, he'd uttered a 
flat "Excuse me," then stood up, walked into the kitchen 
and slammed the door shut.

After a pregnant silence during which Lois had noted 
absently that at least he'd managed not to knock over the 
beer bottle, she had looked at Clark, who in turn had 
winced.  "I think we just got told to back off."

"Well, he shouldn't treat our house like he owns it," she'd 
retorted.  "I'm surprised Miss Preston didn't complain 
about the noise."

Clark had shrugged.  "These old walls are pretty thick.  I 
didn't even notice it until we came inside."

"That's only because you didn't expect our house to have 
been turned into a branch of the Stoke Club," she'd pointed 
out.  "Anyway, you were the one who turned the music off, 
not me.  Why are you suddenly defending him?"

"Because I don't think our behaviour was much better than 
his.  We were treating him more like a naughty teenager 
than a house guest."  Clark had begun fiddling with the 
hair at the back of his head, a clear sign that he was 
agitated.  "Why does he always bring out the worst in me?  
I don't mean to get short with him, but I seem to do it 
anyway."

She'd shrugged.  "He has the same effect on me.  Maybe we 
expect too much of him, or maybe he just doesn't behave how 
we expect him to.  He looks like you, but he's not you."

Clark had sighed.  "Maybe.  Well, we'd better apologise, I 
guess."

Lois had reluctantly accepted that they'd behaved badly, 
and so they'd made their apologies.  A still-prickly CK had 
then given them an account of his outing.  Of course, once 
they'd realised how innocuous his intentions had been, 
they'd been even more apologetic - but the damage had been 
done.  Now she was sitting opposite a stiff-backed CK, and 
Jon would be here any minute.  She grimaced internally - 
babies had a knack of picking up instantly on any bad 
feelings between adults.  She hoped CK was a good actor.

**********

They had no idea - no idea what he was going through, no 
idea how close to rock bottom he'd reached today, no idea 
what war was like, no idea what it was like to have lost 
yourself on a barren planet somewhere a billion miles away 
from their cosy little home in downtown Metropolis.

The music had been his way of holding it all together.  For 
a few blissful minutes, he'd let the hard, thumping rhythms 
and the aggressive lyrics blot out his own feelings.  He'd 
knocked back the beer in a few gulps, then laid back on the 
cushions and surrendered to the beat, turning up the sound 
louder and louder until there was nothing left in his head 
except for the raucous male voices and screaming guitars.

It had been a superbly cleansing experience,